Read Online Lost Republic by Paul B. Thompson - Free Book Online

not,” Captain Viega said gravely. “That is the good news—”
    â€œWhat is the bad news?” Emile called out.
    â€œWe can’t get off this—this obstruction.”
    The passengers took this news with puzzled calm. Mrs. Ellis, the only person not affected by the list, asked if they had hit an underwater object, like a submerged wreck.
    â€œWe are dead in the water,” said the captain. “Apparently we’ve struck something solid.”
    Hans ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “But there’s no dry land in the open sea!”
    The closest land, as of their last-known position, was still the south coast of Ireland. Greenland was still a long way off, and Canada even farther away.
    â€œMaybe there’s been an earthquake,” Mr. Chen said. “This bar could have risen from the bottom of the sea.”
    France didn’t believe this. The North Atlantic was very deep. Even the closest undersea mountains, the Mid-Atlantic Ridge, were hundreds of miles away. How could an earthquake, even a monumental one, raise the sea bottom hundreds of yards?
    Chen’s earthquake idea caught on. The woman from the engine room tour said a big quake could explain the loss of communications.
    â€œHow?” said Julie.
    â€œGround stations and power plants are wrecked,” she said.
    With an air of growing understanding, Leigh said, “And that’s why we can’t see the sun—dust raised by a quake is blotting it out!”
    Everyone began talking at once, loudly. Some people thought the whole world must have been destroyed, and they, the crew and passengers of the
Sir Guy Carleton,
were the last people on earth. Others, more skeptical, believed only Europe or North America was damaged. Disgusted by the growing hysteria, France worked his way to the low side of the room and tried to get out of the lounge. Emile followed him.
    On deck, they peered over the side at the turbulent water below. They couldn’t see any rocks or sand, but the ship was stuck hard on whatever was down there.
    â€œDo you believe this earthquake business?” Emile said, watching the swirling green water.
    â€œNo. It makes no sense.”
    â€œThen what did we hit?”
    France could not answer. He pushed away from the tilted rail, scanning the horizon. Not expecting to see anything, nonetheless he glimpsed something through the haze that made his heart beat faster.
    â€œMerde,”
he breathed. “Do you see?”
    Emile braced himself against the rail and followed the older boy’s pointing hand. In the pearl-colored haze he saw nothing, nothing, nothing—then he saw it, too.
    â€œLand!” he cried. “I see land!”
    France took up the cry, and soon the passengers were slipping and sliding out on deck with them. The boys thrust fingers at what they saw: a strip of sandy beach, backed by a dark shape, either trees or a rocky headland.
    Captain Viega elbowed his way to the rail. Through binoculars he scanned the thinning mist. He uttered an old Spanish word under his breath.
    â€œMy God,” he barely said aloud. “It is land!”
    With agonizing slowness, the veil of haze dissolved, revealing more details as it faded. The beach was real, lapped by small, calm waves. The dark objects beyond were trees, although hints of lighter-colored hills farther inland teased their eyes.
    A call from Chief Engineer Pascal took the ship’s officers away. The passengers set up regular positions along the listing deck, padding the deck and rails with cushions borrowed from the lounge. Near noon (by the ship’s clock; the sun was still not visible), Linh Prudhomme spotted land off the ship’s bow. Shortly after that, a matching peninsula was seen astern. Everyone marveled at the scene emerging around them. Somehow, the
Carleton
had steamed into an unknown bay and run herself hard aground.
    Captain Viega tried various measures to free them. He ran