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Alexander Belyaev

ISLAND OF LOST SHIPS

PART ONE

I. On deck

Big transatlantic steamer The Benjamin Franklin lay in Genoa harbor, ready to sail. On the shore there was the usual bustle, the cries of a multilingual, motley crowd could be heard, and on the ship there had already arrived a moment of that tense, nervous silence that involuntarily covers people before a long journey. Only on the third class deck were passengers fussily “sharing the cramped space,” settling in and stowing their belongings. The first class audience silently watched this human anthill from the height of their deck.

Shaking the air, the ship roared for the last time. The sailors hastily began to raise the ladder.

At that moment, two people quickly climbed onto the ladder. The one who followed behind made some kind of sign to the sailors with his hand, and they lowered the ladder.

Late passengers entered the deck. A well-dressed, slender and broad-shouldered young man, with his hands in the pockets of his wide coat, quickly walked towards the cabins. His clean-shaven face was completely calm. However, an observant person could notice from the stranger’s knitted eyebrows and slight ironic smile that this calm was an act. Following him, not lagging behind a single step, walked a plump middle-aged man. His bowler hat was pushed to the back of his head. His sweaty, rumpled face expressed simultaneously fatigue, pleasure and intense attention, like that of a cat carrying a mouse in its teeth. He never took his eyes off his companion for a second.

On the deck of the ship, not far from the gangway, stood a young girl in a white dress. For a moment, her eyes met the eyes of the late passenger who was walking ahead.

As this strange couple passed, the girl in the white dress, Miss Kingman, heard the sailor clearing the gangplank say to his companion, nodding towards the departing passengers:

Have you seen it? An old acquaintance, Jim Simpkins, a New York detective, caught some young fellow.

Simpkins? - answered the other sailor. - This one doesn’t hunt small game.

Yes, look how he's dressed. Some kind of specialist in bank safes, or worse.

Miss Kingman felt terrified. A criminal, perhaps a murderer, will be traveling on the same ship with her all the way to New York. Until now she had only seen portraits of these mysterious and scary people.

Miss Kingman hurried up to the upper deck. Here, among people of her own circle, in this place inaccessible to ordinary mortals, she felt relatively safe. Reclining on a comfortable wicker chair, Miss Kingman plunged into inactive contemplation - the best gift sea ​​travel for nerves tired of the city bustle. The tent covered her head from the hot rays of the sun. Above her, the leaves of the palm trees that stood in wide tubs between the chairs swayed quietly. From somewhere to the side came the aromatic smell of expensive tobacco.

Criminal. Who would have thought? - Miss Kingman whispered, still remembering the meeting at the gangway. And, in order to finally get rid of the unpleasant impression, she took out a small elegant ivory cigarette case, Japanese workmanship, with flowers carved on the lid, and lit an Egyptian cigarette. A blue stream of smoke reached up to the palm leaves.

The steamer was leaving, carefully making its way out of the harbor. It seemed as if the steamship was standing still, and the surrounding scenery was moving with the help of a rotating stage. Now all of Genoa turned to the side of the ship, as if wanting to appear to be leaving for the last time. White houses ran down from the mountains and crowded along the coastal strip, like a flock of sheep at a watering hole. And above them rose yellow-brown peaks with green spots of gardens and pine trees. But then someone turned the decoration around. A corner of the bay opened up - a blue mirror surface with crystal clear water. The white yachts seemed to be immersed in a piece of blue sky that had fallen to the ground - all the lines of the ship were so clearly visible through clear water. Endless schools of fish darted between yellowish stones and short algae on the white sandy bottom. Gradually the water became bluer until it hid the bottom...

How did you like your cabin, miss?

Miss Kingman looked back. In front of her stood the captain, who included in his duties the provision of kind attention to the most “dear” passengers.

Thank you Mister...

Mr. Brown, great. Shall we go to Marseille?

New York is the first stop. However, perhaps we will stay a few hours in Gibraltar. Have you ever wanted to visit Marseille?

“Oh, no,” Miss Kingman said hastily and even with fear. - I'm mortally tired of Europe. - And, after a pause, she asked: - Tell me, captain, do we have a criminal on our ship...?

What criminal?

Someone arrested...

It is possible that there are even several of them. The usual thing. After all, this public has a habit of fleeing from European justice to America, and from American justice to Europe. But detectives track them down and bring these lost sheep back to their homeland. There is nothing dangerous in their presence on the ship - you can be completely calm. They are brought in without shackles just to avoid public attention. But in the cabin they are immediately put in hand shackles and chained to their bunks.

But this is terrible,” said Miss Kingman.

The captain shrugged.

Neither the captain, nor even Miss Kingman herself understood the vague feeling that this exclamation aroused. It is terrible that people are chained like wild animals. The captain thought so, although he considered it a reasonable precaution.

