Facing the Flag

By

Jules Verne

www.freeclassicebooks.com

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I - HEALTHFUL HOUSE.. 3

CHAPTER II - COUNT D'ARTIGAS.. 17

CHAPTER III - KIDNAPPED.. 32

CHAPTER IV - THE SCHOONER EBBA.. 48

CHAPTER V - WHERE AM I?. 66

CHAPTER VI - ON DECK.. 82

CHAPTER VII - TWO DAYS AT SEA.. 96

CHAPTER VIII - BACK CUP.. 112

CHAPTER IX - INSIDE BACK CUP.. 126

CHAPTER X - KER KARRAJE.. 140

CHAPTER XI - FIVE WEEKS IN BACK CUP.. 157

CHAPTER XII - ENGINEER SERKO'S ADVICE.. 170

CHAPTER XIII - GOD BE WITH IT.. 187

CHAPTER XIV - BATTLE BETWEEN THE "SWORD" AND THE TUG.. 196

CHAPTER XV - EXPECTATION.. 215

CHAPTER XVI - ONLY A FEW MORE HOURS.. 231

CHAPTER XVII - ONE AGAINST FIVE.. 244

CHAPTER XVIII - ON BOARD THE "TONNANT.". 257

FACING THE FLAG.

CHAPTER I - HEALTHFUL HOUSE.

The carte de visite received that day, June 15, 189-, by the

director of the establishment of Healthful House was a very neat one,

and simply bore, without escutcheon or coronet, the name:

COUNT D'ARTIGAS.

Below this name, in a corner of the card, the following address was

written in lead pencil:

"On board the schooner Ebba, anchored off New-Berne, Pamlico Sound."

The capital of North Carolina--one of the forty-four states of the

Union at this epoch--is the rather important town of Raleigh, which is

about one hundred and fifty miles in the interior of the province. It

is owing to its central position that this city has become the seat

of the State legislature, for there are others that equal and

even surpass it in industrial and commercial importance, such as

Wilmington, Charlotte, Fayetteville, Edenton, Washington, Salisbury,

Tarborough, Halifax, and New-Berne. The latter town is situated on

estuary of the Neuse River, which empties itself into Pamlico Sound, a

sort of vast maritime lake protected by a natural dyke formed by the

isles and islets of the Carolina coast.

The director of Healthful House could never have imagined why the card

should have been sent to him, had it not been accompanied by a

note from the Count d'Artigas soliciting permission to visit the

establishment. The personage in question hoped that the director would

grant his request, and announced that he would present himself in the

afternoon, accompanied by Captain Spade, commander of the schooner

Ebba.

This desire to penetrate to the interior of the celebrated sanitarium,

then in great request by the wealthy invalids of the United States,

was natural enough on the part of a foreigner. Others who did not bear

such a high-sounding name as the Count d'Artigas had visited it, and

had been unstinting in their compliments to the director. The latter

therefore hastened to accord the authorization demanded, and added

that he would be honored to open the doors of the establishment to the

Count d'Artigas.

Healthful House, which contained a select personnel, and was assured

of the co-operation of the most celebrated doctors in the country, was

a private enterprise. Independent of hospitals and almshouses, but

subjected to the surveillance of the State, it comprised all the

conditions of comfort and salubrity essential to establishments of

this description designed to receive an opulent clientele.

It would have been difficult to find a more agreeable situation than

that of Healthful House. On the landward slope of a hill extended a

park of two hundred acres planted with the magnificent vegetation that

grows so luxuriantly in that part of North America, which is equal in

latitude to the Canary and Madeira Islands. At the furthermost limit

of the park lay the wide estuary of the Neuse, swept by the cool

breezes of Pamlico Sound and by the winds that blew from the ocean

beyond the narrow lido of the coast.

Healthful House, where rich invalids were cared for under such

excellent hygienic conditions, was more generally reserved for the

treatment of chronic complaints; but the management did not decline to

admit patients affected by mental troubles, when the latter were not

of an incurable nature.

It thus happened--a circumstance that was bound to attract a good deal

of attention to Healthful House, and which perhaps was the motive

for the visit of the Count d'Artigas--that a person of world-wide

notoriety had for eighteen months been under special observation

there.

This person was a Frenchman named Thomas Roch, forty-five years of

age. He was, beyond question, suffering from some mental malady, but

expert alienists admitted that he had not entirely lost the use of

his reasoning faculties. It was only too evident that he had lost all

notion of things as far as the ordinary acts of life were concerned;

but in regard to subjects demanding the exercise of his genius, his

sanity was unimpaired and unassailable--a fact which demonstrates how

true is the dictum that genius and madness are often closely

allied! Otherwise his condition manifested itself by complete loss

of memory;--the impossibility of concentrating his attention upon

anything, lack of judgment, delirium and incoherence. He no longer

even possessed the natural animal instinct of self-preservation, and

had to be watched like an infant whom one never permits out of one's

sight. Therefore a warder was detailed to keep close watch over him

by day and by night in Pavilion No. 17, at the end of Healthful House

Park, which had been specially set apart for him.

Ordinary insanity, when it is not incurable, can only be cured by

moral means. Medicine and therapeutics are powerless, and their

inefficacy has long been recognized by specialists. Were these moral

means applicable to the case of Thomas Roch? One may be permitted

to doubt it, even amid the tranquil and salubrious surroundings of

Healthful House. As a matter of fact the very symptoms of uneasiness,

changes of temper, irritability, queer traits of character,

melancholy, apathy, and a repugnance for serious occupations were

distinctly apparent; no treatment seemed capable of curing or even

alleviating these symptoms. This was patent to all his medical

attendants.

It has been justly remarked that madness is an excess of subjectivity;

that is to say, a state in which the mind accords too much to mental

labor and not enough to outward impressions. In the case of Thomas

Roch this indifference was practically absolute. He lived but within

himself, so to speak, a prey to a fixed idea which had brought him to

the condition in which we find him. Could any circumstance occur

to counteract it--to "exteriorize" him, as it were? The thing was

improbable, but it was not impossible.

It is now necessary to explain how this Frenchman came to quit France,

what motive attracted him to the United States, why the Federal

government had judged it prudent and necessary to intern him in this

sanitarium, where every utterance that unconsciously escaped him

during his crises were noted and recorded with the minutest care.

Eighteen months previously the Secretary of the Navy at Washington,

had received a demand for an audience in regard to a communication

that Thomas Roch desired to make to him.

As soon as he glanced at the name, the secretary perfectly understood

the nature of the communication and the terms which would accompany

it, and an immediate audience was unhesitatingly accorded.

Thomas Roch's notoriety was indeed such that, out of solicitude for

the interests confided to his keeping, and which he was bound to

safeguard, he could not hesitate to receive the petitioner and listen

to the proposals which the latter desired personally to submit to him.

Thomas Roch was an inventor--an inventor of genius. Several important

discoveries had brought him prominently to the notice of the

world. Thanks to him, problems that had previously remained purely

theoretical had received practical application. He occupied a

conspicuous place in the front rank of the army of science. It will be

seen how worry, deceptions, mortification, and the outrages with which

he was overwhelmed by the cynical wits of the press combined to drive

him to that degree of madness which necessitated his internment in

Healthful House.

His latest invention in war-engines bore the name of Roch's

Fulgurator. This apparatus possessed, if he was to be believed, such

superiority over all others, that the State which acquired it would

become absolute master of earth and ocean.

The deplorable difficulties inventors encounter in connection with

their inventions are only too well known, especially when they

endeavor to get them adopted by governmental commissions. Several of

the most celebrated examples are still fresh in everybody's memory.

It is useless to insist upon this point, because there are sometimes

circumstances underlying affairs of this kind upon which it is

difficult to obtain any light. In regard to Thomas Roch, however,

it is only fair to say that, as in the case of the majority of his

predecessors, his pretensions were excessive. He placed such an

exorbitant price upon his new engine that it was practicably

impossible to treat with him.

This was due to the fact--and it should not be lost sight of--that in

respect of previous inventions which had been most fruitful in result,

he had been imposed upon with the greatest audacity. Being unable

to obtain therefrom the profits which he had a right to expect, his

temper had become soured. He became suspicious, would give up nothing

without knowing just what he was doing, impose conditions that

were perhaps unacceptable, wanted his mere assertions accepted as

sufficient guarantee, and in any case asked for such a large sum of

money on account before condescending to furnish the test of practical

experiment that his overtures could not be entertained.

In the first place he had offered the fulgurator to France, and made

known the nature of it to the commission appointed to pass upon his

proposition. The fulgurator was a sort of auto-propulsive engine,

of peculiar construction, charged with an explosive composed of new

substances and which only produced its effect under the action of a

deflagrator that was also new.

When this engine, no matter in what way it was launched, exploded, not

on striking the object aimed at, but several hundred yards from it,

its action upon the atmospheric strata was so terrific that any

construction, warship or floating battery, within a zone of twelve

thousand square yards, would be blown to atoms. This was the principle

of the shell launched by the Zalinski pneumatic gun with which

experiments had already been made at that epoch, but its results were

multiplied at least a hundred-fold.

If, therefore, Thomas Roch's invention possessed this power, it

assured the offensive and defensive superiority of his native country.

But might not the inventor be exaggerating, notwithstanding that the

tests of other engines he had conceived had proved incontestably that

they were all he had claimed them to be? This, experiment could alone

show, and it was precisely here where the rub came in. Roch would

not agree to experiment until the millions at which he valued his

fulgurator had first been paid to him.

It is certain that a sort of disequilibrium had then occurred in his

mental faculties. It was felt that he was developing a condition of

mind that would gradually lead to definite madness. No government

could possibly condescend to treat with him under the conditions he

imposed.

The French commission was compelled to break off all negotiations with

him, and the newspapers, even those of the Radical Opposition, had to

admit that it was difficult to follow up the affair.

In view of the excess of subjectivity which was unceasingly augmenting

in the profoundly disturbed mind of Thomas Roch, no one will be

surprised at the fact that the cord of patriotism gradually relaxed

until it ceased to vibrate. For the honor of human nature be it said

that Thomas Roch was by this time irresponsible for his actions. He

preserved his whole consciousness only in so far as subjects bearing

directly upon his invention were concerned. In this particular he had

lost nothing of his mental power. But in all that related to the most

ordinary details of existence his moral decrepitude increased daily

and deprived him of complete responsibility for his acts.

Thomas Roch's invention having been refused by the commission, steps

ought to have been taken to prevent him from offering it elsewhere.

Nothing of the kind was done, and there a great mistake was made.

The inevitable was bound to happen, and it did. Under a growing

irritability the sentiment of patriotism, which is the very essence of

the citizen--who before belonging to himself belongs to his country--

became extinct in the soul of the disappointed inventor. His thoughts

turned towards other nations. He crossed the frontier, and forgetting

the ineffaceable past, offered the fulgurator to Germany.

There, as soon as his exorbitant demands were made known, the

government refused to receive his communication. Besides, it so

happened that the military authorities were just then absorbed by the

construction of a new ballistic engine, and imagined they could afford

to ignore that of the French inventor.

As the result of this second rebuff Roch's anger became coupled with

hatred--an instinctive hatred of humanity--especially after his

pourparlers with the British Admiralty came to naught. The English

being practical people, did not at first repulse Thomas Roch. They

sounded him and tried to get round him; but Roch would listen to

nothing. His secret was worth millions, and these millions he would

have, or they would not have his secret. The Admiralty at last

declined to have anything more to do with him.

It was in these conditions, when his intellectual trouble was growing

daily worse, that he made a last effort by approaching the American

Government. That was about eighteen months before this story opens.

The Americans, being even more practical than the English, did not

attempt to bargain for Roch's fulgurator, to which, in view of the

French chemist's reputation, they attached exceptional importance.

They rightly esteemed him a man of genius, and took the measures

justified by his condition, prepared to indemnify him equitably later.

As Thomas Roch gave only too visible proofs of mental alienation,

the Administration, in the very interest of his invention, judged it

prudent to sequestrate him.

As is already known, he was not confined in a lunatic asylum, but was

conveyed to Healthful House, which offered every guarantee for the

proper treatment of his malady. Yet, though the most careful attention

had been devoted to him, no improvement had manifested itself.

Thomas Roch, let it be again remarked--this point cannot be too often

insisted upon--incapable though he was of comprehending and performing

the ordinary acts and duties of life, recovered all his powers when

the field of his discoveries was touched upon. He became animated, and

spoke with the assurance of a man who knows whereof he is descanting,

and an authority that carried conviction with it. In the heat of his

eloquence he would describe the marvellous qualities of his fulgurator

and the truly extraordinary effects it caused. As to the nature of the

explosive and of the deflagrator, the elements of which the latter was

composed, their manufacture, and the way in which they were employed,

he preserved complete silence, and all attempts to worm the secret out

of him remained ineffectual. Once or twice, during the height of the

paroxysms to which he was occasionally subject, there had been reason

to believe that his secret would escape him, and every precaution had

been taken to note his slightest utterance. But Thomas Roch had

each time disappointed his watchers. If he no longer preserved the

sentiment of self-preservation, he at least knew how to preserve the

secret of his discovery.

Pavilion No. 17 was situated in the middle of a garden that was

surrounded by hedges, and here Roch was accustomed to take exercise

under the surveillance of his guardian. This guardian lived in the

same pavilion, slept in the same room with him, and kept constant

watch upon him, never leaving him for an hour. He hung upon

the lightest words uttered by the patient in the course of his

hallucinations, which generally occurred in the intermediary state

between sleeping and waking--watched and listened while he dreamed.

This guardian was known as Gaydon. Shortly after the sequestration of

Thomas Roch, having learned that an attendant speaking French fluently

was wanted, he had applied at Healthful House for the place, and had

been engaged to look after the new inmate.

In reality the alleged Gaydon was a French engineer named Simon Hart,

who for several years past had been connected with a manufactory of

chemical products in New Jersey. Simon Hart was forty years of age.

His high forehead was furrowed with the wrinkle that denoted the

thinker, and his resolute bearing denoted energy combined with

tenacity. Extremely well versed in the various questions relating to

the perfecting of modern armaments, Hart knew everything that had been

invented in the shape of explosives, of which there were over eleven

hundred at that time, and was fully able to appreciate such a man

as Thomas Roch. He firmly believed in the power of the latter's

fulgurator, and had no doubt whatever that the inventor had conceived

an engine that was capable of revolutionizing the condition of both

offensive and defensive warfare on land and sea. He was aware that the

demon of insanity had respected the man of science, and that in Roch's

partially diseased brain the flame of genius still burned brightly.

Then it occurred to him that if, during Roch's crises, his secret was

revealed, this invention of a Frenchman would be seized upon by some

other country to the detriment of France. Impelled by a spirit of

patriotism, he made up his mind to offer himself as Thomas Roch's

guardian, by passing himself off as an American thoroughly conversant

with the French language, in order that if the inventor did at any

time disclose his secret, France alone should benefit thereby. On

pretext of returning to Europe, he resigned his position at the New

Jersey manufactory, and changed his name so that none should know what

had become of him.

Thus it came to pass that Simon Hart, alias Gaydon, had been an

attendant at Healthful House for fifteen months. It required no little

courage on the part of a man of his position and education to perform

the menial and exacting duties of an insane man's attendant; but, as

has been before remarked, he was actuated by a spirit of the purest

and noblest patriotism. The idea of depriving Roch of the legitimate

benefits due to the inventor, if he succeeded in learning his secret,

never for an instant entered his mind.

He had kept the patient under the closest possible observation for

fifteen months yet had not been able to learn anything from him,

or worm out of him a single reply to his questions that was of the

slightest value. But he had become more convinced than ever of the

importance of Thomas Roch's discovery, and was extremely apprehensive

lest the partial madness of the inventor should become general, or

lest he should die during one of his paroxysms and carry his secret

with him to the grave.

This was Simon Hart's position, and this the mission to which he had

wholly devoted himself in the interest of his native country.

However, notwithstanding his deceptions and troubles, Thomas Roch's

physical health, thanks to his vigorous constitution, was not

particularly affected. A man of medium height, with a large head,

high, wide forehead, strongly-cut features, iron-gray hair and

moustache, eyes generally haggard, but which became piercing and

imperious when illuminated by his dominant idea, thin lips closely

compressed, as though to prevent the escape of a word that could

betray his secret--such was the inventor confined in one of

the pavilions of Healthful House, probably unconscious of his

sequestration, and confided to the surveillance of Simon Hart the

engineer, become Gaydon the warder.

CHAPTER II - COUNT D'ARTIGAS.

Just who was this Count d'Artigas? A Spaniard? So his name would

appear to indicate. Yet on the stern of his schooner, in letters of

gold, was the name Ebba, which is of pure Norwegian origin. And had

you asked him the name of the captain of the Ebba, he would have

replied, Spade, and would doubtless have added that that of the

boatswain was Effrondat, and that of the ship's cook, Helim--all

singularly dissimilar and indicating very different nationalities.

Could any plausible hypothesis be deducted from the type presented by

Count d'Artigas? Not easily. If the color of his skin, his black hair,

and the easy grace of his attitude denoted a Spanish origin, the

ensemble of his person showed none of the racial characteristics

peculiar to the natives of the Iberian peninsula.

He was a man of about forty-five years of age, about the average

height, and robustly constituted. With his calm and haughty demeanor

he resembled an Hindoo lord in whose blood might mingle that of some

superb type of Malay. If he was not naturally of a cold temperament,

he at least, with his imperious gestures and brevity of speech,

endeavored to make it appear that he was. As to the language usually

spoken by him and his crew, it was one of those idioms current in

the islands of the Indian Ocean and the adjacent seas. Yet when his

maritime excursions brought him to the coasts of the old or new world

he spoke English with remarkable facility, and with so slight an

accent as to scarcely betray his foreign origin.

None could have told anything about his past, nor even about his

present life, nor from what source he derived his fortune,--obviously

a large one, inasmuch as he was able to gratify his every whim and

lived in the greatest luxury whenever he visited America,--nor where

he resided when at home, nor where was the port from which his

schooner hailed, and none would have ventured to question him upon any

of these points so little disposed was he to be communicative. He was

not the kind of man to give anything away or compromise himself in the

slightest degree, even when interviewed by American reporters.

All that was known about him was what was published in the papers when

the arrival of the Ebba was reported in some port, and particularly

in the ports of the east coast of the United States, where the

schooner was accustomed to put in at regular periods to lay in

provisions and stores for a lengthy voyage. She would take on board

not only flour, biscuits, preserves, fresh and dried meat, live stock,

wines, beers, and spirits, but also clothing, household utensils, and

objects of luxury--all of the finest quality and highest price, and

which were paid for either in dollars, guineas, or other coins of

various countries and denominations.

Consequently, if no one knew anything about the private life of Count

d'Artigas, he was nevertheless very well known in the various ports of

the United States from the Florida peninsula to New England.

It is therefore in no way surprising that the director of Healthful

House should have felt greatly flattered by the Count's visit, and

have received him with every mark of honor and respect.

It was the first time that the schooner Ebba had dropped anchor

in the port of New-Berne, and no doubt a mere whim of her owner had

brought him to the mouth of the Neuse. Otherwise why should he have

come to such a place? Certainly not to lay in stores, for Pamlico

Sound offered neither the resources nor facilities to be found in

such ports as Boston, New York, Dover, Savannah, Wilmington in North

Carolina, and Charleston in South Carolina. What could he have

procured with his piastres and bank-notes in the small markets of

New-Berne? This chief town of Craven County contained barely six

thousand inhabitants. Its commerce consisted principally in the

exportation of grain, pigs, furniture, and naval munitions. Besides, a

few weeks previously, the schooner had loaded up for some destination

which, as usual, was unknown.

Had this enigmatical personage then come solely for the purpose of

visiting Healthful House? Very likely. There would have been nothing

surprising in the fact, seeing that the establishment enjoyed a high

and well-merited reputation.

Or perhaps the Count had been inspired by curiosity to meet Thomas

Roch? This curiosity would have been legitimate and natural enough

in view of the universal renown of the French inventor. Fancy--a mad

genius who claimed that his discoveries were destined to revolutionize

the methods of modern military art!

As he had notified the director he would do, the Count d'Artigas

presented himself in the afternoon at the door of Healthful House,

accompanied by Captain Spade, the commander of the Ebba.

In conformity with orders given, both were admitted and conducted to

the office of the director. The latter received his distinguished

visitor with empressement, placed himself at his disposal, and

intimated his intention of personally conducting him over the

establishment, not being willing to concede to anybody else the honor

of being his cicerone. The Count on his part was profuse in the

expression of his thanks for the considerations extended to him.

They went over the common rooms and private habitations of the

establishment, the director prattling unceasingly about the care with

which the patients were tended--much better care, if he was to be

believed, than they could possibly have had in the bosoms of their

families--and priding himself upon the results achieved, and which had

earned for the place its well-merited success.

The Count d'Artigas listened to his ceaseless chatter with apparent

interest, probably in order the better to dissemble the real motive of

his visit. However, after going the rounds for an hour he ventured to

remark:

"Have you not among your patients, sir, one anent whom there was a

great deal of talk some time ago, and whose presence here contributed

in no small measure to attract public attention to Healthful House?"

"You refer to Thomas Roch, I presume, Count?" queried the director.

"Precisely--that Frenchman--that inventor--whose mental condition is

said to be very precarious."

"Very precarious, Count, and happily so, perhaps! In my opinion

humanity has nothing to gain by his discoveries, the application of

which would increase the already too numerous means of destruction."

"You speak wisely, sir, and I entirely agree with you. Real progress

does not lie in that direction, and I regard as inimical to society

all those who seek to follow it. But has this inventor entirely lost

the use of his intellectual faculties?"

"Entirely, no; save as regards the ordinary things of life. In this

respect he no longer possesses either comprehension or responsibility.

His genius as an inventor, however, remains intact; it has survived

his moral degeneracy, and, had his insensate demands been complied

with, I have no doubt he would have produced a new war engine--which

the world can get along very well without."

"Very well without, as you say, sir," re-echoed the Count d'Artigas,

and Captain Spade nodded approval.

"But you will be able to judge for yourself, Count, for here is the

pavilion occupied by Thomas Roch. If his confinement is well justified

from the point of view of public security he is none the less treated

with all the consideration due to him and the attention which his

condition necessitates. Besides, Healthful House is beyond the reach

of indiscreet persons who might...."

The director completed the phrase with a significant motion of

his head--which brought an imperceptible smile to the lips of the

stranger.

"But," asked the Count, "is Thomas Roch never left alone?"

"Never, Count, never. He has a permanent attendant in whom we have

implicit confidence, who speaks his language and keeps the closest

possible watch upon him. If in some way or other some indication

relative to his discovery were to escape him, it would be immediately

noted down and its value would be passed upon by those competent to

judge."

Here the Count d'Artigas stole a rapid and meaning glance at Captain

Spade, who responded with a gesture which said plainly enough: "I

understand." And had any one observed the captain during the visit,

they could not have failed to remark that he examined with the

greatest minuteness that portion of the park surrounding Pavilion No.

17, and the different paths leading to the latter--probably in view of

some prearranged scheme.

The garden of the pavilion was near the high wall surrounding the

property, from the foot of which on the other side the hill sloped

gently to the right bank of the Neuse.

The pavilion itself was a one-story building surmounted by a terrace

in the Italian style. It contained two rooms and an ante-room with

strongly-barred windows. On each side and in rear of the habitation

were clusters of fine trees, which were then in full leaf. In front

was a cool, green velvety lawn, ornamented with shrubs and brilliantly

tinted flowers. The whole garden extended over about half an acre, and

was reserved exclusively for the use of Thomas Roch, who was free to

wander about it at pleasure under the surveillance of his guardian.

When the Count d'Artigas, Captain Spade, and the director entered the

garden, the first person they saw was the warder Gaydon, standing

at the door of the pavilion. Unnoticed by the director the Count

d'Artigas eyed the attendant with singular persistence.

It was not the first time that strangers had come to see the occupant

of Pavilion No. 17, for the French inventor was justly regarded as the

most interesting inmate of Healthful House. Nevertheless, Gaydon's

attention was attracted by the originality of the type presented by

the two visitors, of whose nationality he was ignorant. If the name

of the Count d'Artigas was not unfamiliar to him, he had never had

occasion to meet that wealthy gentleman during the latter's sojourn in

the eastern ports. He therefore had no idea as to who the Count was.

Neither was he aware that the schooner Ebba was then anchored at the

entrance to the Neuse, at the foot of the hill upon which Healthful

House was situated.

"Gaydon," demanded the director, "where is Thomas Roch?"

"Yonder," replied the warder, pointing to a man who was walking

meditatively under the trees in rear of the pavilion.

"The Count d'Artigas has been authorized to visit Healthful House,"

the director explained; "and does not wish to go away without having

seen Thomas Roch, who was lately the subject of a good deal too much

discussion."

"And who would be talked about a great deal more," added the Count,

"had the Federal Government not taken the precaution to confine him in

this establishment."

"A necessary precaution, Count."

"Necessary, as you observe, Mr. Director. It is better for the peace

of the world that his secret should die with him."

After having glanced at the Count d'Artigas, Gaydon had not uttered a

word; but preceding the two strangers he walked towards the clump of

trees where the inventor was pacing back and forth.

Thomas Roch paid no attention to them. He appeared to be oblivious of

their presence.

Meanwhile, Captain Spade, while being careful not to excite suspicion,

had been minutely examining the immediate surroundings of the pavilion

and the end of the park in which it was situated. From the top of the

sloping alleys he could easily distinguish the peak of a mast which

showed above the wall of the park. He recognized the peak at a glance

as being that of the Ella, and knew therefore that the wall at this

part skirted the right bank of the Neuse.

The Count d'Artigas' whole attention was concentrated upon the French

inventor. The latter's health appeared to have suffered in no way

from his eighteen months' confinement; but his queer attitude, his

incoherent gestures, his haggard eye, and his indifference to what was

passing around him testified only too plainly to the degeneration of

his mental faculties.

At length Thomas Roch dropped into a seat and with the end of a switch

traced in the sand of the alley the outline of a fortification. Then

kneeling down he made a number of little mounds that were evidently

intended to represent bastions. He next plucked some leaves from a

neighboring tree and stuck them in the mounds like so many tiny

flags. All this was done with the utmost seriousness and without any

attention whatever being paid to the onlookers.

It was the amusement of a child, but a child would have lacked this

characteristic gravity.

"Is he then absolutely mad?" demanded the Count d'Artigas, who

in spite of his habitual impassibility appeared to be somewhat

disappointed.

"I warned you, Count, that nothing could be obtained from him."

"Couldn't he at least pay some attention to us?"

"It would perhaps be difficult to induce him to do so."

Then turning to the attendant:

"Speak to him, Gaydon. Perhaps he will answer you."

"Oh! he'll answer me right enough, sir, never fear," replied Gaydon.

He went up to the inventor and touching him on the shoulder, said

gently: "Thomas Roch!"

The latter raised his head, and of the persons present he doubtless

saw but his keeper, though Captain Spade had come up and all formed a

circle about him.

"Thomas Roch," continued Gaydon, speaking in English, "here are some

visitors to see you. They are interested in your health--in your

work."

The last word alone seemed to rouse him from his indifference.

"My work?" he replied, also in English, which he spoke like a native.

Then taking a pebble between his index finger and bent thumb, as a

boy plays at marbles, he projected it against one of the little

sand-heaps. It scattered, and he jumped for joy.

"Blown to pieces! The bastion is blown to pieces! My explosive has

destroyed everything at one blow!" he shouted, the light of triumph

flashing in his eyes.

"You see," said the director, addressing the Count d'Artigas. "The

idea of his invention never leaves him."

"And it will die with him," affirmed the attendant.

"Couldn't you, Gaydon, get him to talk about his fulgurator?" asked

his chief.

"I will try, if you order me to do so, sir."

"Well, I do order you, for I think it might interest the Count

d'Artigas."

"Certainly," assented the Count, whose physiognomy betrayed no sign of

the sentiments which were agitating him.

"I ought to warn you that I risk bringing on another fit," observed

Gaydon.

"You can drop the conversation when you consider it prudent. Tell

Thomas Roch that a foreigner wishes to negotiate with him for the

purchase of his fulgurator."

"But are you not afraid he may give his secret away?" questioned the

Count.

He spoke with such vivacity that Gaydon could not restrain a glance of

distrust, which, however, did not appear to disturb the equanimity of

that impenetrable nobleman.

"No fear of that," said the warder. "No promise would induce him to

divulge his secret. Until the millions he demands are counted into his

hand he will remain as mute as a stone."

"I don't happen to be carrying those millions about me," remarked the

Count quietly.

Gaydon again touched Roch on the shoulder and repeated:

"Thomas Roch, here are some foreigners who are anxious to acquire your

invention."

The madman started.

"My invention?" he cried. "My deflagrator?"

And his growing animation plainly indicated the imminence of the fit

that Gaydon had been apprehensive about, and which questions of this

character invariably brought on.

"How much will you give me for it--how much?" continued Roch. "How

much--how much?"

"Ten million dollars," replied Gaydon.

"Ten millions! Ten millions! A fulgurator ten million times more

powerful than anything hitherto invented! Ten millions for an

autopropulsive projectile which, when it explodes, destroys everything

in sight within a radius of over twelve thousand square yards! Ten

millions for the only deflagrator that can provoke its explosion! Why,

all the wealth of the world wouldn't suffice to purchase the secret

of my engine, and rather than sell it at such a price I would cut

my tongue in half with my teeth. Ten millions, when it is worth a

billion--a billion--a billion!"

It was clear that Roch had lost all notion of things, and had Gaydon

offered him ten billions the madman would have replied in exactly the

same manner.

The Count d'Artigas and Captain Spade had not taken their eyes off

him. The Count was impassible as usual, though his brow had darkened,

but the captain shook his head in a manner that implied plainly:

"Decidedly there is nothing to hope from this poor devil!"

After his outburst Roch fled across the garden crying hoarsely:

"Billions! Billions!"

Gaydon turned to the director and remarked:

"I told you how it would be."

Then he rushed after his patient, caught him by the arm, and led him,

without any attempt at resistance, into the pavilion and closed the

door.

The Count d'Artigas remained alone with the director, Captain Spade

having strolled off again in the direction of the wall at the bottom

of the park.

"You see I was not guilty of exaggeration, Count," said the director.

"It is obvious to every one that Thomas Roch is becoming daily worse.

In my opinion his case is a hopeless one. If all the money he asks for

were offered to him, nothing could be got from him."

"Very likely," replied the Count, "still, if his pecuniary demands are

supremely absurd, he has none the less invented an engine the power of

which is infinite, one might say."

"That is the opinion expressed by competent persons, Count. But what

he has discovered will ere long be lost with himself in one of these

fits which are becoming more frequent and intense. Very soon even the

motive of interest, the only sentiment that appears to have survived

in his mind, will become extinct."

"Mayhap the sentiment of hatred will remain, though," muttered the

Count, as Spade joined them at the garden gate.

CHAPTER III - KIDNAPPED.

Half an hour later the Count d'Artigas and Captain Spade were

following the beech-lined road that separated the Healthful House

estate from the right bank of the Neuse. Both had taken leave of the

director, the latter declaring himself greatly honored by their visit,

and the former thanking him warmly for his courteous reception. A

hundred-dollar bill left as a tip for the staff of the establishment

had certainly not belied the Count's reputation for generosity. He

was--there could be no doubt about it--a foreigner of the highest

distinction, if distinction be measured by generosity.

Issuing by the gate at the main entrance to Healthful House, they had

skirted the wall that surrounded the property, and which was high

enough to preclude the possibility of climbing it. Not a word passed

between them for some time; the Count was deep in thought and Captain

Spade was not in the habit of addressing him without being first

spoken to.

At last when they stood beneath the rear wall behind which, though it

was not visible, the Count knew Pavilion No. 17 was situated, he said:

"You managed, I presume, to thoroughly explore the place, and are

acquainted with every detail of it?"

"Certainly, Count" replied Captain Spade, emphasizing the title.

"You are perfectly sure about it?"

"Perfectly. I could go through the park with my eyes shut. If you

still persist in carrying out your scheme the pavilion can be easily

reached."

"I do persist, Spade."

"Notwithstanding Thomas Roch's mental condition?"

