by Jules Verne
CHAPTER VI.
ON DECK.
Here I am in the open air, breathing freely once more. I have at lastbeen hauled out of that stifling box and taken on deck. I gaze aroundme in every direction and see no sign of land. On every hand is thatcircular line which defines earth and sky. No, there is not even aspeck of land to be seen to the west, where the coast of North Americaextends for thousands of miles.
The setting sun now throws but slanting rays upon the bosom of theocean. It must be about six o'clock in the evening. I take out mywatch and it marks thirteen minutes past six.
As I have already mentioned, I waited for the door of my prison toopen, thoroughly resolved not to fall asleep again, but to spring uponthe first person who entered and force him to answer my questions. Iwas not aware then that it was day, but it was, and hour after hourpassed and no one came. I began to suffer again from hunger andthirst, for I had not preserved either bite or sup.
As soon as I awoke I felt that the ship was in motion again, afterhaving, I calculated, remained stationary since the previous day--nodoubt in some lonely creek, since I had not heard or felt her come toanchor.
A few minutes ago--it must therefore have been six o'clock--I againheard footsteps on the other side of the iron wall of my compartment.Was anybody coming to my cell? Yes, for I heard the creaking of thebolts as they were drawn back, and then the door opened, and thedarkness in which I had been plunged since the first hour of mycaptivity was illumined by the light of a lantern.
Two men, whom I had no time to look at, entered and seized me by thearms. A thick cloth was thrown over my head, which was enveloped insuch a manner that I could see absolutely nothing.
What did it all mean? What were they going to do with me? I struggled,but they held me in an iron grasp. I questioned them, but they madeno reply. The men spoke to each other in a language that I could notunderstand, and had never heard before.
They stood upon no ceremony with me. It is true I was only a madhousewarder, and they probably did not consider it necessary to do so; butI question very much whether Simon Hart, the engineer, would havereceived any more courtesy at their hands.
This time, however, no attempt was made to gag me nor to bind eithermy arms or legs. I was simply restrained by main force from breakingaway from them.
In a moment I was dragged out of the compartment and pushed along anarrow passage. Next, the steps of a metallic stairway resounded underour feet. Then the fresh air blew in my face and I inhaled it withavidity.
Finally they took their hands from off me, and I found myself free. Iimmediately tore the cloth off my head and gazed about me.
I am on board a schooner which is ripping through the water at a greatrate and leaving a long white trail behind her.
I had to clutch at one of the stays for support, dazzled as I wasby the light after my forty-eight hours' imprisonment in completeobscurity.
On the deck a dozen men with rough, weather-beaten faces come andgo--very dissimilar types of men, to whom it would be impossible toattribute any particular nationality. They scarcely take any notice ofme.
As to the schooner, I estimate that she registers from two hundred andfifty to three hundred tons. She has a fairly wide beam, her masts arestrong and lofty, and her large spread of canvas must carry her alongat a spanking rate in a good breeze.
Aft, a grizzly-faced man is at the wheel, and he is keeping her headto the sea that is running pretty high.
I try to find out the name of the vessel, but it is not to be seenanywhere, even on the life-buoys.
I walk up to one of the sailors and inquire:
"What is the name of this ship?"
No answer, and I fancy the man does not understand me.
"Where is the captain?" I continue.
But the sailor pays no more heed to this than he did to the previousquestion.
I turn on my heel and go forward.
Above the forward hatchway a bell is suspended. Maybe the name of theschooner is engraved upon it. I examine it, but can find no name uponit.
I then return to the stern and address the man at the wheel. He gazesat me sourly, shrugs his shoulders, and bending, grasps the spokes ofthe wheel solidly, and brings the schooner, which had been headed offby a large wave from port, stem on to sea again.
Seeing that nothing is to be got from that quarter, I turn away andlook about to see if I can find Thomas Roch, but I do not perceivehim anywhere. Is he not on board? He must be. They could have had noreason for carrying me off alone. No one could have had any ideathat I was Simon Hart, the engineer, and even had they known it whatinterest could they have had in me, and what could they expect of me?
Therefore, as Roch is not on deck, I conclude that he is locked in oneof the cabins, and trust he has met with better treatment than hisex-guardian.
But what is this--and how on earth could I have failed to notice itbefore? How is this schooner moving? Her sails are furled--there isnot an inch of canvas set--the wind has fallen, and the few puffs thatoccasionally come from the east are unfavorable, in view of the factthat we are going in that very direction. And yet the schooner speedsthrough the sea, her bows down, throwing off clouds of foam, andleaving a long, milky, undulating trail in her wake.
Is she a steam-yacht? No--there is not a smokestack about her. Is shepropelled by electricity--by a battery of accumulators, or by piles ofgreat power that work her screw and send her along at this rate?
