“When you will, Mr. Strock.”
“Then let us start.”
We cautioned the coachman not to let the horses stray beyond the
clearing. Then we started. Wells went in advance, I followed him, and
John Hart and Nab Walker came behind. In the darkness, we three would
have been helpless without the guidance of Wells. Soon we reached the
farther border of the woods; and before us stretched the banks of Black
Rock Creek.
All was silent; all seemed deserted. We could advance without risk. If
the “Terror” was there, she had cast anchor behind the rocks. But was
she there? That was the momentous question! As we approached the
denouement of this exciting affair, my heart was in my throat.
Wells motioned to us to advance. The sand of the shore crunched beneath
our steps. The two hundred feet between us and the mouth of the Creek
were crossed softly, and a few minutes sufficed to bring us to the
rocks at the edge of the lake.
There was nothing! Nothing!
The spot where Wells had left the “Terror” twenty-four hours before was
empty. The “Master of the World” was no longer at Black Rock Creek.
XII.
BLACK ROCK CREEK
Human nature is prone to illusions. Of course, there had been all along
a probability that the “Terror” had deserted the locality, even
admitting that it was she Wells had seen the previous day. If some
damage to her triple system of locomotion had prevented her from
regaining either by land or by water her usual hiding-place, and
obliged her to seek refuge in Black Rock Creek, what ought we to
conclude now upon finding her here no longer? Obviously, that, having
finished her repairs, she had continued on her way, and was already far
beyond the waters of Lake Erie.
But probable as this result had been from the first, we had more and
more ignored it as our trip proceeded. We had come to accept as a fact
that we should meet the “Terror,” that we should find her anchored at
the base of the rocks where Wells had seen her.
And now what disappointment! I might even say, what despair! All our
efforts gone for nothing! Even if the “Terror” was still upon the lake,
to find her, reach her and capture her, was beyond our power, and it
might as well be fully recognized beyond all human power.
We stood there, Wells and I, completely crushed, while John Hart and
Nab Walker, no less chagrined, went tramping along the banks of the
Creek, seeking any trace that had been left behind.
Posted there, at the mouth of the Creek, Wells and I exchanged scarcely
a word. What need was there of words to enable us to understand each
other! After our eagerness and our despair, we were now exhausted.
Defeated in our well-planned attempt, we felt as unwilling to abandon
our campaign, as we were unable to continue it.
Nearly an hour slipped by. We could not resolve to leave the place. Our
eyes still sought to pierce the night. Sometimes a glimmer, due to the
sparkle of the waters, trembled on the surface of the lake. Then it
vanished, and with it the foolish hope that it had roused. Sometimes
again, we thought we saw a shadow outlined against the dark, the
silhouette of an approaching boat. Yet again some eddies would swirl up
at our feet, as if the Creek had been stirred within its depths. These
vain imaginings were dissipated one after the other. They were but the
illusions raised by our strained fancies.
At length our companions rejoined us. My first question was, “Nothing
new?”
“Nothing,” said John Hart.
“You have explored both banks of the Creek?”
“Yes,” responded Nab Walker, “as far as the shallow water above; and we
have not seen even a vestige of the things which Mr. Wells saw laid on
the shore.”
“Let us wait awhile,” said I, unable to resolve upon a return to the
woods.
At that moment our attention was caught by a sudden agitation of the
waters, which swelled upward at the foot of the rocks.
“It is like the swell from a vessel,” said Wells.
“Yes,” said I, instinctively lowering my voice. “What has caused it?
The wind has completely died out. Does it come from something on the
surface of the lake?”
“Or from something underneath,” said Wells, bending forward, the better
to determine.
The commotion certainly seemed as if caused by some boat, whether from
beneath the water, or approaching the creek from outside upon the lake.
Silent, motionless, we strained eyes and ears to pierce the profound
obscurity. The faint noise of the waves of the lake lapping on the
shore beyond the creek, came to us distinctly through the night. John
Hart and Nab Walker drew a little aside upon a higher ridge of rocks.
As for me, I leaned close to the water to watch the agitation. It did
not lessen. On the contrary it became momentarily more evident, and I
began to distinguish a sort of regular throbbing, like that produced by
a screw in motion.
“There is no doubt,” declared Wells, leaning close to me, “there is a
boat coming toward us.”
“There certainly is,” responded I, “unless they have whales or sharks
in Lake Erie.”
“No, it is a boat,” repeated Wells. “Is she headed toward the mouth of
the creek, or is she going further up it?”
“This is just where you saw the boat twice before?”
“Yes, just here.”
“Then if this is the same one, and it can be no other, she will
probably return to the same spot.”
“There!” whispered Wells, extending his hand toward the entrance of the
creek.
Our companions rejoined us, and all four, crouching low upon the bank,
peered in the direction he pointed.
We vaguely distinguished a black mass moving through the darkness. It
advanced very slowly and was still outside the creek, upon the lake,
perhaps a cable’s length to the northeast. We could scarcely hear even
now the faint throbbing of its engines. Perhaps they had stopped and
the boat was only gliding forward under their previous impulse.
It seemed, then, that this was indeed the submarine which Wells had
watched, and it was returning to pass this night, like the last, within
the shelter of the creek.
Why had it left the anchorage, if only to return? Had it suffered some
new disaster, which again impaired its power? Or had it been before
compelled to leave, with its repairs still unfinished? What cause
constrained it to return here? Was there some imperious reason why it
could no longer be turned into an automobile, and go darting away
across the roads of Ohio?
To all these questions which came crowding upon me, I could give no
answer. Furthermore both Wells and I kept reasoning under the
assumption that this was really the “Terror” commanded by the “Master
of the World” who had dated from it his letter of defiance to the
government. Yet this premise was still unproven, no matter how
confident we might feel of it.
Whatever boat this was, that stole so softly through the night, it
continued to approach us. Assuredly its captain must know perfectly the
channels and shores of Black Rock Creek, since he ventured here in such
darkness. Not a light showed upon the deck. Not a single ray from
within the cabin glimmered through any crevice.
A moment later, we heard some machinery moving very softly. The swell
of the eddies grew stronger, and in a few moments the boat touched the
quay.
This word “quay,” only used in that region, exactly describes the spot.
The rocks at our feet formed a level, five or six feet above the water,
and descending to it perpendicularly, exactly like a landing wharf.
“We must not stop here,” whispered Wells, seizing me by the arm.
“No,” I answered, “they might see us. We must lie crouched upon the
beach! Or we might hide in some crevice of the rocks.”
“We will follow you.”
There was not a moment to lose. The dark mass was now close at hand,
and on its deck, but slightly raised above the surface of the water, we
could trace the silhouettes of two men.
Were there, then, really only two on board?
We stole softly back to where the ravines rose toward the woods above.
Several niches in the rocks were at hand. Wells and I crouched down in
one, my two assistants in another. If the men on the “Terror” landed,
they could not see us; but we could see them, and would be able to act
as opportunity offered.
There were some slight noises from the boat, a few words exchanged in
our own language. It was evident that the vessel was preparing to
anchor. Then almost instantly, a rope was thrown out, exactly on the
point of the quay where we had stood.
Leaning forward, Wells could discern that the rope was seized by one of
the mariners, who had leaped ashore. Then we heard a grappling-iron
scrape along the ground.
Some moments later, steps crunched upon the sand. Two men came up the
ravine, and went onward toward the edge of the woods, guiding their
steps by a ship lantern.
Where were they going? Was Black Rock Creek a regular hiding place of
the “Terror?” Had her commander a depot here for stores or provisions?
Did they come here to restock their craft, when the whim of their wild
voyaging brought them to this part of the continent? Did they know this
deserted, uninhabited spot so well, that they had no fear of ever being
discovered here?
“What shall we do?” whispered Wells.
“Wait till they return, and then—” My words were cut short by a
surprise. The men were not thirty feet from us, when, one of them
chancing to turn suddenly, the light of their lantern fell full upon
his face.
He was one of the two men who had watched before my house in Long
Street! I could not be mistaken! I recognized him as positively as my
old servant had done. It was he; it was assuredly one of the spies of
whom I had never been able to find any further traces! There was no
longer any doubt, my warning letter had come from them. It was
therefore from the “Master of the World”; it had been written from the
“Terror” and this was the “Terror.” Once more I asked myself what
could be the connection between this machine and the Great Eyrie!
In whispered words, I told Wells of my discovery. His only comment was,
“It is all incomprehensible!”
Meanwhile the two men had continued on their way to the woods, and were
gathering sticks beneath the trees. “What if they discover our
encampment?” murmured Wells.
“No danger, if they do not go beyond the nearest trees.”
“But if they do discover it?”
“They will hurry back to their boat, and we shall be able to cut off
their retreat.”
Toward the creek, where their craft lay, there was no further sound. I
left my hiding-place; I descended the ravine to the quay; I stood on
the very spot where the grappling-iron was fast among the rocks.
The “Terror” lay there, quiet at the end of its cable. Not a light was
on board; not a person visible, either on the deck, or on the bank. Was
not this my opportunity? Should I leap on board and there await the
return of the two men?
“Mr. Strock!” It was Wells, who called to me softly from close at hand.
I drew back in all haste and crouched down beside him. Was it too late
to take possession of the boat? Or would the attempt perhaps result in
disaster from the presence of others watching on board?
At any rate, the two men with the lantern were close at hand returning
down the ravine. Plainly they suspected nothing. Each carrying a bundle
of wood, they came forward and stopped upon the quay.
Then one of them raised his voice, though not loudly. “Hullo! Captain!”
“All right,” answered a voice from the boat.
Wells murmured in my ear, “There are three!”
“Perhaps four,” I answered, “perhaps five or six!”
The situation grew more complicated. Against a crew so numerous, what
ought we to do? The least imprudence might cost us dear! Now that the
two men had returned, would they re-embark with their faggots? Then
would the boat leave the creek, or would it remain anchored until day?
If it withdrew, would it not be lost to us? It could leave the waters
of Lake Erie, and cross any of the neighboring states by land; or it
could retrace its road by the Detroit River which would lead it to Lake
Huron and the Great Lakes above. Would such an opportunity as this, in
the narrow waters of Black Rock Creek, ever occur again!
“At least,” said I to Wells, “we are four. They do not expect attack;
they will be surprised. The result is in the hands of Providence.”
I was about to call our two men, when Wells again seized my arm.
“Listen!” said he.
One of the men hailed the boat, and it drew close up to the rocks. We
heard the Captain say to the two men ashore, “Everything is all right,
up there?”
“Everything, Captain.”
“There are still two bundles of wood left there?”
“Two.”
