The citadel had been saved once again. The pirates were fleeing from the accursed mountain, paying no heed to the exhortations of a few chiefs who were trying to rally them.
Losing no time, Farandoul had the rampart rebuilt, using the tortoises placed in reserve.
A number of men went back down into the ravine, some to recover as many munitions as possible from dead pirates and others to capture more tortoises. Those pirates who had remained in the ravine, understanding that the place was not safe, had run away as quickly as they could, far from the scene of carnage. There was only time for a handful to return to hinder the operation.
“Now, shipmates, there’s only one thing I’m afraid of,” Farandoul said to his men, “and that’s Bora-Bora turning the siege into a blockade.”
“The brigand kept out of range,” Mandibul complained. “I would have been so glad to avenge poor Captain Lastic! Yes, the scoundrel stayed back; a man who has come to possess 54 million gold, silver or copper coins looks after his skin! And that makes 54 million reasons why he’s determined to have ours, whatever the cost. I don’t believe our troubles are over yet.”
“In the meantime, it’s nearly supper-time,” Farandoul replied. “It’s time to sacrifice one of our tortoises—we’ve certainly earned some turtle soup.”
The evening and the night passed without incident. Farandoul lay awake for half an hour, his insomnia caused by disquiet.
He told himself that a blockade could have the most disastrous consequences for La Belle Léocadie, which he deemed to be very nearly lost, and particularly for her crew. The pirates would be able to find abundant food on the island, while his own men would be dependent on the meager provisions brought from the ship and the tortoises in the rampart.
“It’s very hard,” said Lieutenant Mandibul, who was also troubled. “It’s very hard for besieged men to have to eat their fortifications!”
On the following day, the Malays could be seen making an encampment on the beach. This testified clearly to fact that they had no thought of leaving. In the afternoon, a band of 50 men left the camp and established themselves in the woods from which the attack columns had been sent.
A blockade was being organized.
Nothing changed on either side for several days. A stream of water, which ran through the grotto and exited into a fissure leading down to the tortoises’ ravine, was adequate to the needs of the besieged men, but they took care every morning to bring some grass to the tortoises of the rampart, to keep them alive and in good health.
Farandoul began to find the time weighing heavily and searched for a means of hurrying matters along. In the hope of making some advantageous discovery, he and Lieutenant Mandibul followed each of the tunnels leading from the cave to its very end.
These ramifications extended deep into the mountain, but the corridors usually ended abruptly in solid walls. One of the narrow fissures, however, took them a long way away from their companions.
“Ventre de phoque, what can we do?” said Mandibul.
“Ah, if I had my monkeys, the pirates wouldn’t hold on for long!” Farandoul replied.
“I can save you,” said a firm voice, which suddenly emerged from the depths of the tunnel.
Farandoul and Mandibul drew their revolvers.
“Fear not, I’m a friend,” the voice added. To the great astonishment of the two mariners, an unknown man came towards them. “Don’t be astonished, and don’t ask me any questions—just listen to me,” he said. “I’m a European like you, and I’ll save you.”
The three men squatted down on the rocks. The conversation lasted a long time. Since it was agreed between them that the identity of the unknown man would not be revealed to the sailors of La Belle Léocadie as yet, we shall keep the secret from our readers until the next chapter.
Mandibul returned from the cave alone. He contented himself with saying that the Captain had found a means of saving everyone, that he had gone to put his plan into action, and that all he had asked of the sailors was to wait patiently without risking any useless combat. Any attack that occurred would have to be forcefully repulsed; the pirates must be kept back at all costs.
Farandoul was absent for two weeks—two weeks during which the corsairs, without renewing their assault, sought to inconvenience the crew of La Belle Léocadie by every available means. Lieutenant Mandibul never stopped fuming with rage throughout the fortnight; as for the sailors, they dreamed of nothing but sorties and hand-to-hand combat.
Soon, the situation, already critical, became terrible. The infernal Bora-Bora had a plan of his own, and we shall see how it put the mariners into a lamentable position.
