CHAPTER VIII.
BACK CUP.
In my opinion the _Ebba_ could have struck no other group of islandsbut the Bermudas in this part of the Atlantic. This is clear from thedistance covered from the American coast and the direction sailed insince we issued from Pamlico Sound. This direction has constantly beensouth-southeast, and the distance, judging from the _Ebba's_ rate ofspeed, which has scarcely varied, is approximately seven hundred andfifty miles.
Still, the schooner does not slacken speed. The Count d'Artigas andEngineer Serko remain aft, by the man at the wheel. Captain Spade hasgone forward.
Are we not going to leave this island, which appears to be isolated,to the west?
It does not seem likely, since it is still broad daylight, and thehour at which the _Ebba_ was timed to arrive.
All the sailors are drawn up on deck, awaiting orders, and BoatswainEffrondat is making preparations to anchor.
Ere a couple of hours have passed I shall know all about it. It willbe the first answer to one of the many questions that have perplexedme since the schooner put to sea.
And yet it is most unlikely that the port to which the _Ebba_ belongsis situated on one of the Bermuda islands, in the middle of an Englisharchipelago--unless the Count d'Artigas has kidnapped Thomas Roch forthe British government, which I cannot believe.
I become aware that this extraordinary man is gazing at me withsingular persistence. Although he can have no suspicion that I amSimon Hart, the engineer, he must be asking himself what I think ofthis adventure. If Warder Gaydon is but a poor devil, this poor devilwill manifest as much unconcern as to what is in store for him as anygentleman could--even though he were the proprietor of this queerpleasure yacht. Still I am a little uneasy under his gaze.
I dare say that if the Count d'Artigas could guess how certain thingshave suddenly become clear to me, he would not hesitate to have methrown overboard.
Prudence therefore commands me to be more circumspect than ever.
Without giving rise to any suspicion--even in the mind of EngineerSerko--I have succeeded in raising a corner of the mysterious veil,and I begin to see ahead a bit.
As the _Ebba_ draws nearer, the island, or rather islet, towards whichshe is speeding shows more sharply against the blue background of thesky. The sun which has passed the zenith, shines full upon the westernside. The islet is isolated, or at any rate I cannot see any others ofthe group to which it belongs, either to north or south.
This islet, of curious contexture, resembles as near as possible acup turned upside down, from which a fuliginous vapor arises. Itssummit--the bottom of the cup, if you like--is about three hundredfeet above the level of the sea, and its flanks, which are steep andregular, are as bare as the sea-washed rocks at its base.
There is another peculiarity about it which must render the isleteasily recognizable by mariners approaching it from the west, and thisis a rock which forms a natural arch at the base of the mountain--thehandle of the cup, so to speak--and through which the waves wash asfreely as the sunshine passes. Seen this way the islet fully justifiesthe name of Back Cup given to it.
Well, I know and recognize this islet! It is situated at the extremityof the archipelago of the Bermudas. It is the "reversed cup" that Ihad occasion to visit a few years ago--No, I am not mistaken. I thenclimbed over the calcareous and crooked rocks at its base on the eastside. Yes, it is Back Cup, sure enough!
Had I been less self-possessed I might have uttered an exclamationof surprise--and satisfaction--which, with good reason, would haveexcited the attention and suspicion of the Count d'Artigas.
These are the circumstances under which I came to explore Back Cupwhile on a visit to Bermuda.
This archipelago, which is situated about seven hundred and fiftymiles from North Carolina is composed of several hundred islands orislets. Its centre is crossed by the sixty-fourth meridian and thethirty-second parallel. Since the Englishman Lomer was shipwreckedand cast up there in 1609, the Bermudas have belonged to the UnitedKingdom, and in consequence the colonial population has increased toten thousand inhabitants. It was not for its productions of cotton,coffee, indigo, and arrowroot that England annexed the group--seizedit, one might say; but because it formed a splendid maritime stationin that part of the Ocean, and in proximity to the United States ofAmerica. Possession was taken of it without any protest on the part ofother powers, and Bermuda is now administered by a British governorwith the addition of a council and a General Assembly.
The principal islands of the archipelago are called St. David,Somerset, Hamilton, and St. George. The latter has a free port, andthe town of the same name is also the capital of the group.
The largest of these isles is not more than seventeen miles long andfive wide. Leaving out the medium-sized ones, there remains but anagglomeration of islets and reefs scattered over an area of twelvesquare leagues.
Although the climate of Bermuda is very healthy, very salubrious, theisles are nevertheless frightfully beaten by the heavy winter tempestsof the Atlantic, and their approach by navigators presents certaindifficulties.
What the archipelago especially lacks are rivers and rios. However,as abundant rains fall frequently, this drawback is got over by theinhabitants, who treasure up the heaven-sent water for household andagricultural purposes. This has necessitated the construction of vastcisterns which the downfalls keep filled. These works of engineeringskill justly merit the admiration they receive and do honor to thegenius of man.
It was in connection with the setting up of these cisterns that I madethe trip, as well as out of curiosity to inspect the fine works.
