Transcript

Part 1 · The Fixed Flight

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Section one of The Fixed Flight by Maurice Renard. This is a LibriVox recording.
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All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to
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volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org. Read by Ben Tucker, Part one.
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Towards ten o'clock in the morning, the man we had rescued opened his
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eyes. I was prepared to see the usual recovery. The feverish fingers passed
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across the brow, where am I whispered in a feeble voice, not at
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all. For some seconds, the man who owed his life to us remained
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perfectly still, with a lost look. Then his eyes lit up with life
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and intelligence, and he lent his ear to the noise of the screw in
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the lapping of the waves against the hull. Sitting up in his narrow berth,
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he inspected the cabin as coolly as if neither Gayton nor myself had been
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there. We next saw him turn to the porthole to look at the sea,
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and then examined us, one after the other, with a stare as
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void of curiosity, as of good manners, regarding as if we had been
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pieces of furniture which had escaped notice. Up till now and then, with
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crossed arms, he relapsed into a deep revery. To judge from his looks,
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the stranger was a well bred man, with handsome face and well shaped
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hands, and his clothes ringing wet as they had been, seemed those of
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a gentleman. So his behavior annoyed my companion and surprised me. Although I
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had been long accustomed to see in Gayton himself nobility under the bearing of a
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yokel and breeding misallied with an insolent manner at all events, my astonishment did
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not last long. Let us have no rash judgments, I said to myself,
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May not the queer behavior of this sinister being be due to some brain
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disturbance comprehensible and excusable, particularly after such an accident, And ought we not,
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by all showing to respect his unspoken thoughts, they should not be commonplace
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ones, considering the extraordinary circumstances of his arrival. But Gayton, seeing himself
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at the same time quite well and yet so unamiable, waxed impatient. Well,
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he said, arrogantly, how are you now better? Eh? You
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are better? Hey, you are better? He repeated again and again,
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and obtained no reply. The man did not seem at all nonplussed at being
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thus addressed. He looked at Gayton from head to foot, his elegant appearance,
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his whole aspect so ill fitted to his speech, and, after a
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period of thought which prejudice, the ill mannered aristocrat, still more against him,
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said, making a sign of assent, Yes, he did feel better
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good, I said to myself. He understands French, a fellow countryman.
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Perhaps you are in Luck's way, said Gayton, without us You know,
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old buck well, are you daf Can't you open your mouth? He said,
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angrily? Are you hurt? I said, pushing my friend aside,
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rather to put a stop to his speech than to inquire after the health of
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our taciturn friend. Tell me are you in pain? The man shook his
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head and continued to follow the thread of his thoughts. My fears grew,
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and I exchanged an anxious look with Gayton. I don't know if the man
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intercepted it, but I fancy I saw the glimmer of a smile in his
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eyes. Do you want anything to drink? I said, pointing at me.
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He spoke with a queer foreign accent. Doctor No, I replied,
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cheerily. No. No, And as his eyes still questioned me a writer,
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I replied, an author. You understand. He made a gracious gesture
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of assent, almost a bow, and poked his chin inquisitively towards Gayton.
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I I do nothing, the latter said, with a laugh, a man
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of leisure, adding an imitation of my own words, A do nothing,
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an idler, You understand. I watched the effect of our graciousness on our
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visitor's face, and then quickly I made a diversion. This gentleman is the
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owner of the yacht, I explained. You are the guest of Baron Gayton
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de Venues Paradol, who has picked you up. And I am Gerald Sinclair,
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his traveling companion. But instead of giving us his name and status,
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as I had intended him to do, the man reflected for a moment,
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and then laboriously articulated, can you tell me what has occurred? Please?
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I've completely lost all memory from a certain point. This time, his intonation,
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agreeably incorrect, revealed itself, as the English accent well explained Gayton,
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it was quite simple. The launch was lower. The sailors fished you out.
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But but before that, monsieur, what happened before before What you do
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mean before the explosion, I suppose, said my friend mockingly. The man
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looked stupefied. What explosion, Monsieur. I had a presentiment that Gayton was
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growing angry, so I intervened once more, old man, I said,
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in a low voice, when me talk to this individual, there is no
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doubt he suffering from loss of memory, which is common enough after great emotional
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disturbances, and he very likely remembers nothing about his terrific accident. Keep quiet
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and leave him to me. Then, addressing the man with no memory,
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I said, Monsieur, I will tell you all we know of your adventure.
