by Jules Verne
As soon as this storm broke the passengers had, of course, been obliged to keep their cabins, for the deck was swept by tremendous seas. Only Fritz and Frank stayed on deck to lend a hand with the crew.
Captain Gould took the watch at the outset, and the boatswain was at the wheel, while the second and third officers were on duty in the forecastle. The crew were at their posts, ready to obey the captain's orders, for it was a matter of life and death. The slightest mistake in the handling of her, while the seas were breaking over the Flag as she lay half over on the port side, might have meant the end. Every effort must be made to get her up again, and then to trim her sails so as to bring her head on to the squall.
And yet the mistake was made, not deliberately perhaps, for the ship ran the risk of foundering through it, but certainly through some misunderstanding of the captain's orders, of which an officer ought not to have been capable, if he possessed any of the instincts of a sailor.
Robert Borupt, the second officer, alone was to blame. The foretopsail, trimmed at a wrong moment, drove the ship still farther over, and a tremendous lump of water crashed over the taffrail.
"That cursed Borupt wants to sink us!" cried Captain Gould.
"He has done it!" the boatswain answered, trying to shove the tiller to starboard.
The captain leaped to the deck and made his way forward at the risk of being swept back by the water. After a desperate struggle he reached the forecastle.
"Get to your cabin!" he shouted in a voice of wrath to the second officer; "get to your cabin, and stop there!"
Borupt's blunder was so patent that not one of the crew dared to protest, although they were all ready to stand by him if he had given them the word. He obeyed, however, and went back to the poop.
What was possible to do, Captain Gould did. He trimmed all the canvas that the Flag could carry, and succeeded in bringing her up without being obliged to cut away the rigging. The ship no longer lay broadside on to the sea.
For three consecutive days they had run before the storm in constant peril. During almost the whole of that time Susan and Jenny and Dolly were obliged to keep to their cabins, while Fritz, Frank, and James Wolston helped in the various operations.
At last, on the 13th of September, an abatement of the storm came. The wind dropped, and although the sea did not immediately drop too, at last the waves no longer swept the deck of the Flag.
The ladies hurried eagerly out of their cabins. They knew what had taken place between the captain and the second officer, and why the latter had been removed from his post. Robert Borupt's fate would be decided by a naval court when they got back.
There was much damage to the canvas to be made good, and John Block, who was in charge of this work, saw quite clearly that the crew were on the verge of mutiny.
This state of things could not be lost upon Fritz, or Frank, or James Wolston, and it filled them with more uneasiness than the storm had caused them. Captain Gould would not shrink from the severest measures against the mutineers. But was he not too late?
During the following week there was no actual breach of discipline. As the Flag had been carried some hundreds of miles to the east, she had to turn back to the west, in order to get into the longitude of New Switzerland.
On the 20th of September, about ten o'clock, much to the surprise of all, for he had not been released from arrest, Robert Borupt reappeared on the deck.
The passengers, who were all sitting together on the poop, had a presentiment that the situation, grave enough already, was about to become still more grave.
Directly Captain Gould saw the second officer coming forward he went up to him.
"Mr. Borupt," he said, "you are under arrest. What are you doing here! Answer!"
'' I will!'' cried Borupt loudly. ' 'And this is my answer!"
Turning to the crew, he shouted:
"Come on, mates!"
"Hurrah for Borupt!" sang from every part of the ship!
Captain Gould rushed down into his cabin and came back with a pistol in his hand. But he was not given time to use it. A shot, fired by one of the sailors round Borupt, wounded him in the head, and he fell into the boatswain's arms.
Resistance was hopeless against an entire crew of mutineers, headed by the first and second officers. John Block, Fritz, Frank, and James Wolston, drawn up near Captain Gould tried in vain to maintain the struggle. In a moment they were overwhelmed by numbers, and ten sailors hustled them down to the spar-deck with the captain.
Jenny, Dolly, Susan, and the child were shut into their cabins, over which a guard was placed by order of Borupt, now ruler of the ship.
The situation of the prisoners in the semi-darkness of the spar-deck, and of the wounded captain whose head could only be dressed with cold compresses, was a hard one. The boatswain was unfailing in his devotion to the captain.
Fritz and Frank and James Wolston were consumed by appalling anxiety. The three women were at the mercy of the mutineers of the Flag! The men suffered agony from the thought that they were powerless.
Several days passed. Twice a day, morning and evening, the hatch of the spar-deck was opened and the prisoners were given some food. To the questions that John Block asked them, the sailors only replied with brutal threats.
More than once did the boatswain and his companions try to force up the hatch and regain their liberty. But the hatch was guarded day and night, and even if they had succeeded in raising it, overpowering their guards, and getting up on deck, what chance would they have had against the crew, and what would have been the result?