One morning, 200 pirates scaled the far side of the mountain, and established themselves directly above the platform, at the point of origin of the stream that descended into the cave via fissures in the rock. The wretches had brought their cooking-pots and abundant supplies of dry wood. Twelve fires were lit, on which 12 large cooking-pots were set, filled to the brim with water from the spring.
“Ventre de phoque, what diabolical cookery are these brigands up to?” grumbled Lieutenant Mandibul.
The answer was not long in coming
Suddenly, a flood of boiling water fell upon the unhappy tortoises in the rampart, and clouds of hot vapor invaded the grotto. The wretches, being unable to bring active force to bear on the bastion of tortoises, sought to defeat it by slow cooking! All through the day, the cooking-pots were continuously at work; the poor tortoises expired in the terrible boiling flood 12 that fell incessantly upon their backs. Mandibul was seething!
There was nothing to be done! That evening, six tortoises having been cooked, the mariners cut their losses by eating them for supper; six replacements were installed under cover of darkness. It was scarcely worth the trouble. Eight more death certificates were issued the following day: eight boiled tortoises to be put on the menu.
The bastion lasted eight days, after which it was comprised of nothing but empty and broken carapaces.
The crewmen of La Belle Léocadie were visibly fatter, but thirst began to make itself felt, for the pirates had found a means to heat the spring itself, so the mariners were really in hot water. This was the state of things when, one night, Lieutenant Mandibul, returned from the depths of the tunnel within the cave, gathered his men together and told them to make ready for a sortie the following day.
“Is there news then, Lieutenant?” asked Seaman Tournesol.
“Goodbye hot water—the Captain’s back,” Mandibul replied. “Ventre de phoque, we’re going to fight! Tomorrow, when the first rifle-shot sounds on the beach, we’ll fall upon the beggars down below!”
The night seemed endless to the bold sailors, weary of the vast soup of tortoises which Bora-Bora—in return for the grapeshot-filled boar of Bassilon—had been serving them for more than a week. At dawn, though, Mandibul ordered them to go down into the ravine—where they all waited for his signal, rifles in hand.
IV.
Let us take ourselves off to the pirates’ camp, where the last vicissitudes of the drama will unfold. The wretches are grouped on the beach, around the handful of tents reserved for the principal chiefs. Some are asleep on the grass, wrapped in blankets, others around a few fires—whose last logs, almost burned-out, occasionally hurl a few sparks and spirals of blue smoke into the still-starry sky.
Overturned canoes and felled trees form the camp’s only entrenchments.
Bora-Bora wakes up and shakes his fist at the mountain.
“If they haven’t finished eating their tortoises,” he says to himself, “we can’t risk an attack. I’ll send a few scouts their way.” And Bora-Bora, prodding a few of his snoring companions with his foot, thrusts his arsenal into his belt.
He has scarcely finished when a rifle shot rings out, no more than 20 paces distant! Savage cries burst forth, and before the bewildered pirates have had time to leap upon their weapons, 100 black shadows have jumped over the feeble ramparts of the camp
and are flinging themselves upon them!
The tents are beaten down beneath the feet of combatants as a frightful confusion breaks out in the half-light of dawn. The attackers have the advantage, and pirate corpses are soon strewn across the ground. It is as if some infernal vortex were whirling around, crushing everything in its path...
Bora-Bora has drawn his pistols, but he does not know which way to shoot. Suddenly, he starts in alarm. These new enemies, worse than men, are sturdy monkeys armed with stout clubs!
The whirlwind of four-armed creatures has already pulverized half the pirate band; the remainder are trying to flee, rolling with the blows of the terrible clubs.
A strange thing! A man—is it really a man?—is directing this troop of monkeys; he mingles human words of command with guttural cries that make the monkeys jump.
Bora-Bora thinks he must be dreaming, but by the flash of two pistol-shots, he recognizes Saturnin Farandoul! After that, he has but one thought—to rally his men and re-embark.
A fierce fusillade erupts from the side of the mountain now, and the pirates who were blockading the mariners beat their own retreat towards the sea. Bora-Bora and 30 of his men who have escaped the carnage make for the boats; 50 more are there, making haste to put the boats into the water.
