Impulse PG-68 - História

Impulse PG-68 - História



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Impulso

(PG-68: dp. 925; 1. 205'2 "; b. 33 '; dr. 14'6"; 9 .; 16 k .;
cpl. 89; uma. 1 4 ", 1 3"; cl. Tentadora)

Impulse (PG - 8) foi lançado por Cook, Welton e Gemmill, de Hull, Inglaterra, em 18 de setembro de 1940 como HMS Begonia., Serviu na Marinha Real até 1942 e comissionou Impulse em Londres em 16 de março de 1942, Tenente CM Lyons no comando.

Uma de um grupo de corvetas transferidas para a Marinha dos Estados Unidos sob Lend Lease reverso, Impulse partiu de Londonderry, Irlanda do Norte, em 15 de abril de 1942 como escolta de comboio. Após a chegada a Nova York, em 4 de maio, o navio seguiu para Norfolk e começou as operações regulares como um navio de escolta costeira de Norfolk para Rey West. Impul ~ e retornou a Nova York em 25 de agosto de 1942 para proteger a importante linha de abastecimento entre aquele porto e a Baía de Guantánamo, em Cuba. Nos 3 anos seguintes, ela fez repetidas viagens de escolta de e para Cuba, ajudando efetivamente a conter a ameaça do submarino alemão.

Impulse chegou a Boston em julho de 1945 para retornar à Royal Navy. Ela partiu em 1º de agosto e chegou a Harwich, Inglaterra, em 15 de agosto. Desativada em 22 de agosto de 1945, a corveta foi devolvida à Marinha Real e vendida em 1940.


HMS Begonia (M66)

Alus tilattiin 25. heinäkuuta 1939 East Yorkshirestä Beverleystä Cook, Welton e Gemmelliltä. Sen köli laskettiin 13. huhtikuuta 1940 ja alus laskettiin vesille 18. syyskuuta. Alus valmistui 3. maaliskuuta 1941. [1]

Alus luovutettiin Yhdysvaltain laivastolle nimellä USS Impulse.

Alus otettiin Yhdysvaltain laivaston palvelukseen 16. maaliskuuta 1942 Lontoossa ensimmäisenä päällikkönään C. M. Lyons. Se lähti 15. huhtikuuta Londonderrystä Pohjois-Irlannista saattueen mukana Yhdysvaltoihin ja alus saapui 4. toukokuuta New Yorkiin, mistä se jatkoi edelleen Norfolkiin. Alus aloitti palveluksensa suojaten rannikkosaattueita Norfolkista Key Westiin. Alus palasi New Yorkiin 25. elokuuta suojaamaan saattueita New Yorkista Kuubaan Guantanamonlahdelle. [2]

Alus saapui 6. heinäkuuta 1945 Bostoniin Britannialle palauttamista varten. Se lähti 1. elokuuta Harwichiin, jonne alus saapui 15. elokuuta. Alus poistettiin Yhdysvaltain laivaston palveluksesta 22. elokuuta ja se palautettiin Britannian kuninkaalliselle laivastolle, joka myi sen vuonna 1946. [2]


Проклятие острова Оук

Rick e Marty Lagina, dois irmãos de Michigan com um interesse ao longo da vida no mistério de Oak Island, renovam os esforços para descobrir o lendário tesouro com máquinas sofisticadas. Rick e Marty Lagina, dois irmãos de Michigan com um interesse ao longo da vida no mistério de Oak Island, renovam os esforços para descobrir o lendário tesouro com máquinas sofisticadas. Rick e Marty Lagina, dois irmãos de Michigan com um interesse ao longo da vida no mistério de Oak Island, renovam os esforços para descobrir o lendário tesouro com máquinas sofisticadas. Rick e Marty Lagina, dois irmãos de Michigan com um interesse ao longo da vida no mistério de Oak Island, renovam os esforços para descobrir o lendário tesouro com máquinas sofisticadas. Rick e Marty Lagina, dois irmãos de Michigan com um interesse ao longo da vida no mistério de Oak Island, renovam os esforços para descobrir o lendário tesouro com máquinas sofisticadas.


Por dentro do primeiro voo movido a energia solar ao redor do mundo

Na madrugada de 26 de julho de 2016, o Solar Impulse 2 pousou em Abu Dhabi para uma multidão ansiosa e câmeras. Após 14 meses de viagem e 550 horas no ar, o avião realizou o que muitos consideraram impossível: viajar 25.000 milhas ao redor do mundo & # 8212 em quatro continentes, dois oceanos e três mares & # 8212 sem uma gota de combustível líquido. Os raios vibrantes do sol forneciam o único poder da nave.

