Travel Scholarships. Jules Verne
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Might they have caught him?”
“And what worries me even more,” admitted John Carpenter, “is to know whether or not the ship is still at its mooring.”
“It must still be there,” answered Henry Markel, “ready to weigh anchor!”
No doubt that the plan of the Captain and his companions was to leave the United Kingdom, where they were in such danger, and even Europe, in order to find safety on the other side of the ocean. But under what conditions did they hope to execute this plan, and how would they manage to gain access to a departing ship?
It seemed, according to what Henry Markel had just said, that they were planning to board a ship with the small boat stolen by their mate Corty. Did they have the intention of hiding on board, then?4
This presented a huge difficulty. What is possible for one or two men is not possible for ten. Had they sneaked into the slipway—assuming that they could have done it without being noticed—it would not be long before they would be discovered and their presence immediately reported to Queenstown.
Therefore, Henry Markel must have had in mind another more practical and more sure way to proceed. What? Had he been able to secure the complicity of a few of the sailors of the ship on the eve of their sailing off to sea? Were he and his companions certain, in advance, to find refuge there?
Moreover, in the conversation that was taking place among these three men, not one word had been uttered that would have given away their plan. Since they stopped talking as soon as one of the Blue Fox’s clients approached their table, they were not letting themselves be overheard.
In spite of this, after answering the boatswain, Harry Markel grew taciturn once again. He was reflecting on their dangerous situation, the end of which was rapidly approaching, whatever it would be. Sure of the information that had come to him, he continued:
“No, the ship can’t have gone. It is not supposed to cast off until tomorrow. Here’s the proof.”
Harry Markel drew from his pocket a piece of newspaper containing maritime news, and he read as follows:
“The Alert is still at its anchorage in Cork Harbor, in Farmar Cove, ready to cast off. Captain Paxton is only waiting for his passengers for the Antilles. The voyage, in fact, will not experience any delays, since the departure will not take place before the 30th of the current month. The laureates of the Antillean School will embark on that date and the Alert will immediately set sail, weather permitting.”
So it was the ship chartered by Mrs. Seymour! It was on board the Alert that Harry Markel and his companions had decided to flee! It was on this ship that they expected to get out to sea that very night, in order to escape the police search! But would circumstances facilitate the execution of their project? They could not count on accomplices among Captain Paxton’s men! Would they then attempt to take over the ship by surprise, then to get rid of its crew by force?
One thing is certain: anything could be expected from such determined criminals, for whom their very lives were at stake. There were ten of them, and no doubt the Alert did not hold a larger number of sailors on board. Under these conditions, the advantage would go to them.
Cork: Patrick Street (photo by W. Lawrence of Dublin).
After finishing his reading, Harry Markel put back into his pocket the piece of newspaper, which had fallen into his hand at the Queens-town prison, and he added:
“Today’s the 29th … It’s only tomorrow that the Alert is supposed to weigh anchor; tonight, it’ll still be at its anchorage in Farmar Cove, even if the passengers have already arrived, which isn’t probable, and we’ll only have to deal with the crew.”
It is important to note that, even if the students from the Antillean School were already on board, these bandits would not have renounced taking over the ship. There would be a little more blood spilled, that is all; they had had no compunctions about such violence during their recent campaigns of piracy.
Time was running out, and Corty, so impatiently awaited, had not appeared. In vain the trio examined the people who came through the Blue Fox’s door.
“Let’s hope that he hasn’t fallen into the hands of the police!” said Ranyah Cogh.
“If he’d been caught, we would’ve soon followed,” answered John Carpenter.
“Perhaps,” acknowledged Harry Markel, “but not because Corty would’ve given us up! Even if his head were hanging from the noose, he wouldn’t betray us.”
“That isn’t what I meant to say,” replied John Carpenter. “But it could be that he was recognized by the constables and followed as he was coming to the tavern! In that case, all the exits would be guarded, and it would be impossible to escape!”
Harry Markel did not answer, and there was a silence for a few minutes.
“Should one of us go out to meet him?” said the cook.
“I’ll take the risk, if you want,” proposed the boatswain.
“Go,” said Harry Markel, “but don’t go far. Corty could arrive at any moment. If you see the police in time, come back in quickly, and we’ll go out the back before they come into the room.”
“But then,” observed Ranyah Cogh, “Corty will no longer find us here.”
“There’s nothing else we can do,” declared the Captain.
The situation was a most awkward one. After all, the important thing was not to get caught. If the Alert attempt failed, if Harry Markel, John Carpenter, and Ranyah Cogh did not succeed in joining their mates during the night, they would try to warn them. Maybe another opportunity would present itself? All things considered, they would only feel safe after having left Queenstown.
The boatswain emptied his glass one last time, glanced quickly around the room, slipped through the groups, and went out the door, which closed behind him.
At eight-thirty, it was not yet dark. Solstice was nearing and this was the time of the year with the longest days.
Nevertheless, the sky was rather overcast. Big heavy clouds, almost stationary, were accumulating along the horizon, the type of clouds that, in heavy heat, can bring violent storms. The night would be dark, the moon’s crescent having already disappeared toward the west.
John Carpenter had been gone for less than five minutes when the door to the Blue Fox opened and he reappeared.
A man was accompanying him, the one they awaited, a short sailor, vigorous and stocky, a beret pulled down to his eyes. The boatswain had met him fifty feet from there, as he was coming to the tavern, and the two had immediately come inside to join Harry Markel.
Corty looked to have just run a long and precipitous race. Beads of sweat were forming on his cheeks. Had he indeed been chased by the police, and had he succeeded in losing them?
John Carpenter, with a gesture, showed him the corner where Harry Markel and Ranyah Cogh were sitting. He came quickly to sit at the table, and in one gulp downed a glass of whiskey.
Obviously, Corty would have had trouble answering the Captain’s questions, and they had to allow him to catch his breath. In fact, he did not seem at all reassured and his eyes did not leave the outside door, as if he were expecting to see a squad of policemen appear there at any moment.
Finally, once he had regained his breath, Harry Markel told him quietly:
“Were you followed?”
“I don’t think so,” he answered.
“Are there any constables in the street?”
“Yes, about a dozen! They’re searching the inns and will soon be coming to the Blue Fox.”
“Let’s