Т. C. Бриджес
Приключенията на Мартин Крузо (2)

T. C. Bridges
Martin Crusoe (2)

Приключението започва

— Значи заминаваш, Мартин?

— Да, Базил.

— Какво мисли за това старият Милдръм?

— Не съм му казал нищо. Той си мисли, че отивам във Флорида, което наистина е така. Но аз първо ще отида на острова. Хората, които купиха „Корморан“, искат да бъде закаран в Хавана. Колкото до „Летящата риба“, тя е моя лична собственост. Купил съм я със свои пари и имам право да я задържа. Предупредих за намеренията си капитан Ансън, който командва „Корморан“. Той и ти сте единствените хора, на които съм доверил плановете си. Островът е на около двеста и петдесет мили навътре сред водораслите на Саргасово море.

— Ти ще стигнеш до острова, но как ще излезеш оттам?

— Защо? Сигурен съм, че ще успея, но ако се случи нещо, винаги бих могъл да поискам помощ с радиопредавателя.

— Мартин, мисля, че първо трябва да си уредиш сметките с Уилърд.

— Точно това ще направя — каза Мартин и лицето му помръкна. — Няма да се успокоя, докато не бъде наказан. Сега той се пази и навярно си мисли, че ще тръгна по следите му. Ако изчезна, ще си въобрази, че опасността е преминала, и няма да се безпокои.

Очите на Мартин блестяха. Базил го гледаше учудено.

— Сигурен съм, че ще му отмъстиш. Не зная защо, но имам чувството, че ще забогатееш на този остров. Човекът, който има такава радиостанция, трябва да е много богат.

— И на мен така ми се струва — каза Мартин. — Преди да атакувам Уилърд, ще ми трябват пари. Съобщенията доказват, че някой вика за помощ, и ако този някой е готов да заплати за помощта ми, няма да се откажа от парите. Сбогом, приятелю мой! Пази тайната ми и ти обещавам, че в най-скоро време ще ти се обадя.

— Сбогом, Мартин! — каза Базил с развълнуван глас. — Не забравяй, че ако изпаднеш в беда, ще направя всичко възможно, за да ти помогна.

— Знам — отвърна Мартин и силно стисна ръката на приятеля си. — Тази вечер ще бъда на борда на „Корморан“, а утре рано сутринта тръгвам.

Базил се отдалечи, а Мартин се качи на борда на яхтата.

Разсъмна се. От пет часа сутринта младежът стоеше на яхтата си сам и за последен път гледаше старата къща, обширната морава и високите дървета.

После отплава. Като се движеше с умерена бързина, „Корморан“ скоро стигна тропическата област и осем дни след тръгването си вече плавно се носеше в Атлантическия океан. Денят беше хубав. На север морето се сливаше с небето, а на юг се очертаваше тъмна ивица, която на пръв поглед приличаше на пясъчен риф. Оттам започваха гъстите водорасли, които покриваха Саргасово море.

Големият самолет-амфибия „Летящата риба“ бе готов за излитане. Мартин, облечен в костюм за пилотиране, разговаряше с капитан Ансън.

— Това писмо е за господин Милдръм — каза Мартин. — Но не забравяйте, че искам да го получи, след като се върнете в Англия. Аз ще ви се обадя.

— Надявам се — каза капитанът, който се съмняваше в успешния изход на начинанието на Мартин.

— Ще ви се обадя — повтори усмихнато Мартин. — На острова има радиопредавател.

— Да, ако има остров — промърмори капитанът.

— Трябва да има остров, иначе как ще има радиостанция? — настоя Мартин.

— Да предположим, че наистина има и вие пристигнете благополучно. Какво възнамерявате да правите след това? Откъде знаете, че човекът, който изпраща съобщенията, ще ви остави да си заминете? Ако изпаднете в беда, как ще ви помогна? Не забравяйте, че нито един кораб не може да се приближи до тази непозната област. Позволете ми да ви кажа, Мартин, че ако баща ви беше жив, нямаше да ви остави да извършите подобна глупост.

— Да, но той вече не е жив — тъжно каза Мартин. — Не вярвам, че щеше да ми забрани да отида, капитане. Целта ми е да възвърна доброто име на баща си и да накажа този Уилърд. Повтарям ви, нужни са ми пари. Убеден съм, че по този начин ще ги имам. Освен това човекът от острова се нуждае от помощ. Не се опитвайте да ме разубедите, решението ми е твърдо. По-добре ми пожелайте успех.

— Разбира се, че ви желая успех — искрено каза капитанът. — Всички, които са на борда, ви пожелават същото. Надявам се, че ще се върнете здрав и читав. Ще бъдем щастливи отново да ви видим между нас.

За последен път си стиснаха ръцете и Мартин се качи на самолета-амфибия. Развързаха въжетата. Моторът забръмча, „Летящата риба“ се плъзна по повърхността на водата и след малко излетя подобно на гигантска птица. Над Мартин беше закачена картата с точното местоположение на непознатия остров.

