“Wonderful!” echoed Amalia. “I know that in Germany great efforts have been made to find a substitute for the periscope. My husband told me...”
The Captain happening to move away a few steps, Dolores leant towards Amalia and whispered quickly in her ear:
“Don’t talk too much about your husband. The Captain is very restive just now.”
Amalia and I looked at Dolores anxiously and questioningly, but the young Spanish lady put a finger to her lips, a sign that commands silence throughout the world; and Amalia and I could do no more than follow the Captain and keep our own sad counsel. But we clasped hands to show that we could rely on each other in the moment of danger.
Our tour of inspection proceeded quickly and halfheartedly over technical details, but with the utmost — if cold and affected — politeness from the Captain. In fact, I said to myself that he was no longer with us mentally. He was thinking of things about which we knew nothing, and which might not be, perhaps, altogether reassuring for us. For instance, we passed through the Torpedo compartment. This was an extremely long elliptical room filled with those monstrous gewgaws slung in their loops, and ready to be shot into the gaping mouths of the torpedo tubes which we could see.
“This is the torpedo compartment,” announced the Captain formally, and resumed his own reflections while Dolores prattled away with a few trifling particulars: “A torpedo is fired from its under-water tube by means of compressed air. Most frequently the motive power of the torpedo is set working when it is discharged. As soon as it is launched the explosive charge is automatically adjusted, for it must be kept harmless as long as it is on board. If it fails to hit the mark it continues its course until it has covered a distance which is regulated beforehand; and it then sinks to the bottom of the sea in order not to fall into the enemy’s hands.... A torpedo costs about thirty thousand francs and it can sink a battleship which is valued at sixty million francs....” And she continued with facts which everybody knows, and to which we made a pretence of listening, for we, too, were thinking of other things.
One of the things about which I was thinking was the railed recess. We might stumble upon it by accident in our walk through the alley-ways. Thus I scrutinised with constantly increasing uneasiness the bends in the corridors, and such fittings as might remind me of my whereabouts, in order to be ready to throw myself before the Captain and to cry out “Not that way. Not that way.”
Dolores continued to talk coolly and calmly as though she had been entrusted with the task of allaying our anxiety: “You will understand that since the Vengeance is faster, and can plunge to a greater depth, than any other submarine, she has nothing to fear from a torpedo, while, on the other hand, the enemy has everything to fear from us. Not only so, but we possess tremendous defensive weapons. By means of discharges of compressed air around the vessel we can deflect the course of any torpedo which is revealed to us by our microphones or our searchlights as soon as it bears down on us.”
Dolores spoke as though she, too, wished to parade her great personal pride in the invincible power of the Vengeance in battle. But who could fully analyse the mingled feelings which agitated the minds of the people on board this strange vessel?
When I refer to my notes on our tour of the ship, a tour which was to leave me with so many unforgettable memories, I am reminded that we visited the armoured turrets which could be hoisted at will by the hydraulic screw-jacks from the green back of the Vengeance when the water in the ballast-tanks had been blown out, and she was on the surface, running awash as they say. These turrets were armed with guns of much higher power and calibre than those of 65 millimètres with which the Germans had furnished their latest submarines.
Next we descended to the divers’ rooms which consisted of an entire series of compartments connected directly with the sea, not only by means of “manholes,” but by wide doors, constructed to give admittance “to the material that we may require for our submarine work,” interjected Captain Hyx, who seemed suddenly to have recovered the use of his tongue, after promptly closing a door that Dolores had opened without his permission; a door of a vast chamber in which I caught a passing vision, amid its shadows and gleaming steel, of weird and fantastic implements, and guns with closed mouths that seemed more fanciful than real.
“These compartments permit my divers to leave the vessel when she is resting on her wheels at the bottom of the sea. For that matter, our enemies themselves possess this contrivance, which they stole from Mr. Simon Lecke. I can only hope that their arrangements are as complete as mine!” So saying, he conducted us into a sort of robing-room where we saw, laid out in rows, nearly five hundred complete outfits for divers.
“After our divers have made their exit, it is easy for them to cut cables, lay mines and torpedoes under enemy ships, and establish telephonic communication with the shore or men-of-war at sea. If our submarine were to receive some fatal damage and remain fast under water, the crew, equipped with divers’ helmets and buoys, can escape to the surface. Moreover,” went on the Captain, “in case of absolute necessity we can leave the vessel by other means. You will understand that I had no desire to be the first victim of my overwhelming power. In consequence of her considerable displacement of water, the Vengeance cannot go to every place where it may be necessary for her to strike. Now, her Captain must have entire command of the sea. He, too, has dreamed of universal dominion. And since he may require now and then a vessel smaller than his own.... See for yourselves!”
At that moment he led us into a saloon in which, resting on their stocks, or rather “cradles,” were two small submarines, each of which was not much more than ninety feet in length.
