Danny Dunn on a Desert Island Read online

Dinner was a rather quiet meal, for they were all busy with their own thoughts, chiefly about the islanders. What kind of people would they be? Were they cannibals, or would they be gentle and timid?

  Danny was even more silent than the others, for he could not escape feeling that it was all in some way his fault. He so often acted without thinking first. Professor Bullfinch had told him many times that this was not how a scientist should behave, and he always made good resolves never to do it again. But somehow an exciting idea would occur to him, or a situation would arise that seemed terribly interesting, and he would find himself plunging into action without a thought for the consequences.

  And here was another instance. If he hadn’t rushed off so heedlessly, they would still have their radio. And if he hadn’t taken the arrow, the natives might never have known they were on the island. He groaned within himself, and looked at his wooden spear and club. What good would makeshift weapons like these do against a hundred howling, hungry savages?

  When they all went to bed, he couldn’t sleep but tossed and turned until Joe grumbled and begged him to settle down. Danny slipped out of the lean-to and sat by the fire, wishing he could think of some way out of the mess. Thoughts of his mother came to him, too: her merry smile and warm look haunted him, and he felt more guilty than ever. If he hadn’t been so selfish and thoughtless, if he’d never hidden the crank, they might have been rescued long ago.

  He sighed, and put another stick of wood on the fire. Sometimes it was hard to know what was best. Sometimes a thing looked right until you saw it from someone else’s point of view.

  He got up restlessly, and decided to check on the traps before going to bed. After all, some small animal might have sprung one of them.

  He took his spear and the flashlight, which had been part of the raft supplies, and walked softly up the trail that led to the banana grove. The moon, almost full, made a silvery lace-work of the leaves, and below him the ocean hissed black and silver against the white sand of the beach. From the marsh he could hear strange peeps and chuckles, and the calls of night birds.

  From time to time he switched the light on and off, to make certain of the trail. He came to the trap and almost stepped into it, for the pale nylon rope was almost the same color as the moonlight. He stood for a moment playing his light about. All was silent and safe.

  Then, without warning, he heard from the direction of the camp a loud bellow.

  His first thought was that it was an animal, although they had seen nothing large enough to make such a noise. But as he started back, at a run, he could distinguish words: “Up! Up! They’re attacking!”

  The voice was that of Dr. Grimes. The hair rose on Danny’s neck and he froze, gripping his spear tightly.

  “This way!” he heard Dr. Grimes call. The voice seemed, now, to come from his right, higher up the hill. He remembered that there was another trap up there. He swung round and started for it.

  Cactus tore at his legs but he never heeded the scratches. Directly ahead of him he heard a crashing in the brush. There was a loud, blood-curdling yell that almost made his heart stop.

  He faltered, took a breath, and ran on. A shadowy figure loomed up ahead of him. He dodged and raised his spear.

  “Help!” the figure shouted.

  “Joe?” Danny called.

  “Who’s that? Danny? Where are you? Is it you?”

  “It’s me.” Danny could see his friend’s face now, in the moonlight. Joe was carrying one of the war clubs.

  “Come on,” Danny said. “They must be up at the trap.”

  They ran on together. A little way behind them they heard someone panting up the hill. They came to the trap. A dark shape was dangling a foot or two off the ground, twisting and swinging violently as it struggled.

  Danny caught Joe by the arm. The leaves and fronds all about them made it difficult to see clearly.

  “Get your club ready,” Danny said. He balanced his own spear in his hand, and then flashed the light on.

  “Gosh!” Joe breathed. “A native.”

  Then he said, “And he looks just like Dr. Grimes!”

  “Get me down from here!” the native roared.

  “He talks English!” said Joe. “And he sounds like Dr. Grimes, too.”

  “I’ve got news for you,” said Danny.

  Then, as a relief from the tension of the moments before, he began to laugh helplessly.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Smoke on the Water

  Fortunately, the noose had caught Dr. Grimes about the waist and the only injury he suffered was to his dignity. Professor Bullfinch came up, panting, and they cut the rope and helped Dr. Grimes to the ground.