"Notwithstanding his condition; and if we succeed in carrying him

off----"

"That is my affair. When night comes on I undertake to enter the park

of Healthful House, and then the pavilion garden without being seen by

anybody."

"By the entrance gate?"

"No, on this side."

"Yes, but on this side there is the wall, and if you succeed in

climbing it, how are you going to get over it again with Thomas Roch?

What if the madman cries out--what if he should resist--what if his

keeper gives the alarm?"

"Don't worry yourself in the least about that. We have only got to go

in and come out by this door."

Captain Spade pointed to a narrow door let into the wall a few

paces distant, and which was doubtless used by the staff of the

establishment when they had occasion to go out by the river.

"That is the way I propose to go in. It's much easier than scaling the

wall with a ladder."

"But the door is closed."

"It will open."

"Has it no bolts?"

"Yes, but I shot them back while we were strolling about, and the

director didn't notice what I had done."

"How are you going to open it?" queried the Count, going to the door.

"Here is the key," replied Spade, producing it.

He had withdrawn it from the lock, where it happened to be, when he

had unbolted the door.

"Capital!" exclaimed the Count. "It couldn't be better. The business

will be easier than I expected. Let us get back to the schooner. At

eight o'clock one of the boats will put you ashore with five men."

"Yes, five men will do," said Captain Spade. "There will be enough of

them to effect our object even if the keeper is aroused and it becomes

necessary to put him out of the way."

"Put him out of the way--well, if it becomes absolutely necessary of

course you must, but it would be better to seize him too and bring him

aboard the Ebba Who knows but what he has already learned a part of

Roch's secret?"

"True."

"Besides, Thomas Roch is used to him, and I don't propose to make him

change his habitudes in any way."

This observation was accompanied by such a significant smile that

Captain Spade could entertain no doubt as to the rôle reserved for the

warder of Healthful House.

The plan to kidnap them both was thus settled, and appeared to have

every chance of being successful; unless during the couple of hours of

daylight that yet remained it was noticed that the key of the door had

been stolen and the bolts drawn back, Captain Spade and his men could

at least count upon being able to enter the park, and the rest, the

captain affirmed, would be easy enough.

Thomas Roch was the only patient in the establishment isolated and

kept under special surveillance. All the other invalids lived in the

main building, or occupied pavilions in the front of the park. The

plan was to try and seize Roch and Gaydon separately and bind and gag

them before they could cry out.

The Count d'Artigas and his companion wended their way to a creek

where one of the Ebba's boats awaited them. The schooner was

anchored two cable lengths from the shore, her sails neatly rolled

upon her yards, which were squared as neatly as those of a pleasure

yacht or of a man-of-war. At the peak of the mainmast a narrow red

pennant was gently swayed by the wind, which came in fitful puffs from

the east.

The Count and the captain jumped into the boat and a few strokes of

the four oars brought them alongside of the schooner. They climbed

on deck and going forward to the jib-boom, leaned over the starboard

bulwark and gazed at an object that floated on the water a few strokes

ahead of the vessel. It was a small buoy that was rocked by the ripple

of the ebbing tide.

Twilight gradually set in, and the outline of New-Berne on the left

bank of the sinuous Neuse became more and more indistinct until it

disappeared in the deepening shades of night. A mist set in from the

sea, but though it obscured the moon it brought no sign of rain. The

lights gleamed out one by one in the houses of the town. The fishing

smacks came slowly up the river to their anchorage, impelled by the

oars of their crews which struck the water with sharp, rhythmical

strokes, and with their sails distended on the chance of catching an

occasional puff of the dropping wind to help them along. A couple of

steamers passed, sending up volumes of black smoke and myriads of

sparks from their double stacks, and lashing the water into foam with

their powerful paddles.

At eight o'clock the Count d'Artigas appeared on the schooner's deck

accompanied by a man about fifty years of age, to whom he remarked:

"It is time to go, Serko."

"Very well, I will tell Spade," replied Serko.

At that moment the captain joined them.

"You had better get ready to go," said the Count.

"All is ready."

"Be careful to prevent any alarm being given, and arrange matters so

that no one will for a minute suspect that Thomas Roch and his keeper

have been brought on board the Ebba."

"They wouldn't find them if they came to look for them," observed

Serko, shrugging his shoulders and laughing heartily as though he had

perpetrated a huge joke.

"Nevertheless, it is better not to arouse their suspicion," said

d'Artigas.

The boat was lowered, and Captain Spade and five sailors took their

places in it. Four of the latter got out the oars. The boatswain,

Effrondat, who was to remain in charge of the boat, went to the stern

beside Captain Spade and took the tiller.

"Good luck, Spade," said Serko with a smile, "and don't make more

noise about it than if you were a gallant carrying off his lady-love."

"I won't--unless that Gaydon chap--"

"We must have both Roch and Gaydon," insisted the Count d'Artigas.

"That is understood," replied Spade.

The boat pushed off, and the sailors on the deck of the schooner

watched it till it was lost to sight in the darkness.

Pending its return, no preparations for the Ebba's departure were

made. Perhaps there was no intention of quitting the port after the

men had been kidnapped. Besides, how could the vessel have reached the

open sea? Not a breath of air was now stirring, and in half an hour

the tide would be setting in again, and rising strongly and rapidly

for several miles above New-Berne.

Anchored, as has already been said, a couple of cable-lengths from the

shore, the Ebba might have been brought much nearer to it, for the

water was deep enough, and this would have facilitated the task of the

kidnappers when they returned from their expedition. If, however, the

Count d'Artigas preferred to let the vessel stay where she was, he

probably had his reasons.

Not a soul was in sight on the bank, and the road, with its borders

of beech trees that skirted the wall of Healthful House estate, was

equally deserted. The boat was made fast to the shore. Then Captain

Spade and his four sailors landed, leaving the boatswain in charge,

and disappeared amid the trees.

When they reached the wall Captain Spade stopped and the sailors drew

up on each side of the doorway. The captain had only to turn the key

in the lock and push the door, unless one of the servants, noticing

that the door was not secured as usual, had bolted it. In this event

their task would be an extremely difficult one, even if they succeeded

in scaling the high wall.

The captain put his ear to the key-hole and listened.

Not a sound was to be heard in the park. Not even a leaf was rustling

in the branches of the beeches under which they were standing. The

surrounding country was wrapt in the profoundest silence.

Captain Spade drew the key from his pocket, inserted it in the lock

and turned it noiselessly. Then he cautiously pushed the door, which

opened inward.

Things were, then, just as he had left them, and no one had noticed

the theft of the key.

After assuring himself that nobody happened to be in the neighborhood

of the pavilion the captain entered, followed by his men. The door was

left wide open, so that they could beat a hurried and uninterrupted

retreat in case of necessity. The trees and bushes in this shady part

of the park were very thick, and it was so dark that it would not have

been easy to distinguish the pavilion had not a light shone brightly

in one of the windows.

No doubt this was the window of the room occupied by Roch and his

guardian, Gaydon, seeing that the latter never left the patient placed

in his charge either by night or day. Captain Spade had expected to

find him there.

The party approached cautiously, taking the utmost precaution to avoid

kicking a pebble or stepping on a twig, the noise of which might have

revealed their presence. In this way they reached the door of the

pavilion near which was the curtained window of the room in which the

light was burning.

But if the door was locked, how were they going to get in? Captain

Spade must have asked himself. He had no key, and to attempt to effect

an entrance through the window would be hazardous, for, unless Gaydon

could be prevented from giving the alarm, he would rouse the whole

establishment.

There was no help for it, however. The essential was to get possession

of Roch. If they could kidnap Gaydon, too, in conformity with the

intentions of the Count d'Artigas, so much the better. If not--

Captain Spade crept stealthily to the window, and standing on tiptoe,

looked in. Through an aperture in the curtain he could see all over

the room.

Gaydon was standing beside Thomas Roch, who had not yet recovered from

the fit with which he had been attacked during the Count d'Artigas'

visit. His condition necessitated special attention, and the warder

was ministering to the patient under the direction of a third person.

The latter was one of the doctors attached to Healthful House, and had

been at once sent to the pavilion by the director when Roch's

paroxysm came on. His presence of course rendered the situation more

complicated and the work of the kidnappers more difficult.

Roch, fully dressed, was extended upon a sofa. He was now fairly calm.

The paroxysm, which was abating, would be followed by several hours of

torpor and exhaustion.

Just as Captain Spade peeped through the window the doctor was making

preparations to leave. The Captain heard him say to Gaydon that his

(the doctor's) presence was not likely to be required any more that

night, and that there was nothing to be done beyond following the

instructions he had given.

The doctor then walked towards the door, which, it will be remembered,

was close to the window in front of which Spade and his men were

standing. If they remained where they were they could not fail to be

seen, not only by the doctor, but by the warder, who was accompanying

him to the door.

Before they made their appearance, however, the sailors, at a sign

from their chief, had dispersed and hidden themselves behind the

bushes, while Spade himself crouched in the shadow beneath the window.

Luckily Gaydon had not brought the lamp with him, so that the captain

was in no danger of being seen.

As he was about to take leave of Gaydon, the doctor stopped on the

step and remarked:

"This is one of the worst attacks our patient has had. One or two more

like that and he will lose the little reason he still possesses."

"Just so," said Gaydon. "I wonder that the director doesn't prohibit

all visitors from entering the pavilion. Roch owes his present attack

to a Count d'Artigas, for whose amusement harmful questions were put

to him."

"I will call the director's attention to the matter," responded the

doctor.

He then descended the steps and Gaydon, leaving the door of the

pavilion ajar, accompanied him to the end of the path.

When they had gone Captain Spade stood up, and his men rejoined him.

Had they not better profit by the chance thus unexpectedly afforded

them to enter the room and secure Roch, who was in a semi-comatose

condition, and then await Gaydon's return, and seize the warder as he

entered?

This would have involved considerable risk. Gaydon, at a glance, would

perceive that his patient was missing and raise an alarm; the doctor

would come running back; the whole staff of Healthful House would

turn out, and Spade would not have time to escape with his precious

prisoner and lock the door in the wall after him.

He did not have much chance to deliberate about it, for the warder was

heard returning along the gravel path. Spade decided that the best

thing to be done was to spring upon him as he passed and stifle

his cries and overpower him before he could attempt to offer any

resistance. The carrying off of the mad inventor would be easy enough,

inasmuch as he was unconscious, and could not raise a finger to help

himself.

Gaydon came round a clump of bushes and approached the entrance to the

pavilion. As he raised his foot to mount the steps the four sailors

sprang upon him, bore him backwards to the ground, and had gagged him,

securely bound him hand and foot, and bandaged his eyes before he

began to realize what had happened.

Two of the men then kept guard over him, while Captain Spade and the

others entered the house.

As the captain had surmised, Thomas Roch had sunk into such a torpor

that he could have heard nothing of what had been going on outside.

Reclining at full length, with his eyes closed, he might have been

taken for a dead man but for his heavy breathing. There was no need

either to bind or gag him. One man took him by the head and another by

the feet and started off with him to the schooner.

Captain Spade was the last to quit the house after extinguishing the

lamp and closing the door behind him. In this way there was no reason

to suppose that the inmates would be missed before morning.

Gaydon was carried off in the same way as Thomas Roch had been. The

two remaining sailors lifted him and bore him quietly but rapidly down

the path to the door in the wall. The park was pitch dark. Not even a

glimmer of the lights in the windows of Healthful House could be seen

through the thick foliage.

Arrived at the wall, Spade, who had led the way, stepped aside to

allow the sailors with their burdens to pass through, then followed

and closed and locked the door. He put the key in his pocket,

intending to throw it into the Neuse as soon as they were safely on

board the schooner.

There was no one on the road, nor on the bank of the river.

The party made for the boat, and found that Effrondat, the boatswain,

had made all ready to receive them.

Thomas Roch and Gaydon were laid in the bottom of the boat, and the

sailors again took their places at the oars.

"Hurry up, Effrondat, and cast off the painter," ordered the captain.

The boatswain obeyed, and pushed the boat off with his foot as he

scrambled in.

The men bent to their oars and rowed rapidly to the schooner, which

was easily distinguishable, having hung out a light at her mizzenmast

head.

In two minutes they were alongside.

The Count d'Artigas was leaning on the bulwarks by the gangway.

"All right, Spade?" he questioned.

"Yes, sir, all right!"

"Both of them?"

"Both the madman and his keeper."

"Doesn't anybody know about it up at Healthful House?

"Not a soul."

It was not likely that Gaydon, whose eyes and ears were bandaged, but

who preserved all his sang-froid, could have recognized the voices of

the Count d'Artigas and Captain Spade. Nor did he have the chance to.

No attempt was immediately made to hoist him on board. He had been

lying in the bottom of the boat alongside the schooner for fully

half an hour, he calculated, before he felt himself lifted, and then

lowered, doubtless to the bottom of the hold.

The kidnapping having been accomplished it would seem that it only

remained for the Ebba to weigh anchor, descend the estuary and make

her way out to sea through Pamlico Sound. Yet no preparations for

departure were made.

Was it not dangerous to stay where they were after their daring

raid? Had the Count d'Artigas hidden his prisoners so securely as to

preclude the possibility of their being discovered if the Ebba,

whose presence in proximity to Healthful House could not fail to

excite suspicion, received a visit from the New-Berne police?

However this might have been, an hour after the return of the

expedition, every soul on board save the watch--the Count d'Artigas,

Serko, and Captain Spade in their respective cabins, and the crew in

the fore-castle, were sound asleep.

CHAPTER IV - THE SCHOONER EBBA.

It was not till the next morning, and then very leisurely, that

the Ebba began to make preparations for her departure. From the

extremity of New-Berne quay the crew might have been seen holystoning

the deck, after which they loosened the reef lines, under the

direction of Effrondat, the boatswain, hoisted in the boats and

cleared the halyards.

At eight o'clock the Count d'Artigas had not yet appeared on deck.

His companion, Serko the engineer, as he was called on board, had not

quitted his cabin. Captain Spade was strolling quietly about giving

orders.

The Ebba would have made a splendid racing yacht, though she had

never participated in any of the yacht races either on the North

American or British coasts. The height of her masts, the extent of

the canvas she carried, her shapely, raking hull, denoted her to be a

craft of great speed, and her general lines showed that she was also

built to weather the roughest gales at sea. In a favorable wind she

would probably make twelve knots an hour.

Notwithstanding these advantages, however, she must in a dead calm

necessarily suffer from the same disadvantages as other sailing

vessels, and it might have been supposed that the Count d'Artigas

would have preferred a steam-yacht with which he could have gone

anywhere, at any time, in any weather. But apparently he was satisfied

to stick to the old method, even when he made his long trips across

the Atlantic.

On this particular morning the wind was blowing gently from the west,

which was very favorable to the Ebba, and would enable her to stand

straight out of the Neuse, across Pamlico Sound, and through one of

the inlets that led to the open sea.

At ten o'clock the Ebba was still rocking lazily at anchor, her stem

up stream and her cable tautened by the rapidly ebbing tide. The small

buoy that on the previous evening had been moored near the schooner

was no longer to be seen, and had doubtless been hoisted in.

Suddenly a gun boomed out and a slight wreath of white smoke arose

from the battery. It was answered by other reports from the guns on

the chain of islands along the coast.

At this moment the Count d'Artigas and Engineer Serko appeared on

deck. Captain Spade went to meet them.

"Guns barking," he said laconically.

"We expected it," replied Serko, shrugging his shoulders. "They are

signals to close the passes."

"What has that to do with us?" asked the Count d'Artigas quietly.

"Nothing at all," said the engineer.

They all, of course, knew that the alarm-guns indicated that the

disappearance of Thomas Roch and the warder Gaydon from Healthful

House had been discovered.

At daybreak the doctor had gone to Pavilion No. 17 to see how

his patient had passed the night, and had found no one there. He

immediately notified the director, who had the grounds thoroughly

searched. It was then discovered that the door in rear of the park was

unbolted, and that, though locked, the key had been taken away. It was

evident that Roch and his attendant had been carried out that way. But

who were the kidnappers? No one could possibly imagine. All that could

be ascertained was that at half-past seven on the previous night one

of the doctors had attended Thomas Roch, who was suffering from one of

his fits, and that when the medical man had left him the invalid was

in an unconscious condition. What had happened after the doctor took

leave of Gaydon at the end of the garden-path could not even be

conjectured.

The news of the disappearance was telegraphed to New Berne, and thence

to Raleigh. On receipt of it the Governor had instantly wired orders

that no vessel was to be allowed to quit Pamlico Sound without having

been first subjected to a most rigorous search. Another dispatch

ordered the cruiser Falcon, which was stationed in the port, to

carry out the Governor's instructions in this respect. At the same

time measures were taken to keep a strict lookout in every town and

village in the State.

The Count d'Artigas could see the Falcon, which was a couple of

miles away to the east in the estuary, getting steam up and making

hurried preparations to carry out her mission. It would take at least

an hour before the warship could be got ready to steam out, and the

schooner might by that time have gained a good start.

"Shall I weigh anchor?" demanded Captain Spade.

"Yes, as we have a fair wind; but you can take your time about it,"

replied the Count d'Artigas.

"The passes of Pamlico Sound will be under observation," observed

Engineer Serko, "and no vessel will be able to get out without

receiving a visit from gentlemen as inquisitive as they will be

indiscreet."

"Never mind, get under way all the same," ordered the Count. "When the

officers of the cruiser or the Custom-House officers have been over

the Ebba the embargo will be raised. I shall be indeed surprised if

we are not allowed to go about our business."

"With a thousand pardons for the liberty taken, and best wishes for a

good voyage and speedy return," chuckled Engineer Serko, following the

phrase with a loud and prolonged laugh.

When the news was received at New-Berne, the authorities at first were

puzzled to know whether the missing inventor and his keeper had fled

or been carried off. As, however, Roch's flight could not have taken

place without the connivance of Gaydon, this supposition was speedily

abandoned. In the opinion of the director and management of Healthful

House the warder was absolutely above suspicion. They must both, then,

have been kidnapped.

It can easily be imagined what a sensation the news caused in the

town. What! the French inventor who had been so closely guarded had

disappeared, and with him the secret of the wonderful fulgurator that

nobody had been able to worm out of him? Might not the most serious

consequences follow? Might not the discovery of the new engine be lost

to America forever? If the daring act had been perpetrated on behalf

of another nation, might not that nation, having Thomas Roch in

its power, be eventually able to extract from him what the Federal

Government had vainly endeavored to obtain? And was it reasonable, was

it permissible, to suppose for an instant that he had been carried off

for the benefit of a private individual?

Certainly not, was the emphatic reply to the latter question, which

was too ridiculous to be entertained. Therefore the whole power of

the State was employed in an effort to recover the inventor. In every

county of North Carolina a special surveillance was organized on

every road and at every railroad station, and every house in town

and country was searched. Every port from Wilmington to Norfolk was

closed, and no craft of any description could leave without being

thoroughly overhauled. Not only the cruiser Falcon, but every

available cutter and launch was sent out with orders to patrol

Pamlico Sound and board yachts, merchant vessels and fishing smacks

indiscriminately whether anchored or not and search them down to the

keelson.

Still the crew of the Ebba prepared calmly to weigh anchor, and the

Count d'Artigas did not appear to be in the least concerned at the

orders of the authorities and at the consequences that would ensue, if

Thomas Roch and his keeper, Gaydon, were found on board.

At last all was ready, the crew manned the capstan bars, the sails

were hoisted, and the schooner glided gracefully through the water

towards the Sound.

Twenty miles from New-Berne the estuary curves abruptly and shoots off

towards the northwest for about the same distance, gradually widening

until it empties itself into Pamlico Sound.

The latter is a vast expanse about seventy miles across from Sivan

Island to Roanoke. On the seaward side stretches a chain of long and

narrow islands, forming a natural breakwater north and south from

Cape Lookout to Cape Hatteras and from the latter to Cape Henry, near

Norfolk City, in Virginia.

Numerous beacons on the islands and islets form an easy guide for

vessels at night seeking refuge from the Atlantic gales, and once

inside the chain they are certain of finding plenty of good anchoring

grounds.

Several passes afford an outlet from the Sound to the sea. Beyond

Sivan Island lighthouse is Ocracoke inlet, and next is the inlet of

Hatteras. There are also three others known as Logger Head inlet, New

inlet, and Oregon inlet. The Ocracoke was the one nearest the Ebba,

and she could make it without tacking, but the Falcon was searching

all vessels that passed through. This did not, however, make any

particular difference, for by this time all the passes, upon which

the guns of the forts had been trained, were guarded by government

vessels.

The Ebba, therefore, kept on her way, neither trying to avoid

nor offering to approach the searchers. She seemed to be merely a

pleasure-yacht out for a morning sail.

No attempt had up to that time been made to accost her. Was she, then,

specially privileged, and to be spared the bother of being searched?

Was the Count d'Artigas considered too high and mighty a personage to

be thus molested, and delayed even for an hour? It was unlikely, for

though he was regarded as a distinguished foreigner who lived the life

of luxury enjoyed by the favored of fortune, no one, as a matter of

fact, knew who he was, nor whence he came, nor whither he was going.

The schooner sped gracefully over the calm waters of the sound, her

flag--a gold crescent in the angle of a red field--streaming proudly

in the breeze. Count d'Artigas was cosily ensconced in a basket-work

chair on the after-deck, conversing with Engineer Serko and Captain

Spade.

"They don't seem in a hurry to board us," remarked Serko.

"They can come whenever they think proper," said the Count in a tone

of supreme indifference.

"No doubt they are waiting for us at the entrance to the inlet,"

suggested Captain Spade.

"Let them wait," grunted the wealthy nobleman.

Then he relapsed into his customary unconcerned impassibility.

Captain Spade's hypothesis was doubtless correct. The Falcon had as

yet made no move towards the schooner, but would almost certainly do

so as soon as the latter reached the inlet, and the Count would have

to submit to a search of his vessel if he wished to reach the open

sea.

How was it then that he manifested such extraordinary unconcern? Were

Thomas Roch and Gaydon so safely hidden that their hiding-place could

not possibly be discovered?

The thing was possible, but perhaps the Count d'Artigas would not have

been quite so confident had he been aware that the Ebba had been

specially signalled to the warship and revenue cutters as a suspect.

The Count's visit to Healthful House on the previous day had now

attracted particular attention to him and his schooner. Evidently, at

the time, the director could have had no reason to suspect the motive

of his visit. But a few hours later, Thomas Roch and his keeper had

been carried off. No one else from outside had been near the pavilion

that day. It was admitted that it would have been an easy matter for

the Count's companion, while the former distracted the director's

attention, to push back the bolts of the door in the wall and steal

the key. Then the fact that the Ebba was anchored in rear of, and

only a few hundred yards from, the estate, was in itself suspicious.

Nothing would have been easier for the desperadoes than to enter by

the door, surprise their victims, and carry them off to the schooner.

These suspicions, neither the director nor the personnel of the

establishment had at first liked to give expression to, but when

the Ebba was seen to weigh anchor and head for the open sea, they

appeared to be confirmed.

They were communicated to the authorities of New-Berne, who

immediately ordered the commander of the Falcon to intercept the

schooner, to search her minutely high and low, and from stem to stern,

and on no account to let her proceed, unless he was absolutely certain

that Roch and Gaydon were not on board.

Assuredly the Count d'Artigas could have had no idea that his vessel

was the object of such stringent orders; but even if he had, it is

questionable whether this superbly haughty and disdainful nobleman

would hove manifested any particular anxiety.

Towards three o'clock, the warship which was cruising before the

inlet, after having sent search parties aboard a few fishing-smacks,

suddenly manoeuvred to the entrance of the pass, and awaited the

approaching schooner. The latter surely did not imagine that she could

force a passage in spite of the cruiser, or escape from a vessel

propelled by steam. Besides, had she attempted such a foolhardy

trick, a couple of shots from the Falcon's guns would speedily have

constrained her to lay to.

Presently a boat, manned by two officers and ten sailors, put off from

the cruiser and rowed towards the Ebba. When they were only about

half a cable's length off, one of the men rose and waved a flag.

"That's a signal to stop," said Engineer Serko.

"Precisely," remarked the Count d'Artigas.

"We shall have to lay to."

"Then lay to."

Captain Spade went forward and gave the necessary orders, and in a few

minutes the vessel slackened speed, and was soon merely drifting with

the tide.

The Falcon's boat pulled alongside, and a man in the bows held on to

her with a boat-hook. The gangway was lowered by a couple of hands on

the schooner, and the two officers, followed by eight of their men,

climbed on deck.

They found the crew of the Ebba drawn up in line on the forecastle.

The officer in command of the boarding-party--a first

lieutenant--advanced towards the owner of the schooner, and the

following questions and answers were exchanged:

"This schooner belongs to the Count d'Artigas, to whom, I presume, I

have the honor of speaking?"

"Yes, sir."

"What is her name?"

"The Ebba."

"She is commanded by?--"

"Captain Spade."

"What is his nationality?"

"Hindo-Malay."

The officer scrutinized the schooner's flag, while the Count d'Artigas

added:

"Will you be good enough to tell me, sir, to what circumstance I owe

the pleasure of your visit on board my vessel?"

"Orders have been received," replied the officer, "to search every

vessel now anchored in Pamlico Sound, or which attempts to leave it."

He did not deem it necessary to insist upon this point since the

Ebba, above every other, was to be subjected to the bother of a

rigorous examination.

"You, of course, sir, have no intention of refusing me permission to

go over your schooner?"

"Assuredly not, sir. My vessel is at your disposal from peaks to

bilges. Only I should like to know why all the vessels which happen to

be in Pamlico Sound to-day are being subjected to this formality."

"I see no reason why you should not be informed, Monsieur the Count,"

replied the officer. "The governor of North Carolina has been apprised

that Healthful House has been broken into and two persons kidnapped,

and the authorities merely wish to satisfy themselves that the persons

carried off have not been embarked during the night."

"Is it possible?" exclaimed the Count, feigning surprise. "And who are

the persons who have thus disappeared from Healthful House?"

"An inventor--a madman--and his keeper."

"A madman, sir? Do you, may I ask, refer to the Frenchman, Thomas

Roch?"

"The same."

"The Thomas Roch whom I saw yesterday during my visit to the

establishment--whom I questioned in presence of the director--who

was seized with a violent paroxysm just as Captain Spade and I were

leaving?"

The officer observed the stranger with the keenest attention, in an

effort to surprise anything suspicious in his attitude or remarks.

"It is incredible!" added the Count, as though he had just heard about

the outrage for the first time.

"I can easily understand, sir, how uneasy the authorities must be,"

he went on, "in view of Thomas Roch's personality, and I cannot but

approve of the measures taken. I need hardly say that neither the

French inventor nor his keeper is on board the Ebba. However, you

can assure yourself of the fact by examining the schooner as minutely

as you desire. Captain Spade, show these gentlemen over the vessel."

Then saluting the lieutenant of the Falcon coldly, the Count

d'Artigas sank into his deck-chair again and replaced his cigar

between his lips, while the two officers and eight sailors, conducted

by Captain Spade, began their search.

In the first place they descended the main hatchway to the after

saloon--a luxuriously-appointed place, filled with art objects of

great value, hung with rich tapestries and hangings, and wainscotted

with costly woods.

It goes without saying that this and the adjoining cabins were

searched with a care that could not have been surpassed by the most

experienced detectives. Moreover, Captain Spade assisted them by every

means in his power, obviously anxious that they should not preserve

the slightest suspicion of the Ebba's owner.

After the grand saloon and cabins, the elegant dining-saloon was

visited. Then the cook's galley, Captain Spade's cabin, and the

quarters of the crew in the forecastle were overhauled, but no sign of

Thomas Roch or Gaydon was to be seen.

Next, every inch of the hold, etc., was examined, with the aid of a

couple of lanterns. Water-kegs, wine, brandy, whisky and beer barrels,

biscuit-boxes, in fact, all the provision boxes and everything the

hold contained, including the stock of coal, was moved and probed, and

even the bilges were scrutinized, but all in vain.

Evidently the suspicion that the Count d'Artigas had carried off

the missing men was unfounded and unjust. Even a rat could not have

escaped the notice of the vigilant searchers, leave alone two men.

When they returned on deck, however, the officers, as a matter of

precaution looked into the boats hanging on the davits, and punched

the lowered sails, with the same result.

It only remained for them, therefore, to take leave of the Count

d'Artigas.

"You must pardon us for having disturbed you, Monsieur the Count,"

said the lieutenant.

"You were compelled to obey your orders, gentlemen."

"It was merely a formality, of course," ventured the officer.

By a slight inclination of the head the Count signified that he was

quite willing to accept this euphemism.

"I assure you, gentlemen, that I have had no hand in this kidnapping."

"We can no longer believe so, Monsieur the Count, and will withdraw."

"As you please. Is the Ebba now free to proceed?"

"Certainly."

"Then au revoir, gentlemen, au revoir, for I am an habitué of

this coast and shall soon be back again. I hope that ere my return you

will have discovered the author of the outrage, and have Thomas Roch

safely back in Healthful House. It is a consummation devoutly to be

wished in the interest of the United States--I might even say of the

whole world."

The two officers courteously saluted the Count, who responded with a

nod. Captain Spade accompanied them to the gangway, and they were soon

making for the cruiser, which had steamed near to pick them up.

Meanwhile the breeze had freshened considerably, and when, at a sign

from d'Artigas, Captain Spade set sail again, the Ebba skimmed

swiftly through the inlet, and half an hour after was standing out to

sea.

For an hour she continued steering east-northeast, and then, the wind,

being merely a land breeze, dropped, and the schooner lay becalmed,

her sails limp, and her flag drooping like a wet rag. It seemed that

it would be impossible for the vessel to continue her voyage that

night unless a breeze sprang up, and of this there was no sign.

Since the schooner had cleared the inlet Captain Spade had stood in

the bows gazing into the water, now to port, now to starboard, as if

on the lookout for something. Presently he shouted in a stentorian

voice:

"Furl sail!"

The sailors rushed to their posts, and in an instant the sails came

rattling down and were furled.

Was it Count d'Artigas' intention to wait there till daybreak brought

a breeze with it? Presumably, or the sails would have remained hoisted

to catch the faintest puff.

A boat was lowered and Captain Spade jumped into it, accompanied by

a sailor, who paddled it towards an object that was floating on the

water a few yards away.

This object was a small buoy, similar to that which had floated on the

bosom of the Neuse when the Ebba lay off Healthful House.

The buoy, with a towline affixed to it, was lifted into the boat that

was then paddled to the bow of the Ella, from the deck of which

another hawser was cast to the captain, who made it fast to the

towline of the buoy. Having dropped the latter overboard again, the

captain and the sailor returned to the ship and the boat was hoisted

in.

Almost immediately the hawser tautened, and the Elba, though not a

stitch of canvas had been set, sped off in an easterly direction at a

speed that could not have been less than ten knots an hour.

Night was falling fast, and soon the rapidly receding lights along the

American coast were lost in the mist on the horizon.

CHAPTER V - WHERE AM I?

(Notes by Simon Hart, the Engineer.)

Where am I? What has happened since the sudden aggression of which I

was the victim near the pavilion.

I had just quitted the doctor, and was about to mount the steps, close

the door and resume my post beside Thomas Roch when several men

sprang upon me and knocked me down. Who are they? My eyes having been

bandaged I was unable to recognize them. I could not cry for help,

having been gagged. I could make no resistance, for they had bound me

hand and foot. Thus powerless, I felt myself lifted and carried about

one hundred paces, then hoisted, then lowered, then laid down.

Where? Where?

And Thomas Roch, what has become of him? It must have been he rather

than I they were after. I was but Gaydon, the warder. None suspected

that I was Simon Hart, the engineer, nor could they have suspected my

nationality. Why, therefore, should they have desired to kidnap a mere

hospital attendant?

There can consequently be no doubt that the French inventor has been

carried off; and if he was snatched from Healthful House it must have

been in the hope of forcing his secret from him.

But I am reasoning on the supposition that Thomas Roch was carried off

with me. Is it so? Yes--it must be--it is. I can entertain no doubt

whatever about it. I have not fallen into the hands of malefactors

whose only intention is robbery. They would not have acted in this

way. After rendering it impossible for me to cry out, after having

thrown me into a clump of bushes in the corner of the garden, after

having kidnapped Thomas Roch they would not have shut me up--where I

now am.

