Maître du monde. English

by Jules Verne

  Chapter 12

  BLACK ROCK CREEK

  Human nature is prone to illusions. Of course, there had been allalong a probability that the "Terror" had deserted the locality, evenadmitting that it was she Wells had seen the previous day. If somedamage to her triple system of locomotion had prevented her fromregaining either by land or by water her usual hiding-place, andobliged her to seek refuge in Black Rock Creek, what ought we toconclude now upon finding her here no longer? Obviously, that, havingfinished her repairs, she had continued on her way, and was alreadyfar beyond the waters of Lake Erie.

  But probable as this result had been from the first, we had more andmore ignored it as our trip proceeded. We had come to accept as afact that we should meet the "Terror," that we should find heranchored at the base of the rocks where Wells had seen her.

  And now what disappointment! I might even say, what despair! All ourefforts gone for nothing! Even if the "Terror" was still upon thelake, to find her, reach her and capture her, was beyond our power,and it might as well be fully recognized beyond all human power.

  We stood there, Wells and I, completely crushed, while John Hart andNab Walker, no less chagrined, went tramping along the banks of theCreek, seeking any trace that had been left behind.

  Posted there, at the mouth of the Creek, Wells and I exchangedscarcely a word. What need was there of words to enable us tounderstand each other! After our eagerness and our despair, we werenow exhausted. Defeated in our well-planned attempt, we felt asunwilling to abandon our campaign, as we were unable to continue it.

  Nearly an hour slipped by. We could not resolve to leave the place.Our eyes still sought to pierce the night. Sometimes a glimmer, dueto the sparkle of the waters, trembled on the surface of the lake.Then it vanished, and with it the foolish hope that it had roused.Sometimes again, we thought we saw a shadow outlined against thedark, the silhouette of an approaching boat. Yet again some eddieswould swirl up at our feet, as if the Creek had been stirred withinits depths. These vain imaginings were dissipated one after theother. They were but the illusions raised by our strained fancies.

  At length our companions rejoined us. My first question was, "Nothingnew?"

  "Nothing," said John Hart.

  "You have explored both banks of the Creek?"

  "Yes," responded Nab Walker, "as far as the shallow water above; andwe have not seen even a vestige of the things which Mr. Wells sawlaid on the shore."

  "Let us wait awhile," said I, unable to resolve upon a return to thewoods.

  At that moment our attention was caught by a sudden agitation of thewaters, which swelled upward at the foot of the rocks.

  "It is like the swell from a vessel," said Wells.

  "Yes," said I, instinctively lowering my voice. "What has caused it?The wind has completely died out. Does it come from something on thesurface of the lake?"

  "Or from something underneath," said Wells, bending forward, thebetter to determine.

  The commotion certainly seemed as if caused by some boat, whetherfrom beneath the water, or approaching the creek from outside uponthe lake.

  Silent, motionless, we strained eyes and ears to pierce the profoundobscurity. The faint noise of the waves of the lake lapping on theshore beyond the creek, came to us distinctly through the night. JohnHart and Nab Walker drew a little aside upon a higher ridge of rocks.As for me, I leaned close to the water to watch the agitation. It didnot lessen. On the contrary it became momentarily more evident, andI began to distinguish a sort of regular throbbing, like thatproduced by a screw in motion.

  "There is no doubt," declared Wells, leaning close to me, "there is aboat coming toward us."

  "There certainly is," responded I, "unless they have whales or sharksin Lake Erie."

  "No, it is a boat," repeated Wells. "Is she headed toward the mouthof the creek, or is she going further up it?"

  "This is just where you saw the boat twice before?"

  "Yes, just here."

  "Then if this is the same one, and it can be no other, she willprobably return to the same spot."

  "There!" whispered Wells, extending his hand toward the entrance ofthe creek.

  Our companions rejoined us, and all four, crouching low upon thebank, peered in the direction he pointed.

  We vaguely distinguished a black mass moving through the darkness. Itadvanced very slowly and was still outside the creek, upon the lake,perhaps a cable's length to the northeast. We could scarcely heareven now the faint throbbing of its engines. Perhaps they had stoppedand the boat was only gliding forward under their previous impulse.

  It seemed, then, that this was indeed the submarine which Wells hadwatched, and it was returning to pass this night, like the last,within the shelter of the creek.

