 16 What effect this news has upon me, and what emotion it awakens within my soul? The end I feel is at hand. May it be such as civilization and humanity are entitled to. Up to the present, I have indicted my notes day by day, hence forth it is imperative that I should inscribe them hour by hour, minute by minute. Who knows but what Thomas Roche's last secret may be revealed to me, and that I shall have time to commit it to paper. Should I die during the attack, God grant that the account of the five months I have passed in backcup may be found upon my body. At first, Kurt Cargé, engineer Circo, Captain Spade, and several of their companions, took up positions on the exterior base of the island. What would I not give to be able to follow them, and in the friendly shelter of Iraq, watch the end come in warships? An hour later they return after having left a score of men to keep watch. As the days of this season of the year are very short, there is nothing to fear before the moral. It is not likely that their ships will attempt a nine attack and land a storming party, for they must imagine that the place is in a thorough condition of defense. All night the pirates work, installing trestles at different points of the coast. Six have been taken through the passage to places selected in advance. This done, engineer Circo joins Thomas Roche in his laboratory. Is he going to tell him what is passing, that a squadron is in view of backcup, and that his full greater will be employed to defend the island? What is certain is that half a hundred engines, each charged with several pounds of the explosive, and of the substance that ensures the trajectory, superior to that of any other projectile, are ready for their work of destruction. As the deflagrator liquid, Thomas Roche has a certain number of files of it, and, I know only too well, will not refuse to help Kerkarje's pirates with it. During these preparations night has come on, only the lamps of the beehive are lighted, and a semi obscurity reigns in the cavern. I return to my cell. It is to my interest to keep out of the way as much as possible, for engineer Circo's suspicions might be revived now that the squadron is approaching backcup. But will the vessel sighted continue on their course in this direction? May they not be merely passing on their way to Bermuda? For an instant this doubt enters my mind. No, no, it cannot be. Besides, I have just heard Captain Spade declare that they are lying in view of the island. To what nation did they belong? Have the English, desirous of avenging the destruction of the sword, alone undertaken the expedition? May not cruisers of other nations be with them? I know not, and it is impossible to ascertain. And what doesn't matter after all so long as this haunt is destroyed, even though I should perish in the ruins like the heroic Lieutenant David and his brave crew? Preparations for defense continue with coolness and method under engineer Circo's superintendence. These pirates are obviously certain that they will be able to annihilate their assault as soon as the latter enter the dangerous zone. Their confidence in Rosh's Fulgrator is absolute. Absorbed by the idea that these warships are powerless against them, they think neither of the difficulties nor menace held out by the future. I surmise that the trestles have been set up on the northwest coast, with the grooves turned to send the engines to the northwest and south. On the east, as already stated, the island is defended by the chain of reefs that stretches away to the Brunitas. About nine o'clock I venture out of my cell. They will pay little attention to me, and perhaps I may escape notice in the obscurity, if I could get through that passage and hide behind some rock, so that I could witness what goes on at daybreak. And why should I not succeed now that Kurt Caragé, engineer Circo, Captain Spade, and the pirates have taken their posts outside? The shores of the lake are deserted, but the entrance to the passage is kept by Count D'Artigas' melee. I saunter without any fixed idea towards Thomas Rosh's laboratory. This reminds me of my compatriot. I am, on reflection, disposed to think that he knows nothing about the presence of a squadron off back up. Perhaps not until the last moment will engineer Circo apprise him of its proximity, not till he briskly points out to him the vengeance he can accomplish. Then I conceive the idea of enlightening Thomas Rosh myself of their responsibility he is incurring, and of revealing to him, in this supreme hour, the character of the men who want him to cooperate in their criminal project. Yes, I will attempt it, and may I succeed in fanning into a flame any spark of patriotism that may still linger in his rebellious