Jules Verne For Children: 16 Incredible Tales of Mystery, Courage & Adventure (Illustrated Edition). Jules Verne
danger for every ship which scuds before the tempest. But what could be done to ward off that contingency? Greater speed could not be imparted to the Pilgrim, because she would not have kept the smallest piece of canvas. She must then be managed as much as possible by means of the helm, whose action was often powerless.
Dick Sand no longer left the helm. He was lashed by the waist, so as not to be carried away by some surge. Tom and Bat, fastened also, stood near to help him. Hercules and Acteon, bound to the bitts, watched forward. As to Mrs. Weldon, to Little Jack, to Cousin Benedict, to Nan, they remained, by order of the novice, in the aft cabins. Mrs. Weldon would have preferred to have remained on deck, but Dick Sand was strongly opposed to it; it would be exposing herself uselessly.
All the scuttles had been hermetically nailed up. It was hoped that they would resist if some formidable billow should fall on the ship. If, by any mischance, they should yield under the weight of these avalanches, the ship might fill and sink. Very fortunately, also, the stowage had been well attended to, so that, notwithstanding the terrible tossing of the vessel, her cargo was not moved about.
Dick Sand had again reduced the number of hours which he gave to sleep. So Mrs. Weldon began to fear that he would take sick. She made him consent to take some repose.
Now, it was while he was still lying down, during the night of the 13th to the 14th of March, that a new incident took place.
Tom and Bat were aft, when Negoro, who rarely appeared on that part of the deck, drew near, and even seemed to wish to enter into conversation with them; but Tom and his son did not reply to him.
Suddenly, in a violent rolling of the ship, Negoro fell, and he would, doubtless, have been thrown into the sea if he had not held on to the binnacle.
Tom gave a cry, fearing the compass would be broken.
Dick Sand, in a moment of wakefulness, heard that cry, and rushing out of his quarters, he ran aft.
Negoro had already risen, but he held in his hand the piece of iron which he had just taken from under the binnacle, and he hid it before Dick Sand could see it.
Was it, then, Negoro’s interest for the magnetic needle to return to its true direction? Yes, for these southwest winds served him now!
“What’s the matter?” asked the novice.
“It’s that cook of misfortune, who has just fallen on the compass!” replied Tom.
At those words Dick Sand, in the greatest anxiety, leaned over the binnacle. It was in good condition; the compass, lighted by two lamps, rested as usual on its concentric circles.
The young novice was greatly affected. The breaking of the only compass on board would be an irreparable misfortune.
But what Dick Sand could not observe was that, since the taking away of the piece of iron, the needle had returned to its normal position, and indicated exactly the magnetic north as it ought to be under that meridian.
Meanwhile, if Negoro could not be made responsible for a fall which seemed to be involuntary, Dick Sand had reason to be astonished that he was, at that hour, aft in the ship.
“What are you doing there?” he asked him.
“What I please,” replied Negoro.
“You say——” cried Dick Sand, who could not restrain his anger.
“I say,” replied the head cook, “that there is no rule which forbids walking aft.”
“Well, I make that the rule,” replied Dick Sand, “and I forbid you, remember, to come aft.”
“Indeed!” replied Negoro.
That man, so entirely under self-control, then made a menacing gesture.
The novice drew a revolver from his pocket, and pointed it at the head cook.
“Negoro,” said he, “recollect that I am never without this revolver, and that on the first act of insubordination I shall blow out your brains!”
At that moment Negoro felt himself irresistibly bent to the deck.
It was Hercules, who had just simply laid his heavy hand on Negoro’s shoulder.
“Captain Sand,” said the giant, “do you want me to throw this rascal overboard? He will regale the fishes, who are not hard to please!”
“Not yet,” replied Dick Sand.
Negoro rose as soon as the black’s hand no longer weighed upon him. But, in passing Hercules:
“Accursed negro,” murmured he, “I’ll pay you back!”
Meanwhile, the wind had just changed; at least, it seemed to have veered round forty-five degrees. And, notwithstanding, a singular thing, which struck the novice, nothing in the condition of the sea indicated that change. The ship headed the same way all the time, but the wind and the waves, instead of taking her directly aft, now struck her by the larboard quarter—a very dangerous situation, which exposes a ship to receive bad surges. So Dick Sand was obliged to veer round four points to continue to scud before the tempest.
But, on the other hand, his attention was awakened more than ever. He asked himself if there was not some connection between Negoro’s fall and the breaking of the first compass. What did the head cook intend to do there? Had he some interest in putting the second compass out of service also? What could that interest be? There was no explanation of that. Must not Negoro desire, as they all desired, to land on the American coast as soon as possible?
When Dick Sand spoke of this incident to Mrs. Weldon, the latter, though she shared his distrust in a certain measure, could find no plausible motive for what would be criminal premeditation on the part of the head cook.
However, as a matter of prudence, Negoro was well watched. Thereafter he attended to the novice’s orders and he did not risk coming aft in the ship, where his duties never called him. Besides, Dingo having been installed there permanently, the cook took care to keep away.
During all that week the tempest did not abate. The barometer fell again. From the 14th to the 26th of March it was impossible to profit by a single calm to set a few sails. The Pilgrim scudded to the northeast with a speed which could not be less than two hundred miles in twenty-four hours, and still the land did not appear!—that land, America, which is thrown like an immense barrier between the Atlantic and the Pacific, over an extent of more than a hundred and twenty degrees!
Dick Sand asked himself if he was not a fool, if he was still in his right mind, if, for so many days, unknown to him, he was not sailing in a false direction. No, he could not find fault with himself on that point. The sun, even though he could not perceive it in the fogs, always rose before him to set behind him. But, then, that land, had it disappeared? That America, on which his vessel would go to pieces, perhaps, where was it, if it was not there? Be it the Southern Continent or the Northern Continent—for anything way possible in that chaos—the Pilgrim could not miss either one or the other. What had happened since the beginning of this frightful tempest? What was still going on, as that coast, whether it should prove salvation or destruction, did not appear? Must Dick Sand suppose, then, that he was deceived by his compass, whose indications he could no longer control, because the second compass was lacking to make that control? Truly, he had that fear which the absence of all land might justify.
So, when he was at the helm, Dick Sand did not cease to devour the chart with his eyes. But he interrogated it in vain; it could not give him the solution of an enigma which, in the situation in which Negoro had placed him, was incomprehensible for him, as it would have been for any one else.
On this day, however, the 26th of March, towards eight o’clock in the morning, an incident of the greatest importance took place.
Hercules, on watch forward, gave this cry: