Т. C. Бриджес
Приключенията на Мартин Крузо (23)

T. C. Bridges
Martin Crusoe (23)

Стихиен прилив

Мартин поправяше „Летящата риба“ в големия хангар на кея. Той се изправи, протегна се и погледна смълчания град.

Жрецът стоеше до него и превеждаше заповедите му на работниците.

— Не мога да повярвам! — учудено каза Мартин. — Не съм си представял, че толкова бързо ще свърши всичко.

Хаймер се усмихна.

— Въстаниците нямат заместник на Одън — поясни той. — Ако техният водач имаше син, нещата щяха да бъдат далеч по-сложни. Одън имаше някакви права, защото е роднина на царя. Сега недоволните ще си признаят грешката от страх да не им бъдат отнети земите и богатствата.

— Какво смятате да правите с тях?

— Ще ги накараме да възстановят всички причинени от тях щети и да възнаградят вдовиците на тези, които бяха убити в борбата. Това е всичко! А ти, сине мой, мислиш ли, че ще успеем да поправим летящата ти машина?

— Да, сигурен съм — каза Мартин. — Тези хора са сръчни като най-опитните работници в Англия. Достатъчно е само да им се дават указания.

— А когато твоята машина бъде готова, ще ни напуснеш ли?

— Трябва да се върна на Изгубения остров, а след това да отида в Англия, за да платя дълговете на баща си. Уверявам те, че ще се върна. Не мога да допусна, че…

Викът на един работник го прекъсна. Той се обърна бързо. Човекът сочеше морето.

Вълна, грамадна като стена, се приближаваше бавно към брега. Мартин видя как тя с глухо бучене прехвърля вълнолома.

— Стихиен прилив! — викна Мартин. — Хаймер, кажи им да затворят вратите на хангара. Бързо, бързо! Ако вълната стигне до тук, ще повреди „Летящата риба“.

Жрецът съзря опасността и даде нужните заповеди на работниците.

Шестима от тях скочиха към голямата двойна врата, за да я затворят. Другите я подпряха с тежки греди.

За щастие самолетът-амфибия не беше във водата. Той бе поставен върху едно скеле, защото повредите бяха главно в долната част.

Всички се скриха в постройката и втренчиха погледи в приближаващата вълна. Тя беше съвсем близко и със зловещ грохот връхлетя върху тях. Хангарът се разклати и изскърца под силния натиск на водната маса.

Мартин, който гледаше през едно малко прозорче на покрива, видя кипящата пяна и прехапа устни, като си представи потъването на „Летящата риба“.

Водата се отдръпна и стигна нормалното си равнище почти толкова бързо, колкото беше дошла.

— Слава на Бога, моят самолет-амфибия е здрав — каза Мартин. — Често ли има такива стихийни приливи?

Жрецът изглеждаше силно разтревожен.

— Никога не съм виждал толкова силен прилив. По-старите хора разказват за такива вълни. Страхувам се, че е причинила големи опустошения по крайбрежието. Как го нарече?

— Стихиен прилив! Така наричаме тези вълни. Вероятно възникват при земетресение.

— Сигурно — каза Хаймер. — Къде, мислиш, е станало това земетресение?

Мартин внезапно пребледня. Вместо отговор той отвори вратата и бързо се изкачи на кея. Хаймер го гледаше учудено и видя как приятелят му се загледа в снежния връх на Изгубения остров.

Той се досети за причината за Мартиновото безпокойство и веднага отиде при него.

— Виж! — каза Мартин силно задъхан. — Ето от какво се страхувах — вулканът изригва!

XXIII. The Wave

Martin, working over the Bat in the big boathouse on the quay, straightened himself, stretched his arms, and looked round over the quiet town and the harbor basking in the hot sunshine.

He turned to the priest who was standing by, translating Martin’s orders to the workmen. “I could not have believed it,” he said, in a tone of wonder. “Even though you had told me beforehand, I could never have believed that the rebellion would fizzle out like this.”

Hymer smiled in his grave way.