It’s terrible that this young man, who looks so little like a criminal and is no different from the people of her circle, will sit shackled in a stuffy cabin all the way. This was the vague subconscious thought that worried Miss Kingman.

And, taking a long drag from her cigarette, she fell into silence.

The captain quietly moved away from Miss Kingman. The fresh sea wind played with the end of a white silk scarf and her chestnut curls.

Even here, several miles from the harbor, the aroma was wafting blooming magnolias, as the last greetings from the Genoese coast. The giant steamer tirelessly cut through the blue surface, leaving behind a distant wavy trail. And the waves-stitches were in a hurry to mend the scar that had formed on the silken surface of the sea.

II. Stormy night

Check for the king. Checkmate.

Oh, may the shark swallow you! "You are a master of the game, Mr. Gatling," said the famous

The large transatlantic steamship Benjamin Franklin lay in Genoa harbor, ready to sail. On the shore there was the usual bustle, the cries of a multilingual, motley crowd could be heard, and on the ship there had already arrived a moment of that tense, nervous silence that involuntarily covers people before a long journey. Only on the third class deck were passengers fussily “sharing the cramped space,” settling in and stowing their belongings. The first class audience silently watched this human anthill from the height of their deck.

Shaking the air, the ship roared for the last time. The sailors hastily began to raise the ladder.

At that moment, two people quickly climbed onto the ladder. The one who followed behind made some kind of sign to the sailors with his hand, and they lowered the ladder.

Late passengers entered the deck. A well-dressed, slender and broad-shouldered young man, with his hands in the pockets of his wide coat, quickly walked towards the cabins. His clean-shaven face was completely calm. However, an observant person could notice from the stranger’s knitted eyebrows and slight ironic smile that this calm was an act. Following him, not lagging behind a single step, walked a plump middle-aged man. His bowler hat was pushed to the back of his head. His sweaty, rumpled face expressed simultaneously fatigue, pleasure and intense attention, like that of a cat carrying a mouse in its teeth. He never took his eyes off his companion for a second.

On the deck of the ship, not far from the gangway, stood a young girl in a white dress. For a moment, her eyes met the eyes of the late passenger who was walking ahead.

As this strange couple passed, the girl in the white dress, Miss Kingman, heard the sailor clearing the gangplank say to his companion, nodding towards the departing passengers:

Have you seen it? An old acquaintance, Jim Simpkins, a New York detective, caught some young fellow.

Simpkins? - answered the other sailor. - This one doesn’t hunt small game.

Yes, look how he's dressed. Some kind of specialist in bank safes, or worse.

Miss Kingman felt terrified. A criminal, perhaps a murderer, will be traveling on the same ship with her all the way to New York. Until now, she had only seen portraits of these mysterious and terrible people in newspapers.

Miss Kingman hurried up to the upper deck. Here, among people of her own circle, in this place inaccessible to ordinary mortals, she felt relatively safe. Reclining on a comfortable wicker chair, Miss Kingman plunged into inactive contemplation - the best gift of sea travel for nerves tired of the bustle of the city. The tent covered her head from the hot rays of the sun. Above her, the leaves of the palm trees that stood in wide tubs between the chairs swayed quietly. From somewhere to the side came the aromatic smell of expensive tobacco.

Criminal. Who would have thought? - Miss Kingman whispered, still remembering the meeting at the gangway. And, in order to finally get rid of the unpleasant impression, she took out a small elegant ivory cigarette case, Japanese workmanship, with flowers carved on the lid, and lit an Egyptian cigarette. A blue stream of smoke reached up to the palm leaves.

The steamer was leaving, carefully making its way out of the harbor. It seemed as if the steamship was standing still, and the surrounding scenery was moving with the help of a rotating stage. Now all of Genoa turned to the side of the ship, as if wanting to appear to be leaving for the last time. White houses ran down from the mountains and crowded along the coastal strip, like a flock of sheep at a watering hole. And above them rose yellow-brown peaks with green spots of gardens and pine trees. But then someone turned the decoration around. A corner of the bay opened up - a blue mirror surface with crystal clear water. The white yachts seemed to be immersed in a piece of blue sky that had fallen to the ground - all the lines of the ship were so clearly visible through the clear water. Endless schools of fish darted between yellowish stones and short algae on the white sandy bottom. Gradually the water became bluer until it hid the bottom...

How did you like your cabin, miss?

Miss Kingman looked back. In front of her stood the captain, who included in his duties the provision of kind attention to the most “dear” passengers.

Thank you Mister...

Mr. Brown, great. Shall we go to Marseille?

New York is the first stop. However, perhaps we will stay a few hours in Gibraltar. Have you ever wanted to visit Marseille?