soul. Rosh is shut up in his laboratory. He must be alone, for never does he allow anyone to enter while he is preparing his deflagrator. As I pass the jetty, I notice that the tug is moored and it's a custom place. Here I judge it prudent to walk behind the first row of pillars and approach the laboratory laterally, which will enable me to see whether anybody is with him. When I have gone a short distance along the Sombra Avenue, I see a bright light on the opposite side of the lagoon. It is the electric light in Rosh's laboratory as seen through a narrow window in the front. Except in that particular spot, the southern shore of the lake is in darkness, whereas in the opposite direction, the beehive is lit up to its extremity at the northern wall. Through the opening and the dome over the lake, I can see the stars shining, the sky is clear, the tempest has abated, and the squalls no longer penetrate to the interior of back up. When near the laboratory, I creep along the wall and peep in at the window. Tonish Rosh is there alone. The light shines full on his face. If it is somewhat drawn, and the lines on the forehead are more pronounced, this physiognomy at least denotes the perfect calmness and self-possession. No, he is no longer the inmate of Pavilion number 17, the madman of healthful house, and I ask myself whether he is not radically cured, whether there is no further danger of his reason collapsing in a final paroxym. He is just like two glass files upon the table, and he holds a third in his hand. He holds it up to the light and observes the limpidity of the liquid it contains. I have half a mind to rush in, seize the tubes, and smash them, but I reflect that he would have time to make some more of the stuff. Better stick to my first plan. I open the door and enter. Tonish Rosh, I exclaim. He has not heard, nor has he seen me. Tonish Rosh, I repeat. He raises his head, turns and gazes at me. Ah, it is you, Simon Hart, he replies, calmly, even and differently. He knows my name. Engineer Circo must have informed him that it was Simon Hart, and not Keeper Gayden, who was watching over him in healthful house. You know who I am, I say? Yes, as I know what your object was in undertaking such a position. You live in hopes of surprising a secret that they would not pay for at its just value. Tonish Rosh knows everything, and perhaps it is just as well, in view of what I am going to say. While you did not succeed, Simon Hart, as far as this is concerned, he added, flourishing with vile. No one else has succeeded or ever will. As I conjectured, he is not, then, made known the composition of his deflagrator. Looking at him, straightly in the face, I reply, You know who I am, Tonish Rosh, but do you know in whose place you are? In my own place, he cries. That is what Kerkarje has permitted him to believe. The adventer thinks he is at home in back cup, that the riches accumulated in this cavern are his, and that if an attack is made upon the place, it will be with the object of stealing what belongs to him. He will defend it under the impression that he is the right to do so. Tonish Rosh, I continue, listen to me. What do you want to say to me, Simon Hart? This cavern into which we have been dragged is occupied by a band of pirates, and Rosh does not give me time to complete the sentence. I doubt even whether he has understood me. I repeat, he interrupts vehemently, that the treasure stored here are the price of my invention. They have paid me what I asked for my Fulgrator, what I was everywhere else refused, even in my own country, which is also yours, and I will not allow myself to be dispoiled. What can I reply to such intense assertions I go on, however? Tonish Rosh, do you remember Healthful House? Healthful House, where I was sequestered after Warder Gaiden had been entrusted with the mission of spying upon me in order to rob me of my secret, I do indeed. I never dreamed of depriving you of the benefit of your secret, Tonish Rosh. I would never have accepted such a mission, but you were ill, your reason was affected, and your invention was too valuable to be lost. Yes, had you disclosed the secret during one of your fits, you would have preserved all the benefit and all the honor of it. Really, Simon Hart, Rosh replies disdainfully, honor and benefit. Your assurances come somewhat late in the day. You forget that on the pretext of insanity I was thrown into a dungeon. Yes, it was a pretext, for my reason has never left me, even for an hour, as you can see from what I have accomplished since I am free. Free, do you imagine you are free, Tonish Rosh? Are you not more closely confined within the walls of this cavern than you ever were at Healthful House? A man who is in his own home, he replies