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ROUND THE WORLD IN SEVEN DAYS
by
HERBERT STRANG
Illustrated by A. C. Michael
1910
CONTENTS
CHAPTER.
PRELUDE
I THE CABLEGRAM
II EASTWARD HO!
III ACROSS EUROPE TO THE BOSPHORUS
IV A FLYING VISIT
V THE TOMB OF UR-GUR
VI WITH GUN RUNNERS IN THE GULF
VII THE WHITE DJINN
VIII A SHIP ON FIRE
IX A PASSENGER FOR PENANG
INTERLUDE
X SOME PRAUS AND A JUNK
XI AUSTRALIAN HOSPITALITY
XII STALKED BY PIGMIES
XIII THE RESCUE
XIV SIR MATTHEW IMPROVES THE OCCASION
XV HERR SCHWANKMACHER'S CABBAGES
XVI A STOP-PRESS MESSAGE
XVII A MIDNIGHT VIGIL
XVIII THE LAST LAP
POSTSCRIPT
PRELUDE
Lieutenant George Underhill, commanding H.M. surveying ship
_Albatross_, had an unpleasant shock when he turned out of his
bunk at daybreak one morning. The barometer stood at 29.41'. For two
or three days the vessel had encountered dirty weather, but there had
been signs of improvement when he turned in, and it was decidedly
disconcerting to find that the glass had fallen. His vessel was a
small one, and he was a little uneasy at the prospect of being caught
by a cyclone while in the imperfectly-charted waters of the Solomon
Islands.
He was approaching the eastern shore of Ysabel Island, whose steep
cliffs were covered with a lurid bank of cloud. If the shore was like
those of the other islands of the group, it would be, he knew, a maze
of bays, islets, barrier reefs, and intricate channels amid which,
even in calm weather, a vessel would run a considerable risk of
grounding, a risk that would be multiplied in a storm. Anxiously
noting the weather signs, Underhill hoped that he might reach a safe
anchorage before the threatening cyclone burst upon him.
As is the way with cyclones, it smote the vessel almost without
warning. A howling squall tore out of the east, catching the ship
nearly abeam, and making her shudder; then, after a brief lull, came
another and even a fiercer blast, and in a few minutes the wind
increased to a roaring hurricane, enveloping the ship in a mist of
driving rain that half choked the officers and crew as they crouched
under the lee of the bulwarks and the deckhouse.
The _Albatross_ was a gallant little vessel, and Underhill,
now that what he dreaded had happened, hoped at least to keep her off
the shore until the fury of the storm had abated. For a time she
thrashed her way doggedly through the boiling sea; but all at once
she staggered, heeled over, and then, refusing to answer the helm,
began to rush headlong upon the rocks, now visible through the mist.
"Propeller shaft broken, sir," came the cry from below to Underhill as
he stood clinging to the rail of the bridge.
He felt his utter helplessness. He could not even let go an anchor,
for no one could stand on deck against the force of the wind. He could
only cling to his place and see the vessel driven ashore, without
being able to lift a hand to save her. Suddenly he was conscious of a
grating, grinding sensation beneath his feet, and knew that the vessel
had struck a coral reef. She swung round broadside to the wind; the
boats on the weather side were wrenched from their davits and hurled
away in splinters; and in the midst of such fury and turmoil there was
no possibility of launching the remaining two boats and escaping from
the doomed vessel.
All hands had rushed on deck, and clung to rails and stays and
whatever else afforded a hold. Among those who staggered from the
companion way was a tall thin man, spectacled, with iron-grey hair and
beard, and somewhat rounded shoulders. Linking arms with him was a
young man of twenty-two or twenty-three: the likeness between them
proclaimed them father and son. The older man was Dr. Thesiger Smith,
the famous geologist, in furtherance of whose work the _Albatross_ was
making this voyage. The younger man was his second son Tom, who, after
a distinguished career at Cambridge, had come out to act as his
father's assistant.
Underhill knew by the jerking and grinding he felt beneath him that
his ill-fated vessel was being slowly forced over the reef towards the
shore. His first lieutenant, Venables, crawled up to the bridge, and,
bawling into his ear, asked if anything could be done. The lieutenant
shook his head.
"Water's within two feet of the upper deck forward, sir," shouted
Venables; "abaft it is three feet above the keelson."
"Get the lifebuoys," was the brief reply.
Venables crawled down again, and with the assistance of some of the
crew unlashed the lifebuoys and distributed them among the company.