“Then one more trip will bring them all on board the ‘Terror.’”
The “Terror!” It WAS she!
“Yes; just one more trip,” answered one of the men.
“Good; then we will start off again at daybreak.”
Were there then but three of them on board? The Captain, this Master of
the World, and these two men?
Evidently they planned to take aboard the last of their wood. Then they
would withdraw within their machine, and go to sleep. Would not that be
the time to surprise them, before they could defend themselves?
Rather than to attempt to reach and capture the ship in face of this
resolute Captain who was guarding it, Wells and I agreed that it was
better to let his men return unassailed, and wait till they were all
asleep.
It was now half an hour after ten. Steps were once more heard upon the
shore. The man with a lantern and his companion, again remounted the
ravine toward the woods. When they were safely beyond hearing, Wells
went to warn our men, while I stole forward again to the very edge of
the water.
The “Terror” lay at the end of a short cable. As well as I could judge,
she was long and slim, shaped like a spindle, without chimney, without
masts, without rigging, such a shape as had been described when she was
seen on the coast of New England.
I returned to my place, with my men in the shelter of the ravine; and
we looked to our revolvers, which might well prove of service.
Five minutes had passed since the men reached the woods, and we
expected their return at any moment. After that, we must wait at least
an hour before we made our attack; so that both the Captain and his
comrades might be deep in sleep. It was important that they should have
not a moment either to send their craft darting out upon the waters of
Lake Erie, or to plunge it beneath the waves where we would have been
entrapped with it.
In all my career I have never felt such impatience. It seemed to me
that the two men must have been detained in the woods. Something had
barred their return.
Suddenly a loud noise was heard, the tumult of run-away horses,
galloping furiously along the shore!
They were our own, which, frightened, and perhaps neglected by the
driver, had broken away from the clearing, and now came rushing along
the bank.
At the same moment, the two men reappeared, and this time they were
running with all speed. Doubtless they had discovered our encampment,
and had at once suspected that there were police hidden in the woods.
They realized that they were watched, they were followed, they would be
seized. So they dashed recklessly down the ravine, and after loosening
the cable, they would doubtless endeavor to leap aboard. The “Terror”
would disappear with the speed of a meteor, and our attempt would be
wholly defeated!
“Forward,” I cried. And we scrambled down the sides of the ravine to
cut off the retreat of the two men.
They saw us and, on the instant, throwing down their bundles, fired at
us with revolvers, hitting John Hart in the leg.
We fired in our turn, but less successfully. The men neither fell nor
faltered in their course. Reaching the edge of the creek, without
stopping to unloose the cable, they plunged overboard, and in a moment
were clinging to the deck of the “Terror.”
Their captain, springing forward, revolver in hand, fired. The ball
grazed Wells.
Nab Walker and I seizing the cable, pulled the black mass of the boat
toward shore. Could they cut the rope in time to escape us?
Suddenly the grappling-iron was torn violently from the rocks. One of
its hooks caught in my belt, while Walker was knocked down by the
flying cable. I was entangled by the iron and the rope and dragged
forward—
The “Terror,” driven by all the power of her engines, made a single
bound and darted out across Black Rock Creek.
XIII.
ON BOARD THE TERROR
When I came to my senses it was daylight. A half light pierced the
thick glass port-hole of the narrow cabin wherein someone had placed
me—how many hours ago, I could not say! Yet it seemed to me by the
slanting rays, that the sun could not be very far above the horizon.
I was resting in a narrow bunk with coverings over me. My clothes,
hanging in a corner, had been dried. My belt, torn in half by the hook
of the iron, lay on the floor.
I felt no wound nor injury, only a little weakness. If I had lost
consciousness, I was sure it had not been from a blow. My head must
have been drawn beneath the water, when I was tangled in the cable. I
should have been suffocated, if someone had not dragged me from the
lake.
Now, was I on board the “Terror?” And was I alone with the Captain and
his two men? This seemed probable, almost certain. The whole scene of
our encounter rose before my eyes, Hart lying wounded upon the bank;
Wells firing shot after shot, Walker hurled down at the instant when
the grappling hook caught my belt! And my companions? On their side,
must not they think that I had perished in the waters of Lake Erie?
Where was the “Terror” now, and how was it navigating? Was it moving as
an automobile? Speeding across the roads of some neighboring State? If
so, and if I had been unconscious for many hours, the machine with its
tremendous powers must be already far away. Or, on the other hand, were
we, as a submarine, following some course beneath the lake?
No, the “Terror” was moving upon some broad liquid surface. The
sunlight, penetrating my cabin, showed that the window was not
submerged. On the other hand, I felt none of the jolting that the
automobile must have suffered even on the smoothest highway. Hence the
“Terror” was not traveling upon land.
As to deciding whether she was still traversing Lake Erie, that was
another matter. Had not the Captain reascended the Detroit River, and
entered Lake Huron, or even Lake Superior beyond? It was difficult to
say.
At any rate I decided to go up on deck. From there I might be able to
judge. Dragging myself somewhat heavily from the bunk, I reached for my
clothes and dressed, though without much energy. Was I not probably
locked within this cabin?
The only exit seemed by a ladder and hatchway above my head. The hatch
rose readily to my hand, and I ascended half way on deck.
My first care was to look forward, backward, and on both sides of the
speeding “Terror.” Everywhere a vast expanse of waves! Not a shore in
sight! Nothing but the horizon formed by sea and sky!
Whether it was a lake or the ocean I could easily settle. As we shot
forward at such speed the water cut by the bow, rose furiously upward
on either side, and the spray lashed savagely against me.
I tasted it. It was fresh water, and very probably that of Lake Erie.
The sun was but midway toward the zenith so it could scarcely be more
than seven or eight hours since the moment when the “Terror” had darted
from Black Rock Creek.
This must therefore be the following morning, that of the thirty-first
of July.
Considering that Lake Erie is two hundred and twenty miles long, and
over fifty wide, there was no reason to be surprised that I could see
no land, neither that of the United States to the southeast nor of
Canada to the northwest.
At this moment there were two men on the deck, one being at the bow on
the look-out, the other in the stern, keeping the course to the
northeast, as I judged by the position of the sun. The one at the bow
was he whom I had recognized as he ascended the ravine at Black Rock.
The second was his companion who had carried the lantern. I looked in
vain for the one whom they had called Captain. He was not in sight.
It will be readily appreciated how eager was my desire to stand in the
presence of the creator of these prodigious machines of this fantastic
personage who occupied and preoccupied the attention of all the world,
the daring inventor who did not fear to engage in battle against the
entire human race, and who proclaimed himself “Master of the World.”
I approached the man on the look-out, and after a minute of silence I
asked him, “Where is the Captain?”
He looked at me through half-closed eyes. He seemed not to understand
me. Yet I knew, having heard him the night before, that he spoke
English. Moreover, I noticed that he did not appear surprised to see me
out of my cabin. Turning his back upon me, he continued to search the
horizon.
I stepped then toward the stern, determined to ask the same question
about the Captain. But when I approached the steersman, he waved me
away with his hand, and I obtained no other response.
It only remained for me to study this craft, from which we had been
repelled with revolver shots, when we had seized upon its anchor rope.
I therefore set leisurely to work to examine the construction of this
machine, which was carrying me—whither? The deck and the upper works
were all made of some metal which I did not recognize. In the center of
the deck, a scuttle half raised covered the room where the engines were
working regularly and almost silently. As I had seen before, neither
masts, nor rigging! Not even a flagstaff at the stern! Toward the bow
there arose the top of a periscope by which the “Terror” could be
guided when beneath the water.
On the sides were folded back two sort of outshoots resembling the
gangways on certain Dutch boats. Of these I could not understand the
use.
In the bow there rose a third hatch-way which presumably covered the
quarters occupied by the two men when the “Terror” was at rest.
At the stern a similar hatch gave access probably to the cabin of the
captain, who remained unseen. When these different hatches were shut
down, they had a sort of rubber covering which closed them hermetically
tight, so that the water could not reach the interior when the boat
plunged beneath the ocean.
As to the motor, which imparted such prodigious speed to the machine, I
could see nothing of it, nor of the propeller. However, the fast
speeding boat left behind it only a long, smooth wake. The extreme
fineness of the lines of the craft, caused it to make scarcely any
waves, and enabled it to ride lightly over the crest of the billows
even in a rough sea.
As was already known, the power by which the machine was driven, was
neither steam nor gasoline, nor any of those similar liquids so well
known by their odor, which are usually employed for automobiles and
submarines. No doubt the power here used was electricity, generated on
board, at some high power. Naturally I asked myself whence comes this
electricity, from piles, or from accumulators? But how were these piles
or accumulators charged? Unless, indeed, the electricity was drawn
directly from the surrounding air or from the water, by processes
hitherto unknown. And I asked myself with intense eagerness if in the
present situation, I might be able to discover these secrets.
Then I thought of my companions, left behind on the shore of Black Rock
Creek. One of them, I knew, was wounded; perhaps the others were also.
Having seen me dragged overboard by the hawser, could they possibly
suppose that I had been rescued by the “Terror?” Surely not! Doubtless
the news of my death had already been telegraphed to Mr. Ward from
Toledo. And now who would dare to undertake a new campaign against this
“Master of the World”?
These thoughts occupied my mind as I awaited the captain’s appearance
on the deck. He did not appear.
I soon began to feel very hungry; for I must have fasted now nearly
twenty-four hours. I had eaten nothing since our hasty meal in the
woods, even if that had been the night before. And judging by the pangs
which now assailed my stomach, I began to wonder if I had not been
snatched on board the “Terror” two days before,—or even more.
Happily the question if they meant to feed me, and how they meant to
feed me, was solved at once. The man at the bow left his post,
descended, and reappeared. Then, without saying a word, he placed some
food before me and returned to his place. Some potted meat, dried fish,
sea-biscuit, and a pot of ale so strong that I had to mix it with
water, such was the meal to which I did full justice. My fellow
travelers had doubtless eaten before I came out of the cabin, and they
did not join me.
There was nothing further to attract my eyes, and I sank again into
thought. How would this adventure finish? Would I see this invisible
captain at length, and would he restore me to liberty? Could I regain
it in spite of him? That would depend on circumstances! But if the
“Terror” kept thus far away from the shore, or if she traveled beneath
the water, how could I escape from her? Unless we landed, and the
machine became an automobile, must I not abandon all hope of escape?
Moreover—why should I not admit it?—to escape without having learned
anything of the “Terror’s” secrets would not have contented me at all.