angrily, goes out as he likes and when he likes. I have only to say the word and all the doors will open before me. This place is mine. Count D'Artigus gave it to me with everything it contains. Woe to those who attempted to attack it. I have here the werewithal to annihilate them, Simon Hart. The inventor waves the file feverishly as he speaks. The Count D'Artigus deceives you, I cry, as he has deceived so many others. Under this name is dissembled one of the most formidable monsters who has ever scoured the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans. He is abandoned, steeped in crime. He is the odious Ker-Karage. Ker-Karage, echoes Tonish Rosh, and I wonder if this name has not impressed him. If he remembers who the man is who bears it. If I didn't press him, it was only momentarily. I do not know this Ker-Karage, he says, pointing towards the door to order me out. I only know the Count D'Artigus. Thomas Rosh, I persist in a final effort. The Count D'Artigus and Ker-Karage are one and the same person. If this man has purchased your secret, it is with the intention of ensuring impunity for his crimes and facilities for committing fresh ones, he is the chief of these pirates. Pirates, cried Rosh, whose irritation increases the more I press him. The real pirates are those who dare to menace me even in this retreat, who tried it on with a sword, for circle has told me everything, who sought to steal in my own home what belongs to me. What is but the just price of my discovery? No, Thomas Rosh, the pirates are those who have imprisoned you in this cavern of back up, who will utilize your genius to defend it, and who will get rid of you when they are in entire possessions of your secret. Thomas Rosh here interrupts me. He does not appear to listen to what I say. He has a fixed idea that of vengeance, which has been skillfully worked upon by engineer Circo, and in which his hatred is concentrated to the exclusion of all else. The bandits, he says, are those who spurned me without a hearing, who heaped injustice and ignominy upon me, who drove me from country to country, whereas I offer them superiority, invincible-ness, omnipotence. It is the eternal story of the unappreciated inventor, to whom the indifferent or envious refuse the means of testing his invention, to pay him the value he sets upon them. I know it well, and also know all the exaggerations that have been written upon the subject. It is clearly no time for reasoning with Thomas Rosh. My arguments are entirely lost upon the hapless dupe of Kerkarzane and the accomplices. In revealing to him the real name of Count Jartegus and denouncing to him his band and their chief, I had hoped to wean him from their influence and make him realize the criminal end they have in view. My hope was vain. He does not believe me. And what does he care whether the brickens' name is Count Jartegus or Kerkarzane? Is not he, Thomas Rosh, master of back come? Is he not the owner of these riches accumulated by 20 years of murder and repine? Disarmed before such moral degeneracy, knowing not how I can touch this ulcerated irresponsible heart, I head towards the door. It only remains for me to withdraw. What it is to be will be, since it is out of my power to prevent the frightful denouement that will occur in a few hours. Thomas Rosh takes no more notice of me. He seems to have forgotten that I am here. He resumes his manipulation without realizing that he is not alone. There is only one means of preventing the imminent catastrophe. Throw myself upon Rosh, place him beyond the power of doing harm, strike him, kill him. Yes, kill him. It is my right. It is my duty. I have no arms, but on a nearby shelf I see some tools, a chiseler, and a hammer. What is to prevent me from knocking his brains out? Once he is dead, I have but smashed the vials and his invention dives with him. The warships can approach, land their men upon the island, demolish back up with their shells. Kerkarzane's band will be killed to a man. Can I hesitate a murder that will bring about the chest-divesmen of so many crimes? I advance to the shelf and stretch forth my hand to seize the chisel. As I do, Thomas Rosh turns around. It is too late to strike, a struggle would ensue. The noises of his cries would be heard, for there are still some pirates not far off. I can even now hear someone approaching and have only just time to fly if I would not be seen. Nevertheless, I make one last attempt to await the sentiment of patriotism within him. Thomas Rosh, I say, warships are in sight. They have come to destroy this lair. Maybe one of them flies the French flag. He gazed at me. He was not aware that that cup is going to be attacked and I have just surprised him of the fact. His blood darkens and his eyes flash. Thomas Rosh, would you dare fire upon your country's flag, the tricolor flag? He raises his head, shakes it nervously and with a disdainful gesture. What do you mean by your country? I no longer have any country, Simon Hart. The inventor spurned no longer has a country. Where he finds an asylum, there is his fatherland. They seek to take what is mine. I will defend it and woe, woe to those who dare attack me. Then rushing through of the laboratory and throwing it violently open, he shouts so loudly that he must be heard at the beehive. Go, get you gone. I have not a second to lose and I dash out. End of chapter 16. Chapter 17 of Facing the Flag. 