tall pines, the stalwart oaks, the cypress scattered here and there,
made the evening darker overhead. Beneath our feet spread a carpet of
scattered herbs, pine needles and dead leaves. Such was the thickness
of the upper foliage that the last rays of the setting sun could no
longer penetrate here. We had to feel our way; and it was not without
some knocks that the carriage reached the clearing ten minutes later.
This clearing, surrounded by great trees, formed a sort of oval,
covered with rich grass. Here it was still daylight, and the darkness
would scarcely deepen for over an hour. There was thus time to
arrange an encampment and to rest awhile after our hard trip over the
rough and rocky roads.
Of course, we were intensely eager to approach the Creek and see if
the "Terror" was still there. But prudence restrained us. A little
patience, and the night-would enable us to reach a commanding
position unsuspected. Wells urged this strongly; and despite my
eagerness, I felt that he was right.
The horses were unharnessed, and left to browse under the care of the
coachman who had driven us. The provisions were unpacked, and John
Hart and Nab Walker spread out a meal on the grass at the foot of a
superb cypress which recalled to me the forest odors of Morganton and
Pleasant Garden. We were hungry and thirsty; and food and drink were
not lacking. Then our pipes were lighted to calm the anxious moments
of waiting that remained.
Silence reigned within the wood. The last song of the birds had
ceased. With the coming of night the breeze fell little by little,
and the leaves scarcely quivered even at the tops of the highest
branches. The sky darkened rapidly after sundown and twilight
deepened into obscurity.
I looked at my watch, it was half-past eight. "It is time, Wells."
"When you will, Mr. Strock."
"Then let us start."
We cautioned the coachman not to let the horses stray beyond the
clearing. Then we started. Wells went in advance, I followed him, and
John Hart and Nab Walker came behind. In the darkness, we three would
have been helpless without the guidance of Wells. Soon we reached the
farther border of the woods; and before us stretched the banks of
Black Rock Creek.
All was silent; all seemed deserted. We could advance without risk.
If the "Terror" was there, she had cast anchor behind the rocks. But
was she there? That was the momentous question! As we approached the
denouement of this exciting affair, my heart was in my throat.
Wells motioned to us to advance. The sand of the shore crunched
beneath our steps. The two hundred feet between us and the mouth of
the Creek were crossed softly, and a few minutes sufficed to bring us
to the rocks at the edge of the lake.
There was nothing! Nothing!
The spot where Wells had left the "Terror" twenty-four hours before
was empty. The "Master of the World" was no longer at Black Rock
Creek.
Chapter 12
BLACK ROCK CREEK
Human nature is prone to illusions. Of course, there had been all
along a probability that the "Terror" had deserted the locality, even
admitting that it was she Wells had seen the previous day. If some
damage to her triple system of locomotion had prevented her from
regaining either by land or by water her usual hiding-place, and
obliged her to seek refuge in Black Rock Creek, what ought we to
conclude now upon finding her here no longer? Obviously, that, having
finished her repairs, she had continued on her way, and was already
far beyond the waters of Lake Erie.
But probable as this result had been from the first, we had more and
more ignored it as our trip proceeded. We had come to accept as a
fact that we should meet the "Terror," that we should find her
anchored at the base of the rocks where Wells had seen her.
And now what disappointment! I might even say, what despair! All our
efforts gone for nothing! Even if the "Terror" was still upon the
lake, to find her, reach her and capture her, was beyond our power,
and it might as well be fully recognized beyond all human power.
We stood there, Wells and I, completely crushed, while John Hart and
Nab Walker, no less chagrined, went tramping along the banks of the
Creek, seeking any trace that had been left behind.
Posted there, at the mouth of the Creek, Wells and I exchanged
scarcely a word. What need was there of words to enable us to
understand each other! After our eagerness and our despair, we were
now exhausted. Defeated in our well-planned attempt, we felt as
unwilling to abandon our campaign, as we were unable to continue it.
Nearly an hour slipped by. We could not resolve to leave the place.
Our eyes still sought to pierce the night. Sometimes a glimmer, due
to the sparkle of the waters, trembled on the surface of the lake.
Then it vanished, and with it the foolish hope that it had roused.
Sometimes again, we thought we saw a shadow outlined against the
dark, the silhouette of an approaching boat. Yet again some eddies
would swirl up at our feet, as if the Creek had been stirred within
its depths. These vain imaginings were dissipated one after the
other. They were but the illusions raised by our strained fancies.
At length our companions rejoined us. My first question was, "Nothing
new?"
"Nothing," said John Hart.
"You have explored both banks of the Creek?"
"Yes," responded Nab Walker, "as far as the shallow water above; and
we have not seen even a vestige of the things which Mr. Wells saw
laid on the shore."
"Let us wait awhile," said I, unable to resolve upon a return to the
woods.
At that moment our attention was caught by a sudden agitation of the
waters, which swelled upward at the foot of the rocks.
