Authors: Robur the Conqueror
The wind had died away completely and this was a favorable
circumstance for the maneuver he desired to execute. At least, if she
did not remain stationary the "Albatross" would be carried he knew
not where.
A cable one hundred and fifty feet long with an anchor at the end was
dropped overboard. When the aeronef reached the shore of the island
the anchor dragged up the first few rocks and then got firmly fixed
between two large blocks. The cable then stretched to full length
under the influence of the suspensory screws, and the "Albatross"
remained motionless, riding like a ship in a roadstead.
It was the first time she had been fastened to the earth since she
left Philadelphia.
When the "Albatross" was high in the air the island could be seen to
be of moderate size. But on what parallel was it situated? What
meridian ran through it? Was it an island in the Pacific, in
Australasia, or in the Indian Ocean? When the sun appeared, and Robur
had taken his observations, they would know; but although they could
not trust to the indications of the compass there was reason to think
they were in the Pacific.
At this height—one hundred and fifty feet—the island which
measured about fifteen miles round, was like a three-pointed star in
the sea.
Off the southwest point was an islet and a range of rocks. On the
shore there were no tide-marks, and this tended to confirm Robur in
his opinion as to his position for the ebb and flow are almost
imperceptible in the Pacific.
At the northwest point there was a conical mountain about two hundred
feet high.
No natives were to be seen, but they might be on the opposite coast.
In any case, if they had perceived the aeronef, terror had made them
either hide themselves or run away. The "Albatross" had anchored on
the southwest point of the island. Not far off, down a little creek,
a small river flowed in among the rocks. Beyond were several winding
valleys; trees of different kinds; and birds—partridges and
bustards—in great numbers. If the island was not inhabited it was
habitable. Robur might surely have landed on it; if he had not done
so it was probably because the ground was uneven and did not offer a
convenient spot to beach the aeronef.
While he was waiting for the sun the engineer began the repairs he
reckoned on completing before the day was over. The suspensory screws
were undamaged and had worked admirably amid all the violence of the
storm, which, as we have said, had considerably lightened their work.
At this moment half of them were in action, enough to keep the
"Albatross" fixed to the shore by the taut cable. But the two
propellers had suffered, and more than Robur had thought. Their
blades would have to be adjusted and the gearing seen to by which
they received their rotatory movement.
It was the screw at the bow which was first attacked under Robur's
superintendence. It was the best to commence with, in case the
"Albatross" had to leave before the work was finished. With only this
propeller he could easily keep a proper course.
Meanwhile Uncle Prudent and his colleague, after walking about the
deck, had sat down aft. Frycollin was strangely reassured. What a
difference! To be suspended only one hundred and fifty feet from the
ground!
The work was only interrupted for a moment while the elevation of the
sun above the horizon allowed Robur to take an horary angle, so that
at the time of its culmination he could calculate his position.
The result of the observation, taken with the greatest exactitude,
was as follows:
Longitude, 176° 10' west.
Latitude, 44° 25' south.
This point on the map answered to the position of the Chatham
Islands, and particularly of Pitt Island, one of the group.
"That is nearer than I supposed," said Robur to Tom Turner.
"How far off are we?"
"Forty-six degrees south of X Island, or two thousand eight hundred
miles."
"All the more reason to get our propellers into order," said the
mate. "We may have the wind against us this passage, and with the
little stores we have left we ought to get to X as soon as possible."
"Yes, Tom, and I hope to get under way tonight, even if I go with one
screw, and put the other to-rights on the voyage."
"Mr. Robur," said Tom "What is to be done with those two gentlemen
and their servant?"
"Do you think they would complain if they became colonists of X
Island?"
But where was this X? It was an island lost in the immensity of the
Pacific Ocean between the Equator and the Tropic of Cancer—an
island most appropriately named by Robur in this algebraic fashion.
It was in the north of the South Pacific, a long way out of the route
of inter-oceanic communication. There it was that Robur had founded
his little colony, and there the "Albatross" rested when tired with
her flight. There she was provisioned for all her voyages. In X
Island, Robur, a man of immense wealth, had established a shipyard in
which he built his aeronef. There he could repair it, and even
rebuild it. In his warehouses were materials and provisions of all
sorts stored for the fifty inhabitants who lived on the island.
When Robur had doubled Cape Horn a few days before his intention had
been to regain X Island by crossing the Pacific obliquely. But the
cyclone had seized the "Albatross," and the hurricane had carried her
away to the south. In fact, he had been brought back to much the same
latitude as before, and if his propellers had not been damaged the
delay would have been of no importance.
His object was therefore to get back to X Island, but as the mate had
said, the voyage would be a long one, and the winds would probably be
against them. The mechanical power of the "Albatross" was, however,
quite equal to taking her to her destination, and under ordinary
circumstances she would be there in three or four days.
Hence Robur's resolve to anchor on the Chatham Islands. There was
every opportunity for repairing at least the fore-screw. He had no
fear that if the wind were to rise he would be driven to the south
instead of to the north. When night came the repairs would be
finished, and he would have to maneuver so as to weigh anchor. If it
were too firmly fixed in the rocks he could cut the cable and resume
his flight towards the equator.
The crew of the "Albatross," knowing there was no time to lose, set
to work vigorously.
While they were busy in the bow of the aeronef, Uncle Prudent and
Phil Evans held a little conversation together which had
exceptionally important consequences.
"Phil Evans," said Uncle Prudent, "you have resolved, as I have, to
sacrifice your life?"
"Yes, like you."
"It is evident that we can expect nothing from Robur."
"Nothing."
"Well, Phil Evans, I have made up my mind. If the "Albatross" leaves
this place tonight, the night will not pass without our having
accomplished our task. We will smash the wings of this bird of
Robur's! This night I will blow it into the air!"