Where? This is the question which I have been asking myself for hours

without being able to answer it.

However, one thing is certain, and that is that I have embarked upon

an extraordinary adventure, that will end?--In what manner I know

not--I dare not even imagine what the upshot of it will be. Anyhow,

it is my intention to commit to memory, minute by minute, the least

circumstance, and then, if it be possible, to jot down my daily

impressions. Who knows what the future has in store for me? And who

knows but what, in my new position, I may finally discover the secret

of Roth's fulgurator? If I am to be delivered one day, this secret

must be made known, as well as who is the author, or who are the

authors, of this criminal outrage, which may be attended with such

serious consequences.

I continually revert to this question, hoping that some incident will

occur to enlighten me:

Where am I?

Let me begin from the beginning.

After having been carried by the head and feet from Healthful House,

I felt that I was laid, without any brutality, I must admit, upon the

stretchers of a row-boat of small dimensions.

The rocking caused by the weight of my body was succeeded shortly

afterwards by a further rocking--which I attribute to the embarking of

a second person. Can there be room for doubt that it was Thomas

Roch? As far as he was concerned they would not have had to take the

precaution of gagging him, or of bandaging his eyes, or of binding

him. He must still have been in a state of prostration which precluded

the possibility of his making any resistance, or even of being

conscious of what was being done. The proof that I am not deceiving

myself is that I could smell the unmistakable odor of ether. Now,

yesterday, before taking leave of us, the doctor administered a few

drops of ether to the invalid and--I remember distinctly--a little of

this extremely volatile substance fell upon his clothing while he was

struggling in his fit. There is therefore nothing astonishing in the

fact that this odor should have clung to him, nor that I should have

distinguished it, even beneath the bandages that covered my face.

Yes, Thomas Roch was extended near me in the boat. And to think that

had I not returned to the pavilion when I did, had I delayed a few

minutes longer, I should have found him gone!

Let me think. What could have inspired that Count d'Artigas with the

unfortunate curiosity to visit Healthful House? If he had not been

allowed to see my patient nothing of the kind would have happened.

Talking to Thomas Roch about his inventions brought on a fit of

exceptional violence. The director is primarily to blame for not

heeding my warning. Had he listened to me the doctor would not have

been called upon to attend him, the door of the pavilion would have

been locked, and the attempt of the band would have been frustrated.

As to the interest there could have been in carrying off Thomas Roch,

either on behalf of a private person or of one of the states of the

Old World, it is so evident that there is no need to dwell upon it.

However, I can be perfectly easy about the result. No one can possibly

succeed in learning what for fifteen months I have been unable to

ascertain. In the condition of intellectual collapse into which my

fellow-countryman has fallen, all attempts to force his secret from

him will be futile. Moreover, he is bound to go from bad to worse

until he is hopelessly insane, even as regards those points upon which

he has hitherto preserved his reason intact.

After all, however, it is less about Thomas Roch than myself that I

must think just now, and this is what I have experienced, to resume

the thread of my adventure where I dropped it:

After more rocking caused by our captors jumping into it, the boat

is rowed off. The distance must be very short, for a minute after we

bumped against something. I surmise that this something must be

the hull of a ship, and that we have run alongside. There is some

scurrying and excitement. Indistinctly through my bandages I can hear

orders being given and a confused murmur of voices that lasts for

about five minutes, but I cannot distinguish a word that is said.

The only thought that occurs to me now is that they will hoist me on

board and lower me to the bottom of the hold and keep me there till

the vessel is far out at sea. Obviously they will not allow either

Thomas Roch or his keeper to appear on deck as long as she remains in

Pamlico Sound.

My conjecture is correct. Still gagged and bound I am at last lifted

by the legs and shoulders. My impression, however, is that I am not

being raised over a ship's bulwark, but on the contrary am being

lowered. Are they going to drop me overboard to drown like a rat, so

as to get rid of a dangerous witness? This thought flashes into my

brain, and a quiver of anguish passes through my body from head to

foot. Instinctively I draw a long breath, and my lungs are filled with

the precious air they will speedily lack.

No, there is no immediate cause for alarm. I am laid with comparative

gentleness upon a hard floor, which gives me the sensation of metallic

coldness. I am lying at full length. To my extreme surprise, I find

that the ropes with which I was bound have been untied and loosened.

The tramping about around me has ceased. The next instant I hear a

door closed with a bang.

Where am I? And, in the first place, am I alone? I tear the gag from

my mouth, and the bandages from my head.

It is dark--pitch dark. Not a ray of light, not even the vague

perception of light that the eyes preserve when the lids are tightly

closed.

I shout--I shout repeatedly. No response. My voice is smothered. The

air I breathe is hot, heavy, thick, and the working of my lungs will

become difficult, impossible, unless the store of air is renewed.

I extend my arms and feel about me, and this is what I conclude:

I am in a compartment with sheet-iron walls, which cannot measure more

than four cubic yards. I can feel that the walls are of bolted plates,

like the sides of a ship's water-tight compartment.

I can feel that the entrance to it is by a door on one side, for the

hinges protrude somewhat. This door must open inwards, and it is

through here, no doubt, that I was carried in.

I place my ear to the door, but not a sound can be heard. The silence

is as profound as the obscurity--a strange silence that is only broken

by the sonorousness of the metallic floor when I move about. None of

the dull noises usually to be heard on board a ship is perceptible,

not even the rippling of the water along the hull. Nor is there the

slightest movement to be felt; yet, in the estuary of the Neuse, the

current is always strong enough, to cause a marked oscillation to any

vessel.

But does the compartment in which I am confined, really belong to

a ship? How do I know that I am afloat on the Neuse, though I was

conveyed a short distance in a boat? Might not the latter, instead of

heading for a ship in waiting for it, opposite Healthful House, have

been rowed to a point further down the river? In this case is it not

possible that I was carried into the collar of a house? This would

explain the complete immobility of the compartment. It is true that

the walls are of bolted plates, and that there is a vague smell of

salt water, that odor sui generis which generally pervades the

interior of a ship, and which there is no mistaking.

An interval, which I estimate at about four hours, must have passed

since my incarceration. It must therefore be near midnight. Shall I be

left here in this way till morning? Luckily, I dined at six o'clock,

which is the regular dinner-hour at Healthful House. I am not

suffering from hunger. In fact I feel more inclined to sleep than

to eat. Still, I hope I shall have energy enough to resist the

inclination. I will not give way to it. I must try and find out what

is going on outside. But neither sound nor light can penetrate this

iron box. Wait a minute, though; perhaps by listening intently I may

hear some sound, however feeble. Therefore I concentrate all my vital

power in my sense of hearing. Moreover, I try--in case I should

really not be on terra firma--to distinguish some movement, some

oscillation of my prison. Admitting that the ship is still at anchor,

it cannot be long before it will start--otherwise I shall have to give

up imagining why Thomas Roch and I have been carried off.

At last--it is no illusion--a slight rolling proves to me, beyond a

doubt, that I am not on land. We are evidently moving, but the motion

is scarcely perceptible. It is not a jerky, but rather a gliding

movement, as though we were skimming through the water without effort,

on an even keel.

Let me consider the matter calmly. I am on board a vessel that was

anchored in the Neuse, waiting under sail or steam, for the result of

the expedition. A boat brought me aboard, but, I repeat, I did not

feel that I was lifted over her bulwarks. Was I passed through a

porthole? But after all, what does it matter? Whether I was lowered

into the hold or not, I am certainly upon something that is floating

and moving.

No doubt I shall soon be let out, together with Thomas Roch, supposing

them to have locked him up as carefully as they have me. By being let

out, I mean being accorded permission to go on deck. It will not be

for some hours to come, however, that is certain, for they won't want

us to be seen, so that there is no chance of getting a whiff of fresh

air till we are well out at sea. If it is a sailing vessel, she must

have waited for a breeze--for the breeze that freshens off shore at

daybreak, and is favorable to ships navigating Pamlico Sound.

It certainly cannot be a steamer. I could not have failed to smell the

oil and other odors of the engine-room. And then I should feel

the trembling of the machinery, the jerks of the pistons, and the

movements of the screws or paddles.

The best thing to do is to wait patiently. I shan't be taken out of

this hole until to-morrow, anyway. Moreover, if I am not released,

somebody will surely bring me something to eat. There is no reason to

suppose that they intend to starve me to death. They wouldn't have

taken the trouble to bring me aboard, but would have dropped me to the

bottom of the river had they been desirous of getting rid of me. Once

we are out at sea, what will they have to fear from me? No one could

hear my shouts. As to demanding an explanation and making a fuss, it

would be useless. Besides, what am I to the men who have carried us

off? A mere hospital attendant--one Gaydon, who is of no consequence.

It is Thomas Roch they were after. I was taken along too because I

happened to return to the pavilion at the critical moment.

At any rate, no matter what happens, no matter who our kidnappers may

be, no matter where we are taken, I shall stick to this resolution: I

will continue to play my role of warder. No one, no! none, can suspect

that Gaydon is Simon Hart, the engineer. There are two advantages in

this: in the first place, they will take no notice of a poor devil

of a warder, and in the second, I may be able to solve the mystery

surrounding this plot and turn my knowledge to profit, if I succeed in

making my escape.

But whither are my thoughts wandering? I must perforce wait till we

arrive at our destination before thinking of escaping. It will be time

enough to bother about that when the occasion presents itself. Until

then the essential is that they remain ignorant as to my identity, and

they cannot, and shall not, know who I am.

I am now certain that we are going through the water. But there is one

thing that puzzles me. It is hot a sailing vessel, neither can it be a

steamer. Yet it is incontestably propelled by some powerful machine.

There are none of the noises, nor is there the trembling that

accompanies the working of steam engines. The movement of the vessel

is more continuous and regular, it is a sort of direct rotation that

is communicated by the motor, whatever the latter may be. No mistake

is possible: the ship is propelled by some special mechanism. But what

is it?

Is it one of those turbines that have been spoken of lately, which,

fitted into a submerged tube, are destined to replace the ordinary

screw, it being claimed that they utilize the resistance of the water

better than the latter and give increased speed to a ship?

In a few hours' time I shall doubtless know all about this means of

locomotion.

Meanwhile there is another thing that equally puzzles me. There is not

the slightest rolling or pitching. How is it that Pamlico Sound is so

extraordinarily calm? The varying currents continuously ruffle the

surface of the Sound, even if nothing else does.

It is true the tide may be out, and I remember that last night

the wind had fallen altogether. Still, no matter, the thing is

inexplicable, for a ship propelled by machinery, no matter at what

speed she may be going, always oscillates more or less, and I cannot

perceive the slightest rocking.

Such are the thoughts with which my mind is persistently filled.

Despite an almost overpowering desire to sleep, despite the torpor

that is coming upon me in this suffocating atmosphere, I am resolved

not to close my eyes. I will keep awake till daylight, and there will

be no daylight for me till it is let into my prison from the outside.

Perhaps even if the door were open it would not penetrate to this

black hole, and I shall probably not see it again until I am taken on

deck.

I am squatting in a corner of my prison, for I have no stool or

anything to sit upon, but as my eyelids are heavy and I feel somnolent

in spite of myself, I get up and walk about. Then I wax wrathful,

anger fills my soul, I beat upon the iron walls with my fists, and

shout for help. In vain! I hurt my hands against the bolts of the

plates, and no one answers my cries.

Such conduct is unworthy of me. I flattered myself that I would remain

calm under all circumstances and here I am acting like a child.

The absence of any rolling or lurching movement at least proves that

we are not yet at sea. Instead of crossing Pamlico Sound, may we not

be going in the opposite direction, up the River Neuse? No! What would

they go further inland for? If Thomas Roch has been carried off from

Healthful House, his captors obviously mean to take him out of the

United States--probably to a distant island in the Atlantic, or to

some point on the European continent. It is, therefore, not up the

Neuse that our maritime machine, whatever it may be, is going, but

across Pamlico Sound, which must be as calm as a mirror.

Very well, then, when we get to sea I shall soon, know, for the vessel

will rock right enough in the swell off shore, even though there be

no wind,--unless I am aboard a battleship, or big cruiser, and this I

fancy can hardly be!

But hark! If I mistake not--no, it was not imagination--I hear

footsteps. Some one is approaching the side of the compartment where

the door is. One of the crew no doubt. Are they going to let me out at

last? I can now hear voices. A conversation is going on outside the

door, but it is carried on in a language that I do not understand. I

shout to them--I shout again, but no answer is vouchsafed.

There is nothing to do, then, but wait, wait, wait! I keep repeating

the word and it rings in my ears like a bell.

Let me try to calculate how long I have been here. The ship must have

been under way for at least four or five hours. I reckon it must be

past midnight, but I cannot tell, for unfortunately my watch is of no

use to me in this Cimmerian darkness.

Now, if we have been going for five hours, we must have cleared

Pamlico Sound, whether we issued by Ocracoke or Hatteras inlet, and

must be off the coast a good mile, at least. Yet I haven't felt any

motion from the swell of the sea.

It is inexplicable, incredible! Come now, have I made a mistake? Am

I the dupe of an illusion? Am I not imprisoned in the hold of a ship

under way?

Another hour has passed and the movement of the ship suddenly ceases;

I realize perfectly that she is stationary. Has she reached her

destination? In this event we can only be in one of the coast ports

to the north or south of Pamlico Sound. But why should Thomas Roch be

landed again? The abduction must soon have been discovered, and our

kidnappers would run the greatest risk of falling into the hands of

the authorities if they attempted to disembark.

However this may be, if the vessel is coming to anchor I shall hear

the noise of the chain as it is paid out, and feel the jerk as

the ship is brought up. I know that sound and that jerk well from

experience, and I am bound to hear and feel them in a minute or two.

I wait--I listen.

A dead and disquieting silence reigns on board. I begin to wonder

whether I am not the only living being in the ship.

Now I feel an irresistible torpor coming over me. The air is vitiated.

I cannot breathe. My chest is bursting. I try to resist, but it is

impossible to do so. The temperature rises to such a degree that I am

compelled to divest myself of part of my clothing. Then I lie me down

in a corner. My heavy eyelids close, and I sink into a prostration

that eventually forces me into heavy slumber.

How long have I been asleep? I cannot say. Is it night? Is it day? I

know not. I remark, however, that I breathe more easily, and that the

air is no longer poisoned carbonic acid.

Was the air renewed while I slept? Has the door been opened? Has

anybody been in here?

Yes, here is the proof of it!

In feeling about, my hand has come in contact with a mug filled with

a liquid that exhales an inviting odor. I raise it to my lips, which,

are burning, for I am suffering such an agony of thirst that I would

even drink brackish water.

It is ale--an ale of excellent quality--which refreshes and comforts

me, and I drain the pint to the last drop.

But if they have not condemned me to die of thirst, neither have they

condemned me to die of hunger, I suppose?

No, for in one of the corners I find a basket, and this basket

contains some bread and cold meat.

I fall to, eating greedily, and my strength little by little returns.

Decidedly, I am not so abandoned as I thought I was. Some one entered

this obscure hole, and the open door admitted a little of the oxygen

from the outside, without which I should have been suffocated. Then

the wherewithal to quench my thirst and appease the pangs of hunger

was placed within my reach.

How much longer will this incarceration last? Days? Months? I cannot

estimate the hours that have elapsed since I fell asleep, nor have I

any idea as to what time of the day or night it may be. I was careful

to wind up my watch, though, and perhaps by feeling the hands--Yes, I

think the little hand marks eight o'clock--in the morning, no doubt.

What I do know, however, is that the ship is not in motion. There is

not the slightest quiver.

Hours and hours, weary, interminable hours go by, and I wonder whether

they are again waiting till night comes on to renew my stock of

air and provisions. Yes, they are waiting to take advantage of my

slumbers. But this time I am resolved to resist. I will feign to be

asleep--and I shall know how to force an answer from whoever enters!

CHAPTER VI - ON DECK.

Here I am in the open air, breathing freely once more. I have at last

been hauled out of that stifling box and taken on deck. I gaze around

me in every direction and see no sign of land. On every hand is that

circular line which defines earth and sky. No, there is not even a

speck of land to be seen to the west, where the coast of North America

extends for thousands of miles.

The setting sun now throws but slanting rays upon the bosom of the

ocean. It must be about six o'clock in the evening. I take out my

watch and it marks thirteen minutes past six.

As I have already mentioned, I waited for the door of my prison to

open, thoroughly resolved not to fall asleep again, but to spring upon

the first person who entered and force him to answer my questions. I

was not aware then that it was day, but it was, and hour after hour

passed and no one came. I began to suffer again from hunger and

thirst, for I had not preserved either bite or sup.

As soon as I awoke I felt that the ship was in motion again, after

having, I calculated, remained stationary since the previous day--no

doubt in some lonely creek, since I had not heard or felt her come to

anchor.

A few minutes ago--it must therefore have been six o'clock--I again

heard 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 the

bolts as they were drawn back, and then the door opened, and the

darkness in which I had been plunged since the first hour of my

captivity was illumined by the light of a lantern.

Two men, whom I had no time to look at, entered and seized me by the

arms. A thick cloth was thrown over my head, which was enveloped in

such 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 made

no reply. The men spoke to each other in a language that I could not

understand, and had never heard before.

They stood upon no ceremony with me. It is true I was only a madhouse

warder, and they probably did not consider it necessary to do so; but

I question very much whether Simon Hart, the engineer, would have

received any more courtesy at their hands.

This time, however, no attempt was made to gag me nor to bind either

my arms or legs. I was simply restrained by main force from breaking

away from them.

In a moment I was dragged out of the compartment and pushed along a

narrow passage. Next, the steps of a metallic stairway resounded under

our feet. Then the fresh air blew in my face and I inhaled it with

avidity.

Finally they took their hands from off me, and I found myself free. I

immediately tore the cloth off my head and gazed about me.

I am on board a schooner which is ripping through the water at a great

rate and leaving a long white trail behind her.

I had to clutch at one of the stays for support, dazzled as I was

by the light after my forty-eight hours' imprisonment in complete

obscurity.

On the deck a dozen men with rough, weather-beaten faces come and

go--very dissimilar types of men, to whom it would be impossible to

attribute any particular nationality. They scarcely take any notice of

me.

As to the schooner, I estimate that she registers from two hundred and

fifty to three hundred tons. She has a fairly wide beam, her masts are

strong and lofty, and her large spread of canvas must carry her along

at a spanking rate in a good breeze.

Aft, a grizzly-faced man is at the wheel, and he is keeping her head

to the sea that is running pretty high.

I try to find out the name of the vessel, but it is not to be seen

anywhere, 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 previous

question.

I turn on my heel and go forward.

Above the forward hatchway a bell is suspended. Maybe the name of the

schooner is engraved upon it. I examine it, but can find no name upon

it.

I then return to the stern and address the man at the wheel. He gazes

at me sourly, shrugs his shoulders, and bending, grasps the spokes of

the wheel solidly, and brings the schooner, which had been headed off

by a large wave from port, stem on to sea again.

Seeing that nothing is to be got from that quarter, I turn away and

look about to see if I can find Thomas Roch, but I do not perceive

him anywhere. Is he not on board? He must be. They could have had no

reason for carrying me off alone. No one could have had any idea

that I was Simon Hart, the engineer, and even had they known it what

interest 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 one

of the cabins, and trust he has met with better treatment than his

ex-guardian.

But what is this--and how on earth could I have failed to notice it

before? How is this schooner moving? Her sails are furled--there is

not an inch of canvas set--the wind has fallen, and the few puffs that

occasionally come from the east are unfavorable, in view of the fact

that we are going in that very direction. And yet the schooner speeds

through the sea, her bows down, throwing off clouds of foam, and

leaving a long, milky, undulating trail in her wake.

Is she a steam-yacht? No--there is not a smokestack about her. Is she

propelled by electricity--by a battery of accumulators, or by piles of

great 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 with

a screw, and by leaning over the stern I shall be able to see it, and

can find out what sets it working afterwards.

The man at the wheel watches me ironically as I approach, but makes no

effort to prevent me from looking over.

I gaze long and earnestly, but there is no foaming and seething of

the water such as is invariably caused by the revolutions of the

screw--naught but the long white furrow that a sailing vessel leaves

behind is discernible in the schooner's wake.

Then, what kind of a machine is it that imparts such a marvellous

speed 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 again

go forward.

As I approach the forecastle I find myself face to face with a man who

is 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 Count

d'Artigas during the latter's visit to Healthful House. There can be

no mistake--it is he right enough.

It was, then, that rich foreigner who abducted Thomas Roch, and I am

on board the Ebba his schooner-yacht which is so well known on the

American coast!

The man before me will enlighten me about what I want to know. I

remember 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. You

remember 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 I

want to know why you have carried me off and placed me on board this

schooner?"

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 movement

that I cannot restrain, bundle me down the hatchway. The hatchway

stair in reality, I remark, is a perpendicular iron ladder, at the

bottom of which, to right and left, are some cabins, and forward, the

men's quarters.

Are they going to put me back in my dark prison at the bottom of the

hold?

No. They turn to the left and push me into a cabin. It is lighted by

a port-hole, which is open, and through which the fresh air comes in

gusts from the briny. The furniture consists of a bunk, a chair, a

chest of drawers, a wash-hand-stand and a table.

The latter is spread for dinner, and I sit down. Then the cook's mate

comes in with two or three dishes. He is a colored lad, and as he is

about to withdraw, I try to question him, but he, too, vouchsafes no

reply. 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 some

future occasion when I shall stand a chance of getting answered.

It is true I am a prisoner, but this time I am comfortable enough, and

I hope I shall be permitted to occupy this cabin for the remainder of

the 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 was

the Count d'Artigas who planned the abduction; that it was he who is

responsible for the kidnapping of Thomas Roch, and that consequently

the French inventor must be just as comfortably installed somewhere on

board the schooner.

But who is this Count d'Artigas? Where does he hail from? If he has

seized Thomas Roch, is it not because he is determined to secure the

secret of the fulgurator at no matter what cost? Very likely, and I

must therefore be careful not to betray my identity, for if they knew

the truth, I should never be afforded a chance to get away.

But what a lot of mysteries to clear up, how many inexplicable things

to explain--the origin of this d'Artigas, his intentions as to the

future, whither we are bound, the port to which the schooner belongs,

and this mysterious progress through the water without sails and

without screws, at a speed of at least ten knots an hour!

The air becoming keener as night deepens, I close and secure the

port-hole, and as my cabin is bolted on the outside, the best thing I

can do is to get into my bunk and let myself be gently rocked to sleep

by the broad Atlantic in this mysterious cradle, the Ebba.

The next morning I rise at daybreak, and having performed my

ablutions, dress myself and wait.

Presently the idea of trying the door occurs to me. I find that it has

been unbolted, and pushing it open, climb the iron ladder and emerge

on deck.

The crew are washing down the deck, and standing aft and conversing

are two men, one of whom is the captain. The latter manifests no

surprise at seeing me, and indicates my presence to his companion by a

nod.

This other man, whom I have never before seen, is an individual of

about fifty years of age, whose dark hair is streaked with gray.

His features are delicately chiselled, his eyes are bright, and his

expression is intelligent and not at all displeasing. He is somewhat

of the Grecian type, and T have no doubt that he is of Hellenic origin

when 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 has

an Italian twang about it. Thus there is a Greek, an Italian, and a

crew recruited from every corner of the earth to man a schooner with a

Norwegian 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 of

voice. The former is keeping a sharp eye on the man at the wheel, who

does not appear to pay any particular attention to the compass in

front of him. He seems to pay more heed to the gestures of one of the

sailors stationed forward, and who signals to him to put the helm to

port or to starboard.

Thomas Roch is near them, gazing vacantly out upon the vast expanse

which is not limited on the horizon by a single speck of land. Two

sailors watch his every movement. It is evidently feared that the

madman 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 he

takes no notice of me, and makes no movement. His eyes, which sparkle

brightly, wander over the ocean, and he draws in deep breaths of the

salt, vivifying atmosphere. Added to the air surcharged with oxygen is

a magnificent sunset in a cloudless sky. Does he perceive the change

in his situation? Has he already forgotten about Healthful House, the

pavilion in which he was a prisoner, and Gaydon, his keeper? It is

highly probable. The past has presumably been effaced from his memory

and he lives solely in the present.

In my opinion, even on the deck of the Ebba, in the middle of the

sea, Thomas Roch is still the helpless, irresponsible man whom I

tended for fifteen months. His intellectual condition has undergone no

change, and his reason will return only when he is spoken to about

his inventions. The Count d'Artigas is perfectly aware of this mental

disposition, having had a proof of it during his visit, and he

evidently relies thereon to surprise sooner or later the inventor's

secret. But with what object?

"Thomas Roch!" I exclaim.

My voice seems to strike him, and after gazing at me fixedly for an

instant he averts his eyes quickly.

I take his hand and press it. He withdraws it brusquely and walks

away, without having recognized me, in the direction of Captain Spade

and Engineer Serko.

Does he think of speaking to one or other of these men, and if they

speak to him will he be more reasonable than he was with me, and reply

to them?

At this moment his physiognomy lights up with a gleam of intelligence.

His attention, obviously, has been attracted by the queer progress

of the schooner. He gazes at the masts and the furled sails. Then he

turns 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 belching

forth a cloud of black smoke.

What appeared so strange to me evidently strikes Thomas Roch as being

strange, too. He cannot explain what I found inexplicable, and, as I

did, 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 and

gambolling 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 fall

overboard, hurry to him and drag him gently, but firmly, away.

I observe from long experience that Roch is a prey to violent

excitement. He turns about and gesticulates, uttering incoherent

phrases the while.

It is plain to me that another fit is coming on, similar to the one he

had 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 shall

perhaps be summoned to attend to him.

Meanwhile Engineer Serko and Captain Spade do not lose sight of him

for a moment. They are evidently curious to see what he will do.

After walking towards the mainmast and assuring himself that the sails

are not set, he goes up to it and flinging his arms around it, tries

with 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 more

excited. His vague utterances are followed by inarticulate cries.

Suddenly he rushes to the port stays and clings to them, and I

begin to fear that he will leap into the rigging and climb to the

cross-tree, where he might be precipitated into the sea by a lurch of

the ship.

On a sign from Captain Spade, some sailors run up and try to make him

relinquish his grasp of the stays, but are unable to do so. I know

that during his fits he is endowed with the strength of ten men, and

many a time I have been compelled to summon assistance in order to

overpower him.

Other members of the crew, however, come up, and the unhappy madman is

borne to the deck, where two big sailors hold him down, despite his

extraordinary strength.

The only thing to do is to convey him to his cabin, and let him

lie there till he gets over his fit. This is what will be done in

conformity with orders given by a new-comer whose voice seems familiar

to me.

I turn and recognize him.

He is the Count d'Artigas, with a frown on his face and an imperious

manner, just as I had seen him at Healthful House.

I at once advance toward him. I want an explanation and mean to have

it.

"By what right, sir?"--I begin.

"By the right of might," replies the Count.

Then he turns on his heel, and Thomas Roch is carried below.

CHAPTER VII - TWO DAYS AT SEA.

Perhaps--should circumstances render it necessary--I may be induced to

tell the Count d'Artigas that I am Simon Hart, the engineer. Who knows

but what I may receive more consideration than if I remain Warder

Gaydon? This measure, however, demands reflection. I have always been

dominated by the thought that if the owner of the Ebba kidnapped the

French inventor, it was in the hope of getting possession of Roch's

fulgurator, for which, neither the old nor new continent would pay the

impossible price demanded. In that case the best thing I can do is to

remain Warder Gaydon, on the chance that I may be allowed to continue

in attendance upon him. In this way, if Thomas Roch should ever

divulge his secret, I may learn what it was impossible to do at

Healthful House, and can act accordingly.

Meanwhile, where is the Ebba bound?--first question.

Who and what is the Count d'Artigas?--second question.

The first will be answered in a few days' time, no doubt, in view of

the rapidity with which we are ripping through the water, under the

action of a means of propulsion that I shall end by finding out

all about. As regards the second, I am by no means so sure that my

curiosity will ever be gratified.

In my opinion this enigmatical personage has an all important reason

for hiding his origin, and I am afraid there is no indication by which

I can gauge his nationality. If the Count d'Artigas speaks English

fluently--and I was able to assure myself of that fact during his

visit to Pavilion No. 17,--he pronounces it with a harsh, vibrating

accent, which is not to be found among the peoples of northern

latitudes. I do not remember ever to have heard anything like it in

the course of my travels either in the Old or New World--unless it

be the harshness characteristic of the idioms in use among the Malays.

And, in truth, with his olive, verging on copper-tinted skin, his

jet-black, crinkly hair, his piercing, deep-set, restless eyes, his

square shoulders and marked muscular development, it is by no means

unlikely that he belongs to one of the extreme Eastern races.

I believe this name of d'Artigas is an assumed one, and his title of

Count likewise. If his schooner bears a Norwegian name, he at any rate

is not of Scandinavian origin. He has nothing of the races of Northern

Europe about him.

But whoever and whatever he may be, this man abducted Thomas Roch--and

me with him--with no good intention, I'll be bound.

But what I should like to know is, has he acted as the agent of a

foreign power, or on his own account? Does he wish to profit alone by

Thomas Roch's invention, and is he in the position to dispose of it

profitably? That is another question that I cannot yet answer. Maybe

I shall be able to find out from what I hear and see ere I make my

escape, if escape be possible.

The Ebba continues on her way in the same mysterious manner. I am

free to walk about the deck, without, however, being able to go beyond

the fore hatchway. Once I attempted to go as far as the bows where I

could, by leaning over, perceive the schooner's stem as it cut through

the water, but acting, it was plain, on orders received, the watch

on deck turned me back, and one of them, addressing me brusquely in

harsh, grating English, said:

"Go back! Go back! You are interfering with the working of the ship!"

With the working of the ship! There was no working.

Did they realize that I was trying to discover by what means the

schooner was propelled? Very likely, and Captain Spade, who had looked

on, must have known it, too. Even a hospital attendant could not fail

to be astonished at the fact that a vessel without either screw or

sails was going along at such a speed. However this may be, for some

reason or other, the bows of the Ebba are barred to me.

Toward ten o'clock a breeze springs up--a northwest wind and very

favorable--and Captain Spade gives an order to the boatswain. The

latter immediately pipes all hands on deck, and the mainsail, the

foresail, staysail and jibs are hoisted. The work could not have been

executed with greater regularity and discipline on board a man-of-war.

The Ebba now has a slight list to port, and her speed is notably

increased. But the motor continues to push her along, as is evident

from the fact that the sails are not always as full as they ought

to be if the schooner were bowling along solely under their action.

However, they continue to render yeoman's service, for the breeze has

set in steadily.

The sky is clear, for the clouds in the west disappear as soon as they

attain the horizon, and the sunlight dances on the water.

My preoccupation now is to find out as near as possible where we

are bound for. I am a good-enough sailor to be able to estimate

the approximate speed of a ship. In my opinion the Ebba has been

travelling at the rate of from ten to eleven knots an hour. As to the

direction we have been going in, it is always the same, and I have

been able to verify this by casual glances at the binnacle. If the

fore part of the vessel is barred to Warder Gaydon he has been allowed

a free run of the remainder of it. Time and again I have glanced at

the compass, and noticed that the needle invariably pointed to the

east, or to be exact, east-southeast.

These are the conditions in which we are navigating this part of the

Atlantic Ocean, which is bounded on the west by the coast of the

United States of America.

I appeal to my memory. What are the islands or groups of islands to

be found in the direction we are going, ere the continent of the Old

World is reached?

North Carolina, which the schooner quitted forty-eight hours ago, is

traversed by the thirty-fifth parallel of latitude, and this parallel,

extending eastward, must, if I mistake not, cut the African coast at

Morocco. But along the line, about three thousand miles from America,

are the Azores. Is it presumable that the Ebba is heading for this

archipelago, that the port to which she belongs is somewhere in these

islands which constitute one of Portugal's insular domains? I cannot

admit such an hypothesis.

Besides, before the Azores, on the line of the thirty-fifth parallel,

is the Bermuda group, which belongs to England. It seems to me to be a

good deal less hypothetical that, if the Count d'Artigas was entrusted

with the abduction of Thomas Roch by a European Power at all, it was

by the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. The possibility,

however, remains that he may be acting solely in his own interest.