“Oh, no,” Miss Kingman said hastily and even with fear. - I'm mortally tired of Europe. - And, after a pause, she asked: - Tell me, captain, do we have a criminal on our ship...?

What criminal?

Someone arrested...

It is possible that there are even several of them. The usual thing. After all, this public has a habit of fleeing from European justice to America, and from American justice to Europe. But detectives track them down and bring these lost sheep back to their homeland. There is nothing dangerous in their presence on the ship - you can be completely calm. They are brought in without shackles just to avoid public attention. But in the cabin they are immediately put in hand shackles and chained to their bunks.

But this is terrible! - Miss Kingman said.

The captain shrugged.

Neither the captain, nor even Miss Kingman herself understood the vague feeling that this exclamation aroused. It is terrible that people are chained like wild animals. The captain thought so, although he considered it a reasonable precaution.

It’s terrible that this young man, who looks so little like a criminal and is no different from the people of her circle, will sit shackled in a stuffy cabin all the way. This was the vague subconscious thought that worried Miss Kingman.

And, taking a long drag from her cigarette, she fell into silence.

The captain quietly moved away from Miss Kingman. The fresh sea wind played with the end of a white silk scarf and her chestnut curls.

Even here, several miles from the harbor, the aroma of blooming magnolias could be heard, like the last greeting of the Genoese shore. The giant steamer tirelessly cut through the blue surface, leaving behind a distant wavy trail. And the stitch-waves hurried to mend the scar formed on the silken surface of the sea.

Check for the king. Checkmate.

Oh, may the shark swallow you! “You play a masterful game, Mr. Gatling,” said the famous New York detective Jim Simpkins and annoyedly scratched behind his right ear. “Yes, you play great,” he continued. - But I still play better than you. You beat me at chess, but what a magnificent checkmate I gave you, Gatling, there in Genoa, when you, like a chess king, were holed up in the farthest cage of a destroyed house! You wanted to hide from me! In vain! Jim Simpkins will be found at the bottom of the sea. Here’s checkmate for you,” and, leaning back complacently, he lit a cigar.

Reginald Gatling shrugged.

You had too many pawns. You raised the entire Genoese police to their feet and waged a proper siege. No chess player will win a game with one king piece in his hand against all the opponent's pieces. And besides, Mr. Jim Simpkins, our party is not... over yet.

Do you think so? This chain hasn't convinced you yet? - and the detective touched the light but strong chain with which Gatling was chained by his left hand to the metal rod of the cot.

You are naive, like many brilliant people. Are chains logical proof? However, let's not go into philosophy.

And let's resume the game. “I demand revenge,” Simpkins finished.

It is unlikely that we will succeed. The pitching is intensifying and may mix up the pieces before we end the game.

How would you like to understand this, also in a figurative sense? - asked Simpkins, arranging the pieces.

As you wish.

The large transatlantic liner Benjamin Franklin sailed from Genoa to New York City. On board the liner there is detective Jim Simpkins, who is accompanying Reginald Gatlin, who is suspected of murder, to America. The ship is wrecked on the ocean. Sipkins and Gatling remain on the ship before they can evacuate, and the billionaire's daughter, Miss Viviana Kingman, also remains with them. With the current, the destroyed liner lands on an unfamiliar island located in the Sargasso Sea. This island was formed from the remaining parts of ships that had been washed up by waves for many years.

The inhabitants of the island are a dozen people who were also brought here by waves after a shipwreck. The main one on this island is Fergus Slayton. The personality of this hero is not as simple as it initially seems. Slayton immediately warmly welcomes newcomers to the island, but soon insists on marrying Viviana. The heroine, in turn, resists such pressure. Seeing all this, the persistent groom announces a kind of “groom selection” competition for Viviana. Fearing that the bride will choose one of those with whom she ended up on the island, Fergus orders them to be kept under lock and key. The ceremony begins, all the men living on the island appear before the heroine, but she did not choose anyone. After this, Fergus announced that the girl would be his wife. This could only be refuted by the one who defeats the “groom” in a duel. Meanwhile, the detective and Gatling are helped out of prison by an island resident named Turnip. After which Gatling was able to defeat Fergus in a duel.

To avoid revenge, our heroes and several other island residents decide to repair the eyeliner and escape. On the night of their escape, they are chased. Despite all the difficulties, the heroes manage to sail, and then a ship picks them up.

Upon arrival in the United States, Reginald and Viviana become spouses and plan to explore the Sargasso Sea and stop at the Island of Lost Ships along the way.

This story is about people and their inner secrets. He teaches not to judge a person by his first impression, to fight for his life and love.