"The sooner the better," said Phil Evans.
It will be seen that the two colleagues were agreed on all points
even in accepting with indifference the frightful death in store for
them. "Have you all you want?" asked Evans.
"Yes. Last night, while Robur and his people had enough to do to look
after the safety of the ship, I slipped into the magazine and got
hold of a dynamite cartridge."
"Let us set to work, Uncle Prudent."
"No. Wait till tonight. When the night comes we will go into our
cabin, and you shall see something that will surprise you."
At six o'clock the colleagues dined together as usual. Two hours
afterwards they retired to their cabin like men who wished to make up
for a sleepless night.
Neither Robur nor any of his companions had a suspicion of the
catastrophe that threatened the "Albatross."
This was Uncle Prudent's plan. As he had said, he had stolen into the
magazine, and there had possessed himself of some powder and
cartridge like those used by Robur in Dahomey. Returning to his
cabin, he had carefully concealed the cartridge with which he had
resolved to blow up the "Albatross" in mid-air.
Phil Evans, screened by his companion, was now examining the infernal
machine, which was a metallic canister containing about two pounds of
dynamite, enough to shatter the aeronef to atoms. If the explosion
did not destroy her at once, it would do so in her fall. Nothing was
easier than to place this cartridge in a corner of the cabin, so that
it would blow in the deck and tear away the framework of the hull.
But to obtain the explosion it was necessary to adjust the
fulminating cap with which the cartridge was fitted. This was the
most delicate part of the operation, for the explosion would have to
be carefully timed, so as not to occur too soon or too late.
Uncle Prudent had carefully thought over the matter. His conclusions
were as follows. As soon as the fore propeller was repaired the
aeronef would resume her course to the north, and that done Robur and
his crew would probably come aft to put the other screw into order.
The presence of these people about the cabin might interfere with his
plans, and so he had resolved to make a slow match do duty as a
time-fuse.
"When I got the cartridge," said he to Phil Evans, "I took some
gunpowder as well. With the powder I will make a fuse that will take
some time to burn, and which will lead into the fulminate. My idea is
to light it about midnight, so that the explosion will take place
about three or four o'clock in the morning."
"Well planned!" said Phil Evans.
The colleagues, as we see, had arrived at such a stage as to look with
the greatest nonchalance on the awful destruction in which they were
about to perish. Their hatred against Robur and his people had so
increased that they would sacrifice their own lives to destroy the
"Albatross" and all she bore. The act was that of madmen, it was
horrible; but at such a pitch had they arrived after five weeks of
anger that could not vent itself, of rage that could not be gratified.
"And Frycollin?" asked Phil Evans, "have we the right to dispose of
his life?"
"We shall sacrifice ours as well!" said Uncle Prudent. But it is
doubtful if Frycollin would have thought the reason sufficient.
Immediately Uncle Prudent set to work, while Evans kept watch in the
neighborhood of the cabin. The crew were all at work forward. There
was no fear of being surprised. Uncle Prudent began by rubbing a
small quantity of the powder very fine; and then, having slightly
moistened it, he wrapped it up in a piece of rag in the shape of a
match. When it was lighted he calculated it would burn about an inch
in five minutes, or a yard in three hours. The match was tried and
found to answer, and was then wound round with string and attached to
the cap of the cartridge. Uncle Prudent had all finished about ten
o'clock in the evening without having excited the least suspicion.
During the day the work on the fore screw had been actively carried
on, but it had had to be taken on board to adjust the twisted blades.
Of the piles and accumulators and the machinery that drove the ship
nothing was damaged.
When night fell Robur and his men knocked off work. The fore
propeller not been got into place, and to finish it would take
another three hours. After some conversation with Tom Turner it was
decided to give the crew a rest, and postpone what required to be
done to the next morning.
The final adjustment was a matter of extreme nicety, and the electric
lamps did not give so suitable a light for such work as the daylight.
Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans were not aware of this. They had
understood that the screw would be in place during the night, and
that the "Albatross" would be on her way to the north.
The night was dark and moonless. Heavy clouds made the darkness
deeper. A light breeze began to rise. A few puffs came from the
southwest, but they had no effect on the "Albatross." She remained
motionless at her anchor, and the cable stretched vertically downward
to the ground.
Uncle Prudent and his colleague, imagining they were under way again,
sat shut up in their cabin, exchanging but a few words, and listening
to the f-r-r-r-r of the suspensory screws, which drowned every other
sound on board. They were waiting till the time of action arrived.
A little before midnight Uncle Prudent said, "It is time!" Under the
berths in the cabin was a sliding box, forming a small locker, and in
this locker Uncle Prudent put the dynamite and the slow-match. In
this way the match would burn without betraying itself by its smoke
or spluttering. Uncle Prudent lighted the end and pushed back the box
under the berth with "Now let us go aft, and wait."
They then went out, and were astonished not to find the steersman at
his post.
Phil Evans leant out over the rail.
"The "Albatross" is where she was," said he in a low voice. "The work
is not finished. They have not started!"
Uncle Prudent made a gesture of disappointment. "We shall have to put
out the match," said he.
"No," said Phil Evans, "we must escape!"
"Escape?"
"Yes! down the cable! Fifty yards is nothing!"
"Nothing, of course, Phil Evans, and we should be fools not to take
the chance now it has come."
But first they went back to the cabin and took away all they could
carry, with a view to a more or less prolonged stay on the Chatham
Islands. Then they shut the door and noiselessly crept forward,
intending to wake Frycollin and take him with them.
The darkness was intense. The clouds were racing up from the
southwest, and the aeronef was tugging at her anchor and thus
throwing the cable more and more out of the vertical. There would be
no difficulty in slipping down it.