 Part 2, Chapter 1 of 800 Leagues on the Amazon. 800 Leagues on the Amazon by Jules Verne. Part 2, The Cryptogram, Chapter 1, Manaus. The town of Manaus is in 3°8'4' South Latitude and 67°27' West Longitude, reckoning from the Paris Meridian. It is some 420 leagues from Bellum, and about 10 miles from the embouchure of the Rio Negro. Manaus is not built on the Amazon. It is on the left bank of the Rio Negro, the most important and remarkable of all the tributaries of the great artery of Brazil, at the capital of the province, with its picturesque group of private houses and public buildings, towers above the surrounding plain. The Rio Negro, which was discovered by the Spaniard Favella in 1645, rises in the very heart of the province of Papenha, on the flanks of the mountains which separate Brazil from Nugrenada, and it communicates with the Orinoco by two of its effluents, the Pimenshin and the Caciquari. After a noble course of some 1700 miles, it mingles its cloudy waters with those of the Amazon through a mouth 1100 feet wide. But such is its vigorous influence, that many a mile has to be completed before those waters lose their distinctive character. Hereabouts the ends of both its banks trend off and form a huge bay 15 leagues across, extending to the islands of Anavelhanas, and in one of its indentations the port of Manaus is situated. Vassals of all kinds are there collected in great numbers, some moored in the stream awaiting a favorable wind, others under repair of the numerous Igorapes, or canals which so capriciously intersect the town, and give it its slightly Dutch appearance. With the introduction of steam vassals, which is now rapidly taking place, the trade of Manaus is destined to increase enormously. Woods used in building and furniture work, cocoa, coot, choke, coffee, sasparilla, sugar canes, indigo, muscado nuts, saltfish, turtle butter, and other commodities are brought here from all parts, down the innumerable streams, into the Rio Negro from the west and north, into the Madeira from the west and south, and then into the Amazon, and buy it away eastward to the coast of the Atlantic. Manaus was formerly called Maura, or Barra de Rio Negro. From 1757 to 1804 it was only part of the capitancy, which bears the name of the Great River, at whose mouth it is placed, but since 1826 it has been the capital of the largest province of Amazonas, borrowing its latest name from an Indian tribe, which formally existed in these parts of Equatorial America. Careless travelers have frequently confounded it with the famous Manoa, a city of romance built. It was reported near the legendary Lake of Parima, which would seem to be merely upper-branco, a tributary of the Rio Negro. Here was the Empire of El Dorado, whose monarch, if we are to believe the fables of the district, was every morning covered with powder of gold. There being so much of the precious metal abounding in this privileged locality that it was swept up with the very dust of the streets. This assertion, however, when put to the test was disproved, with extreme regret, for the oriferous deposits which had deceived the greedy scrutiny of the gold-seekers turned out to be only worthless flakes of mica. In short, Manaus has none of the fabulous splendors of the mythical capital of El Dorado. It is an ordinary town of about 5,000 inhabitants, and of these at least 3,000 are in government employ. This fact is to be attributed to the number of its public buildings, which consist of the legislative chamber, the government house, the treasury, the post office, and the custom house, and in addition a college was founded in 1848, and a hospital erected in 1851. When with these it is also mentioned a cemetery on the south side of the hill, on which, in 1669, a fortress, which has since been demolished, was thrown up against the pirates of the Amazon. Some idea can be gained as to the importance of the official establishments of the city. Of religious buildings it would be difficult to find more than two. The small church, the Concepción, and the chapel of Notre-Dame de Ramirez, built on a knoll which overlooks the town. These are very few for a town of Spanish origin, though to them, should perhaps be added, the Carmelite convent, burned down in 1850, of which only the ruins remain. The population of Manaus does not exceed the number above given, and after reckoning the public officials and soldiers is principally made up of Portuguese and Indian merchants belonging to the different tribes of the Rio Negro. Three principal thoroughfares of considerable irregularity run through the town, and they bear names highly characteristic of the tone of thought prevalent in these parts, God the Father Street, God the Sun Street, and God the Holy Ghost Street. In the west of the town is a magnificent avenue of centenarian orange trees, which were carefully respected by the architects, who out of the old city made the new. Round these principal thoroughfares is interwoven a perfect network of unpaved alleys intersected every now and then by four canals, which are occasionally crossed by wooden bridges. In a few places these igorapes flow with their brownish waters through large vacant spaces covered with straggling weeds and flowers of startling hues, and here and there are natural squares shaded by magnificent trees, with an occasional white-barked sumayumera shooting up and spreading out its large dome-like pedestal above its gnarled branches. The private houses have to be sought for among some hundreds of dwellings of very rudimentary type, some roofed with tiles, others with interlaced branches of the palm tree, and with prominent miradors and projecting shops for the most part tenanted by Portuguese traders. And what manner of people are they who stroll on to the fashionable promenade from the public buildings and private residences, men of good appearance with black cloth coats, chimney pot hats, patent leather boots, highly colored gloves, and diamond pins in their necktie bows, and women in loud imposing toilettes with flounce dressed and headgear of the latest style, and Indians also on the road to Europeanization in a way which bids fair to destroy every bit of local color in the central portion of the district of the Amazon. Such is Manaus, which for the benefit of the reader it was necessary to sketch. Here the voyage of the giant raft, so tragically interrupted, had just come to a pause in the midst of its long journey, and here will be unfolded the further vicissitudes of the mysterious history of the Façandor of Aguitos, and of part two, chapter one. Part two, chapter two of Eight Hundred Leagues on the Amazon. This is a LibriVox recording, while LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Coming by Lizzie Driver. Eight Hundred Leagues on the Amazon by Jules Verne. Part two, The Cryptogram. Chapter two, The First Moments. Scarcely had the pyrogue which bore off Joam Garell, or rather Joam de Costa, for it is more convenient that he should resume his real name, disappeared, than Benito stepped up to Manuel. What is it you know, he asked? I know that your father is innocent, yes, innocent, replied Manuel, and that he was sentenced to death twenty-three years ago for a crime which he never committed. He has told you all about it, Manuel? All about it, replied the young man. The noble Façandor did not wish that any part of his past life should be hidden from him who, when he marries his daughter, is to be his second son. And the proof of his innocence my father can one day produce? That proof, Benito, lies wholly in the twenty-three years of an honourable and honoured life. Lies entirely in the bearing of Joam de Costa, who comes forward to say to justice, Here I am. I do not care for this false existence any more. I do not care to hide under a name which is not my true one. You have condemned an innocent man, confess your errors and set matters to right. And when my father spoke like that, you did not hesitate for a moment to believe him? Not for an instant, replied Manuel. The hands of the two young fellows closed in a long and cordial grasp. Then Benito went up to Padre Panasa. Padre, he said, Take my mother and sister away to their rooms. Do not leave them all day. No one here doubts my father's innocence. Not one, you know that. Tomorrow my mother and I will seek out the chief of the police. They will not refuse us permission to visit the prison. No, that would be too cruel. We will see my father again, and decide what steps shall be taken to procure his vindication. Yquita was almost helpless. But the brave woman, though nearly crushed by this sudden blow, arose. With Yquita de Costa it was as with Yquita Guerrero. She had not a doubt as to the innocence of her husband. The idea even never occurred to her that Joam de Costa had been to blame in marrying her under a name which was not his own. She only thought of the life of happiness she had led with the noble man, who had been injured so unjustly. Yes, on the morrow she would go to the gate of the prison, and never leave it until it was opened. Pedro Panasar took her and her daughter, who could not restrain her tears, and the three entered the house. The two young fellows found themselves alone. And now, said Benito, I ought to know all that my father has told you. I have nothing to hide from you. Why did Torres come aboard the giganda? To see to Joam de Costa the secret of his past life. And so, when we first met Torres in the Forest of Equitos, his plan had already been formed to enter into communication with my father. There cannot be a doubt of it, replied Manuel. The scoundrel was on his way to the vizenda, with the idea of consummating a vile scheme of extortion which he had been preparing for a long time. And when he learned from us that my father and his whole family were about to pass the frontier, he suddenly changed his line of conduct. Yes, because Joam de Costa, once in Brazilian territory, became more at his mercy than well within the frontiers of Peru. That is why we found Torres at Tabatinga, where he was waiting in expectation of our arrival. And it was I who offered him a passage on the raft. And Benito, with a gesture of despair. Brother, said Manuel, you need not reproach yourself. Torres would have joined us sooner or later. He was not the man to abandon such a trial. Had we lost him at Tabatinga, we should have found him at Minoas. Yes, Manuel, you are right. But we are not concerned with the past now. We must think of the present, and end to useless recommendations. Let us see. And while speaking, Benito, passing his hand across his forehead, endeavoured to grasp the details of the strange affair. How, he asked, did Torres ascertain that my father had been sentenced twenty-three years back for this abominable crime at Tuyuko? I do not know, answered Manuel. And everything leads me to think that your father did not know that. But Torres knew that Garell was the name under which Joam de Costa was living? Evidently. And he knew that it was in Peru, at Iquatos, that for so many years my father had taken refuge? He knew it, said Manuel. But how he came to know it, I do not understand. One more question continued Benito. What was the proposition that Torres made to my father during the short interview, which preceded his expulsion? He threatened to denounce Joam Garell as being Joam de Costa, if he declined to purchase his silence. And at what price? At the price of his daughter's hand, answered Manuel, unhesitatingly, but pale with anger, the scoundrel dared to do that, exclaimed Benito. After this infamous request, Benito, you saw the reply that your father gave. Yes, Manuel, yes, the indignant reply of an honest man. He kicked Torres off the raft. But it is not enough to have kicked him out, no, that will not do for me. It was on Torres's information that they came here and arrested my father. Is not that so? Yes, on his denunciation. Very well. I must find out Torres. I must know how he became master of the secret. He must tell me if he knows the real author of this crime. He shall speak out. And if he does not speak out, I know what I shall have to do. What you will have to do is for me to do as well, added Manuel, more coolly, but no less resolutely. No Manuel, no, to me alone. Your brother's Benito, replied Manuel. The right of demanding an explanation belongs to us both. Benito made no reply. Evidently on that subject, his decision was irrevocable. At this moment the pilot, Aragio, who had been observing the state of the river, came up to them. Have you decided, he asked, if the raft is to remain at Amorings at the Isle of Manoas, or to go on to the port of Manoas? The question had to be decided before nightfall, and the sooner it was settled better. In fact, the news of the arrest of Joam de Costa ought already to have spread through the town. That it was of a nature to excite the interest of the population of Manoas would scarcely be doubted. But would it provoke more than curiosity against the condemned man, who was the principal author of the crime at Tejico, which had formally created such a sensation? Or they not to fear that some popular movement might be directed against a prisoner? In the face of this hypothesis, was it not better to leave the Uganda moored near the Isle of Manoas, on the right bank of the river at a few miles from Manoas? The pros and cons of this question were well weighed. No. At length exclaimed Manito. To remain here would look as though we were abandoning my father, and doubting his innocence, as though we were afraid to make common cause with him. We must go to Manoas, and without delay. You are right, replied Manuel. Let us go." Araju, with an approving nod, began his preparations for leaving the island. The maneuver necessitated a good deal of care. They had to work the raft slantingly across the current of the Amazon, here doubled in force by that of the Rio Negro, and to make for the ambush of the tributary about a dozen miles down on the left bank. The ropes were cast off from the island. The Uganda, again started on the river, began to drift off diagonally. Araju, cleverly profiting by the bending of the current, which was due to the projecting of the banks, and assisted by the long poles of his crew, succeeded in working the immense raft in the desired direction. In two hours the gigandals on the other side of the Amazon, a little above the mouth of the Rio Negro, and fairly in the current which was to take it to the lower bank of the vast bay, which opened on the left side of the stream. At five o'clock in the evening it was strongly moored alongside this bank. What in the port of Manoes itself, which it could not enter without stemming a rather powerful current, but a short mile below it. The raft was then in the black waters of the Rio Negro, near rather a high bluff covered with circropias, with buds of reddish brown, and palisade it was stiff-stalked reeds called froxess, of which the Indians make some of their weapons. A few citizens were strolling about the bank. A feeling of curiosity had doubtless attracted them to the anchorage of the raft. The news of the arrest of Joam De Costa had soon spread about. But the curiosity of the Minaians did not outrun their discretion, and they were very quiet. Benito's intention had been to land that evening, but Manuel dissuaded him. Wait till to-morrow, he said, night is approaching, and there is no necessity for us to leave the raft. So be it, to-morrow," answered Benito. And here Yukita, followed by her daughter, and Petre Pesana, came out of the house. Minha was still weeping, but her mother's face was tearless, and she had that look of calm resolution which showed that the wife was now ready for all things, either to do her duty or to insist on her rights. Yukita slowly advanced towards Manuel. Manuel, she said, listened to what I have to say, for my conscience commands me to speak as I am about to do. I am listening, replied Manuel. Yukita, looking him straight in the face, continued, yesterday, after the interview you had with Germ de Costa, my husband, you came to me and called me mother. You took Minha's hand and called her your wife. You then knew everything, and the past life of Germ de Costa had been disclosed to you. Yes," answered Manuel, and heaven forbid I should have had any hesitation in doing so. "'Perhaps so,' replied Yukita, but then Germ de Costa had not been arrested, the position is not now the same. However innocent he may be, my husband is in the hands of justice. His past life has been politically proclaimed. Minha is a convict's daughter. "'Minha de Costa or Minha Garral? What matters it to me?' exclaimed Manuel, who could keep silence no longer. "'Manuel,' murmured Minha, and she would certainly have fallen, had not Lena's arms supported her. "'Mother, if you do not wish to kill her,' said Manuel, call me your son. "'My son, my child, it was all Yukita could say, and the tears which she restrained with difficulty filled her eyes, and then they all re-entered the house, but during the long night not an hour's sleep fell to the lot of the unfortunate family, who were being so cruelly tried. End of Chapter 2. The First Moments. Part 2. Chapter 3. Of 800 Leagues on the Amazon. This is the LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. 800 Leagues on the Amazon by Jules Verne. Read by Lizzie Driver. Part 2. The Cryptogram. Chapter 3. Retrospective. Duom de Costa had relied entirely on Judge Albeiro, and his death was most unfortunate. Before he was Judge at Manoas, and Chief Magistrate in the province, Ribillero had known the young clerk at the time he was being prosecuted for the murder in the Diamond Arrayle. He was then an advocate at Villa Rica, and he it was who defended the prisoner at the trial. He took the cause to heart and made it his own, and, from an examination of the papers, and detailed information, and not from the simple fact of his position in the matter, he came to the conclusion that his client was wrongfully accused, and that he had taken not the slightest part in the murder of the escort or the theft of the diamonds. In a word, the Duom de Costa was innocent. Notwithstanding his conviction, notwithstanding his talent and zeal, Ribillero was unable to persuade the jury to take the same view of the matter. How could he remove so strong a presumption? If it was not Duom de Costa, who had every facility for informing the scoundrels of the convoy's departure, who was it? The official who accompanied the escort had perished with the greater part of the soldiers, and suspicion could not point against him. Everything agreed in distinguishing de Costa as the true and only author of the crime. Ribillero defended him with great warmth and with all his powers, but he could not succeed in saving him. The verdict of the jury was affirmative on all the questions. Duom de Costa, convicted of aggregated and premeditated murder, did not even obtain the benefit of extenuating circumstances, and heard himself condemned to death. There was no hope left for the accused. No commutation of the sentence was possible, for the crime was committed in the diamond or ale. The condemned man was lost. But during the night which preceded his execution, and when the gallows was already erected, Duom de Costa managed to escape from the prison at Villarica. We know the rest. Twenty years later Ribillero the Advocate became the Chief Justice of Minoas. In the depths of his retreat, the Vicendier of Equitas heard of the change, and in it saw a favourable opportunity for bringing forward the revision of the former proceedings against him, with some chance of success. He knew that the old convictions of the Advocate would be still unshaken in the mind of a judge. He therefore resolved to try and rehabilitate himself. Had it not been for Ribillero's nomination to the Chief Justice in the province of the Amazons, he might perhaps have hesitated, for he had no new material proof of his innocence to bring forward. Although the honest man suffered acutely, he might still have remained hidden in exile at Equitas, and still have asked for time to smother the remembrances of the horrible occurrence. But something was urging him to act in the matter without delay. In fact, before Yorquita had spoken to him, Joam de Costa had noticed that Manuel was in love with his daughter. The union of the young army doctor and his daughter was in every respect a suitable one. It was evident to Joam that some day or other he would be asked for a hand in marriage, and he did not wish to be obliged to refuse. But then the thought that his daughter would have to marry under a name which did not belong to her, that Manuel Valdez, thinking he was entering the family of Goral, would enter that at de Costa, the head of which was under sentence of death, was intolerable to him. No, the wedding should not take place unless under proper conditions. Never. Let us recall what had happened up to this time. Four years after the young clerk, who eventually became the partner of Magalhas, had arrived at Equitos. The old Portuguese had been taken back to the farm mortally injured. A few days only were left for him to live. He was alarmed at the thought that his daughter would be left alone and unprotected. But knowing that Joam Yorquita were in love with each other, he desired their union without delay. Joam at first refused. He offered to remain the protector or the servant of Yorquita, without becoming her husband. The wish of the Dime Magalhas was so urgent that resistance became impossible. Yorquita put her hand into the hand of Joam, and Joam did not withdraw it. Yes, it was a serious matter. Joam de Costa ought to have confessed all, or to have fled forever from the house in which she had been so hospitably received, from the establishment of which she had built up the prosperity. Yes, to confess everything rather than to give to the daughter of his benefactor a name which was not his own. Instead of the name of a felon condemned the death for murder, innocent though he might be. But the case was pressing. The old Fosenda was on the point of death. His hands were stretched out toward the young people. Joam was silent. The marriage took place. And the remainder of his life was devoted to the happiness of the girl he had made his wife. The day when I confess everything, Joam repeated, Yorquita will pardon everything. She will not doubt me for an instant. But if I ought not to have deceived her, I certainly will not deceive the honest fellow who wishes to enter our family by marrying Mina. No. I would rather give myself up and have done with this life. Many times the Joam thought of telling his wife about his past life. Yes, the avowals on his lips whenever she asked him to take her into Brazil, and with her and her daughter descend the beautiful Amazon River. He knew sufficient of Yorquita to be sure that