We could not perceive the black hulks but we often heard the moaning that came from them. For wild beasts were still fighting under the waters round the galleons of Vigo, buried a hundred feet beneath the seabed. And as we drew near Cape Vicor at the southern extremity of St. Martin’s Island, we were positive of it.
I did not know this particular island, for the one upon which I had landed was the main island, containing Spuma Creek, where I had seen so many wounded men brought ashore. There did not appear to be any installation of the Black Cross on St. Martin’s Island, nor any but ablebodied men there; but they were in great numbers and were getting ready to take part in the battle. And I saw other things which at the first glance were calculated to make the bravest man cry out in terror.
We rounded Cape Vicor and entered the bay to the south of the island between Cape Vicor and Conerilo Point. This bay does not face the roadstead but looks out on the high seas to the south; and suddenly we emerged from the gloom into the full light and movement of a small harbour which lay hidden in the rocks and cliffs. Here, as in Barra Bay, were troops of divers, artillery sections, and low trucks filled with fighting men motionless as statues, descending to the sea and being swallowed up and disappearing in the sea.
Potage was quivering with delight on his platform, and more than once nearly fell into the sea as he leant too carelessly over the gunwale. At length we were alongside. I did not know what they intended to do with me, but I was so stupefied by the rapidity of events, the succession of fresh disasters, and the failure of all my projects, that I no longer struggled against my depression but allowed myself to be carried away physically and mentally at the caprice of an unrelenting fate. Potage on the other hand was never so lively, so frisky, so excited.
The Irishman himself saw to our landing and took us to some large buildings which stood at the water’s edge in the aforesaid creek. We entered by a small door into a vast courtyard fairly well lit up. But I at once uttered a cry of affright and Potage on his little platform looped the loop. We were confronted with three antediluvian monsters, crawling, creaking, vibrating, grimacing, waving a hundred sharp-cutting harpoons and arms and claws capable of reducing to a bleeding pulp any flesh that they might encounter.
I recognised in a corner of the courtyard among a group of men examining the monsters, Chief Engineer Mabell, who as we passed shouted to Lieutenant Smith:
“Tell the Captain that the tanks are ready.”
Up to that moment I had never heard of tanks, and moreover no tank had yet appeared on any battlefield. The effect produced on both of us may be conceived. After his somersault Potage took refuge at my side and clasped my hand. And I remembered the doctor’s words:
“Captain Hyx is a wonderful man. He has a rod in pickle for them.”
As a matter of fact the result of the Invisible Battle was determined once and for all by the tanks, for they annihilated the trenches and the very foundations of the Hun enterprise in the bay. Hence one of the most important victories in the world war, the victory at Mark six metres eighty-five, was won by these “damned things.”
We were now at the far ride of the courtyard and I was out of breath, for the tanks seemed to direct their movements particularly against me. We entered a small roughly built shanty such as may be seen in the yards of contractors for public works, and we were at once imprisoned in a small dark room. When I say that we were imprisoned, it would be more correct to say that I was imprisoned, for I looked in vain when the door was closed for any sign of Potage. He had disappeared.
The Irishman must have thought that Potage was locked up with me, for he quietly joined the officers who were in the next room crowding round a table at which was seated, in an enormous arm-chair, one of the most extraordinary fighting men that I had ever seen. I watched the whole thing through an opening between two planks which were nailed together anyhow, and admitted a certain amount of light. These sort of buildings, hastily put together with worn-out and badly cut planks, are ever very roughly built, and as was natural, I took advantage of my opportunity.
The extraordinary warrior was no other than Captain Hyx himself and, except for the helmet, he was dressed in the redoubtable armour of the Black Prince, which I had seen him wear under the sea. A map of the bay was before him, and he was bending his head, above the armour, over the map from left to right giving directions for the battle round Mark six metres eighty-five. His instructions were never discussed, for he asked no man’s advice. He declared in quiet tones that with the help of the tanks the Huns would be wiped out that night, and the twelve apostles rid of them for some time; for sufficient time to bring the affair to a successful conclusion.
Suddenly a voice arose, as it were, out of the ground, a sharp and shrill voice which I knew so well.
“Excuse me, Captain.... Allow me to have a word.”
I need not describe the effect which was produced by Potage’s intervention, an effect all the more considerable inasmuch as the cripple with one leap was on the table, on a level with the dignified and threatening head above the armour of the Black Prince.
“Who is this creature?” asked Captain Hyx.
“Such as he is,” replied Potage quickly, “he undertakes to put you in possession of the gold which the Huns have already seized from the twelve apostles. But I shan’t speak until we are alone; if you are not afraid of being left alone with me, Captain.”
At these words there was a laugh and on a sign from the Captain everyone went out.
Potage moved nearer the Captain and said:
“The gold is in the cellars of Goya Castle.”
“I know that, deuce take it,” returned the Captain, “but I am not justified in attacking the castle by land or sea. I daren’t create a scandal. Don’t you, who know so much, know that?”
“That didn’t prevent you from kidnapping Von Treischke in Vigo,” grinned the little imp.