"It is like the swell from a vessel," said Wells.
"Yes," said I, instinctively lowering my voice. "What has caused it?
The wind has completely died out. Does it come from something on the
surface of the lake?"
"Or from something underneath," said Wells, bending forward, the
better to determine.
The commotion certainly seemed as if caused by some boat, whether
from beneath the water, or approaching the creek from outside upon
the lake.
Silent, motionless, we strained eyes and ears to pierce the profound
obscurity. The faint noise of the waves of the lake lapping on the
shore beyond the creek, came to us distinctly through the night. John
Hart and Nab Walker drew a little aside upon a higher ridge of rocks.
As for me, I leaned close to the water to watch the agitation. It did
not lessen. On the contrary it became momentarily more evident, and
I began to distinguish a sort of regular throbbing, like that
produced by a screw in motion.
"There is no doubt," declared Wells, leaning close to me, "there is a
boat coming toward us."
"There certainly is," responded I, "unless they have whales or sharks
in Lake Erie."
"No, it is a boat," repeated Wells. "Is she headed toward the mouth
of the creek, or is she going further up it?"
"This is just where you saw the boat twice before?"
"Yes, just here."
"Then if this is the same one, and it can be no other, she will
probably return to the same spot."
"There!" whispered Wells, extending his hand toward the entrance of
the creek.
Our companions rejoined us, and all four, crouching low upon the
bank, peered in the direction he pointed.
We vaguely distinguished a black mass moving through the darkness. It
advanced very slowly and was still outside the creek, upon the lake,
perhaps a cable's length to the northeast. We could scarcely hear
even now the faint throbbing of its engines. Perhaps they had stopped
and the boat was only gliding forward under their previous impulse.
It seemed, then, that this was indeed the submarine which Wells had
watched, and it was returning to pass this night, like the last,
within the shelter of the creek.
Why had it left the anchorage, if only to return? Had it suffered
some new disaster, which again impaired its power? Or had it been
before compelled to leave, with its repairs still unfinished? What
cause constrained it to return here? Was there some imperious reason
why it could no longer be turned into an automobile, and go darting
away across the roads of Ohio?
To all these questions which came crowding upon me, I could give no
answer. Furthermore both Wells and I kept reasoning under the
assumption that this was really the "Terror" commanded by the "Master
of the World" who had dated from it his letter of defiance to the
government. Yet this premise was still unproven, no matter how
confident we might feel of it.
Whatever boat this was, that stole so softly through the night, it
continued to approach us. Assuredly its captain must know perfectly
the channels and shores of Black Rock Creek, since he ventured here
in such darkness. Not a light showed upon the deck. Not a single ray
from within the cabin glimmered through any crevice.
A moment later, we heard some machinery moving very softly. The swell
of the eddies grew stronger, and in a few moments the boat touched
the quay.
This word "quay," only used in that region, exactly describes the
spot. The rocks at our feet formed a level, five or six feet above
the water, and descending to it perpendicularly, exactly like a
landing wharf.
"We must not stop here," whispered Wells, seizing me by the arm.
"No," I answered, "they might see us. We must lie crouched upon the
beach! Or we might hide in some crevice of the rocks."
"We will follow you."
There was not a moment to lose. The dark mass was now close at hand,
and on its deck, but slightly raised above the surface of the water,
we could trace the silhouettes of two men.
Were there, then, really only two on board?
We stole softly back to where the ravines rose toward the woods
above. Several niches in the rocks were at hand. Wells and I crouched
down in one, my two assistants in another. If the men on the "Terror"
landed, they could not see us; but we could see them, and would be
able to act as opportunity offered.
There were some slight noises from the boat, a few words exchanged in
our own language. It was evident that the vessel was preparing to
anchor. Then almost instantly, a rope was thrown out, exactly on the
point of the quay where we had stood.
Leaning forward, Wells could discern that the rope was seized by one
of the mariners, who had leaped ashore. Then we heard a
grappling-iron scrape along the ground.
Some moments later, steps crunched upon the sand. Two men came up the
ravine, and went onward toward the edge of the woods, guiding their
steps by a ship lantern.
Where were they going? Was Black Rock Creek a regular hiding place of
the "Terror?" Had her commander a depot here for stores or
provisions? Did they come here to restock their craft, when the whim
of their wild voyaging brought them to this part of the continent?
Did they know this deserted, uninhabited spot so well, that they had
no fear of ever being discovered here?
"What shall we do?" whispered Wells.
"Wait till they return, and then--" My words were cut short by a
surprise. The men were not thirty feet from us, when, one of them
chancing to turn suddenly, the light of their lantern fell full upon
his face.
He was one of the two men who had watched before my house in Long
Street! I could not be mistaken! I recognized him as positively as my
old servant had done. It was he; it was assuredly one of the spies of
whom I had never been able to find any further traces! There was no
longer any doubt, my warning letter had come from them. It was
therefore from the "Master of the World"; it had been written from
the "Terror" and this was the "Terror." Once more I asked myself what
could be the connection between this machine and the Great Eyrie!