Мартин беше опитен летец. Той имаше голяма страст към пилотирането. На седемнайсет години беше не само отличен летец и радист, но и разполагаше с доста по-обширни познания в тази област от своите по-възрастни приятели.

След като се убеди, че всичко работи нормално, Мартин се настани удобно в креслото.

Той беше доста далеч от острова. Под него се простираше дебела покривка от тъмни водорасли. Те не заемаха цялата водна повърхност, от време на време се забелязваха лагуни с примамлива синя вода. От височината, на която летеше, можеше да види, че в тези лагуни кипи живот: морето беше прозрачно като кристал и той ясно различаваше риби, които се движеха с голяма бързина в дълбините. Мартин забеляза грамаден кит. По-далеч съзря гигантските пипала на един от онези чудовищни октоподи, които, както е известно, обитават водите на Саргасово море. После видя един кораб със счупени мачти.

Беше изминал един час, а на Мартин му се струваше, че лети едва от пет минути. Той знаеше, че му остават още двеста мили път.

Той летеше над обширен пояс от непокрита с водорасли вода, която буквално гъмжеше от морски същества.

Започна да подухва лек ветрец, небето бе чисто и самолетът-амфибия продължаваше да се движи равномерно.

Мартин внимателно оглеждаше морето под себе си. Сърцето му биеше неспокойно. Всеки момент островът можеше да се покаже.

Но какво е това? Бял облак или блясъкът на остър планински връх, покрит със сняг? Без съмнение това беше планина.

Островът наистина съществуваше!

II. The Great Adventure Begins

“You’re going to the island, Martin?”

“I’m going, Basil.”

“But—but what does old Meldrum say?”

“He doesn’t know, Basil. He thinks I am going to Florida. So I am, for the matter of that, but I mean to visit the island first. You see, it all fits in perfectly. The people who have bought the Flying Fox want her delivered at Havana. So I may just as well go in her as not. And the Bat is my own. I paid for her out of my own allowance, and I feel justified in keeping her. I have told Captain Anson, of the Flying Fox, just what I want to do, and he has agreed. You are the only other person who knows about it.”

Basil looked worried.

“I almost wish you hadn’t told me. Suppose you come to grief?”

“If I do there’s no one to miss me except you, old friend,” said Martin, gently. “But don’t be upset. There’s no reason why I should come to harm. The island is not more than two hundred and fifty miles from the edge of the weed, and the Bat will cover that distance in two hours.”

“Yes; but suppose you get there and can’t get away again?”

“I don’t see how that can be, unless I smash up the Bat, and if I do there’s always the wireless with which I can call for help.”

“I’d forgotten the wireless,” said Basil. “Yes, you can do that.”

He paused.

“But I say, Martin,” he went on, rather doubtfully. “I thought your idea was to get square with Willard!”

Martin’s face hardened.

“That is exactly what I do mean to do,” he said sternly. “I shall never rest until he is punished—until all those poor people who have lost their money through him have been repaid to the last penny. But don’t you see that this delay may help? At present Willard is on his guard. He will be looking out for me, and is sure to know that I am starting for Florida. If I disappear on the way he will think the danger is over. He won’t worry. Then, when he has forgotten, I shall swoop down on him.”

Martin’s eyes were shining. Basil stared at him in wonder.

“You’ll get him all right, I feel sure of that,” he declared. “Besides, I daresay you’ll make a fortune on the island. A man who has a great wireless like that must be awfully rich.”

“I had thought of that,” said Martin. “And I shall want money to tackle this swindler Willard. The messages make it quite plain that someone is wanted there, on the island, and if whoever is there will pay for my help, why, I sha’n’t refuse the money. And now, good-by, Basil. Keep a still tongue, and I will promise you shall hear from me as soon as possible.”

“Good-by, Martin!” said Basil, in a voice not very steady. “And just remember, if you are in a hole, I’ll do anything on earth that I can!”

“I know you will,” Martin answered, as he wrung his friend’s hand. “Good-by again. I go aboard to-night, and we sail first thing in the morning.”

Basil left, and Martin finished his packing. Two hours later he went aboard the yacht. At five next morning he was on deck. He stood alone in the stern, taking his last look at the beautiful old house with its wide, smooth lawns, and the tall trees behind with the rooks cawing in the branches.

The yacht swung southward around a tall headland, cutting off the view.

The Flying Fox traveling at a steady seventeen knots ran rapidly into the tropics and a week later lay rolling idly on the silken swells of mid-Atlantic. It was a heavenly day, the warm air soaked with sun.

To the north the sea lay open to the farthest horizon, but the view to the south was bounded by a dark line which at first sight resembled a low-lying shoal, but which was actually the edge of the monstrous mass of weed covering the Sargasso Sea.

Alongside the yacht, attached to a long spar which projected well beyond her side, lay Martin Vaile’s big flying boat, the Bat, and on the deck of the ship Martin himself, in the thick overalls of a pilot, stood exchanging a last few words with bluff old Captain Anson.

“This is for Mr. Meldrum, captain,” said Martin, handing him a letter. “But mind, I don’t want him to have it until you get home again. Long before then you will have heard from me.”