  When he could catch his breath, Dr. Grimes said, “I heard something moving up here. I know I did.”

  The Professor made a throat-clearing noise. They could not see his expression, but his voice sounded amused, as he said, “It seems to me, Grimes, that you acted hastily, charging up here. One might almost call it—er—headstrong.”

  “I—” Dr. Grimes began.

  “Yes, indeed. You didn’t wait until you had all the facts, but leaped at once to conclusions.”

  “I—” said Dr. Grimes again.

  “What would you say, Danny?” asked the Professor.

  “Yes,” Danny replied, in a very small voice.

  The rest of the night passed without incident. In the morning they breakfasted on turtle meat, bananas, and oysters. Then they gathered round the Professor, as was their custom.

  “Mark the calendar, Dan,” the Professor said.

  “This is our tenth day,” Danny said, as he cut the notch. “Tuesday.”

  “Happy Tuesday,” said Joe, mournfully.

  Professor Bullfinch looked at their disturbed faces. “Come, cheer up,” he said. “We aren’t soup—yet. Let me see, since our duel is still going on, I think Dr. Grimes deserves a notch for his invention of the man-trap.”

  “I’ve already made it,” Joe said. “But—well, you know, I wouldn’t say anything against Dr. Grimes, but I think he ought to have it taken away from him for falling into his own trap. That wasn’t very practical.”

  Dr. Grimes opened his mouth and then closed it again. Then he said, “Traitor!”

  “I’m afraid he’s right, though,” the Professor chuckled. “Half a notch, anyway.”

  “Oh, I’ll remember about it.”

  “All right. Now, let’s discuss our situation. Shall we try to communicate with the natives?”

  “I’m against that,” said Dr. Grimes. “I think we ought to stay close to camp today. If they’re really peaceful, they may try to visit us. If they aren’t peaceful—they may visit us anyway. In either case, I think we ought to be near our base.”

  “Yes, that’s sensible,” the Professor agreed. “What do you think, boys?”

  The two nodded, although Danny did so reluctantly, for he could not help feeling that perhaps the Professor was right and they had nothing to fear from the natives. On the other hand, he remembered Robinson Crusoe’s experiences: the grisly cannibal feasts, and Crusoe’s narrow escape from death. Perhaps it was best not to take chances.

  Later that morning, as the two scientists were preparing the last of the turtle meat for lunch and cleaning some fish they had caught, Joe and Danny came slowly to the fire, smiling sheepishly, with their hands behind their backs.

  “We’ve brought you each a present,” Danny announced.

  “Another arrow?” Dr. Grimes asked, suspiciously.

  “No, nothing like that,” Danny giggled. From behind them, he and Joe drew out two objects. One was a flute, made from a hollow reed with holes carefully cut in it. The other was an odd-looking instrument: its body was the case of the emergency radio, emptied of all its parts. A neck made of wood was stuck in the hole at the top where the crank had been. It had th
ree strings, two of twisted gut and one of thin wire.

  “We thought,” Joe said shyly, “that maybe these would help cheer you up.”

  The scientists looked at each other. Then they took the instruments.

  “Thank you, boys. Thank you very much,” said the Professor.

  Dr. Grimes coughed, to hide his emotion. “When did you make them?”

  “This morning. Since we weren’t gathering fruit and had to stick around, we thought we ought to do something for you. To sort of show you how grateful we are for—for everything.”

  “Well, I—I’m sure both Dr. Grimes and I owe a great deal to you, too,” said the Professor. “Hem! Grimes, let’s have a little music.”

  Dr. Grimes blew experimentally into his flute. “Not bad,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Not bad at all.”

  “Since there’s no bow, I’ll have to play this like a guitar,” Professor Bullfinch said. He tightened the strings, plucking at them, his head on one side.