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I hope that it will refresh your memory and so enable you to give
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your host a complete description of the occurrence to which he owes the honor of
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your acquaintance. Notwithstanding that I underlined the words your host with look and accent,
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my listener did not WinCE. He knodded his hands round his propped up
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legs, put his chin on his knees, and awaited the continuation of my
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story. I went on. You are on the steam yacht Oshanide, monsieur
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owner, Monsieur de Vinous paradolet Captain one Duval her port Javore, and you
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are safe. She is a fine boat, ninety meters in length. Her
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registered tonnage is two thousand, one hundred and eighty four. She steams her
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fifteen knots an hour, and her engines indicate five thousand horse power. There
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was only my host and myself in addition to the crew of ninety five until
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we came across you. It is not much as the yacht has twenty four
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cabins like yours, But Monsieur de Vinier's cruise, on account of its length,
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attracted no one but your humble servant. We are returning from Havana,
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where my friend was pleased to choose his own cigars on the spot, so
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to speak. And so and so, I quite expected to have made a
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great impression with that touch about the cigars carelessly introduced, But I might have
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spared my breath, so Monsieur, our return journey was accomplished in peaceful monotony
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until three days ago, when something went wrong with the engines. We had
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to stop. To day is the twenty first of August, so it was
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the eighteenth. We set about repair the broken coupling rod on the spot,
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and the captain was desirous of profiting by the delay to strengthen the rudder.
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We were lying in ten degrees north latitude and thirty seven degrees twenty three fifteen
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west longitude, not far from the Azores Islands, one thousand, two hundred
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ninety miles from the Portuguese coast, one thousand, seven hundred and eighty seven
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miles from the American coast, just two thirds of our journey in fact,
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and we only started again at daybreak this morning on the eighteenth. The air
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was still in the sea like oil, no breeze, no current, nothing
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stirred. A sailing ship with all sails spread would not have made a cable's
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length in twelve hours, and the Oshanid at the caprice of the elements remained
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perfectly motionless. There was nothing very lively about it. All still on,
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the captain assuring us that the work should be put through immediately. We took
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the thing without much annoyance, and owing to the extreme heat, for we
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made no wind to temperate, we decided to sleep during the day and pass
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our nights on the bridge. Breakfast was to be served there at eight o'clock
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in the evening, and dinner at four o'clock in the morning. Now the
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day before yesterday, Friday the nineteenth, we were walking up and down the
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quarter deck in the interval between our nocturnal meals, smoking in the moonlight.
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All the constellations, even the planets, seemed to glitter. There was a
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continuous shower of shooting stars, and on the inky background of the night,
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their white traces lingered so long that you might have taken them from mysterious chalk
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marks describing parabolas on the blackboard of the heavens. I never tired of following
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this mysterious lesson in grandiose geometry, and everything around us assisted the majesty of
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the spectacle. Absolute silence reigned. The crew was asleep. One heard but
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the dull sound of our India rubber souls on the deck planking. We were
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making perhaps our twentieth turn on the deck, when a whistle came up from
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the far distance to starboard of us. Almost at the same moment we saw
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rather high up in the sky, and on the same side, a glimmer
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of light passed over the yacht, the whistling accompanying it. The latter grew
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louder, swelled, and then died. Away altogether, while the light passed
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above our heads at a comparatively slow rate for a celestial body, and glided
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from one horizon to the other like a near and sluggish shooting star. That,
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by the bye is the conclusion we formed almost immediately that it was a
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meteor. The man on the watch agreed with us, although he had never
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seen anything similar during his thirty years of service, and the captain, who
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was called on deck by the whistling inclined to the theory of a bull.
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Eight. When he had heard our explanation, he entered on the log book
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that on the twentieth of August, towards half past twelve at night, a
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faintly luminous arelith had passed through the air just above the oceaneede, making a
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sharp curve from east to west, and thus following the fortieth parallel where we
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lay at anchor. Then I looked hard at the man. He hugged his
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knees more closely, shut his eyes, and waited for me to continue.