Agora, um novo documentário NOVA, O vôo impossível, que vai ao ar esta noite na PBS, mergulha nos desafios e triunfos de completar esta viagem angustiante ao redor do mundo, dando ao público um gostinho da paixão que impulsionou a equipe Solar Impulse e seu otimismo crescente sobre o futuro da energia.

Solar Impulse é fruto da imaginação de Bertrand Piccard, um psiquiatra e explorador que teve a ideia depois de sua volta ao mundo em 1999 em um balão de ar quente. Durante essa aventura, ele viu seu nível de combustível cair dia após dia, preocupado se teria o suficiente, o que o deixou se perguntando se havia uma maneira melhor. Eventualmente, ele descobriu: perder o combustível.

Piccard procurou parceiros potenciais na indústria da aviação, mas encontrou resistência. & # 160 "Todos disseram que era impossível, & # 8221 ele diz. & # 8220 [Eles] disseram que eu estava apenas sonhando." & # 160Para ter painéis solares suficientes para alimentar suas hélices, o avião teria que ser enorme & # 8212mas, ao mesmo tempo, extremamente leve.

Então Piccard procurou o Instituto Federal Suíço de Tecnologia, onde se conectou com Andr & # 233 Borschberg, um engenheiro e empresário que treinou como piloto na Força Aérea Suíça. Borschberg era consultor do instituto (que ele descreve como "O MIT da Suíça") e ficou intrigado com a ideia de Piccard. A dupla anunciou oficialmente o projeto em 2003.

"Quando você anuncia oficialmente", diz Borschberg, "não há como voltar depois. E foi isso que fizemos nos 13 anos seguintes." A dupla alcançou investidores, engenheiros, parceiros da indústria e muito mais para desenvolver o avião. Cada componente foi testado e otimizado, até a cola que une a estrutura de fibra de carbono.

O resultado de todo esse trabalho, Solar Impulse 2, é certamente um feito da engenharia. O avião possui uma envergadura maior do que um jato Jumbo B-747, mas pesa apenas cerca de 5.000 libras, o que é comparável a um carro familiar médio. Espantosas 17.248 células solares fotovoltaicas & # 8212 cada uma com aproximadamente a espessura de um cabelo humano & # 8212 cobre as delicadas asas e a fuselagem. Essas células se aquecem à luz do sol, carregando as quatro baterias de lítio do avião para manter suas hélices girando durante as noites escuras.

O Solar Impulse se eleva sobre a Ponte Golden Gate, na Califórnia. (Impulso Solar) Solar Impulse voa sobre as pirâmides egípcias. O avião pousou no Cairo antes de partir para a etapa final da viagem. (Jean Revillard) Solar Impulse pousa na cidade de Nova York. (Impulso Solar) O impulso solar se eleva acima da água durante o segundo vôo de teste do avião. (Jean Revillard) Andre Borschberg e Bertrand Piccard, co-fundadores do Solar Impulse, trocaram voar as 17 etapas da viagem. (Jean Revillard) O Solar Impulse foi aterrado para reparos no Havaí depois que suas baterias superaqueceram durante seu voo de cinco dias no Oceano Pacífico. (Jean Revillard)

Piccard e Borschberg trocaram pilotar o avião pelos 17 trechos do empreendimento. Cada um dormia apenas em intervalos curtos para atender às demandas do avião. Suas asas não podiam inclinar mais do que & # 160 cinco graus, caso contrário, a nave poderia girar fora de controle graças ao seu baixo peso e tamanho expansivo. Essa construção arejada também significava que mesmo um pequeno ponto de mau tempo ou ventos poderiam facilmente tirar o avião do curso.

Conforme os detalhes do documentário, o clima se tornou o maior adversário da equipe. Como o avião viaja em um caminho sinuoso & # 8212 escalando a quase 30.000 pés de altitude durante o dia, mas desce lentamente a cerca de 5.000 pés à noite para economizar energia & # 8212, a equipe tem que prever vento, umidade e temperatura em várias elevações. E o turbilhão do sistema climático está em constante evolução e mudança. As condições meteorológicas atrasaram sua partida da China, mais tarde forçando a equipe a abortar a travessia inicial do Pacífico e pousar no Japão. Mas então o tempo mais ruim começou a se agitar sobre o Pacífico, causando duas partidas canceladas.