“They have no one to take the place of Odan,” he explained. “If Odan had had a son then all might have been different. Odan, you must understand, had a certain claim to the throne by kinship with the king. Without such kinship none would dare to set himself up. As it is, the malcontents are only too anxious to make amends lest they be deprived of their lands and wealth.”

“And what are you doing about that?” asked Martin.

“We are requiring them to repair the damage which they have done, and to pay money to the widows of those killed in the fighting. That is all.”

Martin nodded. “The very best thing you could do. Those who have any sense will be grateful to be let off so lightly. Hymer, you ought to be Prime Minister of one of the big countries in Europe.”

Hymer smiled again. “I am content,” he said. “If I have helped to save my own people, I can die in peace.”

He looked at Martin very kindly.

“And you, my son, think you that we can repair this flying machine so that she will again rise?”

“I’m sure we can,” declared Martin. “Why, the work is almost finished! These men are as skilful mechanics as any in America. They need only to be told, and the work is done.”

“And when it is done you will fly away and leave us, is it not so?” asked Hymer sadly.

“I must, of course, return to the other island,” said Martin, “and I must go to America to pay the debts left by my father. But I shall come back. Be sure of that. I should never dream—”

A sharp cry from one of the workmen interrupted him. Martin turned quickly, and saw the man pointing out to sea.

A great wave as high as a wall was coursing majestically in from the open sea. Even as Martin watched, it reached the land, and broke inwards upon the beach with a sullen, thunderous roar. At the harbor mouth it did not break, but came sweeping up the entrance like the tidal wave in the Bay of Fundy.

“A tidal wave!” cried Martin sharply. “Hymer, tell them to shut the outer gates of the boathouse. Quickly! If we get that wave in here it will play the mischief with the Bat.”

But the priest’s keen old eyes had already seen what was happening, and before Martin had finished speaking he was snapping out orders to the men.

Half a dozen leapt to close the great double doors of the boathouse. Others wedged them with heavy balks of timber.

Fortunately the plane herself was not in the water. It was her under carriage that had been damaged, and, in order to get at her, she had been raised upon a sort of platform above the floating stage.

For the next minute or two everyone in the boathouse worked with a breathless fury of haste.

Then all that could be done had been done, and there was nothing left but to watch the glassy swell coursing swiftly up the harbor from the sea.

As Martin looked out through an opening under the roof, he saw that it was very close. Next moment, with a low soughing roar, it was upon them. The boathouse rocked and creaked under the great weight of water heaped against it. The floats rose with a loud clatter. Martin, looking down from his perch high in the scaffolding under the roof, saw the whole interior of the place filled with seething foam, and held his breath in agony, expecting to see the Bat swamped, torn down, and wrecked.

But the water fell as quickly as it had risen, and dropped, bubbling and muddy, to its former level, while the wave went roaring swiftly away up into the small creeks which ran far inland.

“Close call!” panted Martin, as he dropped back on to the soaking, swinging stage. “But, thanks be, the Bat’s all right. Priest, do you often get these tidal waves?”

Hymer looked much disturbed.

“Never have I known one such as this,” he answered, “though from old men I have heard of them in past times. Great, I fear, must be the harm wrought along the coast. But why,” he added—“why call it a tidal wave? No tide has power to raise itself suddenly to so great a height.”

“You are right,” replied Martin. “It is merely a name which we give to such waves. In reality it is doubtless an earthquake wave caused by some opening or commotion under the bed of the sea.” “Of a truth, that is the more likely cause,” said Hymer. “Where, think you, did this earthquake take place?”

Martin’s face had gone suddenly pale. Instead of answering, he flung open the door on the landward side of the boathouse and rushed up the flight of steps leading to the quay. Hymer, watching him with wonder, saw him stand there straining his eyes across the sea towards the distant white sugar-loaf which was the snow-clad peak surmounting Lost Island.

Suddenly a suspicion of the reason for Martin’s anxiety came into his mind, and he followed him quickly.

“Look!” panted Martin, as the priest joined him. “Look! It is as I feared. The eruption has begun.”