Mathias Sandorf

There are people who give a good deal of employment to fame—that woman of a hundred mouths whose trumpets blare forth their names toward the four cardinal points of the earth.

This was so in the case of the celebrated Dr. Antekirtt, who had just arrived in the harbor of Gravosa. His arrival had been signalized by an incident which would have been enough to attract public attention to the most ordinary traveler. And he was not an ordinary traveler.

For several years there had been woven around Dr. Antekirtt a sort of legend in all the legendary countries of the extreme East. Asia from the Dardanelles to the Suez Canal, Africa from Suez to Tunis, the Red Sea along the whole Arab coast, resounded with his name as that of a man of extraordinary knowledge in the physical sciences, a sort of gnostic or taleb who possessed the last secrets of the universe. In earlier times he would have been called an Epiphane; in the countries of the Euphrates he would have been venerated as a descendant of the ancient Magians.

How much of this reputation was undeserved? All that would make the Magian a magician, all that would attribute to him supernatural power. The truth is that Dr. Antekirtt was a man, nothing but a man of high education, powerful mind, shrewd judgment, great penetration and marvelous perspicacity, who had been remarkably served by circumstances. For example, in one of the central provinces of Asia Minor he had been able by a discovery of his own to save a whole population from a terrible epidemic up to then considered to be contagious; and in consequence his fame was unequaled.

One thing that contributed to his celebrity was the impenetrable mystery which surrounded him. Whence came he? No one knew. What had been his history? None could say. Where had he lived, and how? All that was certain about Dr. Antekirtt was that he was adored by the people in Asia Minor and Eastern Africa, that he was held to be a physician of wonderful skill, that the report of his extraordinary cures had even reached the great scientific centers of Europe, and that his attentions were as freely bestowed on the poorest as on the richest men and pashas of these provinces. But he had never been seen in the West, and for many years his place of residence was unknown; and hence the propensity to regard him as some mysterious avatar, some Hindoo incarnation, some supernatural being curing by supernatural means.

But if Dr. Antekirtt had not yet practiced his art in the principal States of Europe, his reputation had preceded him. Although he had only arrived at Ragusa as an ordinary traveler—a wealthy tourist yachting in the Mediterranean—the news of his arrival soon spread through the town, and the accident so narrowly prevented by the courage of Cape Matifou had had the effect of still further arousing the public attention.

The yacht would have done credit to the wealthiest and most fastidious of nautical sportsmen. Her two masts without rake and placed well amidships, thus giving her the full benefit of a large mainsail and fore-staysail; her long bowsprit, with its two jibs; her yards on the foremast, and her powerful spars were designed for a sail plan that would drive her at immense speed. She was, as we have said, a schooner of about three hundred and fifty tons. Of long, fine lines, neither too broad in the beam, nor too deep in the draught, but of ample stability, she was a craft that in a seaman’s hands could be depended on in all weathers. In a decent breeze, either on or off the wind, she could easily reel off her thirteen knots an hour, and would have held her own in a match with any of the crack cruisers of the British clubs.

Her interior fittings were in keeping with her external appearance. The whiteness of her Canadian pine deck, without a knot in its planking; her companions and sky-lights of teak, with their brass-work as bright as gold; her beautifully carved helm; her spare spars under their white cases; her taut halyards and running rigging contrasting with her galvanized iron shrouds and stays; her varnished boats hanging gracefully from their davits, the brilliant black of her hull relieved only by a plain gold ribbon, combined to make her a vessel of exquisite taste and extreme elegance.

This yacht is of considerable importance in our story. She was the floating home of that mysterious personage—its hero. Below, luxury strove with comfort. The cabins and saloons were decorated regardless of cost. The carpets and hangings and the rest of the furniture were ingeniously adapted for all the requirements of pleasure navigation; and this was shown not only in the cabins but even in the pantry, where the silver and porcelain services were kept secure from the movement of the ship, in the galley which was a picture of Dutch cleanliness, and in the crew’s quarters. The men, numbering about twenty, were dressed like Maltese sailors, with short trousers, sea boots, striped shirts, brown waistbands, red caps and guernseys—on which in white letters there appeared the initials of the schooner’s name and that of her proprietor.

But to what port did this yacht belong? On what register had she been entered? In what Mediterranean country did she lay up for the winter? What was her nationality? No one knew, just as no one knew the nationality of the doctor! A green flag with a red cross in the upper corner floated at her gaff. And the flags of all nations could be sought through in vain for such an ensign. Nevertheless the officer of the port before Dr. Antekirtt came ashore had had the papers sent to them, and doubtless found them all in due order, for after the visit of the health officers they had given her free pratique.

But what was this schooner’s name? There was written on her counter in the neatest of gold lettering the solitary word “Savarena.”

Such was the splendid pleasure craft that was now the admired of all in the harbor of Gravosa. Point Pescade and Cape Matifou, who in the morning were to be received on board by Dr. Antekirtt, regarded her with no less curiosity, and with a great deal more emotion than the sailors of the port. As natives of the coast of Provence they were well up in seafaring matters. Point Pescade especially regarded this gem of marine architecture with all the feeling of a connoisseur. And this is what they said to each other in the evening after they had closed their show:

“Ah!” said Cape Matifou.