Picture or drawing Island of Lost Ships

Other retellings for the reader's diary

• Summary Karamzin History of the Russian State

  “History of the Russian State” by Nikolai Mikhailovich Karamzin represents 12 volumes of historical and literary long-term work. In this work, the author reveals the historical side of his native state

• Summary of Mother Courage and her children (Brecht)

  Germany is entering a destructive Thirty Years' War. The conflict has dragged on for so long that many people no longer remember peacetime. Mother Courage is the name of Bavarian Anna Vierling.

"Island lost ships» - an adventure novel by the famous Russian Soviet science fiction writer Alexander Belyaev. The novel was first published in 1926 in the World Pathfinder magazine.

Story

In 1923, Alexander Belyaev moved from Yalta to Moscow, where he worked as a legal adviser at the People's Commissariat for Postal Service. He lived in Moscow with his family until 1928 before moving to Leningrad. During this period of his work, he wrote the story (later the novel) “The Head of Professor Dowell”, the novels “The Island of Lost Ships”, “The Last Man from Atlantis”, “Amphibian Man”, “Struggle in the Air” and a series of short stories.

The novel “The Island of Lost Ships” was first published in 1926-1927 (magazine “World Pathfinder”, 1926, No. 3-4; 1927, No. 6; separate publication - M., “ZiF”, 1927; 1929).

Plot

The large transatlantic ship Benjamin Franklin departs Genoa for New York. Detective Simpkins is on board, transporting the arrested criminal Gatling to the United States. During a storm, the ship begins to sink, but due to the sluggishness of the detective, they get onto the deck too late, when all the boats with the escaping passengers and crew have already sailed away. However, the ship did not sink and they, along with the rescued Miss Kingman, drift across the ocean until the current takes them to the center of the Sargasso Sea. It turned out that a whole island was formed here from the remains of ships of all times and peoples brought here over many centuries, the Island of Lost Ships. A colony of several dozen inhabitants, victims of shipwrecks, formed on the island. Fergus Slayton, the governor of the island, decided to take the newly arrived Miss Kingman as his wife, and only Gatling’s courage saved her from this fate. To avoid Slayton's revenge, Gatling and several inhabitants decide to repair the German submarine and escape from the island. He succeeds and soon they are picked up by an American steamer, where Simpkins finds out that the crime for which Gatling was accused has been solved and the criminal has been punished.

Upon arriving in America, Vivian Kingman marries Gatling. Soon they decide to equip a scientific expedition to the Sargasso Sea. They are joined by Simpkins, who is trying to get documents on the Island of Lost Ships and solve some kind of Slayton mystery. After a difficult journey, the expedition finds an island on which dramatic events unfolded after their escape. Considering Slayton killed in a shootout with the fugitives, Flores declared himself governor and ordered the construction of bridges to a small neighboring island from the remains of ships to solve the problem of housing and food, where the only wild inhabitant was discovered. However, Slayton survived and again seized power on the island. Only the arrival of the Gatling expedition influenced events and Slayton was imprisoned by the inhabitants in a cell. Simpkins found out that the feral inhabitant of the small island is younger brother Slayton Eduard Gortvan. While the expedition was exploring the island and its sea ​​creatures Slayton escaped, but during his siege, Hao-Zhen, constantly under the influence of opium, blew up one of the ships. As a result of the explosion, oil from the steamship's tanks caught fire and destroyed the Island.

Plot Features

The novel is based on an unusual region of the Atlantic Ocean, the so-called Sargasso Sea, formed by characteristic circular ocean currents. Numerous sargassum algae made this area almost impassable for sailors.

Characters

• Viviana Kingman- daughter of a wealthy American industrialist
• Reginald Gatling- prisoner on a ship
• Jim Simpkins- detective
• inhabitants of the Island of Lost Ships:
  • Aristide Daudet "Turnip"
  • Flores
  • Fergus Slayton (Abraham Gortvan)- governor of the island
  • Maggie Flores- Flores's wife
  • Professor Lueders
  • O'Gara
  • Bocco
  • Hao-Zhen
  • Eduard Gortvan- Abraham's younger brother
• Thomson- professor-oceanographer
• Murray- captain of the ship "Caller"

Film adaptations

• In 1987, a musical of the same name was filmed based on the novel.
• In 1994, based on the novel, the dystopian film “Rains on the Ocean” was shot.

Links

• Alexander Belyaev. The Island of Lost Ships (text of the novel on the Lib.Ru website).
• Svetlana Belyaeva “A star twinkles outside the window...” (Alexander Romanovich Belyaev Novels. Novels. Stories / Library of World Literature. M., Eksmo, 2008.)

Wikimedia Foundation.

• 2010.
• Error Island

Island of the Rusty General

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Current page: 1 (book has 9 pages in total)

Alexander Belyaev
Island of Lost Ships

Part one

I
On deck

The large transatlantic steamship Benjamin Franklin lay in Genoa harbor, ready to sail. On the shore there was the usual bustle, the cries of a multilingual, motley crowd could be heard, and on the ship there had already arrived a moment of that tense, nervous silence that involuntarily covers people before a long journey. Only on the third class deck were passengers fussily “sharing the cramped space,” settling in and stowing their belongings. The first class audience silently watched this human anthill from the height of their deck.

