CHAPTER II.

What could it mean? I had left Alvarez in command. He was my most loyal

subordinate. It was absolutely beyond the pale of possibility that

Alvarez should desert me. No, there was some other explanation.

Something occurred to place my second officer, Porfirio Johnson, in

command. I was sure of it but why speculate? The futility of conjecture

was only too palpable. The Coldwater had abandoned us in midocean.

Doubtless none of us would survive to know why.

The young man at the wheel of the power boat had turned her nose about

as it became evident that the ship intended passing over us, and now he

still held her in futile pursuit of the Coldwater.

“Bring her about, Snider,” I directed, “and hold her due east. We can’t

catch the Coldwater, and we can’t cross the Atlantic in this. Our only

hope lies in making the nearest land, which, unless I am mistaken, is

the Scilly Islands, off the southwest coast of England. Ever heard of

England, Snider?”

“There’s a part of the United States of North America that used to be

known to the ancients as New England,” he replied. “Is that where you

mean, sir?”

“No, Snider,” I replied. “The England I refer to was an island off the

continent of Europe. It was the seat of a very powerful kingdom that

flourished over two hundred years ago. A part of the United States of

North America and all of the Federated States of Canada once belonged

to this ancient England.”

“Europe,” breathed one of the men, his voice tense with excitement. “My

grandfather used to tell me stories of the world beyond thirty. He had

been a great student, and he had read much from forbidden books.”

“In which I resemble your grandfather,” I said, “for I, too, have read

more even than naval officers are supposed to read, and, as you men

know, we are permitted a greater latitude in the study of geography and

history than men of other professions.

“Among the books and papers of Admiral Porter Turck, who lived two

hundred years ago, and from whom I am descended, many volumes still

exist, and are in my possession, which deal with the history and

geography of ancient Europe. Usually I bring several of these books

with me upon a cruise, and this time, among others, I have maps of

Europe and her surrounding waters. I was studying them as we came away

from the Coldwater this morning, and luckily I have them with me.”

“You are going to try to make Europe, sir?” asked Taylor, the young man

who had last spoken.

“It is the nearest land,” I replied. “I have always wanted to explore

the forgotten lands of the Eastern Hemisphere. Here’s our chance. To

remain at sea is to perish. None of us ever will see home again. Let us

make the best of it, and enjoy while we do live that which is forbidden

the balance of our race—the adventure and the mystery which lie beyond

thirty.”

Taylor and Delcarte seized the spirit of my mood but Snider, I think,

was a trifle sceptical.

“It is treason, sir,” I replied, “but there is no law which compels us

to visit punishment upon ourselves. Could we return to Pan-America, I

should be the first to insist that we face it. But we know thatl’s not

possible. Even if this craft would carry us so far, we haven’t enough

water or food for more than three days.

“We are doomed, Snider, to die far from home and without ever again

looking upon the face of another fellow countryman than those who sit

here now in this boat. Isn’t that punishment sufficient for even the

most exacting judge?”

Even Snider had to admit that it was.

“Very well, then, let us live while we live, and enjoy to the fullest

whatever of adventure or pleasure each new day brings, since any day

may be our last, and we shall be dead for a considerable while.”

I could see that Snider was still fearful, but Taylor and Delcarte

responded with a hearty, “Aye, aye, sir!”

They were of different mold. Both were sons of naval officers. They

represented the aristocracy of birth, and they dared to think for

themselves.

Snider was in the minority, and so we continued toward the east. Beyond

thirty, and separated from my ship, my authority ceased. I held

leadership, if I was to hold it at all, by virtue of personal

qualifications only, but I did not doubt my ability to remain the

director of our destinies in so far as they were amenable to human

agencies. I have always led. While my brain and brawn remain unimpaired

I shall continue always to lead. Following is an art which Turcks do

not easily learn.

It was not until the third day that we raised land, dead ahead, which I

took, from my map, to be the isles of Scilly. But such a gale was

blowing that I did not dare attempt to land, and so we passed to the

north of them, skirted Landl’s End, and entered the English Channel.

I think that up to that moment I had never experienced such a thrill as

passed through me when I realized that I was navigating these historic

waters. The lifelong dreams that I never had dared hope to see

fulfilled were at last a reality—but under what forlorn circumstances!

Never could I return to my native land. To the end of my days I must

remain in exile. Yet even these thoughts failed to dampen my ardor.

My eyes scanned the waters. To the north I could see the rockbound

coast of Cornwall. Mine were the first American eyes to rest upon it

for more than two hundred years. In vain, I searched for some sign of

ancient commerce that, if history is to be believed, must have dotted

the bosom of the Channel with white sails and blackened the heavens

with the smoke of countless funnels, but as far as eye could reach the

tossing waters of the Channel were empty and deserted.

Toward midnight the wind and sea abated, so that shortly after dawn I

determined to make inshore in an attempt to effect a landing, for we

were sadly in need of fresh water and food.

According to my observations, we were just off Ram Head, and it was my

intention to enter Plymouth Bay and visit Plymouth. From my map it

appeared that this city lay back from the coast a short distance, and

there was another city given as Devonport, which appeared to lie at the

mouth of the river Tamar.

However, I knew that it would make little difference which city we

entered, as the English people were famed of old for their hospitality

toward visiting mariners. As we approached the mouth of the bay I

looked for the fishing craft which I expected to see emerging thus

early in the day for their labors. But even after we rounded Ram Head

and were well within the waters of the bay I saw no vessel. Neither was

there buoy nor light nor any other mark to show larger ships the

channel, and I wondered much at this.

The coast was densely overgrown, nor was any building or sign of man

apparent from the water. Up the bay and into the River Tamar we motored

through a solitude as unbroken as that which rested upon the waters of

the Channel. For all we could see, there was no indication that man had

ever set his foot upon this silent coast.

I was nonplused, and then, for the first time, there crept over me an

intuition of the truth.

Here was no sign of war. As far as this portion of the Devon coast was

concerned, that seemed to have been over for many years, but neither

were there any people. Yet I could not find it within myself to believe

that I should find no inhabitants in England. Reasoning thus, I

discovered that it was improbable that a state of war still existed,

and that the people all had been drawn from this portion of England to

some other, where they might better defend themselves against an

invader.

But what of their ancient coast defenses? What was there here in

Plymouth Bay to prevent an enemy landing in force and marching where

they wished? Nothing. I could not believe that any enlightened military

nation, such as the ancient English are reputed to have been, would

have voluntarily so deserted an exposed coast and an excellent harbor

to the mercies of an enemy.

I found myself becoming more and more deeply involved in quandary. The

puzzle which confronted me I could not unravel. We had landed, and I

now stood upon the spot where, according to my map, a large city should

rear its spires and chimneys. There was nothing but rough, broken

ground covered densely with weeds and brambles, and tall, rank grass.

Had a city ever stood there, no sign of it remained. The roughness and

unevenness of the ground suggested something of a great mass of debris

hidden by the accumulation of centuries of undergrowth.

I drew the short cutlass with which both officers and men of the navy

are, as you know, armed out of courtesy to the traditions and memories

of the past, and with its point dug into the loam about the roots of

the vegetation growing at my feet.

The blade entered the soil for a matter of seven inches, when it struck

upon something stonelike. Digging about the obstacle, I presently

loosened it, and when I had withdrawn it from its sepulcher I found the

thing to be an ancient brick of clay, baked in an oven.

Delcarte we had left in charge of the boat; but Snider and Taylor were

with me, and following my example, each engaged in the fascinating

sport of prospecting for antiques. Each of us uncovered a great number

of these bricks, until we commenced to weary of the monotony of it,

when Snider suddenly gave an exclamation of excitement, and, as I

turned to look, he held up a human skull for my inspection.

I took it from him and examined it. Directly in the center of the

forehead was a small round hole. The gentleman had evidently come to

his end defending his country from an invader.

Snider again held aloft another trophy of the search—a metal spike and

some tarnished and corroded metal ornaments. They had lain close beside

the skull.

With the point of his cutlass Snider scraped the dirt and verdigris

from the face of the larger ornament.

“An inscription,” he said, and handed the thing to me.

They were the spike and ornaments of an ancient German helmet. Before

long we had uncovered many other indications that a great battle had

been fought upon the ground where we stood. But I was then, and still

am, at loss to account for the presence of German soldiers upon the

English coast so far from London, which history suggests would have

been the natural goal of an invader.

I can only account for it by assuming that either England was

temporarily conquered by the Teutons, or that an invasion of so vast

proportions was undertaken that German troops were hurled upon the

England coast in huge numbers and that landings were necessarily

effected at many places simultaneously. Subsequent discoveries tend to

strengthen this view.

We dug about for a short time with our cutlasses until I became

convinced that a city had stood upon the spot at some time in the past,

and that beneath our feet, crumbled and dead, lay ancient Devonport.

I could not repress a sigh at the thought of the havoc war had wrought

in this part of England, at least. Farther east, nearer London, we

should find things very different. There would be the civilization that

two centuries must have wrought upon our English cousins as they had

upon us. There would be mighty cities, cultivated fields, happy people.

There we would be welcomed as long-lost brothers. There would we find a

great nation anxious to learn of the world beyond their side of thirty,

as I had been anxious to learn of that which lay beyond our side of the

dead line.

I turned back toward the boat.

“Come, men!” I said. “We will go up the river and fill our casks with

fresh water, search for food and fuel, and then tomorrow be in

readiness to push on toward the east. I am going to London.”