The Crystal City Under the Sea (10 page)
The chief feature of his plan was a small craft, forty-two feet long and fifteen feet wide, made of steel plates, to contain six persons, and capable of navigation, both above and below water, by means of an electric motor, and carrying a supply of oxygen. The idea was merely a development of the submersible cabin made on board the Cinderella, but so completely and perfectly solved, that the best judges at once gave it their approval. The vessel was to be raised or lowered by means of tanks, which could be filled or emptied at will. To purify the air, a vase of protoxide of barium was to be used. A powerful electric light, with glass on all sides, and india-rubber arms like those of the diving-bell, but provided with a special set of tools, completed the ensemble. The semicircular deck of the little vessel, hermetically closed for submersion, was to open lengthwise in two halves for ordinary navigation, and allow the stepping of two small iron masts provided with large lateen sails. A cockpit placed aft would allow one man to navigate the boat. René had decided that Kermadec should be that man, and he had, without difficulty, obtained leave for him for the same duration as his own.
The brave lad, now completely recovered from the effects of his injuries, accepted with unmixed satisfaction the proposal to set out with his young master on his travels. It is true he would have been more in his element reefing the topsail of a man-of-war than in manoeuvring a submarine boat; but he was too proud of having been chosen by M. Caoudal as travelling companion not to begin at once to study the new method of navigation; and all his time, except what he spent at the Musee de Marine, was given to working hard at a “Treatise on Torpedo-boats and Submarine Craft,” a book of which he was very proud. Happily the time has gone by when humble folks like Kermadec were completely deprived, by want of education, of all intellectual pleasure. Kermadec thought of his father, a man gifted with rare intelligence, but altogether uncultivated, who had often regretted, in his hearing, his inability to sign his name. He had tried to learn in later life, and the seaman still remembered the desperate and often fruitless efforts of the poor fisherman to train his gnarled fingers, stiffened with hard work at sea, to the handling of pen or pencil. He broke these frail engines between his iron fingers, like pieces of glass, without succeeding in tracing on, the paper anything but hieroglyphics which would have been the despair of Champollion.
Yvon Kermadec, the seaman and “dandy” of the present time, was then a gamin, sauntering with lagging steps to school, like any sluggish snail. But one day, on his return from school, he began to teach his father; and, quite young, learnt to appreciate the benefits of education, which the most destitute nowadays claim by right. The wise counsels of his officer had proved salutary to him; he had developed a taste for reading; and, instead of emptying his pockets and ruining his health at the “wine shop,” he employed his time in furnishing his mind with all sorts of useful knowledge. He felt he owed a debt of gratitude to René; and the fact of his having received this last proof of confidence and esteem, following his sojourn at “The Poplars,” increased the affection he had always felt for his chief.
Rene, on his side, was much attached to the brave fellow, so good and lively, so frank and so plucky; and they both looked forward with much pleasure to their adventurous cruise. Unwilling to risk the lad’s untimely chatter,—or even the head-shakings, closed lips, winks and ostentatious reticence, by which some people make it known that they are keeping a secret, — René had not told Yvon anything about the wonderful things to be found at the bottom of the Atlantic. He reserved this for another time and place; not feeling quite sure, besides, that the Breton imagination of the seaman might not conceive a prejudice against a lusus naturæ like that of the charming water-nymph. Suppose he were to look upon her as a sorceress, and refuse to go! René judged that in every respect the sailor was an ideal companion, and did not wish to run the risk of losing him for any tenaciously persistent superstition which might be hidden in his Celtic brain; and, as things were, Kermadec knew nothing of any encounter he might expose himself to at the bottom of the sea.
