Masters of the Sea: The Adventures of Verne's Mathias Sandorf - Softcover

Rios, George J.

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1450211984 ISBN 13: 9781450211987

Publisher: iUniverse, 2010

Synopsis

About the Book:

Jules Verne, the “Father of Modern Science Fiction,” is indeed immortal and eternally young across three centuries. In Masters of the Sea: The Adventures of Jules Verne’s Mathias Sandorf, we pay tribute to Verne, who inspired pioneers throughout the world for generations. Here, we take Verne’s ultimate prediction of communication with our friends of the watery deep to its outer limits. In fact, communication with these friends was heralded throughout the world when, in 2003, America used dolphins to clear mines designed to hamper the invasion from the port of Unn Qasr in southern Iraq.

For the first time, a pioneering research Preface underscores why and how Verne proclaimed Mathias Sandorf his greatest epic science fiction masterpiece. His dedication of the original work claims “…I tried to make of Mathias Sandorf my Monte Cristo of extraordinary science fiction adventures.”

Verne drew his Austrian heroic character, Dr. Mathias Sandorf, from the reality of the battleground of Germany’s conquests of Austria and France during the 30-year period prior to World War I.

About the Author: George J. Rios, M.P.A., Ph.D. has distinguished himself with nine Public Service appointments including three White House assignments spanning five presidential administrations and is a former New York City Commissioner. He renders a unique service to science-fiction aficionados with his scholarly researched and adapted translation of Jules Verne’s preeminent novel.

About this title

About the Author

George J. Rios, M.P.A., Ph.D. has distinguished himself with nine Public Service appointments including three White House assignments spanning five presidential administrations and is a former New York City Commissioner. He renders a unique service to science-fiction aficionados with his scholarly researched and adapted translation of Jules Verne's preeminent novel.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Masters of the Sea

The Adventures of Jules Verne's Mathias SandorfBy George J. Rios

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2010 George J. Rios
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4502-1198-7

Chapter One

A Messenger Pigeon

It was a clear afternoon in May of 1867, several miles north of Trieste, Austria. An emerald forest forms a link there with an Eastern spur of the Alps. Millions of evergreen pines converge into dense green foliage. There are no large beasts of prey, so these mossy woods teem with frolicking rabbits, foxes, squirrels, and deer that dart playfully among the conifers. Under the luxuriant foliage, the forest floor is carpeted with colorful flowers. Thousands of narcissus, lilies of the valley, primroses, hepatica, sunflowers, and morning-glories offer up fragrances that permeate the air. A joyous chorus of birds resounds through this glorious temple. The beautiful harmony beats on, like the pulse of eternity-until it is sacrilegiously interrupted.

The symphony reluctantly dies down. In its place is heard the beating and flapping of countless wings, rushing frightened upward, a rising flutter like an army on the march. Suddenly, streaking down out of the blinding sun at 180 miles per hour, six peregrine falcons tear into the flock of fleeing birds. These trained demons particularly chase after the beautiful feathered herons, flamingoes, and birds of paradise. They strike with clenched talons, ripping, slashing, and rending defenseless with the force of their impact.

The sky fills with bloodstained feathers. Death cries are cut short by the thud of falling bodies. Finally, a piercing whistle signals the massacre is over. Then silence prevails. The marauding falcons hover in the blue sky, the fierce orbs of their alert dark eyes contradicting their lofty bearing and nobility.

In a forest clearing below, fifteen aproned men busily collect the fallen birds with routine deftness, separating the feathers into large baskets. Trailing behind them are two bowmen, three women, and seven uniformed horsemen, their mounts richly harnessed. All but the two bowmen are gaily attired, as if they were on a Sunday picnic.

It was during the reign of Elizabeth I that feathers began to occupy an important place as accessories for women. Among the aristocracy of Austria, feather-gathering forays had become quite popular as a result. The women now busied themselves with the feathers, holding them up for inspection, giggling. One woman picked out a particularly attractive pair, while a second smiled in delight when she found matches for the pure white and jet-black male ostrich feathers adorning the brim of her hat. A third woman greedily snatched up more feathers and began attaching them to her already filled bonnet. Satisfied with the attentions of her two friends, she replaced her hat on her head with a flourish, evidently convinced she was beautiful. The horsemen, afraid of being considered discourteous, smiled dutifully.