  Why had it left the anchorage, if only to return? Had it sufferedsome new disaster, which again impaired its power? Or had it beenbefore compelled to leave, with its repairs still unfinished? Whatcause constrained it to return here? Was there some imperious reasonwhy it could no longer be turned into an automobile, and go dartingaway across the roads of Ohio?

  To all these questions which came crowding upon me, I could give noanswer. Furthermore both Wells and I kept reasoning under theassumption that this was really the "Terror" commanded by the "Masterof the World" who had dated from it his letter of defiance to thegovernment. Yet this premise was still unproven, no matter howconfident we might feel of it.

  Whatever boat this was, that stole so softly through the night, itcontinued to approach us. Assuredly its captain must know perfectlythe channels and shores of Black Rock Creek, since he ventured herein such darkness. Not a light showed upon the deck. Not a single rayfrom within the cabin glimmered through any crevice.

  A moment later, we heard some machinery moving very softly. The swellof the eddies grew stronger, and in a few moments the boat touchedthe quay.

  This word "quay," only used in that region, exactly describes thespot. The rocks at our feet formed a level, five or six feet abovethe water, and descending to it perpendicularly, exactly like alanding wharf.

  "We must not stop here," whispered Wells, seizing me by the arm.

  "No," I answered, "they might see us. We must lie crouched upon thebeach! Or we might hide in some crevice of the rocks."

  "We will follow you."

  There was not a moment to lose. The dark mass was now close at hand,and on its deck, but slightly raised above the surface of the water,we could trace the silhouettes of two men.

  Were there, then, really only two on board?

  We stole softly back to where the ravines rose toward the woodsabove. Several niches in the rocks were at hand. Wells and I croucheddown in one, my two assistants in another. If the men on the "Terror"landed, they could not see us; but we could see them, and would beable to act as opportunity offered.

  There were some slight noises from the boat, a few words exchanged inour own language. It was evident that the vessel was preparing toanchor. Then almost instantly, a rope was thrown out, exactly on thepoint of the quay where we had stood.

  Leaning forward, Wells could discern that the rope was seized by oneof the mariners, who had leaped ashore. Then we heard agrappling-iron scrape along the ground.

  Some moments later, steps crunched upon the sand. Two men came up theravine, and went onward toward the edge of the woods, guiding theirsteps by a ship lantern.

  Where were they going? Was Black Rock Creek a regular hiding place ofthe "Terror?" Had her commander a depot here for stores orprovisions? Did they come here to restock their craft, when the whimof their wild voyaging brought them to this part of the continent?Did they know this deserted, uninhabited spot so well, that they hadno fear of ever being discovered here?

  "What shall we do?" whispered Wells.

  "Wait till they return, and then--" My words were cut short by asurprise. The men were not thirty feet from us, when, one of themchancing to turn suddenly, the light of their lantern fell full uponhis face.

  He was one o
f the two men who had watched before my house in LongStreet! I could not be mistaken! I recognized him as positively as myold servant had done. It was he; it was assuredly one of the spies ofwhom I had never been able to find any further traces! There was nolonger any doubt, my warning letter had come from them. It wastherefore from the "Master of the World"; it had been written fromthe "Terror" and this was the "Terror." Once more I asked myself whatcould be the connection between this machine and the Great Eyrie!

  In whispered words, I told Wells of my discovery. His only commentwas, "It is all incomprehensible!"

  Meanwhile the two men had continued on their way to the woods, andwere gathering sticks beneath the trees. "What if they discover ourencampment?" murmured Wells.

  "No danger, if they do not go beyond the nearest trees."

  "But if they do discover it?"

  "They will hurry back to their boat, and we shall be able to cut offtheir retreat."

  Toward the creek, where their craft lay, there was no further sound.I left my hiding-place; I descended the ravine to the quay; I stoodon the very spot where the grappling-iron was fast among the rocks.

  The "Terror" lay there, quiet at the end of its cable. Not a lightwas on board; not a person visible, either on the deck, or on thebank. Was not this my opportunity? Should I leap on board and thereawait the return of the two men?

  "Mr. Strock!" It was Wells, who called to me softly from close athand.

  I drew back in all haste and crouched down beside him. Was it toolate to take possession of the boat? Or would the attempt perhapsresult in disaster from the presence of others watching on board?

  At any rate, the two men with the lantern were close at handreturning down the ravine. Plainly they suspected nothing. Eachcarrying a bundle of wood, they came forward and stopped upon thequay.