her affection for him would not thereby be diminished in the least. But courage failed him. Even this is easily intelligible in the face of the happiness of the family, which increased on every side. This happiness was his work, and it might be destroyed forever by his return. Such had been his life for those long years, such had been the continuous source of his sufferings, of which he had kept the secret so well. Such had been the existence of this man, who had no action to be ashamed of, and whom a great injustice compelled to hide away from himself. But at length the day arrived when there could no longer remain a doubt as to the affection which Manuel bore to Mina, when he could see that a year would not go by before he was asked to give his consent to her marriage. And after a short delay he no longer hesitated to proceed in the matter. A letter from him, addressed to Judge Robiero, acquainted the chief justice with the secret of the existence of Joam de Costa, with the name under which he was concealed, with the place where he lived with his family, and at the same time with his formal intention of delivering himself up to justice, and taking steps to procure the revision of the proceedings, which would either result in his rehabilitation, or in the execution of the iniquitous judgment delivered at Villarica. What were the feelings which agitated the heart of the worthy magistrate? We can easily define them. It was no longer to the advocate that the accused applied. It was to the chief justice of the province that the convict appealed. Joam de Costa gave himself over to him entirely, and did not even ask him to keep the secret. Judge Robiero was at first troubled about this unexpected revelation. But he soon recovered himself, and scrupulously considered the duties which the position imposed on him. It was his place to pursue criminals, and here was one who delivered himself into his hands. This criminal, it was true, he had defended. He had never doubted but that he had been unjustly condemned. His joy had been extreme, and he saw him escape by flight from the last penalty. He had even investigated and facilitated his flight. But what the advocate had done in the past? Could the magistrate do in the present? Well, yes, had the judge said. My conscience tells me not to abandon this just man. The step he is taking is a fresh proof of his innocence, a moral proof, even if he brings me others, which may be the most convincing of all. No, I will not abandon him. From this day forward a secret correspondence took place between the magistrate and Joam de Costa. Robiero at the outset cautioned his client against compromising himself by any imprudence. He had again to work up the matter, again to read over the papers, again to look through the inquiries. He had to find out if any new facts had come to light in the diamond province, referring to so serious a case. Had any of the complices of the crime, of the smugglers who would attack the convoy, been arrested since the attempt? Had any confessions or half-confessions been brought forward? Joam de Costa had done nothing but protest its innocence from the very first. But that was not enough, and Judge Robiero was desirous of finding in the case itself the clue to the real culprit. Joam de Costa had accordingly been prudent. He had promised to be so. But in all his trials it was an immense consolation for him to find his old advocate, though now chief justice, so firmly convinced that he was not guilty. Yes, Joam de Costa, in spite of his condemnation, was a victim, a martyr, an honest man to whom society owed a signal reparation. And when the magistrate knew the past career of the descendee of Iquitas since his sentence, the position of his family, all that life of devotion, of work, employed unceasingly for the happiness of those belonging to him, he was not only more convinced but more affected, and determined to do all that he could to procure the rehabilitation of the fellow of Tioco. For six months the correspondence had passed between these two men. One day, the case being pressing, Joam de Costa wrote to Judge Rubiero, In two months I'll be with you, in the power of the chief justice of the province. Come, then," replied Rubiero, the gingada was then ready to go down the river. Joam de Costa embarked on it with all his people. During the voyage, to the great astonishment of his wife and son, he landed but rarely, as we know. For often he remained shut up on his room, writing, working, not at his trading-accounts, but, without saying anything about it, at a kind of memoir which he called The History of My Life, and which was meant to be used in the revision of the legal proceedings. Eight days before his new arrest, made an account of information given by Torres, which forstalled and perhaps would ruin his prospects. He entrusted to an Indian on the Amazon a letter, in which he warned Judge Rubiero of his approaching arrival. The letter was sent and delivered as addressed, and the magistrate only waited for Joam de Costa to commence on the serious undertaking which he hoped to bring to a successful issue. During the night before the arrival of the raft at Manoas, Judge Rubiero was seized with an attack of apoplexy. But the denunciation of Torres, whose scheme of extortion had collapsed in fate of the noble anger of his victim, had produced its effect. Joam de Costa was arrested in the bosom of his family, and his old advocate was no longer in this world to defend him. Yes, the blow was terrible indeed. His lot was cast, whatever his fate might be. There was no going back for him. And Joam de Costa rose from beneath the blow which had so unexpectedly struck him. It was not only his own honour which was in question, but it's the honour of all who belong to him. End of Chapter 3, Retrospective. Part 2, Chapter 4 of 800 Leagues on the Amazon. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Christine. 800 Leagues on the Amazon, by Jules Verne. Part 2, The Cryptogram. Chapter 4, Moral Proofs. The warrant against Joam de Costa, alias Joam Garral, had been issued by the assistant of Judge Ribeiro, who filled the position of the magistrate in the province of Amazons, until the nomination of the successor of the late justice. This assistant bore the name of Vicente Jeriches. He was a surely little fellow, whom 40 years' practice in criminal procedure had not rendered particularly friendly towards those who came before him. He had had so many cases of this sort, and tried and sentenced so many rascals that the prisoners, in a sense, seemed to him a priori inadmissible. To be sure, he did not come to a decision unconsciously, but his conscience was strongly fortified and was not easily affected by the circumstances of the examination, or the arguments for the defense. Like a good many judges, he thought but little of the indulgence of the jury. And when a prisoner was brought before him, after having passed through the sieve of inquest, inquiry, and examination, there was every presumption in his eyes that the man was quite ten times guilty. Jeriches, however, was not a bad man. Nervous, fidgety, talkative, keen, crafty, he had a curious look about him, with his big head on his little body, his ruffled hair, which would not have disgraced the judge's wig of the past. His piercing, gimlet-like eyes, with the expression of surprising acuteness, his prominent nose, with which he would assuredly have gesticulated had it been movable. His ears wide open, so as to better catch all that was said, even when it was out of range of ordinary auditory apparatus. His fingers unceasingly tapping the table in front of him, like those of a pianist practicing on the mute. And his body so long, and his legs so short, and his feet perpetually crossing and recrossing as he sat in state in his magistrate's chair. In private life, Jeriches, who was a confirmed old bachelor, never left his law books, but for the table which he did not despise, for chests of which he was a past master, and above all things for Chinese puzzles, enigmas, charades, rebuses, anagrams, riddles, and such things, with which, like more than one European justice, Thoreau's thinks is by taste as well as by profession. He principally passed his leisure. It will be seen that he was an original, and it will be seen also how much Shoramda Costa had lost by the death of Judge Uribeiro, in as much as his case would come before this not very agreeable judge. Moreover, the task of Jeriches was in a way very simple. He had either to inquire nor to rule. He had not even to regulate a discussion, not to obtain a verdict, neither to apply the articles of the Penel Code nor to pronounce a sentence. Unfortunately for the Facender, such formalities were no longer necessary. Shoramda Costa had been arrested, convicted, and sentenced 23 years ago for the crime at Tijuko. No limitation had yet affected his sentence. No demand in commutation of the penalty could be introduced, and no appeal for mercy could be received. It was only necessary then to establish his identity, and as soon as the order arrived from Rio General, justice would have to take his course. But in the nature of things, Shoramda Costa would protest his innocence. He would say he had been unjustly condemned. The magistrate's duty, notwithstanding the opinions he held, would be to listen to him. The question would be, what proofs could that convict offer to make good his assertions? And if he was not able to produce them when he appeared before his first judges, was he able to do so now? Hiran consisted all the interest of the examination. There would have to be admitted the fact of a defaulter, prosperous and safe in a foreign country, leaving his refuge of his own free will to face the justice, which his past life should have taught him to dread. And Hiran would be one of those rare and curious cases which ought to interest even a magistrate, hardened with all the surroundings of foreign six drive. Was it impudent folly on the part of the doomed man of Tjoko, who was tired of his life, or was it the impulse of a conscience which would at all risks have wrongs that tried? The problem was a strange one. It must be acknowledged. On the morrow of Jean-Dacosta's arrest, J.J. Turricas made his way to the prison in Gonsesson Street, where the convict had been placed. The prison was an old missionary convent, situated on the bank of one of the principal igorapes of the town. To the voluntary prisoners of former times, there had succeeded in this building, which was but little adapted for the purpose, the compulsory prisoners of today. The room occupied by Jean-Dacosta was nothing like one of those sad little cells, which formed part of our modern penitentiary system, but an old monk's room, with a barred window without shutters opening on to an uncoultivated space, a bench in one corner, and a kind of pallet in the other. It was from this apartment that Jean-Dacosta, on this 25th of August, about 11 o'clock in the morning, was taken and brought into the judge's room, which was the old common hall of the convent. Judge Jericho was there in front of his desk. Burged on his high chair, his back turned towards the window, so that his face was in shadow, while that of the accused remained in full daylight. His clerk, with the indifference which characterizes these legal folks, had taken his seat at the end of the table. He spent behind his ear, ready to record the questions and