Читать книгу Таинственный остров / Mysterious Island - Жюль Верн, Жуль Верн - Страница 3

They were neither professional aeronauts nor amateurs in aerial navigation[7] whom the storm had thrown upon this coast. They were prisoners of war and succeeded to escape. Their aerial voyage had lasted five days. How did it happen?

This same year, in the month of February, 1865, many officers were captured by the enemy and confined within the city. One of the most famous of them was a Federal staff officer named Cyrus Smith[8].

Cyrus Smith was a native of Massachusetts[9], an engineer by profession, and a scientist, to whom the Government had given, during the war, the direction of the railways.

He was thin, bony, lean, about forty-five years old, with heavy moustache[10]. His muscles showed remarkable firmness. He was as much a man of action as of study. He was highly educated, practical, clear-headed, and his temperament was superb. Cyrus Smith was also the personification of courage. He had been in every battle of the war.

At the same time with Cyrus Smith another important personage fell into the power of the Southerners[11]. This was no other than the honorable Gideon Spilett[12], reporter to the New York Herald[13]. He obtained exact information and transmitted it to the journal in the quickest manner, and belonged in the first rank of the reporters.

A man of great merit; energetic, prompt, and ready; full of ideas; soldier and artist; vehement in council; resolute in action; thinking nothing of pain, fatigue, or danger when seeking information; a master of recondite information of the unpublished, the unknown, the impossible. He was one of those to whom all perils are welcome.

He also had been in all the battles, in the front rank, revolver in one hand and notebook in the other, his pencil never trembling in the midst of a cannonade. Gideon Spilett was tall, forty years old or more. Sandy-colored whiskers encircled his face. His eye was clear, lively, and quick moving.

Cyrus Smith and Gideon Spilett knew each other only by reputation[14], but the two soon learned to appreciate each other.

Cyrus Smith had a devoted servant. This man was black, born of slave parents, whom Smith had freed. But the servant had no desire to leave his master, for whom he would have given his life. He was a man of thirty years, vigorous, agile, adroit, intelligent, quick, and self-possessed, sometimes ingenuous, always smiling, ready and honest. He was named Nebuchadnezzar[15], but he answered to the nickname of Neb.

All these people were in Richmond[16], and it was very difficult to get out. Nothing indicated an early release to the prisoners. The reporter had but one idea; to get out of Richmond at any risk. Many times, indeed, he tried the experiment, and was stopped by obstacles.

Meanwhile, the siege continued, and the prisoners were anxious to escape in order to join the army of Grant[17]; and among these was a certain Jonathan Forster[18], who was a violent Southerner. This Jonathan Forster had conceived the idea of passing over the lines of the besiegers in a balloon.

So a balloon was made and placed at the disposal of Forster and five of his companions. They were provided with arms and food. The departure of the balloon had been fixed for the 18th of March. However, on the morning of the 18th the tempest broke forth.

The balloon, inflated in the great square of Richmond, was all ready, but the weather was terrible. The night of the 19th and 20th passed, but the storm only developed in intensity, and departure was impossible.

On that day Cyrus Smith in one of the streets of Richmond met a man whom he did not know. It was a sailor named Pencroff[19], aged from thirty-five to forty years, strongly built, much sun-burnt, his eyes bright and glittering. This Pencroff had sailed every sea, and had experienced every kind of extraordinary adventure that a man could encounter. It is needless to say that he was of an adventurous nature. Pencroff, in the early part of this year, had come to Richmond on business, having with him Herbert Brown[20], of New Jersey[21], a lad fifteen years old, the son of Pencroff’s captain, and an orphan whom he loved as his own child. He also had but one idea: to get out. He did not hesitate to address Mr. Smith without ceremony:

“Mr. Smith, have you had enough of[22] Richmond?”

The engineer looked fixedly at the man who spoke thus, and who added in a low voice:

“Mr. Smith, do you want to escape?”

“How?” answered the engineer, quickly. “Who are you?” he demanded, in a cold voice.

Pencroff made himself known[23].

“Well,” replied Smith. “And by what means do you propose to escape?”

“By this idle balloon which is doing nothing, and is ready to take us!”

The engineer seized Pencroff by the arm and hurried him to his house. There the sailor explained his project, which, in truth, was simple enough. They risked only their lives in carrying it out. The storm was terrible, it is true; but a skilful and daring engineer like Smith would know well how to manage a balloon. He had seen many storms and he thought nothing of them.

Cyrus Smith listened to the sailor without saying a word, with glistening eyes. This was the opportunity! The project was very dangerous, but it could be accomplished. During the night, in spite of the guards, they might reach the balloon, creep into the basket, and then cut the lines which held it!

“I am not alone,” said Smith.

“How many would you want to take?” demanded the sailor.

“Two; my friend Spilett, and my man Neb.”

“That would be three,” replied Pencroff; “and, with Herbert and myself, five. Well, the balloon can carry six.”

“Very well. We will go!” said the engineer.

“Tonight, then,” said Pencroff.

“Tonight, at ten o’clock,” replied Smith.

Pencroff returned to his lodging, where he found young Herbert Brown. This brave boy knew the plans of the sailor, and he was ready to go with him.

The storm did not abate, the journey would be terrible. The engineer feared but one thing; that the balloon, held to the ground and beaten down under the wind, would be torn into a thousand pieces.

Evening arrived. Thick masses of fog passed like clouds low down over the earth. Rain mingled with snow fell. The weather was cold. A sort of mist enveloped Richmond. The streets of the city were deserted; it had not even seemed necessary, in such weather, to guard the square in which swung the balloon. Everything favored the departure of the prisoners!

“Bad weather,” said Pencroff, holding his hat, which the wind was trying to take off, firmly to his head.

At half past 9, Cyrus Smith and his companions came together at the basket. They had not been discovered. Without saying a word, four of them took their places in it, while Pencroff, under the direction of the engineer, unfastened the bundles of ballast. It took but a few moments, and then the sailor joined his companions. Then, a dog leaped with a bound into the basket. It was Top, the dog of the engineer, who had followed his master.

The storm burst upon them with frightful violence. The engineer did not dare to descend during the night. It was not until five days later that the breaking of the clouds enabled them to see the vast sea extending below them.

So of these five men, who started on the 20th of March, four were thrown, four days later, on a desert coast, more than 6,000 miles from this country. And the one who was missing was their leader, Cyrus Smith.