Three or four times during the day Count d'Artigas has come aft and

remained for some time scanning the surrounding horizon attentively.

When a sail or the smoke from a steamer heaves in sight he examines

the passing vessel for a considerable time with a powerful telescope.

I may add that he has not once condescended to notice my presence on

deck.

Now and then Captain Spade joins him and both exchange a few words in

a language that I can neither understand nor recognize.

It is with Engineer Serko, however, that the owner of the Ebba

converses more readily than with anybody else, and the latter appears

to be very intimate with him. The engineer is a good deal more free,

more loquacious and less surly than his companions, and I wonder what

position he occupies on the schooner. Is he a personal friend of the

Count d'Artigas? Does he scour the seas with him, sharing the enviable

life enjoyed by the rich yachtsman? He is the only man of the lot who

seems to manifest, if not sympathy with, at least some interest in me.

I have not seen Thomas Roch all day. He must be shut in his cabin,

still under the influence of the fit that came upon him last night.

I feel certain that this is so, when about three o'clock in the

afternoon, just as he is about to go below, the Count beckons me to

approach.

I do not know what he wishes to say to me, this Count d'Artigas, but I

do know what I will say to him.

"Do these fits to which Thomas Roch is subject last long?" he asks me

in English.

"Sometimes forty-eight hours," I reply.

"What is to be done?"

"Nothing at all. Let him alone until he falls asleep. After a night's

sleep the fit will be over and Thomas Roch will be his own helpless

self again."

"Very well, Warder Gaydon, you will continue to attend him as you did

at Healthful House, if it be necessary."

"To attend to him!"

"Yes--on board the schooner--pending our arrival."

"Where?"

"Where we shall be to-morrow afternoon," replies the Count.

To-morrow, I say to myself. Then we are not bound for the coast of

Africa, nor even the Azores. There only remains the hypothesis that we

are making for the Bermudas.

Count d'Artigas is about to go down the hatchway when I interrogate

him in my turn:

"Sir," I exclaim, "I desire to know, I have the right to know, where I

am going, and----"

"Here, Warder Gaydon," he interrupted, "you have no rights. All you

have to do is to answer when you are spoken to." "I protest!"

"Protest, then," replies this haughty and imperious personage,

glancing at me menacingly.

Then he disappears down the hatchway, leaving me face to face with

Engineer Serko.

"If I were you, Warder Gaydon, I would resign myself to the

inevitable," remarks the latter with a smile. "When one is caught in a

trap----"

"One can cry out, I suppose?"

"What is the use when no one is near to hear you?"

"I shall be heard some day, sir."

"Some day--that's a long way off. However, shout as much as you

please."

And with this ironical advice, Engineer Serko leaves me to my own

reflections.

Towards four o'clock a big ship is reported about six miles off to

the east, coming in our direction. She is moving rapidly and grows

perceptibly larger. Black clouds of smoke pour out of her two funnels.

She is a warship, for a narrow pennant floats from her main-mast,

and though she is not flying any flag I take her to be an American

cruiser.

I wonder whether the Ebba will render her the customary salute as

she passes.

No; for the schooner suddenly changes her course with the evident

intention of avoiding her.

This proceeding on the part of such a suspicious yacht does not

astonish me greatly. But what does cause me extreme surprise is

Captain Spade's way of manoeuvring.

He runs forward to a signalling apparatus in the bows, similar to that

by which orders are transmitted to the engine room of a steamer. As

soon as he presses one of the buttons of this apparatus the Ebba

veers off a point to the south-west.

Evidently an order of "some kind" has been transmitted to the driver

of the machine of "some kind" which causes this inexplicable movement

of the schooner by the action of a motor of "some kind" the principle

of which I cannot guess at.

The result of this manoeuvre is that the Ebba slants away from the

cruiser, whose course does not vary. Why should this warship cause a

pleasure-yacht to turn out of its way? I have no idea.

But the Ebba behaves in a very different manner when about six

o'clock in the evening a second ship comes in sight on the port bow.

This time, instead of seeking to avoid her, Captain Spade signals an

order by means of the apparatus above referred to, and resumes his

course to the east--which will bring him close to the said ship.

An hour later, the two vessels are only about four miles from each

other.

The wind has dropped completely. The strange ship, which is a

three-masted merchantman, is taking in her top-gallant sails. It is

useless to expect the wind to spring up again during the night, and

she will lay becalmed till morning. The Ebba, however, propelled by

her mysterious motor, continues to approach her.

It goes without saying, that Captain Spade has also begun to take in

sail, and the work, under the direction of the boatswain Effrondat, is

executed with the same precision and promptness that struck me before.

When the twilight deepens into darkness, only a mile and a half

separates the vessels.

Captain Spade then comes up to me--I am standing on the starboard

side--and unceremoniously orders me to go below.

I can but obey. I remark, however, ere I go, that the boatswain has

not lighted the head-lamps, whereas the lamps of the three-master

shine brightly--green to starboard, and red to port.

I entertain no doubt that the schooner intends to pass her without

being seen; for though she has slackened speed somewhat, her direction

has not been in any way modified.

I enter my cabin under the impression of a vague foreboding. My supper

is on the table, but uneasy, I know not why, I hardly touch it, and

lie down to wait for sleep that does not come.

I remain in this condition for two hours. The silence is unbroken save

by the water that ripples along the vessel's sides.

My mind is full of the events of the past two days, and other thoughts

crowd thickly upon me. To-morrow afternoon we shall reach our

destination. To-morrow, I shall resume, on land, my attendance upon

Thomas Roch, "if it be necessary," said the Count d'Artigas.

If, when I was thrown into that black hole at the bottom of the hold,

I was able to perceive when the schooner started off across Pamlico

Sound, I now feel that she has come to a stop. It must be about ten

o'clock.

Why has she stopped? When Captain Spade ordered me below, there was no

land in sight. In this direction, there is no island until the Bermuda

group is reached--at least there is none on the map--and we shall have

to go another fifty or sixty miles before the Bermudas can be

sighted by the lookout men. Not only has the Ebba stopped, but her

immobility is almost complete. There is not a breath of wind, and

scarcely any swell, and her slight, regular rocking is hardly

perceptible.

Then my thoughts turn to the merchantman, which was only a mile and a

half off, on our bow, when I came below. If the schooner continued her

course towards her, she must be almost alongside now. We certainly

cannot be lying more than one or two cables' length from her. The

three-master, which was becalmed at sundown, could not have gone west.

She must be close by, and if the night is clear, I shall be able to

see her through the porthole.

It occurs to me, that perhaps a chance of escape presents itself. Why

should I not attempt it, since no hope of being restored to liberty is

held out to me? It is true I cannot swim, but if I seize a life buoy

and jump overboard, I may be able to reach the ship, if I am not

observed by the watch on deck.

I must quit my cabin and go up by the forward hatchway. I listen. I

hear no noise, either in the men's quarters, or on deck. The sailors

must all be asleep at this hour. Here goes.

I try to open the door, and find it is bolted on the outside, as I

might have expected.

I must give up the attempt, which, after all, had small chance of

success.

The best thing I can do, is to go to sleep, for I am weary of mind,

if not of body. I am restless and racked by conflicting thoughts, and

apprehensions of I know not what. Oh! if I could but sink into the

blessed oblivion of slumber!

I must have managed to fall asleep, for I have just been awakened by

a noise--an unusual noise, such as I have not hitherto heard on board

the schooner.

Day begins to peer through the glass of my port-hole, which is turned

towards the east. I look at my watch. It is half-past four.

The first thing I wonder is, whether the Ebba has resumed her

voyage.

No, I am certain she has not, either by sail, or by her motor. The

sea is as calm at sunrise as it was at sunset. If the Ebba has been

going ahead while I slept, she is at any rate, stationary now.

The noise to which I referred, is caused by men hurrying to and fro on

deck--by men heavily laden. I fancy I can also hear a similar noise

in the hold beneath my cabin floor, the entrance to which is situated

abaft the foremast. I also feel that something is scraping against the

schooner's hull. Have boats come alongside? Are the crew engaged in

loading or unloading merchandise?

And yet we cannot possibly have reached our journey's end. The Count

d'Artigas said that we should not reach our destination till this

afternoon. Now, I repeat, she was, last night, fully fifty or sixty

miles from the nearest land, the group of the Bermudas. That she could

have returned westward, and can be in proximity to the American coast,

is inadmissible, in view of the distance. Moreover, I have reason to

believe that the Ebba has remained stationary all night. Before I

fell asleep, I know she had stopped, and I now know that she is not

moving.

However, I shall see when I am allowed to go on deck. My cabin door is

still bolted, I find on trying it; but I do not think they are likely

to keep me here when broad daylight is on.

An hour goes by, and it gradually gets lighter. I look out of my

porthole. The ocean is covered by a mist, which the first rays of the

sun will speedily disperse.

I can, however, see for a half a mile, and if the three-masted

merchantman is not visible, it is probably because she is lying off

the other, or port, side of the Ebba.

Presently I hear a key turned in my door, and the bolts drawn. I push

the door open and clamber up the iron ladder to the deck, just as the

men are battening down the cover of the hold.

I look for the Count d'Artigas, but do not see him. He has not yet

left his cabin.

Aft, Captain Spade and Engineer Serko are superintending the stowing

of some bales, which have doubtless been hoisted from the hold. This

explains the noisy operations that were going on when I was awakened.

Obviously, if the crew are getting out the cargo, we are approaching

the end of our voyage. We are not far from port, and perhaps in a few

hours, the schooner will drop anchor.

But what about the sailing ship that was to port of us? She ought to

be in the same place, seeing that there has been and is no wind.

I look for her, but she is nowhere to be seen. There is not a sail,

not a speck on the horizon either east, west, north or south.

After cogitating upon the circumstance I can only arrive at the

following conclusion, which, however, can only be accepted under

reserve: Although I did not notice it, the Ebba resumed her voyage

while I slept, leaving the three-master becalmed behind her, and this

is why the merchantman is no longer visible.

I am careful not to question Captain Spade about it, nor even Engineer

Serko, as I should certainly receive no answer.

Besides, at this moment Captain Spade goes to the signalling apparatus

and presses one of the buttons on the upper disk. Almost immediately

the Ebba gives a jerk, then with her sails still furled, she starts

off eastward again.

Two hours later the Count d'Artigas comes up through the main hatchway

and takes his customary place aft. Serko and Captain Spade at once

approach and engage in conversation with him.

All three raise their telescopes and sweep the horizon from southeast

to northeast.

No one will be surprised to learn that I gaze intently in the same

direction; but having no telescope I cannot distinguish anything.

The midday meal over we all return on deck--all with the exception of

Thomas Roch, who has not quitted his cabin.

Towards one o'clock land is sighted by the lookout man on the foretop

cross-tree. Inasmuch as the Elba is bowling along at great speed I

shall soon be able to make out the coast line.

In effect, two hours later a vague semicircular line that curves

outward is discernible about eight miles off. As the schooner

approaches it becomes more distinct. It is a mountain, or at all

events very high ground, and from its summit a cloud of smoke ascends.

What! A volcano in these parts? It must then be----

CHAPTER VIII - BACK CUP.

In my opinion the Ebba could have struck no other group of islands

but the Bermudas in this part of the Atlantic. This is clear from the

distance covered from the American coast and the direction sailed in

since we issued from Pamlico Sound. This direction has constantly been

south-southeast, and the distance, judging from the Ebba's rate of

speed, which has scarcely varied, is approximately seven hundred and

fifty miles.

Still, the schooner does not slacken speed. The Count d'Artigas and

Engineer Serko remain aft, by the man at the wheel. Captain Spade has

gone forward.

Are we not going to leave this island, which appears to be isolated,

to the west?

It does not seem likely, since it is still broad daylight, and the

hour at which the Ebba was timed to arrive.

All the sailors are drawn up on deck, awaiting orders, and Boatswain

Effrondat is making preparations to anchor.

Ere a couple of hours have passed I shall know all about it. It will

be the first answer to one of the many questions that have perplexed

me since the schooner put to sea.

And yet it is most unlikely that the port to which the Ebba belongs

is situated on one of the Bermuda islands, in the middle of an English

archipelago--unless the Count d'Artigas has kidnapped Thomas Roch for

the British government, which I cannot believe.

I become aware that this extraordinary man is gazing at me with

singular persistence. Although he can have no suspicion that I am

Simon Hart, the engineer, he must be asking himself what I think of

this adventure. If Warder Gaydon is but a poor devil, this poor devil

will manifest as much unconcern as to what is in store for him as any

gentleman could--even though he were the proprietor of this queer

pleasure yacht. Still I am a little uneasy under his gaze.

I dare say that if the Count d'Artigas could guess how certain things

have suddenly become clear to me, he would not hesitate to have me

thrown overboard.

Prudence therefore commands me to be more circumspect than ever.

Without giving rise to any suspicion--even in the mind of Engineer

Serko--I have succeeded in raising a corner of the mysterious veil,

and I begin to see ahead a bit.

As the Ebba draws nearer, the island, or rather islet, towards which

she is speeding shows more sharply against the blue background of the

sky. The sun which has passed the zenith, shines full upon the western

side. The islet is isolated, or at any rate I cannot see any others of

the group to which it belongs, either to north or south.

This islet, of curious contexture, resembles as near as possible a

cup turned upside down, from which a fuliginous vapor arises. Its

summit--the bottom of the cup, if you like--is about three hundred

feet above the level of the sea, and its flanks, which are steep and

regular, are as bare as the sea-washed rocks at its base.

There is another peculiarity about it which must render the islet

easily recognizable by mariners approaching it from the west, and this

is a rock which forms a natural arch at the base of the mountain--the

handle of the cup, so to speak--and through which the waves wash as

freely as the sunshine passes. Seen this way the islet fully justifies

the name of Back Cup given to it.

Well, I know and recognize this islet! It is situated at the extremity

of the archipelago of the Bermudas. It is the "reversed cup" that I

had occasion to visit a few years ago--No, I am not mistaken. I then

climbed over the calcareous and crooked rocks at its base on the east

side. Yes, it is Back Cup, sure enough!

Had I been less self-possessed I might have uttered an exclamation

of surprise--and satisfaction--which, with good reason, would have

excited the attention and suspicion of the Count d'Artigas.

These are the circumstances under which I came to explore Back Cup

while on a visit to Bermuda.

This archipelago, which is situated about seven hundred and fifty

miles from North Carolina is composed of several hundred islands or

islets. Its centre is crossed by the sixty-fourth meridian and the

thirty-second parallel. Since the Englishman Lomer was shipwrecked

and cast up there in 1609, the Bermudas have belonged to the United

Kingdom, and in consequence the colonial population has increased to

ten thousand inhabitants. It was not for its productions of cotton,

coffee, indigo, and arrowroot that England annexed the group--seized

it, one might say; but because it formed a splendid maritime station

in that part of the Ocean, and in proximity to the United States of

America. Possession was taken of it without any protest on the part of

other powers, and Bermuda is now administered by a British governor

with the addition of a council and a General Assembly.

The principal islands of the archipelago are called St. David,

Somerset, Hamilton, and St. George. The latter has a free port, and

the town of the same name is also the capital of the group.

The largest of these isles is not more than seventeen miles long and

five wide. Leaving out the medium-sized ones, there remains but an

agglomeration of islets and reefs scattered over an area of twelve

square leagues.

Although the climate of Bermuda is very healthy, very salubrious, the

isles are nevertheless frightfully beaten by the heavy winter tempests

of the Atlantic, and their approach by navigators presents certain

difficulties.

What the archipelago especially lacks are rivers and rios. However,

as abundant rains fall frequently, this drawback is got over by the

inhabitants, who treasure up the heaven-sent water for household and

agricultural purposes. This has necessitated the construction of vast

cisterns which the downfalls keep filled. These works of engineering

skill justly merit the admiration they receive and do honor to the

genius of man.

It was in connection with the setting up of these cisterns that I made

the trip, as well as out of curiosity to inspect the fine works.

I obtained from the company of which I was the engineer in New

Jersey a vacation of several weeks, and embarked at New York for the

Bermudas.

While I was staying on Hamilton Island, in the vast port of

Southampton, an event occurred of great interest to geologists.

One day a whole flotilla of fishers, men, women and children, entered

Southampton Harbor. For fifty years these families had lived on the

east coast of Back Cup, where they had erected log-cabins and houses

of stone. Their position for carrying on their industry was an

exceptionally favorable one, for the waters teem with fish all the

year round, and in March and April whales abound.

Nothing had hitherto occurred to disturb their tranquil existence.

They were quite contented with their rough lot, which was rendered

less onerous by the facility of communication with Hamilton and St.

George. Their solid barks took cargoes of fish there, which they

exchanged for the necessities of life.

Why had they thus abandoned the islet with the intention, as it pretty

soon appeared, of never returning to it? The reason turned out to be

that they no longer considered themselves in safety there.

A couple of months previously they had been at first surprised, then

alarmed, by several distinct detonations that appeared to have taken

place in the interior of the mountain. At the same time smoke and

flames issued from the summit--or the bottom of the reversed cup, if

you like. Now no one had ever suspected that the islet was of volcanic

origin, or that there was a crater at the top, no one having been able

to climb its sides. Now, however, there could be no possible doubt

that the mountain was an ancient volcano that had suddenly become

active again and threatened the village with destruction.

During the ensuing two months internal rumblings and explosions

continued to be heard, which were accompanied by bursts of flame

from the top--especially at night. The island was shaken by the

explosions--the shocks could be distinctly felt. All these phenomena

were indicative of an imminent eruption, and there was no spot at the

base of the mountain that could afford any protection from the rivers

of lava that would inevitably pour down its smooth, steep slopes

and overwhelm the village in their boiling flood. Besides, the very

mountain might be destroyed in the eruption.

There was nothing for the population exposed to such a dire

catastrophe to do but leave. This they did. Their humble Lares

and Penates, in fact all their belongings, were loaded into the

fishing-smacks, and the entire colony sought refuge in Southhampton

Harbor.

The news that a volcano, that had presumably been smouldering for

centuries at the western extremity of the group, showed signs of

breaking out again, caused a sensation throughout the Bermudas. But

while some were terrified, the curiosity of others was aroused, mine

included. The phenomenon was worth investigation, even if the simple

fisher-folk had exaggerated.

Back Cup, which, as already stated, lies at the western extremity of

the archipelago, is connected therewith by a chain of small islets

and reefs, which cannot be approached from the east. Being only three

hundred feet in altitude, it cannot be seen either from St. George or

Hamilton. I joined a party of explorers and we embarked in a cutter

that landed us on the island, and made our way to the abandoned

village of the Bermudan fishers.

The internal crackings and detonations could be plainly heard, and a

sheaf of smoke was swayed by the wind at the summit.

Beyond a peradventure the ancient volcano had been started again

by the subterranean fire, and an eruption at any moment was to be

apprehended.

In vain we attempted to climb to the mouth of the crater. The mountain

sheered down at an angle of from seventy-five to eighty degrees, and

its smooth, slippery sides afforded absolutely no foothold. Anything

more barren than this rocky freak of nature it would be difficult to

conceive. Only a few tufts of wild herbs were to be seen upon the

whole island, and these seemed to have no raison d'être.

Our explorations were therefore necessarily limited, and in view of

the active symptoms of danger that manifested themselves, we could but

approve the action of the villagers in abandoning the place; for we

entertained no doubt that its destruction was imminent.

These were the circumstances in which I was led to visit Back Cup, and

no one will consequently be surprised at the fact that I recognized it

immediately we hove in sight of the queer structure.

No, I repeat, the Count d'Artigas would probably not be overpleased

if he were aware that Warder Gaydon is perfectly acquainted with this

islet, even if the Ebba was to anchor there--which, as there is no

port, is, to say the least, extremely improbable.

As we draw nearer, I attentively examine Back Cup. Not one of

its former inhabitants has been induced to return, and, as it is

absolutely deserted, I cannot imagine why the schooner should visit

the place.

Perhaps, however, the Count d'Artigas and his companions have no

intention of landing there. Even though the Ebba should find

temporary shelter between the rocky sides of a narrow creek there is

nothing to give ground to the supposition that a wealthy yachtsman

would have the remotest idea of fixing upon as his residence an arid

cone exposed to all the terrible tempests of the Western Atlantic. To

live hero is all very well for rustic fishermen, but not for the Count

d'Artigas, Engineer Serko, Captain Spade and his crew.

Back Cup is now only half a mile off, and the seaweed thrown up on its

rocky base is plainly discernible. The only living things upon it are

the sea-gulls and other birds that circle in clouds around the smoking

crater.

When she is only two cable's lengths off, the schooner slackens speed,

and then stops at the entrance of a sort of natural canal formed by a

couple of reefs that barely rise above the water.

I wonder whether the Ebba will venture to try the dangerous feat of

passing through it. I do not think so. She will probably lay where she

is--though why she should do so I do not know--for a few hours, and

then continue her voyage towards the east.

However this may be I see no preparations in progress for dropping

anchor. The anchors are suspended in their usual places, the cables

have not been cleared, and no motion has been made to lower a single

boat.

At this moment Count d'Artigas, Engineer Serko and Captain Spade go

forward and perform some manoeuvre that is inexplicable to me.

I walk along the port side of the deck until I am near the foremast,

and then I can see a small buoy that the sailors are hoisting in.

Almost immediately the water, at the same spot becomes dark and I

observe a black mass rising to the surface. Is it a big whale rising

for air, and is the Ebba in danger of being shattered by a blow from

the monster's tail?

Now I understand! At last the mystery is solved. I know what was the

motor that caused the schooner to go at such an extraordinary speed

without sails and without a screw. Her indefatigable motor is emerging

from the sea, after having towed her from the coast of America to

the archipelago of the Bermudas. There it is, floating alongside--a

submersible boat, a submarine tug, worked by a screw set in motion by

the current from a battery of accumulators or powerful electric piles.

On the upper part of the long cigar-shaped iron tug is a platform in

the middle of which is the "lid" by which an entrance is effected. In

the fore part of the platform projects a periscope, or lookout, formed

by port-holes or lenses through which an electric searchlight can

throw its gleam for some distance under water in front of and on each

side of the tug. Now relieved of its ballast of water the boat has

risen to the surface. Its lid will open and fresh air will penetrate

it to every part. In all probability, if it remained submerged during

the day it rose at night and towed the Ebba on the surface.

But if the mechanical power of the tug is produced by electricity the

latter must be furnished by some manufactory where it is stored, and

the means of procuring the batteries is not to be found on Back Cup, I

suppose.

And then, why does the Ebba have recourse to this submarine towing

system? Why is she not provided with her own means of propulsion, like

other pleasure-boats?

These are things, however, upon which I have at present no leisure to

ruminate.

The lid of the tug opens and several men issue on to the platform.

They are the crew of this submarine boat, and Captain Spade has been

able to communicate with them and transmit his orders as to the

direction to be taken by means of electric signals connected with the

tug by a wire that passes along the stem of the schooner.

Engineer Serko approaches me and says, pointing to the boat:

"Get in."

"Get in!" I exclaim.

"Yes, in the tug, and look sharp about it."

As usual there is nothing for it but to obey. I hasten to comply with

the order and clamber over the side.

At the same time Thomas Roch appears on deck accompanied by one of the

crew. He appears to be very calm, and very indifferent too, and makes

no resistance when he is lifted over and lowered into the tug. When he

has been taken in, Count d'Artigas and Engineer Serko follow.

Captain Spade and the crew of the Ebba remain behind, with the

exception of four men who man the dinghy, which has been lowered. They

have hold of a long hawser, with which the schooner is probably to be

towed through the reef. Is there then a creek in the middle of the

rocks where the vessel is secure from the breakers? Is this the port

to which she belongs?

They row off with the hawser and make the end fast to a ring in the

reef. Then the crew on board haul on it and in five minutes the

schooner is so completely lost to sight among the rocks that even the

tip of her mast could not be seen from the sea.

Who in Bermuda imagines that a vessel is accustomed to lay up in

this secret creek? Who in America would have any idea that the rich

yachtsman so well known in all the eastern ports abides in the

solitude of Back Cup mountain?

Twenty minutes later the dinghy returns with the four men towards the

tug which was evidently waiting for them before proceeding--where?

They climb on board, the little boat is made fast astern, a movement

is felt, the screw revolves rapidly and the tug skims along the

surface to Back Cup, skirting the reefs to the south.

Three cable's lengths further on, another tortuous canal is seen that

leads to the island. Into this the tug enters. When it gets close

inshore, an order is given to two men who jump out and haul the dinghy

up on a narrow sandy beach out of the reach of wave or weed, and where

it will be easily get-at-able when wanted.

This done the sailors return to the tug and Engineer Serko signs to me

to go below.

A short iron ladder leads into a central cabin where various bales and

packages are stored, and for which no doubt there was not room in the

hold of the schooner. I am pushed into a side cabin, the door is shut

upon me, and here I am once more a prisoner in profound darkness.

I recognize the cabin the moment I enter it. It is the place in which

I spent so many long hours after our abduction from Healthful House,

and in which I was confined until well out at sea off Pamlico Sound.

It is evident that Thomas Roch has been placed in a similar

compartment.

A loud noise is heard, the banging of the lid as it closes, and the

tug begins to sink as the water is admitted to the tanks.

This movement is succeeded by another--a movement that impels the boat

through the water.

Three minutes later it stops, and I feel that we are rising to the

surface again.

Another noise made by the lid being raised.

The door of my cabin opens, and I rush out and clamber on to the

platform.

I look around and find that the tug has penetrated to the interior of

Back Cup mountain.

This is the mysterious retreat where Count d'Artigas lives with his

companions--out of the world, so to speak.

CHAPTER IX - INSIDE BACK CUP.

The next morning I am able to make a first inspection of the vast

cavern of Back Cup. No one seeks to prevent me.

What a night I have passed! What strange visions I have seen! With

what impatience I waited for morning!

I was conducted to a grotto about a hundred paces from the edge of

the lake where the tug stopped. The grotto, twelve feet by ten, was

lighted by an incandescent lamp, and fitted with an entrance door that

was closed upon me.

I am not surprised that electricity is employed in lighting the

interior of the cavern, as it is also used in the submarine boat. But

where is it generated? Where does it come from? Is there a manufactory

installed somewhere or other in this vast crypt, with machinery,

dynamos and accumulators?

My cell is neatly furnished with a table on which provisions are

spread, a bunk with bedding, a basket chair, a wash-hand-stand with

toilet set, and a closet containing linen and various suits of

clothes. In a drawer of the table I find paper, ink and pens.

My dinner consists of fresh fish, preserved meat, bread of excellent

quality, ale and whisky; but I am so excited that I scarcely touch it.

Yet I feel that I ought to fortify myself and recover my calmness of

mind. I must and will solve the mystery surrounding the handful of men

who burrow in the bowels of this island.

So it is under the carapace of Back Cup that Count d'Artigas has

established himself! This cavity, the existence of which is not even

suspected, is his home when he is not sailing in the Ebba along the

coasts of the new world or the old. This is the unknown retreat he has

discovered, to which access is obtained by a submarine passage twelve

or fifteen feet below the surface of the ocean.

Why has he severed himself from the world? What has been his past?

If, as I suspect, this name of d'Artigas and this title of Count are

assumed, what motive has he for hiding his identity? Has he been

banished, is he an outcast of society that he should have selected

this place above all others? Am I not in the power of an evildoer

anxious to ensure impunity for his crimes and to defy the law by

seeking refuge in this undiscoverable burrow? I have the right of

supposing anything in the case of this suspicious foreigner, and I

exercise it.

Then the question to which I have never been able to suggest a

satisfactory answer once more surges into my mind. Why was Thomas Roch

abducted from Healthful House in the manner already fully described?

Does the Count d'Artigas hope to force from him the secret of his

fulgurator with a view to utilizing it for the defence of Back Cup in

case his retreat should by chance be discovered? Hardly. It would be

easy enough to starve the gang out of Back Cup, by preventing the tug

from supplying them with provisions. On the other hand, the schooner

could never break through the investing lines, and if she did her

description would be known in every port. In this event, of what

possible use would Thomas Roch's invention be to the Count d'Artigas

Decidedly, I cannot understand it!

About seven o'clock in the morning I jump out of bed. If I am a

prisoner in the cavern I am at least not imprisoned in my grotto cell.

The door yields when I turn the handle and push against it, and I walk

out.

Thirty yards in front of me is a rocky plane, forming a sort of quay

that extends to right and left. Several sailors of the Ebba are

engaged in landing bales and stores from the interior of the tug,

which lays alongside a little stone jetty.

A dim light to which my eyes soon grow accustomed envelops the cavern

and comes from a hole in the centre of the roof, through which the

blue sky can be seen.

"It is from that hole that the smoke which can be seen for such a

distance issues," I say to myself, and this discovery suggests a whole

series of reflections.

Back Cup, then, is not a volcano, as was supposed--as I supposed

myself. The flames that were seen a few years ago, and the columns

of smoke that still rise were and are produced artificially. The

detonations and rumblings that so alarmed the Bermudan fishers were

not caused by the internal workings of nature. These various phenomena

were fictitious. They manifested themselves at the mere will of the

owner of the island, who wanted to scare away the inhabitants who

resided on the coast. He succeeded, this Count d'Artigas, and remains

the sole and undisputed monarch of the mountain. By exploding

gunpowder, and burning seaweed swept up in inexhaustible quantities by

the ocean, he has been able to simulate a volcano upon the point of

eruption and effectually scare would-be settlers away!

The light becomes stronger as the sun rises higher, the daylight

streams through the fictitious crater, and I shall soon be able to

estimate the cavern's dimensions. This is how I calculate:

Exteriorly the island of Back Cup, which is as nearly as possible

circular, measures two hundred and fifty yards in circumference, and

presents an interior superficies of about six acres. The sides of the

mountain at its base vary in thickness from thirty to a hundred yards.

It therefore follows that this excavation practically occupies the

whole of that part of Back Cup island which appears above water. As to

the length of the submarine tunnel by which communication is obtained

with the outside, and through which the tug passed, I estimate that it

is fifty yards in length.

The size of the cavern can be judged from these approximate figures.

But vast as it is, I remember that there are caverns of larger

dimensions both in the old and new worlds. For instance in Carniole,

Northumberland, Derbyshire, Piedmont, the Balearics, Hungary

and California are larger grottoes than Back Cup, and those at

Han-sur-Lesse in Belgium, and the Mammoth Caves in Kentucky, are also

more extensive. The latter contain no fewer than two hundred and

twenty-six domes, seven rivers, eight cataracts, thirty two wells of

unknown depth, and an immense lake which extends over six or seven

leagues, the limit of which has never been reached by explorers.

I know these Kentucky grottoes, having visited them, as many thousands

of tourists have done. The principal one will serve as a comparison

to Back Cup. The roof of the former, like that of the latter, is

supported by pillars of various lengths, which give it the appearance

of a Gothic cathedral, with naves and aisles, though it lacks the

architectural regularity of a religious edifice. The only difference

is that whereas the roof of the Kentucky grotto is over four hundred

feet high, that of Back Cup is not above two hundred and twenty at

that part of it where the round hole through which issue the smoke and

flames is situated.

Another peculiarity, and a very important one, that requires to be

pointed out, is that whereas the majority of the grottoes referred to

are easily accessible, and were therefore bound to be discovered some

time or other, the same remark does not apply to Back Cup. Although it

is marked on the map as an island forming part of the Bermuda group,

how could any one imagine that it is hollow, that its rocky sides

are only the walls of an enormous cavern? In order to make such a

discovery it would be necessary to get inside, and to get inside a

submarine apparatus similar to that of the Count d'Artigas would be

necessary.

In my opinion this strange yachtsman's discovery of the tunnel by

which he has been able to found this disquieting colony of Back Cup

must have been due to pure chance.

Now I turn my attention to the lake and observe that it is a

very small one, measuring not more than four hundred yards in

circumference. It is, properly speaking, a lagoon, the rocky sides of

which are perpendicular. It is large enough for the tug to work about

in it, and holds enough water too, for it must be one hundred and

twenty-five feet deep.