answers. Jean-Dacosta was introduced into the room, and at the sign from the guards who had brought him with true. Judge Jericho looked at the accused for some time. The latter, leaning slightly forward and maintaining a becoming attitude, neither careless nor humble, waited with dignity for the questions to which he was expected to reply. Your name, said Judge Jericho, Jean-Dacosta, your age, 52. Where do you live? In Peru, at the village of Iquitos. Under what name? Under that of Goral, which is that of my mother. And why do you bear that name? Because for 23 years I wished to hide myself from the pursuit of Brazilian justice. The answers were so exact and seemed to show that Jean-Dacosta had made up his mind to confess everything concerning his past and present life. The judge jerkets little accustomed to such a course, cocked up his nose more than was usual to him. And why, he continued, should Brazilian justice pursue you? Because I was sentenced to death in 1826 in the Diamond Affair at Tijoco. You confess then that you are Jean-Dacosta? I am Jean-Dacosta. All this was said with great calmness and as simply as possible. The little eyes of Judge Jericho hidden by their lids seemed to say, never came across anything like this before. He had but the invariable question which had hitherto brought the invariable reply from culprits of every category protesting their innocence. The fingers of the judge began to beat a gentle tattoo on the table. Jean-Dacosta, he asked, what were you doing at Iquitos? I was a façenda and engaged in managing a farming establishment of considerable size. It was prospering, greatly prospering. How long ago did you live your façenda? About nine weeks. Why? As to that, sir, answered Dacosta. I invented a pretext, but in reality I had a motive. What was the pretext? The responsibility of taking into para a large raft and a cargo of different products of the Amazon. Ah, and what was the real motive of your departure? And in asking this question, Jarkus said to himself, no way shall get into denials and falsehoods. The real motive replied Jean-Dacosta in a firm voice. What's the resolution I had taken to give myself up to the justice of my country? You give yourself up, exclaimed the judge rising from his stool. You give yourself up of your own free will? Of my own free will. And why? Because I had had enough of this lying life, this obligation to live under a false name, of this impossibility to be able to restore to my wife and children that which belongs to them. In short, sir, because, because I was innocent. That is what I was waiting for, said Judge Jarkus. And while his fingers tattooed a slightly more audible march, he made a sign with his head to Dacosta, which signified as clearly as possible. Go on, tell me your history. I know it, but I do not wish to interrupt you in telling it in your own way. Jean-Dacosta, who did not disregard the magistrate's far from encouraging attitude, could not but see this, and he told the history of his full life. He spoke quietly without departing from the calm he had imposed upon himself, without omitting any circumstances, which had preceded or succeeded his condemnation. In the same tone he insisted on the honoured and honourable life he had led sense escape, on his duties as head of his family, as husband and father, which he had so worstly fulfilled. He laid stress only on one circumstance, that which had brought him to Manaus to urge on the revision of the proceedings against him to procure his rehabilitation and that he was compelled to do. Judge Jarkus, who was naturally prepossessed against all criminals, did not interrupt him. He contended himself with opening and shutting his eyes, like a man who heard the story told for the hundredth time. And when Dacosta laid on the table the memoir which he had drawn up, he made no movement to take it. You have finished, he said. Yes, sir. And you persist in asserting that you only left Iquitos to procure the revision of the judgment against you. I had no other intention. What is there to prove that? Who can prove that, without the denunciation which had brought about your arrest, you would have given yourself up? This memoir in the first place. Set memoir within your possession and there is nothing to show that had you not been arrested you would have put it to the use you say you intended. At the least, sir, there was one thing that was not in my possession, out of the authenticity of which there can be no doubt. What? The letter I wrote to your predecessor, Judge Ribeiro, the letter which gave him notice of my early arrival. Ah, you wrote? Yes, and the letter which ought to have arrived at his destination should have been handed over to you. Really, answered Judge Jericho, in a slightly incredulous tone, you wrote to Judge Ribeiro. Before he was a judge in this province, answered John Dacosta, he was an advocate at Villarica. He it was who defended me in the trial at Tijoco. He never doubted of the justice of my cause. He did all he could to save me. 20 years later, when he had become chief justice at Maniaos, I let him knew who I was, where I was and what I wish to attempt. His opinion about me had not changed, and it was at his advice I left the Fatsenda and came in person to proceed with my rehabilitation. But death had unfortunately struck him, and maybe I shall be lost, sir, if in Judge Jarquez I do not find another Judge Ribeiro. The magistrate appealed to, so directly, was about to start up in defiance of all the traditions of the judicial bench, but he managed to restrain himself and was contended with muttering. Very strong indeed, very strong. Judge Jarquez was evidently hard of heart and proof against all surprise. At this moment, a guard entered the room and handed a sealed packet to the magistrate. He broke the seal and drew a letter from the envelope. He opened it and read it, not without a certain contraction of his eyebrows and then said, I have no reason for hiding from you, Jean-Dacosta, that this is the letter you have been speaking about, addressed by you to Judge Jarrabeiro and sent on to me. I have therefore no reason to doubt what you have said on the subject. Not only on that subject, answered Dacosta, but on the subject of all the circumstances of my life, which I have brought to your knowledge and which are none of them open to question. Eh, Jean-Dacosta, quickly replied Judge Jarrabeiro, you protest your innocence, but all prisoners do as much. After all, you only offer moral presumptions. Have you any material proof? Perhaps I have, answered Jean-Dacosta. At these words, Judge Jarrabeiro left his chair. This was too much for him and he had to take two or three circuits of the room to recover himself. End of chapter four, moral proofs. Part two, chapter five, of 800 Leagues on the Amazon. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Christine. 800 Leagues on the Amazon by Jules Verne. Part two, the cryptogram, chapter five, material proofs. When the magistrate had again taken his place, like a man who considered he was perfectly master of himself, he leaned back in his chair and with his head raised and his eyes looking straight in front, as though not even noticing they're accused, remarked in a tone of the most perfect indifference. Go on. Jean-Dacosta reflected for a minute, as if hesitating to resume the order of his thoughts and then answered as follows. After the present, sir, I have only given you moral presumptions of my innocence, grounded as a dignity, propriety, and honesty of the whole of my life. I should have thought that such proofs were the most worthy of being brought forward in matters of justice. Judge Jarekis could not restrain a movement of his shoulders, showing that such was not his opinion. Since they are not enough, I proceed with the material proofs which I shall perhaps be able to produce, continued Dacosta. I say perhaps, for I do not yet know what credit to attach to them. And, sir, I have never spoken of these things to my wife or children, not wishing to raise a hope which might be destroyed. To the point, answered Jarekis. I have every reason to believe, sir, that my arrest on the eve of the arrival of the raft at Maniaos is due to information given to the chief of the police. You are not mistaken, Jerome Dacosta, but I ought to tell you that the information is anonymous. It matters little, for I know that it could only come from a scoundrel called Torres. And what right have you to speak in such a way of this, informer? As scoundrel, yes, sir, replied Jerome quickly. This man whom I received with hospitality only came to me to propose that I should purchase his silence to offer me an odious bargain that I shall never regret having refused, whatever may be the consequences of his denunciation. Always this method, sought Judge Jarekis, accusing others to clear himself. But he nonetheless listened with extreme attention to Jerome's recital of his relations with the adventurer up to the moment when Torres let him know that he knew and could reveal the name of the true author of the crime at Tijuku. And what is the name of the guilty man? asked Jarekis, shaking his indifference. I do not know, answered Jerome Dacosta. Torres was too cautious to let it out. And the culprit is living? He is dead. The fingers of Judge Jarekis tattooed more quickly, and he could not avoid exclaiming. The man who can furnish the proof of a prisoner's innocence is always dead. If the real culprit is dead, sir, replied Dacosta. Torres at least is living, and the proof written throughout in the handwriting of the author of the crime he has assured me is in his hands. He offered to sell it to me. Eh, Jerome Dacosta answered Judge Jarekis, that would not have been dear at the cost of the whole of your fortune. If Torres had only asked my fortune, I would have given it to him, and not one of my people would have demurred. Yes, you are right, sir. A man cannot pay too dearly for the redemption of his honor. But this scoundrel, knowing that I was at his mercy, required more than my fortune. How so? My daughter's hand was to be the cost of the bargain. I refused. He denounced me, and that is why I am now before you. And if Torres had not informed against you, asked Judge Jarekis, if Torres had not met with you on your voyage, what would you have done on learning on your arrival of the death of Judge Ribeiro? Would you then have delivered yourself into the hands of justice? Without the slightest hesitation, replied Jerome, in a firm voice. For, I repeated, I had no other object in leaving Iquitos to come to Maniaos. This was said in such a tone of truthfulness that Judge Jarekis experienced a kind of feeling, making its way to that corner of the heart where convictions are formed, but he did not yet give in. He could hardly help being astonished. A judge engaged merely in this examination. He knew nothing of what is known by those who have followed this history, and who cannot doubt but that Torres held in his hands the material proof of Jerome Dacosta's innocence. They know that the document existed, that it contained this evidence, and perhaps they may be led to think that Judge Jarekis was bitterly incredulous. But they should remember that Judge Jarekis was not in their position, that he was accustomed to the invariable protestations of the culprits who came before him. The document, which Jerome Dacosta appealed to, was not produced. He did not really know if