Читать книгу Travel Scholarships - Jules Verne - Страница 17

7 The Three-Masted Schooner Alert

The Alert, a three-masted small schooner weighing four hundred and fifty tons, built, as has been stated, in the boatyards of Birkenhead, sheathed and pegged in copper, marked number 1 at the Bureau Veritas and sailing under the British flag, was getting ready to embark upon its third voyage.

After having crossed the Atlantic, passed the tip of Africa, and navigated the Indian Ocean during its first two voyages, this time it was going to head directly southwest to the Antilles, at Mrs. Seymour’s expense.

The Alert was a smooth vessel, held its sails well, possessed the remarkable qualities of fast clippers in every way. It would not take more than three weeks to travel the distance that separates Ireland from the Antilles, if the lack of wind did not cause any delays.

From its very first voyage, the Alert had as commander Captain Paxton, as mate Lieutenant Davis, as crew nine men—enough personnel to maneuver a sailboat of this tonnage. At the time of the second crossing, from Liverpool to Calcutta, the personnel had not been modified: same officers, same sailors. Such it had been, such it would be for this trip between Europe and America. Entire confidence could be placed in Captain Paxton, an excellent mariner, conscientious and prudent, about whom the best references had been provided for Mrs. Seymour. The young students and their mentor would find onboard the Alert, en route to their destination, all the comfort and also all the safety that their families could want. The round trip would take place during good weather, and the absence of the nine schoolmates from the Antillean School should not last more than two and a half months.

The port of Queenstown (photo by W. Lawrence of Dublin).

Unfortunately, the Alert was no longer under the command of Captain Paxton. His crew had just been massacred at the anchorage in Farmar Cove. The ship was now in the hands of the pirate gang of the Halifax.

At the first light of day,¹ Harry Markel and John Carpenter examined in detail the ship of which they had made themselves masters. From the first glance they recognized its nautical qualities: the finesse of its forms, the excellent contour of its waterlines, the sharpness of the bow, the clearance in the stern, the height of its masts, the ample crisscrossing of its yards, the depth of its draft which allowed it to unfurl a great spread of sail. Surely, even with a light wind, if it had left the night before at nine o’clock, it would have crossed Saint George’s Channel during the night, and at the break of day, would have been at some thirty miles off the coast of Ireland.

At dawn, the sky was showing a cover of low clouds, or rather of light mist, the kind that a light wind would have dissipated in a few minutes. The haze and the waters merged together at less than three cable lengths from the Alert. In the absence of wind, whether this humid fog would disappear when the sun became stronger was doubtful. And, as a result, casting off seemed impossible. Harry Markel probably would have preferred the fog to make the ship invisible on its anchorage.

This was not at all what happened. At around seven o’clock in the morning, and without anyone feeling a gust from land or sea, the sun’s rays began to burn off the haze, which forecast a hot day that the wind would not cool down.

Soon the bay had completely cleared.

Two miles from Farmar Cove, the whole panorama of the port of Queenstown appeared, then, further back, the first houses in the city. In the entrance to the port a number of sailing ships could be seen anchored here and there; for lack of wind, they too had to face the impossibility of setting out to sea.

As long as the Alert was lost in the middle of the mist, Harry Markel and his companions did not run any danger by remaining on board. But, whenever it began to dissipate, would it not be prudent to disembark, to seek refuge inland? In an hour or two, were they not supposed to receive the passengers of the Alert, since, according to the information gathered the evening before, the travelers had just arrived in Queenstown? Would this give them enough time, when they had reached the shore deep inside Farmar Cove, to flee across the countryside?

John Carpenter, Corty, and the others were, at that moment, gathered around Harry Markel, waiting for an order to load the provisions into the rowboat. With a few strokes of the oars, they would have reached a sandy bank deep inside the cove.

But, to the question asked by the boatswain:

“We’re on board, let’s stay!” Harry Markel merely answered.