I can come to no other conclusion. In any case she must be fitted witha screw, and by leaning over the stern I shall be able to see it, andcan find out what sets it working afterwards.
The man at the wheel watches me ironically as I approach, but makes noeffort to prevent me from looking over.
I gaze long and earnestly, but there is no foaming and seething ofthe water such as is invariably caused by the revolutions of thescrew--naught but the long white furrow that a sailing vessel leavesbehind is discernible in the schooner's wake.
Then, what kind of a machine is it that imparts such a marvellousspeed to the vessel? As I have already said, the wind is against her,and there is a heavy swell on.
I must--I will know. No one pays the slightest attention, and I againgo forward.
As I approach the forecastle I find myself face to face with a man whois leaning nonchalantly on the raised hatchway and who is watching me.He seems to be waiting for me to speak to him.
I recognize him instantly. He is the person who accompanied the Countd'Artigas during the latter's visit to Healthful House. There can beno mistake--it is he right enough.
It was, then, that rich foreigner who abducted Thomas Roch, and I amon board the _Ebba_ his schooner-yacht which is so well known on theAmerican coast!
The man before me will enlighten me about what I want to know. Iremember that he and the Count spoke English together.
I take him to be the captain of the schooner.
"Captain," I say, "you are the person I saw at Healthful House. Youremember me, of course?"
He looks me up and down but does not condescend to reply.
"I am Warder Gaydon, the attendant of Thomas Roch," I continue, "and Iwant to know why you have carried me off and placed me on board thisschooner?"
The captain interrupts me with a sign. It is not made to me, however,but to some sailors standing near.
They catch me by the arms, and taking no notice of the angry movementthat I cannot restrain, bundle me down the hatchway. The hatchwaystair in reality, I remark, is a perpendicular iron ladder, at thebottom of which, to right and left, are some cabins, and forward, themen's quarters.
Are they going to put me back in my dark prison at the bottom of thehold?
No. They turn to the left and push me into a cabin. It is lighted bya port-hole, which is open, and through which the fresh air comes ingusts from the briny. The furniture consists of a bunk, a chair, achest of drawers, a wash-hand-stand and a table.
The latter is spread for dinner, and I sit down. Then the cook'
s matecomes in with two or three dishes. He is a colored lad, and as he isabout to withdraw, I try to question him, but he, too, vouchsafes noreply. Perhaps he doesn't understand me.
The door is closed, and I fall to and eat with an excellent appetite,with the intention of putting off all further questioning till somefuture occasion when I shall stand a chance of getting answered.
It is true I am a prisoner, but this time I am comfortable enough, andI hope I shall be permitted to occupy this cabin for the remainder ofthe voyage, and not be lowered into that black hole again.
I now give myself up to my thoughts, the first of which is that it wasthe Count d'Artigas who planned the abduction; that it was he who isresponsible for the kidnapping of Thomas Roch, and that consequentlythe French inventor must be just as comfortably installed somewhere onboard the schooner.
But who is this Count d'Artigas? Where does he hail from? If he hasseized Thomas Roch, is it not because he is determined to secure thesecret of the fulgurator at no matter what cost? Very likely, and Imust therefore be careful not to betray my identity, for if they knewthe truth, I should never be afforded a chance to get away.
But what a lot of mysteries to clear up, how many inexplicable thingsto explain--the origin of this d'Artigas, his intentions as to thefuture, whither we are bound, the port to which the schooner belongs,and this mysterious progress through the water without sails andwithout screws, at a speed of at least ten knots an hour!
The air becoming keener as night deepens, I close and secure theport-hole, and as my cabin is bolted on the outside, the best thing Ican do is to get into my bunk and let myself be gently rocked to sleepby the broad Atlantic in this mysterious cradle, the _Ebba_.
The next morning I rise at daybreak, and having performed myablutions, dress myself and wait.
Presently the idea of trying the door occurs to me. I find that it hasbeen unbolted, and pushing it open, climb the iron ladder and emergeon deck.
The crew are washing down the deck, and standing aft and conversingare two men, one of whom is the captain. The latter manifests nosurprise at seeing me, and indicates my presence to his companion by anod.
This other man, whom I have never before seen, is an individual ofabout fifty years of age, whose dark hair is streaked with gray.His features are delicately chiselled, his eyes are bright, and hisexpression is intelligent and not at all displeasing. He is somewhatof the Grecian type, and I have no doubt that he is of Hellenic originwhen I hear him called Serko--Engineer Serko--by the Captain of the_Ebba_.
As to the latter, he is called Spade--Captain Spade--and this name hasan Italian twang about it. Thus there is a Greek, an Italian, and acrew recruited from every corner of the earth to man a schooner with aNorwegian name! This mixture strikes me as being suspicious.