As tensões aumentaram à medida que o cronograma era continuamente adiado & # 8212, mas a tripulação também estava ciente das consequências de enfrentar o clima ou as dificuldades técnicas. “Se houver uma falha, há uma pessoa lá dentro”, diz um integrante da equipe no documentário.

Embora tenha havido muitos obstáculos ao longo do caminho, as fortes convicções da equipe do Solar Impulse os ajudaram a enfrentar esses desafios. “Nunca perdi a fé no que estávamos fazendo”, diz Borschberg. "Havia algo que sempre me dizia que há uma solução em algum lugar. Demorou mais tempo, exigiu mais esforço, definitivamente. Mas no final das contas sempre encontramos um caminho."

Mas um avião não pode voar apenas com base em convicções. A criatividade e o pensamento fora da indústria da aviação também foram vitais para seu sucesso, diz Piccard. Muitos especialistas em aviação pareciam ter seu pensamento limitado, cegos por experiências anteriores de como construir uma máquina voadora. Em vez disso, a dupla se voltou para estaleiros, empresas químicas e muito mais para buscar materiais e soluções potenciais para suas aeronaves. A ultrafina fibra de carbono que compõe a carroceria do avião, por exemplo, foi criada pela mesma empresa que produz os cascos dos elegantes veleiros da corrida da equipe europeia Alinghi & # 160 na Copa América.

“Não poderíamos desenvolver novas células solares, novas baterias, novos motores”, diz Borschberg, observando que simplesmente não havia tempo para repensar cada tecnologia que eles usavam. Em vez disso, eles encontraram as soluções de ponta já existentes, reaproveitando-as para voar, diz ele.

& # 8220Certamente acho que é & # 8217 uma conquista técnica bastante impressionante, & # 8221 & # 160Craig Steeves, diretor associado do Instituto de Estudos Aeroespaciais da Universidade de Toronto, & # 160told & # 160National Geographic & # 160Christina Nunez & # 160 após a conclusão da viagem do Solar Impulse. & # 8220Eles & # 8217 estão muito à frente no caminho que a indústria aeroespacial gostaria de seguir. & # 8221

Ainda assim, Piccard e Borschberg são rápidos em acrescentar que as opções movidas a energia solar não chegarão às companhias aéreas comerciais tão cedo. Solar Impulse 2 & # 8212 e seu predecessor, Solar Impulse 1 & # 8212podem manter apenas uma pessoa (o piloto) em sua cabine sem aquecimento e sem pressão do tamanho de um refrigerador e seu assento único funciona como um banheiro. O avião também é surpreendentemente lento, viajando a uma média de 30 milhas por hora para maximizar a economia de energia.

"Nunca foi um fim em si mesmo", diz Piccard sobre o avião. "Solar Impulse foi a forma simbólica de demonstrar que você pode usar essa tecnologia para grandes aventuras que todos pensavam ser impossíveis." Em outras palavras, o objetivo do vôo não era necessariamente impulsionar o campo da aviação, mas impulsionar a imaginação.

Mas ao se chocar contra esses limites, a equipe do Solar Impulse fez contribuições importantes para a aviação. Muitas empresas de aviação & # 8212 incluindo & # 160AirBus, Boeing e Siemens & # 8212 anunciaram recentemente projetos de desenvolvimento de sistemas elétricos ou híbridos para reduzir as emissões de voos futuros. Embora alguns desses esforços tenham começado antes de Solar Impulse subir aos céus, a viagem atraiu atenção e inspiração para o campo em expansão. “Foi muito engraçado ver que os engenheiros que trabalhavam na indústria estavam rindo quando iniciei o projeto”, diz Piccard. "Mas agora os mesmos engenheiros estão trabalhando em programas de aviões elétricos."

Embora a energia solar continue impraticável para esses empreendimentos, explica Piccard, as baterias poderiam ser carregadas na rede antes da partida. Mas essas tecnologias provavelmente ainda requerem décadas de testes e desenvolvimento para chegar à escala comercial, de acordo com Peter Wilson, um professor de eletrônica e engenharia de sistemas da Universidade de Bath. Uma das principais limitações desses voos é o armazenamento da bateria, escreveu ele para & # 160A conversa& # 160em 2015.

Alguns dos maiores impactos do Solar Impulse podem realmente ser encontrados no solo. O vôo impulsionou avanços disciplinares em muitos setores, de acordo com Piccard e & # 160Borschberg. A empresa de desenvolvimento de materiais & # 160Covestro & # 160a parceira do Solar Impulse, está adaptando o isolamento da cabine de baixo peso e alto desempenho para refrigeradores mais eficientes. De acordo com Piccard, uma empresa iniciante na Índia também planeja usar os motores de alta eficiência do avião em ventiladores de teto que consomem 75% menos eletricidade.