In whispered words, I told Wells of my discovery. His only comment
was, "It is all incomprehensible!"
Meanwhile the two men had continued on their way to the woods, and
were gathering sticks beneath the trees. "What if they discover our
encampment?" murmured Wells.
"No danger, if they do not go beyond the nearest trees."
"But if they do discover it?"
"They will hurry back to their boat, and we shall be able to cut off
their retreat."
Toward the creek, where their craft lay, there was no further sound.
I left my hiding-place; I descended the ravine to the quay; I stood
on the very spot where the grappling-iron was fast among the rocks.
The "Terror" lay there, quiet at the end of its cable. Not a light
was on board; not a person visible, either on the deck, or on the
bank. Was not this my opportunity? Should I leap on board and there
await the return of the two men?
"Mr. Strock!" It was Wells, who called to me softly from close at
hand.
I drew back in all haste and crouched down beside him. Was it too
late to take possession of the boat? Or would the attempt perhaps
result in disaster from the presence of others watching on board?
At any rate, the two men with the lantern were close at hand
returning down the ravine. Plainly they suspected nothing. Each
carrying a bundle of wood, they came forward and stopped upon the
quay.
Then one of them raised his voice, though not loudly. "Hullo!
Captain!"
"All right," answered a voice from the boat.
Wells murmured in my ear, "There are three!"
"Perhaps four," I answered, "perhaps five or six!"
The situation grew more complicated. Against a crew so numerous, what
ought we to do? The least imprudence might cost us dear! Now that the
two men had returned, would they re-embark with their faggots? Then
would the boat leave the creek, or would it remain anchored until
day? If it withdrew, would it not be lost to us? It could leave the
waters of Lake Erie, and cross any of the neighboring states by land;
or it could retrace its road by the Detroit River which would lead it
to Lake Huron and the Great Lakes above. Would such an opportunity as
this, in the narrow waters of Black Rock Creek, ever occur again!
"At least," said I to Wells, "we are four. They do not expect attack;
they will be surprised. The result is in the hands of Providence."
I was about to call our two men, when Wells again seized my arm.
"Listen!" said he.
One of the men hailed the boat, and it drew close up to the rocks. We
heard the Captain say to the two men ashore, "Everything is all
right, up there?"
"Everything, Captain."
"There are still two bundles of wood left there?"
"Two."
"Then one more trip will bring them all on board the 'Terror.'"
The "Terror!" It WAS she!
"Yes; just one more trip," answered one of the men.
"Good; then we will start off again at daybreak."
Were there then but three of them on board? The Captain, this Master
of the World, and these two men?
Evidently they planned to take aboard the last of their wood. Then
they would withdraw within their machine, and go to sleep. Would not
that be the time to surprise them, before they could defend
themselves?
Rather than to attempt to reach and capture the ship in face of this
resolute Captain who was guarding it, Wells and I agreed that it was
better to let his men return unassailed, and wait till they were all
asleep.
It was now half an hour after ten. Steps were once more heard upon
the shore. The man with a lantern and his companion, again remounted
the ravine toward the woods. When they were safely beyond hearing,
Wells went to warn our men, while I stole forward again to the very
edge of the water.
The "Terror" lay at the end of a short cable. As well as I could
judge, she was long and slim, shaped like a spindle, without chimney,
without masts, without rigging, such a shape as had been described
when she was seen on the coast of New England.
I returned to my place, with my men in the shelter of the ravine; and
we looked to our revolvers, which might well prove of service.
Five minutes had passed since the men reached the woods, and we
expected their return at any moment. After that, we must wait at
least an hour before we made our attack; so that both the Captain and
his comrades might be deep in sleep. It was important that they
should have not a moment either to send their craft darting out upon
the waters of Lake Erie, or to plunge it beneath the waves where we
would have been entrapped with it.
In all my career I have never felt such impatience. It seemed to me
that the two men must have been detained in the woods. Something had
barred their return.
Suddenly a loud noise was heard, the tumult of run-away horses,
galloping furiously along the shore!
They were our own, which, frightened, and perhaps neglected by the
driver, had broken away from the clearing, and now came rushing along
the bank.
At the same moment, the two men reappeared, and this time they were
running with all speed. Doubtless they had discovered our encampment,
and had at once suspected that there were police hidden in the woods.
They realized that they were watched, they were followed, they would
be seized. So they dashed recklessly down the ravine, and after
loosening the cable, they would doubtless endeavor to leap aboard.
The "Terror" would disappear with the speed of a meteor, and our
attempt would be wholly defeated!
"Forward," I cried. And we scrambled down the sides of the ravine to
cut off the retreat of the two men.
