“What is happening?” the doctor asked Buldeo. “It seems to me that these gentlemen are making a great deal of noise.”
“They have been told that the Irishman is to visit them,” replied Buldeo. “There are lots of ‘ Good evenings from Captain Hyx’ in the air. Have you read the latest official bulletin on board since the receipt of the despatches from Cadiz? Here, Monsieur, take the bulletin out of my coat pocket. You can see that my hands are full.... They are drinking and singing. What do you expect, it gives them courage. And up to the last moment each tries to show himself stronger than the other, and each tries to astonish the other, in the hope that such an exhibition of courage might be reckoned in his favour at the expense of those who are already shuddering to the very marrow, and cannot hold a glass without quaking. It’s all part of the scheme. Not forgetting that Von Busch and Von Freemann already know where they stand.”
“I thought that they were complete hostages,” interposed the doctor.
“Yes, but their letters to Germany were received at their destination too late. The persons for whom they were to answer with their lives were already dead. So you see the position... Messieurs, your humble servant.”
I saw the position. Buldeo no longer stood on ceremony with me, but talked freely about everything now that he fancied that I was a fixture on this infernal vessel.
We went back to my room, and although the door was closed we could still hear shouts of hoch, hoch in the distance, and I was sick at heart... sick at heart.
“Here’s something that will cheer you up,” said the doctor, shaking his head and skimming through the bulletin which he had taken from Buldeo’s pocket.
It was a double sheet of paper typewritten in small characters and headed:
Bulletin issued on Board the Vengeance for the night of —
New Official Intelligence.
The Germans in Belgium.
Interview with the Head of the Department of the Ministry of Justice, Carton de Wiart. By our special correspondent at Havre.
“Monsieur the Head of the Department of the Ministry of Justice has been good enough to place at our disposal a number of reports, some of which are still unpublished, but which contain facts as authentic as those recorded in previous documents.
“In order to give an exact idea of the sufferings of the unfortunate Belgians,” said the Head of the Department, “ I will read you the latest information which has reached us. This does not refer to the great massacres at Dinant, Louvain, Termonde, Aerschoot, Malines and other towns; atrocities which are universally known and even admitted since Germany has called them ‘tragic errors.’ The reports deal with the small village of Schaffen, where, under the usual pretext that civilians had fired on German troops, twenty-three victims soon fell to the invader. Two men were buried alive, one notary’s clerk was burnt alive, and two hundred houses were burnt down.
“The vicar of the village was arrested, taken into the vicarage garden, and struck repeatedly with the butt-end of a rifle. The German soldiers gathered round him, insulted and jeered at him, and threatened him with death. Moreover, at Schaffen they forced the civilian prisoners to enter the burgomaster’s house which was in flames.
“By extraordinary good fortune the vicar was released, but not before a soldier had brandished a bayonet in front of him, and other soldiers, while the vicar was walking the two hundred and fifty steps to his house, thrashed him unmercifully with a horsewhip at intervals of ten yards.
“A man named Bucher, a friend of the vicar, was killed by blows from a rifle because he could not walk any further owing to sufferings caused by ill-treatment.
“It is everywhere the same. Atrocities which nothing can justify have been committed in Belgium. Towns have been destroyed without reason; women and children have been mutilated with incredible brutality. We have seen photographs of these things.”
The bulletin ended with the following words which were typewritten in red:
“In view of our correspondent’s letter describing the work carried out by the Germans at Schaffen, and seeing that this work has not been paid for by any value in exchange; seeing that this anomalous state of affairs cannot be permitted to continue without scandal and without danger to the work undertaken by the Vengeance, the Director of this work is under the painful necessity of informing the prisoners of war that four of the most important of them will be chosen before dawn to pay our debt, at an early date, and thus restore the ‘ balance’ in the new account that we have been obliged to open in our books for the little town of Schaffen.”
“What do you say to that?” inquired the doctor, when I finished reading the paper and, with trembling hands, gave it back to him. But I had no time to reply at that moment. A small body of men appeared in the alley-way. My curiosity was too keen for me to resist the acute and unwholesome longing to see things even when they inspired me with horror.
We no longer heard in the distance any noise, or shouts of hoch or hurrah.
A picket of sailors with fixed bayonets silently marched past, and in the middle of them were Red-face von Busch and Green-face von Freemann. The former was redder than ever, and the latter was as green as an over-ripe gorgonzola. Then came four persons, ashen-grey in the face, who had dined not far from my table on the famous occasion when Professor Ulrich von Hahn used his tongue for the last time to deliver so fine an oration.
Behind the file of condemned men I perceived the sinister figure of the Irishman, the Man with the lifeless eyes.
“Ah,” I exclaimed, “this man is present at every festivity.” And I could not help rushing up to him and asking:
“Are you leading them to their deaths?... It’s death for them, I suppose?”
“If you are inquisitive you may come with us.... You will know as much about it as they.... We have nothing to hide from any one.”
“It’s awful,” I cried. But he disappeared with a hideous laugh round the bend of the alley-way. And I returned to my room.
“I’ll go... I’ll go,” I said to the doctor. “That’s settled... that’s definitely settled.... Perhaps the lives of all the others depend upon me.”