Mas agora que tudo foi dito e feito, Piccard está pronto para seus próximos passos. "Agora, é claro, temos que continuar, & # 8221 ele diz. & # 8220O sucesso não está lá para sentar na poltrona e se divertir. O sucesso está aí para dar o próximo passo. & # 8221

Em novembro de 2017, Piccard e sua equipe lançaram a & # 160World Alliance for Efficient Solutions, com a tarefa de conectar investidores e governos com 1.000 soluções inovadoras que são lucrativas e ecologicamente corretas.

“Muitas vezes a proteção do meio ambiente de um lado e a indústria do outro não conseguem encontrar uma linguagem comum”, diz Piccard. Ele espera que o projeto de 1.000 soluções forneça a plataforma para que essas conversas aconteçam.

E embora esta fase seja menos dramática, Piccard espera que o documentário ajude a cimentar a beleza e o drama de Solar Impulse nos corações de seu público e os inspire a manter suas mentes abertas conforme a tecnologia avança.

O otimismo de ambos os pilotos sobre o futuro da energia é certamente contagiante, e sua paixão pelo Solar Impulse é palpável. Enquanto & # 160Borschberg & # 160 fecha a conversa, ele descreve sua experiência voando acima das nuvens. "É absolutamente lindo estar lá em cima, é um presente", diz ele. "Você olha para as asas, olha para o sol acima de você e começa a entender que apenas os raios de sol caindo nas asas são suficientes para fazer você voar. & # 8221

“É realmente impressionante”, acrescenta. "Isso lhe dá fé neste tipo de tecnologia."


Compreendendo o vício sexual

O vício sexual, também conhecido como comportamento sexual compulsivo, é pensar e se envolver em comportamento sexual com tanta frequência que interfere em seus relacionamentos, sua saúde, seu trabalho ou outros aspectos de sua vida. Pode prejudicar muitos aspectos da sua vida se não for tratada.

O vício sexual pode ser tão destrutivo quanto o vício em substâncias químicas. Estima-se que 3 a 6 por cento dos adultos nos Estados Unidos, predominantemente do sexo masculino, sejam sexualmente viciados. Embora o vício sexual não seja listado como um transtorno no Manual Diagnóstico e Estatístico de Transtornos Mentais (DSM-5), ele pode ser diagnosticado como um transtorno de controle de impulso na atual Classificação Internacional de Doenças (CID-10 ), que é o padrão internacional para diagnóstico.

Comportamentos associados ao vício sexual

Alguns dos comportamentos específicos associados ao vício sexual incluem:

  • Sexo anônimo com vários parceiros (incluindo uma noite só)
  • Masturbação compulsiva
  • Sexo compulsivo com profissionais do sexo
  • Freqüente paternalista de estabelecimentos de orientação sexual
  • Exibicionismo habitual
  • Voyeurismo habitual
  • Toque sexual impróprio fora de um relacionamento sério com crianças

É importante observar aqui que qualquer um desses comportamentos por si só não constitui um vício.


Se o seu teste de vitamina B12 mostrar que seus níveis estão saudáveis, você não precisa fazer nada a não ser continuar tendo uma dieta balanceada. As fontes de vitamina B12 incluem peixes, carnes, laticínios e outros alimentos enriquecidos com B12, como cereais e leite.

Se você ainda está preocupado com seus níveis, converse com seu médico sobre se os suplementos de B12 ou mudanças na dieta fazem sentido.

Mas se você tiver níveis baixos de vitamina B12, provavelmente precisará suplementar sua vitamina B12 com injeções ou suplementos orais, dependendo da capacidade do estômago de absorver a vitamina.

A deficiência de vitamina B12 pode causar problemas nas funções cerebrais, no sistema nervoso e em outros aspectos da saúde. É importante verificar seus níveis se houver algum sinal de que eles estão baixos.

Os adultos mais velhos têm risco aumentado de níveis baixos de vitamina B12. Converse com seu médico sobre se sua dieta fornece vitamina B12 suficiente ou se tomar um suplemento pode ajudar.

Fontes

University of Rochester Medical Center: “Vitamin B12 and Folate.”

National Institutes of Health Office of Dietary Supplements: “Vitamin B12.”

Instituto Nacional do Coração, Pulmão e Sangue: “O que é anemia perniciosa?”

Mayo Clinic: “Vitamin Deficiency Anemia: Symptoms and Causes,” “Vitamin B12 Assay, Serum.”