Shaking the air, the ship roared for the last time. The sailors hastily began to raise the ladder.

At that moment, two people quickly climbed onto the ladder. The one who followed behind made some kind of sign to the sailors with his hand, and they lowered the ladder.

Late passengers entered the deck. A well-dressed, slender and broad-shouldered young man, with his hands in the pockets of his wide coat, quickly walked towards the cabins. His clean-shaven face was completely calm. However, an observant person could notice from the stranger’s knitted eyebrows and slight ironic smile that this calm was an act. Following him, not lagging behind a single step, walked a plump middle-aged man. His bowler hat was pushed to the back of his head. His sweaty, rumpled face expressed simultaneously fatigue, pleasure and intense attention, like that of a cat carrying a mouse in its teeth. He never took his eyes off his companion for a second.

On the deck of the ship, not far from the gangway, stood a young girl in a white dress. For a moment, her eyes met the eyes of the late passenger who was walking ahead.

As this strange couple passed, the girl in the white dress, Miss Kingman, heard the sailor clearing the gangplank say to his companion, nodding towards the departing passengers:

-Have you seen it? An old acquaintance, Jim Simpkins, a New York detective, caught some young fellow.

- Simpkins? - answered the other sailor. “This one doesn’t hunt small game.”

- Yes, look how he’s dressed. Some kind of specialist in bank safes, or worse.

Miss Kingman felt terrified. A criminal, perhaps a murderer, will be traveling on the same ship with her all the way to New York. Until now, she had only seen portraits of these mysterious and terrible people in newspapers.

Miss Kingman hurried up to the upper deck. Here, among people of her own circle, in this place inaccessible to ordinary mortals, she felt relatively safe. Reclining on a comfortable wicker chair, Miss Kingman plunged into idle contemplation - the best gift of sea travel for nerves tired of the bustle of the city. The tent covered her head from the hot rays of the sun. Above her, the leaves of palm trees, standing in wide tubs between the chairs, swayed quietly. From somewhere to the side came the aromatic smell of expensive tobacco.

- Criminal. Who would have thought? – Miss Kingman whispered, still remembering the meeting at the gangway. And, in order to finally get rid of the unpleasant impression, she took out a small elegant ivory cigarette case, Japanese workmanship, with flowers carved on the lid, and lit an Egyptian cigarette. A blue stream of smoke reached up to the palm leaves.

The steamer was leaving, carefully making its way out of the harbor. It seemed as if the steamship was standing still, and the surrounding scenery was moving with the help of a rotating stage. Now all of Genoa turned to the side of the ship, as if wanting to appear to be leaving for the last time. White houses ran down from the mountains and crowded along the coastal strip, like a flock of sheep at a watering hole. And above them rose yellow-brown peaks with green spots of gardens and pine trees. But then someone turned the decoration around. A corner of the bay opened up - a blue mirror surface with crystal clear water. The white yachts seemed to be immersed in a piece of blue sky that had fallen to the ground - all the lines of the ship were so clearly visible through the clear water. Endless schools of fish darted between yellowish stones and short algae on the white sandy bottom. Gradually the water became bluer until it hid the bottom...

- How did you like your cabin, miss?

Miss Kingman looked back. In front of her stood the captain, who included in his duties the provision of kind attention to the most “dear” passengers.

- Thank you, Mister...

- Mr. Brown, great. Shall we go to Marseille?

– New York is the first stop. However, perhaps we will stay a few hours in Gibraltar. Have you ever wanted to visit Marseille?

“Oh, no,” Miss Kingman said hastily and even with fear. – I’m mortally tired of Europe. “And, after a pause, she asked: “Tell me, captain, do we have a criminal on our ship?”

-What criminal?

- Some arrestee...

– It’s possible that there are even several of them. The usual thing. After all, this public has a habit of fleeing from European justice to America, and from American justice to Europe. But detectives track them down and bring these lost sheep back to their homeland. There is nothing dangerous in their presence on the ship - you can be completely calm. They are brought in without shackles just to avoid public attention. But in the cabin they are immediately put in hand shackles and chained to their bunks.

- But this is terrible! - Miss Kingman said.

The captain shrugged.

Neither the captain, nor even Miss Kingman herself understood the vague feeling that this exclamation aroused. It is terrible that people are chained like wild animals. The captain thought so, although he considered it a reasonable precaution.

It’s terrible that this young man, who looks so little like a criminal and is no different from the people of her circle, will sit shackled in a stuffy cabin all the way. This was the vague subconscious thought that worried Miss Kingman.

