ONLY A FEW MORE HOURS.
What effect this news has upon me, and what emotion it awakens within
my soul! The end, I feel, is at hand. May it be such as civilization
and humanity are entitled to.
Up to the present I have indited my notes day by day. Henceforward
it is imperative that I should inscribe them hour by hour, minute by
minute. Who knows but what Thomas Roch's last secret may be revealed
to me and that I shall have time to commit it to paper! Should I die
during the attack God grant that the account of the five months I have
passed in Back Cup may be found upon my body!
At first Ker Karraje, Engineer Serko, Captain Spade, and several of
their companions took up position on the exterior base of the island.
What would I not give to be able follow to them, and in the friendly
shelter of a rook watch the on-coming warships!
An hour later they return after having left a score of men to keep
watch. As the days at this season of the year are very short there is
nothing to fear before the morrow. It is not likely that the ships
will attempt a night attack and land a storming party, for they must
imagine that the place is in a thorough condition of defence.
All night long the pirates work, installing the trestles at different
points of the coast. Six have been taken through the passage to places
selected in advance.
This done, Engineer Serko joins Thomas Roch in his laboratory. Is he
going to tell him what is passing, that a squadron is in view of Back
Cup, and that his fulgurator will be employed to defend the island?
What is certain is that half a hundred engines, each charged with
several pounds of the explosive and of the substance that ensures a
trajectory superior to that of any other projectile, are ready for
their work of destruction.
As to the deflagrator liquid, Thomas Roch has a certain number of
phials of it, and--I know only too well--will not refuse to help Ker
Karraje's pirates with it.
During these preparations night has come on. Only the lamps of the
Beehive are lighted and a semi-obscurity reigns in the cavern.
I return to my cell. It is to my interest to keep out of the way as
much as possible, for Engineer Serko's suspicions might be revived now
that the squadron is approaching Back Cup.
But will the vessels sighted continue on their course in this
direction? May they not be merely passing on their way to Bermuda? For
an instant this doubt enters my mind. No, no, it cannot be! Besides, I
have just heard Captain Spade declare that they are lying to in view
of the island.
To what nation do they belong? Have the English, desirous of avenging
the destruction of the _Sword_, alone undertaken the expedition? May
not cruisers of other nations be with them? I know not, and it is
impossible to ascertain. And what does it matter, after all, so long
as this haunt is destroyed, even though I should perish in the ruins
like the heroic Lieutenant Davon and his brave crew?
Preparations for defence continue with coolness and method under
Engineer Serko's superintendence. These pirates are obviously certain
that they will be able to annihilate their assailants as soon as the
latter enter the dangerous zone. Their confidence in Roch's fulgurator
is absolute. Absorbed by the idea that these warship are powerless
against them, they think neither of the difficulties nor menaces held
out by the future.
I surmise that the trestles have been set up on the northwest coast
with the grooves turned to send the engines to the north, west, and
south. On the east, as already stated, the island is defended by the
chain of reefs that stretches away to the Bermudas.
About nine o'clock I venture out of my cell. They will pay little
attention to me, and perhaps I may escape notice in the obscurity. Ah!
if I could get through that passage and hide behind some rock, so that
I could witness what goes on at daybreak! And why should I not succeed
now that Ker Karraje, Engineer Serko, Captain Spade, and the pirates
have taken their posts outside?
The shores of the lake are deserted, but the entrance to the passage
is kept by Count d'Artigas' Malay. I saunter, without any fixed idea,
towards Thomas Roch's laboratory. This reminds me of my compatriot. I
am, on reflection, disposed to think that he knows nothing about the
presence of a squadron off Back Cup. Probably not until the last
moment will Engineer Serko apprise him of its proximity, not till he
brusquely points out to him the vengeance he can accomplish.
Then I conceive the idea of enlightening Thomas Roch, myself, of the
responsibility he is incurring and of revealing to him in this supreme
hour the character of the men who want him to co-operate in their
criminal projects.
Yes, I will, attempt it, and may I succeed in fanning into a flame any
spark of patriotism that may still linger in his rebellious soul!
Roch is shut up in his laboratory. He must be alone, for never does he
allow any one to enter while he is preparing his deflagrator.
As I pass the jetty I notice that the tug is moored in its accustomed
place. Here I judge it prudent to walk behind the first row of pillars
and approach the laboratory laterally--which will enable me to see
whether anybody is with him. When I have gone a short distance along
the sombre avenue I see a bright light on the opposite side of the
lagoon. It is the electric light in Roch's laboratory as seen through
a narrow window in the front.