I obtained from the company of which I was the engineer in NewJersey a vacation of several weeks, and embarked at New York for theBermudas.
While I was staying on Hamilton Island, in the vast port ofSouthampton, an event occurred of great interest to geologists.
One day a whole flotilla of fishers, men, women and children, enteredSouthampton Harbor. For fifty years these families had lived on theeast coast of Back Cup, where they had erected log-cabins and housesof stone. Their position for carrying on their industry was anexceptionally favorable one, for the waters teem with fish all theyear round, and in March and April whales abound.
Nothing had hitherto occurred to disturb their tranquil existence.They were quite contented with their rough lot, which was renderedless onerous by the facility of communication with Hamilton and St.George. Their solid barks took cargoes of fish there, which theyexchanged for the necessities of life.
Why had they thus abandoned the islet with the intention, as it prettysoon appeared, of never returning to it? The reason turned out to bethat they no longer considered themselves in safety there.
A couple of months previously they had been at first surprised, thenalarmed, by several distinct detonations that appeared to have takenplace in the interior of the mountain. At the same time smoke andflames issued from the summit--or the bottom of the reversed cup, ifyou like. Now no one had ever suspected that the islet was of volcanicorigin, or that there was a crater at the top, no one having been ableto climb its sides. Now, however, there could be no possible doubtthat the mountain was an ancient volcano that had suddenly becomeactive again and threatened the village with destruction.
During the ensuing two months internal rumblings and explosionscontinued to be heard, which were accompanied by bursts of flamefrom the top--especially at night. The island was shaken by theexplosions--the shocks could be distinctly felt. All these phenomenawere indicative of an imminent eruption, and there was no spot at thebase of the mountain that could afford any protection from the riversof lava that would inevitably pour down its smooth, steep slopesand overwhelm the village in their boiling flood. Besides, the verymountain might be destroyed in the eruption.
There was nothing for the population exposed to such a direcatastrophe to do but leave. This they did. Their humble Laresand Penates, in fact all their belongings, were loaded into thefishing-smacks, and the entire
colony sought refuge in SouthhamptonHarbor.
The news that a volcano, that had presumably been smouldering forcenturies at the western extremity of the group, showed signs ofbreaking out again, caused a sensation throughout the Bermudas. Butwhile some were terrified, the curiosity of others was aroused, mineincluded. The phenomenon was worth investigation, even if the simplefisher-folk had exaggerated.
Back Cup, which, as already stated, lies at the western extremity ofthe archipelago, is connected therewith by a chain of small isletsand reefs, which cannot be approached from the east. Being only threehundred feet in altitude, it cannot be seen either from St. George orHamilton. I joined a party of explorers and we embarked in a cutterthat landed us on the island, and made our way to the abandonedvillage of the Bermudan fishers.
The internal crackings and detonations could be plainly heard, and asheaf of smoke was swayed by the wind at the summit.
Beyond a peradventure the ancient volcano had been started againby the subterranean fire, and an eruption at any moment was to beapprehended.
In vain we attempted to climb to the mouth of the crater. The mountainsheered down at an angle of from seventy-five to eighty degrees, andits smooth, slippery sides afforded absolutely no foothold. Anythingmore barren than this rocky freak of nature it would be difficult toconceive. Only a few tufts of wild herbs were to be seen upon thewhole island, and these seemed to have no _raison d'etre_.
Our explorations were therefore necessarily limited, and in view ofthe active symptoms of danger that manifested themselves, we could butapprove the action of the villagers in abandoning the place; for weentertained no doubt that its destruction was imminent.
These were the circumstances in which I was led to visit Back Cup, andno one will consequently be surprised at the fact that I recognized itimmediately we hove in sight of the queer structure.
No, I repeat, the Count d'Artigas would probably not be overpleasedif he were aware that Warder Gaydon is perfectly acquainted with thisislet, even if the _Ebba_ was to anchor there--which, as there is noport, is, to say the least, extremely improbable.
As we draw nearer, I attentively examine Back Cup. Not one ofits former inhabitants has been induced to return, and, as it isabsolutely deserted, I cannot imagine why the schooner should visitthe place.
Perhaps, however, the Count d'Artigas and his companions have nointention of landing there. Even though the _Ebba_ should findtemporary shelter between the rocky sides of a narrow creek there isnothing to give ground to the supposition that a wealthy yachtsmanwould have the remotest idea of fixing upon as his residence an aridcone exposed to all the terrible tempests of the Western Atlantic. Tolive here is all very well for rustic fishermen, but not for the Countd'Artigas, Engineer Serko, Captain Spade and his crew.
Back Cup is now only half a mile off, and the seaweed thrown up on itsrocky base is plainly discernible. The only living things upon it arethe sea-gulls and other birds that circle in clouds around the smokingcrater.
When she is only two cable's lengths off, the schooner slackens speed,and then stops at the entrance of a sort of natural canal formed by acouple of reefs that barely rise above the water.