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 Nathine Descartes-Boulets. Facing the flag by Jules Verne. Translated by Casual Hoey. Chapter 17. One against five. For a whole hour I wander about among backcups dark vaults, amid the stone trees, to the extreme limit of the cavern. It is here that I have so often sought an issue, a crevice, a crack through which I might squeeze to the shore of the island. My search has been futile. In my present condition, a prey to indefinable hallucinations, it seems to me that these walls are thicker than ever, that they are gradually closing in upon and will crush me. How long this mental trouble lasts, I cannot say. But I afterwards find myself on the beehive side, opposite the cell in which I cannot hope for either repose or sleep. Sleep, when my brain is in a world of excitement? Sleep, when I am near the end of a situation that threatened to be prolonged for years and years? What will the end be, as far as I am personally concerned? What am I to expect from the attack upon backcup, the success of which I have been unable to assure, by placing Thomas Rock beyond the possibility of doing harm? His engines are ready to be launched, and as soon as the vessels have reached the dangerous zone, they will be blown to atoms. However this may be, I am condemned to pass the remaining hours of the night in my cell. The time has come for me to go in. At daybreak I shall see what is best for me to do. Meanwhile, for odd I know I may hear the thunder of Rock's vulgarator as it destroys the ships approaching to make a night attack. I take a last look round. On the opposite side a light, a single light, is burning. It is the lamp in Rock's laboratory, and it casts its reflection upon the waters of the lake. No one is about, and it occurs to me that the pirates must have taken up the lighting positions outside, and that the beehive is empty. Then, impelled by an irresistible instinct, instead of returning to my cell, I creep along the wall, listening, spying, ready to hide if I hear voices of footsteps. I at length reach the passage. God in heaven! No one is on guard there. The passage is free. Without giving myself time to reflect, I dart into the dark hole, and group my way along it. Soon I feel a fresher air, the salt, vivifying air of the sea, that I have not breathed for five month. I inspire it with avidity, with all the power of my lungs. The outer extremity of the passage appears against the star-studded sky. There is not even a shadow in the way. Perhaps I shall be able to get outside. I lay down and crawl along noiselessly to the orifice and peer out. Not a soul is inside. By skirting the rocks towards the east, to the side which cannot be approached from the sea on account of the reefs, and which is not likely to be watched, I reach a narrow excavation about 225 yards from where the point of the coast extends towards the northwest. At last I am out of the cavern. I am not free, but it is the beginning of freedom. On the point the forms of a few centuries stand out against the clear sky, so motionless that they might be mistaken for pieces of the rock. On the horizon to the west, the position lights of the warships show in a luminous line. From a few gray patches discernible in the east, I calculate that it must be about five o'clock in the morning. November 18th. It is now light enough for me to be able to complete my notes relating the details of my visit to Thomas Rock's laboratory, the last lines my hand will trace, perhaps. I have begun to write, and shall jot down the incidents of the attack as they occur. The light-damped mist that hangs over the water soon lifts under the influence of the breeze, and at last I can distinguish the warships. There are five of them, and they are lying in a line about six miles off, and consequently beyond the range of Rock's engines. My fear that after passing inside of the Bermudas, the squadron would continue on its way to the Antilles or Mexico was therefore unfounded. No, there it is, a waiting broad daylight in order to attack backcup. There is a movement