And that Count d'Artigas, with his Spanish name and Asiatic type,where does he come from?
Captain Spade and Engineer Serko continue to converse in a low tone ofvoice. The former is keeping a sharp eye on the man at the wheel, whodoes not appear to pay any particular attention to the compass infront of him. He seems to pay more heed to the gestures of one of thesailors stationed forward, and who signals to him to put the helm toport or to starboard.
Thomas Roch is near them, gazing vacantly out upon the vast expansewhich is not limited on the horizon by a single speck of land. Twosailors watch his every movement. It is evidently feared that themadman may possibly attempt to jump overboard.
I wonder whether I shall be permitted to communicate with my ward.
I walk towards him, and Captain Spade and Engineer Serko watch me.
Thomas Roch doesn't see me coming, and I stand beside him. Still hetakes no notice of me, and makes no movement. His eyes, which sparklebrightly, wander over the ocean, and he draws in deep breaths of thesalt, vivifying atmosphere. Added to the air surcharged with oxygen isa magnificent sunset in a cloudless sky. Does he perceive the changein his situation? Has he already forgotten about Healthful House, thepavilion in which he was a prisoner, and Gaydon, his keeper? It ishighly probable. The past has presumably been effaced from his memoryand he lives solely in the present.
In my opinion, even on the deck of the _Ebba_, in the middle of thesea, Thomas Roch is still the helpless, irresponsible man whom Itended for fifteen months. His intellectual condition has undergone nochange, and his reason will return only when he is spoken to abouthis inventions. The Count d'Artigas is perfectly aware of this mentaldisposition, having had a proof of it during his visit, and heevidently relies thereon to surprise sooner or later the inventor'ssecret. But with what object?
"Thomas Roch!" I exclaim.
My voice seems to strike him, and after gazing at me fixedly for aninstant he averts his eyes quickly.
I take his hand and press it. He withdraws it brusquely and walksaway, without having recognized me, in the direction of Captain Spadeand Engineer Serko.
Does he think of speaking to one or other of these men, and if theyspeak to him will he be more reasonable than he was with me, and replyto them?
At this moment his physiognomy lights up with a gleam of intelligence.His attention, obviously, has been attracted by the queer progressof the schooner. He gazes at the masts and the furled sails. Then heturns back and stops at the place where, if the _Ebba_ were a steamer,the funnel ought to be, and which in this case ought to be belchingforth a cloud of black smoke.
What appeared so strange to me evidently strikes Thomas Roch as beingstrange, too. He cannot explain what I found inexplicable, and, as Idid, he walks aft to see if there is a screw.
On the flanks of the _Ebba_ a shoal of porpoises are sporting.Swift as is the schooner's course they easily pass her, leaping andgambolling in their native element with surprising grace and agility.
Thomas Roch pays no attention to them, but leans over the stern.
Engineer Serko and Captain Spade, fearful lest he should falloverboard, hurry to him and drag him gently, but firmly, away.
I observe from long experience that Roch is a prey to violentexcitement. He turns about and gesticulates, uttering incoherentphrases the while.
It is plain to me that another fit is coming on, similar to the one hehad in the pavilion of Healthful House on the night we were abducted.He will have to be seized and carried down to his cabin, and I shallperhaps be summoned to attend to him.
Meanwhile Engineer Serko and Captain Spade do not lose sight of himfor a moment. They are evidently curious to see what he will do.
After walking towards the mainmast and assuring himself that the sailsare not set, he goes up to it and flinging his arms around it, trieswith all his might to shake it, as though seeking to pull it down.
Finding his efforts futile, he quits it and goes to the foremast,where the same performance is gone through. He waxes more and moreexcited. His vague utterances are followed by inarticulate cries.
Suddenly he rushes to the port stays and clings to them, and Ibegin to fear that he will leap into the rigging and climb to thecross-tree, where he might be precipitated into the sea by a lurch ofthe ship.
On a sign from Captain Spade, some sailors run up and try to make himrelinquish his grasp of the stays, but are unable to do so. I knowthat during his fits he is endowed with the strength of ten men, andmany a time I have been compelled to summon assistance in order tooverpower him.
Other members of the crew, however, come up, and the unhappy madman isborne to the deck, where two big sailors hold him down, despite hisextraordinary strength.
The only thing to do is to convey him to his cabin, and let himlie there till he gets over his fit. This is what will be done inconformity with orders given by a new-comer whose voice seems familiarto me.
I turn and recognize him.
He is the Count d'Artigas, with a frown on his face and an imperiousmanner, just as I had seen him at Healthful House.
I at once advance toward him. I want an explanation and mean to haveit.
"By what right, sir?"--I begin.
Then he turns on his heel, and Thomas Roch is carried below.