“With no sort of scandal, with no sort of scandal,” growled the Captain. “Take care. You know too much for me to allow you to go very far from here on your platform.”
“My platform only asks to follow you, Captain, or rather for you to be guided by it. You won’t regret it. It’s Potage who tells you so. My opinion is that if you can’t attack the castle above, you have a perfect right to attack it from below.... Oh, I say, my lord, you are condescending to listen to me.... Let me tell you that I know a way of getting into those cellars, filled with gold. Besides, they contain something else.”
Thereupon he rose lightly on his platform and whispered in the Captain’s ear. I saw the movement of his lips, and I did not doubt that he was telling the Black Prince about the veiled lady and repeating the secrets which I had confided to him.
I called to mind the ventilator and the flight of steps by which we escaped from Goya Castle; and I was filled with a new hope. Would Potage succeed in convincing the Captain? In any case the project of an attack under water would appeal to him. To make his way to the castle, he would have to defeat the Hun submarine army all along the line. But with the help of his tanks, was not victory within sight?
Be that as it may, I heard him call together his men. His helmet as general in command of the divers was fixed on, and one of the men pushed his arm-chair, which was on wheels, into the courtyard, and everyone followed. Whom did they follow? They followed Potage, who seemed to have set the whole procession going. In the courtyard one of the tanks opened to receive the Captain and Potage, and two other tanks were filled with officers. And the three antediluvian monsters crawled in their lumbering way to the seashore through large open doors, and I could perceive this stretch of sea lit up by electric lights to the level of the waves. What a sight it was.... What a sight!
It was with this vision before me that, imprisoned in this little retreat as in a box, I dozed off into a sleep, and continued in my dreams the frightful nightmare of my life. I can say that I followed, without being present, other than in my wandering dreams, the appalling final phase of the Invisible
Battle in which the tanks took part. I followed in terror the flight and massacre of Von Treischke’s submarine troops, who had learnt that their chief was a prisoner in the hands of the enemy. I saw in my dreams the horror and disorder of the battle.... And yet when Potage related to me afterwards what really happened it seemed that my dreams fell a long way below the reality; and from official accounts of the effect of tanks in battles on the Western front I can well believe it... Oh, the “damned things.”
When I saw them again I was awake. The Irishman came to fetch me from my retreat; and the courtyard was filled with a great crowd of soldier divers who had not entirely divested themselves of their armour as under-sea fighters, and who were raising shouts of victory.
And the “damned things” appeared more monstrous than ever as, dripping with water and blood, they emerged from the sea which they had reddened in their passage, and staggering and creeping forward, at length stopped in front of us. The first person to leap from one of these diabolical vehicles with a clatter of his rollers was Potage, who was in high spirits. The second person to alight was Captain Hyx who had already relieved himself of his diving suit in the watertight saloon which formed part of the tank.
The third person was the veiled lady.
CHAPTER XXVIII
ATLANTIS
AND NOW WE were on board the “Vengeance.” Fate had brought us all together again in the terrible vessel. What would become of us? What was going to happen to us, and to the persons who were marked out for vengeance by the Angels of the Waters? We no longer saw them, under any pretence, walking in the alley-ways, or grouped in the state saloon for some new spectacle or some dread ceremony. We no longer saw them. We no longer heard them.
They were shut up in their prison, and no one desired to go below to them. Some twenty men armed to the teeth, who in spite of events maintained their devotion to Captain Hyx and their respect for discipline, never left the door which led to these doomed prisoners. The men were there less to keep watch than to guard them from the fierce attacks of other Angels of the Waters who were hovering round, lying in wait for their prey. They were determined that their prey should not escape them. They no longer had confidence in anyone... in anyone. And there were terrible snarlings in the men’s quarters against the master. Often the master passed figures who made threatening gestures against him. What was he waiting for? Why did he not give the signal? Von Treischke had been on board a week, and the work of reprisals had not yet begun.
The Angels of the Waters knew full well that Captain Hyx had recovered his wife. But had they found theirs? Had the coining of the veiled lady brought back from the dead their fathers, mothers, sisters, lovers, children, martyred by the Huns?... They had been promised vengeance... They demanded vengeance. Oh, those last days on the “ Vengeance.”
Now that I am nearing the end of this amazing adventure — at least, I hope so from the bottom of my soul — now that I can estimate the difficulties through which I passed since that Christmas night at Funchal, and reckon up all my woes and wounds and sufferings, I can make a comparison, and say that nothing was more frightful than those last days; but I must at once add that nothing was more beautiful than the last hour of those execrable last days. And since I have lived to see that hour I wish to forget, and I have forgotten many other things.
I have not met Amalia and I have not tried to go to her. I have been told that now that “the family” has been reunited, the father, mother and children are never parted. Thus Captain Hyx having recovered his own wife had given back Amalia to the Tiger of Flanders. But that, of course, mattered little to the crew...
