Ahead of us, in the depths of the sea, was a great living steel fish, as it were, which in its own way was more to be feared than all the sharks in creation. We could see the propeller-blades churning the water. Every now and again, after some hesitation, the sharp nose of the huge brute darted off in a new direction.
“You might think that she’s going very slowly, and yet she is at her top speed,” explained the “middy” cheerfully. “But since we are travelling at the same rate, she doesn’t appear to be moving unless she changes her course.”
“How far away from her are we?”
“Exactly a quarter of a mile, and we shall keep that fixed distance whatever she does or attempts to do.... She must know that already.... Her instruments will have registered the fact.... I assure you that they must be beginning to get mad.”
“But look here,” I exclaimed, “they might very well take it into their heads to send a torpedo at us if they are so mad as all that; and you can’t be certain, after all, that the torpedo won’t score a hit.... Look!... What’s that?... What’s that?”
“Well,” replied the “middy” quietly... “You can see for yourself.... That’s the torpedo you mention.... By Jove, it’s a treat.”
“Is it a torpedo being fired at the destroyer?” I inquired with a catch in my breath.
“At the destroyer!... Look where she is now.” I turned my gaze to the first screen which lay flat on the nearest table, and could no longer perceive anything but a little white smoke slowly sinking beneath the distant skyline. The destroyer had, no doubt, lost the trail and abandoned the chase, or was starting off on some new search.
“So the torpedo is intended for us?”
“Yes, it’s intended for us right enough.... Here it comes... here it comes....”
And, in fact, the torpedo could clearly be seen on its way. Viewed through the electric eye of the screen it was visibly growing bigger, whereupon the officer burst into laughter. I noticed, however, that the doctor did not laugh.
“It’s coming dead on,” said the doctor. “There’s no mistake about that. Perhaps there is still time to ward off the blow by using the ‘deviator.’”
“Do you suppose that we’re going to waste our compressed air driving away these gentlemen’s playthings? We’ll let them have their fun.”
On the film the torpedo was becoming bigger and bigger.... Nevertheless, as its size increased, it travelled towards the upper edge of the screen.
“You can see for yourself that it will pass over our heads,” laughed the officer. And he condescended to explain the position to the simple mortals that we were.
“These gentlemen ‘ fire by guesswork,’ but they cannot guess that we are some two hundred and twenty-five feet below the level of the sea.... That is beyond their powers of imagination.... They think that we are at most on their own level, because they have dived as far as they dare go in safety, and they have done so to escape an enemy who never leaves them and whom they cannot see.... But they know that we are on their heels and they can hear us.... Sound under water, you know, travels with considerably greater velocity than it does in the air, and it is more ‘reverberating.’”
“Yes, yes, we know that,” replied the doctor politely, but with a tinge of vexation in his voice. “ But here comes another torpedo.”
“Yes, another ten thousand marks gone bang!” laughed the “middy.”
While the torpedo was coming towards us, giving us the impression, as it grew bigger on the screen, that it would pierce the room in which we stood, the telephone bell rang. Stretching out his hand while still watching the screens before him, the officer took down the receiver and listened. When the conversation was over, he said:
“That’s all right.... The Captain is beginning to lose patience.... Observe that the submarine is rising to the surface as quickly as she can.... She wants to have a peep through her periscope and inquire after the health of the destroyer. With the destroyer above and with us below she can’t be enjoying herself. But we’re going to put an end to all her troubles.”
The officer, keeping an eye on the vertical screen, and using one hand only, pressed certain electric buttons and worked with unhesitating precision sundry hand levers and bars within reach.
Now it was the turn of the submarine to become more prominent; and her outline strangely lost its shape, no longer presenting the perfect cigar-like form which she appeared to possess a moment before.
“We are getting closer to her and we are rising under her,” said the “middy.”
“Look out, we’re going to send her one of our torpedoes fired diagonally upwards.”
The officer was silent for a while and then he suddenly pressed an electric button on which I could read the word “Fire.”
“The torpedo is on its way,” said the doctor. “Are you going to let off another?... If you reckon on delivering a second blow, Monsieur and I may as well see the torpedo being fired from the torpedo tube.”
“Watch the screen and you’ll know as much about it as I do.”
We fixed our eyes on the vertical screen and observed an immense torpedo travelling through the water at a much greater speed than the one which earlier had passed over us.... The torpedo rapidly grew smaller, and at the same time the submarine perceptibly dwindled in size.
“You will notice that they can see too,” I exclaimed. “They are trying to avoid the torpedo.”
“That’s an optical illusion,” replied the officer. “It’s we who are now moving away from the submarine.... She’s a fine boat all the same.... There are probably a crew of sixty on her, and not one of them will live to tell the tale.”
“I much prefer that they should die like that,” said the doctor in a low voice.
“Ah yes, for where should we put them?” snapped out the jovial “middy.”
“We are full up with hostages.... Look out... I think that’s done it.... If we hit them we shall hear something.... Remember that their torpedoes, they are Whitehead torpedoes, contain a charge of one hundred and sixty-five pounds of guncotton, whereas ours have a charge of four hundred pounds.”