His men, having great trust in him, did not ask any further questions. No doubt, Harry Markel had his reasons to speak in this way.

In the meantime, the bay was becoming rather busy. Despite the lack of sailboats, several steamers were getting ready to weigh anchor. Five or six fishing boats were going from one to the other, entering the port or departing from it, leaving behind them a long wake of foam. None, moreover, was heading toward Farmar Cove. So, nothing to fear for the Alert.

At around eight o’clock, however, there was reason to be on their guard.

A steamer had just entered the bay, and it was maneuvering around Farmar Cove when it veered to its starboard side, as if it were looking for an anchorage not far from the Alert. Did the steamer have the intention to drop anchor in that place, instead of going to the landings in Queenstown, perhaps only stopping over for a few hours or a few days? Surely, the boats from the port would soon draw alongside it, and this coming and going would have some unpleasant consequences for Harry Markel and his companions.

The ship in question, sailing under a British flag flying at its topmast, was one of those large cargo boats that, after having carried coal to the English colonies, came back loaded with wheat or nickel.

However, after passing the cove’s headland, it was moving at slow speed. Harry Markel was wondering if it was going to stop, or if it was maneuvering to move across Farmar Cove.

The Concordia—they were soon able to make out its name—was not looking, obviously, to reach Queenstown’s port in a straight line. On the contrary, it was drawing near the Alert, and stopped when it was only half a cable away. But there was nothing that indicated that it was making any preparations to drop anchor there.

What did the captain of the Concordia want? Why this maneuver? Had it recognized the Alert, read its name on the stern? Was it going to lower one of its boats and attempt to come on board the three-masted schooner?

One can imagine without difficulty the fears felt by Harry Markel, John Carpenter, Corty and their accomplices.

Clearly, it would have been better to have abandoned the ship during the night, since it had not been able to go out into the open sea; to have dispersed across the countryside, to have reached a part of the region that was safer than the outskirts of Queenstown, where the constables were still searching for the fugitives.

At present, it was too late.

Nonetheless, Harry Markel, making sure not to be seen on the deck, stood by the wardroom, and remained hidden behind the ship’s rails.

At that moment, the Alert was hailed in these terms by one of the sailors of the Concordia:

“Ahoy! … the Alert … Is the captain aboard?”

To that request, Harry Markel did not hurry to respond. No doubt it was with Captain Paxton that the Concordia had business.

But, just as quickly, the spokesman sent this second question:

“Who commands the Alert?”

Evidently, they only knew the name of the three-mast schooner and did not know who commanded it.

Thus, to a certain measure, Harry Markel had reason to feel reassured.

Since a longer silence could have appeared suspicious, it was his turn to ask, after having come up on the deck:

“Who commands the Concordia?”

“Captain James Brown!” He was answered by the officer himself, standing on the poop deck, and recognizable by his uniform.

“What does Captain Brown want?” asked Harry Markel.

“Do you know if nickel is on the rise or on the decline at Cork?”

“Tell him it’s on the decline, and he’ll leave,” suggested Corty.

“On the decline,” answered Harry Markel.

“By how much?”

“Three shillings sixpence,” whispered Corty.

“Three shillings sixpence,” repeated Harry Markel.

“So, nothing to do here,” replied James Brown. “Thank you, Captain.”

“At your service!”

“Any commissions for Liverpool?”

“No.”

“Bon voyage to the Alert!”

“Bon voyage to the Concordia!”

Having obtained that information—and one may judge whether one should lend any credence to it—the steamer maneuvered to depart Farmar Cove. As soon as it had passed the headland, it picked up speed, and, steering to the northeast, headed in the direction of Liverpool. At that moment, John Carpenter made this very natural observation:

“To thank us for having so precisely informed him of the rate of nickel, the captain of the Concordia should have towed us and taken us out of this damn bay!”