it actually existed, and to conclude, he had before him a man whose guilt had for him the certainty of settled sin. However he wished, perhaps through curiosity, to drive Jerome Dacosta behind his last entrenchments. And so, he said, all your hope no rests on the declaration which has been made to you by Torres. Yes, sir, if my whole life does not plead for me. Where do you think Torres really is? I think in Maniaos. And you hope that he will speak, that he will consent to good, naturally handover to use the document for which you have declined to pay the price he asked. I hope so, sir, replied Jerome Dacosta. The situation now is not the same for Torres. He has denounced me, and consequently he cannot retain any hope of resuming his bargaining under the previous conditions. But this document might still be worth a fortune if supposing I am acquitted or executed, it should ever escape him. Hence his interest is to sell me the document which can thus not injure him in any way. And I think he will act according to his interest. The reason he was wrong, Dacosta was unanswerable and Judge Jericho felt it to be so. He made the only possible objection. The interest of Torres is doubtless to sell you the document, if the document exists. If it does not exist, answered Jerome Dacosta in a penetrating voice. Interesting to the justice of men, I must put my trust only in God. At these words, Judge Jericho's rose, and in not quite such an indifferent tone said, Jerome Dacosta, in examining you here and allowing you to relate the particulars of your past life and to protest your innocence, I have gone forthers and my instructions allow me. An information has already been laid in this affair and you have appeared before the jury at Villarica whose verdict was given anonymously and without even the addition of extenuating circumstances. You have been found guilty of the instigation, of and complicity in the murder of the soldiers and the robbery of the diamonds and tichuco. The capital sentence was pronounced anew and it was only by flight that you escaped execution. But that you came here to deliver yourself over or not to the hands of justice 23 years afterward, you would never have been retaken. For the last time, you admit that you are Jerome Dacosta, the condemned man of the Diamond Arrayale. I am Jerome Dacosta. You are ready to sign this declaration? I am ready. And with a hand without a tremble, Jerome Dacosta put his name to the foot of the declaration and the report which Judge Jarkos had made his clerk draw up. The report addressed to the Minister of Justice is to be sent off to Rio Janeiro, said the magistrate. Many days will elapse before we receive orders to carry out your sentence. If then, as you say, tourist possesses the proof of your innocence, do all you can yourself, do all you can through your friends, do everything, so that that proof can be produced in time. Once the order arrives, no delay will be possible and justice must take its course. Jerome Dacosta bowed slightly. Shall I be allowed in the meantime to see my wife and children? he asked. After today, if you wish, answered Judge Jarkos, you are no longer in close confinement and they can be brought to you as soon as they apply. The magistrates then rang the bell. The guards entered the room and took away Jerome Dacosta. Judge Jarkos watched him as he went out and shook his head and muttered, well, well, this is a much stranger affair that I ever thought it would be. End of chapter five, material proofs. Part two, chapter six of 800 Leagues on the Amazon. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Christine. 800 Leagues on the Amazon by Jules Verne. Part two, The Cryptogram, chapter six, The Last Blow. While Jerome Dacosta was undergoing this examination, Yakita, from an inquiry made by Manuel, ascertained that she and her children would be permitted to see the prisoner that very day about four o'clock in the afternoon. Yakita had not left her room since the evening before. Minya and Lina kept near her, waiting for the time when she would be admitted to see her husband. Yakita Garal or Yakita Dacosta, he would still find her the devoted wife and brave companion he had ever known her to be. About 11 o'clock in the morning, Benito joined Manuel and Fragosa, who were talking in the bow of the Cangada. Manuel, said he, I have a favor to ask you. What is it? And you too, Fragosa. I am at your service, Mr. Benito, answered the barber. What is the matter, asked Manuel, looking at his friend, whose expression was that of a man who had come to some unalterable resolution. You never doubt my father's innocence, is that so, said Benito. Ah, exclaimed Fragosa. Rather, I think it was I who committed the crime. Well, we must now commence on the project I thought of yesterday. To find out, Torres, asked Manuel. Yes, I know from him how he found out my father's retreat. There is something inexplicable about it. Did he know it before? I cannot understand it, for my father never left Iquitos for more than 20 years and this scoundrel is hardly 30. But the day will not close before I know it or woe to Torres. Benito's resolution admitted of no discussion and besides, neither Manuel nor Fragosa had the slightest thought of dissuading him. I will ask then, continued Benito, for both of you to accompany me. We shall start in a minute or two. I will not do to wait till Torres has left Maniaos. He has no longer got his silence to sell and the idea might occur to him. Let this be off. Then so all three of them landed on the bank of the Rio Negro and started for the town. Maniaos was not so considerable that it could not be searched in a few hours. They had made up their minds to go from house to house if necessary to look for Torres. But their better plan seemed to be to apply in the first instance to the keepers of the taverns and lodges where the adventurer was most likely to put up. There could hardly be a doubt that the ex-captain of the woods would not have given his name. He might have personal reasons for avoiding all communication with the police. Nevertheless, unless he had left Maniaos, it was almost impossible for him to escape the young fellow's search. In any case, there would be no use in applying to the police, for it was very probable. In fact, we know that it actually was so that the information given to them had been anonymous. For an hour, Benito, Manuel and Fragoso walked along the principal streets of the town, inquiring of the tradesmen in their shops, the tavern keepers in their cabaret, and even the bystanders, without anyone being able to recognize the individual whose description they so accurately gave. Had Torres left Maniaos, would they have to give up all hope of coming across him? In vain, Manuel tried to calm Benito, whose head seemed on fire. Cost what it might, he must get a Torres. Chance at last favored them, and it was Fragoso who put them on the right track. In a tavern in Holy Ghost Street, from the description which the people received of the adventurer, they replied that the individual in question had put up at the loja the evening before. Did he sleep here, asked Fragoso. Yes, answered the tavern keeper. Is he here now? No, he has gone out. But has he settled his bill as a man would who has gone for good? By no means, he left his room about an hour ago and he will dopless come back to supper. Do you know what road he took when he went out? We saw him turning towards the Amazon, going through the lower town and you will probably meet him on that side. Fragoso did not want anymore. A few seconds afterward he rejoined the young fellows and said, I am on the track. He is there, exclaimed Benito. No, he has just gone out and they have seen him walking across to the bank of the Amazon. Come on, replied Benito. They had to go back towards the river and the shortest way was for them to take the left bank of the Rio Negro down to its mouth. Benito and his companions soon left the last houses of the town behind and followed the bank, making a slight detour so as not to be observed from the Cangada. The plain was at this time deserted, far away as the view extended across the flat where cultivated fields had replaced the former forests. Benito did not speak, he could not utter a word. Manuel and Fragoso respected his silence and so the three of them went along and looked about on all sides as they traversed the space between the bank of the Rio Negro and that of the Amazon. Three quarters of an hour after leaving Manaus and they still had seen nothing. Once or twice Indians working in the fields were met with. Manuel questioned them and one of them at length told him that a man, such as he described, had just passed in the direction of the angle formed by the two rivers at their confluence. Without waiting for more, Benito, by an irresistible movement, strode to the front and his two companions had to hurry on to avoid being left behind. The left bank of the Amazon was then about a quarter of a mile off. A sort of cliff appeared ahead, hiding a part of the horizon and boning the view a few hundred paces in advance. Benito hurrying on soon disappeared behind one of the sandy knolls. Quicker, quicker, said Manuel to Fragoso. We must not leave him alone for an instant and they were dashing along when a shod struck on their ears. Had Benito caught sight of Torres? What had he seen? Had Benito and Torres already met? Manuel and Fragoso, 50 paces for their own after swiftly running round one of the spores of the bank, saw two men standing face to face to each other. They were Torres and Benito. In an instant, Manuel and Fragoso had hurried up to them. It might have been supposed that in Benito's state of excitement, he would be unable to restrain himself when he found himself once again in the presence of the adventurer. It was not so. As soon as the young man saw himself face to face with Torres and was certain that he could not escape, a complete change took place in his manner. His coolness returned and he become once more master of himself. The two men looked at one another for a few moments without a word. Torres first broke silence and in the impudent tone, habitual to him remarked, ah, how goes it, Mr. Benito Garal? No, Benito da Costa, answered the young man. Quite so continued Torres. Mr. Benito da Costa, accompanied by Mr. Manuel Valdez and my friend Fragoso. At the irritating qualifications, thus accorded him by the adventurer, Fragoso, who was by no means lost to do him some damage, was about to rush to the attack when Benito, quite unmoved, held him back. What is the matter with you, my lad? exclaimed Torres, retreating for a few steps. I think I have better put myself on guard. And as he spoke, he drew from beneath his poncho his macheta, the weapon, adapted at will for offense or defense, which a Brazilian is never without. And then, slightly stooping and planted firmly on his feet, he waited for what was to follow. I have come to look for you, Torres, said Benito, who had not steered in the least at this certain attitude. To look for me, answered the adventurer. It is not very difficult to find me. And why have you come to look for me? To know from your own lips what you appeared to know of the past life of my father. Really? Yes, I want to know how you recognized him, why you were prowling about our facenda in the forest of Iquitos, and why you were waiting for us at Tabatinga. Well, it seems to me nothing could be