on the coast. Three or four pirates emerge from the Rock's. The sentries are recalled and drew in, and the entire band is soon assembled. They do not seek shelter inside the cavern, knowing full well that the ships can never get near enough for the shells of the big guns to reach the island. I run no risk of being discovered, for only my head protrudes above the hole in the Rock, and no one is likely to come this way. The only thing that worries me is that Seaco, or somebody else, may take it into his head to see if I am in my cell, and if necessary to lock me in, though what they have to fear from me I cannot conceive. At twenty-five minutes past seven, Kair Kariye, engineer Seaco, and captain Spade advance to the extremity of the point where they sweep the northwestern horizon with their telescopes. Behind them, the six stress rolls are installed, in the grooves of which are Rock's autopropulsive engines. Thirty-five minutes past seven, smoke arises from the stacks of the warships, which are getting underway and will soon be within range of the engines. Horrible cries of joy, salvos of whores, howls of wild beasts, I might more appropriately say, arise from the pirate hoard. At this moment, engineer Seaco quits Kair Kariye, whom he leaves with captain Spade, and enters the cabin, no doubt, to fetch Thomas Rock. When Kair Kariye orders the latter to launch his engines against the ships, will he remember what I told him? Will not his crime appear to him in all its horror? Will he refuse to obey? No, I am only too convinced of the contrary. It is useless to entertain any illusion on the subject. The inventor believes he is on his own property. They are going to attack it. He will defend it. The five warships slowly advance, making for the point. Perhaps they imagine on board that Thomas Rock has not given up his last and greatest secret to the pirates. And, as a matter of fact, he had not done so when I threw the keg into the lagoon. If the commanders propose to lend storming parties and the ships advance into the zone of danger, there will soon be nothing left of them, but bits of shapeless, floating wreckage. Here comes Thomas Rock, accompanied by engineer Seaco. On his shooing from the passage, both go to the trestle that is pointing towards the leading warship. Keakariya and Captain Spade are awaiting them. As far as I am able to judge, Rock is calm. He knows what he is going to do. No hesitation troubles the soul of the hapless man whom hatred has led astray. Between his fingers shines the glass fire, containing the deflagrator liquid. He then gazes towards the nearest ship, which is about five miles distant. She is a cruiser of about 2500 tons. Not more. She flies no flag, but from her build I take her to belong to a nation for which no Frenchmen can entertain any particular regard. The four other warships remain behind. It is this cruiser which is to begin the attack. Let her use her guns, then, since the pirates allow her to approach and may the first of her projectiles strike Thomas Rock. While Engineer Serco is estimating the distance, Rock places himself behind the trestle. Three engines are resting on it, charged with the explosive, and which are assured a long trajectory by the fusing matter, without it being necessary to import a trajectory movement to them, as in the case of Inventor-Turpin's gyroscopic projectiles. Besides, if they drop within a few hundred yards of the vessel, they will be quite near enough to utterly destroy it. The time has come. Thomas Rock, Engineer Serco cries, and points to the cruiser. The latter is stemming slowly towards the northwestern point of the island, and is between four and five miles off. Rock nods ascent, and waves them back from the trestle. Kerkareye, Captain Spade, and the others, draw back about 50 paces. Thomas Rock then takes the stopper from the file, which he holds in his right hand, and successively pulls into a hole in the rear end of each engine a few drops of the liquid, which mixes with the fusing matter. 45 seconds elapsed, the time necessary for the combination to be affected. 