Meanwhile the progress of the vessel shorewards had been suddenly
checked. She came up with a jerk, and Underhill guessed that her nose
had stuck fast in a hollow of the reef, and prayed that the storm
would abate for just so long as would enable him to get the boats
clear and make for the land before the ship broke up. But for a good
half-hour longer the hurricane blew with undiminished force, and it
was as much as every man could do to avoid being washed away by the
mountainous seas that broke over the vessel.
At length, however, there came a sudden change. The uproar ceased as
by magic, and there fell a dead calm. Underhill was not deceived. He
judged that the vessel was now in the centre of the cyclone; the calm
might last for forty or fifty minutes, then a renewal of the hurricane
was almost certainly to be expected. Without the loss of a moment he
gave his orders. The boats were made ready; into one they put arms,
ammunition, and tools, together with the ship's papers and
chronometer, a compass, and Dr. Thesiger Smith's specimens and
diaries; into the other more ammunition, and a portion of what
provisions could be collected from above or below water. The boats
were lowered, the men dropped into them and pulled off, leaving
Underhill and two or three of the crew still on the vessel to collect
the remainder of the provisions and whatever else seemed worth saving.
The sea was so high that the boats had much difficulty in making the
shore; but they reached it safely, and one of them, after being
rapidly unloaded, returned for the commander.
Before it regained the ship, Underhill felt a light puff of wind from
the south-west. Lifting a megaphone, he roared to the men to pull for
their lives. The boat came alongside; it had scarcely received its
load when the hurricane once more burst upon them, this time from the
opposite quarter. Underhill leapt down among his men, and ordered them
to give way. Before they had pulled a dozen strokes the storm was at
its height, but the force of the wind was now somewhat broken by the
trees and rocks of the island. Even so it was hard work, rowing in the
teeth of the blast, the boat being every moment in danger of swamping
by the tremendous seas. Underhill, at the tiller, set his teeth, and
anxiously watched the advancing cliffs, at the foot of which the
remainder of his company stood. The boat was within twenty yards of
them when a huge wave fell on it as it were out of the sky. It sank
like lead. Thanks to the lifebuoys Underhill and the men rose quickly
to the surface. Two of them, who could not swim, cried out
despairingly for help. Underhill seized one and held him up; the other
was saved by the promptitude of young Smith. Seeing their plight, he
caught up a rope which had been brought ashore, and flung it among the
group of men struggling in the water. The drowning man clutched it,
the others swam to it, and by its aid all were drawn ashore, gasping
for breath, and sorely battered by the jagged rocks.
"All safe, thank heaven!" said Underhill, as he joined the others;
"but I'm sorry we've lost the boat."
The shipwrecked party found themselves on a narrow beach, behind which
rose steep cliffs, rugged and difficult to climb. Against these they
crouched to find some shelter from the storm, and watch the gradual
dismemberment of the ill-fated _Albatross_. Wave after wave broke over
her, the spray dashing so high that even her funnel sometimes
disappeared from view. The spectators held their breath: could she
live out the storm? At last a tremendous sea swept her from the hollow
in which she was wedged, and she plunged beneath the waters.
CHAPTER I
THE CABLEGRAM
"Tenez! up! up! Ah ça! A clean shave, mister, hein?"
A touch on the lever had sent the aeroplane soaring aloft at a steep
angle, and she cleared by little more than a hair's breadth the edge
of a thick plantation of firs.
"A close shave, as you say, Roddy," came the answer. And then the
speaker let forth a gust of wrathful language which his companion
heard in sympathetic silence.
Lieutenant Charles Thesiger Smith, of H.M.S. _Imperturbable_, was
normally a good-tempered fellow, and his outburst would have deceived
nobody who knew him so well as Laurent Rodier.
It was the dusk of an evening in mid spring. Above, the sky was clear,
washed by the rain that had fallen without intermission since early
morning. Below, the chill of coming night, acting on the
moisture-laden air, had covered the land with a white mist, that
curled and heaved beneath the aeroplane in huge waves. It looked like
a billowy sea of cotton-wool, but the airmen who had just emerged from
it, had no comfort in its soft embrace. Their eyes were smarting, they
drew their breath painfully, and little streams of water trickling
from the soaked planes made cold, shuddering streaks on their faces
and necks.
