Adrift in Pacific and Other Great Adventures – 17 Titles in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). Jules Verne
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possessing, consequently, great rapidity of rotation, and an onward movement which exceeded one hundred kilometres an hour. It drove the “Sam-Yep” towards the east fortunately, because it carried the junk away from a coast which offered no shelter, and where it would inevitably have been wrecked in a very short time.
At eleven in the evening the tempest reached its maximum of force; but Capt. Yin, well aided by his crew, managed the junk like a true seaman. He no longer laughed, but preserved his sang-froid, and, holding the helm firmly in his hand, safely guided the light ship, which skimmed over the waves like a bird.
Kin-Fo had left the cabin, and, leaning on the railing, was watching the storm-driven clouds, which, descending, floated over the waters in shreds of mist. Then he gazed at the sea, which was white and luminous against the darkness of night, and whose waters the typhoon with gigantic force had raised above their natural level. Danger neither surprised nor frightened him: it was one of the series of emotions which a malevolent fate had let fall to his share. A passage of sixty hours without a tempest in midsummer was for the happy and fortunate; but he was no longer one of the happy.
Craig and Fry felt much more anxious, because of the market value of their charge. Certainly their lives were as valuable as that of Kin-Fo. If they died with him, they would no longer have to watch over the interests of the Centenary. But these conscientious agents forgot themselves, and thought only of doing their duty. To perish was very well; but it must be with Kin-Fo, be it understood, and after the 30th of June at midnight. To save that million was what Craig-Fry wished: that was all Fry-Craig thought of.
As for Soun, he had not a doubt that the junk was going to perdition; or rather, in his opinion, a man was on his way to perdition the moment he ventured on the perfidious element, even in the most beautiful weather. Ah! the passengers in the hold were not to be pitied! “Ai, ai, ya!” No rolling nor pitching for them. “Ai, ai, ya!” The unfortunate Soun wondered if in their place he would not still be seasick.
For three hours the junk was in extreme danger. One wrong move of the helm, and she would have been lost, for the sea would have swept her deck; and, if she could no more capsize than a pail, she might at least fill and sink. Maintaining her steadily in one direction through waves lashed by the whirling of the cyclone was not to be thought of; and the captain did not pretend to keep a reckoning of the distance traversed, or the route he had followed.
However, good fortune brought the “Sam-Yep,” without serious damage, into the centre of the atmospheric disk, which covers an area of a hundred kilometres. In it a space of two or three miles, with a calm sea, and a scarcely perceptible breeze, was found. It was like a peaceful lake in the middle of a storm-tossed ocean. By being driven there by the hurricane, under bare poles, the junk was saved. Towards three o’clock in the morning the fury of the cyclone abated as if by magic, and the angry waters around the little central lake gradually grew still.
But, when day came, the crew of the “Sam-Yep” searched the horizon in vain for land. Not a sign of shore was in sight. The waters of the gulf, which had retreated to the line where sea and sky met, surrounded it on every side.
1 These whirling tempests are called “tornadoes” on the western coast of Africa, and “typhoons” in the China seas. Their scientific name is “cyclones.”
CHAPTER XVIII.
In Which Craig And Fry, Urged By Curiosity, Visit The Hold Of The “Sam-Yep.”
“Where are we now, Capt. Yin?” asked Kin-Fo, when all danger was over.
“I cannot tell exactly,” answered the captain, whose face had resumed its wonted jollity.
“In the Gulf of Pe-che-lee, do you think?”
“Perhaps.”
“Or in the Gulf of Leao-Tong?”
“Possibly.”
“But where shall we land?”
“Wherever the wind sends us.”
“And when?”
“That is impossible for me to say.”
“A true Chinaman always keeps to the east, sir,” resumed Kin-Fo, rather out of humor, and quoting a very popular saying in the Central Empire.
“On land he does, but not on sea,” replied Capt. Yin, with a laugh that stretched his mouth from ear to ear.
“It is no laughing matter,” said Kin-Fo.
“Nor one to cry about,” replied the captain.
The truth is, that, although the situation had nothing alarming in it, it was impossible for Capt. Yin to tell where the “Sam-Yep” lay. How could its course be reckoned without a compass in a wind which blew from every quarter? The junk, with its sails reefed, and almost beyond the control of the rudder, had been the plaything of the hurricane. Therefore there was reason for the captain to give such evasive answers, though he might have spoken in not quite so jovial a manner.
However, whether the “Sam-Yep” had been sent into the Gulf of Leao-Tong, or driven back into the Gulf of Pe-che-lee, she could not fail to round the cape at the north-west. Land must be found in that direction. It was a mere question of distance.
Capt. Yin, therefore, would have hoisted his sails, and steered his course by the sun, which was shining very brightly, if it had been possible to do so just then. It was not. A dead calm succeeded the typhoon; and not a current of air nor a breath of wind ruffled the sea, which was scarcely rippled by the undulations of a heavy swell, and gently rocked, without the faintest circle of outward motion. The junk rose and fell with the even swell of the sea, but did not stir from where it lay. A warm vapor hung over the waters; and the sky, which was so wild and angry during the night, seemed now resting from the fury of the elements, powerless to combat them. It was one of those dead calms whose duration cannot be calculated.
“This is fine!” said Kin-Fo to himself. “After the tempest has driven us about at will, it is the want of wind which now prevents us from returning to land.”
Then, addressing the captain, he asked,—
“How long will this calm last?”
“Pray, sir, how can any one tell in this season?” answered the captain.
“Will it last for hours, or days?”
“Days, or perhaps weeks,” answered Yin, with a smile of perfect resignation, which almost put his passenger in a rage.
“Weeks!” exclaimed Kin-Fo. “Do you think I can wait here for weeks?”
“But you will have to, unless our junk is towed along.”
“To the devil with your junk and all on board!—myself first, since I was fool enough to take passage with you!”
“Sir,” replied Capt. Yin, “do you wish me to give you two pieces of advice?”
“Let us hear them.”
“The first is to go quietly to sleep, as I shall; which will be a very wise thing to do, after a whole night spent on deck.”
“And the second?” asked Kin-Fo, whom the captain’s calmness exasperated as much as did that of the sea.
“The second,” answered Yin, “is to imitate my passengers in the hold. They never complain, but take the weather as it comes.”
After these philosophical observations, which were worthy of Wang, the captain returned to his cabin, leaving two or three of the crew lying on deck.
For a quarter of an hour Kin-Fo walked