by Jules Verne
CHAPTER XXII.
RECOVERED FROM THE SEA.
The spot where the projectile sank under the waves was exactly known;but machinery to grasp it and bring it to the surface of the ocean wasstill wanting. It must first be invented, then made. American engineerscould not be troubled with such trifles. The grappling-irons once fixed,by their help they were sure to raise it in spite of its weight, whichwas lessened by the density of the liquid in which it was plunged.
But fishing-up the projectile was not the only thing to be thought of.They must act promptly in the interest of the travellers. No one doubtedthat they were still living.
"Yes," repeated J. T. Maston incessantly, whose confidence gained overeverybody, "our friends are clever people, and they cannot have fallenlike simpletons. They are alive, quite alive; but we must make haste ifwe wish to find them so. Food and water do not trouble me; they haveenough for a long while. But air, air, that is what they will soon want;so quick, quick!"
And they did go quick. They fitted up the Susquehanna for her newdestination. Her powerful machinery was brought to bear upon thehauling-chains. The aluminium projectile only weighed 19,250 lbs., aweight very inferior to that of the transatlantic cable which had beendrawn up under similar conditions. The only difficulty was in fishing-upa cylindro-conical projectile, the walls of which were so smooth as tooffer no hold for the hooks. On that account Engineer Murchison hastenedto San Francisco, and had some enormous grappling-irons fixed on anautomatic system, which would never let the projectile go if it oncesucceeded in seizing it in its powerful claws. Diving-dresses were alsoprepared, which through this impervious covering allowed the divers toobserve the bottom of the sea. He also had put on board an apparatusof compressed air very cleverly designed. There were perfect chamberspierced with scuttles, which, with water let into certain compartments,could draw it down into great depths. These apparatuses were at SanFrancisco, where they had been used in the construction of a submarinebreakwater; and very fortunately it was so, for there was no time toconstruct any. But in spite of the perfection of the machinery, in spiteof the ingenuity of the savants entrusted with the use of them, thesuccess of the operation was far from being certain. How great were thechances against them, the projectile being 20,000 feet under the water!And if even it was brought to the surface, how would the travellershave borne the terrible shock which 20,000 feet of water had perhapsnot sufficiently broken? At any rate they must act quickly. J. T. Mastonhurried the workmen day and night. He was ready to don the diving-dresshimself, or try the air apparatus, in order to reconnoitre the situationof his courageous friends.
But in spite of all diligence displayed in preparing the differentengines, in spite of the considerable sum placed at the disposal ofthe Gun Club by the Government of the Union, five long days (fivecenturies!) elapsed before the preparations were complete. During thistime public opinion was excited to the highest pitch. Telegrams wereexchanged incessantly throughout the entire world by means of wires andelectric cables. The saving of Barbicane, Nicholl, and Michel Ardan wasan international affair. Every one who had subscribed to the Gun Clubwas directly interested in the welfare of the travellers.
At length the hauling-chains, the air-chambers, and the automaticgrappling-irons were put on board. J. T. Maston, Engineer Murchison, andthe delegates of the Gun Club, were already in their cabins. They hadbut to start, which they did on the 21st of December, at eight o'clockat night, the corvette meeting with a beautiful sea, a north-easterlywind, and rather sharp cold. The whole population of San Francisco wasgathered on the quay, greatly excited but silent, reserving their hurrahsfor the return. Steam was fully up, and the screw of the Susquehannacarried them briskly out of the bay.
It is needless to relate the conversations on board between the officers,sailors, and passengers. All these men had but one thought. All thesehearts beat under the same emotion. Whilst they were hastening to helpthem, what were Barbicane and his companions doing? What had becomeof them? Were they able to attempt any bold maneuver to regain theirliberty? None could say. The truth is that every attempt must havefailed! Immersed nearly four miles under the ocean, this metal prisondefied every effort of its prisoners.
On the 23rd inst., at eight in the morning, after a rapid passage, theSusquehanna was due at the fatal spot. They must wait till twelve totake the reckoning exactly. The buoy to which the sounding line had beenlashed had not yet been recognized.
At twelve, Captain Blomsberry, assisted by his officers who superintendedthe observations, took the reckoning in the presence of the delegates ofthe Gun Club. Then there was a moment of anxiety. Her position decided,the Susquehanna was found to be some minutes to westward of the spotwhere the projectile had disappeared beneath the waves.
The ship's course was then changed so as to reach this exact point.
At forty-seven minutes past twelve they reached the buoy, it was inperfect condition, and must have shifted but little.
"At last!" exclaimed J. T. Maston.
"Shall we begin?" asked Captain Blomsberry.
"Without losing a second."
Illustration: THE DESCENT BEGAN.
Every precaution was taken to keep the corvette almost completelymotionless. Before trying to seize the projectile, Engineer Murchisonwanted to find its exact position at the bottom of the ocean. Thesubmarine apparatus destined for this expedition was supplied with air.The working of these engines was not without danger, for at 20,000 feetbelow the surface of the water, and under such great pressure, they wereexposed to fracture, the consequences of which would be dreadful.
J. T. Maston, the Brothers Blomsberry, and Engineer Murchison, withoutheeding these dangers, took their places in the air-chamber. Thecommander, posted on his bridge, superintended the operation, ready tostop or haul in the chains on the slightest signal. The screw had beenshipped, and the whole power of the machinery collected on the capstanwould have quickly drawn the apparatus on board. The descent began attwenty-five minutes past one at night, and the chamber, drawn under bythe reservoirs full of water, disappeared from the surface of the ocean.
The emotion of the officers and sailors on board was now divided betweenthe prisoners in the projectile and the prisoners in the submarineapparatus. As to the latter, they forgot themselves, and, glued to thewindows of the scuttles, attentively watched the liquid mass throughwhich they were passing.