Although I could not thus far flatter myself upon the success of my
campaign, and though I had come within a hairbreadth of losing my life
and though the future promised far more of evil than of good, yet after
all, a step forward had been attained. To be sure, if I was never to be
able to re-enter into communication with the world, if, like this
Master of the World who had voluntarily placed himself outside the law,
I was now placed outside humanity, then the fact that I had reached the
“Terror” would have little value.
The craft continued headed to the northeast, following the longer axis
of Lake Erie. She was advancing at only half speed; for, had she been
doing her best, she must some hours before have reached the
northeastern extremity of the lake.
At this end Lake Erie has no other outlet than the Niagara River, by
which it empties into Lake Ontario. Now, this river is barred by the
famous cataract some fifteen miles beyond the important city of
Buffalo. Since the “Terror” had not retreated by the Detroit River,
down which she had descended from the upper lakes, how was she to
escape from these waters, unless indeed she crossed by land?
The sun passed the meridian. The day was beautiful; warm but not
unpleasantly so, thanks to the breeze made by our passage. The shores
of the lake continued invisible on both the Canadian and the American
side.
Was the captain determined not to show himself? Had he some reason for
remaining unknown? Such a precaution would indicate that he intended to
set me at liberty in the evening, when the “Terror” could approach the
shore unseen.
Toward two o’clock, however, I heard a slight noise; the central
hatchway was raised. The man I had so impatiently awaited appeared on
deck.
I must admit he paid no more attention to me, than his men had done.
Going to the stern, he took the helm. The man whom he had relieved,
after a few words in a low tone, left the deck, descending by the
forward hatchway. The captain, having scanned the horizon, consulted
the compass, and slightly altered our course. The speed of the “Terror”
increased.
This man, so interesting both to me and to the world, must have been
some years over fifty. He was of middle height, with powerful shoulders
still very erect; a strong head, with thick hair rather gray than
white, smooth shaven cheeks, and a short, crisp beard. His chest was
broad, his jaw prominent, and he had that characteristic sign of
tremendous energy, bushy eyebrows drawn sharply together. Assuredly he
possessed a constitution of iron, splendid health, and warm red blood
beneath his sun burned skin.
Like his companions the captain was dressed in sea-clothes covered by
an oil-skin coat, and with a woolen cap which could be pulled down to
cover his head entirely, when he so desired.
Need I add that the captain of the “Terror” was the other of the two
men, who had watched my house in Long street. Moreover, if I recognized
him, he also must recognize me as chief-inspector Strock, to whom had
been assigned the task of penetrating the Great Eyrie.
I looked at him curiously. On his part, while he did not seek to avoid
my eyes, he showed at least a singular indifference to the fact that he
had a stranger on board.
As I watched him, the idea came to me, a suggestion which I had not
connected with the first view of him in Washington, that I had already
seen this characteristic figure. Was it in one of the photographs held
in the police department, or was it merely a picture in some shop
window? But the remembrance was very vague. Perhaps I merely imagined
it.
Well, though his companions had not had the politeness to answer me,
perhaps he would be more courteous. He spoke the same language as I,
although I could not feel quite positive that he was of American birth.
He might indeed have decided to pretend not to understand me, so as to
avoid all discussion while he held me prisoner.
In that case, what did he mean to do with me? Did he intend to dispose
of me without further ceremony? Was he only waiting for night to throw
me overboard? Did even the little which I knew of him, make me a danger
of which he must rid himself? But in that case, he might better have
left me at the end of his anchor line. That would have saved him the
necessity of drowning me over again.
I turned, I walked to the stern, I stopped full in front of him. Then,
at length, he fixed full upon me a glance that burned like a flame.
“Are you the captain?” I asked.
He was silent.
“This boat! Is it really the ‘Terror?’”
To this question also there was no response. Then I reached toward him;
I would have taken hold of his arm.
He repelled me without violence, but with a movement that suggested
tremendous restrained power.
Planting myself again before him, I demanded in a louder tone, “What do
you mean to do with me?”
Words seemed almost ready to burst from his lips, which he compressed
with visible irritation. As though to check his speech he turned his
head aside. His hand touched a regulator of some sort, and the machine
rapidly increased its speed.
Anger almost mastered me. I wanted to cry out “So be it! Keep your
silence! I know who you are, just as I know your machine, recognized at
Madison, at Boston, at Lake Kirdall. Yes; it is you, who have rushed so
recklessly over our roads, our seas and our lakes! Your boat is the
‘Terror’ and you her commander, wrote that letter to the government. It
is you who fancy you can fight the entire world. You, who call yourself
the Master of the World!”
And how could he have denied it! I saw at that moment the famous
initials inscribed upon the helm!
Fortunately I restrained myself; and despairing of getting any response
to my questions, I returned to my seat near the hatchway of my cabin.
For long hours, I patiently watched the horizon in the hope that land
would soon appear. Yes, I sat waiting! For I was reduced to that!
Waiting! No doubt, before the day closed, the “Terror” must reach the
end of Lake Erie, since she continued her course steadily to the
northeast.
XIV.
NIAGARA
The hours passed, and the situation did not change. The steersman
returned on deck, and the captain, descending, watched the movement of
the engines. Even when our speed increased, these engines continued
working without noise, and with remarkable smoothness. There was never
one of those inevitable breaks, with which in most motors the pistons
sometimes miss a stroke. I concluded that the “Terror,” in each of its
transformations must be worked by rotary engines. But I could not
assure myself of this.
For the rest, our direction did not change. Always we headed toward the
northeast end of the lake, and hence toward Buffalo.
Why, I wondered, did the captain persist in following this route? He
could not intend to stop at Buffalo, in the midst of a crowd of boats
and shipping of every kind. If he meant to leave the lake by water,
there was only the Niagara River to follow; and its Falls would be
impassable, even to such a machine as this. The only escape was by the
Detroit River, and the “Terror” was constantly leaving that farther
behind.
Then another idea occurred to me. Perhaps the captain was only waiting
for night to return to the shore of the lake. There, the boat, changed
to an automobile, would quickly cross the neighboring States. If I did
not succeed in making my escape, during this passage across the land,
all hope of regaining my liberty would be gone.
True, I might learn where this Master of the World hid himself. I might
learn what no one had yet been able to discover, assuming always that
he did not dispose of me at one time or another—and what I expected his
“disposal” would be, is easily comprehended.
I knew the northeast end of Lake Erie well, having often visited that
section of New York State which extends westward from Albany to
Buffalo. Three years before, a police mission had led me to explore
carefully the shores of the Niagara River, both above and below the
cataract and its Suspension Bridge. I had visited the two principal
islands between Buffalo and the little city of Niagara Falls, I had
explored Navy Island and also Goat Island, which separates the American
falls from those of the Canadian side.
Thus if an opportunity for flight presented itself, I should not find
myself in an unknown district. But would this chance offer? And at
heart, did I desire it, or would I seize upon it? What secrets still
remained in this affair in which good fortune or was it evil
fortune—had so closely entangled me!
On the other hand, I saw no real reason to suppose that there was any
chance of my reaching the shores of the Niagara River. The “Terror”
would surely not venture into this trap which had no exit. Probably she
would not even go to the extremity of the lake.
Such were the thoughts that spun through my excited brain, while my
eyes remained fixed upon the empty horizon.
And always one persistent question remained insolvable. Why had the
captain written to me personally that threatening letter? Why had he
spied upon me in Washington? What bond attached him to the Great Eyrie?
There might indeed be subterranean canals which gave him passage to
Lake Kirdall, but could he pierce the impenetrable fortress of the
Eyrie? No! That was beyond him!
Toward four o’clock in the afternoon, reckoning by the speed of the
“Terror” and her direction, I knew we must be approaching Buffalo; and
indeed, its outlines began to show some fifteen miles ahead. During our
passage, a few boats had been seen, but we had passed them at a long
distance, a distance which our captain could easily keep as great as he
pleased. Moreover, the “Terror” lay so low upon the water, that at even
a mile away it would have been difficult to discover her.
Now, however, the hills encircling the end of Lake Erie, came within
vision, beyond Buffalo, forming the sort of funnel by which Lake Erie
pours its waters into the channel of the Niagara river. Some dunes rose
on the right, groups of trees stood out here and there. In the
distance, several freight steamers and fishing smacks appeared. The sky
became spotted with trails of smoke, which were swept along by a light
eastern breeze.
What was our captain thinking of in still heading toward the port of
Buffalo! Did not prudence forbid him to venture further? At each
moment, I expected that he would give a sweep of the helm and turn away
toward the western shore of the lake. Or else, I thought, he would
prepare to plunge beneath the surface. But this persistence in holding
our bow toward Buffalo was impossible to understand!
At length the helmsman, whose eyes were watching the northeastern
shore, made a sign to his companion. The latter, leaving the bow, went
to the central hatchway, and descended into the engine room. Almost
immediately the captain came on deck, and joining the helmsman, spoke
with him in a low voice.
The latter, extending his hand toward Buffalo, pointed out two black
spots, which showed five or six miles distant on the starboard side.
The captain studied them attentively. Then shrugging his shoulders, he
seated himself at the stern without altering the course of the
“Terror.”
A quarter of an hour later, I could see plainly that there were two
smoke clouds at the point they had studied so carefully. Little by
little the black spots beneath these became more defined. They were two
long, low steamers, which, coming from the port of Buffalo, were
approaching rapidly.
Suddenly it struck me that these were the two torpedo destroyers of
which Mr. Ward had spoken, and which I had been told to summon in case
of need.
These destroyers were of the newest type, the swiftest boats yet
constructed in the country. Driven by powerful engines of the latest
make, they had covered almost thirty miles an hour. It is true, the
“Terror” commanded an even greater speed, and always, if she were
surrounded so that flight was impossible, she could submerge herself
out of reach of all pursuit. In truth, the destroyers would have had to
be submarines to attack the “Terror” with any chance of success. And I
know not, if even in that case, the contest would have been equal.
Meanwhile, it seemed to me evident that the commanders of the two ships
had been warned, perhaps by Mr. Wells who, returning swiftly to Toledo,
might have telegraphed to them the news of our defeat. It appeared,
moreover, that they had seen the “Terror,” for they were headed at full
speed toward her. Yet our captain, seemingly giving them no thought
whatever, continued his course toward the Niagara River.
What would the torpedo destroyers do? Presumably, they would maneuver
so as to seek to shut the “Terror” within the narrowing end of the lake
where the Niagara offered her no passage.
Our captain now took the helm. One of the men was at the bow, the other
in the engine room. Would the order be given for me to go down into the
cabin?
It was not, to my extreme satisfaction. To speak frankly, no one paid
any attention to me. It was as if I had not been on board. I watched,
therefore, not without mixed emotions, the approach of the destroyers.