I walked or rather I wandered like a lost soul in this vessel of ghosts and madmen. At certain hours I slipped into the alley-ways near the Von Treischke family, hours at which I took a bitter delight in torturing myself, for I had no need of the official torturers of the “Vengeance” in their torture chambers. Every day and night that passed increased the agony of suspense and depression which weighed on our hearts, for I met the doctor and the “middy” who informed me that they knew nothing of what was happening, or rather, was not happening, but that they feared the worst, for they could no longer have speech with Captain Hyx since he did not answer them.
Nevertheless during those days there was a great stir in the lower parts of the vessel which had been put under lock and key; and no one knew the meaning of the excitement and tumult. We made two rapid voyages, travelling submerged, but we could not say where we were, save that we had put in at some place while still under water. Where were we? Where were we now? It was a question to which no one could give an answer. Captain Hyx himself manoeuvred the vessel in silence.
At length one morning when I was stranded on a divan in the vast marble saloon dozing heavily over some book which I had picked up in the library, I felt a hand on my shoulder and turning round I saw Captain Hyx standing before me. I have already said that he had abandoned his mask, but, in truth, he seemed more gloomy and mysterious than even in the days when he wore it.
“Monsieur Herbert of Renich,” he said, “I have not yet expressed my gratitude to you. I know what you have done for my wife. You are a brave and honest man. Perhaps the only one that I know. At any rate the only one in whom I have confidence.”
Thereupon he called the Irishman who was in the upper gallery, and requested him to see that no one disturbed us or came into the saloon. Afterwards he pressed a corner of the wall, in a certain manner, such as I had seen him do on several occasions, and at once the priceless tapestry representing Ruyter’s naval victory which covered that side of the saloon was drawn back, and the iron shutters glided aside laying bare the thick glass panels, thanks to which we had witnessed during my first captivity in the vessel so many instructive and terrible submarine spectacles.
Our searchlights in all their power illuminated the bed of the sea, and I saw before me a town — a town with its churches, streets, squares, citadel. I first uttered an exclamation in a hollow voice and then clasped my hands.
“Can it be true? Can it be true?” I cried. “What is this town?”
“I couldn’t tell you,” he replied. “I have wandered about those millenary ruins — ten times millenary — but I do not know the name of the town. True, we shall know it one day, when some new Champollion will decipher the peculiar inscriptions which may be read on the pediments of those buildings but which pertain to no known writing. In any case it is a town which bears evidence of a high state of civilisation, a town which must belong to that mysterious Atlantis, that continent which joined Africa to the west, if we may believe certain ancient writers, and was suddenly engulfed by the waters of the Atlantic. And yet I do not think that this depression of the earth, and this inundation by the sea, were so rapid as has been maintained.... The stupendous upheaval,” continued the Captain, pressing his burning forehead to the glass window, “must have been foreseen, because I have not encountered those signs of the sudden death of a town that may be traced in Pompeii and Herculaneum. The inhabitants must have fled carrying their riches with them, for I have not been able to discover their riches. There is no treasure in this town but that which is being brought here by Captain Hyx.”
And then, coming nearer in the main street which unfolded its marvellous contour before us, I saw gangs of divers dragging with them large boxes hermetically sealed, and when they had placed these boxes in the cellars of an immense building whose columns rose above the neighbouring churches, they returned to the “Vengeance “ to fetch more boxes for the building.
“The milliards from the galleons of Vigo,” intimated the Captain. “See, Herbert of Renich, the milliards from the galleons of Vigo. Those men who were my soldiers in the great Invisible Battle, do not know, will never know, where the milliards are. They have their share. I owe them nothing, and they owe me nothing except to set my treasure in its place. But the place on the map where the treasure lies, the spot lost to view in the abyss where the town of ancient Atlantis stands, which holds
my treasure — this they will never know. I alone know exactly where we are, and in what degree of latitude and longitude. Look at this map, Monsieur Herbert of Renich. We are here... at this precise spot. And you see from the map that the soundings are not so deep that it would be impossible for ordinary machinery to reach them.... I have chosen those soundings on purpose, for after all one can never tell what may happen,” he went on, shaking his head in a peculiar manner. “And now there are two men in the world who know where those milliards of gold are — you and I.”
Thereupon he hung his head, and after a long pause he went on in an intense voice:
“What shall I do with the gold? What must I do with it? Make a gift of it to the cause of civilisation? I will do so, certainly, as soon as I can with safety. At the moment I must not think of such a course.... I am being pursued at sea because it is known that I have filled the “Vengeance” several times with this marvellous commodity. For the present the North Sea is prohibited to me, since I do not wish this gold, the world’s ransom, to run any risk. I have, therefore, decided that the gold shall remain here for the time being. But if by chance I am unable to come back to fetch it, you know now where it is, Monsieur Herbert of Renich.”
I shook Captain Hyx by the hand in silence. I could not speak so greatly was I overwhelmed by this fearful responsibility. The iron shutters closed, Ruyter’s tapestry fell over the vision of Atlantis, and the Captain heaved a tremendous sigh.
“Heavens! you are ill, Captain You are choking.... Your wonderful struggles, your tremendous anxieties... this gold, the pledge of victory....”
“Alas,” he groaned, dropping on to the divan, “none of these things force a single sigh or tear from me, I assure you.”
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 382