“Oh!” said Point Pescade.

“Eh, Point Pescade?”

“Who said she wasn’t, Cape Matifou?”

And these words doing duty for admirative interjections were as expressive in the mouths of the two acrobats as others much longer could have been.

The “Savarena” was now anchored; her sails even stowed, her rigging was all coiled carefully down, and the awning had been pitched aft. She was moored across an angle of the harbor, and thus showed that rather a long stay was in contemplation.

During the evening Dr. Antekirtt contented himself with a short walk in the neighborhood of Gravosa. While Silas Toronthal and his daughter returned to Ragusa in their carriage, which had waited for them on the quay and the young man we have mentioned went back down the long avenue without waiting for the end of the fair then in full swing, the doctor strolled about the harbor. It is one of the best on the coast, and at the time contained a considerable amount of shipping of different nationalities. Then, after leaving the town, he followed the shore of the bay of Ombra Flumera, which extends for about thirty-six miles to the mouth of the little river Ombra, which is deep enough for vessels of moderate draught to ascend almost to the foot of the Vlastiza Mountains. About nine o’clock he returned to the jetty, where he watched the arrival of a large Lloyd mail steamer from the Indian Ocean. Then he returned on board, went down to his cabin, and remained there till the morning.

Such was his custom, and the captain of the “Savarena”—a seaman named Narsos, then in his fortieth year—had orders never to trouble the doctor during his hours of solitude.

It should be said that the officers and crew knew no more of the past history of the owner than outsiders. They were none the less devoted to him body and soul. Although the doctor would not tolerate the least infraction of discipline, he was very kind and liberal to all. And men were always ready to join the “Savarena.” Never was there a reprimand to give, a punishment to inflict, or a dismissal to effect. It was as though the schooner’s crew were all one family.

After the doctor had come aboard all arrangements were made for the night. The lights were got up fore and aft, the watch was set, and complete silence reigned on board.

The doctor was seated on a large couch in an angle of his apartment. On the table were a few newspapers that his servant had bought in Gravosa. The doctor ran them over carelessly, taking no note of the leaders, but picking out the facts and reading the shipping news and the fashionable movements. Then he threw the papers down, a sort of somnolent torpor gained upon him, and about eleven o’clock, without calling in his valet, he lay down, though it was some time before he slept.

And if we could have read the thought that especially troubled him we might have been surprised to find that it found shape in words as, “Who was that young man who bowed to Silas Toronthal on the quay at Gravosa?”

About eight o’clock next morning the doctor appeared on deck. The day promised to be magnificent. The sun was already shining on the mountain tops which form the background of the bay. The shadows were swiftly retreating to the shore across the surface of the waters, and very soon the sun shone direct on the “Savarena.”

Captain Narsos came up to the doctor to receive his orders, which, after a pleasant greeting, were given him in a very few words.

A minute afterward a boat left the schooner with four men and a coxswain and headed for the wharf, where she was to wait the convenience of Point Pescade and Cape Matifou.

It was a grand day and a grand ceremony in the nomadic existence of the two honest fellows who had wandered so many hundred miles away from that beloved Provence they so longed to see.

They were both on the jetty. They had changed their professional costume for ordinary clothes—rather worn, perhaps, but clean—and stood there looking at the yacht and admiring her as before. And they were in particularly good spirits. Not only had they supped last night, but they had breakfasted this morning; a piece of extravagance that could only be explained by their having taken the extraordinary amount of forty-two florins. But do not let it be thought that they had dissipated all their receipts. No! Point Pescade was prudent, and looked ahead, and life was assured them for a dozen days at the least.

“It’s to you we owe that, Cape Matifou!”

“Oh! Pescade!”

“Yes, you, you big man.”

“Well, yes, to me if you like!” answered Matifou.

The “Savarena’s” boat now came alongside the wharf. The coxswain rose, cap in hand, and hastened to say that he was “at the gentlemen’s orders.”

“Gentlemen! What gentlemen?” asked Point Pescade.

“Yourselves,” answered the coxswain. “You, whom Dr. Antekirtt is waiting for on board.”

“Good! You see we are gentlemen already,” said Point Pescade.

Cape Matifou opened his huge eyes and twirled his hat in his hands.

“When you are ready, gentlemen,” said the coxswain.

“Oh, we are quite ready—quite ready,” said Point Pescade, with a most affable bow.

And a moment afterward the two friends were comfortably seated on the black rug with red edging which covered the thwart, while the coxswain had taken his place behind them.

Of course the enormous weight of our Hercules brought the boat down four or five inches below her usual load-line. And the corners of the rug had to be turned in to prevent their dragging in the water. The four oars dipped, and the boat slipped quickly along toward the “Savarena.”

It must be admitted that the two passengers were rather excited and even shy. Such honors for a pair of mountebanks! Cape Matifou dared not stir. Point Pescade, with all his confusion, could not conceal that cheerful smile which always animated his intelligent face.

The boat passed round the schooner’s stern and stopped at the starboard gangway—the place of honor.

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