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You can imagine I went on somewhat crestfall. You can imagine that the meteor
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supplied us with a topic for conversation. Each one of us held divers views
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about it. I upheld a certain relation which had struck me, between its
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rate of speed and the duration of the whistle, and Monsieur de Vignes gave
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us his opinion, a perfectly feasible, but somewhat unusual one. According to
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him, the bull eight, which we had so far thought to have burst
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from the sky, quite possibly may have come out of the sea. There
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was nothing to prove the contrary. This was mere speculation. But the more
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fantastic our theories were, Monsieur, the more attraction they had for us.
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So we tried to explain away the fright we had had by calling it preternatural.
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To tell you the truth, the sudden appearance of this body bearing straight
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for the ship had no doubt been disturbing, and we had given a sigh
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of relief to see the projectile pass so high above us. All the more
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that at the very moment of our deliverance, its infernal whistling made us duck
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our heads, which is what your warrior calls saluting the ball short. We
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hoped, from the bottom of our hearts never again to have to undergo such
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experimental astronomy, But that did not prevent the phenomena from reappearing last night somewhat
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later towards one o'clock in the morning, with complications and other ways dramatic.
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Yesterday, Monsieur de Vignes, who was growing tired of this idling on an
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empty ocean under a sky full of dangers, gave orders that the business of
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repairs was to be carried on day and night, relieved every two hours.
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A working party was set at the broken coupling rod in the engine room,
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and another in the launch at the disabled rudder. The latter had finished their
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job and were getting ready to climb back on the yacht. At the very
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moment when the strange bull eye sounded its periodical whistle in the distance across the
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sky, as brilliantly luminous as that of the night before. We all saw
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the pale light grow, rise and glide towards us. Monsieur de Venus said
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he thought it passed slower than before, and in my opinion the whistling was
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deeper in tone and less shrill. Nevertheless, the asteroid was traveling at a
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fair rate. In a few seconds it would reach the zenith, and from
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there doubtless would sink peacefully behind the westerly horizon, and so the world was
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the possessor of a satellite, the more a moon, small and ephemeral as
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a night light. But all at once there appeared in its place, swift
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as a streak of lightning a sun. It ceased moving westwards, and the
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whistling was lost in a terrific detonation. I felt as if an invisible fist
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had punched me in the diaphragm. The shaken air seemed to throttle me.
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I could feel the plates of the oceanid trembling. A wind got up,
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which died down almost immediately in waves rose on the sea, only to disappear
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in the same manner. Then we very distinctly heard a shower of things fall
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into the sea. One of them sank quite near the launch, rose and
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started to swim. That was you, monsieur, clinging to the bolts of
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a sheet iron door, a curious kind of sheet iron light as a feather.
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Because it bore you up as you floated, you were picked up,
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unconscious and not knowing if you had been alone aboard the Arelith. The captain
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caused the launch to search over a radius of two miles, so she scoured
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the field of the catastrophe without meeting with anything but some metal fragments. The
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sea was strewn with them. They shone with a certain dulled glimmer, so
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to speak, and were very buoyant on the water. But there was no
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sign of any living being, as you were still unconscious. Notwithstanding our care.
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We undressed you, put you to bed, and watched over you during
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the search. But I think I can assure you that your unconsciousness became merged
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in deep sleep towards dawn, just about the time we started once more for
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Havre, which we hoped to reach in a week's time. And now shall
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we be allowed to know whom we have the honor of entertaining. The man
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wagged his head but made no reply. And the metal plate, he said
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at length, the floating plate, and the fragments, well, said Gayton.
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They remained behind on the spot where you took to the water duval.
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The captain decided it was fero aluminum, and of such poor quality that it
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was not worth taking aboard. The stranger smiled openly on seeing which my friend
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assailed him in a tone of cheery remonstrance. I say, tell us your
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little game, won't you we won't give you away. It was a balloon.
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What it was your dirigible that burst? Wasn't it burst with a vengeance?