They saw us and, on the instant, throwing down their bundles, fired
at us with revolvers, hitting John Hart in the leg.
We fired in our turn, but less successfully. The men neither fell nor
faltered in their course. Reaching the edge of the creek, without
stopping to unloose the cable, they plunged overboard, and in a
moment were clinging to the deck of the "Terror."
Their captain, springing forward, revolver in hand, fired. The ball
grazed Wells.
Nab Walker and I seizing the cable, pulled the black mass of the boat
toward shore. Could they cut the rope in time to escape us?
Suddenly the grappling-iron was torn violently from the rocks. One of
its hooks caught in my belt, while Walker was knocked down by the
flying cable. I was entangled by the iron and the rope and dragged
forward--
The "Terror," driven by all the power of her engines, made a single
bound and darted out across Black Rock Creek.
Chapter 13
ON BOARD THE TERROR
When I came to my senses it was daylight. A half light pierced the
thick glass port-hole of the narrow cabin wherein someone had placed
me--how many hours ago, I could not say! Yet it seemed to me
by the slanting rays, that the sun could not be very far
above the horizon.
I was resting in a narrow bunk with coverings over me. My clothes,
hanging in a corner, had been dried. My belt, torn in half by the
hook of the iron, lay on the floor.
I felt no wound nor injury, only a little weakness. If I had lost
consciousness, I was sure it had not been from a blow. My head must
have been drawn beneath the water, when I was tangled in the cable. I
should have been suffocated, if someone had not dragged me from the
lake.
Now, was I on board the "Terror?" And was I alone with the Captain
and his two men? This seemed probable, almost certain. The whole
scene of our encounter rose before my eyes, Hart lying wounded upon
the bank; Wells firing shot after shot, Walker hurled down at the
instant when the grappling hook caught my belt! And my companions? On
their side, must not they think that I had perished in the waters of
Lake Erie?
Where was the "Terror" now, and how was it navigating? Was it moving
as an automobile? Speeding across the roads of some neighboring
State? If so, and if I had been unconscious for many hours, the
machine with its tremendous powers must be already far away. Or, on
the other hand, were we, as a submarine, following some course
beneath the lake?
No, the "Terror" was moving upon some broad liquid surface. The
sunlight, penetrating my cabin, showed that the window was not
submerged. On the other hand, I felt none of the jolting that the
automobile must have suffered even on the smoothest highway. Hence
the "Terror" was not traveling upon land.
As to deciding whether she was still traversing Lake Erie, that was
another matter. Had not the Captain reascended the Detroit River, and
entered Lake Huron, or even Lake Superior beyond? It was difficult to
say.
At any rate I decided to go up on deck. From there I might be able to
judge. Dragging myself somewhat heavily from the bunk, I reached for
my clothes and dressed, though without much energy. Was I not
probably locked within this cabin?
The only exit seemed by a ladder and hatchway above my head. The
hatch rose readily to my hand, and I ascended half way on deck.
My first care was to look forward, backward, and on both sides of the
speeding "Terror." Everywhere a vast expanse of waves! Not a shore in
sight! Nothing but the horizon formed by sea and sky!
Whether it was a lake or the ocean I could easily settle. As we shot
forward at such speed the water cut by the bow, rose furiously upward
on either side, and the spray lashed savagely against me.
I tasted it. It was fresh water, and very probably that of Lake Erie.
The sun was but midway toward the zenith so it could scarcely be more
than seven or eight hours since the moment when the "Terror" had
darted from Black Rock Creek.
This must therefore be the following morning, that of the
thirty-first of July.
Considering that Lake Erie is two hundred and twenty miles long, and
over fifty wide, there was no reason to be surprised that I could see
no land, neither that of the United States to the southeast nor of
Canada to the northwest.
At this moment there were two men on the deck, one being at the bow
on the look-out, the other in the stern, keeping the course to the
northeast, as I judged by the position of the sun. The one at the bow
was he whom I had recognized as he ascended the ravine at Black Rock.
The second was his companion who had carried the lantern. I looked in
vain for the one whom they had called Captain. He was not in sight.
It will be readily appreciated how eager was my desire to stand in
the presence of the creator of this prodigious machines of this
fantastic personage who occupied and preoccupied the attention of all
the world, the daring inventor who did not fear to engage in battle
against the entire human race, and who proclaimed himself "Master of
the World."
I approached the man on the look-out, and after a minute of silence I
asked him, "Where is the Captain?"
He looked at me through half-closed eyes. He seemed not to understand
me. Yet I knew, having heard him the night before, that he spoke
English. Moreover, I noticed that he did not appear surprised to see
me out of my cabin. Turning his back upon me, he continued to search
the horizon.
I stepped then toward the stern, determined to ask the same question
about the Captain. But when I approached the steersman, he waved me
away with his hand, and I obtained no other response.
It only remained for me to study this craft, from which we had been
repelled with revolver shots, when we had seized upon its anchor rope.