“That’s saying a great deal,” returned the doctor with a calmness which struck a chill into me.
“I’ll go... even if it is only to avoid seeing and hearing that awful Irishman again.”
“He is certainly the most relentless of all,” admitted Mederic Eristal.
“Why? Do you know?”
“Yes, there’s no secret about it.”
“His wife, children, father and mother have, I presume, been killed....”
“Guess again.”
“What do you mean... Guess again?”
“I say: better than that. I know him well. It was I who told Captain Hyx about him at the time when the Captain was looking for an assistant ‘equal to the job.’ I said to him: ‘You can rely on this man. He will be merciless, and he will put you in the right path should you, by chance, show any weakening.’
“‘ That’s just the very sort of man I want,’ replied the Captain. ‘A man who would not hesitate to kill me if I spared them.’ And he engaged him; the transaction was completed then and there.”
“Anyway,’’ I interrupted, “will you tell me what the Huns did to him?”
“Oh, yes, certainly. Here’s a person who, at the age of six, was abandoned by his mother because he was so unsightly; a man who has never been able to marry for the same sufficient reason, in addition to the fact that he hasn’t a cent; in short, an outcast as they say. A poor fellow brought up on tears, with a heart empty of love, but whose heart was suddenly filled, some years before the war, with an immense affection for a tiny dog; the only creature on earth who did not find him ugly and was devoted to him.
“He would have given the world and a good many other planets — the entire solar system with the joys of paradise into the bargain — for love of that dog.... The Prussians killed the dog.... Do you follow me?... Just for the fun of the thi
ng.... A big Pomeranian joker passing through Ostend where the Irishman, who was captain of a fishing-boat, had retired, took his little dog away on the point of a bayonet. So the Irishman is here to be revenged. Now do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“But what’s the matter with you? Why are you looking so fierce? What are you trying to find in that cupboard?”
“My disguise so as to escape. To get away.... Anything as long as I get away.”
“Very well. But don’t forget that besides that uniform there’s the diver’s dress.”
“I know.... Let me get away.”
“So you’ve come to your senses. I assure you that there’s no danger if you are dressed as a diver.”
“What does it matter? Oh, what do I care.... The bottom of the sea or by any way you like.... Let me get away.”
CHAPTER XXIX
THE BEGINNING OF MY ESCAPE
FIVE MINUTES LATER I was wearing a sailor’s uniform.
Mederic Eristal gazed at me for some moments in silence, as if he were thinking deeply, as usual, and I heard him rattle the keys in his pocket. He frowned and finally condescended to speak:
“Do you know,” he said, “that what we are attempting to do is a very serious matter?”
I at once felt an instinctive misgiving that this man, with his usual vacillation, would go back on himself on the one occasion when he had come to a decision, and refuse to lend a hand to my escape at the very moment when I had decided to attempt it. And I was not entirely wrong, perhaps, in dreading some occurrence of this sort, for with knitted brows he continued to turn over the keys in his pocket. He was obviously weighing the “for” and “against” in the perpetually disturbed balance of his poor brain; the brain of a man of science who no longer believed either in God, or in science, since his daughter had suffered martyrdom.
“Let’s go... Let’s go,” I exclaimed in a frenzy. “The ‘middy’ is probably waiting for me now.”
“It’s all very well to say ‘Let’s go, let’s go.’ But at this moment, this decisive moment, I am asking myself, if I may, for the last time, whether I am right or wrong....”
“You are right,” I declared with the conviction of despair.
“Listen to me,” he replied with a sigh. “I want you to take your oath, that you won’t show any curiosity as to what is, or what may happen in the Cies Islands.”
“What Cies Islands?” I asked, somewhat nonplussed.
“You’re a fine traveller... a fine traveller!” he grinned, making a great to-do with his bunch of keys. “ Monsieur has put into Vigo, but he doesn’t know what the Cies Islands are.... Well, my dear fellow, always try to know nothing about them; that’s the best thing you can do. Or rather, do your utmost to know as little about them as possible. That’s all I ask you, on the head of your relatives or your own, and on the head of Frau von Treischke, who is certainly dearer to you than all the others put together, for I should have faith in the oath of a lover of your sort, a lover from pure sentiment, in other words, the finest sort of all.”
I might have wondered if he were not making fun of me, but I could see that he was far too engrossed to trouble his head about a miserable pleasantry.
“I must tell you,” he said, “that you are going to land on one of the Cies Islands by the bottom of the sea... Insula Siccae as the ancients called them.
They form a group of wild, desert specks lost in the sea, in the vicinity of the roadstead at Vigo. They are as forsaken, believe me, as the Desertas off Madeira. Well, you’ll do me the kindness, I hope, my dear fellow, not to trouble yourself about which of these islands you will land on. That’s not my secret; it’s the owner’s secret. The owner is entitled to do what he likes with his own. That’s the jus abutendi. He has the right to use or abuse his own property. It’s no business of ours. He can transform the island into the Place de la Concorde if he likes. Who is to find fault with him? But I assure you that, even if you were to see Cleopatra’s Needle in the Cies Islands, it would be better for you not to notice it. Understand?”