It goes without saying that this crypt, given its position and

structure, belongs to the category of those which are due to the

encroachments of the sea. It is at once of Neptunian and Plutonian

origin, like the grottoes of Crozon and Morgate in the bay of

Douarnenez in France, of Bonifacio on the Corsican coast, Thorgatten

in Norway, the height of which is estimated at over three hundred

feet, the catavaults of Greece, the grottoes of Gibraltar in Spain,

and Tourana in Cochin China, whose carapace indicates that they are

all the product of this dual geological labor.

The islet of Back Cup is in great part formed of calcareous rocks,

which slope upwards gently from the lagoon towards the sides and are

separated from each other by narrow beaches of fine sand. Thick layers

of seaweed that have been swept through the tunnel by the tide and

thrown up around the lake have been piled into heaps, some of which

are dry and some still wet, but all of which exhale the strong odor of

the briny ocean. This, however, is not the only combustible employed

by the inhabitants of Back Cup, for I see an enormous store of coal

that must have been brought by the schooner and the tug. But it is the

incineration of masses of dried seaweed that causes the smoke vomited

forth by the crater of the mountain.

Continuing my walk I perceive on the northern side of the lagoon the

habitations of this colony of troglodytes--do they not merit the

appellation? This part of the cavern, which is known as the Beehive,

fully justifies its name, for it is honeycombed by cells excavated

in the limestone rock and in which these human bees--or perhaps they

should rather be called wasps--reside.

The lay of the cavern to the east is very different. Here hundreds of

pillars of all shapes rise to the dome, and form a veritable forest of

stone trees through the sinuous avenues of which one can thread one's

way to the extreme limit of the place.

By counting the cells of the Beehive I calculate that Count d'Artigas'

companions number from eighty to one hundred.

As my eye wanders over the place I notice that the Count is standing

in front of one of the cells, which is isolated from the others, and

talking to Engineer Serko and Captain Spade. After a while they stroll

down to the jetty alongside which the tug is lying.

A dozen men have been emptying the merchandise out of the tug and

transporting the goods in boats to the other side, where great cellars

have been excavated in the rocks and form the storehouses of the band.

The orifice of the tunnel is not visible in the waters of the lagoon,

and I remember that when I was brought here I felt the tug sink

several feet before it entered. In this respect therefore Back Cup

does not resemble either the grottoes of Staffa or Morgate, entrance

to which is always open, even at high tide. There may be another

passage communicating with the coast, either natural or artificial,

and this I shall have to make my business to find out.

The island well merits its name of Back Cup. It is indeed a gigantic

cup turned upside down, not only to outward appearance, but inwardly,

too, though people are ignorant of the fact.

I have already remarked that the Beehive is situated to the north of

the lagoon, that is to say to the left on entering by the tunnel. On

the opposite side are the storerooms filled with provisions of all

kinds, bales of merchandise, barrels of wine, beer, and spirits and

various packets bearing different marks and labels that show that they

came from all parts of the world. One would think that the cargoes of

a score of ships had been landed here.

A little farther on is a large wooden shed the nature of which is

easily distinguishable. From a pole above it a network of thick copper

wires extends which conducts the current to the powerful electric

lights suspended from the roof or dome, and to the incandescent lamps

in each of the cells of the hive. A large number of lamps are also

installed among the stone pillars and light up the avenues to their

extremities.

"Shall I be permitted to roam about wherever I please?" I ask myself.

I hope so. I cannot for the life of me see why the Count d'Artigas

should prohibit me from doing so, for I cannot get farther than the

surrounding walls of his mysterious domain. I question whether there

is any other issue than the tunnel, and how on earth could I get

through that?

Besides, admitting that I am able to get through it, I cannot get off

the island. My disappearance would be soon noticed, and the tug would

take out a dozen men who would explore every nook and cranny. I should

inevitably be recaptured, brought back to the Beehive, and deprived of

my liberty for good.

I must therefore give up all idea of making my escape, unless I can

see that it has some chance of being successful, and if ever an

opportunity does present itself I shall not be slow to take advantage

of it.

On strolling round by the rows of cells I am able to observe a few of

these companions of the Count d'Artigas who are content to pass their

monotonous existence in the depths of Back Cup. As I said before,

calculating from the number of cells in the Beehive, there must be

between eighty and a hundred of them.

They pay no attention whatever to me as I pass, and on examining them

closely it seems to me that they must have been recruited from every

country. I do not distinguish any community of origin among them, not

even a similarity by which they might be classed as North Americans,

Europeans or Asiatics. The color of their skin shades from white to

yellow and black--the black peculiar to Australia rather than to

Africa. To sum up, they appear for the most part to pertain to the

Malay races. I may add that the Count d'Artigas certainly belongs

to that particular race which peoples the Dutch isles in the West

Pacific, while Engineer Serko must be Levantine and Captain Spade of

Italian origin.

But if the inhabitants of Back Cup are not bound to each other by

ties of race, they certainly are by instinct and inclination. What

forbidding, savage-looking faces they have, to be sure! They are men

of violent character who have probably never placed any restraint upon

their passions, nor hesitated at anything, and it occurs to me that

in all likelihood they have sought refuge in this cavern, where they

fancy they can continue to defy the law with impunity, after a

long series of crimes--robbery, murder, arson, and excesses of all

descriptions committed together. In this case Back Cup is nothing but

a lair of pirates, the Count d'Artigas is the leader of the band and

Serko and Spade are his lieutenants.

I cannot get this idea out of my head, and the more I consider the

more convinced I am that I am right, especially as everything I see

during my stroll about the cavern seems to confirm my opinion.

However this may be, and whatever may be the circumstances that have

brought them together in this place, Count d'Artigas' companions

appear to accept his all-powerful domination without question. On the

other hand, if he keeps them under his iron heel by enforcing the

severest discipline, certain advantages, some compensation,

must accrue from the servitude to which they bow. What can this

compensation be?

Having turned that part of the bank under which the tunnel passes, I

find myself on the opposite side of the lagoon, where are situated the

storerooms containing the merchandise brought by the Ebba on each

trip, and which contain a great quantity of bales.

Beyond is the manufactory of electric energy. I gaze in at the windows

as I pass and notice that it contains machines of the latest invention

and highest attained perfection, which take up little space. Not one

steam engine, with its more or less complicated mechanism and need

of fuel, is to be seen in the place. As I had surmised, piles of

extraordinary power supply the current to the lamps in the cavern,

as well as to the dynamos of the tug. No doubt the current is also

utilized for domestic purposes, such as warming the Beehive and

cooking food, I can see that in a neighboring cavity it is applied to

the alembics used to produce fresh water. At any rate the colonists

of Back Cup are not reduced to catching the rain water that falls so

abundantly upon the exterior of the mountain.

A few paces from the electric power house is a large cistern that,

save in the matter of proportions, is the counterpart of those I

visited in Bermuda. In the latter place the cisterns have to supply

the needs of over ten thousand people, this one of a hundred--what?

I am not sure yet what to call them. That their chief had serious

reasons for choosing the bowels of this island for his abiding place

is obvious. But what were those reasons? I can understand monks

shutting themselves behind their monastery walls with the intention of

separating themselves from the world, but these subjects of the Count

d'Artigas have nothing of the monk about them, and would not be

mistaken for such by the most simple-minded of mortals.

I continue my way through the pillars to the extremity of the cavern.

No one has sought to stop me, no one has spoken to me, not a soul

apparently has taken the very slightest notice of me. This portion of

Back Cup is extremely curious, and comparable to the most marvellous

of the grottoes of Kentucky or the Balearics. I need hardly say that

nowhere is the labor of man apparent. All this is the handiwork of

nature, and it is not without wonder, mingled with awe, that I reflect

upon the telluric forces capable of engendering such prodigious

substructions. The daylight from the crater in the centre only strikes

this part of the cavern obliquely, so that it is very imperfectly

lighted, but at night, when illuminated by the electric lamps, its

aspect must be positively fantastic.

I have examined the walls everywhere with minute attention, but have

been unable to discover any means of communicating with the outside.

Quite a colony of birds--gulls, sea-swallows and other feathery

denizens of the Bermudan beaches have made their home in the cavern.

They have apparently never been hunted, for they are in no way

disturbed by the presence of man.

But besides sea-birds, which are free to come and go as they please

by the orifice in the dome, there is a whole farmyard of domestic

poultry, and cows and pigs. The food supply is therefore no less

assured than it is varied, when the fish of all kinds that abound in

the lagoon and around the island are taken into consideration.

Moreover, a mere glance at the colonists of Back Cup amply suffices

to show that they are not accustomed to fare scantily. They are all

vigorous, robust seafaring men, weatherbeaten and seasoned in the

burning beat of tropical latitudes, whose rich blood is surcharged

with oxygen by the breezes of the ocean. There is not a youth nor an

old man among them. They are all in their prime, their ages ranging

from thirty to fifty.

But why do they submit to such an existence? Do they never leave their

rocky retreat?

Perhaps I shall find out ere I am much older.

CHAPTER X - KER KARRAJE.

The cell in which I reside is about a hundred paces from the

habitation of the Count d'Artigas, which is one of the end ones of

this row of the Beehive. If I am not to share it with Thomas Roch, I

presume the latter's cell is not far off, for in order that Warder

Gaydon may continue to care for the ex-patient of Healthful House,

their respective apartments will have to be contiguous. However, I

suppose I shall soon be enlightened on this point.

Captain Spade and Engineer Serko reside separately in proximity to

D'Artigas' mansion.

Mansion? Yes, why not dignify it with the title since this habitation

has been arranged with a certain art? Skillful hands have carved an

ornamental façade in the rock. A large door affords access to it.

Colored glass windows in wooden frames let into the limestone

walls admit the light. The interior comprises several chambers, a

dining-room and a drawing-room lighted by a stained-glass window, the

whole being perfectly ventilated. The furniture is of various styles

and shapes and of French, English and American make. The kitchen,

larder, etc., are in adjoining cells in rear of the Beehive.

In the afternoon, just as I issue from my cell with the firm intention

of "obtaining an audience" of the Count d'Artigas, I catch sight of

him coming along the shore of the lagoon towards the hive. Either he

does not see me, or wishes to avoid me, for he quickens his steps and

I am unable to catch him.

"Well, he will have to receive me, anyhow!" I mutter to myself.

I hurry up to the door through which he has just disappeared and which

has closed behind him.

It is guarded by a gigantic, dark-skinned Malay, who orders me away in

no amiable tone of voice.

I decline to comply with his injunction, and repeat to him twice the

following request in my very best English:

"Tell the Count d'Artigas that I desire to be received immediately."

I might just as well have addressed myself to the surrounding rock.

This savage, no doubt, does not understand a word of English, for he

scowls at me and orders me away again with a menacing cry.

I have a good mind to attempt to force the door and shout so that the

Count d'Artigas cannot fail to hear me, but in all probability I shall

only succeed in rousing the wrath of the Malay, who appears to be

endowed with herculean strength. I therefore judge discretion to be

the better part of valor, and put off the explanation that is owing

to me--and which, sooner or later, I will have--to a more propitious

occasion.

I meander off in front of the Beehive towards the east, and my

thoughts revert to Thomas Roch. I am surprised that I have not seen

him yet. Can he be in the throes of a fresh paroxysm?

This hypothesis is hardly admissible, for if the Count d'Artigas is to

be believed, he would in this event have summoned me to attend to the

inventor.

A little farther on I encounter Engineer Serko.

With his inviting manner and usual good-humor this ironical individual

smiles when he perceives me, and does not seek to avoid me. If he

knew I was a colleague, an engineer--providing he himself really is

one--perhaps he might receive me with more cordiality than I have yet

encountered, but I am not going to be such a fool as to tell him who

and what I am.

He stops, with laughing eyes and mocking mouth, and accompanies a

"Good day, how do you do?" with a gracious gesture of salutation.

I respond coldly to his politeness--a fact which he affects not to

notice.

"May Saint Jonathan protect you, Mr. Gaydon!" he continues in his

clear, ringing voice. "You are not, I presume, disposed to regret

the fortunate circumstance by which you were permitted to visit this

surpassingly marvellous cavern--and it really is one of the finest,

although the least known on this spheroid."

This word of a scientific language used in conversation with a simple

hospital attendant surprises me, I admit, and I merely reply:

"I should have no reason to complain, Mr. Serko, if, after having had

the pleasure of visiting this cavern, I were at liberty to quit it."

"What! Already thinking of leaving us, Mr. Gaydon,--of returning to

your dismal pavilion at Healthful House? Why, you have scarcely had

time to explore our magnificent domain, or to admire the incomparable

beauty with which nature has endowed it."

"What I have seen suffices," I answer; "and should you perchance be

talking seriously I will assure you seriously that I do not want to

see any more of it."

"Come, now, Mr. Gaydon, permit me to point out that you have not yet

had the opportunity of appreciating the advantages of an existence

passed in such unrivalled surroundings. It is a quiet life, exempt

from care, with an assured future, material conditions such as are not

to be met with anywhere, an even climate and no more to fear from the

tempests which desolate the coasts in this part of the Atlantic than

from the cold of winter, or the heat of summer. This temperate and

salubrious atmosphere is scarcely affected by changes of season. Here

we have no need to apprehend the wrath of either Pluto or Neptune."

"Sir," I reply, "it is impossible that this climate can suit you, that

you can appreciate living in this grotto of----"

I was on the point of pronouncing the name of Back Cup. Fortunately I

restrained myself in time. What would happen if they suspected that

I am aware of the name of their island, and, consequently, of its

position at the extremity of the Bermuda group?

"However," I continue, "if this climate does not suit me, I have, I

presume, the right to make a change."

"The right, of course."

"I understand from your remark that I shall be furnished with the

means of returning to America when I want to go?"

"I have no reason for opposing your desires, Mr. Gaydon," Engineer

Serko replies, "and I regard your presumption as a very natural

one. Observe, however, that we live here in a noble and superb

independence, that we acknowledge the authority of no foreign power,

that we are subject to no outside authority, that we are the

colonists of no state, either of the old or new world. This is worth

consideration by whomsoever has a sense of pride and independence.

Besides, what memories are evoked in a cultivated mind by these

grottoes which seem to have been chiselled by the hands of the gods

and in which they were wont to render their oracles by the mouth of

Trophonius."

Decidedly, Engineer Serko is fond of citing mythology! Trophonius

after Pluto and Neptune? Does he imagine that Warder Gaydon ever heard

of Trophonius? It is clear this mocker continues to mock, and I have

to exercise the greatest patience in order not to reply in the same

tone.

"A moment ago," I continue shortly, "I wanted to enter yon habitation,

which, if I mistake not, is that of the Count d'Artigas, but I was

prevented."

"By whom, Mr. Gaydon?"

"By a man in the Count's employ."

"He probably had received strict orders about it."

"Possibly, yet whether he likes it or not, Count d'Artigas will have

to see me and listen to me."

"Maybe it would be difficult, and even impossible to get him to do

so," says Engineer Serko with a smile.

"Why so?"

"Because there is no such person as Count d'Artigas here."

"You are jesting, I presume; I have just seen him."

"It was not the Count d'Artigas whom you saw, Mr. Gaydon."

"Who was it then, may I ask?"

"The pirate Ker Karraje."

This name was thrown at me in a hard tone of voice, and Engineer Serko

walked off before I had presence of mind enough to detain him.

The pirate Ker Karraje!

Yes, this name is a revelation to me. I know it well, and what

memories it evokes! It by itself explains what has hitherto been

inexplicable to me. I now know into whose hands I have fallen.

With what I already knew, with what I have learned since my arrival in

Back Cup from Engineer Serko, this is what I am able to tell about the

past and present of Ker Karraje:

Eight or nine years ago, the West Pacific was infested by pirates

who acted with the greatest audacity. A band of criminals of various

origins, composed of escaped convicts, military and naval deserters,

etc., operated with incredible audacity under the orders of a

redoubtable chief. The nucleus of the band had been formed by men

pertaining to the scum of Europe who had been attracted to New South

Wales, in Australia, by the discovery of gold there. Among these

gold-diggers, were Captain Spade and Engineer Serko, two outcasts,

whom a certain community of ideas and character soon bound together in

close friendship.

These intelligent, well educated, resolute men would most assuredly

have succeeded in any career. But being without conscience or

scruples, and determined to get rich at no matter what cost, deriving

from gambling and speculation what they might have earned by patient

and steady work, they engaged in all sorts of impossible adventures.

One day they were rich, the next day poor, like most of the

questionable individuals who had hurried to the gold-fields in search

of fortune.

Among the diggers in New South Wales was a man of incomparable

audacity, one of those men who stick at nothing--not even at

crime--and whose influence upon bad and violent natures is

irresistible.

That man's name was Ker Karraje.

The origin or nationality or antecedents of this pirate were never

established by the investigations ordered in regard to him. He eluded

all pursuit, and his name--or at least the name he gave himself--was

known all over the world, and inspired horror and terror everywhere,

as being that of a legendary personage, a bogey, invisible and

unseizable.

I have now reason to believe that Ker Karraje is a Malay. However, it

is of little consequence, after all. What is certain is that he was

with reason regarded as a formidable and dangerous villain who had

many crimes, committed in distant seas, to answer for.

After spending a few years on the Australian goldfields, where he made

the acquaintance of Engineer Serko and Captain Spade, Ker Karraje

managed to seize a ship in the port of Melbourne, in the province

of Victoria. He was joined by about thirty rascals whose number was

speedily tripled. In that part of the Pacific Ocean where piracy is

still carried on with great facility, and I may say, profit, the

number of ships pillaged, crews massacred, and raids committed in

certain western islands which the colonists were unable to defend,

cannot be estimated.

Although the whereabouts of Ker Karraje's vessel, commanded by Captain

Spade, was several times made known to the authorities, all attempts

to capture it proved futile. The marauder would disappear among the

innumerable islands of which he knew every cove and creek, and it was

impossible to come across him.

He maintained a perfect reign of terror. England, France, Germany,

Russia and America vainly dispatched warships in pursuit of the

phantom vessel which disappeared, no one knew whither, after robberies

and murders that could not be prevented or punished had been committed

by her crew.

One day this series of crimes came to an end, and no more was heard of

Ker Karraje. Had he abandoned the Pacific for other seas? Would this

pirate break out in a fresh place? It was argued that notwithstanding

what they must have spent in orgies and debauchery the pirate and his

companions must still have an enormous amount of wealth hidden in some

place known only to themselves, and that they were enjoying their

ill-gotten gains.

Where had the band hidden themselves since they had ceased their

depredations? This was a question which everybody asked and none was

able to answer. All attempts to run them to earth were vain. Terror

and uneasiness having ceased with the danger, Ker Karraje's exploits

soon began to be forgotten, even in the West Pacific.

This is what had happened--and what will never be known unless I

succeed in escaping from Back Cup:

These wretches were, as a matter of fact, possessed of great wealth

when they abandoned the Southern Seas. Having destroyed their ship

they dispersed in different directions after having arranged to meet

on the American continent.

Engineer Serko, who was well versed in his profession, and was a

clever mechanic to boot, and who had made a special study of submarine

craft, proposed to Ker Karraje that they should construct one of

these boats in order to continue their criminal exploits with greater

secrecy and effectiveness.

Ker Karraje at once saw the practical nature of the proposition, and

as they had no lack of money the idea was soon carried out.

While the so-called Count d'Artigas ordered the construction of the

schooner Ebba at the shipyards of Gotteborg, in Sweden, he gave to

the Cramps of Philadelphia, in America, the plans of a submarine boat

whose construction excited no suspicion. Besides, as will be seen, it

soon disappeared and was never heard of again.

The boat was constructed from a model and under the personal

supervision of Engineer Serko, and fitted with all the known

appliances of nautical science. The screw was worked with electric

piles of recent invention which imparted enormous propulsive power to

the motor.

It goes without saying that no one imagined that Count d'Artigas was

none other than Ker Karraje, the former pirate of the Pacific, and

that Engineer Serko was the most formidable and resolute of his

accomplices. The former was regarded as a foreigner of noble birth and

great fortune, who for several months had been frequenting the ports

of the United States, the Ebba having been launched long before the

tug was ready.

Work upon the latter occupied fully eighteen months, and when the boat

was finished it excited the admiration of all those interested in

these engines of submarine navigation. By its external form, its

interior arrangements, its air-supply system, the rapidity with which

it could be immersed, the facility with which it could be handled and

controlled, and its extraordinary speed, it was conceded to be far

superior to the Goubet, the Gymnote, the Zede, and other similar

boats which had made great strides towards perfection.

After several extremely successful experiments a public test was given

in the open sea, four miles off Charleston, in presence of several

American and foreign warships, merchant vessels, and pleasure boats

invited for the occasion.

Of course the Ebba was among them, with the Count d'Artigas,

Engineer Serko, and Captain Spade on board, and the old crew as well,

save half a dozen men who manned the submarine machine, which was

worked by a mechanical engineer named Gibson, a bold and very clever

Englishman.

The programme of this definite experiment comprised various evolutions

on the surface of the water, which were to be followed by an immersion

to last several hours, the boat being ordered not to rise again until

a certain buoy stationed many miles out at sea had been attained.

At the appointed time the lid was closed and the boat at first

manoeuvred on the surface. Her speed and the ease with which

she turned and twisted were loudly praised by all the technical

spectators.

Then at a signal given on board the Ebba the tug sank slowly out

of sight, and several vessels started for the buoy where she was to

reappear.

Three hours went by, but there was no sign of the boat.

No one could suppose that in accordance with instructions received

from the Count d'Artigas and Engineer Serko this submarine machine,

which was destined to act as the invisible tug of the schooner, would

not emerge till it had gone several miles beyond the rendezvous.

Therefore, with the exception of those who were in the secret, no one

entertained any doubt that the boat and all inside her had perished

as the result of an accident either to her metallic covering or

machinery.

On board the Ebba consternation was admirably simulated. On board

the other vessels it was real. Drags were used and divers sent down

along the course the boat was supposed to have taken, but it could

not be found, and it was agreed that it had been swallowed up in the

depths of the Atlantic.

Two days later the Count d'Artigas put to sea again, and in

forty-eight hours came up with the tug at the place appointed.

This is how Ker Karraje became possessed of the admirable vessel

which was to perform the double function of towing the schooner and

attacking ships. With this terrible engine of destruction, whose very

existence was ignored, the Count d'Artigas was able to recommence his

career of piracy with security and impunity.

These details I have learned from Engineer Serko, who is very proud of

his handiwork,--and also very positive that the prisoner of Back Cup

will never be able to disclose the secret.

It will easily be realized how powerful was the offensive weapon

Ker Karraje now possessed. During the night the tug would rush at a

merchant vessel, and bore a hole in her with its powerful ram. At

the same time the schooner which could not possibly have excited any

suspicion, would run alongside and her horde of cutthroats would pour

on to the doomed vessel's deck and massacre the helpless crew, after

which they would hurriedly transfer that part of the cargo that was

worth taking to the Ebba. Thus it happened that ship after ship

was added to the long list of those that never reached port and were

classed as having gone down with all on board.

For a year after the odious comedy in the bay of Charleston Ker

Karraje operated in the Atlantic, and his wealth increased to enormous

proportions. The merchandise for which he had no use was disposed of

in distant markets in exchange for gold and silver. But what was sadly

needed was a place where the profits could be safely hidden pending

the time when they were to be finally divided.

Chance came to their aid. While exploring the bottom of the sea in

the neighborhood of the Bermudas, Engineer Serko and Driver Gibson

discovered at the base of Back Cup island the tunnel which led to the

interior of the mountain. Would it have been possible for Ker Karraje

to have found a more admirable refuge than this, absolutely safe as it

was from any possible chance of discovery? Thus it came to pass that

one of the islands of the Archipelago of Bermuda, erstwhile the haunt

of buccaneers, became the lair of another gang a good deal more to be

dreaded.

This retreat having been definitely adopted, Count d'Artigas and his

companions set about getting their place in order. Engineer Serko

installed an electric power house, without having recourse to machines

whose construction abroad might have aroused suspicion, simply

employing piles that could be easily mounted and required but metal

plates and chemical substances that the Ebba procured during her

visits to the American coast.

What happened on the night of the 19th inst. can easily be divined.

If the three-masted merchantman which lay becalmed was not visible at

break of day it was because she had been scuttled by the tug, boarded

by the cut-throat band on the Ebba, and sunk with all on board after

being pillaged. The bales and things that I had seen on the schooner

were a part of her cargo, and all unknown to me the gallant ship was

lying at the bottom of the broad Atlantic!

How will this adventure end? Shall I ever be able to escape from

Back Cup, denounce the false Count d'Artigas and rid the seas of Ker

Karraje's pirates?

And if Ker Karraje is terrible as it is, how much more so will he

become if he ever obtains possession of Roch's fulgurator! His power

will be increased a hundred-fold? If he were able to employ this new

engine of destruction no merchantman could resist him, no warship

escape total destruction.

I remain for some time absorbed and oppressed by the reflections with

which the revelation of Ker Karraje's name inspires me. All that I

have ever heard about this famous pirate recurs to me--his existence

when he skimmed the Southern Seas, the useless expeditions organized

by the maritime powers to hunt him down. The unaccountable loss of so

many vessels in the Atlantic during the past few years is attributable

to him. He had merely changed the scene of his exploits. It was

supposed that he had been got rid of, whereas he is continuing his

piratical practices in the most frequented ocean on the globe, by

means of the tug which is believed to be lying at the bottom of

Charleston Bay.

"Now," I say to myself, "I know his real name and that of his

lair--Ker Karraje and Back Cup;" and I surmise that if Engineer Serko

has let me into the secret he must have been authorized to do so. Am I

not meant to understand from this that I must give up all hope of ever

recovering my liberty?

Engineer Serko had manifestly remarked the impression created upon me

by this revelation. I remember that on leaving me he went towards Ker

Karraje's habitation, no doubt with the intention of apprising him of

what had passed.

After a rather long walk around the lagoon I am about to return to my

cell, when I hear footsteps behind me. I turn and find myself face to

face with the Count d'Artigas, who is accompanied by Captain Spade.

He glances at me sharply, and in a burst of irritation that I cannot

suppress, I exclaim:

"You are keeping me here, sir, against all right. If it was to wait

upon Thomas Roch that you carried me off from Healthful House, I

refuse to attend to him, and insist upon being sent back."

The pirate chief makes a gesture, but does not reply.

Then my temper gets the better of me altogether.

"Answer me, Count d'Artigas--or rather, for I know who you are--answer

me, Ker Karraje!" I shout.

"The Count d'Artigas is Ker Karraje," he coolly replies, "just as

Warder Gaydon is Engineer Simon Hart; and Ker Karraje will never

restore to liberty Engineer Simon Hart, who knows his secrets."

CHAPTER XI - FIVE WEEKS IN BACK CUP.

The situation is plain. Ker Karraje knows who I am. He knew who I was

when he kidnapped Thomas Roch and his attendant.

How did this man manage to find out what I was able to keep from the

staff of Healthful House? How comes it that he knew that a French

engineer was performing the duties of attendant to Thomas Roch? I do

not know how he discovered it, but the fact remains that he did.

Evidently he had means of information which must have been costly, but

from which he has derived considerable profit. Besides, men of his

kidney do not count the cost when they wish to attain an end they have

in view.

Henceforward Ker Karraje, or rather Engineer Serko, will replace me

as attendant upon Thomas Roch. Will he succeed better than I did? God

grant that he may not, that the civilized world may be spared such a

misfortune!

I did not reply to Ker Karraje's Parthian shot, for I was stricken

dumb. I did not, however, collapse, as the alleged Count d'Artigas

perhaps expected I would.

No! I looked him straight in the eyes, which glittered angrily, and

crossed my arms defiantly, as he had done. And yet he held my life in

his hands! At a sign a bullet would have laid me dead at his feet.

Then my body, cast into the lagoon, would have been borne out to sea

through the tunnel and there would have been an end of me.

After this scene I am left at liberty, just as before. No measure is

taken against me, I can walk among the pillars to the very end of the

cavern, which--it is only too clear--possesses no other issue except

the tunnel.

When I return to my cell, at the extremity of the Beehive, a prey to a

thousand thoughts suggested by my situation, I say to myself:

"If Ker Karraje knows I am Simon Hart, the engineer, he must at any

rate never know that I am aware of the position of Back Cup Island."

As to the plan of confiding Thomas Roch to my care, I do not think

he ever seriously entertained it, seeing that my identity had been

revealed to him. I regret this, inasmuch as the inventor will

indubitably be the object of pressing solicitations, and as Engineer

Serko will employ every means in his power to obtain the composition

of the explosive and deflagrator, of which he will make such

detestable use during future piratical exploits. Yes, it would have

been far better if I could have remained Thomas Roch's keeper here, as

in Healthful House.

For fifteen days I see nothing of my late charge. No one, I repeat,

has placed any obstacles in the way of my daily peregrinations. I have

no need to occupy myself about the material part of my existence. My

meals are brought to me regularly, direct from the kitchen of the

Count d'Artigas--I cannot accustom myself to calling him by any other

name. The food leaves nothing to be desired, thanks to the provisions

that the Ebba brings on her return from each voyage.

It is very fortunate, too, that I have been supplied with all the

writing materials I require, for during my long hours of idleness I

have been able to jot down in my notebook the slightest incidents that

have occurred since I was abducted from Healthful House, and to keep

a diary day by day. As long as I am permitted to use a pen I shall

continue my notes. Mayhap some day, they will help to clear up the

mysteries of Back Cup.

From July 5 to July 25.--A fortnight has passed, and all my attempts

to get near Thomas Roch have been frustrated. Orders have evidently

been given to keep him away from my influence, inefficacious though

the latter has hitherto been. My only hope is that the Count

d'Artigas, Engineer Serko, and Captain Spade will waste their time

trying to get at the inventor's secrets.

Three or four times to my knowledge, at least, Thomas Roch and

Engineer Serko have walked together around the lagoon. As far as I

have been able to judge, the former listened with some attention to

what the other was saying to him. Serko has conducted him over the

whole cavern, shown him the electric power house and the mechanism of

the tug. Thomas Roch's mental condition has visibly improved since his

departure from Healthful House.

Thomas Roch lives in a private room in Ker Karraje's "mansion." I

have no doubt that he is daily sounded in regard to his discoveries,

especially by Engineer Serko. Will he be able to resist the temptation

if they offer him the exorbitant price that he demands? Has he any

idea of the value of money? These wretches may dazzle him with the

gold that they have accumulated by years of rapine. In the present

state of his mind may he not be induced to disclose the composition

of his fulgurator? They would then only have to fetch the necessary

substances and Thomas Roch would have plenty of time in Back Cup to

devote to his chemical combinations. As to the war-engines themselves

nothing would be easier than to have them made in sections in

different parts of the American continent. My hair stands on end when

I think what they could and would do with them if once they gained

possession of them.

These intolerable apprehensions no longer leave me a minute's peace;

they are wearing me out and my health is suffering in consequence.

Although the air in the interior of Back Cup is pure, I become subject

to attacks of suffocation, and I feel as though my prison walls were

falling upon me and crushing me under their weight. I am, besides,

oppressed by the feeling that I am cut off from the world, as

effectually as though I were no longer upon our planet,--for I know

nothing of what is going on outside.

Ah! if it were only possible to escape through that submarine tunnel,

or through the hole in the dome and slide to the base of the mountain!

On the morning of the 25th I at last encounter Thomas Roch. He is

alone on the other side of the lagoon, and I wonder, inasmuch as

I have not seen them since the previous day, whether Ker Karraje,

Engineer Serko, and Captain Spade have not gone off on some

expedition.

I walk round towards Thomas Roch, and before he can see me I examine

him attentively.

His serious, thoughtful physiognomy is no longer that of a madman. He

walks slowly, with his eyes bent on the ground, and under his arm a

drawing-board upon which is stretched a sheet of paper covered with

designs.

Suddenly he raises his head, advances a step and recognizes me.

"Ah! Gaydon, it is you, is it?" he cries, "I have then escaped from

you! I am free!"

He can, indeed, regard himself as being free--a good deal more at

liberty in Back Cup than he was in Healthful House. But maybe my

presence evokes unpleasant memories, and will bring on another fit,

for he continues with extraordinary animation:

"Yes, I know you, Gaydon.--Do not approach me! Stand off! stand off!