clearer, answered Torres with a grin. I was waiting to get a passage on the Jangada, and I went on board with the intention of making him a very simple proposition, which possibly he was wrong in rejecting. At this words, Manuel could stand it no longer. With pale face and eye of fire, he strode up at Torres. Benito, wishing to exhaust every means of consolation, thrust himself between them. Call yourself, Manuel, he said. I am calm, even I. And then continuing, quite so, Torres, I know the reason of your coming on board the raft, possessed of a secret which doubtless given to you, you wanted to make it a means of extortion, but that is not what I want to know at present. What is it, then? I want to know how you recognize Rom da Costa in the facenda of Iquitos. How I recognized him, replied Torres, that is my business, and I see no reason why I should tell you. The important fact is that I was not mistaken when I denounced in him the real author of the crime of Tejugo. You say that to me, exclaimed Benito, who began to lose his self-possession. I will tell you nothing, returned Torres. Rom da Costa declined my propositions. He refused to admit me into his family. Well, now that his secret is known, now that he is a prisoner, it is I who refuse to enter his family, the family of a thief, of a murderer, of a condemned felon, for whom the gallows no weights. Scoundrel, exclaimed Benito, who drew his manchetta from his belt and put himself in position. Manuel and Fragoso, by a similar movement, quickly drew their weapons. Three against one, said Torres. No, one against one, answered Benito. Really, I should have thought an assassination would have better suited an assassin's son. Torres, exclaimed Benito, defend yourself, or I will kill you like a mad dog. Mad? So be it, answered Torres. But I bite Benito da Costa and the wear of the bones. And then again grasping his manchetta, he put himself on guard and ready to attack his enemy. Benito had stepped back a few paces. Torres, he said, regaining all his coolness, which for a moment he had lost. You were the guest of my father. You threatened him. You betrayed him. You denounced him. You accused an innocent man. And with God's help, I am going to kill you. Torres replied with the most insolent smile imaginable. Perhaps at the moment, the scoundrel had an idea of stopping any struggle between Benito and him. And he could have done so. In fact, he had seen that Ramda Costa had said nothing about the document, which formed the material proof of his innocence. Had he revealed to Benito that he, Torres, possessed this proof, Benito would have been that instant disarmed. But his desire to wait till the very last moment saw us to get the very best price for the document he possessed. The recollection of the young man's insulting words and the hate which he bore to all that belonged to him made him forget his own interest. In addition to being sorely accustomed to the manchetta, which he often had had occasion to use, the adventure was strong, active, and artful, so that against an adversary who was scarcely 20, who could have neither his strength nor his dexterity, the chances were greatly in his favor. Manual by a last effort wished to insist on fighting him instead of Benito. No, Manual, was the cool reply. It is for me alone to avenge my father, and as everything here ought to be in order, you shall be my second. Benito. As for you, Fragoso, you will not refuse if I ask you to act as second for that man. So be it, answered Fragoso, so it is not an office of honor. Without the least ceremony, he added, I would have killed him like a wild beast. The place where the duel was about to take place was a level bank about 50 paces long, on the top of a cliff rising perpendicularly some 50 feet above the Amazon. The river slowly flowed at the foot, and thus the clumps of reeds which briskly round its base. There was therefore none too much room, and the combatant, who was the first to give way, would quickly be driven over into the abyss. The signal was given by Manual, and Taurus and Benito stepped forward. Benito had complete command over himself. The defender of a sacred cause, his coolness was unraveled, much more so than that of Taurus, whose conscience and sensible, and hardened as it was, was bound at the moment to trouble him. The two met, and the first blow came from Benito. Taurus parried it. Then they jumped back, but almost at the same instant they rushed together, and with their left hand seized each other by the shoulder, never to leave go again. Taurus, who was the strongest, struck a side blow with his manchetta, which Benito could not quite parry. His left side was touched, and his poncho was reddened with his blood. But he quickly replied, and slightly wounded Taurus in the hand. Several blows were then interchanged, but nothing decisive was done. The ever silent gaze of Benito pierced the eyes of Taurus, like a sword blade thrust to his very heart. Visibly, this counteroff began to quail. He recalled little by little, pressed back by his implacable foe, who was more determined on taking the life of his father's denouncer than in defending his own. To strike was all that Benito longed for, to parry was all that the other now attempted to do. Soon Taurus saw himself thrust to the very edge of the bank at a spot where, slightly scooped away, it overhounds the river. He perceived the danger. He tried to retake the offensive and regain the lost ground. His agitation increased, his looks grew vivid. At length he was obliged to stoop beneath the arm which threatened him. Die then, exclaimed Benito. The blow of stroke fell on his chest, but the point of Manchetta was stopped by an hard substance hidden beneath the poncho of the adventurer. Benito renewed his attack, and Taurus, whose return thrust did not touch his adversary, felt himself lost. He was again obliged to retreat. Then he would have shouted, shouted that the life of Jean d'Acosta depended on his own. He had no time. A second thrust of the Manchetta pierced his heart. He fell backward, and the ground suddenly failing him, he was precipitated down the cliff. At the last effort his hands convociably clutched at a clump of reeds, but they could not stop him, and he disappeared beneath the waters of the river. Benito was supported on Manuel's shoulder. Fragoso grasped his hands. He would not even give his companions time to dress his wound, which was very slight. To the Giangada, he said, to the Giangada. Manuel and Fragoso with deep emotion followed him without speaking a word. A quarter of an hour afterward the three reached the bank to which the raft was moored. Benito and Manuel rushed into the room where, where, Iacchetta and Minha and told them all that had passed. My son, my brother. The words were uttered at the same moment. To the prison, said Benito. Yes, come, come, replied Iacchetta. Benito followed by Manuel hurried along his mother, and half an hour later they arrived before the prison. Owing to the order previously given by Giago Jericas, they were immediately admitted and conducted to the chamber occupied by the prisoner. The door opened. Jomda Costa saw his wife, his son and Manuel enter the room. Ah, Jom, my Jom! exclaimed Iacchetta. Iacchetta, my wife, my children, replied the prisoner, who opened his arms and pressed them to his heart. My Jom, innocent. Innocent and avenged, said Benito. Avenged? What do you mean? Torres is dead, father, killed by my hand. Dead! Torres, dead! Casper Jomda Costa. My son, you have ruined me. End of chapter 6. The last blow. Part 2, chapter 7 of 800 Leagues on the Amazon. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Cristina. 800 Leagues on the Amazon by Jules Verne. Part 2, The Cryptogram. Chapter 7, Resolutions. A few hours later, the whole family had returned to the raft and were assembled in the large room. All were there except the prisoner, on whom the last blow had just fallen. Benito was quite overwhelmed and accused himself of having destroyed his father. And had it not been from the entreaties of Iacchetta, of his sister, of Padre Passagna and of Manuel, the distracted youth would in the first moments of despair have probably made a way with himself. But he was never allowed to get out of sight and he was never left alone. And besides, how could he have acted otherwise? Ah, why had not John Dacosta told him all before he left the Jangada? Why had he refrained from speaking, except before a judge, with this material proof of his innocence? Why, in his interview with Manuel after the expulsion of tourists, he had been silent about the document, which the adventurer pretended to hold in his hands. But after all, what faith ought he to place in what tourists had said? Could he be certain that such a document was in the rascal's possession? Whatever might be the reason, the family knew everything and that from the lips of John Dacosta himself. They knew that tourists had declared that the proof of the innocence of the convict of Titucco actually existed, that the document had been written by the very hand of the author of the attack, that the criminal, seized by remorse at the moment of his death, had entrusted it to his companion, Taurus, and that he, instead of fulfilling the wishes of the dying man, had made the handing over of the document an excuse for extortion. But they knew also that Taurus had just been killed and that his body was engulfed in the waters of the Amazon and that he died without even mentioning the name of the guilty man. Unless he was saved by a miracle, John Dacosta might now be considered as irrevocably lost. The death of Judge Ribeiro on the one hand, the death of Taurus on the other, where blows from which he could not recover. It should here be said that public opinion at Maniaos, and reasoning as it always is, was all against the prisoner. The unexpected arrest of John Dacosta had revived the memory of the terrible crime of Titucco, which had lain forgotten for 23 years. The trial of the young clerk at the mines of the Diamond Arrayal, his capital sentence, his escape a few hours before his intended execution, all were remembered, analyzed, and commented on. An article which had just appeared in the Odeario de Grande Parra. The most widely circulated journal in these parts, after giving a history of the circumstances of the crime, showed itself decidedly hostile to the prisoner. Why should these people believe in John Dacosta's innocence when they were ignorant of all that his friends knew, of what they alone knew? And so the people of Maniaos became excited. A mob of Indians and Negroes hurried in their blind folly to surround the prison and roar forth to multiple shots of death. In this part of the two Americas, where executions under lynch law are of frequent occurrence, the mob soon surrenders itself to its cruel instincts, and it was feared that on this occasion, it would do justice with its own hands. What a night it was for the passengers from the Facinda. Masters and her servants had been affected by the blow. Were not the servants of the Facinda members of one family? Every one of them would watch over the safety of Yakita and her people. On the bank of the Rio Negroes, there was a constant coming and going of the natives, evidently excited by the arrest of John Dacosta. And who could say what excesses these half-barbarious men might be led? The time have ever passed without any demonstration against the Cangada. On