The falconers blew their high-pitched whistles and the falcons began returning to their heavily gloved hands. Soft leather hoods called rufters covered each falcon's eyes, and soon the party was ready to depart. The two falconers dropped back and looked skyward, where a lone falcon stubbornly refused to obey the signal that the hunt was over. She hung in the air, her hooked bill toothed and notched, while far below, her master, Sarcany, narrowed his dark eyes. A fairly handsome man of twenty-five, he now looked cold and deadly. His Sicilian companion, Zirone, peered on with utter indifference.

Sarcany had no other name. He probably hailed from Tunisia or Tripoli, or some other North African region. Although his features were more white than black, no eye could discern on his face the inner stigma of contempt, dislike, and disgust that had bred within him a perpetual state of revolt against society. If physionomists claim-and they are right in most cases-that all deception shows against oneself in spite of cunning, Sarcany would give a categorical refutation to the proposition.

Looking at him, no one could tell what he was or what he had been. He did not provoke the aversion that greets thieves and rogues, and so he was more dangerous. His diverse experiences had taken him to many parts of the world and exposed him to a wide variety of people, including one of the wealthiest families of Trieste-that of Silas Toronthal, the banker.

Unlike the departing group, whose laughter may have been directed at him, Sarcany had a functional approach to his apparel. He dug his heel into the earth, as if to strike back at their laughter.

Zirone was thinner and shorter than Sarcany. A soldier of fortune, without faith of any kind and subservient to no law, Zirone was at the disposition of the first person who paid him well or the second who paid him better. He was as capable of giving bad advice as taking it, and certainly of assuring its execution. Where he was born he might have said, if he knew.

Some time ago, back in Sicily, the luck of a bohemian life had brought him together with Sarcany. Since then, they had stayed together through thick and thin, trying by hook and by crook to make one good fortune from their two bad ones. Zirone sported a full, cheerful, deep brown beard and a thick mat of dark hair. He had trouble concealing his natural deceitfulness, always betrayed by his half-closed eyes and swaying head. He wisely sought to conceal his true nature with constant chatter and a cheerful demeanor.

Today, Zirone sensed Sarcany's dark mood and spoke with considerable tact. Like a stoic sergeant, through gritted teeth, Zirone said, "Our luck is as bad as that falcon's hearing. You know what I'd like?"

"A girlfriend?" Sarcany replied.

Ignoring this jibe, Zirone continued, "I'd like to see your banker friend, Silas Toronthal, produce a fistful of money-a wad big enough to choke a horse. If we don't come up with some dough soon, our creditors are going to eat us alive, just like those falcons devoured those birds. Surely you know something that might give you a bargaining position, or a hold on that banker?"

Zirone noted carefully that Sarcany was still steely-eyed. "Listen to me well, Zirone. For the last time, I repeat, we can hope for nothing further from Silas Toronthal. He didn't become a successful banker by giving his money away. The few favors I did for him are filed under accounts closed. What I hold over him is best forgotten, since it would cause me even greater trouble. Besides, if I did have a grip on him, he'd already be paying capital, interest, and interest on the interest."

Sarcany looked up as if the subject had not changed. "As for the falcon, she hears better than you or I," he said. "She's as stubborn as a nagging wife."

During an all-night spree, with a last roll of the dice in a seedy gambling house, Lady Luck had turned her back on the pair, draining their purses. Providence was apparently in no hurry to come to their assistance, so they had decided to search for better luck by joining this excursion. They were motivated by the free lunch and the chance to make some interesting-if not immediately profitable-contacts.

Sarcany's thoughts now turned away from the previous night to the modest hotel near the Santa Maria Maggiore church, in the old part of Trieste, where they lodged. He was thinking of the hotelkeeper, who was yet unpaid and obviously annoyed by watching their debt grow day by day. A faint smile curled at the corner of his lip. "The hotelkeeper must be wondering how we have managed to stay out of his sight for an entire week now," he said.