Less than two miles distant now they separated in such a way as to hold
the “Terror” between their fires.
As to the Master of the World, his manner indicated only the most
profound disdain. He seemed sure that these destroyers were powerless
against him. With a touch to his machinery he could distance them, no
matter what their speed! With a few turns of her engine, the “Terror”
would dart beyond their cannon shots! Or, in the depths of the lake,
what projectiles could find the submarine?
Five minutes later, scarcely a mile separated us from the two powerful
fighters which pursued us. Our captain permitted them to approach still
closer. Then he pressed upon a handle. The “Terror,” doubling the
action of her propellers, leaped across the surface of the lake. She
played with the destroyers! Instead of turning in flight, she continued
her forward course. Who knew if she would not even have the audacity to
pass between her two enemies, to coax them after her, until the hour
when, as night closed in, they would be forced to abandon the useless
pursuit!
The city of Buffalo was now in plain view on the border of the lake. I
saw its huge buildings, its church towers, its grain elevators. Only
four or five miles ahead, Niagara river opened to the northward.
Under these new conditions which way should I turn? When we passed in
front of the destroyers, or perhaps between them, should I not throw
myself into the waters? I was a good swimmer, and such a chance might
never occur again. The captain could not stop to recapture me. By
diving could I not easily escape, even from a bullet? I should surely
be seen by one or other of the pursuers. Perhaps, even, their
commanders had been warned of my presence on board the “Terror.” Would
not a boat be sent to rescue me?
Evidently my chance of success would be even greater, if the “Terror”
entered the narrow waters of Niagara River. At Navy Island I would be
able to set foot on territory that I knew well. But to suppose that our
captain would rush into this river where he might be swept over the
great cataract! That seemed impossible! I resolved to await the
destroyers’ closest approach and at the last moment I would decide.
Yet my resolution to escape was but half-hearted. I could not resign
myself thus to lose all chance of following up this mystery. My
instincts as a police official revolted. I had but to reach out my hand
in order to seize this man who had been outlawed! Should I let him
escape me! No! I would not save myself! Yet, on the other hand, what
fate awaited me, and where would I be carried by the “Terror,” if I
remained on board?
It was a quarter past six. The destroyers, quivering and trembling
under the strain of their speed, gained on us perceptibly. They were
now directly astern, leaving between them a distance of twelve or
fifteen cable lengths. The “Terror,” without increasing her speed, saw
one of them approach on the port side, the other to starboard.
I did not leave my place. The man at the bow was close by me. Immovable
at the helm, his eyes burning beneath his contracted brows, the captain
waited. He meant, perhaps, to finish the chase by one last maneuver.
Suddenly, a puff of smoke rose from the destroyer on our left. A
projectile, brushing the surface of the water, passed in front of the
“Terror,” and sped beyond the destroyer on our right.
I glanced around anxiously. Standing by my side, the lookout seemed to
await a sign from the captain. As for him, he did not even turn his
head; and I shall never forget the expression of disdain imprinted on
his visage.
At this moment, I was pushed suddenly toward the hatchway of my cabin,
which was fastened above me. At the same instant the other hatchways
were closed; the deck became watertight. I heard a single throb of the
machinery, and the plunge was made, the submarine disappeared beneath
the waters of the lake.
Cannon shot still boomed above us. Their heavy echo reached my ear;
then everything was peace. Only a faint light penetrated through the
porthole into my cabin. The submarine, without the least rolling or
pitching, sped silently through the deeps.
I had seen with what rapidity, and also with what ease the
transformation of the “Terror” had been made. No less easy and rapid,
perhaps, would be her change to an automobile.
And now what would this Master of the World do? Presumably he would
change his course, unless, indeed, he preferred to speed to land, and
there continue his route along the roads. It still seemed more
probable, however, that he would turn back toward the west, and after
distancing the destroyers, regain the Detroit River. Our submersion
would probably only last long enough to escape out of cannon range, or
until night forbade pursuit.
Fate, however, had decreed a different ending to this exciting chase.
Scarce ten minutes had passed when there seemed some confusion on
board. I heard rapid words exchanged in the engine room. The steadily
moving machinery became noisy and irregular. At once I suspected that
some accident compelled the submarine to reascend.
I was not mistaken. In a moment, the semi-obscurity of my cabin was
pierced by sunshine. The “Terror” had risen above water. I heard steps
on the deck, and the hatchways were re-opened, including mine. I sprang
up the ladder.
The captain had resumed his place at the helm, while the two men were
busy below. I looked to see if the destroyers were still in view. Yes!
Only a quarter of a mile away! The “Terror” had already been seen, and
the powerful vessels which enforced the mandates of our government were
swinging into position to give chase. Once more the “Terror” sped in
the direction of Niagara River.
I must confess, I could make nothing of this maneuver. Plunging into a
cul-de-sac, no longer able to seek the depths because of the accident,
the “Terror” might, indeed, temporarily distance her pursuers; but she
must find her path barred by them when she attempted to return. Did she
intend to land, and if so, could she hope to outrun the telegrams which
would warn every police agency of her approach?
We were now not half a mile ahead. The destroyers pursued us at top
speed, though being now directly behind, they were in poor position for
using their guns. Our captain seemed content to keep this distance;
though it would have been easy for him to increase it, and then at
nightfall, to dodge back behind the enemy.
Already Buffalo had disappeared on our right, and a little after seven
o’clock the opening of the Niagara River appeared ahead. If he entered
there, knowing that he could not return, our captain must have lost his
mind! And in truth was he not insane, this man who proclaimed himself,
who believed himself, Master of the World?
I watched him there, calm, impassive not even turning his head to note
the progress of the destroyers and I wondered at him.
This end of the lake was absolutely deserted. Freight steamers bound
for the towns on the banks of the upper Niagara are not numerous, as
its navigation is dangerous. Not one was in sight. Not even a
fishing-boat crossed the path of the “Terror.” Even the two destroyers
would soon be obliged to pause in their pursuit, if we continued our
mad rush through these dangerous waters.
I have said that the Niagara River flows between New York and Canada.
Its width, of about three quarters of a mile, narrows as it approaches
the falls. Its length, from Lake Erie to Lake Ontario, is about fifteen
leagues. It flows in a northerly direction, until it empties the waters
of Lake Superior, Michigan, Huron, and Erie into Ontario, the last lake
of this mighty chain. The celebrated falls, which occur in the midst of
this great river have a height of over a hundred and fifty feet. They
are called sometimes the Horse-shoe Falls, because they curve inward
like the iron shoe. The Indians have given them the name of “Thunder of
Waters,” and in truth a mighty thunder roars from them without
cessation, and with a tumult which is heard for several miles away.
Between Lake Erie, and the little city of Niagara Falls, two islands
divide the current of the river, Navy Island, a league above the
cataract, and Goat Island, which separates the American and the
Canadian Falls. Indeed, on the lower point of this latter isle stood
once that “Terrapin Tower” so daringly built in the midst of the
plunging waters on the very edge of the abyss. It has been destroyed;
for the constant wearing away of the stone beneath the cataract makes
the ledge move with the ages slowly up the river, and the tower has
been drawn into the gulf.
The town of Fort Erie stands on the Canadian shore at the entrance of
the river. Two other towns are set along the banks above the falls,
Schlosser on the right bank, and Chippewa on the left, located on
either side of Navy Island. It is at this point that the current, bound
within a narrower channel, begins to move at tremendous speed, to
become two miles further on, the celebrated cataract.
The “Terror” had already passed Fort Erie. The sun in the west touched
the edge of the Canadian horizon, and the moon, faintly seen, rose
above the mists of the south. Darkness would not envelop us for another
hour.
The destroyers, with huge clouds of smoke streaming from their funnels,
followed us a mile behind. They sped between banks green with shade
trees and dotted with cottages which lay among lovely gardens.
Obviously the “Terror” could no longer turn back. The destroyers shut
her in completely. It is true their commanders did not know, as I did,
that an accident to her machinery had forced her to the surface, and
that it was impossible for her to escape them by another plunge.
Nevertheless, they continued to follow, and would assuredly maintain
their pursuit to the very last.
I marveled at the intrepidity of their chase through these dangerous
waters. I marveled still more at the conduct of our captain. Within a
half hour now, his course would be barred by the cataract. No matter
how perfect his machine, it could not escape the power of the great
falls. If the current once mastered our engines, we should inevitably
disappear in the gulf nearly two hundred feet deep which the waters
have dug at the base of the falls! Perhaps, however, our captain had
still power to turn to one of the shores and flee by the automobile
routes.
In the midst of this excitement, what action should I take personally?
Should I attempt to gain the shores of Navy Island, if we indeed
advanced that far? If I did not seize this chance, never, after what I
had learned of his secrets, never would the Master of the World restore
me to liberty.
I suspected, however, that my flight was no longer possible. If I was
not confined within my cabin, I no longer remained unwatched. While the
captain retained his place at the helm, his assistant by my side never
removed his eyes from me. At the first movement, I should be seized and
locked within my room. For the present, my fate was evidently bound up
with that of the “Terror.”
The distance which separated us from the two destroyers was now growing
rapidly less. Soon they were but a few cable-lengths away. Could the
motor of the “Terror,” since the accident, no longer hold its speeds?
Yet the captain showed not the least anxiety, and made no effort to
reach land!
We could hear the hissing of the steam which escaped from the valves of
the destroyers, to mingle with the streamers of black smoke. But we
heard, even more plainly, the roar of the cataract, now less than three
miles away.
The “Terror” took the left branch of the river in passing Navy Island.
At this point, she was within easy reach of the shore, yet she shot
ahead. Five minutes later, we could see the first trees of Goat Island.
The current became more and more irresistible. If the “Terror” did not
stop, the destroyers could not much longer follow her. If it pleased
our accursed captain to plunge us into the vortex of the falls, surely
they did not mean to follow into the abyss!
Indeed, at this moment they signaled each other, and stopped the
pursuit. They were scarce more than six hundred feet from the cataract.
Then their thunders burst on the air and several cannon shot swept over
the “Terror” without hitting its low-lying deck.
The sun had set, and through the twilight the moon’s rays shone upon us
from the south. The speed of our craft, doubled by the speed of the
current, was prodigious! In another moment, we should plunge into that
black hollow which forms the very center of the Canadian Falls.
With an eye of horror, I saw the shores of Goat Island flashed by, then
came the Isles of the Three Sisters, drowned in the spray from the
abyss.
I sprang up; I started to throw myself into the water, in the desperate
hope of gaining this last refuge. One of the men seized me from behind.