45 seconds, during which it seems to me that my heart ceases to beat. A frightful whistling is then heard, and the three engines tear through the air, describing a plunge curve at a height of 300 feet, and pass the cruiser. Have they missed it? Is the danger over? No. The engines, after the manner of artillery Captain Chapel's discoyed projectile, return towards the doomed vessel like an Australian boomerang. The next instant, the air is shaken with a violence comparable to that, which would be caused by the explosion of a magazine of millenite or dynamite. Backcup Island trembles to its very foundations. The cruiser has disappeared, blown to pieces. The effect is that of the Salinsky shell, but centipled by the infinite power of Roxville Greta. What shouts the bandits' race as they rush towards the extremity of the point? Kerkariye, engineer Seako, and Captain Spade, remain rooted to the spot, hardly able to credit the evidence of their own eyes. As to Thomas Rock, he stands with folded arms and flashing eyes, his face radiant with pride and triumph. I understand why I abhor his feelings. If the other warships approach, they will share the same fate as the cruiser. They will inevitably be destroyed. Oh, if they would but give up the struggle and withdraw to safety, even though my last hope would go with them. The nations can consult and arrive at some other plan for destroying the island. They can surround the place with a belt of ships that the pirates cannot break through and starve them to death like so many rats in a hole. But I know that the warships will not retire, even though they know they are going to certain death. One after the other, they will all make the attempt. And I am right. Signals are exchanged between them. Almost immediately clouds of black smoke arise and the vessels again advance. One of them, under false droat, distenses the others in her anxiety to bring her big guns quickly into action. At all risks I issue for my whole, and gaze at the oncoming warship with feverish eyes, awaiting, without being able to prevent it, another catastrophe. This vessel which visibly grows larger as it comes nearer, is a cruiser of about the same tonnage as the one that preceded her. No flag is flying, and I cannot guess her nationality. She continues steaming at full speed in an effort to pass the Zone of Danger before other engines can be launched. But how can she escape them since they will swoop back upon her? Thomas Rock places himself behind the second trestle as the cruiser passes on to the surface of the abyss in which she will in turn soon be swallowed up. No sound disturbs the stillness. Suddenly the rolling of drums and the blare of bugles is heard on board the warship. I know those bugle-calls. They are French bugles. Great God! She is one of the ships of my own country's navy, and a French inventor is about to destroy her. No, it shall not be. I will rush to once Thomas Rock, shout to him that she is a French ship. He does not, cannot know it. At a sign from engineer Seiko, the inventor has raised the vial. The bugle sound louder and more strident. It is the salute to the flag. The flag unfurls to the breeze. The tricolor, whose blue, white, and red sections stand out luminously against the sky. Ah! What is this? I understand. Thomas Rock is fascinated at the sight of his national emblem. Slowly he lowers his arm as the flag flutters up to the masthead. Then he draws back and covers his eyes with his hand. Heaven's above! All sentiment of patriotism is not then dead in his ulcerated heart, seeing that it beats at the sight of his country's flag. My emotion is not less than his. At the risk of being seen, and what do I now care if I am seen? I creep over the rocks. I will be there to sustain Thomas Rock and prevent him from weakening. If I pay for it with my life, I will once more jury him in the name of his country. I will cry to him, Frenchman, it is the tricolor that flies on your ship. Frenchman, it is a very part of France that is approaching you. Frenchman, would you be so criminal as to strike it? But my intervention will not be necessary. Thomas Rock is not afraid to one of the fits to which he was formerly subject. He is perfectly sane. When he found himself facing the flag, he understood. And drew back. The few pirates approached to lead him to the trustal again. He struggles and pushes them from him. K.A. Keraie and engineer Serco run up. They point to the rapidly advancing ship. They order him to launch his engines. Thomas Rock refuses. Captain Spade and the others, mad with rage, menace him, curse him, strike him, try to rest the vile from him. Rock throws it on the ground and crushes it under foot. Then panic seizes upon the crowd of wretches. The cruiser has passed the zone and they cannot return her fire. Shells begin to rain all over the island, bursting the rocks in every direction. But where is Thomas Rock? Has he been killed by one of the projectiles? No, I see him for the last time as he dashes into the passage. K.A. Keraie, engineer Serco and the others follow him to seek shelter inside of backup. I will not return to the cavern at any price, even if I get killed by staying where I am. I will jot down my final notes, and when the French say thus then on the point, I will go. End of engineer Simon Hart's notes. End of chapter 17 The failure of Lieutenant Davin's mission with the sword, the English authorities