I therefore set leisurely to work to examine the construction of this
machine, which was carrying me--whither? The deck and the upper works
were all made of some metal which I did not recognize. In the center
of the deck, a scuttle half raised covered the room where the engines
were working regularly and almost silently. As I had seen before,
neither masts, nor rigging! Not even a flagstaff at the stern! Toward
the bow there arose the top of a periscope by which the "Terror"
could be guided when beneath the water.
On the sides were folded back two sort of outshoots resembling the
gangways on certain Dutch boats. Of these I could not understand the
use.
In the bow there rose a third hatch-way which presumably covered the
quarters occupied by the two men when the "Terror" was at rest.
At the stern a similar hatch gave access probably to the cabin of the
captain, who remained unseen. When these different hatches were shut
down, they had a sort of rubber covering which closed them
hermetically tight, so that the water could not reach the interior
when the boat plunged beneath the ocean.
As to the motor, which imparted such prodigious speed to the machine,
I could see nothing of it, nor of the propeller. However, the fast
speeding boat left behind it only a long, smooth wake. The extreme
fineness of the lines of the craft, caused it to make scarcely any
waves, and enabled it to ride lightly over the crest of the billows
even in a rough sea.
As was already known, the power by which the machine was driven, was
neither steam nor gasoline, nor any of those similar liquids so well
known by their odor, which are usually employed for automobiles and
submarines. No doubt the power here used was electricity, generated
on board, at some high power. Naturally I asked myself whence comes
this electricity, from piles, or from accumulators? But how were
these piles or accumulators charged? Unless, indeed, the electricity
was drawn directly from the surrounding air or from the water, by
processes hitherto unknown. And I asked myself with intense eagerness
if in the present situation, I might be able to discover these
secrets.
Then I thought of my companions, left behind on the shore of Black
Rock Creek. One of them, I knew, was wounded; perhaps the others were
also. Having seen me dragged overboard by the hawser, could they
possibly suppose that I had been rescued by the "Terror?" Surely not!
Doubtless the news of my death had already been telegraphed to Mr.
Ward from Toledo. And now who would dare to undertake a new campaign
against this "Master of the World"?
These thoughts occupied my mind as I awaited the captain's appearance
on the deck. He did not appear.
I soon began to feel very hungry; for I must have fasted now nearly
twenty-four hours. I had eaten nothing since our hasty meal in the
woods, even if that had been the night before. And judging by the
pangs which now assailed my stomach, I began to wonder if I had not
been snatched on board the "Terror" two days before,--or even more.
Happily the question if they meant to feed me, and how they meant to
feed me, was solved at once. The man at the bow left his post,
descended, and reappeared. Then, without saying a word, he placed
some food before me and returned to his place. Some potted meat,
dried fish, sea-biscuit, and a pot of ale so strong that I had to mix
it with water, such was the meal to which I did full justice. My
fellow travelers had doubtless eaten before I came out of the cabin,
and they did not join me.
There was nothing further to attract my eyes, and I sank again into
thought. How would this adventure finish? Would I see this invisible
captain at length, and would he restore me to liberty? Could I regain
it in spite of him? That would depend on circumstances! But if the
"Terror" kept thus far away from the shore, or if she traveled
beneath the water, how could I escape from her? Unless we landed, and
the machine became an automobile, must I not abandon all hope of
escape?
Moreover--why should I not admit it?--to escape without having
learned anything of the "Terror's" secrets would not have contented
me at all. Although I could not thus far flatter myself upon the
success of my campaign, and though I had come within a hairbreadth of
losing my life and though the future promised far more of evil than
of good, yet after all, a step forward had been attained. To be sure,
if I was never to be able to re-enter into communication with the
world, if, like this Master of the World who had voluntarily placed
himself outside the law, I was now placed outside humanity, then the
fact that I had reached the "Terror" would have little value.
The craft continued headed to the northeast, following the longer
axis of Lake Erie. She was advancing at only half speed; for, had she
been doing her best, she must some hours before have reached the
northeastern extremity of the lake.
At this end Lake Erie has no other outlet than the Niagara River, by
which it empties into Lake Ontario. Now, this river is barred by the
famous cataract some fifteen miles beyond the important city of
Buffalo. Since the "Terror" had not retreated by the Detroit River,
down which she had descended from the upper lakes, how was she to
escape from these waters, unless indeed she crossed by land?
The sun passed the meridian. The day was beautiful; warm but not
unpleasantly so, thanks to the breeze made by our passage. The shores
of the lake continued invisible on both the Canadian and the American
side.
Was the captain determined not to show himself? Had he some reason
for remaining unknown? Such a precaution would indicate that he
intended to set me at liberty in the evening, when the "Terror" could
approach the shore unseen.
Toward two o'clock, however, I heard a slight noise; the central
hatchway was raised. The man I had so impatiently awaited appeared on
deck.