And, taking a long drag from her cigarette, she fell into silence.

The captain quietly moved away from Miss Kingman. The fresh sea wind played with the end of a white silk scarf and her chestnut curls.

Even here, several miles from the harbor, the aroma of blooming magnolias could be heard, like the last greeting of the Genoese shore. The giant steamer tirelessly cut through the blue surface, leaving behind a distant wavy trail. And the stitch-waves hurried to mend the scar formed on the silken surface of the sea.

II
Stormy night

- Check the king. Checkmate.

- Oh, may the shark swallow you! “You play a masterful game, Mr. Gatling,” said the famous New York detective Jim Simpkins and annoyedly scratched behind his right ear. “Yes, you play great,” he continued. - But I still play better than you. You beat me at chess, but what a magnificent checkmate I gave you, Gatling, there in Genoa, when you, like a chess king, were holed up in the farthest cage of a destroyed house! You wanted to hide from me! In vain! Jim Simpkins will be found at the bottom of the sea. Here’s checkmate for you,” and, leaning back complacently, he lit a cigar.

Reginald Gatling shrugged.

-You had too many pawns. You raised the entire Genoese police to their feet and waged a proper siege. No chess player will win a game with one king piece in his hand against all the opponent's pieces. And besides, Mr. Jim Simpkins, our party is not... over yet.

- Do you think so? This chain hasn't convinced you yet? – and the detective touched the light but strong chain with which Gatling was chained by his left hand to the metal rod of the cot.

– You are naive, like many brilliant people. Are chains logical proof? However, let's not go into philosophy.

- And let's resume the game. “I demand revenge,” Simpkins finished.

“We’re unlikely to succeed.” The pitching is intensifying and may mix up the pieces before we end the game.

– How would you like to understand this, also in a figurative sense? – asked Simpkins, arranging the pieces.

- As you wish.

“Yes, it shakes thoroughly,” and he made his move.

The cabin was stuffy and hot. It was placed below the waterline, not far from engine room, which, like a powerful heart, shook the walls of the nearby cabins and filled them with rhythmic noise. The players fell into silence, trying to maintain the balance of the chessboard.

The pitching intensified. The storm was playing out in earnest. The steamer lay on its left side and slowly rose. Again... More... Like a drunk...

The chess flew. Simpkins fell to the floor. Gatling was held back by the chain, but it painfully jerked his hand near the wrist, where the “bracelet” was.

Simpkins swore and sat down on the floor.

- It’s more stable here, you know, Gatling, I don’t feel good... that... seasickness. Never before have I endured such a devilish rocking. I'll go to bed. But... you won’t run away if I feel bad?

“Certainly,” Gatling answered, laying down on the bed. “I’ll break the chain and run away... throw myself into the waves.” I prefer the company of sharks...

-You're kidding, Gatling. “Simpkins crawled to the bed and lay down, groaning.

Before he had time to stretch out, he was thrown out of bed again by a terrible jolt that shook the entire ship. Somewhere there was a crackling, ringing, noise, and humming sound. Screams and stamping of feet were heard from above, and, drowning out all this discordant noise, a siren suddenly buzzed alarmingly, giving the signal: “Everyone up!”

Overcoming fatigue and weakness, clinging to the walls, Simpkins went to the door. He was mortally frightened, but tried to hide it from his companion.

- Gatling! Something happened there. I'm going to have a look. Sorry, but I have to lock you up! - Simpkins shouted.

Gatling looked at the detective contemptuously and did not answer.

The rolling continued, but even with this rolling one could notice that the ship was slowly sinking with its bow.

A few minutes later Simpkins appeared at the door. Streams of water flowed from his raincoat. The detective's face was distorted with horror, which he no longer tried to hide.

- A disaster... We are drowning... The steamer has a hole... Although no one really knows anything... They are preparing the boats... the order has been given to put on life belts... But no one is yet allowed to board the boats. They say that the ship has some kind of bulkheads, maybe it won’t sink yet, if they do something like that, God knows what... And the passengers fight with the sailors who drive them away from the boats... But to me, to me... then what do you want me to do? - he shouted, attacking Gatling with such an air as if he was the culprit of all his misadventures... - What do you want me to do? Save yourself and keep an eye on you? We may end up in different boats, and you might run away.

– Doesn’t this calm you down? – Gatling asked mockingly, showing the chain with which he was chained.

“I can’t stay with you, damn it.”

- In a word, do you want to save yourself, me and the ten thousand dollars that you were promised for my capture? I'm very sorry for your predicament, but I can't help you.

“You can, you can... Listen, my dear,” and Simpkins’ voice became ingratiating. Simpkins cowered all over, like a beggar begging for alms - give your word... just give your word that you will not run away from me on the shore, and I will immediately unlock and take the chain off your hand... just give your word. I believe you.

