Fogg left the limp and bleeding body and hastened after Passepartout. The sailor had taken refuge behind the rear of the aft cabin, just forward of the wheel. Passepartout waited for Fogg at the companionway to the fore cabin. This could be entered by a sliding door which was already shoved to one side.
Since they had not been in a confined space, and the distorter had been, the clangings had not affected their eardrums as much as the previous time. Their hearing was restored enough so that they could hear each other if they put their heads closely together and shouted. Fogg told his comrade to wait there while he inspected the interior of the aft cabins. Perhaps there was another entrance at the other end of his deckhouse. He had to make sure that the sailor did not try a surprise attack by using this. Before reemerging from the doorway, he would give the password. Thus, if the sailor had entered the other end, and overcame or killed Fogg, he would not be able to take Passepartout unawares.
“I saw the upper part of the wheel over the top of this house,” the Frenchman said. “There was no one at it.”
“The ship seems to be deserted except for this Capellean,” Fogg said. “Very strange. But doubtless it can be explained. This seems to be a brigantine. And it’s going on the starboard tack.”
“Pardon, sir?”
“With the wind from the right. The jib and foremast staysails are set on the starboard tack. The ship is headed westward.”
“Jib? Foremast staysail, sir?”
“The headsails. At the front of the ship. The two middle sails, those triangular-shaped ones, attached to the long boom projecting from the nose of the ship. The lower fore-topsail, the fourth from the bottom of the main mast, seems to have been set, but its head has been torn, probably by the wind.
“The foresail and upper fore-topsail are missing. I would judge that they have been blown from the yards. The main staysail, the lowest of the three triangular sails attached between the two masts, is down. It’s that heap on the forward house. The aftersails have been removed. All other sails are furled, even the fore-and-aft sails. The main peak halyards, ropes for lowering and raising the sails, have been broken. Most of them are gone. Before the mainsail can be set, the halyards will have to be repaired. The seas are somewhat heavy, but the ship is not yawing much, that is, changing direction. But we can inspect the ship at a later time. I’m telling you this now so you’ll have some idea of what to do if I don’t return.”
That was not nearly enough for him to know what to do, Passepartout thought.
Fogg, holding the revolver ready, entered the cabin. The open door gave some light. There was a window on the bow end, but it had been covered with a piece of canvas secured by strips of plank nailed into the side of the cabin. The floor was wet, though there was no standing water. This could be accounted for by a heavy sea or rain having come in from somewhere. There was a clock without hands secured upside-down by the two nails to a partition. A table held a slate log and a rack—called by the sailors a fiddle—which kept dishes from sliding off. The rack held dishes but no food or drink was visible nor were there any knives and forks. A piece of canvas evidently used as a towel was on the rack.
Fogg also saw a stove and a swinging lamp.
He looked at the slate log, which would have been used by the chief to make notations while on deck.
“H” stood for the hour; “K,” for knots. Though the log said it was for Monday the twenty-fifth, the date was nautical, not civil. The day would have started on noon of the twenty-fifth, not midnight. The twenty-fifth, for the ship, would end at noon of the twenty-sixth, after which it would be November twenty-sixth.
Today was November twenty-seventh. Something had happened at eight in the morning on the twenty-fifth, or a few hours later, to prevent the mate from continuing the log. When the record ended, the island of St. Mary’s was about six miles to the southwest.
On the port, or left, side of the cabin was the pantry. Fogg, entering it cautiously, found an open box holding moist sugar, a bag with several pounds of tea, an open barrel of flour, an open box of dried herrings, some rice and kidney beans in containers, some pots of preserved fruit, cans of food, and a nutmeg. These were all dry.
Fogg went back into the mate’s cabin and looked around again. On the starboard side was a small bracket holding a tiny vial of oil for, he guessed, a sewing machine. This was still upright. If very heavy seas had been recently met, it would have been thrown to the deck. The bed was dry and showed no damage from water.