I wonder whether the _Ebba_ will venture to try the dangerous feat ofpassing through it. I do not think so. She will probably lay where sheis--though why she should do so I do not know--for a few hours, andthen continue her voyage towards the east.
However this may be I see no preparations in progress for droppinganchor. The anchors are suspended in their usual places, the cableshave not been cleared, and no motion has been made to lower a singleboat.
At this moment Count d'Artigas, Engineer Serko and Captain Spade goforward and perform some manoeuvre that is inexplicable to me.
I walk along the port side of the deck until I am near the foremast,and then I can see a small buoy that the sailors are hoisting in.Almost immediately the water, at the same spot becomes dark and Iobserve a black mass rising to the surface. Is it a big whale risingfor air, and is the _Ebba_ in danger of being shattered by a blow fromthe monster's tail?
Now I understand! At last the mystery is solved. I know what was themotor that caused the schooner to go at such an extraordinary speedwithout sails and without a screw. Her indefatigable motor is emergingfrom the sea, after having towed her from the coast of America tothe archipelago of the Bermudas. There it is, floating alongside--asubmersible boat, a submarine tug, worked by a screw set in motion bythe current from a battery of accumulators or powerful electric piles.
On the upper part of the long cigar-shaped iron tug is a platform inthe middle of which is the "lid" by which an entrance is effected. Inthe fore part of the platform projects a periscope, or lookout, formedby port-holes or lenses through which an electric searchlight canthrow its gleam for some distance under water in front of and on eachside of the tug. Now relieved of its ballast of water the boat hasrisen to the surface. Its lid will open and fresh air will penetrateit to every part. In all probability, if it remained submerged duringthe day it rose at night and towed the _Ebba_ on the surface.
But if the mechanical power of the tug is produced by electricity thelatter must be furnished by some manufactory where it is stored, andthe means of procuring the batteries is not to be found on Back Cup, Isuppose.
And then, why does the _Ebba_ have recourse to this submarine towingsystem? Why is she not provided with her own means of propulsion, likeother pleasure-boats?
These are things, however, upon which I have at present no leisure toruminate.
The lid of the tug opens and several men issue on to the platform.They are the crew of this submarine boat, and Captain Spade has beenable to communicate with them and transmit his orders as to thedirection to be taken by means of electric signals connected with thetug by a wire that passes along the stem of the schooner.
Engineer Serko approaches me and says, pointing to the boat:
"Get in."
"Get in!" I exclaim.
"Yes, in the tug, and look sharp about it."
As usual there is nothing for it but to obey. I hasten to comply withthe order and clamber over the side.
At the same time Thomas Roch appears on deck accompanied by one of thecrew. He appears to be very calm, and very indifferent too, and makesno resistance when he is lifted over and lowered into the tug. When hehas been taken in, Count d'Artigas and Engineer Serko follow.
Captain Spade and the crew of the _Ebba_ remain behind, with theexception of four men who man the dinghy, which has been lowered. Theyhave hold of a long hawser, with which the schooner is probably to betowed through the reef. Is there then a creek in the middle of therocks where the vessel is secure from the breakers? Is this the portto which she belongs?
They row off with the hawser and make the end fast to a ring in thereef. Then the crew on board haul on it and in five minutes theschooner is so completely lost to sight among the rocks that even thetip of her mast could not be seen from the sea.
Who in Bermuda imagines that a vessel is accustomed to lay up inthis secret creek? Who in America would have any idea that the richyachtsman so well known in all the eastern ports abides in thesolitude of Back Cup mountain?
Twenty minutes later the dinghy returns with the four men towards thetug which was evidently waiting for them before proceeding--where?
They climb on board, the little boat is made fast astern, a movementis felt, the screw revolves rapidly and the tug skims along thesurface to Back Cup, skirting the reefs to the south.
Three cable's lengths further on, another tortuous canal is seen thatleads to the island. Into this the tug enters. When it gets closeinshore, an order is given to two men who jump out and haul the dinghyup on a narrow sandy beach out of the reach of wave or weed, and whereit will be easily get-at-able when wanted.
This done the sailors return to the tug and Engineer Serko signs to meto go below.
A short iron ladder leads into a central cabin where various bales andpackages are stored, and for which no
doubt there was not room in thehold of the schooner. I am pushed into a side cabin, the door is shutupon me, and here I am once more a prisoner in profound darkness.
I recognize the cabin the moment I enter it. It is the place in whichI spent so many long hours after our abduction from Healthful House,and in which I was confined until well out at sea off Pamlico Sound.
It is evident that Thomas Roch has been placed in a similarcompartment.
A loud noise is heard, the banging of the lid as it closes, and thetug begins to sink as the water is admitted to the tanks.
This movement is succeeded by another--a movement that impels the boatthrough the water.
Three minutes later it stops, and I feel that we are rising to thesurface again.
Another noise made by the lid being raised.
The door of my cabin opens, and I rush out and clamber on to theplatform.
I look around and find that the tug has penetrated to the interior ofBack Cup mountain.
This is the mysterious retreat where Count d'Artigas lives with hiscompanions--out of the world, so to speak.