“I understand,” I hastened to reply, greatly impressed by the doctor’s strange language.
I suddenly remembered Mederic Eristal’s allusion to certain islands in which the Germans had intended to establish secret submarine bases, but which they had been obliged to abandon because “others” had forestalled them. It was easy to imagine that the doctor was referring to these very Cies Islands, and his meaning was no longer a mystery to me. Captain Hyx must have bought or leased the islands and made them his headquarters, a secret port for the Vengeance. And thus I found it quite natural for Mederic Eristal to ask me to keep my eyes shut, as far as possible, when I landed at a spot which was so “guarded”; and to exact from me an oath to show myself afterwards, as far as this place was concerned, as “ guarded” as the place itself.
“I understand you so well,” I went on, “ that I see no difficulty in taking the oath that you want from me, on the head of any person you please. And now, doctor, since you are reassured on that point, let’s get away.”
“Hm... I really believe that we can go now,” replied the doctor, “ but seeing that we still have another five minutes to spare, perhaps you won’t consider it beside the point if I explain to you exactly how things are going to be managed.... Immediately you reach the island, the ‘middy’ will himself have the goodness to set you free from your diving suit, and he will give you the pass-word. Thanks to this pass-word you will be able to cross the island quickly without hindrance, but, as far as possible, don’t look either to the right or to the left. Then you will reach a small harbour of no consequence which is called La Espuma, where you will find a wretched little fishing boat belonging to a poor fisherman. Not far from the boat you will see, perched on a rock, a solitary hut. You must go up to the window, knock five times, and the door will be opened. You will give the pass-word. And you will have nothing else to trouble yourself about.
“Whatever you do, don’t ask any questions. A poor fisherman will come out of his hut, and you will board his boat. He will hoist sail, and off you’ll go to Vigo! You needn’t worry yourself if the wind is not propitious. The poor fisherman has a petrol motor in his wretched little boat which is provided with a small propeller under the rudder. There you are! So you may be easy in your mind. The affair is not, after all, so complicated as it appeared to be. And now go ahead and pluck up your spirits.”
We left the room and the alley-way of the white prison without incident. The sentry at the entrance did not ask any questions as the doctor and his companion passed through. The latter was wearing the uniform of a sailor of the Vengeance, and a cap carefully pulled over his left eye concealed a good third of his profile.
My heart was beating like the clapper of a bell, and yet I was scarcely at the beginning of the enterprise. Nevertheless I felt myself full of courage and determination to carry it through. During the next five minutes we threaded our way through the unguarded and deserted passages, and then the doctor came to a stand. He held out his hand and said: “And now good-bye and good luck.”
“What do you say? Good-bye and good luck! Surely you’re not going to leave me in the lurch like this.”
“Yes, yes. We’ve come to the end of the programme as far as I am concerned. The rest is no affair of mine. As if I haven’t done enough in the matter already!... Excuse me.” And he turned quickly on his heels; but I caught hold of him by the coat. I was incensed.
“What!... Aren’t you going to take me to the ‘ middy’?”
“You’ll find the ‘middy’ in the divers’ dressing-room.
.. It’s quite enough for me to be seen coming out of the prison at the same time as a sailor. But I shall certainly say that I didn’t know you and didn’t pay any attention to you. And be careful not to contradict me on that point, no matter what occurs.”
I could have strangled him. This man thought only of himself, of his own fears, of his own responsibility. Having done what he had don
e, which was honourable, he did not mean to run the risk of being reproached for his treason by the man whom he had betrayed, his friend with the golden heart and the velvet mask. It was disgusting, disgusting.
“Well,” I said, controlling my anger, “at least tell me how I am to get to the dressing-room.... The exact way. Otherwise I am done for. Without offence, doctor, you might lengthen the programme, as far as you are concerned, a little bit.”
He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, and then gave me very clearly his last directions:
“When you reach the dressing-room you must proceed to put on the diving suit, taking the last one on the starboard side without troubling yourself about any one else.”
“I don’t know how, I don’t know how.”
But he rushed away as if the devil were on his heels.
It behoved me now to act with promptitude and understanding so as to prevent such harm as the doctor’s cowardice might entail. If the other accomplices were reckoning solely on him to help me on with the diving suit, my adventure would seem to be singularly dangerous, and might quickly become tragic.
My state of uncertainty did not last long, for in the alley-way where the doctor left me, I heard certain sounds of suffering which at first crept up to me by stealth and then suddenly reached me in gusts. Thus I was in the most sensitive part of the vessel; the part which was nearly always vibrating with emotion, wherein was performed the sanguinary rites of that monstrous religion of retaliation which Captain Hyx was promulgating in the depths of the sea for the supposed salvation of humanity. Those outcries gave me renewed courage to escape. To escape! What were the mysteries of the ancient Temple compared to those of this submarine temple? True, there was useless terror in those olden times, but it was pure artistic terror compared to Captain Hyx’s hideous useful terror. For myself, an affrighted intruder, dismayed to have seen those sacred books of accounts in the recess of the tabernacle, I prayed to my own God to guide my footsteps, without faltering, to the divers’ compartment.
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 355