Arte Negra-Legado Ancestral: O Impulso Africano na Arte Afro-Americana [Fotografia DMA_1435-49]

Fotografia da exposição & quotBlack Art-Ancestral Legacy: The African Impulse in African-American Art & quot, 3 de dezembro de 1989 a 25 de fevereiro de 1990, realizada no Museu de Arte de Dallas.

Descrição física

1 fotografia: positiva, col. 35 mm.

Informação de Criação

Contexto

Esse fotografia faz parte da coleção intitulada: Registros da Exposição do Museu de Arte de Dallas e foi fornecida pelo Museu de Arte de Dallas ao Portal para a História do Texas, um repositório digital hospedado pelas Bibliotecas da UNT. Já foi visto 12 vezes. Mais informações sobre esta fotografia podem ser vistas abaixo.

Pessoas e organizações associadas à criação desta fotografia ou ao seu conteúdo.

Fotógrafo

Audiências

Confira nosso site de recursos para educadores! Nós identificamos isso fotografia como um fonte primária dentro de nossas coleções. Pesquisadores, educadores e alunos podem achar esta fotografia útil em seu trabalho.

Fornecido por

Museu de Arte de Dallas

Reconhecido como uma das instituições de arte mais importantes do país, o Museu de Arte de Dallas facilita o acesso à arte desde 1903. Além de exposições, o museu oferece programas educacionais para a comunidade, incluindo palestras, concertos, leituras literárias, apresentações dramáticas e de dança .

Entre em contato conosco

Informações descritivas para ajudar a identificar esta fotografia. Siga os links abaixo para encontrar itens semelhantes no Portal.

Títulos

  • Título principal: Arte negra-legado ancestral: o impulso africano na arte afro-americana [fotografia DMA_1435-49]
  • Título da série:Arte negra-legado ancestral: o impulso africano na arte afro-americana

Descrição

Fotografia da exposição & quotBlack Art-Ancestral Legacy: The African Impulse in African-American Art & quot, 3 de dezembro de 1989 a 25 de fevereiro de 1990, realizada no Museu de Arte de Dallas.

Descrição física

1 fotografia: positiva, col. 35 mm.

Assuntos

Palavras-chave

Termos de gênero / formulário da Biblioteca do Congresso

Títulos de assuntos da Biblioteca do Congresso

Estrutura de navegação das bibliotecas da University of North Texas

Fonte

  • Arte Negra-Legado Ancestral: O Impulso Africano na Arte Afro-Americana, 3 de dezembro de 1989 a 25 de fevereiro de 1990

Tipo de item

Identificador

Números de identificação exclusivos para esta fotografia no Portal ou outros sistemas.

  • Nº de adesão ou controle local: DMA_1435-49
  • Chave de recurso de arquivo: ark: / 67531 / metapth535329

Relacionamentos

  • Black Art-Ancestral Legacy: The African Impulse in African-American Art [Exhibition Fotografias], DMA_1435, ark: / 67531 / metapth427101

Coleções

Esta fotografia faz parte da seguinte coleção de materiais relacionados.

Registros da exposição do Museu de Arte de Dallas

A Coleção de Registros da Exposição do Museu de Arte de Dallas contém catálogos publicados para exposições realizadas pelo museu entre 1903 e 1983. Este projeto foi possível graças a uma bolsa do National Endowment for the Arts.

Itens relacionados

Arte negra-legado ancestral: o impulso africano na arte afro-americana [fotos da exposição] (Coleção)

Fotografias da exposição & quotBlack Art-Ancestral Legacy: The African Impulse in African-American Art & quot, 3 de dezembro de 1989 a 25 de fevereiro de 1990, realizada no Museu de Arte de Dallas. As fotografias que documentam esta exposição incluem cinquenta e nove vistas da instalação da galeria e dez vistas do evento de abertura da exposição.

Relação com este item: (É parte de)

Black Art-Ancestral Legacy: The African Impulse in African-American Art [Exhibition Fotografias], DMA_1435, ark: / 67531 / metapth427101


O jogo mais perigoso

The Most Dangerous Game, apresentado em nossas histórias de mistério, é muito mais do que uma história de caça, onde o suspense continua crescendo até o final. “` Quais são os atributos de uma pedreira ideal? ' E a resposta foi, claro, 'Deve ter coragem, astúcia e, acima de tudo, deve ser capaz de raciocinar'. 'Mas nenhum animal pode raciocinar', objetou Rainsford. 'Meu caro amigo' "disse o general, 'há um que pode.'"