Meanwhile, they pushed the work on with a will, and the boat already began to take shape. She presented, when open, the smart appearance of a yacht, and, when closed, that of a most formidable weapon of destruction. Moreover, Rouergue Brothers agreed to call her a “torpedo-boat,” although she did not carry a torpedo. Besides, contrary to the usual custom in small war vessels, she had no number given to her, but was simply named Titania. All Paris came to have a look at her, and for a week crowds filed past her, as she lay in the workshop. Everybody had spoken of the new invention ; the daily papers had discussed it; reporters and interviewers were busy describing and explaining its minutest details; so that René had become the fashion before his boat had even received her third coat of black paint. This was hardly dry when he and Kermadec set out in charge of the car upon which the Titania was to travel to Brest. Madame Caoudal had already arrived there, accompanied by Hélène and Doctor Patrice. In spite of the terror the excellent lady felt at the thought of seeing her son embark on such a machine, she would not for worlds have missed being present at the first trial-trip in the harbour. One may be quite sure that Hélène kept her own counsel as to the object of the proposed voyage.
For six days the two ladies had been anxiously awaiting the arrival of their dear sailor. By a lucky chance the Hercules had come to regulate her compass in Brest Harbour, and Captain Harancourt and his officers lost no time in paying their respects to the mother of their brother officer. How Madame Caoudal enjoyed hearing them speak of her boy! It was a pleasure to see her beautiful face light up with a radiant smile, when the gallant captain or one of his young subalterns told her of some trait of good comradeship, of intelligence or courage on his part. Though she had too much good taste to boast about him, her pride in being his mother was evident in spite of herself, and Lieutenant Bruyferes used to take a malicious pleasure in surprising her into exclaiming with effusion:
“He is so charming, my René!” then recovering herself with a blush — “I mean — you are all so good and kind, gentlemen”— hoping thus to hide her confusion.
Captain Harancourt understood her motherly heart; he knew how to let her speak freely, and to recapitulate the thousand perfections of her idol; and, as he himself had a great affection for his lieutenant, he bore it all without fatigue. Madame Caoudal found in him a listener after her own heart, and, though making excuses every time that she was betrayed into going into raptures over the absentee, she began again whenever she could gain his sympathetic ear.
“Good gracious! if René were to hear me!” she sometimes said to her niece, terrified at the thought. “Do you think he would have said I was making myself ridiculous about him, this evening for example?”
“At what particular time, auntie?” said Hélène, mischievously. “When you were telling us about his cutting his second teeth, or when you explained that, by some surprising combination of circumstances, he did not always take all the prizes at college?”
“What nonsense, I never said anything like that! Only I am afraid I have talked too much about him. I should not like that. Those gentlemen must have thought me very indiscreet.”
“Those gentlemen would be very glad to have such a mother as you,” cried Hélène. “ Do you not think so, doctor?”
“Yes, and also a cousin like René’s, I imagine.”
“Oh, as to the cousin, they could do very well without her; but the mother, they couldn’t find another like you anywhere. Aunt Alice.”
“I know very well what they think,” said Doctor Patrice. “But, as it does not do to encourage vanity, I will take care not to repeat it.”
“Indeed! and who asked you, sir,” cried Hélène, laughing. “Let them think what they like, they are René’s comrades, and we like them all for that reason.”
“That is very true,” said Madame Caoudal. “ It warms my heart to see and hear them. And besides, they appear to be very distinguished.”
“More especially when they tell of the fine doings of my respected cousin, is it not so, little auntie?”
“My poor child!” said Madame Caoudal, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. “When I picture to myself the perils that he has escaped! and what risks he is going to run in that cursed,—I mean that horrid submarine boat—” She paused to wipe her eyes.
“You see, Aunt Alice can’t bring herself to calling it a cursed boat, because it is the work of her son” said Hélène to the doctor. “She must not begin again to worry herself about it. We must keep her spirits up.”
And they both endeavoured to put fresh courage into the anxious mother; a difficult task, since, waking or sleeping, her one thought was of the accidents which might happen to him.