He looked under the bed and drew out the ship’s ensign and its private signal: WT. The letter “W” had been sewn on. Also under the bed was a pair of stout sailor’s boots, designed for bad weather but apparently unused. There were also two drawers. One held some pieces of iron and two unbroken panes of glass. The lower drawer held a pair of log sunglasses and a new log reel but no log line.
The next cabin, the last, was the captain’s. He doubted that the sailor was in it. If he had entered it, he surely would have made his presence known by now. However, Fogg entered it slowly, and he kept to the sides of the cabin after he got in. There was a skylight through which the sailor might shoot if he crawled onto the top of the deckhouse.
A harmonium, a reed organ, was by the partition in the center of the cabin. Near it was a number of books, mostly religious, by their titles.
A child’s high chair was on the floor along with a chest containing bottles of medicinals. A compass minus its card was on a table. A portable sewing machine was in a case attached to the bulkhead.
Under a bed, Fogg found a scabbarded sword. He removed it, thinking that he could use it. It seemed to be of Italian make and had probably been an officer’s.
By the port side of the cabin was a water closet. Still cautious, because the sailor might be hiding there in ambush, Fogg looked within. Near the door was a damp bag. It looked as if it might have been wet by rain or spray entering through the half-covered port-hole on the opposite side.
Curious, Fogg entered the closet. He opened the bag and found ladies’ garments, all wet, inside. So the captain had been accompanied by his wife and small child.
The starboard side held two windows, also covered by canvas cut from a sail.
There were no signs of violence anywhere, and the cabin had no aft exit.
Fogg returned to the deck, though not without giving the password first. Passepartout said that the sailor had shown his head around the corner several times but had ducked back each time. Fogg told Passepartout what he had observed. He gave him the pistol, saying, “You hold that man with this. I’ll go back to check on Nemo and inspect the fore deckhouse.”
With the sword in hand, he walked slowly down the starboard side. Though his gait made him a better target for the sailor, he did not believe that it made him a good enough one. What with the wind and the motion of the ship, accuracy was not to be expected from a revolver at this range, Evidently the sailor, if he saw Fogg, had the same thoughts. No shots were fired.
Just before arriving at the fore deckhouse, Fogg went over to the port side. He looked around its corner. Nemo was gone.
Torn strips of sheet were evidence of Nemo’s great strength. He had burst them apart with sheer muscularity. His boots lay by the strips.
Before he had returned on the starboard side, Fogg had looked down the port side. Nemo’s still figure had been on the deck. So, the wily fellow had waited until Fogg was out of sight, because he knew that Passepartout, watching for the sailor, would have his back to him.
Fogg spun around, hoping that Nemo had not passed him going aft ward while he was going forward. But he had. He was running barefoot, as swiftly and as silently as a tiger. He was only about ten feet from the Frenchman’s back.
Fogg gave his first yell in years and ran toward the two. Passepartout, half-deafened, did not hear him. Nemo struck him on the back of his neck with his left fist. The Frenchman was hurled face forward into the deckhouse wall. He crumpled, and Nemo picked up the revolver. Grinning, he tur
ned toward Fogg. Triumphant he might look, but he was pale, and blood ran down his right arm and dripped from his hand. His right arm seemed to be useless, since it hung down at his side and, though right-handed, he held the revolver in his left.
Fogg half-spun to port and raced toward the deckhouse. If Nemo was firing at him he could not hear the reports, but the knowledge that he probably was made him increase his speed. He went around the side of the deckhouse and then to its forepart. Hidden momentarily from the two enemies, he stood there, breathing hard. So now events were suddenly in Nemo’s favor. Passepartout was out of the action, perhaps forever, and Nemo and the sailor each had a revolver.
After making sure that Passepartout could not imitate Nemo’s feat, the two would proceed toward the bow. One would come along the port rail; one, by the starboard rail. Their paths would converge at the place where Fogg now stood. He could attack one with his sword, but the other would quickly join the man he attacked. At point-blank range, they would not miss.