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My boy, come tell me all about it. Won't you well please
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yourself? He added, in an injured tone. I suppose it is your
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business. If you won't let anything out, you won't then the other,
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in his queer clownish jargon, embarked on a long sentence. Monsieur le baron,
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he said, with slow utterance, with extremely little ceremony. Ah,
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your desire is that I should explain why I'm here uninvited, and how and
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why? For now I remember everything very well. But before the recital,
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permit me, Monsieur le Baron, that I if you please. I'm hungry,
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that is to say, I have a splendid appetite. Have you got
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my clothes? Gayton ordered them to bring one of his own yachting suits in
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a change of linen from his wardrobe. Your own duds are not dry,
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said he, taking it for granted that his sling would be understood. For
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the matter of that they will never be fit to put on again. Your
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your purse and your watch, which were in your pockets. What do you
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think of those? Blue surs, trousers and the pilot coat with its gold
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buttons. Don't you like them? Have you no black clothes? Asked the
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man, seizing hold of his purse. No, but why black? Your
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own clothes were gray. I should have preferred black. But no matter,
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it can't be helped. Meanwhile, Gayton had opened his guest's watch, like
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the badly brought schoolboy that he was. I couldn't look inside your purse,
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he confessed. No, replied the man, calmly, it has a secret
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fastening. As for your ticker, look at those initials, exclaimed ve News
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with a burst of laughter. The case bears a C and an A entwined
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What are you called, artful? Charles E? My name is Archibald Clark,
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at your service, monsieur, and I am an American from Trenton,
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New Jersey. As for my story, I hope to have the privilege of
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telling it to you directly after lunch. Will you kindly lend me a razor?
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We left him to himself. The knowledge of his name afforded me great
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consolation, A consolation I feel at this moment in being able to designate him
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by the one word Clark, instead of having to add a fresh bead to
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the string of choice and descriptive variants such as the unknown, the sinister person,
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the man, and the rhetorical subterfuges. But Gayton was fear He swore
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at the intruder's manners, I mean it Clark's, and he only changed his
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opinion at the sight of the Americans, I mean Clark's entry into the dining
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room truly in Gayton's pilot coat, he appeared a presentable looking fellow, enough
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a sympathetic face, well educated, easy mannered, in short, a very
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gentlemanly man, mister Archibald Clark ate and drank conscientiously without uttering a syllable.
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He poured himself out a small glass of Scotch whiskey with his coffee, let
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a claro a dollar even at the manufactory, and holding out his hand to
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us, said, gentlemen, I thank you. Was it for the lunch
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or for having rescued him? That question is still to be answered. Then,
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drawing two or three puffs in succession value at least two cents a puff,
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he started speaking slowly, feeling for his words and even perhaps for his
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ideas. The reader will perchance forgive me for correcting the most outlandish in the
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most muddled French that a citizen of the United States has ever elaborated. And
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I have not thought it necessary to mention the innumerable pauses which occurred for various
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reasons in mister Clarke's narrative. Doubtless said he you know the Corbettes by name
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of Philadelphia. No, after all, it is not unnatural in France.
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One may well ignore the existence of a far distant couple who, as a
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matter of fact, have made all the principal discoveries of these last years,
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but who have had the ill luck to make them at the same time as
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other savants quicker to divulge their secrets to the world. Edison, the curies
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berthelot Marconi Renard discovered nothing which my brother in law Randolph and my sister Ethel
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Corbett had not made their own. Only the former made their discoveries a little
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earlier, so much so that my unlucky relatives were doomed to carry out their
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work of genius, while an unexpected rival proclaimed his own discovery, which was
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identical too late. Appears to be their device. That is why you've not
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heard of them at home. So they are a celebrated couple, and not
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long ago the papers never tired of praising their indomitable pluck, that was on
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a matter of deep sea diving. For some months past. In fact,
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they have been said to be keen above all on submersibles, aerostats, motor
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cars, in fact, on all kinds, a little used in giddy forms
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of locomotion, and so and so. Forgive me for telling you all this
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so clumsily, but your language makes it difficult for me and limits my thoughts.
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And lastly, promise me you will be discreet, for there is a
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secret to be told which is not mine. Good, thank you well.
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Then the other day, the eighteenth of August, as I was leaving my
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office, a telegram was handed to me, signed Ethel Corbett, begging mister
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Archibald Clark, chief accountant at Roebling Brothers Cable Manufacturers of Trenton, New Jersey,
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to repair without delay to Philadelphia. This invitation made me thoughtful. A
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slight disagreement had arisen between us over a wretched affair of a legacy, and
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for this reason the Corbetts and I had not met for some time. What
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was the matter? I wavered, But the address on the telegram detailed,
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almost superfluously as it was told me how much my sister wanted it to reach
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me without any drawback or delay. Certainly it was something important and no mistake.
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And then one's family is one's family after all, is it not?
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End of Part one,