  The instruments were not exactly in tune, nor were they precisely lovely in tone, for the guitar sounded like a sick bullfrog and the flute a little like an hysterical steam whistle. But the four made no complaint. To them, the simple melodies sounded delightful, and the two men were as pleased with their presents as if they were children at Christmas.

  When at last they stopped, laughing together over a particularly loud discord, Professor Bullfinch said, “Ah, this reminds me, my dear Grimes, of that evening on which you first challenged me to a duel of desert islands.”

  “Humph!” grunted Dr. Grimes. “If I had known what it was going to lead to, I’d have kept my mouth shut.”

  “It has been a most interesting vacation, all the same,” said the Professor, stroking his bristling chin. “And as an experiment, most rewarding. Still, I think I prefer the laboratory.”

  “There’s such a thing as being too practical,” Dr. Grimes said.

  “Well, I think a desert island is fine,” said Joe. “As long as you don’t have to be on one.”

  “Almost anything is fine as long as it isn’t forced on you,” the Professor said. “Just imagine how terrible it would be if someone made you eat chocolate cake, even when you were full and didn’t want any more.”

  “I’m imagining,” said Joe dreamily. “Go on. Tell me more.”

  They all laughed. Professor Bullfinch idly plucked the strings, and said, “Music is supposed to have charms to soothe the savage breast. I wonder whether we ought to march on the natives playing these instruments?”

  “I’m afraid it would only enrage them,” Grimes snorted.

  “Well, Danny,” said the Professor, “you’ve been very quiet. A penny for your thoughts.”

  Danny had been gazing out to sea. He started at the Professor’s words, and said, “I was just wondering whether there was something wrong with my eyes.”

  “Eh? Why should there be?”

  “Take a look out there.”

  They all turned to stare at the ocean. A smudge of black smoke was visible on the horizon.

  “Not a thing,” said Joe. “Except I guess somebody’s burning leaves out there, or something.”

  Then he choked. “Burning?” he cried. “On the ocean? Hey!”

  “You’re right!” the Professor said, jumping to his feet. “It’s smoke. That can only mean one thing—”

  “A ship!” shouted Dr. Grimes. And in a lower voice, full of tension, he added, “but—is she headed this way?”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The Vanishing of Joe

  They all stood motionless, straining their eyes to watch the smoke. They hardly dared breathe.

  After fifteen minutes Danny said, “I think it’s getting closer.”

  “Ssh!” hissed Dr. Grimes, as if silence would help him see better.

  But another quarter hour of waiting left no doubt: the ship was actually coming nearer. She was still many miles away, but the column of smoke was larger and beneath it they could now make out a tiny dark speck that must be the superstructure of the ship herself.

  Dr. Grimes grabbed a blazing stick from the fire. “Now or never!” he cried. He plunged up the hill, to the signal fire he had prepared on the ledge against just such a moment as this. He thrust the torch into it. The dry, thorny branches began crackling, and within minutes a tall column of smoke rose high in the air. They watched the ship.

  “Look!” Danny shouted, all at once. Unmistakably, a spark of red shot up from the ship.

  “A rocket,” said the Professor. “They’ve seen our signal!”

  “Yippee!” Joe yelled, unable to contain himself any longer. “We’re saved!”

  “I dislike jumping to conclusions,” said Professor Bullfinch, “but in this case the hypothesis may be correct. Hooray!”

  And with that, he seized Dr. Grimes’s hands and began a wild dance of triumph. Dr. Grimes’s sour face was split with a wide grin that made him look like a completely different man. Danny and Joe capered madly around the two scientists.

  After a few moments they were able to quiet down, and the Professor said, “Let us collect our things. We’ll want to save our stone tools and our musical instruments as souvenirs. And let’s all make ourselves presentable. It is,” he added, “a point of honor with me that when they pick us up we shouldn’t look like beachcombers. After all, we’ve managed very well so far.”