Except in that particular spot, the southern shore of the lake is in
darkness, whereas, in the opposite direction, the Beehive is lit up to
its extremity at the northern wall. Through the opening in the dome,
over the lake I can see the stars shining. The sky is clear, the
tempest has abated, and the squalls no longer penetrate to the
interior of Back Cup.
When near the laboratory, I creep along the wall and peep in at the
window.
Thomas Roch is there alone. The light shines full on his face. If it
is somewhat drawn, and the lines on the forehead are more
pronounced, his physiognomy, at least, denotes perfect calmness and
self-possession. No, he is no longer the inmate of Pavilion No. 17,
the madman of Healthful House, and I ask myself whether he is not
radically cured, whether there is no further danger of his reason
collapsing in a final paroxysm.
He has just laid two glass phials upon the table, and holds a third in
his hand. He holds it up to the light, and observes the limpidity of
the liquid it contains.
I have half a mind to rush in, seize the tubes and smash them, but I
reflect that he would have time to make some more of the stuff. Better
stick to my first plan.
I push the door open and enter.
"Thomas Roch!" I exclaim.
He has not heard, nor has he seen me.
"Thomas Roch!" I repeat.
He raises his head, turns and gazes at me.
"Ah! it is you, Simon Hart!" he replies calmly, even indifferently.
He knows my name. Engineer Serko must have informed him that it
was Simon Hart, and not Keeper Gaydon who was watching over him at
Healthful House.
"You know who I am?" I say.
"Yes, as I know what your object was in undertaking such a position.
You lived in hopes of surprising a secret that they would not pay for
at its just value!"
Thomas Roch knows everything, and perhaps it is just as well, in view
of what I am going to say.
"Well, you did not succeed, Simon Hart, and as far as this is
concerned," he added, flourishing the phial, "no one else has
succeeded, or ever will succeed."
As I conjectured, he has not, then, made known the composition of his
deflagrator.
Looking him straight in the face, I reply:
"You know who I am, Thomas Roch, but do you know in whose place you
are?"
"In my own place!" he cries.
That is what Ker Karraje has permitted him to believe. The inventor
thinks he is at home in Back Cup, that the riches accumulated in this
cavern are his, and that if an attack is made upon the place, it will
be with the object of stealing what belongs to him! And he will defend
it under the impression that he has the right to do so!
"Thomas Roch," I continue, "listen to me."
"What do you want to say to me, Simon Hart?"
"This cavern into which we have been dragged, is occupied by a band of
pirates, and--"
Roch does not give me time to complete the sentence--I doubt even
whether he has understood me.
"I repeat," he interrupts vehemently, "that the treasures stored here
are the price of my invention. They have paid me what I asked for
my fulgurator--what I was everywhere else refused--even in my own
country--which is also yours--and I will not allow myself to be
despoiled!"
What can I reply to such insensate assertions? I, however, go on:
"Thomas Roch, do you remember Healthful House?"
"Healthful House, where I was sequestrated after Warder Gaydon had
been entrusted with the mission of spying upon me in order to rob me
of my secret? I do, indeed."
"I never dreamed of depriving you of the benefit of your secret,
Thomas Roch. I would never have accepted such a mission. But you were
ill, your reason was affected, and your invention was too valuable to
be lost. Yes, had you disclosed the secret during one of your fits you
would have preserved all the benefit and all the honor of it."
"Really, Simon Hart!" Roch replies disdainfully. "Honor and benefit!
Your assurances come somewhat late in the day. You forget that on
the pretext of insanity, I was thrown into a dungeon. Yes, it was a
pretext; for my reason has never left me, even for an hour, as you can
see from what I have accomplished since I am free."
"Free! Do you imagine you are free, Thomas Roch? Are you not more
closely confined within the walls of this cavern than you ever were at
Healthful House?"
"A man who is in his own home," he replies angrily, "goes out as he
likes and when he likes. I have only to say the word and all the doors
will open before me. This place is mine. Count d'Artigas gave it to me
with everything it contains. Woe to those who attempt to attack it.
I have here the wherewithal to annihilate them, Simon Hart!" The
inventor waves the phial feverishly as he speaks."
"The Count d'Artigas has deceived you," I cry, "as he has deceived so
many others. Under this name is dissembled one of the most formidable
monsters who ever scoured the Pacific and Atlantic oceans. He is a
bandit steeped in crime--he is the odious Ker Karraje!"