I must admit he paid no more attention to me, than his men had done.
Going to the stern, he took the helm. The man whom he had relieved,
after a few words in a low tone, left the deck, descending by the
forward hatchway. The captain, having scanned the horizon, consulted
the compass, and slightly altered our course. The speed of the
"Terror" increased.
This man, so interesting both to me and to the world, must have been
some years over fifty. He was of middle height, with powerful
shoulders still very erect; a strong head, with thick hair rather
gray than white, smooth shaven cheeks, and a short, crisp beard. His
chest was broad, his jaw prominent, and he had that characteristic
sign of tremendous energy, bushy eyebrows drawn sharply together.
Assuredly he possessed a constitution of iron, splendid health, and
warm red blood beneath his sun burned skin.
Like his companions the captain was dressed in sea-clothes covered by
an oil-skin coat, and with a woolen cap which could be pulled down to
cover his head entirely, when he so desired.
Need I add that the captain of the "Terror" was the other of the two
men, who had watched my house in Long street. Moreover, if I
recognized him, he also must recognize me as chief-inspector Strock,
to whom had been assigned the task of penetrating the Great Eyrie.
I looked at him curiously. On his part, while he did not seek to
avoid my eyes, he showed at least a singular indifference to the fact
that he had a stranger on board.
As I watched him, the idea came to me, a suggestion which I had not
connected with the first view of him in Washington, that I had
already seen this characteristic figure. Was it in one of the
photographs held in the police department, or was it merely a picture
in some shop window? But the remembrance was very vague. Perhaps I
merely imagined it.
Well, though his companions had not had the politeness to answer me,
perhaps he would be more courteous. He spoke the same language as I,
although I could not feel quite positive that he was of American
birth. He might indeed have decided to pretend not to understand me,
so as to avoid all discussion while he held me prisoner.
In that case, what did he mean to do with me? Did he intend to
dispose of me without further ceremony? Was he only waiting for night
to throw me overboard? Did even the little which I knew of him, make
me a danger of which he must rid himself? But in that case, he might
better have left me at the end of his anchor line. That would have
saved him the necessity of drowning me over again.
I turned, I walked to the stern, I stopped full in front of him.
Then, at length, he fixed full upon me a glance that burned like a
flame.
"Are you the captain?" I asked.
He was silent.
"This boat! Is it really the 'Terror?'"
To this question also there was no response. Then I reached toward
him; I would have taken hold of his arm.
He repelled me without violence, but with a movement that suggested
tremendous restrained power.
Planting myself again before him, I demanded in a louder tone, "What
do you mean to do with me?"
Words seemed almost ready to burst from his lips, which he compressed
with visible irritation. As though to check his speech he turned his
head aside. His hand touched a regulator of some sort, and the
machine rapidly increased its speed.
Anger almost mastered me. I wanted to cry out "So be it! Keep your
silence! I know who you are, just as I know your machine, recognized
at Madison, at Boston, at Lake Kirdall. Yes; it is you, who have
rushed so recklessly over our roads, our seas and our lakes! Your
boat is the 'Terror' and you her commander, wrote that letter to the
government. It is you who fancy you can fight the entire world. You,
who call yourself the Master of the World!"
And how could he have denied it! I saw at that moment the famous
initials inscribed upon the helm!
Fortunately I restrained myself; and despairing of getting any
response to my questions, I returned to my seat near the hatchway of
my cabin.
For long hours, I patiently watched the horizon in the hope that land
would soon appear. Yes, I sat waiting! For I was reduced to that!
Waiting! No doubt, before the day closed, the "Terror" must reach the
end of Lake Erie, since she continued her course steadily to the
northeast.
Chapter 14
NIAGARA
The hours passed, and the situation did not change. The steersman
returned on deck, and the captain, descending, watched the movement
of the engines. Even when our speed increased, these engines
continued working without noise, and with remarkable smoothness There
was never one of those inevitable breaks, with which in most motors
the pistons sometimes miss a stroke. I concluded that the "Terror,"
in each of its transformations must be worked by rotary engines. But
I could not assure myself of this.
For the rest, our direction did not change. Always we headed toward
the northeast end of the lake, and hence toward Buffalo.
Why, I wondered, did the captain persist in following this route? He
could not intend to stop at Buffalo, in the midst of a crowd of boats
and shipping of every kind. If he meant to leave the lake by water,
there was only the Niagara River to follow; and its Falls would be
impassable, even to such a machine as this. The only escape was by
the Detroit River, and the "Terror" was constantly leaving that
farther behind.
Then another idea occurred to me. Perhaps the captain was only
waiting for night to return to the shore of the lake. There, the
boat, changed to an automobile, would quickly cross the neighboring
States. If I did not succeed in making my escape, during this passage
across the land, all hope of regaining my liberty would be gone.
