Even then there was no scurrying of feet as we had expected, and
while the boy remained to direct the boat I slid from cabin to
cabin in futile search for some member of the crew. The craft was
entirely deserted. Such good fortune seemed almost unbelievable.
When I returned to the pilot house to report the good news to my
companion he handed me a paper.
"This may explain the absence of the crew," he said.
It was a radio-aerial message to the commander of the submarine:
"The slaves have risen. Come with what men you have and those that
you can gather on the way. Too late to get aid from Omean. They
are massacring all within the amphitheatre. Issus is threatened.
Haste.
"ZITHAD"
"Zithad is Dator of the guards of Issus," explained the youth. "We
gave them a bad scare--one that they will not soon forget."
"Let us hope that it is but the beginning of the end of Issus," I
said.
"Only our first ancestor knows," he replied.
We reached the submarine pool in Omean without incident. Here
we debated the wisdom of sinking the craft before leaving her,
but finally decided that it would add nothing to our chances for
escape. There were plenty of blacks on Omean to thwart us were
we apprehended; however many more might come from the temples and
gardens of Issus would not in any decrease our chances.
We were now in a quandary as to how to pass the guards who patrolled
the island about the pool.
Pages:
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181