the morrow, the 26th of August, as soon as the sun rose, Manuel and Tragoso, who had never left Benito for an instant during this terrible night, attempted to distract his attention from his despair. After taking him aside, they made him understand that there was no time to be lost, that they must make up their minds to act. Benito said, Manuel, pull yourself together, be a man again, be a son again. My father, exclaimed Benito, I have killed him. No, replied Manuel, with Heaven's help, it is possible that all might not be lost. Listen to us, Mr. Benito, said Tragoso. The young man, passing his hand over his eyes, made a violent effort to collect himself. Benito, continued Manuel, tourists never gave a hint to put us on the track of his fast life. We therefore cannot tell who was the author of the crime of Tijoco, or under what conditions it was committed. To try in that direction is to lose our time. And time presses, added Tragoso. Besides, said Manuel, suppose we don't find out who this companion of tourists was. He is dead, and he could not testify in any way to the innocence of Jean d'Acosta. But it is nonetheless certain that the proof of this innocence exists. And there is not room to doubt the existence of a document, which tourists was anxious to make the subject of a bargain. He told us so himself. The document is a complete oval written in the handwriting of the culprit, which relates the attack in its smallest details, and which clears our father. Yes, a hundred times yes, the document exists. But tourists does not exist, Gron Benito, and the document has perished with him. Wait, and don't despair yet, answered Manuel. You remember under what circumstances we made the acquaintance of tourists? It was in the depths of the forest of Iquitos. He was in pursuit of a monkey, which had stolen a metal case, which it so strangely kept, and the chase had lost a couple of hours when the monkey fell to our guns. Now, do you think that it was for the few pieces of gold contained in the case that tourists was in such a fury to recover it? And do you not remember the extraordinary satisfaction which he displayed when we gave him back the case which we had taken out of the monkey's bowl? Yes, yes, answered Benito. This case which I held, which I gave back to him, perhaps it contained. It's more than probable. It is certain, replied Manuel. And I beg to add, said Vrogoso, for now the fact recures to my memory that during the time you were at Ega, I remind on board, at Lina's advice, to keep an eye on tourists, and I saw him, yes, I saw him, reading and again reading an old faded paper and maturing boards which I could not understand. That was the document, exclaimed Benito, who snatched at the hope, the only one that was left. But the document had he not put it in some place of security? No, answered Manuel. No, it was too precious for tourists to dream of parting with it. He was bound to carry it always about with him and dopless in that very case. Wait, wait, Manuel, exclaimed Benito. I remember, yes, I remember. During that struggle, the first blow I struck tourists in his chest. My manchetta was stopped by some hard substance under his poncho, like a plate of metal. That was the case, said Frogoso. Yes, replied Manuel, doubt is impossible. That was the case, it was in his breast pocket. But the corpse of tourists, we will recover it. But the paper, the water will have stained it, perhaps destroyed it, or rendered it undeciferable. Why, answered Manuel, if the metal case which held it was watertight. Manuel, replied Benito, who seized on the last hope, you are right, the corpse of tourists must be recovered. We will rent sex the whole of this part of the river if necessary, but we will recover it. The pilot Araujo was then summoned and informed of what they were going to do. Good, replied he, I know all the eddies and currents where the Rio Negro and the Amazon join, and we shall succeed in recovering the body. Let us take two pirogues, two ubas, a dozen of our Indians and make a start. Padre Pasania was then coming out of Yakita's room. Benito went to him and in a few words told him what they were going to do, to get possession of the document. Say nothing to my mother or my sister, had it. If this last hope fails, it will kill them. Go, my lad, go, replied Pasania. And may God help you in your search. Five minutes afterwards the four boats started from the raft. After descending the Rio Negro, they arrived near the bank of the Amazon at a very place where tourists, mortally wounded, had disappeared beneath the waters of the stream. End of chapter seven, resolutions. Part two, chapter eight of 800 Leagues on the Amazon. This is LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Kristina. 800 Leagues on the Amazon by Jules Verne. Part two, The Cryptogram. Chapter eight, The First Search. The search had to commence at once and that for two weighty reasons. The first of these was, and this was a question of life or death, that this proof of Rome d'acosta's innocence must be produced before the arrival of the order from Rio Negro. Once the identity of the prisoner was established, it was impossible that such an order could be other than the order for his execution. The second was that the body of tourists should be got out of the water as quickly as possible, so as to regain and damage the metal case and the paper it ought to contain. At this juncture, Araujo displayed not only zeal and intelligence, but also a perfect knowledge of the state of the river at its confluence with the Rio Negro. If Torres, he said to the young man, had been from the first carried away by the current, we should have to drag the river throughout a large area, for we shall have a good many days to wait for his body to reappear on the surface through the effects of decomposition. We cannot do that, replied Manuel. This very day we ought to succeed. If, on the contrary, continued the pilot, the corpse has got stuck among the reeds and vegetation at the foot of the bank, we shall not be an hour before we find it. To work then, answered Benito. There was but one way of working. The boat approached the bank and the Indians furnished with long poles began to sound every part of the river at the base of the bluff which had served for the scene of combat. The place had been easily recognized. A track of blood stained the activity in its chalky part and ran perpendicularly down it into the water and there many eclots scattered on the reeds indicated the area spot where the corpse had disappeared. About 50 feet downstream, a point jotted out from the river side and kept back the waters in a kind of eddy, as in a large basin. There was no current whatever near the shore and the reeds shot up out of the river and vent. Every hope then existed that tourist body had not been carried away by the main stream. Where the pet of the river showed sufficient slope, it was perhaps possible for the corpse to have rolled several feet along the ridge and even there no effect of the current could be traced. The upas and the pirogues, dividing the work amongst them, limited the field of their research to the extreme edge of the eddy and from the circumference to the center, the cruise long poles left not a single point unexplored. But no amount of sounding discovered the body of an adventurer, neither among the clumps of reeds nor on the bottom of the river whose slope was then carefully examined. Two hours after the work had begun, they had been led to think that the body, having probably struck against the negativity, had fallen off obliquely and rolled beyond the limits of this eddy, where the action of the current commenced to be felt. But that is no reason why we should despair, said Manuel, still less why we should give up our search. Will it be necessary, exclaimed Benito, to search the river throughout its press and its length? Throughout its press? Perhaps, answered Araujo. Throughout its length? No, fortunately. And why? Asked Manuel. Because the Amazon, about a mile away from its junction with the Rio Negro, makes a sudden bend and at the same time its bed rises, so that there is a kind of natural barrier, well known to sailors as the Bar of Rias, which sinks floating near the surface are alone able to clear. In short, the currents are pointed back and they cannot possibly have any effect over this depression. This was fortunate, it must be admitted, but was Araujo mistaken? The old billet of the Amazon could be relied on. For the 30 years that he had followed his profession, the crossing of the Bar of Rias, where the current was increased in force by its decrease in depth, had often given him trouble. The narrowness of the channel and the elevation of the bed made the passage exceedingly difficult and many a raft had there come to grieve. And so Araujo was right in declaring that if the corpse of Torres was still retained by its weight on the sandy bed of the river, it could not have been dragged over the bar. It is true that later on, when on account of the expansion of the gases, it would again rise to the surface, the current would bear it away and it would then be irrevocably lost down the stream, a long way beyond the obstruction. But this purely physical effect would not take place for several days. They could not have applied to a man who was more skillful or more conversant with the localities at Araujo. And when he affirmed that the body could not have been born out of the narrow channel for more than a mile or so, they were sure to recover it if they thoroughly sounded that portion of the river. Not an island, not an islet, checked the course of the Amazon in these parts. Hence, when the foot of the two banks had been visited up to the bar, it was in the bed itself, about 500 feet in width that more careful investigations had to be commenced. The way the work was conducted was this. The boats taking the right and left of the Amazon lay alongside the banks. The reeds and vegetation were tried with the poles. Of the smallest ledges in the banks in which a body could rest, not one escaped the scrutinity of Araujo and his Indians. But all this labor produced no result and half the day had elapsed without the body being brought to the surface of the stream. And our stress was given to the Indians. During this time, they partook of some refreshment and then they returned to their task. Four of the boats in charge of the pilot Benito Fragoso and Manuel divided the river between the Rio Negro and the Bar of Frias into four portions. They set to work to explore its very bed. In certain places, the poles proved insufficient to thoroughly search among the deeps. And hence, a few dredges or rather heros made of stones and old iron bound round with a solid bar were taken on board. And when the boats had pushed off, these rakes were thrown in and the river bottoms tired up in every direction. It was at this difficult task that Benito and his companions were employed till the evening. The upas and pierogues, worked by the oars, traversed the whole surface of the river up to the Bar of Frias. There had been moments of excitement during this spell of work when the heros catching in something at the bottom offered some slight resistance. There were then hold up, but in place of the body so eagerly searched for, there would appear only heavy stones or tufts of herbage which they had dragged from their sandy bed. No one, however, had an idea of giving up the