The Most Dangerous Game, poster do filme, 1932 The Most Dangerous Game, poster do filme, 1932

"LÁ, à direita - em algum lugar - está uma grande ilha", disse Whitney. "É um tanto quanto um mistério ..."

"Que ilha é?" Perguntou Rainsford.

"As cartas antigas chamam de 'Ilha da Armadilha do Navio", Whitney respondeu. "Um nome sugestivo, não é? Os marinheiros têm um medo curioso do lugar. Não sei por quê. Alguma superstição ..."

"Não consigo ver", comentou Rainsford, tentando espiar através da noite tropical úmida que era palpável enquanto pressionava sua escuridão quente e densa sobre o iate.

"Você tem bons olhos", disse Whitney, com uma risada, "e eu vi você abater um alce se movendo no arbusto marrom de outono a quatrocentos metros, mas mesmo você não pode ver quatro milhas ou mais através de um noite caribenha sem lua. "

"Nem quatro metros", admitiu Rainsford. "Ugh! É como veludo preto úmido."

"Haverá bastante luz no Rio", prometeu Whitney. "Devemos fazer isso em alguns dias. Espero que as armas de jaguar tenham vindo de Purdey's. Devemos ter uma boa caçada no Amazonas. Grande esporte, caça."

"O melhor esporte do mundo", concordou Rainsford.

"Para o caçador," corrigiu Whitney. "Não para o jaguar."

"Não fale podre, Whitney", disse Rainsford. "Você é um caçador experiente, não um filósofo. Quem se importa com o que um jaguar se sente?"

"Talvez o jaguar saiba," observou Whitney.

"Bah! Eles não entendem."

"Mesmo assim, acho que eles entendem uma coisa - o medo. O medo da dor e o medo da morte."

"Bobagem", riu Rainsford. "Este tempo quente está deixando você mole, Whitney. Seja um realista. O mundo é feito de duas classes - os caçadores e os caçadores. Felizmente, você e eu somos caçadores. Você acha que já passamos por aquela ilha? "

"Não posso dizer no escuro. Espero que sim."

"O lugar tem uma reputação - uma péssima."

"Canibais?" sugeriu Rainsford.

"Dificilmente. Mesmo os canibais não viveriam em um lugar tão esquecido por Deus. Mas isso entrou na tradição dos marinheiros, de alguma forma. Você não percebeu que os nervos da tripulação pareciam um pouco nervosos hoje?"

"Eles eram um pouco estranhos, agora que você mencionou. Até o capitão Nielsen ..."

"Sim, até mesmo aquele velho sueco obstinado, que iria até o próprio diabo e pedir-lhe uma luz. Aqueles olhos azuis de peixe tinham um olhar que eu nunca tinha visto antes. Tudo que eu consegui arrancar dele foi 'Este lugar tem uma má fama entre os homens do mar, senhor. Então ele me disse, muito gravemente: 'Você não sente nada?' - como se o ar ao nosso redor fosse realmente venenoso. Agora, você não deve rir quando eu te digo isso - eu realmente senti algo como um frio repentino.

"Não havia nenhuma brisa. O mar estava plano como uma janela de vidro. Estávamos nos aproximando da ilha. O que eu senti foi um ... um calafrio mental, uma espécie de pavor repentino."

"Pura imaginação", disse Rainsford.

"Um marinheiro supersticioso pode manchar toda a companhia do navio com seu medo."

"Talvez. Mas às vezes acho que os marinheiros têm um sentido extra que lhes diz quando estão em perigo. Às vezes, acho que o mal é uma coisa tangível - com comprimentos de onda, assim como o som e a luz. Um lugar mau pode, por assim dizer , transmitir vibrações do mal. De qualquer forma, estou feliz por estarmos saindo desta zona. Bem, acho que vou entrar agora, Rainsford. "

"Não estou com sono", disse Rainsford. "Vou fumar outro cachimbo no convés de ré."

"Boa noite, então, Rainsford. Vejo você no café da manhã."

Não houve nenhum som durante a noite enquanto Rainsford estava sentado ali, exceto o latejar abafado do motor que dirigia o iate rapidamente pela escuridão, e o zunido e ondulação da hélice.

Rainsford, reclinado em uma cadeira de vapor, bufou indolentemente em seu espinho favorito. A sonolência sensual da noite estava sobre ele. "Está tão escuro", pensou, "que eu poderia dormir sem fechar os olhos, a noite seria minhas pálpebras ..."