Almost immediately the explosion occurred. It was as though we were in the midst of the conflagration. To make myself better understood, let me say that the concussion and vibration around us were such that I might have been in the “middle of a thunder-clap,” which obviously does not mean anything and yet admirably expresses my sensations.
“Do you understand now why we close our glass panels in spite of our superiority and the practical certainty that we cannot be hit?” asked the officer who was in the highest spirits.
Without waiting for my reply he uttered one word in French through a speaking tube which communicated with the torpedo-tube compartment: “Congratulations.” And he added in English an old proverb: “Contentment is better than riches,” laughing boisterously the while and showing his big teeth.
I should have preferred to remain before the screen, because I was beginning to distinguish some object that appeared to view after the sudden convulsion in which the clear-cut picture of the submarine had vanished, but the doctor took me by the arm:
“Come along,” he said, “they’re going to open the glass panels.”
And without asking my permission he led me down the companion-way faster than I had climbed it.
“So it means that the officer whom we’ve just left sunk the submarine single-handed,” I said to him as we walked along the alley-way. “What were the others doing?”
“Nothing, with the exception of the man who fired the torpedo.... In point of fact, the officer and his ‘gunner’ are the only two who took part in the fight. It is a pity,” went on the excellent doctor, “ that we hadn’t the time to go below to the torpedo-tube compartment. You would have seen a manoeuvre which is by no means ordinary. But we’ll do that next time. One particularly interesting feature is the handling of the electric-eye sighting apparatus. In any case, contrary to the practice in other submarines, where th
e men have nothing to do but to load the torpedoes into the tubes, to force out the water by means of the pumps after the torpedoes have been discharged, and to reload the tubes ready for firing at the word of command, without being able to see anything, the gunners on the Vengeance have electric-eye sighting screens connected with the manœuvre disks for changing the direction of the tubes. Our tubes are really guns and the men who serve them real gunners.
“Yes... yes... it’s extraordinary... extraordinary.... The officer above in the control room and the gunner below in the torpedo-tube compartment.... And lo and behold sixty men are sent to eternity and we on board are barely inconvenienced.”
“True, we are barely inconvenienced, as you say.”
“Well, then, why all the hurry-skurry?... All the sailors running about as though they had lost their heads?... The electric bells signalling to clear the decks... clear the decks for what?... Can you tell me?”
“I’ve already told you. They were rushing to put on their best Sunday clothes.”
The doctor was beginning to irritate me with his “best Sunday clothes.” However, I hastened behind him along the alley-ways without noticing particularly whither my steps led me. For that matter, it seemed to me that I was always losing my bearings in this ship, and every time I found myself in a part that I recognised I could not withhold a cry of satisfaction. Accordingly I was delighted when I saw that we were again in the vast state saloon which was on a level with the organ loft and a few steps from the double spiral marble staircase. And on this occasion also, there was sufficient excuse for my astonishment.
From where we were posted our field of vision took in a scene which in its entirety was by no means commonplace. Standing at ease were two bodies of men formed up in line as if for review. The first section, of which the foremost rank reached almost to the great tapestry representing Ruyter’s naval victory, consisted of the prisoners, both maimed and able-bodied, whom we had seen march past in the alley-ways. The second section consisted of the crew; the crew in full dress — in “their best Sunday clothes.” The second group was stationed exactly behind the first and they were armed; and it looked as if they were present for the express purpose of keeping an eye on the prisoners. But they occupied this position, as we shall see, to please themselves.
I calculated that, counting the crew and the prisoners together, approximately five hundred men were present. Not a sound could be heard in that vast saloon which was illuminated with the full blaze of the electric lights.
Behind the crew, standing with folded arms on the lower steps of the marble staircase, were the officers. A little higher up on the first stairhead I discerned the heavy, statue-like profile of the Irishman. The Man with the lifeless eyes was bending over a small book in which he appeared to be reading prayers.
I did not see Captain Hyx.
Suddenly the lamps were partly lowered while the tapestry, which hid from sight the great panels with their powerful copper framework, was raised in the same manner as on the occasion when I first made acquaintance with the depths of the ocean, the shoal of tunny-fish and the battle with the shark. And in the luminous waters we could see this new shark wounded likewise — wounded to death.
The Vengeance had drawn quite near the submarine, which was nothing but a huge disembowelled wreck... sinking, sinking... down to the bottom of the sea. And we were sliding down with her.
It really seemed as if we were sinking with her.... Only we kept our freedom of action and slowly made the circuit of the formidable carcass.
We could clearly distinguish the various parts, and they bore witness to the fact that one of the latest models from the German yards lay before us. Thus the two turrets which contained the 100 mm guns — I had heard rumours of them when I was in Madeira — could be seen quite clearly in the wreck.
The conning towers — furnished with thick glass, enabling the officers to keep watch around them when the submarine was running awash with only her deck-houses above water — displayed their invulnerable hoods hermetically sealed on the secret of the tragedy within.
We had to look from underneath to see the appalling chasm that we had contrived in the iron monster. And at that moment huge, heavy, shapeless pieces of the vessel fell away from the gap, and nameless other remains slipped out just as they had slipped out from the open maw of the shark.... The submarine was emptying itself through the enormous wound inflicted on it.... And history was repeated, for the sea around was red.