“These are not unlike self-propelling torpedoes,” he explained. “When you embark in them it is like getting inside a shell. At the same time they are edged tools, armed with shears which nothing can resist, and they have nothing to fear from enemy netting. They can stroll about the harbours just as we are strolling about the Vengeance now. They are newly built. They have just been delivered to me; and I hope that before long you yourselves will have the pleasure of seeing them at work.”
It is hardly necessary to say that these last words sounded rather strange in our ears.
The Captain entered an adjoining room and continued: “Here we house my auto-hydro-aeroplane.”
We went up to examine her. The machine was constructed to navigate on the water, fly in the air, and run along the ground on her wheels, and was a luxurious carriage both in extent and general design. She was built pretty closely after the model of those great Russian air machines which carry a dozen passengers. A compartment in the front was reserved for the pilot; the middle contained a big saloon which was transformed into a dining-room and sleeping-room as required; and the rear was used by the kitchen and service staff.... The three compartments were fitted with machine guns.
“Here you see a machine which is quite adequate for our excursions on shore,” said the Captain, ending his explanation. “This auto-hydro-aeroplane which can travel on the water and then fold up her wings and traverse the country like a motor-car was extremely useful to us when we made our raid of the burgomasters.”
“Raid of the burgomasters?” echoed Amalia questioningly.
“Yes,” replied the Captain, closing one of the doors of his remarkable machine. “It was a question of seizing, as hostages, the burgomasters of certain towns in Northern Germany, for we had received rather ugly news concerning the treatment of French mayors and Belgian burgomasters in the invaded provinces.”
“What then?” asked Amalia, opening wide her beautiful eyes in her amazement.
“Well... since the German burgomasters have been here the news which has reached us from those districts is much more satisfactory.”
“Yes, yes,” she said with a sigh. “I can understand that.”
Poor Amalia thought that she understood.... But what did she understand? Hardly anything... hardly anything. Before she could understand everything
she would have to see, as I saw, a burgomaster with one hand missing, rise to his feet and turn pale when the Irishman looked at him and, on behalf of Captain Hyx, wished him a pleasant evening.... The pity of it!
Now we are outside the cage of a lift. I remember that this very cage is not far... not so far... from a particular corridor which leads to a particular railed recess.... Oh, so we are not to stay here. Good! We step into the lift... now we get out of the lift.... A door leads us to the private apartments again: to the Captain’s library, and close by is the vast saloon with its pillars of Sarrancolin marble. The library has many deep low sofas, and is a very comfortable room in which to take forty winks, for assuredly no one reads the books here. There are some big austerely scientific volumes; for instance, philosophy... for the most part they deal with philosophy; and the shelf set apart for “philanthropy” is certainly the best filled. I will not mention their titles; but, believe me, at that time of horror and bloodshed they brought a smile to my lips.
“This is my private library,” intimated Captain Hyx, inviting us to sit down. “It accompanies me on my travels. It is the same with my drawing-room and my collections, including my pictures and statuary.... I have brought my country seat with me under the waters.”
What, after all, is this man who possessed a palace of this sort? He must be a celebrated magnate; one of those multi-millionaires of whom there are certainly a few to be met “in the earth or in the water under the earth.”
It was now that an incident occurred which gave me still further food for thought as to the character and disposition of our mysterious host. Moreover, it disturbed poor Amalia infinitely more than I can describe, though indirectly, it tended to show that her imagination had foretold many things, or the possibility of many things.
A steward appeared on the threshold of the library and uttered a few words quickly in the language which was common to the staff of the Vengeance, but which I did not understand. Captain Hyx at once stood up obviously perturbed. A lady’s-maid entered the room and she, too, was in a state of great agitation.
“My maid,” exclaimed Dolores. “But what’s happened?”
Amalia, instinctively sharing the general uneasiness, cried out, “My children!” for she had left them in Dolores’ rooms in charge of the lady’s-maid who was allotted to Dolores when she first came on board.
It was, in fact, a question of the children. Captain Hyx told us so at once in a voice from which it was impossible for him to conceal his anxiety.
“This maid doesn’t know what has become of them... nor does the other maid know. She is searching for them. Why did you not forbid the children to leave your rooms, Madame?”
“My children... my children,” wailed Amalia. “Where are they... I want my children....”
She rushed wildly at the maid, but as luck would have it, her own maid hurried in at that moment and exclaimed:
“We’ve found - the children. They were with the photographer.... It was the photographer who came and fetched them. He brought them back again himself.”
Amalia none the less, however, started to rush back to her rooms declaring that she must see her children, and the two maids followed her.
“Whatever you do,” the Captain called after her, “see that they never again leave your private rooms.... Don’t let them play in the alley-ways, or I will not be answerable for the consequences.” And he wiped the perspiration from his forehead with his handkerchief.
“Were the children running any real danger?” I inquired with a catch in my breath.