You would like to get me back in your clutches, incarcerate me again

in your dungeon! Never! I have friends here who will protect me. They

are powerful, they are rich. The Count d'Artigas is my backer and

Engineer Serko is my partner. We are going to exploit my invention! We

are going to make my fulgurator! Hence! Get you gone!"

Thomas Roch is in a perfect fury. He raises his voice, agitates his

arms, and finally pulls from his pockets many rolls of dollar bills

and banknotes, and handfuls of English, French, American and German

gold coins, which slip through his fingers and roll about the cavern.

How could he get all this money except from Ker Karraje, and as the

price of his secret? The noise he makes attracts a number of men to

the scene. They watch us for a moment, then seize Thomas Roch and drag

him away. As soon as I am out of his sight he ceases-to struggle and

becomes calm again.

July 27.--Two hours after meeting with Thomas Roch, I went down to

the lagoon and walked out to the edge of the stone jetty.

The tug is not moored in its accustomed place, nor can I see it

anywhere about the lake. Ker Karraje and Engineer Serko had not gone

yesterday, as I supposed, for I saw them in the evening.

To-day, however, I have reason to believe that they really have gone

away in the tug with Captain Spade and the crew of the Ebba, and

that the latter must be sailing away.

Have they set out on a piracy expedition? Very likely. It is equally

likely that Ker Karraje, become once more the Count d'Artigas,

travelling for pleasure on board his yacht, intends to put into some

port on the American coast to procure the substances necessary to the

preparation of Roch's fulgurator.

Ah! if it had only been possible for me to hide in the tug, to slip

into the Ebba's hold, and stow myself away there until the schooner

arrived in port! Then perchance I might have escaped and delivered the

world from this band of pirates.

It will be seen how tenaciously I cling to the thought of escape--of

fleeing--fleeing at any cost from this lair. But flight is impossible,

except through the tunnel, by means of a submarine boat. Is it not

folly to think of such a thing? Sheer folly, and yet what other way is

there of getting out of Back Cup?

While I give myself up to these reflections the water of the lagoon

opens a few yards from me and the tug appears. The lid is raised and

Gibson, the engineer, and the men issue on to the platform. Other men

come up and catch the line that is thrown to them. They haul upon it,

and the tug is soon moored in its accustomed place.

This time, therefore, at any rate, the schooner is not being towed,

and the tug merely went out to put Ker Karraje and his companions

aboard the Ebba.

This only confirms my impression that the sole object of their trip is

to reach an American port where the Count d'Artigas can procure the

materials for making the explosive, and order the machines in some

foundry. On the day fixed for their return the tug will go out through

the tunnel again to meet the schooner and Ker Karraje will return to

Back Cup.

Decidedly, this evildoer is carrying out his designs and has succeeded

sooner than I thought would be possible.

August 3.--An incident occurred to-day of which the lagoon was the

theatre--a very curious incident that must be exceedingly rare.

Towards three o'clock in the afternoon there was a prodigious bubbling

in the water, which ceased for a minute or two and then recommenced in

the centre of the lagoon.

About fifteen pirates, whose attention had been attracted by this

unaccountable phenomenon, hurried down to the bank manifesting signs

of astonishment not unmingled with fear--at least I thought so.

The agitation of the water was not caused by the tug, as the latter

was lying alongside the jetty, and the idea that some other submarine

boat had found its way through the tunnel was highly improbable.

Almost at the same instant cries were heard on the opposite bank. The

newcomers shouted something in a hoarse voice to the men on the side

where I was standing, and these immediately rushed off towards the

Beehive.

I conjectured that they had caught sight of some sea-monster that had

found its way in, and was floundering in the lagoon, and that they had

rushed off to fetch arms and harpoons to try and capture it.

I was right, for they speedily returned with the latter weapons and

rifles loaded with explosive bullets.

The monster in question was a whale, of the species that is common

enough in Bermudan waters, which after swimming through the tunnel was

plunging about in the narrow limits of the lake. As it was constrained

to take refuge in Back Cup I concluded that it must have been hard

pressed by whalers.

Some minutes elapsed before the monster rose to the surface. Then the

green shiny mass appeared spouting furiously and darting to and fro as

though fighting with some formidable enemy.

"If it was driven in here by whalers," I said to myself, "there must

be a vessel in proximity to Back Cup--peradventure within a stone's

throw of it. Her boats must have entered the western passes to the

very foot of the mountain. And to think I am unable to communicate

with them! But even if I could, I fail to see how I could go to them

through these massive walls."

I soon found, however, that it was not fishers, but sharks that had

driven the whale through the tunnel, and which infest these waters in

great numbers. I could see them plainly as they darted about, turning

upon their backs and displaying their enormous mouths which were

bristling with their cruel teeth. There were five or six of the

monsters, and they attacked the whale with great viciousness. The

latter's only means of defence was its tail, with which it lashed at

them with terrific force and rapidity. But the whale had received

several wounds and the water was tinged with its life-blood; for

plunge and lash as it would, it could not escape the bites of its

enemies.

However, the voracious sharks were not permitted to vanquish their

prey, for man, far more powerful with his instruments of death, was

about to take a hand and snatch it from them. Gathered around the

lagoon were the companions of Ker Karraje, every whit as ferocious as

the sharks themselves, and well deserving the same name, for what else

are they?

Standing amid a group, at the extremity of the jetty, and armed with

a harpoon, was the big Malay who had prevented me from entering Ker

Karraje's house. When the whale got within shot, he hurled the harpoon

with great force and skill, and it sank into the leviathan's flesh

just under the left fin. The whale plunged immediately, followed by

the relentless sharks. The rope attached to the weapon ran out for

about sixty yards, and then slackened. The men at once began to haul

on it, and the monster rose to the surface again near the end of the

tunnel, struggling desperately in its death agony, and spurting great

columns of water tinged with blood. One blow of its tail struck a

shark, and hurled it clean out of water against the rocky side, where

it dropped in again, badly, if not fatally injured.

The harpoon was torn from the flesh by the jerk, and the whale went

under. It came up again for the last time, and lashed the water so

that it washed up from the tunnel end, disclosing the top of the

orifice.

Then the sharks again rushed on their prey, but were scared off by a

hail of the explosive bullets. Two men then jumped into a boat and

attached a line to the dead monster. The latter was hauled into the

jetty, and the Malays started to cut it up with a dexterity that

showed they were no novices at the work.

No more sharks were to be seen, but I concluded that it would be as

well to refrain from taking a bath in the lagoon for some days to

come.

I now know exactly where the entrance to the tunnel is situated. The

orifice on this side is only ten feet below the edge of the western

bank. But of what use is this knowledge to me?

August 7.--Twelve days have elapsed since the Count d'Artigas,

Engineer Serko, and Captain Spade put to sea. There is nothing to

indicate that their return is expected, though the tug is always kept

in readiness for immediate departure by Gibson, the engine-driver. If

the Ebba is not afraid to enter the ports of the United States by

day, I rather fancy she prefers to enter the rocky channel of Back

Cup at nightfall. I also fancy, somehow, that Ker Karraje and his

companions will return to-night.

August 10.--At ten o'clock last night, as I anticipated, the tug

went under and out, just in time to meet the Ebba and tow her

through the channel to her creek, after which she returned with Ker

Karraje and the others.

When I look out this morning, I see Thomas Roch and Engineer Serko

walking down to the lagoon, and talking. What they are talking about I

can easily guess. I go forward and take a good look at my ex-patient.

He is asking questions of Engineer Serko With great animation. His

eyes gleam, his face is flushed, and he is all eagerness to reach the

jetty. Engineer Serko can hardly keep up with him.

The crew of the tug are unloading her, and they have just brought

ashore ten medium-sized boxes. These boxes bear a peculiar red mark,

which Thomas Roch examines closely.

Engineer Serko orders the men to transport them to the storehouses on

the left bank, and the boxes are forthwith loaded on a boat and rowed

over.

In my opinion, these boxes contain the substances by the combination

or mixture of which, the fulgurator and deflagrator are to be made.

The engines, doubtless, are being made in an American foundry, and

when they are ready, the schooner will fetch them and bring them to

Back Cup.

For once in a while, anyhow, the Ebba has not returned with any

stolen merchandise. She went out and has returned with a clear bill.

But with what terrible power Ker Karraje will be armed for both

offensive and defensive operations at sea! If Thomas Roch is to be

credited, this fulgurator could shatter the terrestrial spheroid at

one blow. And who knows but what one day, he will try the experiment?

CHAPTER XII - ENGINEER SERKO'S ADVICE.

Thomas Roch has started work and spends hours and hours in a wooden

shed on the left bank of the lagoon that has been set apart as his

laboratory and workshop. No one enters it except himself. Does he

insist upon preparing the explosive in secret and does he intend to

keep the formula thereof to himself? I should not wonder.

The manner of employing Roch's fulgurator is, I believe, very simple

indeed. The projectile in which it is used requires neither gun nor

mortar to launch it, nor pneumatic tube like the Zalinski shell. It is

autopropulsive, it projects itself, and no ship within a certain zone

when the engine explodes could escape utter destruction. With such a

weapon as this at his command Ker Karraje would be invincible.

From August 11 to August 17.--During the past week Thomas Roch has

been working without intermission. Every morning the inventor goes to

his laboratory and does not issue therefrom till night. I have made no

attempt to stop him or speak to him, knowing that it would be useless

to do so.

Although he is still indifferent to everything that does not touch

upon his work he appears to be perfectly self-possessed. Why should he

not have recovered his reason? Has he not obtained what he has so long

sought for? Is he not at last able to carry out the plans he formed

years and years ago?

August 18.--At one o'clock this morning I was roused by several

detonations.

"Has Back Cup been attacked?" was my first thought. "Has the schooner

excited suspicion, and been chased to the entrance to the passes? Is

the island being bombarded with a view to its destruction? Has justice

at last overtaken these evil-doers ere Thomas Roch has been able

to complete the manufacture of his explosive, and before the

autopropulsive engine could be fetched from the continent?"

The detonations, which are very violent, continue, succeeding each

other at regular intervals, and it occurs to me that if the schooner

has been destroyed, all communication with the bases of supply being

impossible, Back Cup cannot be provisioned.

It is true the tug would be able to land the Count d'Artigas somewhere

on the American coast where, money being no object, he could easily

buy or order another vessel. But no matter. If Back Cup is only

destroyed before Ker Karraje has Roch's fulgurator at his disposal I

shall render thanks to heaven.

A few hours later, at the usual time, I quit my cell. All is quiet at

the Beehive. The men are going about their business as usual. The tug

is moored near the jetty. Thomas Roch is going to his laboratory, and

Ker Karraje and Engineer Serko are tranquilly pacing backwards and

forwards by the lake and chatting. The island therefore could not have

been attacked during the night. Yet I was awakened by the report of

cannon, this I will swear.

At this moment Ker Karraje goes off towards his abode and Engineer

Serko, smilingly ironical, as usual, advances to meet me.

"Well, Mr. Simon Hart," he says, "are you getting accustomed to

your tranquil existence? Do you appreciate at their just merit the

advantages of this enchanted grotto? Have you given up all hope of

recovering your liberty some day or other?"

What is the use of waxing wroth with this jester? I reply calmly:

"No, sir. I have not given up hope, and I still expect that I shall be

released."

"What! Mr. Hart, separate ourselves from a man whom we all esteem--and

I from a colleague who perhaps, in the course of Thomas Roch's fits of

delirium, has learned some of his secrets? You are not serious!"

So this is why they are keeping me a prisoner in Back Cup! They

suppose that I am in part familiar with Roch's invention, and they

hope to force me to tell what I know if Thomas Roch refuses to give up

his secret. This is the reason why I was kidnapped with him, and why

I have not been accommodated with an involuntary plunge in the lagoon

with a stone fastened to my neck. I see it all now, and it is just as

well to know it.

"Very serious," I affirm, in response to the last remark of my

interlocutor.

"Well," he continues, "if I had the honor to be Simon Hart, the

engineer, I should reason as follows: 'Given, on the one hand, the

personality of Ker Karraje, the reasons which incited him to select

such a mysterious retreat as this cavern, the necessity of the said

cavern being kept from any attempt to discover it, not only in the

interest of the Count d'Artigas, but in that of his companions--'"

"Of his accomplices, if you please."

"'Of his accomplices,' then--'and on the other hand, given the

fact that I know the real name of the Count d'Artigas and in what

mysterious safe he keeps his riches--'"

"Riches stolen, and stained with blood, Mr. Serko."

"'Riches stolen and stained with blood,' if you like--'I ought

to understand that this question of liberty cannot be settled in

accordance with my desires.'"

It is useless to argue the point under these conditions, and I switch

the conversation on to another line.

"May I ask," I continue, "how you came to find out that Gaydon, the

warder, was Simon Hart, the engineer?"

"I see no reason for keeping you in ignorance on the subject, my dear

colleague. It was largely by hazard. We had certain relations with the

manufactory in New Jersey with which you were connected, and which you

quitted suddenly one day under somewhat singular circumstances. Well,

during a visit I made to Healthful House some months before the Count

d'Artigas went there, I saw and recognized you."

"You?"

"My very self, and from that moment I promised myself the pleasure of

having you for a fellow-passenger on board the Ebba."

I do not recall ever having seen this Serko at Healthful House, but

what he says is very likely true.

"I hope your whim of having me for a companion will cost you dear,

some day or other," I say to myself.

Then, abruptly, I go on:

"If I am not mistaken, you have succeeded in inducing Thomas Roch to

disclose the secret of his fulgurator?"

"Yes, Mr. Hart. We paid millions for it. But millions, you know, are

nothing to us. We have only the trouble of taking them! Therefore we

filled all his pockets--covered him with millions!"

"Of what use are these millions to him if he is not allowed to enjoy

them outside?"

"That, Mr. Hart, is a matter that does not trouble him a little bit!

This man of genius thinks nothing of the future: he lives but in the

present. While engines are being constructed from his plans over

yonder in America, he is preparing his explosive with chemical

substances with which he has been abundantly supplied. He! he! What an

invention it is, this autopropulsive engine, which flies through

the air of its own power and accelerates its speed till the goal is

reached, thanks to the properties of a certain powder of progressive

combustion! Here we have an invention that will bring about a radical

change in the art of war."

"Defensive war, Mr. Serko."

"And offensive war, Mr. Hart."

"Naturally," I answer.

Then pumping him still more closely, I go on:

"So, what no one else has been able to obtain from Thomas Roch--"

"We obtained without much difficulty."

"By paying him."

"By paying him an incredible price--and, moreover, by causing to

vibrate what in him is a very sensitive chord."

"What chord?"

"That of vengeance!"

"Vengeance?--against whom?"

"Against all those who have made themselves his enemies by

discouraging him, by spurning him, expelling him, by constraining

him to go a-begging from country to country with an invention of

incontestable superiority! Now all notion of patriotism is extinct in

his soul. He has now but one thought, one ferocious desire: to avenge

himself upon those who have denied him--and even upon all mankind!

Really, Mr. Hart, your governments of Europe and America committed a

stupendous blunder in refusing to pay Roch the price his fulgurator is

worth!"

And Engineer Serko describes enthusiastically the various advantages

of the new explosive which, he says, is incontestably superior to any

yet invented.

"And what a destructive effect it has," he adds. "It is analogous to

that of the Zalinski shell, but is a hundred times more powerful, and

requires no machine for firing it, as it flies through the air on its

own wings, so to speak."

I listen in the hope that Engineer Serko will give away a part of the

secret, but in vain. He is careful not to say more than he wants to.

"Has Thomas Roch," I ask, "made you acquainted with the composition of

his explosive?"

"Yes, Mr. Hart--if it is all the same to you--and we shall shortly

have considerable quantities of it stored in a safe place."

"But will there not be a great and ever-impending danger in

accumulating large quantities of it? If an accident were to happen it

would be all up with the island of----!"

Once more the name of Back Cup was on the point of escaping me.

They might consider me too well-informed if they were aware that in

addition to being acquainted with the Count d'Artigas' real name I

also know where his stronghold is situated.

Luckily Engineer Serko has not remarked my reticence, and he replies:

"There will be no cause for alarm. Thomas Roch's explosive will not

burn unless subjected to a special deflagrator. Neither fire nor shock

will explode it."

"And has Thomas Roch also sold you the secret of his deflagrator?"

"Not yet, Mr. Hart, but it will not be long before the bargain is

concluded. Therefore, I repeat, no danger is to be apprehended, and

you need not keep awake of nights on that account. A thousand devils,

sir! We have no desire to be blown up with our cavern and treasures! A

few more years of good business and we shall divide the profits, which

will be large enough to enable each one of us to live as he thinks

proper and enjoy life to the top of his bent--after the dissolution

of the firm of Ker Karraje and Co. I may add that though there is

no danger of an explosion, we have everything to fear from a

denunciation--which you are in the position to make, Mr. Hart.

Therefore, if you take my advice, you will, like a sensible man,

resign yourself to the inevitable until the disbanding of the company.

We shall then see what in the interest of our security is best to be

done with you!"

It will be admitted that these words are not exactly calculated to

reassure me. However, a lot of things may happen ere then. I have

learned one good thing from this conversation, and that is that if

Thomas Roch has sold his explosive to Ker Karraje and Co., he has

at any rate, kept the secret of his deflagrator, without which the

explosive is of no more value than the dust of the highway.

But before terminating the interview I think I ought to make a very

natural observation to Mr. Serko.

"Sir," I say, "you are now acquainted with the composition of Thomas

Roch's explosive. Does it really possess the destructive power that

the inventor attributes to it? Has it ever been tried? May you not

have purchased a composition as inert as a pinch of snuff?"

"You are doubtless better informed upon this point than you pretend,

Mr. Hart. Nevertheless, I thank you for the interest you manifest in

our affairs, and am able to reassure you. The other night we made

a series of decisive experiments. With only a few grains of this

substance great blocks of rock were reduced to impalpable dust!"

This explanation evidently applies to the detonation I heard.

"Thus, my dear colleague," continues Engineer Serko, "I can assure you

that our expectations have been answered. The effects of the explosive

surpass anything that could have been imagined. A few thousand tons of

it would burst our spheroid and scatter the fragments into space. You

can be absolutely certain that it is capable of destroying no matter

what vessel at a distance considerably greater than that attained by

present projectiles and within a zone of at least a mile. The weak

point in the invention is that rather too much time has to be expended

in regulating the firing."

Engineer Serko stops short, as though reluctant to give any further

information, but finally adds:

"Therefore, I end as I began, Mr. Hart. Resign yourself to the

inevitable. Accept your new existence without reserve. Give yourself

up to the tranquil delights of this subterranean life. If one is in

good health, one preserves it; if one has lost one's health, one

recovers it here. That is what is happening to your fellow countryman.

Yes, the best thing you can do is to resign yourself to your lot."

Thereupon this giver of good advice leaves me, after saluting me

with a friendly gesture, like a man whose good intentions merit

appreciation. But what irony there is in his words, in his glance, in

his attitude. Shall I ever be able to get even with him?

I now know that at any rate it is not easy to regulate the aim of

Roch's auto-propulsive engine. It is probable that it always bursts at

the same distance, and that beyond the zone in which the effects of

the fulgurator are so terrible, and once it has been passed, a ship is

safe from its effects. If I could only inform the world of this vital

fact!

August 20.--For two days no incident worth recording has occurred. I

have explored Back Cup to its extreme limits. At night when the long

perspective of arched columns are illuminated by the electric lamps, I

am almost religiously impressed when I gaze upon the natural wonders

of this cavern, which has become my prison. I have never given up hope

of finding somewhere in the walls a fissure of some kind of which the

pirates are ignorant and through which I could make my escape. It is

true that once outside I should have to wait till a passing ship hove

in sight. My evasion would speedily be known at the Beehive, and I

should soon be recaptured, unless--a happy thought strikes me--unless

I could get at the Ebba's boat that was drawn up high and dry on the

little sandy beach in the creek. In this I might be able to make my

way to St. George or Hamilton.

This evening--it was about nine o'clock--I stretched myself on a bed

of sand at the foot of one of the columns, about one hundred yards to

the east of the lagoon. Shortly afterwards I heard footsteps, then

voices. Hiding myself as best I could behind the rocky base of the

pillar, I listened with all my ears.

I recognized the voices as those of Ker Karraje and Engineer Serko.

The two men stopped close to where I was lying, and continued their

conversation in English--which is the language generally used in Back

Cup. I was therefore able to understand all that they said.

They were talking about Thomas Roch, or rather his fulgurator.

"In a week's time," said Ker Karraje, "I shall put to sea in the

Ebba, and fetch the sections of the engines that are being cast in

that Virginian foundry."

"And when they are here," observed Engineer Serko, "I will piece them

together and fix up the frames for firing them. But beforehand, there

is a job to be done which it seems to me is indispensable."

"What is that?"

"To cut a tunnel through the wall of the cavern."

"Through the wall of the cavern?"

"Oh! nothing but a narrow passage through which only one man at a time

could squeeze, a hole easy enough to block, and the outside end of

which would be hidden among the rocks."

"Of what use could it be to us, Serko?"

"I have often thought about the utility of having some other way of

getting out besides the submarine tunnel. We never know what the

future may have in store for us."

"But the walls are so thick and hard," objected Ker Karraje.

"Oh, with a few grains of Roch's explosive I undertake to reduce the

rock to such fine powder that we shall be able to blow it away with

our breath," Serko replied.

It can easily be imagined with what interest and eagerness I listened

to this. Here was a ray of hope. It. was proposed to open up

communication with the outside by a tunnel in the wall, and this held

out the possibility of escape.

As this thought flashed through my mind, Ker Karraje said:

"Very well, Serko, and if it becomes necessary some day to defend Back

Cup and prevent any ship from approaching it----. It is true," he went

on, without finishing the reflection, "our retreat would have to have

been discovered by accident--or by denunciation."

"We have nothing to fear either from accident or denunciation,"

affirmed Serko.

"By one of our band, no, of course not, but by Simon Hart, perhaps."

"Hart!" exclaimed Serko. "He would have to escape first and no one can

escape from Back Cup. I am, by the bye, interested in this Hart. He is

a colleague, after all, and I have always suspected that he knows more

about Roch's invention than he pretends. I will get round him so that

we shall soon be discussing physics, mechanics, and matters ballistic

like a couple of friends."

"No matter," replied the generous and sensible Count d'Artigas, "when

we are in full possession of the secret we had better get rid of the

fellow."

"We have plenty of time to do that, Ker Karraje."

"If God permits you to, you wretches," I muttered to myself, while my

heart thumped against my ribs.

And yet, without the intervention of Providence, what hope is there

for me?

The conversation then took another direction.

"Now that we know the composition of the explosive, Serko," said Ker

Karraje, "we must, at all cost, get that of the deflagrator from

Thomas Roch."

"Yes," replied Engineer Serko, "that is what I am trying to do.

Unfortunately, however, Roch positively refuses to discuss it. Still

he has already made a few drops of it with which those experiments

were made, and he will furnish as with some more to blow a hole

through the wall."

"But what about our expeditions at sea?" queried Ker Karraje.

"Patience! We shall end by getting Roch's thunderbolts entirely in our

own hand, and then----"

"Are you sure, Serko?"

"Quite sure,--by paying the price, Ker Karraje."

The conversation dropped at this point, and they strolled off without

having seen me--very luckily for me, I guess. If Engineer Serko spoke

up somewhat in defence of a colleague, Ker Karraje is apparently

animated with much less benevolent sentiments in regard to me. On the

least suspicion they would throw me into the lake, and if I ever got

through the tunnel, it would only be as a corpse carried out by the

ebbing tide.

August 21.--Engineer Serko has been prospecting with a view to

piercing the proposed passage through the wall, in such a way that its

existence will never be dreamed of outside. After a minute examination

he decided to tunnel through the northern end of the cavern about

sixty feet from the first cells of the Beehive.

I am anxious for the passage to be made, for who knows but what it may

be the way to freedom for me? Ah! if I only knew how to swim, perhaps

I should have attempted to escape through the submarine tunnel, as

since it was disclosed by the lashing back of the waters by the whale

in its death-struggle, I know exactly where the orifice is situated.

It seems to me that at the time of the great tides, this orifice must

be partly uncovered. At the full and new moon, when the sea attains

its maximum depression below the normal level, it is possible that--I

must satisfy myself about this.

I do not know how the fact will help me in any way, even if the

entrance to the tunnel is partly uncovered, but I cannot afford to

miss any detail that may possibly aid in my escape from Back Cup.

August 29.--This morning I am witnessing the departure of the tug.

The Count d'Artigas is, no doubt, going off in the Ebba to fetch

the sections of Thomas Roch's engines. Before embarking, the Count

converses long and earnestly with Engineer Serko, who, apparently, is

not going to accompany him on this trip, and is evidently giving him

some recommendations, of which I may be the object. Then, having

stepped on to the platform, he goes below, the lid shuts with a bang,

and the tug sinks out of sight, leaving a trail of bubbles behind it.

The hours go by, night is coming on, yet the tug does not return. I

conclude that it has gone to tow the schooner, and perhaps to destroy

any merchant vessels that may come in their way.

It cannot, however, be absent very long, as the trip to America and

back will not take more than a week.

Besides, if I can judge from the calm atmosphere in the interior of

the cavern, the Ebba must be favored with beautiful weather. This

is, in fact, the fine season in this part of the world. Ah! if only I

could break out of my prison!

CHAPTER XIII - GOD BE WITH IT.

From August 29 to September 10.--Thirteen days have gone by and

the Ebba has not returned. Did she then not make straight for the

American coast? Has she been delayed by a buccaneering cruise in the

neighborhood of Back Cup? It seems to me that Ker Karraje's only

desire would be to get back with the sections of Roch's engines as

soon as possible. Maybe the Virginian foundry had not quite finished

them.

Engineer Serko does not display the least anxiety or impatience. He

continues to greet me with his accustomed ironical cordiality, and

with a kindly air that I distrust--with good reason. He affects to be

solicitous as to my health, urges me to make the best of a bad job,

calls me Ali Baba, assures me that there is not, in the whole world,

such an enchanting spot as this Arabian Nights cavern, observes that I

am fed, warmed, lodged, and clothed, that I have no taxes to pay, and

that even the inhabitants of the favored principality of Monaco do not

enjoy an existence more free from care.

Sometimes this ironical verbiage brings the blood to my face, and I

am tempted to seize this cynical banterer by the throat and choke the

life out of him. They would kill me afterwards. Still, what would that

matter! Would it not be better to end in this way than to spend years

and years amid these infernal and infamous surroundings? However,

while there is life there is hope, I reflect, and this thought

restrains me.

I have scarcely set eyes upon Thomas Roch since the Ebba went away.

He shuts himself up in his laboratory and works unceasingly. If he

utilizes all the substances placed at his disposition there will be

enough to blow up Back Cup and the whole Bermudan archipelago with it!

I cling to the hope that he will never consent to give up the secret

of his deflagrator, and that Engineer Serko's efforts to acquire it

will remain futile.

September 3.--To-day I have been able to witness with my own eyes

the power of Roch's explosive, and also the manner in which the

fulgurator is employed.

During the morning the men began to pierce the passage through the

wall of the cavern at the spot fixed upon by Engineer Serko, who

superintended the work in person. The work began at the base, where

the rock is as hard as granite. To have continued it with pickaxes

would have entailed long and arduous labor, inasmuch as the wall at

this place is not less than from twenty to thirty yards in thickness,

but thanks to Roch's fulgurator the passage will be completed easily

and rapidly.

I may well be astonished at what I have seen. The pickaxes hardly made

any impression on the rock, but its disaggregation was effected with

really remarkable facility by means of the fulgurator.

A few grains of this explosive shattered the rocky mass and reduced it

to almost impalpable powder that one's breath could disperse as easily

as vapor. The explosion produced an excavation measuring fully a cubic

yard. It was accompanied by a sharp detonation that may be compared to

the report of a cannon.

The first charge used, although a very small one, a mere pinch, blew

the men in every direction, and two of them were seriously injured.

Engineer Serko himself was projected several yards, and sustained some

rather severe contusions.

Here is how this substance, whose bursting force surpasses anything

hitherto conceived, is employed.

A small hole about an inch and a half in length is pierced obliquely

in the rock. A few grains of the explosive are then inserted, but no

wad is used.

Then Thomas Roch steps forward. In his hand is a little glass phial

containing a bluish, oily liquid that congeals almost as soon as it

comes in contact with the air. He pours one drop on the entrance of

the hole, and draws back, but not with undue haste. It takes a certain

time--about thirty-five seconds, I reckon--before the combination of

the fulgurator and deflagrator is effected. But when the explosion

does take place its power of disaggregation is such--I repeat--that

it may be regarded as unlimited. It is at any rate a thousand times

superior to that of any known explosive.

Under these circumstances it will probably not take more than a week

to complete the tunnel.

September 19.--For some time past I have observed that the tide

rises and falls twice every twenty-four hours, and that the ebb and

flow produce a rather swift current through the submarine tunnel. It

is pretty certain therefore that a floating object thrown into the

lagoon when the top of the orifice is uncovered would be carried out

by the receding tide. It is just possible that during the lowest

equinoctial tides the top of the orifice is uncovered. This I shall be

able to ascertain, as this is precisely the time they occur. To-day,

September 19, I could almost distinguish the summit of the hole under

the water. The day after to-morrow, if ever, it will be uncovered.

Very well then, if I cannot myself attempt to get through, may be a

bottle thrown into the lagoon might be carried out during the last

few minutes of the ebb. And might not this bottle by chance--an

ultra-providential chance, I must avow--be picked up by a ship passing

near Back Cup? Perhaps even it might be borne away by a friendly

current and cast upon one of the Bermudan beaches. What if that bottle

contained a letter?

I cannot get this thought out of my mind, and it works me up into a

great state of excitement. Then objections crop up--this one among

others: the bottle might be swept against the rocks and smashed ere

ever it could get out of the tunnel. Very true, but what if, instead

of a bottle a diminutive, tightly closed keg were used? It would not

run any danger of being smashed and would besides stand a much better

chance of reaching the open sea.

September 20.--This evening, I, unperceived, entered one of the

store houses containing the booty pillaged from various ships and

procured a keg very suitable for my experiment.

I hid the keg under my coat, and returned to the Beehive and my cell.

Then without losing an instant I set to work. Paper, pen, ink, nothing

was wanting, as will be supposed from the fact that for three months I

have been making notes and dotting down my impressions daily.

I indite the following message:

"On June 15 last Thomas Roch and his keeper Gaydon, or rather Simon

Hart, the French engineer who occupied Pavilion No. 17, at Healthful

House, near New-Berne, North Carolina, United States of America, were

kidnapped and carried on board the schooner Ebba, belonging to the

Count d'Artigas. Both are now confined in the interior of a cavern

which serves as a lair for the said Count d'Artigas--who is really Ker

Karraje, the pirate who some time ago carried on his depredations in

the West Pacific--and for about a hundred men of which his band is

composed.

"When he has obtained possession of Roch's fulgurator whose power is,

so to speak, without limit, Ker Karraje will be in a position to carry

on his crimes with complete impunity.

"It is therefore urgent that the states interested should destroy his

lair without delay.

"The cavern in which the pirate Ker Karraje has taken refuge is in the

interior of the islet of Back Cup, which is wrongly regarded as

an active volcano. It is situated at the western extremity of the

archipelago of Bermuda, and on the east is bounded by a range of

reefs, but on the north, south, and west is open.

"Communication with the inside of the mountain is only possible

through a tunnel a few yards under water in a narrow pass on the west.

A submarine apparatus therefore is necessary to effect an entrance, at

any rate until a tunnel they are boring through the northwestern wall

of the cavern is completed.

"The pirate Ker Karraje employs an apparatus of this kind--the

submarine boat that the Count d'Artigas ordered of the Cramps and

which was supposed to have been lost during the public experiment with

it in Charleston Bay. This boat is used not only for the purpose of

entering and issuing from Back Cup, but also to tow the schooner and

attack merchant vessels in Bermudan waters.

"This schooner Ebba, so well known on the American coast, is kept

in a small creek on the western side of the island, behind a mass of

rocks, and is invisible from the sea.

"The best place to land is on the west coast formerly occupied by the

colony of Bermudan fishers; but it would first be advisable to effect

a breach in the side of the cavern by means of the most powerful

melinite shells.