"Ker Karraje!" echoes Thomas Roch.
And I wonder if this name has not impressed him, if he remembers
who the man is who bears it. If it did impress him, it was only
momentarily.
"I do not know this Ker Karraje," he says, pointing towards the door
to order me out. "I only know the Count d'Artigas."
"Thomas Roch," I persist, in a final effort, "the Count d'Artigas and
Ker Karraje are one and the same person. If this man has purchased
your secret, it is with the intention of ensuring impunity for his
crimes and facilities for committing fresh ones. He is the chief of
these pirates."
"Pirates!" cries Roch, whose irritation increases the more I press
him. "The real pirates are those who dare to menace me even in this
retreat, who tried it on with the _Sword_--for Serko has told me
everything--who sought to steal in my own home what belongs to me,
what is but the just price of my discovery."
"No, Thomas Roch, the pirates are those who have imprisoned you in
this cavern of Back Cup, who will utilize your genius to defend it,
and who will get rid of you when they are in entire possession of your
secrets!"
Thomas Roch here interrupts me. He does not appear to listen to what I
say. He has a fixed idea, that of vengeance, which has been skilfully
worked upon by Engineer Serko, and in which his hatred is concentrated
to the exclusion of everything else.
"The bandits," he hisses, "are those who spurned me without a hearing,
who heaped injustice and ignominy upon me, who drove me from country
to country, whereas I offered them superiority, invincibleness,
omnipotence!"
It is the eternal story of the unappreciated inventor, to whom the
indifferent or envious refuse the means of testing his inventions, to
pay him the value he sets upon them. I know it well--and also know all
the exaggeration that has been written upon this subject.
It is clearly no time for reasoning with Thomas Roch. My arguments
are entirely lost upon the hapless dupe of Ker Karraje and his
accomplices. In revealing to him the real name of the Count d'Artigas,
and denouncing to him this band and their chief I had hoped to wean
him from their influence and make him realize the criminal end they
have in view. My hope was vain. He does not believe me. And then what
does he care whether the brigand's name is Count 'd'Artigas or Ker
Karraje? Is not he, Thomas Roch, master of Back Cup? Is he not the
owner of these riches accumulated by twenty years of murder and
rapine?
Disarmed before such moral degeneracy, knowing not how I can touch
his ulcerated, irresponsible heart, I turn towards the door. It only
remains for me to withdraw. What is to be, will be, since it is out of
my power to prevent the frightful _dénouement_ that will occur in a
few hours.
Thomas Roch takes no more notice of me. He seems to have forgotten
that I am here. He has resumed his manipulations without realizing
that he is not alone.
There is only one means of preventing the imminent catastrophe. Throw
myself upon Roch, place him beyond the power of doing harm--strike
him--kill him--yes, kill him! It is my right--it is my duty!
I have no arms, but on a near-by shelf I see some tools--a chisel and
a hammer. What is to prevent me from knocking his brains out? Once he
is dead I have but to smash the phials and his invention dies with
him. The warships can approach, land their men upon the island,
demolish Back Cup with their shells. Ker Karraje and his band will be
killed to a man. Can I hesitate at a murder that will bring about the
chastisement of so many crimes?
I advance to the shelf and stretch forth my hand to seize the chisel.
As I do so, Thomas Roch turns round.
It is too late to strike. A struggle would ensue. The noise and his
cries would be heard, for there are still some pirates not far off, I
can even now hear some one approaching, and have only just time to fly
if I would not be seen.
Nevertheless, I make one last attempt to awaken the sentiment of
patriotism within him.
"Thomas Roch," I say, "warships are in sight. They have come to
destroy this lair. Maybe one of them flies the French flag!"
He gazes at me. He was not aware that Back Cup is going to be
attacked, and I have just apprised him of the fact. His brow darkens
and his eyes flash.
"Thomas Roch, would you dare to fire upon your country's flag--the
tricolor flag?"
He raises his head, shakes it nervously, and with a disdainful
gesture:
"What do you mean by 'your country?' I no longer have any country,
Simon Hart. The inventor spurned no longer has a country. Where he
finds an asylum, there is his fatherland! They seek to take what is
mine. I will defend it, and woe, woe to those who dare to attack me!"
Then rushing to the door of the laboratory and throwing it violently
open he shouts so loudly that he must be heard at the Beehive:
"Go! Get you gone!"
I have not a second to lose, and I dash out.