Daylight has come. The Sun illuminates the beach, where Bora-Bora’s adversaries are now clearly visible. The pirates watch in terror as the mariners of La Belle Léocadie and Farandoul’s terrible monkeys hurtle upon them.
“Put to sea!” cries Bora-Bora.
A new prodigy, even more inexplicable! Fifteen fantastic creatures suddenly emerge from the bosom of the sea! The pirates’ eyes grow wide in horror. Each of these bipeds, clad in a thick pelt, has an absolutely spherical iron head with neither mouth nor nose, within whose face a single vast yellow eye is staring! A sort of pipe emerges from the head, connected to a sack attached to the back.
What can these creatures emerging from the waves possibly be? Bora-Bora has no time to ask himself; these fish-men have iron hatchets fixed at the ends of their solid arms, and they are falling upon the pirates, who are still harassed from behind by the monkeys.
“Onwards, La Belle Léocadie! Onwards, monkeys!” cries Farandoul—and, with one blow of a club that he wields with the same dexterity as the monkeys, he lays Bora-Bora flat out beside his canoe.
The fight did not last long.
Those whom the monkeys’ clubs or the mariners’ carbines had been unable to reach fell beneath the hatchets of the fantastic creatures who had emerged from the bosom of the sea, as if born therefrom.
We shall make haste to explain these facts to the reader.
The man who popped up providentially in the grotto was none other than the celebrated Captain Nemo, who is so well-known to the readers of Jules Verne—which is to say, everyone in the world—that we can dispense with his description. The island where La Belle Léocadie had put in for repairs was none other than the Mysterious Island, and it was in the bowels of its mountain-citadel that the secret port of Captain Nemo’s magnificent submarine the Nautilus was hidden.
Captain Nemo, having heard Farandoul speak of the Isle of Monkeys, had revealed to him that there was an island 150 leagues to the east inhabited solely by numerous tribes of these animals. The description of the island that he gave to Farandoul settled all further doubts. “Let’s go there in my Nautilus,” Captain Nemo had added. “If you are recognized, and can convince a troop of your old friends to come to the aid of La Belle Léocadie, it will be possible to do battle.”
It had all worked out very well. Farandoul had found his family again, his foster-brothers having grown up into magnificently sturdy lads. He had had no trouble recruiting 100 of his old comrades of the forest, and we have seen how enthusiastically they fell upon the pirates.
As for the fantastic creatures with iron heads, that was a company of divers provided by the crew of the Nautilus. The divers too had done marvelously well!
The different units of the little army, having come together on the beach, were introduced to one another, that formality having been impracticable during the heat of battle.
The sailors and the monkeys looked at one another with mutual astonishment, but what intrigued the brave monkeys most of all was the men with iron heads: the divers from the Nautilus. Where could these bizarre creatures with round heads, and tails attached thereto, possibly have come from? Were they another new race of men? It overturned all their notions of natural history, which had already been disturbed by the reappearance on their isle of their friend Farandoul, accompanied by beings of a similar kind.
Farandoul was surrounded by his family, his foster-father and his five brothers enfolding him in their arms. What joy! What a picture! The other monkeys crowded around them, happy to stare at the little handicapped monkey with whom they had all played when they were young! It was evident that they no longer considered him as having a deplorable infirmity, having seen, by courtesy of the mariners of the Nautilus, that all the members of his race were in the same condition.
Farandoul and Captain Nemo wanted to celebrate their victory with a huge banquet. As soon as the beach had been cleared, the feast was organized. Forty monkeys went forth in search of coconuts, bananas and other vegetables. The cooks from the Nautilus and La Belle Léocadie roasted some opossums, prepared numerous tortoises—less heroic than those of the rampart but just as succulent—with various sauces, and the tablecloths were soon set out on planks extended on the grass.