The descent was rapid. At seventeen minutes past two, J. T. Mastonand his companions had reached the bottom of the Pacific; but they sawnothing but an arid desert, no longer animated by either fauna or flora.By the light of their lamps, furnished with powerful reflectors, theycould see the dark beds of the ocean for a considerable extent of view,but the projectile was nowhere to be seen.
The impatience of these bold divers cannot be described, and having anelectrical communication with the corvette, they made a signal alreadyagreed upon, and for the space of a mile the Susquehanna moved theirchamber along some yards above the bottom.
Thus they explored the whole submarine plain, deceived at every turn byoptical illusions which almost broke their hearts. Here a rock, there aprojection from the ground, seemed to be the much-sought-for projectile;but their mistake was soon discovered, and then they were in despair.
"But where are they? where are they?" cried J. T. Maston. And the poorman called loudly upon Nicholl, Barbicane, and Michel Ardan, as if hisunfortunate friends could either hear or answer him through such animpenetrable medium! The search continued under these conditions untilthe vitiated air compelled the divers to ascend.
The hauling in began about six in the evening, and was not ended beforemidnight.
"To-morrow," said J. T. Maston, as he set foot on the bridge of thecorvette.
"Yes," answered Captain Blomsberry.
"And on another spot?"
"Yes."
J. T. Maston did not doubt of their final success, but his companions,no longer upheld by the excitement of the first hours, understood allthe difficulty o
f the enterprise. What seemed easy at San Francisco,seemed here in the wide ocean almost impossible. The chances of successdiminished in rapid proportion; and it was from chance alone that themeeting with the projectile might be expected.
The next day, the 24th, in spite of the fatigue of the previous day, theoperation was renewed. The corvette advanced some minutes to westward,and the apparatus, provided with air, bore the same explorers to thedepths of the ocean.
The whole day passed in fruitless research; the bed of the sea was adesert. The 25th brought no other result, nor the 26th.
It was disheartening. They thought of those unfortunates shut up inthe projectile for twenty-six days. Perhaps at that moment they wereexperiencing the first approach of suffocation; that is, if they hadescaped the dangers of their fall. The air was spent, and doubtless withthe air all their _morale_.
"The air, possibly," answered J. T. Maston resolutely, "but their _morale_never!"
On the 28th, after two more days of search, all hope was gone. Thisprojectile was but an atom in the immensity of the ocean. They must giveup all idea of finding it.
But J. T. Maston would not hear of going away. He would not abandon theplace without at least discovering the tomb of his friends. But CommanderBlomsberry could no longer persist, and in spite of the exclamations ofthe worthy Secretary, was obliged to give the order to sail.
On the 29th of December, at nine a.m., the "Susquehanna," heading N.E.,resumed her course to the bay of San Francisco.
It was ten in the morning; the corvette was under half steam, as ifregretting to leave the spot where the catastrophe had taken place, whena sailor, perched on the maintop gallant crosstrees, watching the sea,cried suddenly,--
"A buoy on the lee bow!"
The officers looked in the direction indicated, and by the help oftheir glasses saw that the object signalled had the appearance of oneof those buoys which are used to mark the passages of bays or rivers.But, singularly to say, a flag floating on the wind surmounted its cone,which emerged five or six feet out of water. This buoy shone under therays of the sun as if it had been made of plates of silver. CommanderBlomsberry, J. T. Maston, and the delegates of the Gun Club were mountedon the bridge, examining this object straying at random onthe waves.
All looked with feverish anxiety, but in silence. None dared giveexpression to the thoughts which came to the minds of all.
The corvette approached to within two cables' lengths of the object.
A shudder ran through the whole crew. That flag was the American flag!
At this moment a perfect howling was heard; it was the brave J. T. Mastonwho had just fallen all in a heap. Forgetting on the one hand that hisright arm had been replaced by an iron hook, and on the other that asimple gutta-percha cap covered his brain-box, he had given himself aformidable blow.
They hurried towards him, picked him up, restored him to life. And whatwere his first words?
"Ah! trebly brutes! quadruply idiots! quintuply boobies that we are!"
"What is it?" exclaimed every one around him.
"What is it?"
"Come, speak!"
"It is, simpletons," howled the terrible Secretary, "it is that theprojectile only weighs 19,250 lbs.!"
"Well?"
"And that it displaces twenty-eight tons, or in other words 56,000 lbs.,and that consequently _it floats!_"
Ah! what stress the worthy man laid on the verb "float!" And it wastrue! All, yes! all these savants had forgotten this fundamental law,namely, that on account of its specific lightness, the projectile, afterhaving been drawn by its fall to the greatest depths of the ocean, mustnaturally return to the surface. And now it was floating quietly at themercy of the waves.
The boats were put to sea. J. T. Maston and his friends had rushed intothem! Excitement was at its height! Every heart beat loudly whilst theyadvanced to the projectile. What did it contain? Living or dead? Living,yes! living, at least unless death had struck Barbicane and his twofriends since they had hoisted the flag. Profound silence reigned onthe boats. All were breathless. Eyes no longer saw. One of the scuttlesof the projectile was open. Some pieces of glass remained in the frame,showing that it had been broken. This scuttle was actually five feetabove the water.
A boat came alongside, that of J. T. Maston, and J. T. Maston rushed tothe broken window.
At that moment they heard a clear and merry voice, the voice of MichelArdan, exclaiming in an accent of triumph,--
"White all, Barbicane, white all!"
Barbicane, Michel Ardan, and Nicholl were playing at dominoes!
Illustration: WHITE ALL BARBICANE.