Um som abrupto o assustou. Ouviu à direita, e seus ouvidos, especialistas em tais assuntos, não podiam estar enganados. Novamente ele ouviu o som, e novamente. Em algum lugar, na escuridão, alguém havia disparado uma arma três vezes.

Rainsford saltou e foi rapidamente para a amurada, perplexo. Ele forçou os olhos na direção de onde vinham os relatórios, mas era como tentar ver através de um cobertor. Ele saltou sobre a amurada e se equilibrou ali, para obter maior elevação seu cachimbo, ao atingir uma corda, foi arrancado de sua boca. Ele se lançou para ela, um grito curto e rouco saiu de seus lábios quando percebeu que tinha ido longe demais e perdeu o equilíbrio. O grito foi interrompido quando as águas mornas do Mar do Caribe se fecharam sobre sua cabeça.

Ele lutou para chegar à superfície e tentou gritar, mas a água do iate em alta velocidade o atingiu no rosto e a água salgada em sua boca aberta o fez engasgar e estrangular. Desesperado, ele atacou com braçadas fortes após as luzes do iate se afastarem, mas parou antes de ter nadado quinze metros. Uma certa frieza o dominara, não era a primeira vez que ele estava em uma situação difícil. Havia uma chance de que seus gritos pudessem ser ouvidos por alguém a bordo do iate, mas essa chance era tênue e ficava mais tênue à medida que o iate avançava. Ele lutou para tirar as roupas e gritou com todas as suas forças. As luzes do iate tornaram-se vaga-lumes tênues e sempre desaparecendo, depois foram totalmente apagadas pela noite.

Rainsford se lembrava dos tiros. Eles tinham vindo da direita e ele nadou obstinadamente naquela direção, nadando com braçadas lentas e deliberadas, conservando sua força. Por um tempo aparentemente interminável, ele lutou contra o mar. Ele começou a contar seus golpes, ele poderia fazer possivelmente mais cem e então -

Rainsford ouviu um som. Saiu da escuridão, um grito agudo, o som de um animal em uma extremidade de angústia e terror.

Ele não reconheceu o animal que fez o som que ele não tentou, com nova vitalidade, ele nadou em direção ao som. Ele ouviu novamente, mas foi interrompido por outro ruído, nítido, staccato.

"Tiro de pistola", murmurou Rainsford, continuando nadando.

Dez minutos de esforço determinado trouxeram outro som a seus ouvidos - o mais bem-vindo que já ouvira - o murmúrio e o rugido do mar quebrando em uma costa rochosa. Ele estava quase nas rochas antes de vê-los em uma noite menos calma, ele teria se espatifado contra eles. Com sua força restante, ele se arrastou das águas turbulentas. Penhascos recortados pareciam se projetar na opacidade que ele se forçou a subir, mão sobre mão. Ofegante, com as mãos em carne viva, ele alcançou um lugar plano no topo. A selva densa descia até a borda dos penhascos. Os perigos que aquele emaranhado de árvores e arbustos poderiam representar para ele não preocupava Rainsford naquele momento. Tudo o que sabia era que estava a salvo de seu inimigo, o mar, e que o cansaço total o dominava. Ele se jogou na beira da selva e caiu de cabeça no sono mais profundo de sua vida.

Quando ele abriu os olhos, ele sabia pela posição do sol que era final de tarde. O sono lhe dera um novo vigor e uma fome aguda o atormentava. Ele olhou em volta, quase animado.

“Onde há tiros de pistola, há homens. Onde há homens, há comida”, pensou. Mas que tipo de homem, ele se perguntou, em um lugar tão proibitivo? Uma frente ininterrupta de selva rugosa e irregular circundava a costa.

Ele não viu nenhum sinal de trilha através da teia de ervas daninhas e árvores estreitamente unidas, era mais fácil ir ao longo da costa, e Rainsford cambaleava ao longo da água. Não muito longe de onde ele pousou, ele parou.

Alguma coisa ferida - pelas evidências, um grande animal - havia se debatido na vegetação rasteira, as ervas daninhas da selva foram esmagadas e o musgo foi lacerado e um pedaço de ervas estava manchado de vermelho. Um objeto pequeno e brilhante não muito longe chamou a atenção de Rainsford e ele o pegou. Era um cartucho vazio.