An hour ago they had sailed by Salisbury spire, calculating that a few
minutes' run, at two or three miles a minute, would bring them to
their destination on the outskirts of Portsmouth. But a few miles
south the baffling mist had made its appearance, and Smith found
himself bereft of landmarks, and compelled to tack to and fro in utter
uncertainty of his course. He was as much at a loss as if he were
navigating a vessel in a sea-fog. To sail through the mist was to
incur the risk of striking a tree, a chimney, or a church steeple; to
pursue his flight above it in the deepening dusk might carry him miles
out of his way, and though a southerly course must presently bring him
to the sea, he could not tell how far east or west of his intended
landing-place. Meanwhile the petrol was running short, and it was
clear that before long his dilemma would be solved by the engine
stopping, and bringing him to the ground willy-nilly, goodness knows
where.
This was vexing enough, but in the particular circumstances it was a
crowning stroke of misfortune. To-day was the twenty-first of his
twenty-eight days' leave: to-morrow he was to begin a round of what he
called duty visits among his relatives; he would have to motor, play
golf, dance attendance on girls at theatres and concerts, and spur
himself to a thousand activities that he detested. There was no escape
for him. Perhaps he could have faced this seven days' penance more
equably if he had had the recollection of three well-employed weeks to
sweeten it. Even this was denied him. Ever since he came on leave the
weather had been abominable: high wind, incessant rain, all the
elements conspiring to prevent the enjoyment of his hobby. Rodier had
suggested that he should apply for an extension of leave, but Smith,
though he did not lack courage, could not screw it to this pitch. He
remembered too vividly his interview with the captain when coming off
ship.
"Don't smash yourself up," said the captain, "and don't run things too
fine. You're always late in getting back from leave. Last time you
only got in by the skin of your teeth, when we were off shooting, too.
If you overstep the mark again you'll find yourself brought up with a
round turn, you may take my word for it."
"I couldn't beg off after that," he said to Rodier. "Anyway, it's
rotten bad luck."
"Précisément ca!" said Rodier sympathetically.
For some little time they sailed slowly on, seeking in vain for a rift
in the blanket of mist: then Rodier cried suddenly--
"Better take a drop, mister. In three minutes all the petrol is gone,
and then--"
"I'm afraid you're right, Roddy, but goodness knows what we shall fall
on. We must take our chance, I suppose."
He adjusted the planes, so as to make a gradual descent while the
engine still enabled him to keep way on the machine, and it sank into
the mist. Both men kept a sharp look-out, knowing well that to
encounter a branch of a tree or a chimney-stack might at any moment
bring the voyage, the aeroplane, and themselves to an untimely end.
All at once, without warning, a large dark shape loomed out of the
mist. Smith instantly warped his planes, and the machine dived so
precipitately as almost to throw him from his seat. Next moment there
was a shock; he was flung headlong forward, and found himself
sprawling half suffocated on a damp yielding mass, which, when he had
recovered his wits, he knew to be the unthatched top of a hayrick.
His first thought was for the aeroplane. Raising himself, and dashing
the clinging hay wisps from his face, he shouted--
"Is she smashed, Roddy?"
"Ah, no, mister," came the answering cry. "She stick fast, and me
also."
Smith crawled to the edge of the rick and dropped to the ground. Two
or three dogs were barking furiously somewhere in the neighbourhood. A
few steps brought him to the aeroplane, lying in a slanting position
between the hayrick and a fence, over which it projected. Rodier had
clung to his seat, and had suffered nothing worse than a jolting.
"This is a pretty mess," said Smith despairingly, "one end stuck fast
in the hayrick, the other sticking over the fence: they'll have to
pull it down before we can get her out. Get off, you brute!" he
exclaimed, as a dog came yapping at his legs.
"Seize him, Pompey: seize him, good dog!" cried a rough voice.
"Call him off, or I'll break his head," cried Smith in exasperation.
"You will, will you?" roared the farmer. "I'll teach you to come
breaking into my yard: I'll have the law of you."
"Don't be absurd, man," replied Smith, fending off the dog as well as
he could. "Don't you see I've had an accident?"
"Accident be jiggered!" said the farmer. "You don't come breaking into
my yard by accident. Better stand quiet or he'll tear you to bits."
"Oh, come now!" said Smith. "Look at this. Here's my aeroplane, fixed
up here. You don't suppose I came down here on purpose? I lost my way
in this confounded mist, and don't know where I am. Just be sensible,
there's a decent chap, and get some of your men to help us out. I'll
pay damages."