Suddenly a sharp noise was heard from the mechanism which throbbed
within our craft. The long gangways folded back on the sides of the
machine, spread out like wings, and at the moment when the “Terror”
reached the very edge of the falls, she arose into space, escaping from
the thundering cataract in the center of a lunar rainbow.
XV.
THE EAGLE’S NEST
On the morrow, when I awoke after a sound sleep, our vehicle seemed
motionless. It seemed to me evident that we were not running upon land.
Yet neither were we rushing through or beneath the waters; nor yet
soaring across the sky. Had the inventor regained that mysterious
hiding-place of his, where no human being had ever set foot before him?
And now, since he had not disembarrassed himself of my presence, was
his secret about to be revealed to me?
It seemed astonishing that I had slept so profoundly during most of our
voyage through the air. It puzzled me and I asked if this sleep had not
been caused by some drug, mixed with my last meal, the captain of the
“Terror” having wished thus to prevent me from knowing the place where
we landed. All that I can recall of the previous night is the terrible
impression made upon me by that moment when the machine, instead of
being caught in the vortex of the cataract rose under the impulse of
its machinery like a bird with its huge wings beating with tremendous
power!
So this machine actually fulfilled a four-fold use! It was at the same
time automobile, boat, submarine, and airship. Earth, sea and air,—it
could move through all three elements! And with what power! With what
speed! A few instants sufficed to complete its marvelous
transformations. The same engine drove it along all its courses! And I
had been a witness of its metamorphoses! But that of which I was still
ignorant, and which I could perhaps discover, was the source of the
energy which drove the machine, and above all, who was the inspired
inventor who, after having created it, in every detail, guided it with
so much ability and audacity!
At the moment when the “Terror” rose above the Canadian Falls, I was
held down against the hatchway of my cabin. The clear, moonlit evening
had permitted me to note the direction taken by the air-ship. It
followed the course of the river and passed the Suspension Bridge three
miles below the falls. It is here that the irresistible rapids of the
Niagara River begin, where the river bends sharply to descend toward
Lake Ontario.
On leaving this point, I was sure that we had turned toward the east.
The captain continued at the helm. I had not addressed a word to him.
What good would it do? He would not have answered. I noted that the
“Terror” seemed to be guided in its course through the air with
surprising ease. Assuredly the roads of the air were as familiar to it
as those of the seas and of the lands!
In the presence of such results, could one not understand the enormous
pride of this man who proclaimed himself Master of the World? Was he
not in control of a machine infinitely superior to any that had ever
sprung from the hand of man, and against which men were powerless? In
truth, why should he sell this marvel? Why should he accept the
millions offered him? Yes, I comprehended now that absolute confidence
in himself which was expressed in his every attitude. And where might
not his ambition carry him, if by its own excess it mounted some day
into madness!
A half hour after the “Terror” soared into the air, I had sunk into
complete unconsciousness, without realizing its approach. I repeat, it
must have been caused by some drug. Without doubt, our commander did
not wish me to know the road he followed.
Hence I cannot say whether the aviator continued his flight through
space, or whether the mariner sailed the surface of some sea or lake,
or the chauffeur sped across the American roads. No recollection
remains with me of what passed during that night of July thirty-first.
Now, what was to follow from this adventure? And especially concerning
myself, what would be its end?
I have said that at the moment when I awoke from my strange sleep, the
“Terror” seemed to me completely motionless. I could hardly be
mistaken; whatever had been her method of progress, I should have felt
some movement, even in the air. I lay in my berth in the cabin, where I
had been shut in without knowing it, just as I had been on the
preceding night which I had passed on board the “Terror” on Lake Erie.
My business now was to learn if I would be allowed to go on deck here
where the machine had landed. I attempted to raise the hatchway. It was
fastened.
“Ah!” said I, “am I to be kept here until the ‘Terror’ recommences its
travels?” Was not that, indeed, the only time when escape was hopeless?
My impatience and anxiety may be appreciated. I knew not how long this
halt might continue.
I had not a quarter of an hour to wait. A noise of bars being removed
came to my ear. The hatchway was raised from above. A wave of light and
air penetrated my cabin.
With one bound I reached the deck. My eyes in an instant swept round
the horizon.
The “Terror,” as I had thought, rested quiet on the ground. She was in
the midst of a rocky hollow measuring from fifteen to eighteen hundred
feet in circumference. A floor of yellow gravel carpeted its entire
extent, unrelieved by a single tuft of herbage.
This hollow formed an almost regular oval, with its longer diameter
extending north and south. As to the surrounding-wall, what was its
height, what the character of its crest, I could not judge. Above us
was gathered a fog so heavy, that the rays of the sun had not yet
pierced it. Heavy trails of cloud drifted across the sandy floor.
Doubtless the morning was still young, and this mist might later be
dissolved.
It was quite cold here, although this was the first day of August. I
concluded therefore that we must be far in the north, or else high
above sea-level. We must still be somewhere on the New Continent;
though where, it was impossible to surmise. Yet no matter how rapid our
flight had been, the air-ship could not have traversed either ocean in
the dozen hours since our departure from Niagara.
At this moment, I saw the captain come from an opening in the rocks,
probably a grotto, at the base of this cliff hidden in the fog.
Occasionally, in the mists above, appeared the shadows of huge birds.
Their raucous cries were the sole interruption to the profound silence.
Who knows if they were not affrighted by the arrival of this
formidable, winged monster, which they could not match either in might
or speed.
Everything led me to believe that it was here that the Master of the
World withdrew in the intervals between his prodigious journeys. Here
was the garage of his automobile; the harbor of his boat; the hangar of
his air-ship.
And now the “Terror” stood motionless at the bottom of this hollow. At
last I could examine her; and it looked as if her owners had no
intention of preventing me. The truth is that the commander seemed to
take no more notice of my presence than before. His two companions
joined him, and the three did not hesitate to enter together into the
grotto I had seen. What a chance to study the machine, at least its
exterior! As to its inner parts, probably I should never get beyond
conjecture.
In fact, except for that of my cabin, the hatchways were closed; and it
would be vain for me to attempt to open them. At any rate, it might be
more interesting to find out what kind of propeller drove the “Terror”
in these many transformations.
I jumped to the ground and found I was left at leisure, to proceed with
this first examination.
The machine was as I have said spindle-shaped. The bow was sharper than
the stern. The body was of aluminium, the wings of a substance whose
nature I could not determine. The body rested on four wheels, about two
feet in diameter. These had pneumatic tires so thick as to assure ease
of movement at any speed. Their spokes spread out like paddles or
battledores; and when the “Terror” moved either on or under the water,
they must have increased her pace.
These wheels were not however, the principal propeller. This consisted
of two “Parsons” turbines placed on either side of the keel. Driven
with extreme rapidity by the engine, they urged the boat onward in the
water by twin screws, and I even questioned if they were not powerful
enough to propel the machine through the air.
The chief aerial support, however, was that of the great wings, now
again in repose, and folded back along the sides. Thus the theory of
the “heavier than air” flying machine was employed by the inventor, a
system which enabled him to dart through space with a speed probably
superior to that of the largest birds.
As to the agent which set in action these various mechanisms, I repeat,
it was, it could be, no other than electricity. But from what source
did his batteries get their power? Had he somewhere an electric
factory, to which he must return? Were the dynamos, perhaps working in
one of the caverns of this hollow?
The result of my examination was that, while I could see that the
machine used wheels and turbine screws and wings, I knew nothing of
either its engine, nor of the force which drove it. To be sure, the
discovery of this secret would be of little value to me. To employ it I
must first be free. And after what I knew—little as that really was—the
Master of the World would never release me.
There remained, it is true, the chance of escape. But would an
opportunity ever present itself? If there could be none during the
voyages of the “Terror,” might there possibly be, while we remained in
this retreat?
The first question to be solved was the location of this hollow. What
communication did it have with the surrounding region? Could one only
depart from it by a flying-machine? And in what part of the United
States were we? Was it not reasonable to estimate, that our flight
through the darkness had covered several hundred leagues?
There was one very natural hypothesis which deserved to be considered,
if not actually accepted. What more natural harbor could there be for
the “Terror” than the Great Eyrie? Was it too difficult a flight for
our aviator to reach the summit? Could he not soar anywhere that the
vultures and the eagles could? Did not that inaccessible Eyrie offer to
the Master of the World just such a retreat as our police had been
unable to discover, one in which he might well believe himself safe
from all attacks? Moreover, the distance between Niagara Falls and this
part of the Blueridge Mountains, did not exceed four hundred and fifty
miles, a flight which would have been easy for the “Terror.”
Yes, this idea more and more took possession of me. It crowded out a
hundred other unsupported suggestions. Did not this explain the nature
of the bond which existed between the Great Eyrie and the letter which
I had received with our commander’s initials? And the threats against
me if I renewed the ascent! And the espionage to which I had been
subjected! And all the phenomena of which the Great Eyrie had been the
theater, were they not to be attributed to this same cause—though what
lay behind the phenomena was not yet clear? Yes, the Great Eyrie! The
Great Eyrie!
But since it had been impossible for me to penetrate here, would it not
be equally impossible for me to get out again, except upon the
“Terror?” Ah, if the mists would but lift! Perhaps I should recognize
the place. What was as yet a mere hypothesis, would become a starting
point to act upon.
However, since I had freedom to move about, since neither the captain
nor his men paid any heed to me, I resolved to explore the hollow. The
three of them were all in the grotto toward the north end of the oval.
Therefore I would commence my inspection at the southern end.
Reaching the rocky wall, I skirted along its base and found it broken
by many crevices; above, arose more solid rocks of that feldspar of
which the chain of the Alleghanies largely consists. To what height the
rock wall rose, or what was the character of its summit, was still
impossible to see. I must wait until the sun had scattered the mists.
In the meantime, I continued to follow along the base of the cliff.
None of its cavities seemed to extend inward to any distance. Several
of them contained debris from the hand of man, bits of broken wood,
heaps of dried grasses. On the ground were still to be seen the
footprints that the captain and his men must have left, perhaps months
before, upon the sand.
My jailers, being doubtless very busy in their cabin, did not show
themselves until they had arranged and packed several large bundles.
Did they purpose to carry those on board the “Terror?” And were they
packing up with the intention of permanently leaving their retreat?
In half an hour my explorations were completed and I returned toward
the center. Here and there were heaped up piles of ashes, bleached by
weather. There were fragments of burned planks and beams; posts to
which clung rusted iron-work; armatures of metal twisted by fire; all
the remnants of some intricate mechanism destroyed by the flames.