Farandoul, his brothers and his foster-father took their places at the head table, along with Captain Nemo, Lieutenant Mandibul and the leader of the divers. The monkeys and the mariners were grouped around the other tables. It was noticeable that every movement of the divers was observed with trepidation by the monkeys, who asked themselves how these creatures with iron heads devoid of any opening were able to eat. When they saw the divers divest themselves of their apparatus, they burst out laughing. The problem was solved—these unknown bipeds were part of the Farandoulian race!
The meal was most enjoyable. The monkeys, of course, did not want to partake of anything but fruit, but they consented to empty a few bottles of champagne furnished by the excellent Captain Nemo. A few, as might be expected, became a little light-headed—but on such a great day, who could blame them?
A big conference was held afterwards, in which a solemn vote of thanks was addressed to Captain Nemo. Then it was agreed that the pirates’ canoes and boats should be carefully hidden in a creek identified by the good Captain. He advised that they should await the result of their legal action before showing themselves in Borneo.
Farandoul, always eager for action, resolved to depart no later than the following day in La Belle Léocadie, along with the biggest of the Malay boats, in order to take the monkeys home.
As the Sun rose the next day, the two ships made ready to sail. The moment of farewell drew near. Captain Nemo, who held Farandoul in singularly high esteem, came to shake him by the hand one last time, and Farandoul was obliged to accept six superb Denayrousse diving-suits as a souvenir.13 They promised to meet up again as often as possible, then went their separate ways, after a dozen muskets had fired a salvo in honor of the generous Captain Nemo.
The voyage was a happy one. The three-master sailed in convoy with the pirates’ boat, crewed by two men from La Belle Léocadie and 30 monkeys, who showed every indication of becoming excellent mariners. They reached the Isle of Monkeys in six days, where their arrival—signaled in advance by lookouts—caused such a commotion that the entire population, save for the sick, thronged the shore while the long-boats came ashore with the monkeys, proud of their campaign.
We shall not undertake to recount every detail of the warm reception given to La Belle Léocadie, nor of the celebrations that followed. At any rate, Farandoul, possessed by an all-consuming restlessness, soon announced his intention to return to sea. The pirates’ boat was left to the monkeys, with two men to complete their naval
education, and La Belle Léocadie resumed its course through the archipelagoes.
Farandoul was avid to devote himself to serious submarine exploration, in order to profit from the diving-suits so generously donated by Captain Nemo. He, Lieutenant Mandibul and four sailors soon became used to living and moving in the great depths, in the world of gigantic submarine forests inhabited by oceanic monsters. It was there that Saturnin Farandoul developed the instincts of a hunter, which he had not previously had time to cultivate.
Armed to the teeth, with hatchets in hand and two pistols operated by compressed air in their belts, along with sharp knives, the mariners threw themselves upon the slimy rocks and ventured into caverns inhabited by monsters unknown to man, which only the most deranged imagination could have dreamed up: six-meter-long lobsters, sea-crocodiles, torpedo-squids, crabs with 1000 feet, sea serpents, finned elephants, giant oysters and so on.
They had some terrible fights with these hideous animals. One such encounter was nearly fatal to Lieutenant Mandibul. The mariners were about to put to death a 15-meter serpent, which they had taken by surprise while it was eating a sea-crocodile—whose tail still protruded from its mouth—but which was still able to defend itself. Their attention was suddenly caught by the entry on to the scene of a strange creature. It was a gigantic oyster three meters in diameter, hugely rounded, running at a trot on six slender feet. Its half-open shell allowed two round, staring eyes to be seen, in which the greatest ferocity could be read.
“Ventre de phoque!” murmured Lieutenant Mandibul. “If there’s a pearl in that oyster, my fortune’s made!” After marching up to the oyster, he seized it by the upper shell and plunged his arm into the slit, with a dagger in his hand.
Horror! The oyster opened much wider, and swallowed Lieutenant Mandibul in a single gulp.
Fortunately, Saturnin Farandoul had seen everything. With the four sailors he ran towards the oyster, which had paused and seemed to be savoring poor Mandibul voluptuously. A sort of internal hullabaloo was, however, audible when they put their ears to the shell.
The Adventures of Saturnin Farandoul Page 6