The vessel, too, gave a decisive lurch and turned turtle.
And then we saw the stricken submarine-giant slowly break in two.... Her wound became larger and ever larger.... Now there were but two broken pieces and once more they turned somersault.... And this time we saw clusters of human beings fall into the ensanguined waters.
And we went down with the human clusters... and they sunk lower... lower.
We left the last fragments of the wreck to continue their downward way, but we did not leave the human clusters.
These wretched men were locked together in groups of five or six, fiercely clutching each other by the clothes and sometimes by the hair. One could imagine that death had struck them down in this supreme, instinctive and vain movement to escape some impassable barrier, in which, overwhelmed and crushed, they had met, and that in death, in the depths of the homicidal sea, they were not divided.
Oh, the horror of death in a submarine battle.... And yet in this instance it was one of the least painful since it was instantaneous.... Alas, it is not enough that man should possess the earth, the air, and the surface of the sea in which to fight and kill his kind; his instinct for destruction finds itself too restricted in these old domains; he has done nothing since something still remains to be done. Now, O Cain, thou canst be content. Murder has conquered the abyss and extended the limits of evil imposed by God himself.
These thoughts passed through my mind as I, too, went down again into the depths of despair and probed my innermost self with these human clusters before me. And while, too, the terrible hymn of death was ringing out in the Vengeance... the requiem which I heard one evening before; the hymn that made me shudder to the roots of my hair.
“He also shall drink of the wine of the wrath of God which is poured out without mixture into the cup of his anger, and he shall be tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of the holy angels, and in the presence of the Lamb.... Amen.
“And the smoke of their torment goeth up for ever and ever; and they have no rest day and night; they that worship the Beast and his image; and whoso receiveth the mark of his name.... Amen.
“And I heard the Angel of the Water say, Thou art righteous, O Lord, which are, and wast, and shalt be, because Thou hast judged thus.... For they have shed the blood of saints and prophets, and Thou hast given them blood to drink; for they are worthy. Amen.’’ And the Man with the lifeless eyes asked:
“Brethren, who are ye?”
And the crew replied:
“We are the angels of the waters and we strike in the name of the Lord.”
And the Man raised his hand and said:
“Lord, give me strength to drive out Terror by Terror. And deliver the world from evil. Amen.”
Suddenly the organ burst forth in a terrible pæan of harmony which sent a fresh thrill through me. It had nothing in common with the song of sorrow which I had heard one evening. It was a tremendous peal of vengeance and victory.
A chorus of angels exulting at the feet of God over the destruction of devils could not have sent up a more passionate hymn of love triumphant over death than came from this organ under the sea.
The angels of the waters who uttered their prayer for the dead standing upright before the human clusters, went down on their knees to listen to the organ. Many broke into sobs; all wept. The Irishman with the lifeless eyes wept. I, too, wept.
I can declare, that not one of the German prisoners shed a tear. When the outside shutters of the glass panels were suddenly drawn back and the
light was switched on in the state saloon, I watched the prisoners march out and scrutinised them closely. I never saw more impassive faces.
If it were hoped to produce a feeling of sorrow in them, the attempt was hardly successful. Perhaps, after all, they felt no sorrow. At all events, if any one counted on a display of feeling from them, that person was doomed to disappointment.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE LITTLE CHAPEL
THE DOCTOR WAS standing by my side throughout the scene, but he did not say a word.
As the last section of German prisoners were moving off, some walking on foot and others on crutches, I whispered in his ear:
“After what I have seen here and you know where, in the white prison and the railed recess, I say that these people are beyond human nature.”
The doctor shook his head. “ Outside the pale of human nature,” he corrected, and seemed to turn his thoughts to other things. I wiped my eyes, for I was still under the influence of my emotion.
The crew marched out after the prisoners. Now the saloon was empty. There was no one in the high gallery except the doctor and myself, but I suddenly heard a voice behind me exclaim:
“Monsieur Herbert, I shall expect to see you tomorrow evening in the little chapel.”
I turned round and perceived Captain Hyx, to whom I bowed. He had left the organ and was on his way, through the gallery, to his library.
He was very pale under his mask and his manner was extremely solemn. He seemed to have become taller. I have already mentioned that he had a tendency to stoutness, but it in no sense detracted from his dignity. Far from it. Napoleon the First did not really begin to look like a king until he had put on flesh.
I need not say that since Dolores had explained to me in confidence Captain Hyx’s real intentions concerning Frau von Treischke, I had not ceased for a moment, in spite of the more or less stirring events which had occurred, to turn over in my mind plans for the rescue of poor Amalia. Nor, in particular, need I say that from that moment I more and more loathed the mysterious master of the Vengeance.... Well, here was I once again yielding to his masterly personality.... He was by my side. He spoke to me. Not only did I not fly at his throat, but I felt no longing to do so.... I bowed to him in submissive admiration. And in spite of his mask, which might have made of him a grotesque figure, he seemed to me distinguished, and I found something in his bearing that was majestic. Make of it what you can.
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 349