"The brute! The brute!" said Fritz over and over again, as he thought of his wife and Susan and Dolly.
"Yes; the biggest rascal alive!" John Block declared. "If he doesn't swing some day it will be because justice is dead!"
But if the mutineers were to be punished, and their ringleader given the treatment he deserved, a man-of-war must catch and seize the Flag. And Robert Borupt did not commit the blunder of going into waters where ships were numerous, and where he and his gang might have run the risk of being chased. He must have taken the ship far out of her proper course, most probably to the eastward, with the object of getting away alike from ships and the African and Australian shores.
Every day was adding a hundred, or a hundred and fifty, miles to the distance separating the Flag from the meridian of New Switzerland. Captain Gould and the boatswain could tell from the angle at which the ship heeled to port that she was making good speed. The creaking of the mast steps showed that the first officer was cramming on sail. When the Flag arrived in those distant waters of the Pacific Ocean where piracy was practicable, what would become of the prisoners? The mutineers would not be able to keep them; would they maroon them on some desert island? But anything would be better than to remain on board the ship, in the hands of Robert Borupt and his accomplices.
A week had passed since Harry Gould and his friends had been shut up on the spar-deck, without a word about the women. But on the 27th of September, it seemed as if the speed of the three-master had decreased, either because she was becalmed or because she was hove to.
About eight o'clock in the evening a squad of sailors came down to the captives.
These had no choice but to obey the order to follow him which the second officer gave them.
What was going on above? Was their liberty about to be restored to them? Or had a party been formed against Robert Borupt to restore Captain Gould to the command of the Flag?
When they were brought up on to the deck in front of all the crew, they saw Borupt waiting for them at the foot of the mainmast. Fritz and Frank cast a vain glance within the poop, the door of which was open. No lamp or lantern shed a gleam of light within.
But as they came up to the starboard nettings, the boatswain could see the top of a mast rocking against the side of the ship.
Evidently the ship's boat had been lowered to the sea.
Was Borupt preparing, then, to put the captain and his friend
s aboard her and cast them adrift in these waters, abandoning them to all the perils of the sea, without the least idea whether they were near any land?
And the unfortunate women, too, were they to remain on board, exposed to such appalling danger?
At the thought that they would never see them more, Fritz and Frank and James determined to make a last attempt to set them free, though it should end in dying where they stood.
Fritz rushed to the side of the poop, calling Jenny. But he was stopped, as Frank was stopped, and James was stopped before he heard any answer from Susan to his call. They were overpowered at once, and despite resistance were lowered with Captain Gould and John Block over the nettings into the ship's boat, which was fastened alongside the vessel by a knotted cable.
Their surprise and joy—yes, joy!—were inexpressible. The dear ones whom they had called in vain were in the boat already! The women had been lowered down a few minutes before the prisoners had left the spar-deck. They were waiting in mortal terror, not knowing whether their companions were to be cast adrift with them.
It seemed to them that to be reunited was the greatest grace that Heaven could have bestowed on them.
And yet what peril menaced them aboard this boat! Only four bags of biscuit and salt meat had been flung into it, with three casks of fresh water, a few cooking utensils, and a bundle of clothes and blankets taken at random from the cabins—a meagre supply at best.
But they were together! Death alone could separate them henceforward.
They were not given much time to reflect. In a few moments, with the freshening wind, the Flag would be several miles away.
The boatswain had taken his place at the tiller, and Fritz and Frank theirs at the foot of the mast, ready to hoist the sail directly the boat should be free from the shelter of the ship.
Captain Gould had been laid down under the forward deck. Jenny was ministering to him where he lay stretched out on the blankets, for he was unable to stand.
On the Flag the sailors were leaning over the nettings, looking on in silence. Not one of them felt a spark of pity for their victims. Their fierce eyes gleamed in the darkness.
Just at this moment a voice was raised—the voice of Captain Gould, to whom his indignation restored some strength. He struggled to his feet, dragged himself from bench to bench, and half stood up.
"You brutes!" he cried. "You shall not escape man's justice!"
"Nor yet God's justice!" Frank added.
"Cast off!" cried Borupt.
The rope dropped into the water, the boat Was left alone, and the ship disappeared into the darkness of the night.
CHAPTER IV - LAND AHOY!
IT was Frank who had shouted "Land!" in tones of stentorian salutation. Standing erect upon the poop, he had thought he could see vague outlines of a coast through a rift in the fog. So he seized the halyards and scrambled to the masthead where, sitting astride the yard, he kept his eyes fixed steadily in the direction where he had seen it.
Close upon ten minutes passed before he caught another glimpse to the northward. He slid to the foot of the mast.
"You saw the coast?" Fritz asked sharply. "Yes, over there; under the rim of that thick cloud which hides the horizon now."
