"Jules Verne - The Mysterious Island" - читать интересную книгу автора (Verne Jules)

But, when only two fathoms off, terrible cries resounded from four pairs of lungs at once. The balloon, which had
appeared as if it would never again rise, suddenly made an unexpected bound, after having been struck by a tremendous
sea. As if it had been at that instant relieved of a new part of its weight, it mounted to a height of 1,500 feet, and here it
met a current of wind, which instead of taking it directly to the coast, carried it in a nearly parallel direction.

At last, two minutes later, it reproached obliquely, and finally fell on a sandy beach, out of the reach of the waves.

The voyagers, aiding each other, managed to disengage themselves from the meshes of the net. The balloon, relieved of
their weight, was taken by the wind, and like a wounded bird which revives for an instant, disappeared into space.

But the car had contained five passengers, with a dog, and the balloon only left four on the shore.

The missing person had evidently been swept off by the sea, which had just struck the net, and it was owing to this
circumstance that the lightened balloon rose the last time, and then soon after reached the land. Scarcely had the four
castaways set foot on firm ground, than they all, thinking of the absent one, simultaneously exclaimed, "Perhaps he will
try to swim to land! Let us save him! let us save him!"


Chapter 2

Those whom the hurricane had just thrown on this coast were neither aeronauts by profession nor amateurs. They were
prisoners of war whose boldness had induced them to escape in this extraordinary manner.

A hundred times they had almost perished! A hundred times had they almost fallen from their torn balloon into the
depths of the ocean. But Heaven had reserved them for a strange destiny, and after having, on the 20th of March,
escaped from Richmond, besieged by the troops of General Ulysses Grant, they found themselves seven thousand miles
from the capital of Virginia, which was the principal stronghold of the South, during the terrible War of Secession.
Their aerial voyage had lasted five days.

The curious circumstances which led to the escape of the prisoners were as follows:

That same year, in the month of February, 1865, in one of the coups de main by which General Grant attempted,
though in vain, to possess himself of Richmond, several of his officers fell into the power of the enemy and were
detained in the town. One of the most distinguished was Captain Cyrus Harding. He was a native of Massachusetts, a
first-class engineer, to whom the government had confided, during the war, the direction of the railways, which were so
important at that time. A true Northerner, thin, bony, lean, about forty-five years of age; his close-cut hair and his
beard, of which he only kept a thick mustache, were already getting gray. He had one-of those finely-developed heads
which appear made to be struck on a medal, piercing eyes, a serious mouth, the physiognomy of a clever man of the
military school. He was one of those engineers who began by handling the hammer and pickaxe, like generals who first
act as common soldiers. Besides mental power, he also possessed great manual dexterity. His muscles exhibited
remarkable proofs of tenacity. A man of action as well as a man of thought, all he did was without effort to one of his
vigorous and sanguine temperament. Learned, clear-headed, and practical, he fulfilled in all emergencies those three
conditions which united ought to insure human success--activity of mind and body, impetuous wishes, and powerful
will. He might have taken for his motto that of William of Orange in the 17th century: "I can undertake and persevere
even without hope of success." Cyrus Harding was courage personified. He had been in all the battles of that war. After
having begun as a volunteer at Illinois, under Ulysses Grant, he fought at Paducah, Belmont, Pittsburg Landing, at the
siege of Corinth, Port Gibson, Black River, Chattanooga, the Wilderness, on the Potomac, everywhere and valiantly, a
soldier worthy of the general who said, "I never count my dead!" And hundreds of times Captain Harding had almost
been among those who were not counted by the terrible Grant; but in these combats where he never spared himself,