Besides, even if the breeze increased, it was now too late to take advantage of it. There was a lot of movement between Queenstown and the cove. Fishing boats crisscrossed each other, and several were positioning themselves purposely to cast their lines at the back of the headland, at a few cable-lengths from the ship. That is why Harry Markel and his companions, preferring to be cautious, did not show themselves. Besides, if the Alert had cast off before the arrival of its passengers, which were expected at any moment now, the inexplicable departure would have seemed suspect.

The best thing to do was not to navigate at all before nightfall, assuming that this would be possible.

Understandably, the situation continued to be a most alarming one. The moment was approaching when the mentor and his young travel companions would be arriving on board the Alert.

It must not be forgotten that Mrs. Seymour had set the departure for June 30, in agreement with the director of the Antillean School.

Today was June 30. Mr. Patterson, who had arrived yesterday evening, would not want to delay a single hour. A man as meticulous as he would arrive exactly on time; he would not even take the time to visit Cork or Queenstown, even though he did not know either one of these two towns. After a good night’s rest, during which he would have recovered from the fatigue of his travels, he would get up, wake everyone up, go to the port, get someone to show him the Alert’s anchorage, and arrange for an embarkation to take them there.

These thoughts, even though he did not know the man who was Mr. Patterson, came naturally to the mind of Harry Markel. All while making sure not to appear on deck, for fear of being seen by the fishermen, he continued to watch the bay carefully. Through one of the windows in the back wardroom, Corty, with a telescope to his eye, was observing every movement that was being made in the port, the quays of which he distinguished perfectly as well as the houses at that distance of two miles. The sky, indeed, had cleared up. The sun was rising over a very crisp horizon whose last traces of fog had dissipated. But still not the least hint of a wind, not even beyond the headlands—the semaphore signals indicated nothing but a flat calm out at sea.

“Obviously,” exclaimed John Carpenter, “prison for prison, this one is no better than the one in Queenstown! At least we were able to escape from it, whereas from here …”

“Wait,” answered Harry Markel.

A little before ten-thirty, Corty reappeared by the deck door and said: “I think that I saw a rowboat, carrying about ten people, which has just left the port.” “It must be the rowboat that brings us the passengers!” exclaimed the boatswain.

He and Harry Markel went back into the wardroom and pointed their telescopes at the boat indicated by Corty.

Soon it was no longer in doubt that the skiff was coming toward the Alert, aided by the current of the falling tide. It was guided by two sailors; a third was at helm. In the middle and in the stern were seated about ten people, among whom were visible a certain number of packages and suitcases.

There was every reason to believe that they were the passengers of the Alert who were coming on board.

A decisive moment if there ever was one, and one which might collapse this elaborate stratagem devised by Harry Markel!

Everything depended on the single chance that neither Mr. Patterson nor any of the young men was acquainted with Captain Paxton. It seemed at the very least highly improbable, and it was on that improbability that Harry Markel had banked for the success of his plan. But could the port sailors who where rowing the skiff know the captain of the Alert and what would they say when he, Harry Markel, appeared in place of Paxton?

It was necessary to note that the Alert had just stopped at the port of Queenstown for the first time, or rather in Cork Harbor. No doubt its captain had gone to shore to comply with the formalities imposed on all ships upon their arrival and departure. But one could assume, without risking too much, that the sailors in the rowboat would have not met him in Queenstown.

“At any rate,” said John Carpenter, finishing the conversation he had just had on this topic with his companions, “let’s not allow these men to come on board.”

“It’s more prudent,” declared Corty. “We’ll lend a hand to unload the luggage.”

“Everyone to his post,” ordered Harry Markel.

First, he took the precaution of getting rid of the rowboat that they had seized the night before to reach Farmar Cove. The Alert’s own boats were enough if they wanted to escape. A few blows from an axe smashed the bottom of the rowboat, which sank to the bottom of the bay.

Quickly, Corty went to the bow, ready to throw a line as soon as the boat drew alongside.

“Look,” said John Carpenter to Harry Markel, “we are running a serious risk here.”