The fore deckhouse was about thirteen feet square and six feet above the deck. It would contain the fo’c’sle or crew’s quarters, the galley, and, perhaps, a cabin for the second mate. It would not afford a good hiding place or even a mediocre one.
Fogg looked upward. He could still run to one of the rope ladders formed of transverse ropes called ratlines and attached to the shrouds, pairs of ropes from the mastheads which gave lateral support to the masts. If he went up a ladder, he could at least get away from them for a while. If he then went out onto the yards, he would force them to use both hands while getting close enough to him so they would not waste their bullets. Perhaps he could attack them then with his sword. If he were an acrobat such as Passepartout, he might go up the main mast to one of the middle triangular sails and ascend by its ropes to the aft mast. If he could get down quickly enough, while the two were still aloft, he could seize the wheel and change the direction of the ship. If it swung around violently enough, it might dislodge the two.
Fogg did not, however, follow his desperate plan.
Instead, he slid open the wooden door on the forward cabin and darted inside. This was on the port side of the deckhouse and seemed to be the second mate’s. It held a sea chest the examination of which Fogg deferred. He went through another sliding door into the crew’s quarters, placed closest to the bow. His log does not mention his feelings at this point, but we may suppose that even the face of the imperturbable Fogg lit up with delight.
There, as he had hoped, was the watch, taped to the ceiling of the fo’c’sle. He tore it loose and, holding it to his ear, ran out of the entrance onto the deck of the bow.
The watch was emitting, in Eridanean code, a stream of ringing sounds. Aouda had set her distorter on receive.
If he set the Capellean distorter for transmit he could escape. That meant leaving the enemy distorter, Passepartout, and the explanation of the mystery of the ship behind him. As for the first, he must submit to it if he were transmitted. As for the third, it was better to survive at the price of ignorance. As for the second, it was probable that Passepartout was dead. He was doomed even if Fogg stayed here and tried to fight with only the sword.
He stood for about five seconds, five seconds during which his enemies would be approaching.
Six seconds after this, the two Capelleans were dismayed—and deafened again—when nine clanging sounds seemed to tear the air around them and buffet their eardrums. Both, we may presume, swore at the same time they turned pale. Both, we know, started to run into the cabin under the assumption that they would find only the device. The foxy Eridanean had undoubtedly taken the only way out. He must have removed the distorter from the ceiling and taped it to the underside of a table and been transmitted back to the General Grant.
Nemo must have been blaming himself for not having first retrieved the device. But he could console himself with the thought that if he had done so, he, instead of Fogg, might have been trapped in the deckhouse.
The Capelleans met at the forward entrance of the deckhouse. The sailor arrived first and so was ahead of Nemo in entering the fo’c’sle. He halted because, to his astonishment, the watch was still taped to the ceiling. That was all he saw. The edge of Fogg’s sword struck the top of his head. He dropped; the revolver fell from his hand. And Fogg picked up the revolver.
And Nemo? After the first moment of chagrin, not unmixed with panic, he backed out of the companionway.
The affair had not suddenly become reversed. It had just evened out. Neither side held a particular advantage at this moment. Both were armed. Fogg was shut up in the deckhouse, but Nemo was losing blood and strength.
The gray-eyed man got onto the top of the deckhouse and proceeded to remove his coat and his shirt. He tore his shirt into strips and bound them around the arm. The wound, fortunately, was only a flesh wound, and blood seemed to stop flowing after a few moments. Nevertheless, he might as well have had only one arm, and the gorilla-like power of his muscles had drained out of him.
He decided that he could afford to desert his post for a few minutes. Fogg would not dare to make a dash for the outside. At least, not for a while. Nemo would finish off the other fellow and then return to the deckhouse. Fogg would still be crouching near a bulkhead or under some furniture. He would know that Nemo could break the deckhouse windows and fire from there. If he had not been so overwhelmed by the thought of Fogg escaping, he would have done that at once. Of course, if he did use the windows, he stood a good chance of receiving Fogg’s bullets in his face. It would be discreet to remain away from them.