Clearly at some period not very remote the hollow had been the scene of
a conflagration, accidental or intentional. Naturally I connected this
with the phenomena observed at the Great Eyrie, the flames which rose
above the crest, the noises which had so frightened the people of
Pleasant Garden and Morganton. But of what mechanisms were these the
fragments, and what reason had our captain for destroying them?
At this moment I felt a breath of air; a breeze came from the east. The
sky swiftly cleared. The hollow was filled with light from the rays of
the sun which appeared midway between the horizon and the zenith.
A cry escaped me! The crest of the rocky wall rose a hundred feet above
me. And on the eastern side was revealed that easily recognizable
pinnacle, the rock like a mounting eagle. It was the same that had held
the attention of Mr. Elias Smith and myself, when we had looked up at
it from the outer side of the Great Eyrie.
Thus there was no further doubt. In its flight during the night the
airship had covered the distance between Lake Erie and North Carolina.
It was in the depth of this Eyrie that the machine had found shelter!
This was the nest, worthy of the gigantic and powerful bird created by
the genius of our captain! The fortress whose mighty walls none but he
could scale! Perhaps even, he had discovered in the depths of some
cavern, some subterranean passage by which he himself could quit the
Great Eyrie, leaving the “Terror” safely sheltered within.
At last I saw it all! This explained the first letter sent me from the
Great Eyrie itself with the threat of death. If we had been able to
penetrate into this hollow, who knows if the secrets of the Master of
the World might not have been discovered before he had been able to set
them beyond our reach?
I stood there, motionless; my eyes fixed on that mounting eagle of
stone, prey to a sudden, violent emotion. Whatsoever might be the
consequences to myself, was it not my duty to destroy this machine,
here and now, before it could resume its menacing flight of mastery
across the world!
Steps approached behind me. I turned. The inventor stood by my side,
and pausing looked me in the face.
I was unable to restrain myself; the words burst forth—“The Great
Eyrie! The Great Eyrie!”
“Yes, Inspector Strock.”
“And you! You are the Master of the World?”
“Of that world to which I have already proved myself to be the most
powerful of men.”
“You!” I reiterated, stupefied with amazement.
“I,” responded he, drawing himself up in all his pride, “I,
Robur—Robur, the Conqueror!”
XVI.
ROBUR, THE CONQUEROR
Robur, the Conqueror! This then was the likeness I had vaguely
recalled. Some years before the portrait of this extraordinary man had
been printed in all the American newspapers, under date of the
thirteenth of June, the day after this personage had made his
sensational appearance at the meeting of the Weldon Institute at
Philadelphia.
I had noted the striking character of the portrait at the time; the
square shoulders; the back like a regular trapezoid, its longer side
formed by that geometrical shoulder line; the robust neck; the enormous
spheroidal head. The eyes at the least emotion, burned with fire, while
above them were the heavy, permanently contracted brows, which
signified such energy. The hair was short and crisp, with a glitter as
of metal in its lights. The huge breast rose and fell like a
blacksmith’s forge; and the thighs, the arms and hands, were worthy of
the mighty body. The narrow beard was the same also, with the smooth
shaven cheeks which showed the powerful muscles of the jaw.
And this was Robur the Conqueror, who now stood before me, who revealed
himself to me, hurling forth his name like a threat, within his own
impenetrable fortress!
Let me recall briefly the facts which had previously drawn upon Robur
the Conqueror the attention of the entire world. The Weldon Institute
was a club devoted to aeronautics under the presidency of one of the
chief personages of Philadelphia, commonly called Uncle Prudent. Its
secretary was Mr. Phillip Evans. The members of the Institute were
devoted to the theory of the “lighter than air” machine; and under
their two leaders were constructing an enormous dirigible balloon, the
“Go-Ahead.”
At a meeting in which they were discussing the details of the
construction of their balloon, this unknown Robur had suddenly appeared
and, ridiculing all their plans, had insisted that the only true
solution of flight lay with the heavier than air machines, and that he
had proven this by constructing one.
He was in this turn doubted and ridiculed by the members of the club,
who called him in mockery Robur the Conqueror. In the tumult that
followed, revolver shots were fired; and the intruder disappeared.
That same night he had by force abducted the president and the
secretary of the club, and had taken them, much against their will upon
a voyage in the wonderful air-ship, the “Albatross,” which he had
constructed. He meant thus to prove to them beyond argument the
correctness of his assertions. This ship, a hundred feet long, was
upheld in the air by a large number of horizontal screws and was driven
forward by vertical screws at its bow and stern. It was managed by a
crew of at least half a dozen men, who seemed absolutely devoted to
their leader, Robur.
After a voyage almost completely around the world, Mr. Prudent and Mr.
Evans managed to escape from the “Albatross” after a desperate
struggle. They even managed to cause an explosion on the airship,
destroying it, and involving the inventor and all his crew in a
terrific fall from the sky into the Pacific ocean.
Mr. Prudent and Mr. Evans then returned to Philadelphia. They had
learned that the “Albatross” had been constructed on an unknown isle of
the Pacific called Island X; but since the location of this
hiding-place was wholly unknown, its discovery lay scarcely within the
bounds of possibility. Moreover, the search seemed entirely
unnecessary, as the vengeful prisoners were quite certain that they had
destroyed their jailers.
Hence the two millionaires, restored to their homes, went calmly on
with the construction of their own machine, the “Go-Ahead.” They hoped
by means of it to soar once more into the regions they had traversed
with Robur, and to prove to themselves that their lighter than air
machine was at least the equal of the heavy “Albatross.” If they had
not persisted, they would not have been true Americans.
On the twentieth of April in the following year the “Go-Ahead” was
finished and the ascent was made, from Fairmount Park in Philadelphia.
I myself was there with thousands of other spectators. We saw the huge
balloon rise gracefully; and, thanks to its powerful screws, it
maneuvered in every direction with surprising ease. Suddenly a cry was
heard, a cry repeated from a thousand throats. Another airship had
appeared in the distant skies and it now approached with marvelous
rapidity. It was another “Albatross,” perhaps even superior to the
first. Robur and his men had escaped death in the Pacific; and, burning
for revenge, they had constructed a second airship in their secret
Island X.
Like a gigantic bird of prey, the “Albatross” hurled itself upon the
“Go-Ahead.” Doubtless, Robur, while avenging himself wished also to
prove the immeasurable superiority of the heavier than air machines.
Mr. Prudent and Mr. Evans defended themselves as best they could.
Knowing that their balloon had nothing like the horizontal speed of the
“Albatross,” they attempted to take advantage of their superior
lightness and rise above her. The “Go-Ahead,” throwing out all her
ballast, soared to a height of over twenty thousand feet. Yet even
there the “Albatross” rose above her, and circled round her with ease.
Suddenly an explosion was heard. The enormous gas-bag of the
“Go-Ahead,” expanding under the dilation of its contents at this great
height, had finally burst.
Half-emptied, the balloon fell rapidly.
Then to our universal astonishment, the “Albatross” shot down after her
rival, not to finish the work of destruction but to bring rescue. Yes!
Robur, forgetting his vengeance, rejoined the sinking “Go-Ahead,” and
his men lifted Mr. Prudent, Mr. Evans, and the aeronaut who accompanied
them, onto the platform of his craft. Then the balloon, being at length
entirely empty, fell to its destruction among the trees of Fairmount
Park.
The public was overwhelmed with astonishment, with fear! Now that Robur
had recaptured his prisoners, how would he avenge himself? Would they
be carried away, this time, forever?
The “Albatross” continued to descend, as if to land in the clearing at
Fairmount Park. But if it came within reach, would not the infuriated
crowd throw themselves upon the airship, tearing both it and its
inventor to pieces?
The “Albatross” descended within six feet of the ground. I remember
well the general movement forward with which the crowd threatened to
attack it. Then Robur’s voice rang out in words which even now I can
repeat almost as he said them:
“Citizens of the United States, the president and the secretary of the
Weldon Institute are again in my power. In holding them prisoners I
would but be exercising my natural right of reprisal for the injuries
they have done me. But the passion and resentment which have been
roused both in them and you by the success of the ‘Albatross,’ show
that the souls of men are not yet ready for the vast increase of power
which the conquest of the air will bring to them. Uncle Prudent,
Phillip Evans, you are free.”
The three men rescued from the balloon leaped to the ground. The
airship rose some thirty feet out of reach, and Robur recommenced:
“Citizens of the United States, the conquest of the air is made; but it
shall not be given into your hands until the proper time. I leave, and
I carry my secret with me. It will not be lost to humanity, but shall
be entrusted to them when they have learned not to abuse it. Farewell,
Citizens of the United States!”
Then the “Albatross” rose under the impulse of its mighty screws, and
sped away amidst the hurrahs of the multitude.
I have ventured to remind my readers of this last scene somewhat in
detail, because it seemed to reveal the state of mind of the remarkable
personage who now stood before me. Apparently he had not then been
animated by sentiments hostile to humanity. He was content to await the
future; though his attitude undeniably revealed the immeasurable
confidence which he had in his own genius, the immense pride which his
almost superhuman powers had aroused within him.
It was not astonishing, moreover, that this haughtiness had little by
little been aggravated to such a degree that he now presumed to enslave
the entire world, as his public letter had suggested by its significant
threats. His vehement mind had with time been roused to such
over-excitement that he might easily be driven into the most violent
excesses.
As to what had happened in the years since the last departure of the
“Albatross,” I could only partly reconstruct this even with my present
knowledge. It had not sufficed the prodigious inventor to create a
flying machine, perfect as that was! He had planned to construct a
machine which could conquer all the elements at once. Probably in the
workshops of Island X, a selected body of devoted workmen had
constructed, one by one, the pieces of this marvelous machine, with its
quadruple transformation. Then the second “Albatross” must have carried
these pieces to the Great Eyrie, where they had been put together,
within easier access of the world of men than the far-off island had
permitted. The “Albatross” itself had apparently been destroyed,
whether by accident or design, within the eyrie. The “Terror” had then
made its appearance on the roads of the United States and in the
neighboring waters. And I have told under what conditions, after having
been vainly pursued across Lake Erie, this remarkable masterpiece had
risen through the air carrying me a prisoner on board.
XVII.
IN THE NAME OF THE LAW
What was to be the issue of this remarkable adventure? Could I bring it
to any denouement whatever, either sooner or later? Did not Robur hold
the results wholly in his own hands? Probably I would never have such
an opportunity for escape as had occurred to Mr. Prudent and Mr. Evans
amid the islands of the Pacific. I could only wait. And how long might
the waiting last!