enterprise. They none of them thought of themselves in this work of salvation. Benito, Manuel, Araujo had not even to stir up the Indians or to encourage them. The gallant fellows knew that they were working for the Fadzehnder of Equitos, for the man whom they loved, for the chief of the excellent family who treated their servants so well. Yes, and so they would have passed the night in dragging the river. Of every minute lost, all knew the value. A little before the sun disappeared, Araujo, finding it useless to continue, his operations in the gloom, gave the signal for the boats to join company and return together to the confluence of the Rio Negro and regain the Jangata. The work so carefully and intelligently conducted was not however at the end. Manuel and Throgoso, as they came back, dared not mention their ill success before Benito. They feared that the disappointment would only force him to some act of despair. But neither courage nor coolness deserted the young fellow. He was determined to follow to the end this supreme effort to save the owner and the life of his father. And he, it was who addressed his companions and said, tomorrow we will try again and under better conditions if possible. Yes, answered Manuel, you are right, Benito, we can do better. We cannot pretend to have entirely explored the river along the whole of the banks and over the whole of its bed. No, we cannot have done that, replied Araujo, and I maintain what I said, that the body of Torres is there and that it is there because it has not been carried away because it could not be drawn over the bar of Frias and because it will take many days before it rises to the surface and floods down the stream. Yes, it is there, and not at Demi John or Tafia will pass my lips until I find it. This affirmation from the pilot was worth a good deal and was of a hope-inspiring nature. However, Benito, who did not care so much for words as he did for things, sought proper to reply. Yes, Araujo, the body of Torres is in the river and we shall find it if. If, said the pilot, if it has not become the prey of the alligators. Manuel and Fragoso waited anxiously for Araujo's reply. The pilot was silent for a few moments. They felt that he was reflecting before he spoke. Mr. Benito, he said at length, I am not in the habit of speaking lightly. I had the same idea as you, but listen. During the ten hours we have been at work, have you seen a single Kaiman in the river? Not one, said Fragoso. If you have not seen one, continued the pilot. It was because there were none to see, for these animals have nothing to keep them in the void waters when, a quarter of a mile off, there are large stretches of the black waters, which they so greatly prefer. When the raft was attacked by some of these creatures, it was in a part where there was no place for them to flee to. Here it is quite different. Go to the Rio Negro, and there you will see Kaimans by the score. Had Torres' body fallen into that tributary, there might be no chance of recovering it. But it was in the Amazon that it was lost, and in the Amazon it will be found. Benito, relived from his fears, took the pilot's hand and shook it, and contended himself with the reply. Tomorrow, my friends. Ten minutes later they were all on board the Cangada. During the day, Jaquitte had passed some hours with her husband. But before she started, and when she saw neither the pilot nor Manuel nor Benito, nor the boats, she had guessed the surge on which they had gone. But she said nothing to Jaumda Costa, as she hoped that in the morning she would be able to inform him of their success. But when Benito set foot on the raft, she perceived that their surge had been fruitless. However, she advanced towards him. Nothing, she asked. Nothing, replied Benito, but the morrow is left to us. The members of the family retired to their rooms, and nothing more was said as to what had passed. Manuel tried to make Benito lie down, so as to take a few hours' rest. What is the good of that? asked Benito. Do you think I could sleep? End of chapter 8 The First Search Part 2 Chapter 9 of 800 Leagues on the Amazon This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Kristine 800 Leagues on the Amazon by Jules Verne Part 2 The Cryptogram Chapter 9 The Second Attempt On the morrow, the 27th of August, Benito took Manuel apart before the sun had risen and said to him, Our yesterday's search was vain. If we begin again under the same conditions, we may be just as unlucky. We must do so, however, replied Manuel. Yes, continued Benito, but suppose we do not find the body. Can you tell me how long it will be before it rises to the surface? If Torres, answered Manuel, had fallen into the water living and not mortally wounded, it would take five or six days. But as he only disappeared after being so wounded, perhaps two or three days would be enough to bring him up again. This answer of Manuel, which was quite correct, requires some explanation. Every human body which falls into the water will float if equilibrium is established between its density and that of its liquid bed. This is well known to be the fact, even when a person does not know how to swim. Under such circumstances, if you are entirely submerged and only keep your mouth and nose away from the water, you are sure to float. But this is not generally done. The first movement of a drowning man is to try and hold as much as he can of himself above the water. He holds up his head and lifts up his arms, and these parts of his body, being no longer supported by the liquid, do not lose that amount of weight, which they would do if completely immersed. Hence an asses of weight and eventually entire submersion. For the water makes its way to the lungs through the mouth, takes the place of the air which fills them and the body sinks to the bottom. On the other hand, when the man who falls into the water is already dead, the conditions are different and more favorable for his floating. For then the movements of which we have spoken are checked, and the liquid does not make its way to the lungs so copiously, as there is no attempt to respire, and he is consequently more likely to promptly reappear. Manuel then was right in drawing the distinction between the man who falls into the water living and the man who falls into it dead. In the one case, the return to the surface takes much longer than in the other. The reappearance of the body after an immersion more or less prolonged and is always determined by the decomposition, which causes the gaseous to form. These bring about the expansion of the cellular tissues, the volume omens and the weight decreases, and then weighing less than the water it displaces, the body attains the proper conditions for floating. And thus continued Manuel. Supposing the conditions continue favorable, and Torres did not live after he fell into the water, if the decomposition is not modified by circumstances which we cannot foresee, he will not reappear before three days. We have not got three days, answered Benito. We cannot wait, you know, we must try again and in some new way. What can you do? answered Manuel. Plunge down myself beneath the waters, replied Benito, and searched with my eyes with my hands. Plunge in a hundred times a thousand times, explained Manuel, so be it, I think like you, that we ought to go straight at what we want and not struggle on these poles and drags like a blind man, who only works by touch. I also think that we cannot wait three days, but to jump in, come up again, and go down again, will give only a short period for the exploration. No, it will never do, and we shall only risk a second failure. Have you no other plan to propose Manuel, asked Benito, looking earnestly at his friend? Well, listen, there is what would seem to be a providential circumstance that may be of use to us. What is that? Yesterday, as we heard it through my nose, I noticed that they were repairing one of the quays on the bank of the Rio Negro. The submarine works were being carried on with the aid of a diving dress. Let us borrow or hire or buy at any price this apparatus, and then we may resume our researches under more favorable conditions. Tell Araujo, Fraguoso and our men, and let us be off, was the instant reply of Benito. The pilot and the barber were informed of the decision with regard to Manuel's project. Both were ordered to go with the four boats and the Indians to the basin of Frias, and there to wait for the two young men. Manuel and Benito started off without losing a moment and reached the quay at Manaos. There they offered the contractor such a price that he put the apparatus at their service for the whole day. Will you not have any of my men, he asked, to help you? Give us your foreman and one of his mates to work the air pump, replied Manuel. But who is going to wear us a driving dress? I am, answered Benito. You, exclaimed Manuel, I intend to do so. It was useless to resist. An hour afterwards the raft and all the instruments necessary for the enterprise had drifted down to the bank where the boats were waiting. The diving dress is well known. By its means men can descend beneath the waters and remain there a certain time without the action of the lungs being in any way injured. The diver is lost in a waterproof suit of India rubber, and his feet are attached to leadened shoes, which allow him to retain his upright position beneath the surface. At the collar of the dress and about the height of the neck, there is fitted a collar of copper on which is screwed a metal glove with a glass front. In this globe the diver places his head, which he can move about at his ease. To the globe are attached two pipes. One used for carrying off the air ejected from the lungs, and which is unfit for respiration, and the other in communication with the pump worked on the raft and bringing in the fresh air. When the diver is at work the raft remains immovable above him. When the diver moves about on the bottom of the river, the raft follows his movements, or he follows those of the raft according to his convenience. These diving dresses are now much improved and are less dangerous than formally. The men beneath the liquid mass can easily bear the additional pressure, and if anything was to be feared below the waters, it was rather some Kaiman who might there be met with. But as had been observed by Araujo, not one of these amphibians had been seen, and they are well-known to prefer the black waters of the tributaries of the Amazon. Besides, in case of danger, the diver has always his check string fastened to the raft, and at the least warning can be quickly hauled to the surface. Benito, invariably very cool once his resolution was taken, commenced to put his idea into execution and got into the diving dress. His head disappeared in the metal globe, his hand grasped a sort of iron spear with which to stir up the vegetation and detritus, accumulated in the riverbed, and on his giving the signal, he was lowered into the stream. The men of the raft immediately commenced to work the air pump, while four Indians from Jachangada, under the orders of Araujo, gently propelled it with their long poles in the desired direction. The two pyrox commended one by Fragoso, the other by Manuel, escorted the raft, and held themselves ready to start in any direction, should Benito find the corpse of Taurus and again bring it to the surface of Amazon. End of chapter 9 The Second Attempt