Eventually, Fogg would be driven out of the deckhouse by thirst and hunger. He would not have access to the galley. Nemo had ascertained from his chief that the galley was partitioned off from the fo’c’sle and second mate’s cabin. Even if Fogg knocked a hole through the partition, he would not find much food. Most of the supplies were kept in the pantry, which was in the deckhouse aft.
Nemo moved softly away from the roof of the deckhouse only because it was his nature to do so. He did not have to fear that Fogg would hear him. Fogg would still be deafened by the clangings.
Nemo had proceeded about thirty feet toward the stern when the nine clangings struck again. He whirled. What the devil was Fogg doing now?
Had he indeed departed this time? Or was he setting the same trap? And, if he had gone, would he not be quickly back with help? There was nothing to prevent Fogg from setting the distorter to revert automatically to receive within a certain time.
But Fogg might be hoping that he would think just this and so rush in to turn the distorter off before Fogg & Company would return.
Nemo was in a highly indecisive state, a foreign one to this man of great intelligence and speedy action. If he entered either entrance to the fore deckhouse, he would be exposed to fire from a man whose coolness and accuracy with arms had been proven in Bundelcund.
Moreover, Fogg would be in semidarkness. The windows were covered by shutters, and while he could destroy these to let some light in, he would be exposed. Fogg would expect him to try that and so would be ready for him. The deckhouse was built of thin planking through which Fogg’s bullets could find him even if Nemo stood to one side while tearing off the canvas coverings.
He stood on the deck for a minute, and then he turned away. If only Fogg did not find the papers on the chief. The distorter itself would have to be abandoned. That could not be helped.
And if only Passepartout were not dead.
Nemo did not expect Fogg to surrender to save Passepartout. That happened only in novels. Fogg would know that he would be killed if he did surrender. Nemo would no longer consider keeping him as a prisoner. The two of them might possibly be able to sail the ship to some port, but Nemo could not stay awake long enough for this. And he could not take any more chances on a live Fogg. The Englishman was too wily.
Passepartout was sitting with his back against the bulkhead of the main cabin. His forehead and nose were bloody, and his eyes were
dull.
Nevertheless, he spat at Nemo.
“Good! You are still alive!” Nemo said.
Passepartout did not reply.
Nemo searched him but found no weapons. He picked up Passepartout with his left hand, his revolver stuck in his belt, and propelled him forward. The Frenchman sprawled out onto the deck, but, after being raised again, he managed to stay on his feet.
“If your master is willing to make a bargain by which we will all gain, though some loss by all is inevitable, then you will stay alive,” Nemo said.
He pushed Passepartout ahead of him with the end of his revolver until they had reached the fore deckhouse. Standing by the entrance to the second mate’s cabin, Nemo shouted out the terms. His own voice sounded distant, and he was not sure that Fogg was yet able to hear him. Or, for that matter, that he was even in the cabin. Fogg could have slipped out while he was busy with the Frenchman, but he did not think so.
After a short silence, Fogg’s voice came faintly.
“Very well! Provided that you tell me what happened to the people on this ship. I don’t expect you to tell me anything about your own people which might reveal your secrets.”
“I can’t tell you much because our man didn’t have much time to impart anything but a bare outline.”
To hear him, Fogg had to be close to the door. Perhaps if he were to make two quick shots, one on either side of the door? The bullets would go through the thin planking. But no, it was too risky.
“It all seems mysterious,” Nemo said. “But similar things have happened before and doubtless will happen again. As you may have observed, there are signs of a hasty departure but none of violence. The vessel has a cargo of seventeen hundred barrels of alcohol contained in spruce and red oak barrels. This is highly volatile, and any rupture of barrels could be a source of explosion or fire. But such was not the case. This ship was not abandoned because of that.
“The sailors left their clothing, sea boots, oilskins, and their tobacco pipes. So the situation was of such a nature that it let no time for taking articles which a sailor would normally not leave behind. Especially the pipes. It is obvious that the misfortune did not occur during meal time, since there are no places set for meals.
The Other Log of Phileas Fogg Page 12