CHAPTERXXX.
Having sent Fidette back to her cabin—for I did not wish her to witness my mortification in the event of failure—I approached the steam gauge and looked it fairly in the face.
Seventy-five pounds of steam pressure were indicated.
The moment had come!
I stepped promptly to the rack in which had rested during all these months the long, slender steel lever with which the engine had always been started. I took it down and fitted it in place. Then, having signaled to the boatswain that I was about to make the trial, I quickly opened the valve, and, having allowed a few moments to pass in order that the hot steam might impart some of its warmth to the large pipes and to the cylinder, I swung the lever, as I had often done before on the Caribas and other steamers.
To my horror, the cylinder did not respond. Again and again I shut off the steam and suddenly admitted it, in the hope that the shock might start the rusty piston in the cylinder.
Then I bethought me of a venturesome experiment. Hastily allowing the steam to escape from the upper end of the cylinder, I unscrewed one of the oil cups, and, having procured a pint of sulphuric acid from the locker in which the chemicals were kept, I diluted it three times with water, and poured the mixture into the top of thecylinder. It was a very risky thing to do; but I remembered that diluted sulphuric acid was used for removing verdigris (which is the corrosion on brass, just as rust is the oxidation on iron), and it had seemed to me the most natural way of cleansing the interior of the cylinder. I hastily replaced the oil cup, using the first wrench I could find for the purpose.
I waited ten minutes for the sulphuric acid to accomplish its work. Then I gave the wheel that opened connection with the boilers a savage twist, throwing the valve wide open and suddenly admitting to the cylinder the full head of steam, now registering eighty-five pounds of pressure.
At the first stroke of the lever I knew that the engine was going to work. In twenty seconds more it was running on its own momentum. Its mechanism was somewhat halting and unsteady, but I could feel that the shaft communicating with the propeller was revolving.
I hurried on deck and, with an axe already provided, I cut away the heavy strands of seaweed cable that held us to the adjacent tree trunks. With a few blows of a sledge hammer I knocked the heavy anchor chain out of the bitts, where it had been held for two years, and it escaped overboard through the hawse hole, serpentlike, attended with a noise like thunder.
In a minute more we were steaming along the Grand Canal!
Fidette had been recalled to the engine room, and I was now in the wheelhouse. To my delight I found that the Caribas answered the helm perfectly. As soon as we had emerged from the dock-like berth in which the vessel had been moored into the broad expanse of the Grand Canal I slowly swung the bow of the Caribas to the westward, and headed her out to sea.
We passed so close to the Happy Shark that I could have thrown a biscuit on board. But all was silence thereon. Nowhere in the semi-darkness could I descrya moving object. We were then passing the scene of the attack by the pirates of the Spar, and I recalled all the incidents of that desperate contest. Despite the thrilling sensations of freedom, my ears still rang with the cries of the dying and the shouts of the victors.
Fortunately for me, in my early apprenticeship on the sea, I had served many watches at the wheel. During my stay in Sargasso, with the hope of escape ever present before me, I had taken careful bearings of the Grand Canal as the only recognized watery path to the ocean, and, although it had not a beacon or other commanding headland, I had no fear of misadventure.
Through the tube communicating with the engine room I encouraged Fidette, and by similar means implored the boatswain to stand by the torrid furnaces.
To my unbounded delight and surprise the Caribas was now doing as well as she had ever done under my command. The gummy, resinous character of the seaweed was developing more boiler power than had ever been extracted from coal. I learned from Fidette that the steam gauge showed a pressure of 115 pounds.
We were speeding away from this detested community at the rate of fifteen miles an hour!
The darkness was so intense that I felt confident we had not even been missed. If our movements had been heard by any of the ships along the canal I knew that an interval of at least an hour would be required to communicate the fact to the Chief Kantoon. But the curious system of marine telegraphy, which I have described, was complete and effective; and when my treason was detected the Priest of the Sacred Fire would be notified.
We were nearing the outer barrier of seaweed when I detected from the wheelhouse (which, following the fashion of the American coastwise steamers, had been placed in the forward part of the ship) a dark object moving over the face of the black waters. I knew instinctively that it was a barge filled with Sargassons, and the demoniacalimpulse filled my heart to have one last bit of revenge for the barbarous and inhuman manner in which they had massacred my crew.
I changed the course of the Caribas two points and headed directly for the great canoe. Like an avenging genii out of the darkness I bore down upon it. The men at the paddles were utterly paralyzed with fear. They could not understand the presence of this huge craft, and by their inaction were an easy mark for the blow I dealt them amidships. The barge was crushed like an eggshell, and the thirty men were thrown into the water. Those that escaped being drawn under the Caribas by the suction or ground to pieces by the propeller were devoured by sharks or run through by swordfish.
The open water of the ocean lay directly ahead!
In another quarter of an hour we had passed the place at which the Caribas had fallen a prey to Sargasson treachery. Assured that we were clear of all entangling grass I made the wheel fast and hurried to the engine room, where I kissed and embraced Fidette—first announcing through the tube to the faithful boatswain that we had escaped. I examined the water cocks, started the pumping engine and replenished the depleted boilers. Then I went carefully over the engine and oiled every part after which, taking Fidette by the hand, I led her on deck, en route to the pilot house.
As we ascended the main companionway into the blackness of the night Fidette stopped short in her walk and exclaimed:
“Behold! See the Sacred Fire! Our flight is known throughout the Seaweed Sea!”
There, high in the sky, stood the vivid pillar of fire, waving to and fro!
Fidette interpreted the signals that announced my infamous treachery. The proclamation took this form:
“The Caribas is gone! Her Kantoon shall die. A Kantoonship to his captor!”
I took Fidette, dear little creature, in my arms, and, as I kissed her, said:
“They are too late, my pet. Our next address, I hope, will be New York.”
It is quite needless to prolong this narrative further. After two days’ steaming due north the fuel was exhausted and our engine ceased to work. I constructed, from all the blankets on board ship, staysails, with which I was able to keep the Caribas out of the trough of the sea. I gave liberty to only eight members of the crew at a time.
For four days we rode out the ocean swell. We were sighted by the German steamer Nordland, bound from Gibraltar to New York. She soon came within hailing distance. The Nordland’s second officer was sent aboard us. To him I recounted briefly our situation. He returned to his ship, and twenty men came to aid me in bringing the Caribas into port.
A line was passed to us, and six days of slow steaming brought us to New York, where we anchored in the Horseshoe.
All the cities of America are great; but New York—New York is greatest of all, because it owes everything to the sea.
Fidette came ashore with me, and her emotions when she first beheld houses and city streets were curious.
The arrival of the Caribas was cabled to Europe, of course, and late the next afternoon our agents on this side of the water received the following telegram:
“Austin Clark, New York:“Proceed Santos, then Buenos Ayres for orders.“TRIPPLETT & JONES.”
“Austin Clark, New York:
“Proceed Santos, then Buenos Ayres for orders.
“TRIPPLETT & JONES.”
Utterly without sentiment, curiosity, or—gratitude, are some shipowners.
THE END.