To be sure, my curiosity had been partly satisfied. But even now I knew
only the answer to the problems of the Great Eyrie. Having at length
penetrated its circle, I comprehended all the phenomena observed by the
people of the Blueridge Mountains. I was assured that neither the
country-folk throughout the region, nor the townfolk of Pleasant Garden
and Morganton were in danger of volcanic eruptions or earthquakes. No
subterranean forces whatever were battling within the bowels of the
mountains. No crater had arisen in this corner of the Alleghanies. The
Great Eyrie served merely as the retreat of Robur the Conqueror. This
impenetrable hiding-place where he stored his materials and provisions,
had without doubt been discovered by him during one of his aerial
voyages in the “Albatross.” It was a retreat probably even more secure
than that as yet undiscovered Island X in the Pacific.
This much I knew of him; but of this marvelous machine of his, of the
secrets of its construction and propelling force, what did I really
know? Admitting that this multiple mechanism was driven by electricity,
and that this electricity was, as we knew it had been in the
“Albatross,” extracted directly from the surrounding air by some new
process, what were the details of its mechanism? I had not been
permitted to see the engine; doubtless I should never see it.
On the question of my liberty I argued thus: Robur evidently intends to
remain unknown. As to what he intends to do with his machine, I fear,
recalling his letter, that the world must expect from it more of evil
than of good. At any rate, the incognito which he has so carefully
guarded in the past he must mean to preserve in the future. Now only
one man can establish the identity of the Master of the World with
Robur the Conqueror. This man is I his prisoner, I who have the right
to arrest him, I, who ought to put my hand on his shoulder, saying, “In
the Name of the Law—”
On the other hand, could I hope for a rescue from without? Evidently
not. The police authorities must know everything that had happened at
Black Rock Creek. Mr. Ward, advised of all the incidents, would have
reasoned on the matter as follows: when the “Terror” quitted the creek
dragging me at the end of her hawser, I had either been drowned or,
since my body had not been recovered, I had been taken on board the
“Terror,” and was in the hands of its commander.
In the first case, there was nothing more to do than to write
“deceased” after the name of John Strock, chief inspector of the
federal police in Washington.
In the second case, could my confreres hope ever to see me again? The
two destroyers which had pursued the “Terror” into the Niagara River
had stopped, perforce, when the current threatened to drag them over
the falls. At that moment, night was closing in, and what could be
thought on board the destroyers but that the “Terror” had been engulfed
in the abyss of the cataract? It was scarce possible that our machine
had been seen when, amid the shades of night, it rose above the
Horseshoe Falls, or when it winged its way high above the mountains on
its route to the Great Eyrie.
With regard to my own fate, should I resolve to question Robur? Would
he consent even to appear to hear me? Was he not content with having
hurled at me his name? Would not that name seem to him to answer
everything?
That day wore away without bringing the least change to the situation.
Robur and his men continued actively at work upon the machine, which
apparently needed considerable repair. I concluded that they meant to
start forth again very shortly, and to take me with them. It would,
however, have been quite possible to leave me at the bottom of the
Eyrie. There would have been no way by which I could have escaped, and
there were provisions at hand sufficient to keep me alive for many
days.
What I studied particularly during this period was the mental state of
Robur. He seemed to me under the dominance of a continuous excitement.
What was it that his ever-seething brain now meditated? What projects
was he forming for the future? Toward what region would he now turn?
Would he put in execution the menaces expressed in his letter—the
menaces of a madman!
The night of that first day, I slept on a couch of dry grass in one of
the grottoes of the Great Eyrie. Food was set for me in this grotto
each succeeding day. On the second and third of August, the three men
continued at their work scarcely once, however, exchanging any words,
even in the midst of their labors. When the engines were all repaired
to Robur’s satisfaction, the men began putting stores aboard their
craft, as if expecting a long absence. Perhaps the “Terror” was about
to traverse immense distances; perhaps even, the captain intended to
regain his Island X, in the midst of the Pacific.
Sometimes I saw him wander about the Eyrie buried in thought, or he
would stop and raise his arm toward heaven as if in defiance of that
God with Whom he assumed to divide the empire of the world. Was not his
overweening pride leading him toward insanity? An insanity which his
two companions, hardly less excited than he, could do nothing to
subdue! Had he not come to regard himself as mightier than the elements
which he had so audaciously defied even when he possessed only an
airship, the “Albatross?” And now, how much more powerful had he
become, when earth, air and water combined to offer him an infinite
field where none might follow him!
Hence I had much to fear from the future, even the most dread
catastrophes. It was impossible for me to escape from the Great Eyrie,
before being dragged into a new voyage. After that, how could I
possibly get away while the “Terror” sped through the air or the ocean?
My only chance must be when she crossed the land, and did so at some
moderate speed. Surely a distant and feeble hope to cling to!
It will be recalled that after our arrival at the Great Eyrie, I had
attempted to obtain some response from Robur, as to his purpose with
me; but I had failed. On this last day I made another attempt.
In the afternoon I walked up and down before the large grotto where my
captors were at work. Robur, standing at the entrance, followed me
steadily with his eyes. Did he mean to address me?
I went up to him. “Captain,” said I, “I have already asked you a
question, which you have not answered. I ask it again: What do you
intend to do with me?”
We stood face to face scarce two steps apart. With arms folded, he
glared at me, and I was terrified by his glance. Terrified, that is the
word! The glance was not that of a sane man. Indeed, it seemed to
reflect nothing whatever of humanity within.
I repeated my question in a more challenging tone. For an instant I
thought that Robur would break his silence and burst forth.
“What do you intend to do with me? Will you set me free?”
Evidently my captor’s mind was obsessed by some other thought, from
which I had only distracted him for a moment. He made again that
gesture which I had already observed; he raised one defiant arm toward
the zenith. It seemed to me as if some irresistible force drew him
toward those upper zones of the sky, that he belonged no more to the
earth, that he was destined to live in space; a perpetual dweller in
the clouds.
Without answering me, without seeming to have understood me, Robur
reentered the grotto.
How long this sojourn or rather relaxation of the “Terror” in the Great
Eyrie was to last, I did not know. I saw, however, on the afternoon of
this third of August that the repairs and the embarkation of stores
were completed. The hold and lockers of our craft must have been
completely crowded with the provisions taken from the grottoes of the
Eyrie.
Then the chief of the two assistants, a man whom I now recognized as
that John Turner who had been mate of the “Albatross,” began another
labor. With the help of his companion, he dragged to the center of the
hollow all that remained of their materials, empty cases, fragments of
carpentry, peculiar pieces of wood which clearly must have belonged to
the “Albatross,” which had been sacrificed to this new and mightier
engine of locomotion. Beneath this mass there lay a great quantity of
dried grasses. The thought came to me that Robur was preparing to leave
this retreat forever!
In fact, he could not be ignorant that the attention of the public was
now keenly fixed upon the Great Eyrie; and that some further attempt
was likely to be made to penetrate it. Must he not fear that some day
or other the effort would be successful, and that men would end by
invading his hiding-place? Did he not wish that they should find there
no single evidence of his occupation?
The sun disappeared behind the crests of the Blueridge. His rays now
lighted only the very summit of Black Dome towering in the northwest.
Probably the “Terror” awaited only the night in order to begin her
flight. The world did not yet know that the automobile and boat could
also transform itself into a flying machine. Until now, it had never
been seen in the air. And would not this fourth transformation be
carefully concealed, until the day when the Master of the World chose
to put into execution his insensate menaces?
Toward nine o’clock profound obscurity enwrapped the hollow. Not a star
looked down on us. Heavy clouds driven by a keen eastern wind covered
the entire sky. The passage of the “Terror” would be invisible, not
only in our immediate neighborhood, but probably across all the
American territory and even the adjoining seas.
At this moment Turner, approaching the huge stack in the middle of the
eyrie, set fire to the grass beneath.
The whole mass flared up at once. From the midst of a dense smoke, the
roaring flames rose to a height which towered above the walls of the
Great Eyrie. Once more the good folk of Morganton and Pleasant Garden
would believe that the crater had reopened. These flames would announce
to them another volcanic upheaval.
I watched the conflagration. I heard the roarings and cracklings which
filled the air. From the deck of the “Terror,” Robur watched it also.
Turner and his companion pushed back into the fire the fragments which
the violence of the flames cast forth. Little by little the huge
bonfire grew less. The flames sank down into a mere mass of burnt-out
ashes; and once more all was silence and blackest night.
Suddenly I felt myself seized by the arm. Turner drew me toward the
“Terror.” Resistance would have been useless. And moreover what could
be worse than to be abandoned without resources in this prison whose
walls I could not climb!
As soon as I set foot on the deck, Turner also embarked. His companion
went forward to the look-out; Turner climbed down into the engine-room,
lighted by electric bulbs, from which not a gleam escaped outside.
Robur himself was at the helm, the regulator within reach of his hand,
so that he could control both our speed and our direction. As to me, I
was forced to descend into my cabin, and the hatchway was fastened
above me. During that night, as on that of our departure from Niagara,
I was not allowed to watch the movements of the “Terror.”
Nevertheless, if I could see nothing of what was passing on board, I
could hear the noises of the machinery. I had first the feeling that
our craft, its bow slightly raised, lost contact with the earth. Some
swerves and balancings in the air followed. Then the turbines
underneath spun with prodigious rapidity, while the great wings beat
with steady regularity.
Thus the “Terror,” probably forever, had left the Great Eyrie, and
launched into the air as a ship launches into the waters. Our captain
soared above the double chain of the Alleghanies, and without doubt he
would remain in the upper zones of the air until he had left all the
mountain region behind.
But in what direction would he turn? Would he pass in flight across the
plains of North Carolina, seeking the Atlantic Ocean? Or would he head
to the west to reach the Pacific? Perhaps he would seek, to the south,
the waters of the Gulf of Mexico. When day came how should I recognize
which sea we were upon, if the horizon of water and sky encircled us on
every side?
Several hours passed; and how long they seemed to me! I made no effort
to find forgetfulness in sleep. Wild and incoherent thoughts assailed
me. I felt myself swept over worlds of imagination, as I was swept
through space, by an aerial monster. At the speed which the “Terror”
possessed, whither might I not be carried during this interminable
night? I recalled the unbelievable voyage of the “Albatross,” of which
the Weldon Institute had published an account, as described by Mr.
Prudent and Mr. Evans. What Robur, the Conqueror, had done with his
first airship, he could do even more readily with this quadruple
machine.
At length the first rays of daylight brightened my cabin. Would I be
permitted to go out now, to take my place upon the deck, as I had done
upon Lake Erie?
I pushed upon the hatchway: it opened. I came half way out upon the
deck.