- Thank you for your trust. But I won’t give any word. However, no: I’ll run away as soon as possible. I can give you this word.

- Oh!..Have you seen anyone like that?..What if I leave you here, stubborn guy? - And, without waiting for an answer, Simpkins rushed to the door. Clinging, climbing and falling, he climbed the steep stairs to the deck, which, despite the night, was brightly lit by arc lamps. He was immediately hit by a curtain of rain, which was tossed by a stormy wind. The stern of the ship stood above the water, the bow was flooded with waves. Simpkins looked around the deck and saw that the discipline that had still existed a few minutes ago had been overthrown like a light barrier by the furious pressure of that primitive, animal feeling called the instinct of self-preservation. Exquisitely dressed men, who yesterday with gallant courtesy provided minor services to the ladies, now trampled on the bodies of these ladies, punching their way to the boats with their fists. The strongest won. The sound of the siren merged with the inhuman roar of a maddened herd of two-legged animals. Crushed bodies, torn corpses, and shreds of clothing flashed by.

Simpkins lost his head, a hot wave of blood flooded his brain. There was a moment when he himself was ready to rush into the dump. But the thought of ten thousand dollars, flashing even at that moment, held him back. He rolled head over heels down the stairs, flew into the cabin, fell, rolled to the door, crawled to the beds and silently, with trembling hands, began to open the chain.

- Up! – the detective let Gatling go ahead and followed him.

When they got out on deck, Simpkins screamed in helpless rage: the deck was empty. On the huge waves, illuminated by the lights of the portholes, the last boats, crowded with people, flashed by. There was no point in even thinking about getting to them by swimming.

The sides of the boats were covered with the hands of the drowned. The blows of knives, fists and oars, revolver bullets rained down from the boats onto the heads of the unfortunate people, and the waves swallowed them up.

- All because of you! - Simpkins shouted, shaking his fist in front of Gatling's nose.

But Gatling, not paying any attention to the detective, walked up to the side and carefully looked down. Right next to the ship, the waves rocked the woman's body. With her last efforts she stretched out her arms and, when the waves washed her against the steamer, she tried in vain to cling to the iron plating.

Gatling threw off his cloak and jumped overboard.

- Do you want to run? You will be responsible for this. “And, taking out his revolver, he pointed it at Gatling’s head. “I will shoot the first time you try to sail away from the ship.”

- Don’t talk nonsense and throw the end of the rope quickly, you idiot! - Gatling shouted back, grabbing the hand of the drowning woman, who was already losing consciousness.

“He also gives orders,” shouted the detective, clumsily dangling the end of the rope. – Insulting an official in the performance of official duties!

Miss Viviana Kingman came to her senses in the cabin. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes.

Simpkins bowed gallantly:

- Let me introduce myself: Agent Jim Simpkins. And this is Mr. Reginald Gatling, under my care, so to speak...

Kingman didn't know how to handle herself in the company of an agent and a criminal. Kingman, the daughter of a billionaire, had to share company with these people. In addition, she owes her salvation to one of them, she should thank him. But extending your hand to a criminal? No no! Fortunately, she is still too weak, she cannot move her arm... well, of course she cannot. She moved her hand without raising it and said in a weak voice:

- Thank you, you saved my life.

“It’s the duty of each of us,” Gatling answered without any show. – Now you need to rest. You can rest assured: the ship floats well on the water and will not sink. “Tugging at Simpkins’ sleeve, he said, “Let’s go.”

- On what basis did you begin to dispose of me? - the detective grumbled, following, however, Gatling. “Don’t forget that you are an arrested person, and at any moment I can legally put handcuffs on you and deprive you of your freedom.”

Gatling came close to Simpkins and said calmly but impressively:

“Listen, Simpkins, if you don’t stop talking your nonsense, I’ll take you by the collar, like this, and throw you overboard like a blind kitten, along with your automatic pistol, which is as much of an eyesore to me as you are.” Do you understand? Put your weapon in your pocket now and follow me. We need to prepare breakfast for Miss and find a bottle of good wine.

- The devil knows what it is! Do you want to make me a maid and cook? Shine her shoes and give her pins?

– I want you to talk less and do more. Well, turn around!

III
In the water desert

- Tell me, Mr. Gatling, why didn’t the ship sink? - asked Miss Kingman, sitting with Gatling on the deck, all illuminated by the morning sun. All around, as far as the eye could see, there was water surface ocean like an emerald desert.

“Modern ocean-going steamships,” answered Gatling, “are equipped with internal bulkheads or walls.” When there are holes, water fills only part of the steamer, without penetrating further. And if the damage is not too great, the ship can float on the surface even with large holes.

– But why then did the passengers leave the ship?