waited in vain for the expedition to return, and the conviction at length gained ground that the bold sailors had perished, but whether the sword had been lost by striking against a rock or had been destroyed by Keraie's pirates could not, of course, be ascertained. The object of the expedition, based upon indications of the document found in the keg that was thrown up on the shore at St George, was to carry off Thomas Roche ere his engines were completed, the French inventor having been recovered without forgetting engineer Simon Hart. He was to be handed over to the care of their Bermudian authorities. That done, there would be nothing to fear from his full greater when the island was attacked. When, however, the sword had been given up for lost, another expedition of a different kind was decided upon. The time that had elapsed nearly eight weeks from the date of the document found in the keg had to be taken into consideration. It was thought that during the interval, Kirk Harajay might have gained possession of Roche's secrets. An intente concluded between the maritime powers resulted in the sending of five waterships to Bermudian waters. As there was a vast cavern inside backcup mountain, it was decided to attempt to bring the ladder down like the walls of a bastion by bombarding it with powerful modern artillery. The squadron assembled at the entrance of the Chesapeake in Virginia and sailed for the Archipelago which was sighted on the evening of November 17th. The next morning the vessel selected for the first attack steamed forward. It was about four and a half miles from the island when three engines after passing the vessel swerved round and exploded about 60 yards from her. She sank immediately. The effect of the explosion which was superior to any previously obtained by new explosives was instantaneous. Even at the distance they were from the spot where it occurred, the four remaining ships felt the shock severely. Two things were to be deduced from this sudden catastrophe. One, the pirate Kirk Harajay was in possession of Roche's full grader. Two, the new engine possessed the destructive power attributed to it by its inventor. After the disappearance of this unfortunate cruiser, the other vessels lowered boats to pick up a few survivors who were clinging to the floating wreckage. Then it was that the signals were exchanged and the warships started toward the island. The swiftness of them, the Tonant, a French cruiser forged ahead while the others forced their draught in an effort to catch up with her. The Tonant, in the risk of being blown to pieces in turn, penetrated the danger zone half a mile and then ran up her flag while maneuvering to bring her heavy guns into action. From the bridge, the officers could see Kirk Harajay's band scattered on the rocks of the island. The occasion was an excellent one for getting a shot at them before the bombardment of their retreat was begun, and fire was open with the result that the pirates made a rush to get into the cavern. A few minutes later there was a shock, terrific enough to shake the sky down. Where the mountain had been, not but a heap of smoking crumbling rocks was to be seen. Backcup had become a group of jagged reefs against which the sea, that had been thrown back like a gigantic tidal wave, was beating and frothing. What was the cause of the explosion? Had it been voluntarily caused by the pirates when they realized that escape was impossible? The Tonant had not been seriously damaged by the flying rocks. Her boats were lowered and made towards all that was left of Backcup. The landing party explored the ruins and found a few horribly mangled corpses, not a vestige of the cavern was to be seen. One body and only one was found intact. It was lying on the northeast side of the reefs. In one hand, tightly clasped, was a notebook, the last line of which was incomplete. A close examination showed the man was still breathing. He was conveyed on board the Tonant, where it was learned from the notebook that he was Simon Hart. For some time his life was disbared of, but he was eventually brought round, and from the answers made to the questions addressed to him the following conclusion was revealed. Moved to his very soul at the sight of the tricolored flag, being at last conscious of the lesse patrie he was about to commit, Thomas Roche rushed through the passage to the magazine where a considerable quality of his explosive was stored. Then, before he could be prevented, brought about the terrible explosion which destroyed the island of Backcup. And now, Carcage and his pirates have disappeared, and with them Thomas Roche and the secret of his invention. End of Chapter 18 End of Facing the Flag by Jules Verne Translated by Cashile Hoey