  Then one of them raised his voice, though not loudly. "Hullo!Captain!"

  "All right," answered a voice from the boat.

  Wells murmured in my ear, "There are three!"

  "Perhaps four," I answered, "perhaps five or six!"

  The situation grew more complicated. Against a crew so numerous, whatought we to do? The least imprudence might cost us dear! Now that thetwo men had returned, would they re-embark with their faggots? Thenwould the boat leave the creek, or would it remain anchored untilday? If it withdrew, would it not be lost to us? It could leave thewaters of Lake Erie, and cross any of the neighboring states by land;or it could retrace its road by the Detroit River which would lead itto Lake Huron and the Great Lakes above. Would such an opportunity asthis, in the narrow waters of Black Rock Creek, ever occur again!

  "At least," said I to Wells, "we are four. They do not expect attack;they will be surprised. The result is in the hands of Providence."

  I was about to call our two men, when Wells again seized my arm."Listen!" said he.

  One of the men hailed the boat, and it drew close up to the rocks. Weheard the Captain say to the two men ashore, "Everything is allright, up there?"

  "Everything, Captain."

  "There are still two bundles of wood left there?"

  "Two."

  "Then one more trip will bring them all on board the 'Terror.'"

  The "Terror!" It WAS she!

  "Yes; just one more trip," answered one of the men.

  "Good; then we will start off again at daybreak."

  Were there then but three of them on board? The Captain, this Masterof the World, and these two men?

  Evidently they planned to take aboard the last of their wood. Thenthey would withdraw within their machine, and go to sleep. Would notthat be the time to surprise them, before they could defendthemselves?

  Rather than to attempt to reach and capture the ship in face of thisresolute Captain who was guarding it, Wells and I agreed that it wasbetter to let his men return unassailed, and wait till they were allasleep.

  It was now half an hour after ten. Steps were once more heard uponthe shore. The man with a lantern and his companion, again remountedthe ravine toward the woods. When they were safely beyond hearing,Wells went to warn our men, while I stole forward again to the veryedge of the water.

  The "Terror" lay at the end of a short cable. As well as I couldjudge, she was long and slim, shaped like a spindle, without chimney,without masts, without rigging, such a shape as had been describedwhen she was seen on the coast of New England.

  I returned to my place, with my men in the shelter of the ravine; andwe looked to our revolvers, which might well prove of service.

  Five minutes had passed since the men reached the woods, and weexpected their return at any moment. After that, we must wait atleast an hour before we made our attack; so that both the Captain andhis comrades might be deep in sleep. It was important that theyshould have not a moment either to send their craft darting out uponthe waters of Lake Erie, or to plunge it beneath the waves where wewould have been entrapped with it.

  In all my career I have never felt such impatience. It seemed to methat the two men must have been detained in the woods. Something hadbarred their return.

  Suddenly a loud noise was heard, the tumult of run-away horses,galloping furiously along the shore!

  They were our own, which, frightened, and perhaps neglected by thedriver, had broken away from the clearing, and now came rushing alongthe bank.

  At the same moment, the two men reappeared, and this time they wererunning with all speed. Doubtless they had discovered our encampment,and had at once suspected that there were police hidden in the woods.They realized that they were watched, they were followed, they wouldbe seized. So they dashed recklessly down the ravine, and afterloosening the cable, they would doubtless endeavor to leap aboard.The "Terror" would disappear with the speed of a meteor, and ourattempt would be wholly defeated!

  "Forward," I cried. And we scrambled down the sides of the ravine tocut off the retreat of the two men.

  They saw us and, on the instant, throwing down their bundles, firedat us with revolvers, hitting John Hart in the leg.

  We fired in our turn, but less successfully. The men neither fell norfaltered in their course. Reaching the edge of the creek, withoutstopping to unloose the cable, they plunged overboard, and in amoment were clinging to the deck of the "Terror."

  Their captain, springing forward, revolver in hand, fired. The ballgrazed Wells.

  Nab Walker and I seizing the cable, pulled the black mass of the boattoward shore. Could they cut the rope in time to escape us?

  Suddenly the grappling-iron was torn violently from the rocks. One ofits hooks caught in my belt, while Walker was knocked down by theflying cable. I was entangled by the iron and the rope and draggedforward--

  The "Terror," driven by all the power of her engines, made a singlebound and darted out across Black Rock Creek.