True, I might learn where this Master of the World hid himself. I
might learn what no one had yet been able to discover, assuming
always that he did not dispose of me at one time or another--and what
I expected his "disposal" would be, is easily comprehended.
I knew the northeast end of Lake Erie well, having often visited that
section of New York State which extends westward from Albany to
Buffalo. Three years before, a police mission had led me to explore
carefully the shores of the Niagara River, both above and below the
cataract and its Suspension Bridge. I had visited the two principal
islands between Buffalo and the little city of Niagara Falls, I had
explored Navy Island and also Goat Island, which separates the
American falls from those of the Canadian side.
Thus if an opportunity for flight presented itself, I should not find
myself in an unknown district. But would this chance offer? And at
heart, did I desire it, or would I seize upon it? What secrets still
remained in this affair in which good fortune or was it evil
fortune--had so closely entangled me!
On the other hand, I saw no real reason to suppose that there was any
chance of my reaching the shores of the Niagara River. The "Terror"
would surely not venture into this trap which had no exit. Probably
she would not even go to the extremity of the lake.
Such were the thoughts that spun through my excited brain, while my
eyes remained fixed upon the empty horizon.
And always one persistent question remained insolvable. Why had the
captain written to me personally that threatening letter? Why had he
spied upon me in Washington? What bond attached him to the Great
Eyrie? There might indeed be subterranean canals which gave him
passage to Lake Kirdall, but could he pierce the impenetrable
fortress of the Eyrie? No! That was beyond him!
Toward four o'clock in the afternoon, reckoning by the speed of the
"Terror" and her direction, I knew we must be approaching Buffalo;
and indeed, its outlines began to show some fifteen miles ahead.
During our passage, a few boats had been seen, but we had passed them
at a long distance, a distance which our captain could easily keep as
great as he pleased. Moreover, the "Terror" lay so low upon the
water, that at even a mile away it would have been difficult to
discover her.
Now, however, the hills encircling the end of Lake Erie, came within
vision, beyond Buffalo, forming the sort of funnel by which Lake Erie
pours its waters into the channel of the Niagara river. Some dunes
rose on the right, groups of trees stood out here and there. In the
distance, several freight steamers and fishing smacks appeared. The
sky became spotted with trails of smoke, which were swept along by a
light eastern breeze.
What was our captain thinking of in still heading toward the port of
Buffalo! Did not prudence forbid him to venture further? At each
moment, I expected that he would give a sweep of the helm and turn
away toward the western shore of the lake. Or else, I thought, he
would prepare to plunge beneath the surface. But this persistence in
holding our bow toward Buffalo was impossible to understand!
At length the helmsman, whose eyes were watching the northeastern
shore, made a sign to his companion. The latter, leaving the bow,
went to the central hatchway, and descended into the engine room.
Almost immediately the captain came on deck, and joining the
helmsman, spoke with him in a low voice.
The latter, extending his hand toward Buffalo, pointed out two black
spots, which showed five or six miles distant on the starboard side.
The captain studied them attentively. Then shrugging his shoulders,
he seated himself at the stern without altering the course of the
"Terror."
A quarter of an hour later, I could see plainly that there were two
smoke clouds at the point they had studied so carefully. Little by
little the black spots beneath these became more defined. They were
two long, low steamers, which, coming from the port of Buffalo, were
approaching rapidly.
Suddenly it struck me that these were the two torpedo destroyers of
which Mr. Ward had spoken, and which I had been told to summon in
case of need.
These destroyers were of the newest type, the swiftest boats yet
constructed in the country. Driven by powerful engines of the latest
make, they had covered almost thirty miles an hour. It is true, the
"Terror" commanded an even greater speed, and always, if she were
surrounded so that flight was impossible, she could submerge herself
out of reach of all pursuit. In truth, the destroyers would have had
to be submarines to attack the "Terror" with any chance of success.
And I know not, if even in that case, the contest would have been
equal.
Meanwhile, it seemed to me evident that the commanders of the two
ships had been warned, perhaps by Mr. Wells who, returning swiftly to
Toledo, might have telegraphed to them the news of our defeat. It
appeared, moreover, that they had seen the "Terror," for they were
headed at full speed toward her. Yet our captain, seemingly giving
them no thought whatever, continued his course toward the Niagara
River.
What would the torpedo destroyers do? Presumably, they would maneuver
so as to seek to shut the "Terror" within the narrowing end of the
lake where the Niagara offered her no passage.
Our captain now took the helm. One of the men was at the bow, the
other in the engine room. Would the order be given for me to go down
into the cabin?
It was not, to my extreme satisfaction. To speak frankly, no one paid
any attention to me. It was as if I had not been on board. I watched,
therefore, not without mixed emotions, the approach of the
destroyers. Less than two miles distant now they separated in such a
way as to hold the "Terror" between their fires.