Zirone smiled knowingly in response. He noticed a quick movement in Sarcany's eye and turned his attention in the direction of his gaze.

"Look," Sarcany cried. He pointed to a large cluster of trees as a small pigeon flew from behind them. The pigeon rose over the tree line above the clearing.

"That pigeon seems near exhaustion," Sarcany said. "See its erratic flight?"

Zirone now had the pigeon clearly in sight as it haltingly rose and dipped. Both men froze in the clearing as the pigeon rested briefly on the lower branches of a tree. In seconds, it was off again. The falcon too saw this plump, easy prey and began her deadly dive, intent on one more thrilling kill before her day came to an end.

A skilled archer, Sarcany quickly threaded his bow, took aim, and launched a pointed shaft that darted skyward with tremendous force. In the same instant the falcon struck the pigeon, grasping it in her claws, the arrow pierced her heart. It killed her instantly and brought both birds tumbling to the ground.

Zirone rushed to where the birds had fallen. With a perplexed look, he loosened the talons from the pigeon. "The pigeon lives," he said in amazement.

"Good. Hold him fast and look at his leg," said Sarcany as he stepped ruthlessly on the dead falcon, retrieving his arrow with a tug.

"Why, there's a message tied to its foot!" exclaimed Zirone.

"That's right," replied Sarcany. "This may well be the change in our luck we've been hoping for."

Zirone unfolded the note, and both men examined it with keen interest. The message it bore was written in some sort of code. There were five columns of letters and numbers:

G E L N D 2 J R 2 S 2 K 2 C E N E J 2 P E S I J L E D H J A O J M N H Z H Z M

"Doesn't look like our luck's changing at all," Zirone muttered. "I can make no sense of it."

Sarcany examined the note shrewdly. "Were this a love note, there would be no change in our luck," he said. "But this message requires a cipher, codebook, or grille, which in these times means something interesting is afoot-and it might well be turned to our advantage. Treat the pigeon gently, Zirone, while I make a copy of this cipher."

Zirone examined the pigeon's wings, which he found to be without lesion or rupture. Sarcany took a small notebook and pencil from his pocket and busily duplicated the message.

A half-hour later, Sarcany and Zirone had fed the pigeon and refastened the note to its leg. Since the pigeon had been coming from the north it was most likely heading for Trieste. In order to know exactly where the pigeon was heading, they needed to be at the highest point overlooking the city. Therefore, they returned to the metropolis and ascended to the Cathedral of Trieste, perched on the highest hill. From their vantage point in the belfry, a panoramic view of old and new Trieste-the number one port city of the Austrian empire-stretched out before them. Wherever the pigeon flew they were sure to see its destination and learn the location of the recipient of the message. With a gentle caress, Zirone said, "Go now, little messenger pigeon. Show us the way to good fortune." Almost as if in reply, the pigeon cooed. Perhaps it was the pigeon's way of saying thanks for its rescue. Zirone released the bird, and it fell quickly. For a moment they feared it could no longer fly. Then the pigeon, with its long wings and powerful muscles, caught the wind and rose confidently straight out over the city. The pigeon's instinctive sense of direction took it toward its original destiny.

"Ha, ha!" exclaimed Zirone as he carefully watched the flying dot. The pigeon was silhouetted against the whole city, the crimson sun that descended slowly toward the azure waters of the Adriatic, and the clouds that hung like cream puffs.

Sarcany voiced his apprehension. "There is an outside chance the pigeon was not heading for Trieste but for some point further down the coast."

"I see it! I see it still! Look!" cried Zirone. The pigeon descended swiftly to the top of an elegant old house and disappeared into an attic window. The house was near the old hospital and the public garden of Bellini. This public garden, one of the most famous and beautiful in Europe, boasted a wide assortment of flowers, fancy slopes, running waters, and terraces shaded by neatly trimmed trees. Thousands of pigeons congregated here, ensuring that no one would notice one occasionally slipping in and out of a nearby residence.