“Very real, unfortunately,” he answered in a hollow voice. “What would you expect me to say to some poor man, once the father of a family, who suddenly finds three pretty little Germans in his power inside a corridor; the dear little offspring of Admiral von Treischke, who is so celebrated as you, Monsieur, so well know; so celebrated in the latest story of German atrocities. What would you expect me to say to this poor man, mourning his own mutilated children, if he suddenly went mad with rage and left behind him only three little dead bodies?”
“But, Monsieur,” I protested, “ why did you seize these children if you were so afraid that they might come to some harm?”
“To prevent other children from coming to harm. Why, do you think that I do not love children as much as you, Monsieur Herbert?”
I had to lower my eyes before the Captain’s flashing gaze. Dolores who was standing close by during the scene was quivering with emotion.
“Hush, hush, Monsieur Herbert,” she said under her breath. “ You know nothing... don’t irritate him.... You cannot possibly understand....”
“Yes, they were with the photographer,” continued the Captain abruptly. “I ordered the photographer to go to them. But he ought to have taken the photographs in their rooms. It was madness to make them go all that way through the most dangerous passages.”
I suddenly remembered what I had seen, behind the first railings — the photograph being taken in the “white room.” And with that flashlight vision before me, I tried to get up and follow Amalia, but the terrible possibility which dimly presented itself to me, deprived me of the use of my limbs, and I fell back into my seat again.
“What’s the matter?” asked the Captain.
I stammered in my alarm that the photographs taken by Old Latuile’s photographer frightened me.
I had no sooner uttered these words than the Captain stopped short in front of me and gloomily staring at me, said:
“Calm yourself, calm yourself, Monsieur Herbert.
We shall have a few nice little ‘living’ pictures which will set their father’s mind at rest, and show him that his children are in excellent health... and perhaps... let us hope so... they may make him consider carefully what system to follow so as to ensure their continued good health. Could there be, for instance, anything more fatal to the well-being of Vice-Admiral von Treischke’s children than a fresh submarine outrage like that of the Lusitania. For my part I don’t think there could. And when this mighty man of valour receives these photographs, he may look upon it in the same light as I do.... What do you expect me to say to you, my dear Monsieur Herbert? I am a philanthropist, and I have seen enough of war upon children.”
What could I reply to such arguments? I was silent but more apprehensive than ever. The Captain walked up and down the room, deep in thought, and then he stopped and said with a sigh:
“Of course children... little children.... One must not lay hands on little children. Only the angels of the waters have the right to lay hands on little children.... Turn to the Apocalypse... read the Bible... and tell me what the Angels did with the offspring of the accursed towns when they smote on earth in the name of God.... Whatever may happen, make your mind easy.... Vice-Admiral von Treischke’s children, in whom you take an interest, will run no danger here, at least not from me... if they keep out of harm’s way. Let them take care not to play in the corridors where dangers may lurk for them. I seized them only as hostages and as a warning to those butchers of children who themselves have children.”
“What about the mother?” I cried. “Do you think she is less innocent than her children? Promise me, Captain, that you will not lay hands upon the mother any more than you will upon her children.”
“Who gave you permission to question me, Monsieur?...”
The tone of contempt in which these words were spoken is beyond imagination. The sound of his voice is still ringing in my ears, and I tremble when I think of it.
CHAPTER XIX
CAPTAIN HYX’S PROMISE
IT WAS AS though Frau von Treischke had heard the conversation that passed between the Captain and myself, for urging forward Dorothée, Henry and Carolus in front of her — she had certainly called the latter after me — she came hurrying in, a touching and dignified picture of despair.
The emotions which unnerved her before she discovered that her children were safe had caused her hair to become unconfined, and it fell over her shoulders in golden wa
ves.
Obsessed with anxiety and the awful possibilities which were gradually forcing their way into her mind, she had neither the time nor the inclination to arrange her coiffure again, and she appeared before us in pitiable and picturesque disorder.
Her eyes were suffused with tears, and there was a saintly look in them such as I had never before seen, while an ineffable anguish seemed to lend something ethereal to an ideal countenance.
As soon as she was in the presence of Captain Hyx she fell on her knees with her children, and in a voice and with an expression that might have softened the heart of a tiger, cried:
“Monsieur, here are my children... I entrust them to you. They have never done any harm to any one.
They are innocent little things who have learnt from me to love every one around them.... Their hearts are as unaffected as mine. They will love you as a father if you will allow yourself to be loved and your heart to be softened.... You have no doubt greatly suffered. Then you have much to forgive. You think it is your duty to hate, but I saw just now from your manner when you feared that the worst had befallen the little things, that you are not without feeling.... Besides, one does not hate children.... Yet it seems that children on board this vessel are in danger, and therefore I entrust them to you. I have confidence in you. I have no wish to judge you. It is not for me to judge you. I do not know who you are. But assuredly you are not a butcher of little children.... It is not because they have committed atrocities, that you will stoop to be more merciless than they....”
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 346