"The fact that Ker Karraje may be in the position to use Roch's

fulgurator for the defence of the island must also be taken into

consideration. Let it be well borne in mind that if its destructive

power surpasses anything ever conceived or dreamed of, it extends over

a zone not exceeding a mile in extent. The distance of this dangerous

zone is variable, but once the engines have been set, the modification

of the distance occupies some time, and a warship that succeeds in

passing the zone has nothing further to fear.

"This document is written on the twentieth day of September at eight

o'clock in the evening and is signed with my name

"THOMAS HART, Engineer."

The above is the text of the statement I have just drawn up. It says

all that is necessary about the island, whose exact situation is

marked on all modern charts and maps, and points out the expediency

of acting without delay, and what to do in case Ker Karraje is in the

position to employ Roch's fulgurator.

I add a plan of the cavern showing its internal configuration, the

situation of the lagoon, the lay of the Beehive, Ker Karraje's

habitation, my cell, and Thomas Roch's laboratory.

I wrap the document in a piece of tarpaulin and insert the package in

the little keg, which measures six inches by three and a half. It

is perfectly watertight and will stand any amount of knocking about

against the rocks.

There is one danger, however, and that is, that it may be swept back

by the returning tide, cast up on the island, and fall into the hands

of the crew of the Ebba when the schooner is hauled into her creek.

If Ker Karraje ever gets hold of it, it will be all up with me.

It will be readily conceived with what anxiety I have awaited the

moment to make the attempt: I am in a perfect fever of excitement,

for it is a matter of life or death to me. I calculate from previous

observations that the tide will be very low at about a quarter to

nine. The top of the tunnel ought then to be a foot and a half above

water, which is more than enough to permit of the keg passing through

it. It will be another half hour at least before the flow sets in

again, and by that time the keg may be far enough away to escape being

thrown back on the coast.

I peer out of my cell. There is no one about, and I advance to the

side of the lagoon, where by the light of a nearby lamp, I perceive

the arch of the tunnel, towards which the current seems to be setting

pretty swiftly.

I go down to the very edge, and cast in the keg which contains the

precious document and all my hopes.

"God be with it!" I fervently exclaim. "God be with it!"

For a minute or two the little barrel remains stationary, and then

floats back to the side again. I throw it out once more with all my

strength.

This time it is in the track of the current, which to my great joy

sweeps it along and in twenty seconds, it has disappeared in the

tunnel.

Yes, God be with it! May Heaven guide thee, little barrel! May it

protect all those whom Ker Karraje menaces and grant that this band of

pirates may not escape from the justice of man!

CHAPTER XIV - BATTLE BETWEEN THE "SWORD" AND THE TUG.

Through all this sleepless night I have followed the keg in fancy. How

many times I seem to see it swept against the rocks in the tunnel into

a creek, or some excavation. I am in a cold perspiration from head to

foot. Then I imagine that it has been carried out to sea. Heavens!

if the returning tide should sweep it back to the entrance and then

through the tunnel into the lagoon! I must be on the lookout for it.

I rise before the sun and saunter down to the lagoon. Not a single

object is floating on its calm surface.

The work on the tunnel through the side of the cavern goes on, and at

four o'clock in the afternoon on September 23, Engineer Serko blows

away the last rock obstructing the issue, and communication with the

outer world is established. It is only a very narrow hole, and one

has to stoop to go through it. The exterior orifice is lost among the

crannies of the rocky coast, and it would be easy to obstruct it, if

such a measure became necessary.

It goes without saying that the passage will be strictly guarded. No

one without special authorization will be able either to go out or

come in, therefore there is little hope of escape in that direction.

September 25.--This morning the tug rose from the depth of the

lagoon to the surface, and has now run alongside the jetty. The Count

d'Artigas and Captain Spade disembark, and the crew set to work to

land the provisions--boxes of canned meat, preserves, barrels of wine

and spirits, and other things brought by the Ebba, among which are

several packages destined for Thomas Roch. The men also land the

various sections of Roch's engines which are discoid in shape.

The inventor watches their operations, and his eyes glisten with

eagerness. He seizes one of the sections, examines it, and nods

approval. I notice that his joy no longer finds expression in

incoherent utterances, that he is completely transformed from what he

was while a patient at Healthful House. So much is this the case that

I begin to ask myself whether his madness which was asserted to be

incurable, has not been radically cured.

At last Thomas Roch embarks in the boat used for crossing the lake and

is rowed over to his laboratory. Engineer Serko accompanies him. In an

hour's time the tug's cargo has all been taken out and transported to

the storehouses.

Ker Karraje exchanges a word or two with Engineer Serko and then

enters his mansion. Later, in the afternoon, I see them walking up and

down in front of the Beehive and talking earnestly together.

Then they enter the new tunnel, followed by Captain Spade. If I could

but follow them! If I could but breathe for awhile the bracing air

of the Atlantic, of which the interior of Back Cup only receives

attenuated puffs, so to speak.

From September 26 to October 10.--Fifteen days have elapsed. Under

the directions of Engineer Serko and Thomas Roch the sections of the

engines have been fitted together. Then the construction of their

supports is begun. These supports are simple trestles, fitted with

transverse troughs or grooves of various degrees of inclination, and

which could be easily installed on the deck of the Ebba, or even

on the platform of the tug, which can be kept on a level with the

surface.

Thus Ker Karraje, will be ruler of the seas, with his yacht. No

warship, however big, however powerful, will be able to cross the zone

of danger, whereas the Ebba will be out of range of its guns. If

only my notice were found! If only the existence of this lair of Back

Cup were known! Means would soon be found, if not of destroying the

place, at least of starving the band into submission!

October 20.--To my extreme surprise I find this morning that the tug

has gone away again. I recall that yesterday the elements of the piles

were renewed, but I thought it was only to keep them in order. In

view of the fact that the outside can now be reached through the new

tunnel, and that Thomas Roch has everything he requires, I can only

conclude that the tug has gone off on another marauding expedition.

Yet this is the season of the equinoctial gales, and the Bermudan

waters are swept by frequent tempests. This is evident from the

violent gusts that drive back the smoke through the crater and the

heavy rain that accompanies it, as well as by the water in the lagoon,

which swells and washes over the brown rocks on its shores.

But it is by no means sure that the Ebba has quitted her cove.

However staunch she may be, she is, it seems to me, of too light a

build to face such tempests as now rage, even with the help of the

tug.

On the other hand, although the tug has nothing to fear from the heavy

seas, as it would be in calm water a few yards below the surface, it

is hardly likely that it has gone on a trip unless to accompany the

schooner.

I do not know to what its departure can be attributed, but its absence

is likely to be prolonged, for it has not yet returned.

Engineer Serko has remained behind, but Ker Karraje, Captain Spade,

and the crew of the schooner, I find, have left.

Life in the cavern goes on with its usual dispiriting monotony. I pass

hour after hour in my cell, meditating, hoping, despairing, following

in fancy the voyage of my little barrel, tossed about at the mercy

of the currents and whose chances of being picked up, I fear, are

becoming fainter each day, and killing time by writing my diary, which

will probably not survive me.

Thomas Roch is constantly occupied in his laboratory manufacturing his

deflagrator. I still entertain the conviction that nothing will ever

induce him to give up the secret of the liquid's composition; but I am

perfectly aware that he will not hesitate to place his invention at

Ker Karraje's service.

I often meet Engineer Serko when my strolls take me in the direction

of the Beehive. He always shows himself disposed to chat with me,

though, it is true, he does so in a tone of impertinent frivolity.

We converse upon all sorts of subjects, but rarely of my position.

Recrimination thereanent is useless and only subjects me to renewed

bantering.

October 22.--To-day I asked Engineer Serko whether the Ebba had

put to sea again with the tug.

"Yes, Mr. Simon Hart," he replied, "and though the clouds gather and

loud the tempest roars, be in no uneasiness in regard to our dear

Ebba."

"Will she be gone long?"

"We expect her back within forty-eight hours. It is the last voyage

Count d'Artigas proposes to make before the winter gales render

navigation in these parts impracticable."

"Is her voyage one of business or pleasure?"

"Of business, Mr. Hart, of business," answered Engineer Serko with

a smile. "Our engines are now completed, and when the fine weather

returns we shall resume offensive operations."

"Against unfortunate merchantmen."

"As unfortunate as they are richly laden."

"Acts of piracy, whose impunity will, I trust, not always be assured,"

I cried..

"Calm yourself, dear colleague, be calm! Be calm! No one, you know,

can ever discover our retreat, and none can ever disclose the secret!

Besides, with these engines, which are so easily handled and are of

such terrible power, it would be easy for us to blow to pieces any

ship that attempted to get within a certain radius of the island."

"Providing," I said, "that Thomas Roch has sold you the composition of

his deflagrator as he has sold you that of his fulgurator."

"That he has done, Mr. Hart, and it behooves me to set your mind at

rest upon that point."

From this categorical response I ought to have concluded that the

misfortune had been consummated, but a certain hesitation in the

intonation of his voice warned me that implicit reliance was not to be

placed upon Engineer Serko's assertions.

October 25.--What a frightful adventure I have just been mixed up

in, and what a wonder I did not lose my life! It is only by a miracle

that I am able to resume these notes, which have been interrupted for

forty-eight hours. With a little luck, I should have been delivered!

I should now be in one of the Bermudan ports--St. George or Hamilton.

The mysteries of Back Cup would have been cleared up. The description

of the schooner would have been wired all over the world, and she

would not dare to put into any port. The provisioning of Back Cup

would be impossible, and Ker Karraje's bandits would be condemned to

starve to death!

This is what occurred:

At eight o'clock in the evening on October 23, I quitted my cell in

an indefinable state of nervousness, and with a presentiment that a

serious event was imminent. In vain I had tried to seek calmness in

sleep. It was impossible to do so, and I rose and went out.

Outside Back Cup the weather must have been very rough. Violent gusts

of wind swept in through the crater and agitated the water of the

lagoon.

I walked along the shore on the Beehive side. No one was about. It

was rather cold, and the air was damp. The pirates were all snugly

ensconced in their cells, with the exception of one man, who stood

guard over the new passage, notwithstanding that the outer entrance

had been blocked. From where he was this man could not see the lagoon,

moreover there were only two lamps alight, one on each side of

the lake, and the forest of pillars was wrapt in the profoundest

obscurity.

I was walking about in the shadow, when some one passed me.

I saw that he was Thomas Roch.

He was walking slowly, absorbed by his thoughts, his brain at work, as

usual.

Was this not a favorable opportunity to talk to him, to enlighten him

about what he was probably ignorant, namely, the character of the

people into whose hands he had fallen?

"He cannot," I argued, "know that the Count d'Artigas is none other

than Ker Karraje, the pirate. He cannot be aware that he has given up

a part of his invention to such a bandit. I must open his eyes to the

fact that he will never be able to enjoy his millions, that he is a

prisoner in Back Cup, and will never be allowed to leave it, any

more than I shall. Yes, I will make an appeal to his sentiments of

humanity, and point out to him what frightful misfortunes he will be

responsible for if he does not keep the secret of his deflagrator."

All this I had said to myself, and was preparing to carry out my

resolution, when I suddenly felt myself seized from behind.

Two men held me by the arms, and another appeared in front of me.

Before I had time to cry out the man exclaimed in English:

"Hush! not a word! Are you not Simon Hart?"

"Yes, how did you know?"

"I saw you come out of your cell."

"Who are you, then?"

"Lieutenant Davon, of the British Navy, of H.M.S. Standard, which is

stationed at the Bermudas."

Emotion choked me so that it was impossible for me to utter a word.

"We have come to rescue you from Ker Karraje, and also propose to

carry off Thomas Roch," he added.

"Thomas Roch?" I stammered.

"Yes, the document signed by you was found on the beach at St.

George----"

"In a keg, Lieutenant Davon, which I committed to the waters of the

lagoon."

"And which contained," went on the officer, "the notice by which we

were apprised that the island of Back Cup served as a refuge for Ker

Karraje and his band--Ker Karraje, this false Count d'Artigas, the

author of the double abduction from Healthful House."

"Ah! Lieutenant Davon----"

"Now we have not a moment to spare, we must profit by the obscurity."

"One word, Lieutenant Davon, how did you penetrate to the interior of

Back Cup?"

"By means of the submarine boat Sword, with which we have been

making experiments at St. George for six months past."

"A submarine boat!"

"Yes, it awaits us at the foot of the rocks. And now, Mr. Hart, where

is Ker Karraje's tug?"

"It has been away for three weeks."

"Ker Karraje is not here, then?"

"No, but we expect him back every day--every hour, I might say."

"It matters little," replied Lieutenant Davon. "It is not after Ker

Karraje, but Thomas Roch, we have come--and you also, Mr. Hart. The

Sword will not leave the lagoon till you are both on board. If she

does not turn up at St. George again, they will know that I have

failed--and they will try again."

"Where is the Sword, Lieutenant?"

"On this side, in the shadow of the bank, where it cannot be seen.

Thanks to your directions, I and my crew were able to locate the

tunnel. We came through all right, and ten minutes ago rose to the

surface of the lake. Two men landed with me. I saw you issue from the

cell marked on your plan. Do you know where Thomas Roch is?"

"A few paces off. He has just passed me, on his way to his

laboratory."

"God be praised, Mr. Hart!"

"Amen, Lieutenant Davon."

The lieutenant, the two men and I took the path around the lagoon.

We had not gone far when we perceived Thomas Roch in front of us. To

throw ourselves upon him, gag him before he could utter a cry, bind

him before he could offer any resistance, and bear him off to the

place where the Sword was moored was the work of a minute.

The Sword was a submersible boat of only twelve tons, and

consequently much inferior to the tug, both in respect of dimensions

and power. Her screw was worked by a couple of dynamos fitted with

accumulators that had been charged twelve hours previously in the port

of St. George. However, the Sword would suffice to take us out of

this prison, to restore us to liberty--that liberty of which I had

given up all hope. Thomas Roch was at last to be rescued from the

clutches of Ker Karraje and Engineer Serko. The rascals would not be

able to utilize his invention, and nothing could prevent the warships

from landing a storming party on the island, who would force the

tunnel in the wall and secure the pirates!

We saw no one while the two men were conveying Thomas Roch to the

Sword, and all got on board without incident. The lid was shut and

secured, the water compartments filled, and the Sword sank out of

sight. We were saved!

The Sword was divided into three water-tight compartments. The after

one contained the accumulators and machinery. The middle one, occupied

by the pilot, was surmounted by a periscope fitted with lenticular

portholes, through which an electric search-lamp lighted the way

through the water. Forward, in the other compartment, Thomas Roch and

I were shut in.

My companion, though the gag which was choking him had been removed,

was still bound, and, I thought, knew what was going on.

But we were in a hurry to be off, and hoped to reach St. George that

very night if no obstacle was encountered.

I pushed open the door of the compartment and rejoined Lieutenant

Davon, who was standing by the man at the wheel. In the after

compartment three other men, including the engineer, awaited the

lieutenant's orders to set the machinery in motion.

"Lieutenant Davon," I said, "I do not think there is any particular

reason why I should stay in there with Roch. If I can help you to get

through the tunnel, pray command me."

"Yes, I shall be glad to have you by me, Mr. Hart."

It was then exactly thirty-seven minutes past eight.

The search-lamp threw a vague light through the water ahead of the

Sword. From where we were, we had to cross the lagoon through its

entire length to get to the tunnel. It would be pretty difficult to

fetch it, we knew, but, if necessary, we could hug the sides of the

lake until we located it. Once outside the tunnel the Sword would

rise to the surface and make for St. George at full speed.

"At what depth are we now?" I asked the lieutenant.

"About a fathom."

"It is not necessary to go any lower," I said. "From what I was able

to observe during the equinoctial tides, I should think that we are in

the axis of the tunnel."

"All right," he replied.

Yes, it was all right, and I felt that Providence was speaking by the

mouth of the officer. Certainly Providence could not have chosen a

better agent to work its will.

In the light of the lamp I examined him. He was about thirty years of

age, cool, phlegmatic, with resolute physiognomy--the English officer

in all his native impassibility--no more disturbed than if he had been

on board the Standard, operating with extraordinary sang-froid, I

might even say, with the precision of a machine.

"On coming through the tunnel I estimated its length at about fifty

yards," he remarked.

"Yes, Lieutenant, about fifty yards from one extremity to the other."

This calculation must have been pretty exact, since the new tunnel cut

on a level with the coast is thirty-five feet in length.

The order was given to go ahead, and the Sword moved forward very

slowly for fear of colliding against the rocky side.

Sometimes we came near enough to it to distinguish a black mass ahead

of it, but a turn of the wheel put us in the right direction again.

Navigating a submarine boat in the open sea is difficult enough. How

much more so in the confines of a lagoon!

After five minutes' manoeuvring, the Sword, which was kept at about

a fathom below the surface, had not succeeded in sighting the orifice.

"Perhaps it would be better to return to the surface, Lieutenant," I

said. "We should then be able to see where we are."

"I think you are right, Mr. Hart, if you can point out just about

where the tunnel is located."

"I think I can."

"Very well, then."

As a precaution the light was turned off. The engineer set the pumps

in motion, and, lightened of its water ballast, the boat slowly rose

in the darkness to the surface.

I remained at my post so that I could peer through the lookouts.

At last the ascensional movement of the Sword stopped, and the

periscope emerged about a foot.

On one side of me, lighted by the lamp by the shore, I could see the

Beehive.

"What is your opinion?" demanded the lieutenant.

"We are too far north. The orifice is in the west side of the cavern."

"Is anybody about?"

"Not a soul."

"Capital, Mr. Hart. Then we will keep on a level with the surface, and

when we are in front of the tunnel, and you give the signal, we will

sink."

It was the best thing to be done. We moved off again and the pilot

kept her head towards the tunnel.

When we were about twelve yards off I gave the signal to stop. As soon

as the current was turned off the Sword stopped, opened her water

tanks and slowly sank again.

Then the light in the lookout was turned on again, and there in front

of us was a black circle that did not reflect the lamp's rays.

"There it is, there is the tunnel!" I cried.

Was it not the door by which I was going to escape from my prison? Was

not liberty awaiting me on the other side?

Gently the Sword moved towards the orifice.

Oh! the horrible mischance! How have I survived it? How is it that my

heart is not broken?

A dim light appeared in the depth of the tunnel, about twenty-five

yards in front of us. The advancing light could be none other than

that, projected through the lookout of Ker Karraje's submarine boat.

"The tug! The tug!" I exclaimed. "Lieutenant, here is the tug

returning to Back Cup!"

"Full speed astern," ordered the officer, and the Sword drew back

just as she was about to enter the tunnel.

One chance remained. The lieutenant had swiftly turned off the light,

and it was just possible that we had not been seen by the people in

the tug. Perhaps, in the dark waters of the lagoon, we should escape

notice, and when the oncoming boat had risen and moored to the jetty,

we should be able to slip out unperceived.

We had backed close in to the south side and the Sword was about to

stop, but alas, for our hopes! Captain Spade had seen that another

submarine boat was about to issue through the tunnel, and he was

making preparations to chase us. How could a frail craft like the

Sword defend itself against the attacks of Ker Karraje's powerful

machine?

Lieutenant Davon turned to me and said: "Go back to the compartment

where Thomas Roch is and shut yourself in. I will close the

after-door. There is just a chance that if the tug rams us the

water-tight compartments will keep us up."

After shaking hands with the lieutenant, who was as cool as though we

were in no danger, I went forward and rejoined Thomas Roch. I closed

the door and awaited the issue in profound darkness.

Then I could feel the desperate efforts made by the Sword to

escape from or ram her enemy. I could feel her rushing, gyrating and

plunging. Now she would twist to avoid a collision. Now she would rise

to the surface, then sink to the bottom of the lagoon. Can any one

conceive such a struggle as that in which, like two marine monsters,

these machines were engaged in beneath the troubled waters of this

inland lake?

A few minutes elapsed, and I began to think that the Sword had

eluded the tug and was rushing through the tunnel.

Suddenly there was a collision. The shock was not, it seemed to me,

very violent, but I could be under no illusion: the Sword had been

struck on her starboard quarter. Perhaps her plates had resisted,

and if not, the water would only invade one of her compartments, I

thought.

Almost immediately after, however, there was another shock that pushed

the Sword with extreme violence. She was raised by the ram of the

tug which sawed and ripped its way into her side. Then I could feel

her heel over and sink straight down, stern foremost.

Thomas Roch and I were tumbled over violently by. this movement. There

was another bump, another ripping sound, and the Sword lay still.

Just what happened after that I am unable to say, for I lost

consciousness.

I have since learned that all this occurred many hours ago.

I however distinctly remember that my last thought was:

"If I am to die, at any rate Thomas Roch and his secret perish with

me--and the pirates of Back Cup will not escape punishment for their

crimes."

CHAPTER XV - EXPECTATION.

As soon as I recover my senses I find myself lying on my bed in my

cell, where it appears I have been lying for thirty-six hours.

I am not alone. Engineer Serko is near me. He has attended to me

himself, not because he regards me as a friend, I surmise, but as

a man from whom indispensable explanations are awaited, and who

afterwards can be done away with if necessary.

I am still so weak that I could not walk a step. A little more and I

should have been asphyxiated in that narrow compartment of the Sword

at the bottom of the lagoon.

Am I in condition to reply to the questions that Engineer Serko is

dying to put to me? Yes--but I shall maintain the utmost reserve.

In the first place I wonder what has become of Lieutenant Davon and

the crew of the Sword. Did those brave Englishmen perish in the

collision? Are they safe and sound like us--for I suppose that Thomas

Roch has also survived?

The first question that Engineer Serko puts to me is this:

"Will you explain to me what happened, Mr. Hart?"

Instead of replying it occurs to me to question him myself.

"And Thomas Roch?" I inquire.

"In good health, Mr. Hart." Then he adds in an imperious tone: "Tell

me what occurred!"

"In the first place, tell me what became of the others."

"What others?" replies Serko, glancing at me savagely.

"Why, those men who threw themselves upon Thomas Roch and me, who

gagged, bound, and carried us off and shut us up, I know not where?"

On reflection I had come to the conclusion that the best thing to do

was to pretend that I had been surprised before I knew where I was or

who my aggressors were.

"You will know what became of them later. But first, tell me how, the

thing was done."

By the threatening tone of his voice, as he for the third time puts

this question, I understand the nature of the suspicions entertained

of me. Yet to be in the position to accuse me of having had relations

with the outside he would have had to get possession of my keg. This

he could not have done, seeing that it is in the hands of the Bermudan

authorities. The pirates cannot, I am convinced, have a single proof

to back up their suspicions.

I therefore recount how about eight o'clock on the previous evening I

was walking along the edge of the lagoon, after Thomas Roch had passed

me, going towards his laboratory, when I felt myself seized from

behind; how having been gagged, bound, and blindfolded, I felt myself

carried off and lowered into a hole with another person whom I thought

I recognized from his groans as Thomas Roch; how I soon felt that I

was on board a boat of some description and naturally concluded that

it was the tug; how I felt it sink; how I felt a shock that threw me

violently against the side, and how I felt myself suffocating and lost

consciousness, since I remember nothing further.

Engineer Serko listens with profound attention, a stern look in his

eyes and a frown on his brow; and yet he can have no reason that

authorizes him to doubt my word.

"You claim that three men threw themselves upon you?" he asks.

"Yes. I thought they were some of your people, for I did not see them

coming. Who were they?"

"Strangers, as you must have known from their language."

"They did not utter a word!"

"Have you no idea as to their nationality?"

"Not the remotest."

Do you know what were their intentions in entering the cavern?"

"I do not."

"What is your opinion about it?"

"My opinion, Mr. Serko? I repeat I thought they were two or three of

your pirates who had come to throw me into the lagoon by the Count

d'Artigas' orders, and that they were going to do the same thing to

Thomas Roch. I supposed that having obtained his secrets--as you

informed me was the case--you had no further use for him and were

about to get rid of us both."

"Is it possible, Mr. Hart, that you could have thought such a thing!"

continued Serko in his sarcastic way.

"I did, until having been able to remove the bandage from my eyes, I

perceived that I was in the tug."

"It was not the tug, but a boat of the same kind that had got through

the tunnel."

"A submarine boat?" I ejaculate.

"Yes, and manned by persons whose mission was to kidnap you and Thomas

Roch."

"Kidnap us?" I echo, continuing to feign surprise.

"And," adds Engineer Serko, "I want to know what you think about the

matter."

"What I think about it? Well, it appears to me that there is only one

plausible explanation possible. If the secret of your retreat has not

been betrayed--and I cannot conceive how you could have been betrayed

or what imprudence you or yours could have committed--my opinion is

that this submarine boat was exploring the bottom of the sea in this

neighborhood, that she must have found her way into the tunnel,

that she rose to the surface of the lagoon, that her crew, greatly

surprised to find themselves inside an inhabited cavern, seized hold

of the first persons they came across, Thomas Roch and myself, and

others as well perhaps, for of course I do not know----"

Engineer Serko has become serious again. Does he realize the inanity

of the hypothesis I try to pass off on him? Does he think I know more

than I will say? However this may be, he accepts my professed view,

and says:

"In effect, Mr. Hart, it must have happened as you suggest, and when

the stranger tried to make her way out through the tunnel just as the

tug was entering, there was a collision--a collision of which she was

the victim. But we are not the kind of people to allow our fellow-men

to perish before our eyes. Moreover, the disappearance of Thomas Roch

and yourself was almost immediately discovered. Two such valuable

lives had to be saved at all hazards. We set to work. There are many

expert divers among our men. They hastily donned their suits and

descended to the bottom of the lagoon. They passed lines around the

hull of the Sword----"

"The Sword?" I exclaim.

"That is the name we saw painted on the bow of the vessel when we

raised her to the surface. What satisfaction we experienced when we

recovered you--unconscious, it is true, but still breathing--and were

able to bring you back to life! Unfortunately all our attentions to

the officer who commanded the Sword, and to his crew were useless.

The shock had torn open the after and middle compartments, and

they paid with their lives the misfortune--due to chance, as you

observe--of having discovered our mysterious retreat."

On learning that Lieutenant Davon and his companions are dead, my

heart is filled with anguish; but to keep up my role--as they were

persons with whom, presumably, I was not acquainted, and had never

seen--I am careful not to display any emotion. I must, on no account,

afford ground for the suspicion that there was any connivance between

the commander of the Sword and me. For aught I know, Engineer Serko

may have reason to be very skeptical about the discovery of the tunnel

being accidental.

What, however, I am most concerned about is that the unlooked-for

occasion to recover my liberty was lost. Shall I ever be afforded

another chance? However this may be, my notice reached the English

authorities of the archipelago, and they now know where Ker Karraje

is to be found. When it is seen that the Sword does not return to

Bermuda, there can be no doubt that another attempt will be made to

get inside Back Cup, in which, had it not been for the inopportune

return of the tug, I should no longer be a prisoner.

I have resumed my usual existence, and having allayed all mistrust, am

permitted to wander freely about the cavern, as usual.

It is patent that the adventure has had no ill effect upon Thomas

Roch. Intelligent nursing brought him around, as it did me. In full

possession of his mental faculties he has returned to work, and spends

the entire day in his laboratory.

The Ebba brought back from her last trip bales, boxes, and a

quantity of objects of varied origin, and I conclude that a number of

ships must have been pillaged during this marauding expedition.

The work on the trestles for Roch's engine goes steadily forward, and

there are now no fewer than fifty engines. If Ker Karraje and Engineer

Serko are under the necessity of defending Back Cup, three or four

will be sufficient to render the island unapproachable, as they will

cover a zone which no vessel could enter without being blown to

pieces. And it occurs to me that they intend to put Back Cup in a

state of defence after having argued as follows:

"If the appearance of the Sword in the lagoon was due to chance the

situation remains unchanged, and no power, not even England, will

think of seeking for the Sword inside the cavern. If, on the other

hand, as the result of an incomprehensible revelation, it has been

learned that Back Cup is become the retreat of Ker Karraje, if the

expedition of the Sword was a first effort against the island,

another of a different kind--either a bombardment from a distance, or

an attack by a landing party--is to be expected. Therefore, ere we

can quit Back Cup and carry away our plunder, we shall have to defend

ourselves by means of Roch's fulgurator."

In my opinion the rascals must have gone on to reason still further in

this wise:

"Is there any connection between the disclosure of our secret--if it

was, and however it may have been made--and the double abduction from

Healthful House? Is it known that Thomas Roch and his keeper are

confined in Back Cup? Is it known that the abduction was effected in

the interest of Ker Karraje? Have Americans, English, French, Germans,

and Russians reason to fear that an attack in force against the island

would be doomed to failure?"

Ker Karraje must know very well that these powers would not hesitate

to attack him, however great the danger might be. The destruction of

his lair is an urgent duty in the interest of public security and

of humanity. After sweeping the West Pacific the pirate and his

companions are infesting the West Atlantic, and must be wiped out at

all costs.

In any case, it is imperative that the inhabitants of Back Cup should

be on their guard. This fact is realized, and, from the day on which

the Sword was destroyed, strict watch has been kept. Thanks to the

new passage, they are able to hide among the rocks without having

recourse to the submarine tunnel to get there, and day and night a

dozen sentries are posted about the island. The moment a ship appears

in sight the fact is at once made known inside the cavern.

Nothing occurs for some days, and the latter succeed each other with

dreadful monotony. The pirates, however, feel that Back Cup no longer

enjoys its former security. Every moment an alarm from the sentries

posted outside is expected. The situation is no longer the same since

the advent of the Sword. Gallant Lieutenant Davon, gallant crew,

may England, may the civilized nations, never forget that you have

sacrificed your lives in the cause of humanity!

It is evident that now, however powerful may be their means of

defence, even more powerful than a network of torpedoes, Engineer

Serko and Captain Spade are filled with an anxiety that they vainly

essay to dissemble. They hold frequent conferences together. Maybe

they discuss the advisability of quitting Back Cup with their wealth,

for they are aware that if the existence of the cavern is known means

will be found to reduce it, even if the inmates have to be starved

out.

This is, of course, mere conjecture on my part. What is essential to

me is that they do not suspect me of having launched the keg that

was so providentially picked up at Bermuda. Never, I must say, has

Engineer Serko ever made any allusion to any such probability. No, I

am not even suspected. If the contrary were the case I am sufficiently

acquainted with Ker Karraje to know that he would long ago have sent

me to rejoin Lieutenant Davon and the Sword at the bottom of the

lagoon.

The winter tempests have set in with a vengeance. The wind howls

though the hole in the roof, and rude gusts sweep through the forest

of pillars producing sonorous sounds, so sonorous, so deep, that one

might sometimes almost fancy they were produced by the firing of the

guns of a squadron. Flocks of seabirds take refuge in the cavern from

the gale, and at intervals, when it lulls, almost deafen us with their

screaming.

It is to be presumed that in such weather the schooner will make no

attempt to put to sea, for the stock of provisions is ample enough to

last all the season. Moreover, I imagine the Count d'Artigas will not

be so eager in future to show his Ebba along the American

coast, where he risks being received, not, as hitherto, with the

consideration due to a wealthy yachtsman, but in the manner Ker

Karraje so richly merits.

It occurs to me that if the apparition of the Sword was the

commencement of a campaign against the island, a question of great

moment relative to the future of Back Cup arises.

Therefore, one day, prudently, so as not to excite any suspicion, I

ventured to pump Engineer Serko about it.

We were in the neighborhood of Thomas Roch's laboratory, and had

been conversing for some time, when Engineer Serko touched upon the

extraordinary apparition of an English submarine boat in the lagoon.

On this occasion he seemed to incline to the view that it might have

been a premeditated expedition against Ker Karraje.

"That is not my opinion," I replied, in order to bring him to the

question that I wanted to put to him.

"Why?" he demanded.

"Because if your retreat were known a fresh attempt, if not to

penetrate to the cavern, at least to destroy Back Cup, would ere this

have been made."

"Destroy it!" cried Serko. "It would be a dangerous undertaking, in

view of the means of defence of which we now dispose."

"They can know nothing about this matter, Mr. Serko. It is not

imagined, either in the new world or the old, that the abduction from

Healthful House was effected for your especial benefit, or that you

have succeeded in coming to terms with Thomas Roch for his invention."