It did not take long for the two men to find the house, after quickly crossing Trieste on foot. As they approached, they saw that the house was a feudal chteau. They noted the owner's name on the gatepost:

DOCTOR MATHIAS SANDORF

Careful not to arouse suspicion, they set up a vigil from the Bellini garden. The location offered them perfect cover, while providing an unimpaired view. Shortly, they noticed an elderly manservant leaving the house and returning about an hour later with Count Ladislaw Zathmar. Within minutes these men were followed into the house by Professor tienne Bathory. But for the servant, whose name Sarcany did not know, the others were distinguished citizens of Trieste and easily identifiable. Sarcany had made it his business to know the landed gentry.

Satisfied with their vigil, Sarcany and Zirone returned to their residence, carefully avoiding their hotelkeeper. When they entered their room, they noticed that an envelope had been slipped under the door. As Sarcany opened it, he spoke calculatingly to Zirone, "Surely something is afoot. Dr. Mathias Sandorf is of high birth and one of the wealthiest men in Austria."

Sarcany started to laugh as he read the letter, fanning the money inside. He read it aloud for Zirone's sake: "Here is enough money to cover your creditors, with a little left over to get you to Sicily. Leave, and I hope I never hear from you again." It was signed only S, for Silas Toronthal.

"Good Lord!" cried Zirone. "One should never despair of men of finance."

"Precisely," Sarcany responded.

They were interrupted by the sound of a key turning in the door lock. The hotelkeeper entered with an air of confidence, having caught up with them at last. He was a short, stubby fellow, very neatly attired, the picture-perfect innkeeper. "So ..."

Before he could continue, Sarcany interjected, "Well, there you are! We thought you were on vacation. Zirone, I told you there is no other concierge in all of Europe with so big and trusting a heart as our hotelkeeper. A lesser man would certainly have demanded payment by now. We appreciate your patience."

Sarcany counted out the money they owed and pressed it in the stunned hotelkeeper's hand, then gently steered him out and quickly closed the door.

Zirone could not contain the laughter he'd been stifling; it sprayed forth in spite of his effort to cover his mouth. After settling down, Zirone inquired of Sarcany, "So then, we will use this money to leave Trieste?"

With a cunning look on his face, Sarcany replied, "No ... we'll stay!"

Chapter Two

Mathias Sandorf

Dr. Mathias Sandorf was a Magyar who lived for one purpose only: to see his country, Austria, made free. His wealth derived from gold, silver, minerals, and precious stones from mines in the Central Alps and lead from Carinthia. Part of his fortune currently financed a revolution against the German occupation.

Dr. Mathias Sandorf was thirty-five years old. He was lean, yet muscular, with a proud and noble head. His face was warmed by a few well-worn wrinkles characteristic of his pure Magyar lineage. A perpetual smile played on his lips, and his firm, calm eyes signaled a frank and generous nature. It has been said that there exists a great analogy between the Magyar and the French character, and Mathias Sandorf was living proof. He was honest, just, and a devoted and loyal friend. He had not allowed his wealth to spoil him. At the University of Pesth, the Academy of Sciences at Presbourg, the Royal School of Mines at Schemnitz, and the Medical College of Terneswar, he had distinguished himself by graduating all his courses with highest praise-summa cum laude. A life of dedicated study had enhanced and solidified his natural qualities, making him a unique and very wholesome man. As a result, all those he met, especially his teachers, held him in the highest regard. Everyone respected him, and he had many friends throughout the country as well as abroad. But at present, his countenance betrayed the fact that his country was in turmoil.

The Franco-Italian War of 1859 had dealt a terrible blow to the Austrian army. Not only was Austria stripped of her Italian possessions but it was also subordinated to Germany, whose troops were everywhere. Italy offered to stay neutral in exchange for Venetia. Austria was at first too proud to make this sacrifice, but ultimately, it signed a treaty with Napoleon III on June 12, 1866, promising to surrender Venetia after the war.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Masters of the Seaby George J. Rios Copyright © 2010 by George J. Rios. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Edition details

• Publisher: iUniverse
• Publication date: 2010
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 1450211984
• ISBN 13: 9781450211987
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 252