“I hope so, I’m sure, Martin,” replied the captain, who was frowning uncomfortably.

“Oh, you’ll hear all right,” declared Martin with a smile. “I have told you there is wireless on the island.”

“Ay, if there is an island at all,” grumbled the skipper.

“There must be an island, or there wouldn’t be wireless,” insisted Martin.

“And suppose there is an island?” burst out the captain. “And suppose you reach it, what are you going to do when you get there? How do you know this fellow that has sent the message will let you get away again? Suppose you tumble into trouble, how are we going to help you? Just remember this is as close as any ship can get to this unknown land. Let me tell you, Martin, if your good father was still alive he’d never have let you go off on a wild-goose chase like this.”

“But he is not alive,” said Martin, sadly. “And even if he were I don’t think he would forbid me, captain. Remember this, my only objects in life are to clear his memory and to punish this man Willard. As I have told you already, I must have money for both these purposes. I firmly believe that what I am going to do will be my quickest and best way to make the necessary money. And, quite apart from all that, the man on the island wants help, and I feel that it’s up to me to bring it. Now, don’t try to discourage me,” he went on quietly. “My mind is made up. Let me feel that I have your good wishes, captain. I’m sure I shall need them.”

“Certainly you have them, my lad,” said the captain warmly, “and the good wishes of all aboard. Well, I’ll say no more, except to wish you the best of luck. I hope you’ll come out of it safely, with all the cash you want, and I for one will be uncommon glad to see you safe back again.”

The two shook hands, then Martin went over the side and took his seat in the slim hull of the flying boat. The men above cast off, Martin pressed the button of the self-starter, the engines roared, and the Bat shot away from the side of the yacht. Sweeping up the side of one of the long, slow swells, she reached the smooth top, and, taking off like a sea-bird, rose bodily into the air.

Martin kept driving up and up, and as the needle of his barograph sank so did the mercury in the tube of the thermometer beside it. Above the instruments was his chart with the mark showing the exact position of the unknown island. He steered by compass, and kept the bows of his machine pointed almost precisely south.

Martin was a skilled pilot. He had been mad on aircraft even before he first went to school; and his father, realizing this, had started his training when he was only ten years old. His wealth had made it easy for him to give the boy the best teachers, and at seventeen. Martin was not only a first-class pilot and a certificated wireless operator, but he had a wider knowledge of general science, of electricity and of chemistry, than most men of double his age.

Having made sure that all was running right, Martin settled himself comfortably in his seat. Once in the air, a ’plane is far easier to handle than a motor-car. He was able to take it easy and to look about him.

Glancing downwards, he saw that he was already far from the open sea. Beneath him spread the brown mat of weed, stretching mile after mile in tangled masses.

Yet it was not all weed, for it was broken by lagoons of blue water. And, even at the height at which he sailed, he could see that these lagoons were full of life; the tropic sea seemed clear as blue glass, and he could see, far down in the depths, strange forms gliding at great speed. Once he noticed a huge whale, looking as if carved out of black rubber, in the act of broaching. In another pool he caught a glimpse of a monstrous tangle of twisted antennae, which he realized, with a shudder, must be one of the tremendous cuttles which are known to infest the tideless depths of the Sargasso.

Then he saw a ship. A sailing ship of large size she must have been, but her masts had gone overboard, leaving only the stumps; the cordage had rotted away, and she lay mouldering, lifeless, waiting until slow decay should cause her to sink into the hidden depths under the tangle which surrounded her.

He looked back. Very far to the north lay the blue line of open sea, and a tiny trail of smoke told where the Flying Fox steamed onwards to her destination. Martin shivered. After all, he was only seventeen, and he felt terribly alone.

This feeling soon passed. The interest of the scene enthralled him. For now he saw more ships, and he noticed that, the farther he got into the heart of the ocean jungle, the more ancient the type of vessel that lay within its festering tangles. Here was a galleon with a high poop-castle and quaintly curved bow, and a mile away a strange-looking ship which was like a picture he had seen of the Great Harry, a famous war vessel of the sixteenth century. It seemed clear that either the weed area had been steadily increasing during the centuries or that some hidden current sucked the trapped ships deeper and deeper into the heart of the weed sea.

An hour had passed. It had seemed like five minutes. But he did not yet begin to strain his eyes for sight of the island, for he knew that he had still fully two hundred miles to go. And even the towering peak of Teneriffe is not visible more than a hundred miles out to sea.

Now he passed across a wide belt of open water which fairly teemed with marine life. Here was a school of cachalots, led by an old bull that must, Martin thought, be over a hundred feet in length. It came to him that this was where the whales had sought refuge from man’s age-long persecution.

Another hour. Still the breeze held, still the sky was unsullied by a single cloud, and still his engines thundered in perfect rhythm.

Martin began to glance ahead. His heart was beating rapidly. At any minute he might sight the goal of his adventurous journey.

What was that? Was it a white cloud, or was it the gleam of a snow-capped peak hung high against the southern sky? Five minutes more, and Martin, half choked with excitement, knew that it was indeed a mountain. The island was no dream.