  Dr. Grimes nodded. He looked at Joe and said, “I think it might be a good idea, Bullfinch, if the boys took a bath. We haven’t yet had a chance to try out the soap.”

  “By George, that’s right! And after you and I went to so much trouble to make it!”

  “But, Professor!” Danny protested. “I’m clean.”

  “I’d hardly go so far as to say ‘clean.’ You are less dirty than Joe, who—I’m sorry to say—looks and smells more like a swamp cabbage than a boy.”

  “But we can get washed on the ship,” said Joe.

  “Have you no pride at all?” Dr. Grimes said severely.

  “No,” Joe replied.

  “Well, we have enough for both of you. We’ll make a fire and you can start some stones heating. Bullfinch, you get some soap.”

  The Professor took one of the K-ration containers—which they found constantly useful—and went down to the beach. In the turtle shell, which they had taken off the fire, there was a small quantity of a rather gluey substance. It had a peculiar greenish color and smelled of turtle, but it was undeniably soap of a sort.

  Professor Bullfinch scooped some of it into the container and handed it to Danny.

  In the excitement of their anticipated rescue, they had forgotten completely about the natives. They ran up to the hole they had dug for a bathtub, and moved the trough at the stream so that the hole could fill with fresh water. They soon had stones heating in a large fire, while down below, at the camp, the two men built up their fire to act as a signal to the ship.

  “Gee, won’t it be swell to be home again?” Joe said.

  “You bet. And won’t the other kids be jealous?”

  “I don’t care. I’m just going to eat. I’ll start with roast beef and mashed potatoes, and then fried chicken, and ice cream…” Joe sighed.

  “There’s only one drawback to this rescue business,” he added.

  “What’s that?”

  “Using this soap. Do we have to?”

  “Tell you what,” said Danny. “I’ll let you have the honor of being the first to try it.”

  “Are you kidding?” Joe got to his feet. “That stuff will probably burn our skin off.”

  “Well, that’s one way of getting clean. Come on, Joe. Don’t be a coward.”

  “But I am a coward.”

  Danny snatched up the container. “Just a little dab of it,” he cooed. “If it doesn’t eat through your hands, we’ll know it’s all ri
ght.”

  “Not me.” Joe dodged away.

  Laughing, Danny went for him. Joe ducked, and stuck out a foot. Danny went sprawling. In a flash Joe recovered, laughing in his turn, and darted up the hill. He disappeared between the trees.

  Danny picked himself up and recovered the container. He ran after his friend, yelling, “Joe! It won’t hurt. Come and take your bath!”

  He was a little slowed by his own laughter. He entered the forest, and suddenly he stopped. Something was wrong, and for a moment he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. Then it came to him: the quiet. It was too quiet. The usual friendly birds were silent, nor were there any other noises—no frogs, no rustlings in the underbrush.

  “Joe,” he called. “Come on out, Joe. I promise I won’t…”

  His voice trailed away before that all-enveloping silence.

  He walked a few paces. Then he stood still again, every nerve on the stretch, his spine tingling.

  In the soft earth there were fresh footprints—the prints of many large, naked feet.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “After Them!”

  For an instant, Danny was stunned. Then he pulled himself together and began to search about for further evidences of what had happened.

  Mixed with the prints of bare feet were the marks of Joe’s sneakers. All the footprints led away toward the banana grove. Danny followed them for a few yards, and at the base of a tree he found a crumpled, dirty piece of cloth: a handkerchief which Joe had obviously dropped to show which way he was being taken.

  Danny fought down an impulse to go on after his friend. “This time,” he said to himself, “I won’t be headstrong.”

  He turned and ran as fast as he could, back toward the camp.

  The Professor and Dr. Grimes were folding up the blanket between them, as he came pelting down the hill.

  “Hold still, Bullfinch,” Dr. Grimes was saying. He lifted his head, and called to Danny, “What’s the matter? Water too hot?”

  Danny gulped for air. “The natives!” he cried. “They’ve got Joe!”

  “What!”