"I'll take care of that," said the farmer curtly. "What the country's
coming to I don't know, what with motors killing us on the roads and
now these here airyplanes making the very air above us poison to
breathe. There ought to be a law to stop it, that's what _I_ say.
Down, Pompey! What's your name, mister?"
Smith explained, asking in his turn the name of the place where he had
alighted. Farmer Barton was a good patriot, and the knowledge that the
intruder was a navy-man sensibly moderated his truculence.
"Why, this be Firtop Farm, half-a-mile from Mottisfont station, if you
know where that is," he said. "Daze me if you hain't been and cut into
my hayrick!" He sniffed. "And what's this horrible smell? I do believe
you've spoilt the whole lot with your stinking oil." He was getting
angry again.
"Well, I've said I'll pay for it," said Smith impatiently. "Get your
men, farmer, or I shan't be home to-night. I suppose I can get some
petrol somewhere about here?"
"You might, or you might not, in the village; I can't say. My men are
abed and asleep, long ago. You'll have to bide till morning."
"Oh well, if I must, I must. Roddy, just have a look at the machine
and see that she's safe for the night. I'll run down to the station
and send a wire home, and then get beds in the village."
"Better be sharp, then," said the farmer. "You can't send no wire
after eight, and it's pretty near that now. I'll show you the way."
Smith hurried to the station and despatched his telegram; then,
learning that there was a train due at 8.2 from Andover, he decided to
wait a few minutes and get an evening paper. An aviation meeting had
just been held at Tours, and he was anxious to see how the English
competitors had fared. The train was only a few minutes late. Smith
asked the guard whether he had brought any papers, and to his vexation
learnt that, there being no bookstall at Mottisfont, there were none
for that station. However, the guard himself had bought a paper before
leaving Waterloo.
"Take it and welcome, sir," he said. "I've done with it. You're
Lieutenant Smith, if I'm not mistaken. Seen your portrait in the
papers,' sir."
"Thanks, guard," said Smith, pressing a coin into his reluctant hand.
"Englishmen doing well in France, sir. Hope to see you a prize-winner
one of these days. Goodnight!"
The train rumbled off, and Smith scanned the columns by the light of a
platform lamp. He read the report of the meeting in which he was
interested: a Frenchman had made a new record in altitude; an
Englishman had won a fine race, coming in first of ten competitors; a
terrible accident had befallen a well-known airman at the moment of
descending. The most interesting piece of news was that a Frenchman
had maintained for three hours an average speed of a hundred and
twenty miles.
"I'm only just in time," said Smith to himself. He was folding the
paper when his eye was caught by a heading that recalled the days of
his boyhood, when he had revelled in stories of savages, pirates, and
the hundred and one themes that fascinate the ingenuous mind.
SHIPWRECKED AMONG CANNIBALS.
TERRIBLE SITUATION OF FAMOUS SCIENTIST.
(From Our Own Correspondent.)
BRISBANE, Thursday.
A barque put in here to-day with four men picked up from an
open boat south of New Guinea, who reported that the
Government survey vessel Albatross has run ashore in a
storm on Ysabel Island, one of the Solomon group. The crew
and passengers, including Dr. Thesiger Smith, the famous
geologist, were saved, but the vessel is a complete wreck,
and the unfortunate people were compelled to camp on the
shore. They are very short of provisions, and being
practically unarmed are in great danger of being massacred
by the natives, who are believed to be one of the fiercest
cannibal tribes in the South Sea.
Four of the crew put off in the ship's boat to seek
assistance, but they lost their mast and had to rely on the
oars, and drifted for several days before being picked up
in the Coral Sea. A gunboat will be despatched immediately,
but since it cannot reach the island for at least five
days, it is greatly to be feared that it will arrive only
to find that help has come too late.
Smith ran his eyes rapidly over the lines, then folded the paper, and
put it into his pocket. He did not notice that his hand was trembling.
The station-master looked curiously after him as he strode away with
set face.
"Seems to have had bad news," he said to his head porter.
"Bin plungin' on a wrong un, maybe," replied the porter.
Smith left the station, and hastened down the road towards the farm.
He had clean forgotten his intention of bespeaking beds in the
village; indeed, he walked as one insensible to all around him until
he caught sight of the word GARAGE, painted in large white letters,
illuminated by an electric lamp, over a gateway at the side of the
road. Then he swung round and, passing through the gate, came to a
lighted shed where he found a man cleaning a motor car.
"Any petrol to be got here?" he asked quickly.
"As much as we're allowed to keep, sir," replied the man.