“No one could say whether the ship would survive to be able to float on the surface.” Look: the keel has gone into the water. The stern rose so that the propeller blades were visible. The deck is inclined at an angle of almost thirty degrees to the surface of the ocean. It’s not very convenient to walk along this slope, but it’s still better than floundering in the water. We got off cheap. The ship has huge reserves of food and water. And if we are not too far from the ocean routes, we may soon meet some ship that will pick us up.

However, days after days passed, and the blue desert remained just as dead. Simpkins opened his eyes, peering into the sea.

Monotonous days passed.

Miss Kingman very soon took on the role of hostess. She was busy in the kitchen, washed clothes, kept order in the dining room and the “salon” - a small cozy cabin where they liked to spend the evenings before bed.

The difficult question of how to maintain and position herself in a new, alien society for her, was somehow resolved by itself. She treated Simpkins with a good-natured, ironic attitude; she established simple, friendly relations with Gatling. Moreover, Gatling interested her in the mystery of his fate and nature. Out of a sense of tact, she not only never asked Gatling about his past, but also did not allow Simpkins to talk about it, although Simpkins tried more than once, in Gatling’s absence, to talk about his terrible “crime.”

They willingly talked with each other in the evenings, at sunset, having finished with their small household. Simpkins stood on his watchtower, looking for the steamer's smoke as a harbinger of salvation, professional triumph and promised reward.

From these conversations, Miss Kingman could be convinced that her interlocutor was educated, tactful and well-mannered. Conversations with the witty Miss Kingman apparently gave Gatling great pleasure. She recalled her trip to Europe and made him laugh with the unexpected characteristics of what she saw.

- Switzerland? This is a mountain pasture for tourists. I myself have traveled all over the world, but I hate these ruminant bipeds with Badaker for a tail. They devoured all the beauty of nature with their eyes.

Vesuvius? Some short guy who puffs on a crappy cigar and puts on airs of importance. You haven't seen mountain range Colorado? Has Peak, Lone Peak, Aranjo Peak - these are the mountains. I'm not even talking about such giants as Mount Everest, which has an altitude of 8800 meters. Vesuvius is a puppy compared to them.

Venice? Only frogs can live there. The gondolier took me along the main canals, wanting to show off the goods - all these palaces, statues and other beauties that had turned green from the damp, and big-eyed Englishwomen. But I ordered him to take me to one of the small canals - I don’t know if I said it right, but the gondolier understood me and, after repeating the order, he reluctantly directed the gondola into the narrow canal. I wanted to see how the Venetians themselves lived. After all, this is horror. The canals are so narrow that you can shake hands with the neighbor opposite. The water in the canals smells of mold, orange peels and all kinds of rubbish that are thrown out of the windows float on the surface. The sun never looks into these stone gorges. And the children, unfortunate children! They have nowhere to frolic. Pale, rickety, they sit on the windowsills, risking falling into the dirty canal, and look with childish melancholy at the passing gondola. I'm not even sure if they can walk.

– But what did you like in Italy?..

Here their conversation was interrupted in the most unexpected way:

- Hands up!

They looked back and saw Simpkins in front of them with a revolver pointed at the Gatling gun's chest.

The detective had been listening to their conversation for a long time, waiting to see if Gatling would let slip about his crime. Convinced of the innocence of the conversation, Simpkins decided to take on a new role - “preventer and suppressor of crimes.”

“Miss Kingman,” he began pompously, “it is my duty and the duty of an honest man to warn you of the danger.” I can't have these conversations in private anymore. I must warn you, Miss Kingman, that Gatling... dangerous criminal. And dangerous, first of all, for you, women. He killed the young lady, first entangling her in the net of his eloquence. He killed and fled, but was caught by me, Jim Simpkins,” he finished and looked with pride at the effect produced.

It cannot be said that the effect was the one he expected.

Miss Kingman was indeed embarrassed, agitated and offended, but more by his unexpected and rude intrusion than by his speech.

And Reginald Gatling did not at all look like a criminal killed by exposure. With his usual calm he approached Simpkins. Despite the pointed gun, after a short struggle he pulled out and threw the revolver aside, quietly saying:

“Obviously, the ten thousand dollars promised to you for the pleasure of some people to see me put in the electric chair is still not enough for you.” Only the presence of Miss keeps me from dealing with you as you deserve!

Miss Kingman broke up the quarrel.

“Give me your word,” she said, approaching them and turning more to Simpkins, “so that such scenes will not be repeated.” Don't worry about me, Mr. Simpkins, I don't need guardianship. Leave your scores until we come down to earth. There are three of us here - only three among the boundless ocean. Who knows what still awaits us? Perhaps each of us will be necessary for the other in a moment of danger. It's getting damp, the sun has set. It's time to leave. Good night!

And they went to their cabins.