"Are you sure you were not mistaken, Mr. Frank?" John Block said.
"No, bos'un, no, I was not mistaken! The cloud has spread over the place again now, but the land is behind it. I saw it; I swear I saw it!"
Jenny had just risen and grasped her husband's arm.
"We must believe what Frank says," she declared. "His sight is wonderfully keen. He could not make a mistake."
"I haven't made a mistake," Frank said. "You must all believe me, as Jenny does. I saw a cliff distinctly. It was visible for nearly a minute through a break in the clouds. I couldn't tell whether it ran to the east or the west; but, island or continent, the land is there!"
How could they be sceptical about what Frank declared so positively?
To what land the coast belonged they might learn when the boat had reached it. Anyhow, her passengers, five men, namely Fritz and Frank and James, Captain Gould and the boatswain John Block, and three women, Jenny, Dolly, and Susan, together with the child, would most certainly disembark upon its coast, whatever it might be.
If it offered no resources, if it were uninhabitable, or if the presence of natives made it dangerous, the boat would put to sea again, after revictualing as well as possible.
Captain Gould was immediately informed and, in spite of his weakness and pain, he insisted on being carried to the stern of the boat.
Fritz began to make some comments about the signalled land.
"What is of the most concern to us at the present moment, is its distance from here. Given the height from which it was observed, and also the foggy state of the atmosphere, the distance cannot be more than twelve or fifteen miles."
Captain Gould made a sign of assent, and the boatswain nodded.
"So with a good breeze blowing towards the northward," Fritz went on, "two hours should be enough to take us to it."
"Unfortunately," said Frank, "the breeze is very uncertain, and seems to be inclined to go back. If it doesn't drop altogether I am afraid it may be against us."
"What about the oars?" Fritz rejoined. "Can't we take to the oars, my brother and James, and I, while you take the tiller, bos'un? We could row for several hours."
"Take to the oars!" Gould commanded, in an almost inaudible voice.
It was a pity that the captain was not in a fit state to steer, for, with four of them to row, the crew might have made a better job of it.
Besides, although Fritz and Frank and James were in the full vigour of youth, and the boatswain was a sturdy fellow still, and all were thoroughly hardened to physical exercise, yet they were terribly weakened now by privation and fatigue. A week had passed since they had been cast adrift from the Flag. They had economised their provisions, yet only enough remained to last them for twenty-four hours. On three or four occasions they had caught a few fish by trailing lines behind the boat. A little stove, a little kettle, and a saucepan were all the utensils they possessed, besides their pocket knives. And if this land were no more than a rocky island, if the boat were obliged to resume her painful course for more long days, looking for a continent or an island where existence might be possible— what then?
But all felt hope reviving again. Instead of the boat that was threatened by squalls and tossed about by the waves and half filled by the sea, they would at least feel firm ground under their feet. They would install themselves in some cave to shelter there from bad weather. Perhaps they would find a fertile soil, with edible roots and fruits. And there they would be able to await the passing of a ship, without need to fear hunger or thirst The ship would see their signals, would come to the rescue of the castaways—all that and more they saw through the mirage of hope!
Did the coast thus seen belong to some group of islands situated beyond the Tropic of Capricorn? That was what the boatswain and Fritz discussed in undertones. Jenny and Dolly had resumed their seats in the bottom of the boat, and the little boy was sleeping in Mrs. Wolston's arms. Captain Gould, eaten up with fever, had been carried back under the poop, and Jenny was soaking compresses in cold water to lay upon his head.
Fritz propounded many theories, none of them very encouraging. He was pretty sure that the Flag had sailed a long way to the east during the week after the mutiny. In that case the boat would have been cast adrift in that part of the Indian Ocean where the charts show only a few islands, Amsterdam and Saint Paul, or, farther south, the archipelago of Kerguelen. Yet even in these islands, the former deserted, the latter inhabited, life would be assured, salvation certain, and—who could say?—some day or other they might be able to get home from there.
Besides, if since the 27th of September, the ship's boat had been carried northwards by the breeze from the south, it was just possible that this land was part of the Australian continent. If they got to Hobart T
own, Melbourne, or Adelaide, they would be safe. But if the boat landed in the south-west portion, in King George's Bay or by Cape Leeuwin, a country inhabited by hordes of savages, the position would be more serious. Here at sea there was at least a chance of falling in with a ship bound for Australia or some of the Pacific Islands.
"Anyhow, Jenny," said Fritz to his wife, who had taken his place by her side again, "we must be a long way—hundreds of miles— from New Switzerland."
"No doubt," Jenny answered, "but it is something that land is there! What your family did in your island, and what I did on the Burning Rock, we can do again, can't we?