"Send a can at once to Firtop Farm, down the road."
He turned, and was quitting the shed when a word from the man recalled
him.
"Beg pardon, sir, but--"
"Oh, here's your money," cried Smith, handing him a crown-piece. "Be
quick. By the way, can you lend me two or three men for half-an-hour
or so at five shillings an hour?"
"Right you are, sir," was the reply. "I'm one; I'll get you a couple
more in no time. Be there as soon as you, sir."
Smith hurried away. On reaching the farm he found that Rodier and the
farmer were engaged in a friendly conversation, by the light of a
carriage lamp which flickered wanly in the mist.
"Wonderful machine, sir," said the farmer, whom Rodier had talked out
of his ill-humour. "Your man has been showing me over it, as you may
say, leastways as well as he could in this fog."
"We must get her out at once," rejoined Smith. "Some men are coming
up. We must get on to-night."
"Good sakes! that's impossible. She lies right athwart the fence, and
you'll have to rig a crane to lift her."
"The fence must come down. I'll pay."
"But drat it all--"
"Look here, farmer, it's got to be done. Here are the men; just oblige
me by showing them a light at the fence, and set them to take down
enough of it to free the aeroplane--carefully; I don't want it
smashed. There's a sovereign on account; you shall have a cheque for
the rest when you send in the bill."
Apparently the magic touch of gold reconciled the farmer to these
hasty proceedings, for he made no more ado, but took the lamp and bade
the three men to follow him.
"What's wrong, mister?" asked Rodier. "You look as if you had been
shocked."
Smith drew the paper from his pocket, gave it to Rodier, and then,
striking a match, showed him the paragraph, and lighted more matches
while he read it.
"Mon dieu!" ejaculated the Frenchman, when he was halfway through. "It
is your father!"
"Yes; my brother is with him. I must get home; it will kill my mother
if she sees this."
Rodier read the paragraph to the end.
"My word, it is bad business," he said. "These cannibals!... And they
have no arms. What horror!"
Smith left him abruptly and walked to the fence to see how the work of
dismantling it was proceeding. Rodier whistled, and thrusting his
hands into his pockets, sat down on a bag of straw and appeared to be
deep in a brown study. Sounds of hammering came from the fence; a
light breeze was scattering the mist, and he could now see clearly the
three men under the farmer's direction carefully removing the fencing
beneath the aeroplane. Rodier watched them for a few minutes, but an
onlooker would have gathered the impression that his thoughts were far
away.
Suddenly he sprang up, muttering, "Ah! On peut le faire, quand même.
Courage, mon ami!" and hastened to rejoin his employer.
"What distance, mister," he said, "from here to there--to the
cannibals?"
"Thirteen thousand miles, I suppose, more or less."
"Ah!" the Frenchman's face fell. "Thirteen thousand!" he repeated,
then was silent for a while, touching his brow as if making some
abstruse calculation. Smith turned away.
"Ah! Qu'importe?" cried Rodier, after a few moments. "On peut le
faire!"
He hastened to Smith, drew him aside, and spoke rapidly to him for a
few moments. The look of doubt that first came to Smith's face was
soon replaced by a look of confidence. He engaged in a hurried
colloquy with his man, at the close of which they shook hands heartily
and went to the fence to lend a hand there.
In half-an-hour the work was done; the fence was down, and the six men
carefully dragged and lifted the aeroplane over the débris, and placed
it on the road outside. While Rodier made a rapid examination of it,
to see that no damage had been done, Smith got the men to empty into
the tank the can of petrol they had brought, paid them for their
work, and handed his card to the farmer.
"Send in your bill," he cried. "Ready, Roddy?"
"All right, mister."
They jumped into their seats. Smith called to the men to stand clear,
and pulled the lever. At the same moment Rodier switched on the
searchlight. The propellers flew round with deafening whirr; the
aeroplane shot forward for thirty or forty yards along the road, then
rose like a bird into the air.
The men stood with mouths agape as the machine flew over the
tree-tops, its light diminishing to a pin-point, its clamour sinking
to the quiet hum of a bee, and then fading away altogether. In a
minute it had totally disappeared.
"Daze me if ever I seed anything like that afore," said the farmer. "A
mile a minute, what?"
"More like two," said the motorman. "I lay she'll be in Portsmouth
afore I'm half-a-mile up road. Good-night, farmer, I'm off to the
Three Waggoners."
"Bust if I don't go, too. There be summat to wet our whistles on
to-night, eh, men?"