Engineer Serko made no response to this observation, which, for that

matter, was unanswerable.

I continued:

"Therefore a squadron sent by the maritime powers who have an interest

in breaking up this island would not hesitate to approach and shell

it. Now, I argue from this that as this squadron has not yet appeared,

it is not likely to come at all, and that nothing is known as to Ker

Karraje's whereabouts, and you must admit that this hypothesis is the

most cheerful one, as far as you are concerned."

"That may be," Engineer Serko replied, "but what is, is. Whether they

are aware of the fact or no, if warships approach within five or six

miles of this island they will be sunk before they have had time to

fire a single shot!"

"Well, and what then?"

"What then? Why the probability is that no others would care to repeat

the experiment."

"That, again, may be. But these warships would invest you beyond the

dangerous zone, and the Ebba would not be able to put in to the

ports she previously visited with the Count d'Artigas. In this event,

how would you be able to provision the island?"

Engineer Serko remained silent.

This argument, which he must already have brooded over, was too

logical to be refuted or dismissed, and I have an idea that the

pirates contemplate abandoning Back Cup.

Nevertheless, not relishing being cornered, he continued:

"We should still have the tug, and what the Ebba could not do, this

would."

"The tug?" I cried. "But if Ker Karraje's secrets are known, do you

suppose the powers are not also aware of the existence of the Count

d'Artigas' submarine boat?"

Engineer Serko looked at me suspiciously.

"Mr. Hart," he said, "you appear to me to carry your deductions rather

far."

"I, Mr. Serko?"

"Yes, and I think you talk about all this like a man who knows more

than he ought to."

This remark brought me up abruptly. It was evident that my arguments

might give rise to the suspicion that I was not altogether

irresponsible for the recent incident. Engineer Serko scrutinized me

sharply as though he would read my innermost thoughts.

"Mr. Serko," I observed, "by profession, as well as by inclination, I

am accustomed to reason upon everything. This is why I communicated to

you the result of my reasoning, which you can take into consideration

or not, as you like."

Thereupon we separate. But I fancy my lack of reserve may have excited

suspicions which may not be easy to allay.

From this interview, however, I gleaned a precious bit of information,

namely, that the dangerous zone of Roch's fulgurator is between five

and six miles off. Perhaps, during the next equinoctial tides,

another notice to this effect in another keg may also reach a safe

destination.

But how many weary months to wait before the orifice of the tunnel

will again be uncovered!

The rough weather continues, and the squalls are more violent than

ever. Is it the state of the sea that delays another campaign against

Back Cup? Lieutenant Davon certainly assured me that if his expedition

failed, if the Sword did not return to St. George, another attempt

under different conditions would be made with a view to breaking up

this bandits' lair. Sooner or later the work of justice must be

done, and Back Cup be destroyed, even though I may not survive its

destruction.

Ah! why can I not go and breathe, if only for a single instant, the

vivifying air outside? Why am I not permitted to cast one glance over

the ocean towards the distant horizon of the Bermudas? My whole life

is concentrated in one desire: to get through the tunnel in the wall

and hide myself among the rocks. Perchance I might be the first to

catch sight of the smoke of a squadron heading for the island.

This project, alas! is unrealizable, as sentries are posted day and

night at each extremity of the passage. No one can enter it without

Engineer Serko's authorization. Were I to attempt it, I should risk

being deprived of my liberty to walk about the cavern, and even worse

might happen to me.

Since our last conversation, Engineer Serko's attitude towards me has

undergone a change. His gaze has lost its old-time sarcasm and is

distrustful, suspicious, searching and as stern as Ker Karraje's.

November 17.--This afternoon there was a great commotion in the

Beehive, and the men rushed out of their cells with loud cries.

I was reclining on my bed, but immediately rose and hurried out.

All the pirates were making for the passage, in front of which were

Ker Karraje, Engineer Serko, Captain Spade, Boatswain Effrondat,

Engine-driver Gibson and the Count d'Artigas' big Malay attendant.

I soon learn the reason for the tumult, for the sentries rush in with

shouts of alarm.

Several vessels have been sighted to the northwest--warships steaming

at full speed in the direction of Back Cup.

CHAPTER XVI - ONLY A FEW MORE HOURS.

What effect this news has upon me, and what emotion it awakens within

my soul! The end, I feel, is at hand. May it be such as civilization

and humanity are entitled to.

Up to the present I have indited my notes day by day. Henceforward

it is imperative that I should inscribe them hour by hour, minute by

minute. Who knows but what Thomas Roch's last secret may be revealed

to me and that I shall have time to commit it to paper! Should I die

during the attack God grant that the account of the five months I have

passed in Back Cup may be found upon my body!

At first Ker Karraje, Engineer Serko, Captain Spade, and several of

their companions took up position on the exterior base of the island.

What would I not give to be able follow to them, and in the friendly

shelter of a rook watch the on-coming warships!

An hour later they return after having left a score of men to keep

watch. As the days at this season of the year are very short there is

nothing to fear before the morrow. It is not likely that the ships

will attempt a night attack and land a storming party, for they must

imagine that the place is in a thorough condition of defence.

All night long the pirates work, installing the trestles at different

points of the coast. Six have been taken through the passage to places

selected in advance.

This done, Engineer Serko joins Thomas Roch in his laboratory. Is he

going to tell him what is passing, that a squadron is in view of Back

Cup, and that his fulgurator will be employed to defend the island?

What is certain is that half a hundred engines, each charged with

several pounds of the explosive and of the substance that ensures a

trajectory superior to that of any other projectile, are ready for

their work of destruction.

As to the deflagrator liquid, Thomas Roch has a certain number of

phials of it, and--I know only too well--will not refuse to help Ker

Karraje's pirates with it.

During these preparations night has come on. Only the lamps of the

Beehive are lighted and a semi-obscurity reigns in the cavern.

I return to my cell. It is to my interest to keep out of the way as

much as possible, for Engineer Serko's suspicions might be revived now

that the squadron is approaching Back Cup.

But will the vessels sighted continue on their course in this

direction? May they not be merely passing on their way to Bermuda? For

an instant this doubt enters my mind. No, no, it cannot be! Besides, I

have just heard Captain Spade declare that they are lying to in view

of the island.

To what nation do they belong? Have the English, desirous of avenging

the destruction of the Sword, alone undertaken the expedition? May

not cruisers of other nations be with them? I know not, and it is

impossible to ascertain. And what does it matter, after all, so long

as this haunt is destroyed, even though I should perish in the ruins

like the heroic Lieutenant Davon and his brave crew?

Preparations for defence continue with coolness and method under

Engineer Serko's superintendence. These pirates are obviously certain

that they will be able to annihilate their assailants as soon as the

latter enter the dangerous zone. Their confidence in Roch's fulgurator

is absolute. Absorbed by the idea that these warship are powerless

against them, they think neither of the difficulties nor menaces held

out by the future.

I surmise that the trestles have been set up on the northwest coast

with the grooves turned to send the engines to the north, west, and

south. On the east, as already stated, the island is defended by the

chain of reefs that stretches away to the Bermudas.

About nine o'clock I venture out of my cell. They will pay little

attention to me, and perhaps I may escape notice in the obscurity. Ah!

if I could get through that passage and hide behind some rock, so that

I could witness what goes on at daybreak! And why should I not succeed

now that Ker Karraje, Engineer Serko, Captain Spade, and the pirates

have taken their posts outside?

The shores of the lake are deserted, but the entrance to the passage

is kept by Count d'Artigas' Malay. I saunter, without any fixed idea,

towards Thomas Roch's laboratory. This reminds me of my compatriot. I

am, on reflection, disposed to think that he knows nothing about the

presence of a squadron off Back Cup. Probably not until the last

moment will Engineer Serko apprise him of its proximity, not till he

brusquely points out to him the vengeance he can accomplish.

Then I conceive the idea of enlightening Thomas Roch, myself, of the

responsibility he is incurring and of revealing to him in this supreme

hour the character of the men who want him to co-operate in their

criminal projects.

Yes, I will, attempt it, and may I succeed in fanning into a flame any

spark of patriotism that may still linger in his rebellious soul!

Roch is shut up in his laboratory. He must be alone, for never does he

allow any one to enter while he is preparing his deflagrator.

As I pass the jetty I notice that the tug is moored in its accustomed

place. Here I judge it prudent to walk behind the first row of pillars

and approach the laboratory laterally--which will enable me to see

whether anybody is with him. When I have gone a short distance along

the sombre avenue I see a bright light on the opposite side of the

lagoon. It is the electric light in Roch's laboratory as seen through

a narrow window in the front.

Except in that particular spot, the southern shore of the lake is in

darkness, whereas, in the opposite direction, the Beehive is lit up to

its extremity at the northern wall. Through the opening in the dome,

over the lake I can see the stars shining. The sky is clear, the

tempest has abated, and the squalls no longer penetrate to the

interior of Back Cup.

When near the laboratory, I creep along the wall and peep in at the

window.

Thomas Roch is there alone. The light shines full on his face. If it

is somewhat drawn, and the lines on the forehead are more

pronounced, his physiognomy, at least, denotes perfect calmness and

self-possession. No, he is no longer the inmate of Pavilion No. 17,

the madman of Healthful House, and I ask myself whether he is not

radically cured, whether there is no further danger of his reason

collapsing in a final paroxysm.

He has just laid two glass phials upon the table, and holds a third in

his hand. He holds it up to the light, and observes the limpidity of

the liquid it contains.

I have half a mind to rush in, seize the tubes and smash them, but I

reflect that he would have time to make some more of the stuff. Better

stick to my first plan.

I push the door open and enter.

"Thomas Roch!" I exclaim.

He has not heard, nor has he seen me.

"Thomas Roch!" I repeat.

He raises his head, turns and gazes at me.

"Ah! it is you, Simon Hart!" he replies calmly, even indifferently.

He knows my name. Engineer Serko must have informed him that it

was Simon Hart, and not Keeper Gaydon who was watching over him at

Healthful House.

"You know who I am?" I say.

"Yes, as I know what your object was in undertaking such a position.

You lived in hopes of surprising a secret that they would not pay for

at its just value!"

Thomas Roch knows everything, and perhaps it is just as well, in view

of what I am going to say.

"Well, you did not succeed, Simon Hart, and as far as this is

concerned," he added, flourishing the phial, "no one else has

succeeded, or ever will succeed."

As I conjectured, he has not, then, made known the composition of his

deflagrator.

Looking him straight in the face, I reply:

"You know who I am, Thomas Roch, but do you know in whose place you

are?"

"In my own place!" he cries.

That is what Ker Karraje has permitted him to believe. The inventor

thinks he is at home in Back Cup, that the riches accumulated in this

cavern are his, and that if an attack is made upon the place, it will

be with the object of stealing what belongs to him! And he will defend

it under the impression that he has the right to do so!

"Thomas Roch," I continue, "listen to me."

"What do you want to say to me, Simon Hart?"

"This cavern into which we have been dragged, is occupied by a band of

pirates, and--"

Roch does not give me time to complete the sentence--I doubt even

whether he has understood me.

"I repeat," he interrupts vehemently, "that the treasures stored here

are the price of my invention. They have paid me what I asked for

my fulgurator--what I was everywhere else refused--even in my own

country--which is also yours--and I will not allow myself to be

despoiled!"

What can I reply to such insensate assertions? I, however, go on:

"Thomas Roch, do you remember Healthful House?"

"Healthful House, where I was sequestrated after Warder Gaydon had

been entrusted with the mission of spying upon me in order to rob me

of my secret? I do, indeed."

"I never dreamed of depriving you of the benefit of your secret,

Thomas Roch. I would never have accepted such a mission. But you were

ill, your reason was affected, and your invention was too valuable to

be lost. Yes, had you disclosed the secret during one of your fits you

would have preserved all the benefit and all the honor of it."

"Really, Simon Hart!" Roch replies disdainfully. "Honor and benefit!

Your assurances come somewhat late in the day. You forget that on

the pretext of insanity, I was thrown into a dungeon. Yes, it was a

pretext; for my reason has never left me, even for an hour, as you can

see from what I have accomplished since I am free."

"Free! Do you imagine you are free, Thomas Roch? Are you not more

closely confined within the walls of this cavern than you ever were at

Healthful House?"

"A man who is in his own home," he replies angrily, "goes out as he

likes and when he likes. I have only to say the word and all the doors

will open before me. This place is mine. Count d'Artigas gave it to me

with everything it contains. Woe to those who attempt to attack it.

I have here the wherewithal to annihilate them, Simon Hart!" The

inventor waves the phial feverishly as he speaks."

"The Count d'Artigas has deceived you," I cry, "as he has deceived so

many others. Under this name is dissembled one of the most formidable

monsters who ever scoured the Pacific and Atlantic oceans. He is a

bandit steeped in crime--he is the odious Ker Karraje!"

"Ker Karraje!" echoes Thomas Roch.

And I wonder if this name has not impressed him, if he remembers

who the man is who bears it. If it did impress him, it was only

momentarily.

"I do not know this Ker Karraje," he says, pointing towards the door

to order me out. "I only know the Count d'Artigas."

"Thomas Roch," I persist, in a final effort, "the Count d'Artigas and

Ker Karraje are one and the same person. If this man has purchased

your secret, it is with the intention of ensuring impunity for his

crimes and facilities for committing fresh ones. He is the chief of

these pirates."

"Pirates!" cries Roch, whose irritation increases the more I press

him. "The real pirates are those who dare to menace me even in this

retreat, who tried it on with the Sword--for Serko has told me

everything--who sought to steal in my own home what belongs to me,

what is but the just price of my discovery."

"No, Thomas Roch, the pirates are those who have imprisoned you in

this cavern of Back Cup, who will utilize your genius to defend it,

and who will get rid of you when they are in entire possession of your

secrets!"

Thomas Roch here interrupts me. He does not appear to listen to what I

say. He has a fixed idea, that of vengeance, which has been skilfully

worked upon by Engineer Serko, and in which his hatred is concentrated

to the exclusion of everything else.

"The bandits," he hisses, "are those who spurned me without a hearing,

who heaped injustice and ignominy upon me, who drove me from country

to country, whereas I offered them superiority, invincibleness,

omnipotence!"

It is the eternal story of the unappreciated inventor, to whom the

indifferent or envious refuse the means of testing his inventions, to

pay him the value he sets upon them. I know it well--and also know all

the exaggeration that has been written upon this subject.

It is clearly no time for reasoning with Thomas Roch. My arguments

are entirely lost upon the hapless dupe of Ker Karraje and his

accomplices. In revealing to him the real name of the Count d'Artigas,

and denouncing to him this band and their chief I had hoped to wean

him from their influence and make him realize the criminal end they

have in view. My hope was vain. He does not believe me. And then what

does he care whether the brigand's name is Count 'd'Artigas or Ker

Karraje? Is not he, Thomas Roch, master of Back Cup? Is he not the

owner of these riches accumulated by twenty years of murder and

rapine?

Disarmed before such moral degeneracy, knowing not how I can touch

his ulcerated, irresponsible heart, I turn towards the door. It only

remains for me to withdraw. What is to be, will be, since it is out of

my power to prevent the frightful dénouement that will occur in a

few hours.

Thomas Roch takes no more notice of me. He seems to have forgotten

that I am here. He has resumed his manipulations without realizing

that he is not alone.

There is only one means of preventing the imminent catastrophe. Throw

myself upon Roch, place him beyond the power of doing harm--strike

him--kill him--yes, kill him! It is my right--it is my duty!

I have no arms, but on a near-by shelf I see some tools--a chisel and

a hammer. What is to prevent me from knocking his brains out? Once he

is dead I have but to smash the phials and his invention dies with

him. The warships can approach, land their men upon the island,

demolish Back Cup with their shells. Ker Karraje and his band will be

killed to a man. Can I hesitate at a murder that will bring about the

chastisement of so many crimes?

I advance to the shelf and stretch forth my hand to seize the chisel.

As I do so, Thomas Roch turns round.

It is too late to strike. A struggle would ensue. The noise and his

cries would be heard, for there are still some pirates not far off, I

can even now hear some one approaching, and have only just time to fly

if I would not be seen.

Nevertheless, I make one last attempt to awaken the sentiment of

patriotism within him.

"Thomas Roch," I say, "warships are in sight. They have come to

destroy this lair. Maybe one of them flies the French flag!"

He gazes at me. He was not aware that Back Cup is going to be

attacked, and I have just apprised him of the fact. His brow darkens

and his eyes flash.

"Thomas Roch, would you dare to fire upon your country's flag--the

tricolor flag?"

He raises his head, shakes it nervously, and with a disdainful

gesture:

"What do you mean by 'your country?' I no longer have any country,

Simon Hart. The inventor spurned no longer has a country. Where he

finds an asylum, there is his fatherland! They seek to take what is

mine. I will defend it, and woe, woe to those who dare to attack me!"

Then rushing to the door of the laboratory and throwing it violently

open he shouts so loudly that he must be heard at the Beehive:

"Go! Get you gone!"

I have not a second to lose, and I dash out.

CHAPTER XVII - ONE AGAINST FIVE.

For a whole hour I wander about among Back Cup's dark vaults, amid the

stone trees, to the extreme limit of the cavern. It is here that I

have so often sought an issue, a crevice, a crack through which I

might squeeze to the shore of the island.

My search has been futile. In my present condition, a prey to

indefinable hallucinations it seems to me that these walls are thicker

than ever, that they are gradually closing in upon and will crush me.

How long this mental trouble lasts I cannot say. But I afterwards find

myself on the Beehive side, opposite the cell in which I cannot hope

for either repose or sleep. Sleep, when my brain is in a whirl

of excitement? Sleep, when I am near the end of a situation that

threatened to be prolonged for years and years?

What will the end be as far as I am personally concerned? What am I to

expect from the attack upon Back Cup, the success of which I have been

unable to assure by placing Thomas Roch beyond the possibility of

doing harm? His engines are ready to be launched, and as soon as the

vessels have reached the dangerous zone they will be blown to atoms.

However this may be, I am condemned to pass the remaining hours of the

night in my cell. The time has come for me to go in. At daybreak I

shall see what is best for me to do. Meanwhile, for aught I know I

may hear the thunder of Roch's fulgurator as it destroys the ships

approaching to make a night attack.

I take a last look round. On the opposite side a light, a single

light, is burning. It is the lamp in Roch's laboratory and it casts

its reflection upon the waters of the lake.

No one is about, and it occurs to me that the pirates must have taken

up their lighting positions outside and that the Beehive is empty.

Then, impelled by an irresistible instinct, instead of returning to my

cell, I creep along the wall, listening, spying, ready to hide if I

hear voices or footsteps.

I at length reach the passage.

God in heaven! No one is on guard there--the passage is free!

Without giving myself time to reflect I dart into the dark hole, and

grope my way along it. Soon I feel a fresher air--the salt, vivifying

air of the sea, that I have not breathed for five months. I inspire it

with avidity, with all the power of my lungs.

The outer extremity of the passage appears against the star-studded

sky. There is not even a shadow in the way. Perhaps I shall be able to

get outside.

I lay down, and crawl along noiselessly to the orifice and peer out.

Not a soul is in sight!

By skirting the rocks towards the east, to the side which cannot be

approached from the sea on account of the reefs and which is not

likely to be watched, I reach a narrow excavation about two hundred

and twenty-five yards from where the point of the coast extends

towards the northwest.

At last I am out of the cavern. I am not free, but it is the beginning

of freedom.

On the point the forms of a few sentries stand out against the clear

sky, so motionless that they might be mistaken for pieces of the rock.

On the horizon to the west the position lights of the warship show in

a luminous line.

From a few gray patches discernable in the east, I calculate that it

must be about five o'clock in the morning.

November 18.--It is now light enough for me to be able to

complete my notes relating the details of my visit to Thomas Roch's

laboratory--the last lines my hand will trace, perhaps.

I have begun to write, and shall dot down the incidents of the attack

as they occur.

The light damp mist that hangs over the water soon lifts under the

influence of the breeze, and at last I can distinguish the warships.

There are five of them, and they are lying in a line about six miles

off, and consequently beyond the range of Roch's engines.

My fear that after passing in sight of the Bermudas the squadron would

continue on its way to the Antilles or Mexico was therefore unfounded.

No, there it is, awaiting broad daylight in order to attack Back Cup.

There is a movement on the coast. Three or four pirates emerge from

the rocks, the sentries are recalled and draw in, and the entire band

is soon assembled. They do not seek shelter inside the cavern, knowing

full well that the ships can never get near enough for the shells of

the big guns to reach, the island.

I run no risk of being discovered, for only my head protrudes above

the hole in the rock and no one is likely to come this way. The only

thing that worries me is that Serko, or somebody else may take it into

his head to see if I am in my cell, and if necessary to lock me in,

though what they have to fear from me I cannot conceive.

At twenty-five minutes past seven: Ker Karraje, Engineer Serko and

Captain Spade advance to the extremity of the point, where they sweep

the north-western horizon with their telescopes. Behind them the

six trestles are installed, in the grooves of which are Roch's

autopropulsive engines.

Thirty-five minutes past seven: Smoke arises from the stacks of the

warships, which are getting under way and will soon be within range of

the engines.

Horrible cries of joy, salvos of hurrahs--howls of wild beasts I might

more appropriately say--arise from the pirate horde.

At this moment Engineer Serko quits Ker Karraje, whom he leaves with

Captain Spade, and enters the cavern, no doubt to fetch Thomas Roch.

When Ker Karraje orders the latter to launch his engines against the

ships will he remember what I told him? Will not his crime appear

to him in all its horror? Will he refuse to obey? No, I am only too

convinced of the contrary. It is useless to entertain any illusion on

the subject. The inventor believes he is on his own property. They are

going to attack it. He will defend it.

The five warships slowly advance, making for the point. Perhaps they

imagine on board that Thomas Roch has not given up his last and

greatest secret to the pirates--and, as a matter of fact, he had

not done so when I threw the keg into the lagoon. If the commanders

propose to land storming parties and the ships advance into the

zone of danger there will soon be nothing left of them but bits of

shapeless floating wreckage.

Here comes Thomas Roch accompanied by Engineer Serko. On issuing

from the passage both go to the trestle that is pointing towards the

leading warship.

Ker Karraje and Captain Spade are awaiting them.

As far as I am able to judge, Roch is calm. He knows what he is going

to do. No hesitation troubles the soul of the hapless man whom hatred

has led astray.

Between his fingers shines the glass phial containing the deflagrator

liquid.

He then gazes towards the nearest ship, which is about five miles'

distant.

She is a cruiser of about two thousand five hundred tons--not more.

She flies no flag, but from her build I take her to belong to a nation

for which no Frenchman can entertain any particular regard.

The four other warships remain behind.

It is this cruiser which is to begin the attack.

Let her use her guns, then, since the pirates allow her to approach,

and may the first of her projectiles strike Thomas Roch!

While Engineer Serko is estimating the distance, Roch places himself

behind the trestle. Three engines are resting on it, charged with

the explosive, and which are assured a long trajectory by the fusing

matter without it being necessary to impart a gyratory movement to

them--as in the case of Inventor Turpin's gyroscopic projectiles.

Besides, if they drop within a few hundred yards of the vessel, they

will be quite near enough to utterly destroy it.

The time has come.

"Thomas Roch!" Engineer Serko cries, and points to the cruiser.

The latter is steaming slowly towards the northwestern point of the

island and is between four and five miles off.

Roch nods assent, and waves them back from the trestle.

Ker Karraje, Captain Spade and the others draw back about fifty paces.

Thomas Roch then takes the stopper from the phial which he holds in

his right hand, and successively pours into a hole in the rear-end of

each engine a few drops of the liquid, which mixes with the fusing

matter.

Forty-five seconds elapse--the time necessary for the combination to

be effected--forty-five seconds during which it seems to me that my

heart ceases to beat.

A frightful whistling is then heard, and the three engines tear

through the air, describing a prolonged curve at a height of three

hundred feet, and pass the cruiser.

Have they missed it? Is the danger over?

No! the engines, after the manner of Artillery Captain Chapel's

discoid projectile, return towards the doomed vessel like an

Australian boomerang.

The next instant the air is shaken with a violence comparable to that

which would be caused by the explosion of a magazine of melinite or

dynamite, Back Cup Island trembles to its very foundations.

The cruiser has disappeared,--blown to pieces. The effect is that of

the Zalinski shell, but centupled by the infinite power of Roch's

fulgurator.

What shouts the bandits raise as they rush towards the extremity of

the point! Ker Karraje, Engineer Serko, and Captain Spade remain

rooted to the spot, hardly able to credit the evidence of their own

eyes.

As to Thomas Roch, he stands with folded arms, and flashing eyes, his

face radiant with pride and triumph.

I understand, while I abhor his feelings.

If the other warships approach they will share the same fate as the

cruiser. They will inevitably be destroyed. Oh! if they would but give

up the struggle and withdraw to safety, even though my last hope would

go with them! The nations can consult and arrive at some other plan

for destroying the island. They can surround the place with a belt of

ships that the pirates cannot break through and starve them to death

like so many rats in a hole.

But I know that the warships will not retire, even though they know

they are going to certain death. One after the other they will all

make the attempt.

And I am right. Signals are exchanged between them. Almost immediately

clouds of black smoke arise and the vessels again advance.

One of them, under forced draught, distances the others in her anxiety

to bring her big guns quickly into action.

At all risks I issue from my hole, and gaze at the on-coming warship

with feverish eyes, awaiting, without being able to prevent it,

another catastrophe.

This vessel, which visibly grows larger as it comes nearer, is a

cruiser of about the same tonnage as the one that preceded her. No

flag is flying and I cannot guess her nationality. She continues

steaming at full speed in an effort to pass the zone of danger before

other engines can be launched. But how can she escape them since they

will swoop back upon her?

Thomas Roch places himself behind the second trestle as the cruiser

passes on to the surface of the abysm in which she will in turn soon

be swallowed up.

No sound disturbs the stillness.

Suddenly the rolling of drums and the blare of bugles is heard on

board the warship.

I know those bugle calls: they are French bugles! Great God! She is

one of the ships of my own country's navy and a French inventor is

about to destroy her!

No! it shall not be. I will rush towards Thomas Roch--shout to him

that she is a French ship. He does not, cannot, know it.

At a sign from Engineer Serko the inventor has raised the phial.

The bugles sound louder and more strident. It is the salute to the

flag. A flag unfurls to the breeze--the tricolor, whose blue, white

and red sections stand out luminously against the sky.

Ah! What is this? I understand! Thomas Roch is fascinated at the sight

of his national emblem. Slowly he lowers his arm as the flag flutters

up to the mast-head. Then he draws back and covers his eyes with his

hand.

Heavens above! All sentiment of patriotism is not then dead in his

ulcerated heart, seeing that it beats at the sight of his country's

flag!

My emotion is not less than his. At the risk of being seen--and what

do I now care if I am seen?--I creep over the rocks. I will be there

to sustain Thomas Roch and prevent him from weakening. If I pay for it

with my life I will once more adjure him in the name of his country. I

will cry to him:

"Frenchman, it is the tricolor that flies on yonder ship! Frenchman,

it is a very part of France that is approaching you! Frenchman, would

you be so criminal as to strike it?"

But my intervention will not be necessary. Thomas Roch is not a prey

to one of the fits to which he was formerly subject. He is perfectly

sane.

When he found himself facing the flag he understood--and drew back.

A few pirates approach to lead him to the trestle again. He struggles

and pushes them from him.

Ker Karraje and Engineer Serko run up. They point to the rapidly

advancing ship. They order him to launch his engines.

Thomas Roch refuses.

Captain Spade and the others, mad with rage, menace him--curse

him--strike him--try to wrest the phial from him.

Roch throws it on the ground and crushes it under foot.

Then panic seizes upon the crowd of wretches. The cruiser has passed

the zone and they cannot return her fire. Shells begin to rain all

over the island, bursting the rocks in every direction.

But where is Thomas Roch? Has he been killed by one of the

projectiles? No, I see him for the last time as he dashes into the

passage.

Ker Karraje, Engineer Serko and the others follow him to seek shelter

inside of Back Cup.

I will not return to the cavern at any price, even if I get killed by

staying where I am.

I will jot down my final notes and when the French sailors land on the

point I will go--

END OF ENGINEER SIMON HART'S NOTES.

CHAPTER XVIII - ON BOARD THE "TONNANT."

After the failure of Lieutenant Davon's mission with the Sword, the

English authorities waited in vain for the expedition to return, and

the conviction at length gained ground that the bold sailors had

perished; but whether the Sword had been lost by striking against

a rock or had been destroyed by Ker Karraje's pirates, could not, of

course, be ascertained.

The object of the expedition, based upon the indications of the

document found in the keg that was thrown up on the shore at St.

George, was to carry off Thomas Roch ere his engines were completed.

The French inventor having been recovered--without forgetting Engineer

Simon Hart--he was to be handed over to the care of the Bermudan

authorities. That done, there would be nothing to fear from his

fulgurator when the island was attacked.

When, however, the Sword had been given up for lost, another

expedition of a different kind, was decided upon.

The time that had elapsed--nearly eight weeks--from the date of the

document found in the keg, had to be taken into consideration. It

was thought that during the interval, Ker Karraje might have gained

possession of Roch's secrets.

An entente concluded between the maritime powers, resulted in the

sending of five warships to Bermudan waters. As there was a vast

cavern inside Back Cup mountain, it was decided to attempt to bring

the latter down like the walls of a bastion, by bombarding it with

powerful modern artillery.

The squadron assembled at the entrance to the Chesapeake, in Virginia,

and sailed for the archipelago, which was sighted on the evening of

November 17.

The next morning the vessel selected for the first attack, steamed

forward. It was about four and a half miles from the island, when

three engines, after passing the vessel, swerved round and exploded

about sixty yards from her. She sank immediately.

The effect of the explosion, which was superior to any previously

obtained by new explosives, was instantaneous. Even at the distance

they were from the spot where it occurred, the four remaining ships

felt the shock severely.

Two things were to be deduced from this sudden catastrophe:

1.--The pirate Ker Karraje was in possession of Roch's fulgurator.

2.--The new engine possessed the destructive power attributed to it by

its inventor.

After the disappearance of the unfortunate cruiser, the other vessels

lowered boats to pick up a few survivors who were clinging to the

floating wreckage.

Then it was that the signals were exchanged and the warships started

towards the island.

The swiftest of them, the Tonnant, a French cruiser, forged ahead

while the others forced their draught in an effort to catch up with

her.

The Tonnant, at the risk of being blown to pieces in turn,

penetrated the danger zone half a mile, and then ran up her flag while

manoeuvring to bring her heavy guns into action.

From the bridge the officers could see Ker Karraje's band scattered on

the rocks of the island.

The occasion was an excellent one for getting a shot at them before

the bombardment of their retreat was begun, and fire was opened with

the result that the pirates made a rush to get into the cavern.

A few minutes later there was a shock terrific enough to shake the sky

down.

Where the mountain had been, naught but a heap of smoking, crumbling

rocks was to be seen. Back Cup had become a group of jagged reefs

against which the sea, that had been thrown back like a gigantic tidal

wave, was beating and frothing.

What was the cause of the explosion?

Had it been voluntarily caused by the pirates when they realized that

escape was impossible?

The Tonnant had not been seriously damaged by the flying rocks. Her

boats were lowered and made towards all that was left of Back Cup.

The landing parties explored the ruins, and found a few horribly

mangled corpses. Not a vestige of the cavern was to be seen.

One body, and one only, was found intact. It was lying on the

northeast side of the reefs. In one hand, tightly clasped, was a

note-book, the last line of which was incomplete.

A close examination showed that the man was still breathing. He

was conveyed on board the Tonnant, where it was learned from the

note-book that he was Simon Hart.

For some time his life was despaired of, but he was eventually brought

round, and from the answers made to the questions addressed to him the

following conclusion was reached:

Moved to his very soul at the sight of the tricolor flag, being at

last conscious of the crime of lèse-patrie he was about to commit,

Thomas Roch rushed through the passage to the magazine where a

considerable quantity of his explosive was stored. Then, before

he could be prevented, brought about the terrible explosion which

destroyed the island of Back Cup.

And now Ker Karraje and his pirates have disappeared--and with them

Thomas Roch and the secret of his invention.

THE END.

End of the Voyage Extraordinaire