“We’ve run them in the past, and we’ll run many others, John!”

“And we have always come out of it, Harry! After all, one cannot be hanged twice. It is true, though, that once is already one time too many!”

The skiff was approaching, keeping close to the shore, so as to come out just inside the point of land that embraces Farmar Cove. It was only about one hundred toises away. One could see its passengers distinctly.

The question would then be decided in a few minutes. If things worked like Harry Markel wanted and hoped, if Captain Paxton’s disappearance was not noticed, he would act according to the circumstances. After welcoming Mrs. Seymour’s scholarship recipients as they should be, as the captain of the Alert would have done, he would proceed to make them comfortable, while derailing any thoughts they may have of leaving the ship.

Actually, seeing that, for lack of wind, the three-masted schooner could not weigh anchor right away, perhaps Mr. Patterson and the young men would ask to be brought back to Queenstown. They certainly had not had time to visit the industrial city nor the seaside city, and since they would have leisure time, it was possible that they would make such a request. This would have been a true danger that was important to avoid. After having brought the passengers on board, the rowboat that had transported them would return to port. And it would be one of the Alert’s longboats that would have to take them, a boat manned by two or three of Harry Markel’s men.

And was it not reasonable to fear that the constables, having unsuccessfully searched the taverns in the area, would now continue their search in the streets and onto the docks? If one of the fugitives were recognized, everything would be discovered. A steam-driven launch would immediately go to Farmar Cove with a police squad, the officers would take possession of the Alert, and the entire gang would be recaptured.

Thus, once the passengers were on board, they would no longer be allowed to disembark, even if the delay were to extend for a few days. Besides, by the following night, who knows if Harry Markel would not have succeeded in getting rid of them as he had gotten rid of Captain Paxton and his crew?

Harry Markel then gave his last orders. His companions would not forget them: they were no longer the crew from the Halifax, the escapees from the Queenstown prison. They were the sailors from the Alert, at least for today. They would have to watch themselves, to not pronounce a careless word, to take on the appearance of honest sailors, to “have good manners,” as John Carpenter said, to honor the generous Mrs. Seymour! They all understood the role that they had to play.²

While waiting, and up until the moment when the skiff would have left again, their orders were to show themselves as little as possible. They would remain at their posts. The boatswain and Corty would suffice to unload the luggage and to help the passengers get settled in. As for lunch, it would be served in the wardroom—a good lunch for which the Alert’s ample storeroom would furnish the menu. It was Ranyah Cogh’s business, and he planned to astonish them with his culinary talents.

The moment had come to act as Captain Paxton and his crew would have done. The rowboat was only a few toises away, and, since it was necessary that someone be there to receive the passengers, Harry Markel advanced toward the starboard ladder.

“Captain Paxton!”

It goes without saying that he had put on the uniform of the unfortunate captain, and that all of his companions were wearing the clothing found in their quarters.

The sailors from the skiff then hailed the Alert, and Corty threw a line that was caught with a grappling hook and then fastened at the bow.

Tony Renault and Magnus Anders, climbing first up the rope ladder, jumped onto the bridge. Their classmates followed them. Then it was Mr. Horatio Patterson’s turn, whom John Carpenter helped very courteously to clear the railing.

Next, they began unloading the luggage, simple suitcases, light and unobtrusive—only a matter of a few minutes.

The sailors of the boat did not come aboard, then. Already paid by Mr. Patterson and rewarded with a good tip, they turned the boat and headed back to the port.

At that moment, the mentor, always proper, bowed and said: “Captain Paxton?”

“It is I, sir,” answered Harry Markel.

Mr. Patterson then made a second greeting marked by an eloquent politeness, adding: “Captain Paxton, I have the honor to introduce to you the boarders of the Antillean School, and to offer you assurance of my total consideration and my most humble respects.”

“Signed Horatio Patterson,” that rascal Tony Renault whispered into the ear of Louis Clodion, who, with all his classmates, also greeted the captain of the Alert.