As to the Master of the World, his manner indicated only the most
profound disdain. He seemed sure that these destroyers were powerless
against him. With a touch to his machinery he could distance them, no
matter what their speed! With a few turns of her engine, the "Terror"
would dart beyond their cannon shots! Or, in the depths of the lake,
what projectiles could find the submarine?
Five minutes later, scarcely a mile separated us from the two
powerful fighters which pursued us. Our captain permitted them to
approach still closer. Then he pressed upon a handle. The "Terror,"
doubling the action of her propellers, leaped across the surface of
the lake. She played with the destroyers! Instead of turning in
flight, she continued her forward course. Who knew if she would not
even have the audacity to pass between her two enemies, to coax them
after her, until the hour when, as night closed in, they would be
forced to abandon the useless pursuit!
The city of Buffalo was now in plain view on the border of the lake.
I saw its huge buildings, its church towers, its grain elevators.
Only four or five miles ahead, Niagara river opened to the northward.
Under these new conditions which way should I turn? When we passed in
front of the destroyers, or perhaps between them, should I not throw
myself into the waters I was a good swimmer, and such a chance might
never occur again. The captain could not stop to recapture me. By
diving could I not easily escape, even from a bullet? I should surely
be seen by one or other of the pursuers. Perhaps, even, their
commanders had been warned of my presence on board the "Terror."
Would not a boat be sent to rescue me?
Evidently my chance of success would be even greater, if the "Terror"
entered the narrow waters of Niagara River. At Navy Island I would be
able to set foot on territory that I knew well. But to suppose that
our captain would rush into this river where he might be swept over
the great cataract! That seemed impossible! I resolved to await the
destroyers' closest approach and at the last moment I would decide.
Yet my resolution to escape was but half-hearted. I could not resign
myself thus to lose all chance of following up this mystery. My
instincts as a police official revolted. I had but to reach out my
hand in order to seize this man who had been outlawed! Should I let
him escape me! No! I would not save myself! Yet, on the other hand,
what fate awaited me, and where would I be carried by the "Terror,"
if I remained on board?
It was a quarter past six. The destroyers, quivering and trembling
under the strain of their speed, gained on us perceptibly. They were
now directly astern, leaving between them a distance of twelve or
fifteen cable lengths. The "Terror," without increasing her speed,
saw one of them approach on the port side, the other to starboard.
I did not leave my place. The man at the bow was close by me.
Immovable at the helm, his eyes burning beneath his contracted brows,
the captain waited. He meant, perhaps, to finish the chase by one
last maneuver.
Suddenly, a puff of smoke rose from the destroyer on our left. A
projectile, brushing the surface of the water, passed in front of the
"Terror," and sped beyond the destroyer on our right.
I glanced around anxiously. Standing by my side, the lookout seemed
to await a sign from the captain. As for him, he did not even turn
his head; and I shall never forget the expression of disdain
imprinted on his visage.
At this moment, I was pushed suddenly toward the hatchway of my
cabin, which was fastened above me. At the same instant the other
hatchways were closed; the deck became watertight. I heard a single
throb of the machinery, and the plunge was made, the submarine
disappeared beneath the waters of the lake.
Cannon shot still boomed above us. Their heavy echo reached my ear;
then everything was peace. Only a faint light penetrated through the
porthole into my cabin. The submarine, without the least rolling or
pitching, sped silently through the deeps.
I had seen with what rapidity, and also with what ease the
transformation of the "Terror" had been made. No less easy and rapid,
perhaps, would be her change to an automobile.
And now what would this Master of the World do? Presumably he would
change his course, unless, indeed, he preferred to speed to land, and
there continue his route along the roads. It still seemed more
probable, however, that he would turn back toward the west, and after
distancing the destroyers, regain the Detroit River. Our submersion
would probably only last long enough to escape out of cannon range,
or until night forbade pursuit.
Fate, however, had decreed a different ending to this exciting chase.
Scarce ten minutes had passed when there seemed some confusion on
board. I heard rapid words exchanged in the engine room. The steadily
moving machinery became noisy and irregular. At once I suspected that
some accident compelled the submarine to reascend.
I was not mistaken. In a moment, the semi-obscurity of my cabin was
pierced by sunshine. The "Terror" had risen above water. I heard
steps on the deck, and the hatchways were re-opened, including mine.
I sprang up the ladder.
The captain had resumed his place at the helm, while the two men were
busy below. I looked to see if the destroyers were still in view.
Yes! Only a quarter of a mile away! The "Terror" had already been
seen, and the powerful vessels which enforced the mandates of our
government were swinging into position to give chase. Once more the
"Terror" sped in the direction of Niagara River.
I must confess, I could make nothing of this maneuver. Plunging into
a cul-de-sac, no longer able to seek the depths because of the
accident, the "Terror" might, indeed, temporarily distance her
pursuers; but she must find her path barred by them when she
attempted to return. Did she intend to land, and if so, could she
hope to outrun the telegrams which would warn every police agency of
her approach?
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999
1000