All about was sky and sea. We floated in the air above an ocean, at a
height which I judged to be about a thousand or twelve hundred feet. I
could not see Robur, so he was probably in the engine room. Turner was
at the helm, his companion on the look-out.
Now that I was upon the deck, I saw what I had not been able to see
during our former nocturnal voyage, the action of those powerful wings
which beat upon either side at the same time that the screws spun
beneath the flanks of the machine.
By the position of the sun, as it slowly mounted from the horizon, I
realized that we were advancing toward the south. Hence if this
direction had not been changed during the night this was the Gulf of
Mexico which lay beneath us.
A hot day was announced by the heavy livid clouds which clung to the
horizon. These warnings of a coming storm did not escape the eye of
Robur when toward eight o’clock he came on deck and took Turner’s place
at the helm. Perhaps the cloud-bank recalled to him the waterspout in
which the “Albatross” had so nearly been destroyed, or the mighty
cyclone from which he had escaped only as if by a miracle above the
Antarctic Sea.
It is true that the forces of Nature which had been too strong for the
“Albatross,” might easily be evaded by this lighter and more versatile
machine. It could abandon the sky where the elements were in battle and
descend to the surface of the sea; and if the waves beat against it
there too heavily, it could always find calm in the tranquil depths.
Doubtless, however, there were some signs by which Robur, who must be
experienced in judging, decided that the storm would not burst until
the next day.
He continued his flight; and in the afternoon, when we settled down
upon the surface of the sea, there was not a sign of bad weather. The
“Terror” is a sea bird, an albatross or frigate-bird, which can rest at
will upon the waves! Only we have this advantage, that fatigue has
never any hold upon this metal organism, driven by the inexhaustible
electricity!
The whole vast ocean around us was empty. Not a sail nor a trail of
smoke was visible even on the limits of the horizon. Hence our passage
through the clouds had not been seen and signaled ahead.
The afternoon was not marked by any incident. The “Terror” advanced at
easy speed. What her captain intended to do, I could not guess. If he
continued in this direction, we should reach some one of the West
Indies, or beyond that, at the end of the Gulf, the shore of Venezuela
or Colombia. But when night came, perhaps we would again rise in the
air to clear the mountainous barrier of Guatemala and Nicaragua, and
take flight toward Island X, somewhere in the unknown regions of the
Pacific.
Evening came. The sun sank in a horizon red as blood. The sea glistened
around the “Terror,” which seemed to raise a shower of sparks in its
passage. There was a storm at hand. Evidently our captain thought so.
Instead of being allowed to remain on deck, I was compelled to re-enter
my cabin, and the hatchway was closed above me.
In a few moments from the noises that followed, I knew that the machine
was about to be submerged. In fact, five minutes later, we were moving
peacefully forward through the ocean’s depths.
Thoroughly worn out, less by fatigue than by excitement and anxious
thought, I fell into a profound sleep, natural this time and not
provoked by any soporific drug. When I awoke, after a length of time
which I could not reckon, the “Terror” had not yet returned to the
surface of the sea.
This maneuver was executed a little later. The daylight pierced my
porthole; and at the same moment I felt the pitching and tossing to
which we were subjected by a heavy sea.
I was allowed to take my place once more outside the hatchway; where my
first thought was for the weather. A storm was approaching from the
northwest. Vivid lightning darted amid the dense, black clouds. Already
we could hear the rumbling of thunder echoing continuously through
space. I was surprised—more than surprised, frightened!—by the rapidity
with which the storm rushed upward toward the zenith. Scarcely would a
ship have had time to furl her sails to escape the shock of the blast,
before it was upon her! The advance was as swift as it was terrible.
Suddenly the wind was unchained with unheard of violence, as if it had
suddenly burst from this prison of cloud. In an instant a frightful sea
uprose. The breaking waves, foaming along all their crests, swept with
their full weight over the “Terror.” If I had not been wedged solidly
against the rail, I should have been swept overboard!
There was but one thing to do—to change our machine again into a
submarine. It would find security and calm at a few dozen feet beneath
the surface. To continue to brave the fury of this outrageous sea was
impossible.
Robur himself was on deck, and I awaited the order to return to my
cabin—an order which was not given. There was not even any preparation
for the plunge. With an eye more burning than ever, impassive before
this frightful storm, the captain looked it full in the face, as if to
defy it, knowing that he had nothing to fear.
It was imperative that the “Terror” should plunge below without losing
a moment. Yet Robur seemed to have no thought of doing so. No! He
preserved his haughty attitude as of a man who in his immeasurable
pride, believed himself above or beyond humanity.
Seeing him thus I asked myself with almost superstitious awe, if he
were not indeed a demoniac being, escaped from some supernatural world.
A cry leaped from his mouth, and was heard amid the shrieks of the
tempest and the howlings of the thunder. “I, Robur! Robur!—The master
of the world!”
He made a gesture which Turner and his companions understood. It was a
command; and without any hesitation these unhappy men, insane as their
master, obeyed it.
The great wings shot out, and the airship rose as it had risen above
the falls of Niagara. But if on that day it had escaped the might of
the cataract, this time it was amidst the might of the hurricane that
we attempted our insensate flight.
The air-ship soared upward into the heart of the sky, amid a thousand
lightning flashes, surrounded and shaken by the bursts of thunder. It
steered amid the blinding, darting lights, courting destruction at
every instant.
Robur’s position and attitude did not change. With one hand on the
helm, the other on the speed regulators while the great wings beat
furiously, he headed his machine toward the very center of the storm,
where the electric flashes were leaping from cloud to cloud.
I must throw myself upon this madman to prevent him from driving his
machine into the very middle of this aerial furnace! I must compel him
to descend, to seek beneath the waters, a safety which was no longer
possible either upon the surface of the sea or in the sky! Beneath, we
could wait until this frightful outburst of the elements was at an end!
Then amid this wild excitement my own passion, all my instincts of
duty, arose within me! Yes, this was madness! Yet must I not arrest
this criminal whom my country had outlawed, who threatened the entire
world with his terrible invention? Must I not put my hand on his
shoulder and summon him to surrender to justice! Was I or was I not
Strock, chief inspector of the federal police? Forgetting where I was,
one against three, uplifted in mid-sky above a howling ocean, I leaped
toward the stern, and in a voice which rose above the tempest, I cried
as I hurled myself upon Robur:
“In the name of the law, I—”
Suddenly the “Terror” trembled as if from a violent shock. All her
frame quivered, as the human frame quivers under the electric fluid.
Struck by the lightning in the very middle of her powerful batteries,
the air-ship spread out on all sides and went to pieces.
With her wings fallen, her screws broken, with bolt after bolt of the
lightning darting amid her ruins, the “Terror” fell from the height of
more than a thousand feet into the ocean beneath.
XVIII.
THE OLD HOUSEKEEPER’S LAST COMMENT
When I came to myself after having been unconscious for many hours, a
group of sailors whose care had restored me to life surrounded the door
of a cabin in which I lay. By my pillow sat an officer who questioned
me; and as my senses slowly returned, I answered to his questioning.
I told them everything. Yes, everything! And assuredly my listeners
must have thought that they had upon their hands an unfortunate whose
reason had not returned with his consciousness.
I was on board the steamer Ottawa, in the Gulf of Mexico, headed for
the port of New Orleans. This ship, while flying before the same
terrific thunder-storm which destroyed the “Terror,” had encountered
some wreckage, among whose fragments was entangled my helpless body.
Thus I found myself back among humankind once more, while Robur the
Conqueror and his two companions had ended their adventurous careers in
the waters of the Gulf. The Master of the World had disappeared
forever, struck down by those thunder-bolts which he had dared to brave
in the regions of their fullest power. He carried with him the secret
of his extraordinary machine.
Five days later the Ottawa sighted the shores of Louisiana; and on the
morning of the tenth of August she reached her port. After taking a
warm leave of my rescuers, I set out at once by train for Washington,
which more than once I had despaired of ever seeing again.
I went first of all to the bureau of police, meaning to make my
earliest appearance before Mr. Ward.
What was the surprise, the stupefaction, and also the joy of my chief,
when the door of his cabinet opened before me! Had he not every reason
to believe, from the report of my companions, that I had perished in
the waters of Lake Erie?
I informed him of all my experiences since I had disappeared, the
pursuit of the destroyers on the lake, the soaring of the “Terror” from
amid Niagara Falls, the halt within the crater of the Great Eyrie, and
the catastrophe, during the storm, above the Gulf of Mexico.
He learned for the first time that the machine created by the genius of
this Robur, could traverse space, as it did the earth and the sea.
In truth, did not the possession of so complete and marvelous a machine
justify the name of Master of the World, which Robur had taken to
himself? Certain it is that the comfort and even the lives of the
public must have been forever in danger from him; and that all methods
of defence must have been feeble and ineffective.
But the pride which I had seen rising bit by bit within the heart of
this prodigious man had driven him to give equal battle to the most
terrible of all the elements. It was a miracle that I had escaped safe
and sound from that frightful catastrophe.
Mr. Ward could scarcely believe my story. “Well, my dear Strock,” said
he at last, “you have come back; and that is the main thing. Next to
this notorious Robur, you will be the man of the hour. I hope that your
head will not be turned with vanity, like that of this crazy inventor!”
“No, Mr. Ward,” I responded, “but you will agree with me that never was
inquisitive man put to greater straits to satisfy his curiosity.”
“I agree, Strock; and the mysteries of the Great Eyrie, the
transformations of the “Terror,” you have discovered them! But
unfortunately, the still greater secrets of this Master of the World
have perished with him.”
The same evening the newspapers published an account of my adventures,
the truthfulness of which could not be doubted. Then, as Mr. Ward had
prophesied, I was the man of the hour.
One of the papers said, “Thanks to Inspector Strock the American police
still lead the world. While others have accomplished their work, with
more or less success, by land and by sea, the American police hurl
themselves in pursuit of criminals through the depths of lakes and
oceans and even through the sky.”
Yet, in following, as I have told, in pursuit of the “Terror,” had I
done anything more than by the close of the present century will have
become the regular duty of my successors?
It is easy to imagine what a welcome my old housekeeper gave me when I
entered my house in Long Street. When my apparition—does not the word
seem just—stood before her, I feared for a moment she would drop dead,
poor woman! Then, after hearing my story, with eyes streaming with
tears, she thanked Providence for having saved me from so many perils.
“Now, sir,” said she, “now—was I wrong?”
“Wrong? About what?”
“In saying that the Great Eyrie was the home of the devil?”
“Nonsense; this Robur was not the devil!”
“Ah, well!” replied the old woman, “he was worthy of being so!”