Finally the inventor arrived. All the town was on hand to assist at the launching of the boat. Among the numerous vessels which were ranged along the harbour, in order to be eye-witnesses of the event, was the Cinderella, whose princely proprietor had sailed straight for Brest, on hearing what his renowned young friend was meditating. Ah! he was not of the number of people who discourage interviewers! He received them with open arms; gave them a thousand details about himself and his yacht, about René, and the ability of his “young and distinguished collaborator,” his workmen, and the cruise he had made. He had come, by degrees, to consider himself the hero of the affair. Needless to say, he lost no time in calling on Madame Caoudal, and, in the most gracious manner, placed his yacht at the disposal of the ladies for the day of the launching. But they had previously accepted an invitation from Captain Harancourt, and, at an early hour, the captain’s gig was sent to bring them on board the Hercules.
All the townspeople were massed on the quay, as far as it would give standing-room, and the neighbouring roofs of the houses were covered with people, who, one and all, as René and Kermadec appeared, gave them a hearty cheer. That from the Hercules was not to be outdone. The entire crew, perched in the rigging, awaited with anxiety the result of the experiment. The merest novice considered himself directly interested in its success. Punctually at noon, the lieutenant and the sailor embarked on the Titania. The coquettish little craft, light as a feather, balanced itself on the dark-green waters of the port. A salute was fired, and then the masts were raised, the two sails unfurled, filled gracefully by the breeze, and she started on her trip. She described a large circle in the harbour, seemed to flirt with the mysterious sea for a while, and then returned to the point from which she set out. Then Ren6 and Kermadec rose and saluted the crowd, who responded with a tremendous cheer. The next instant, the rigging was seen to fold itself with the ease of a bird folding its wings. The lieutenant and the sailor seated themselves in the bottom of the cockpit, while the two halves of the arched deck closed above their heads. For a minute or two the torpedo-boat floated in its new shape. Then, all at once, as if having suddenly decided to disappear, she slowly sank like a whale, and was lost to sight. A .fresh cheer saluted her disappearance. Everybody applauded, and then opera and field-glasses were put in requisition to scan the harbour, so as to get the first sight of the return of the submarine boat.
A quarter of an hour passed. Every one waited in silence, followed by intense anxiety, which increased moment by moment.
The trial trip of the “Titania”.
Madame Caoudal, when the boat sank, turned white to the lips. She had not been able to stifle a cry, lost in the hurrahs of the crowd, when the deck of the Titania closed over her son. It looked to her as if his coffin-lid had closed over him. This horrible thought clung to her when the little boat disappeared. To see him there, without air to breathe, buried under mountains of water! Oh, it was frightful! The poor mother clasped her hands under her mantle, and waited, as white as a sheet, with a fixed stare. Hélène perceived her aunt’s distress, and, quietly slipping her arm under hers, pressed it to give her courage. She herself, frightened, deeply moved, but confidently happy, excited by this adventurous proceeding of her cousin, had never looked more charming. With her straw hat, trimmed with large marguerites, her dress of gray woollen material, and a wide blue ribbon encircling her slender waist, she attracted the admiration of all who surrounded her. But, in her perfect simplicity, she did not seem to notice it.
“There, mademoiselle! down there, do you see?” suddenly cried Doctor Patrice, who, standing behind her, had been searching the harbour by means of a first-rate glass.
“Where? Which side?” said Hélène, trembling.
Madame Caoudal did not dare look. But the shouts of the crowd obliged her to open her eyes, and two or three thousand yards in front of her, towards the west, she saw, emerging slowly, what looked at first like a whale’s back. Very soon the boat floated; the hull opened, the sails unfurled, and she came sailing along once more to the starting point.
The experiment had taken thirty-two minutes. It was a complete success. René and Kermadec landed amid the most enthusiastic acclamations. A quarter of an hour later, Madame Caoudal pressed her son to her heart. Poor woman! she was not to enjoy this happiness long, for the next morning, at sunrise, the Titania had left the harbour, with René and Kermadec on board. At eight o’clock, by the first post, Madame Caoudal received a pencilled note: “I am off. Good-by to all. René.”