"Um vinte e dois", observou ele. "Isso é estranho. Deve ter sido um animal bastante grande também. O caçador teve a coragem de enfrentá-lo com uma arma leve. Está claro que o bruto lutou. Suponho que os primeiros três tiros que ouvi foram quando o o caçador descarregou sua presa e a feriu. O último tiro foi quando ele a seguiu até aqui e a terminou. "

Ele examinou o solo de perto e encontrou o que esperava encontrar - a impressão de botas de caça. Eles apontaram ao longo do penhasco na direção em que ele estava indo. Ansiosamente, ele se apressou, agora escorregando em um tronco podre ou em uma pedra solta, mas avançando, a noite estava começando a se estabelecer na ilha.

A escuridão sombria estava escurecendo o mar e a selva quando Rainsford avistou as luzes. Ele se deparou com eles ao fazer uma curva na linha da costa e seu primeiro pensamento foi que ele havia chegado a uma aldeia, pois havia muitas luzes. Mas, à medida que avançava, viu, para seu grande espanto, que todas as luzes estavam em um enorme edifício - uma estrutura elevada com torres pontiagudas mergulhando na escuridão. Seus olhos distinguiram os contornos sombrios de um castelo palaciano situado em um penhasco alto e, em três lados, os penhascos mergulhavam até onde o mar lambia lábios gananciosos nas sombras.

"Miragem", pensou Rainsford. Mas não era uma miragem, ele descobriu, quando abriu o alto portão de ferro com pontas de ferro. Os degraus de pedra eram reais o suficiente, a porta maciça com uma gárgula maliciosa como aldrava era real o suficiente, mas acima de tudo pairava um ar de irrealidade.

Ele ergueu a aldrava e ela rangeu com força, como se nunca tivesse sido usada antes. Ele o deixou cair, e isso o assustou com seu barulho estrondoso. Ele pensou ter ouvido passos dentro da porta fechada. Mais uma vez, Rainsford ergueu a aldrava pesada e deixou-a cair. A porta se abriu então - abriu tão repentinamente como se fosse uma fonte - e Rainsford ficou piscando no rio de luz dourada brilhante que se derramava. A primeira coisa que os olhos de Rainsford discerniram foi o maior homem que Rainsford já vira - uma criatura gigantesca, de constituição sólida e barbas pretas até a cintura. Em sua mão, o homem segurava um revólver de cano longo e apontava direto para o coração de Rainsford.

Fora do emaranhado de barba, dois olhos pequenos olharam para Rainsford.

"Não se assuste", disse Rainsford, com um sorriso que esperava ser desarmante. "Não sou um ladrão. Caí de um iate. Meu nome é Sanger Rainsford, da cidade de Nova York."

O olhar ameaçador não mudou. O revólver apontando tão rigidamente como se o gigante fosse uma estátua. Ele não deu nenhum sinal de ter entendido as palavras de Rainsford, ou mesmo de tê-las ouvido. Ele estava vestido com uniforme - um uniforme preto enfeitado com astracã cinza.

"Sou Sanger Rainsford, de Nova York", começou Rainsford novamente. "Eu caí de um iate. Estou com fome."

A única resposta do homem foi levantar com o polegar o martelo do revólver. Então Rainsford viu a mão livre do homem ir para a testa em uma saudação militar e o viu bater os calcanhares e ficar em posição de sentido. Outro homem estava descendo os largos degraus de mármore, um homem ereto e esguio em roupas de noite. Ele avançou para Rainsford e estendeu a mão.

Com uma voz culta, marcada por um leve sotaque que lhe conferia maior precisão e deliberação, ele disse: "É um grande prazer e uma honra receber o Sr. Sanger Rainsford, o célebre caçador, em minha casa."

Automaticamente, Rainsford apertou a mão do homem.

"Eu li seu livro sobre a caça de leopardos da neve no Tibete, você vê", explicou o homem. "Eu sou o General Zaroff."

A primeira impressão de Rainsford foi de que o homem era singularmente bonito, a segunda foi que havia uma qualidade original, quase bizarra, no rosto do general. Ele era um homem alto com mais de meia-idade, pois seu cabelo era de um branco vivo, mas suas sobrancelhas grossas e bigode militar pontudo eram tão negros quanto a noite de onde Rainsford viera. Seus olhos também eram negros e muito brilhantes. Ele tinha maçãs do rosto salientes, um nariz afilado, um rosto magro e moreno - o rosto de um homem acostumado a dar ordens, o rosto de um aristocrata. Voltando-se para o gigante de uniforme, o general fez um sinal. O gigante guardou sua pistola, saudou, retirou-se.

"Ivan é um sujeito incrivelmente forte", observou o general, "mas tem a infelicidade de ser surdo e mudo. Um sujeito simples, mas, infelizmente, como toda a sua raça, um pouco selvagem."

"He is a Cossack," said the general, and his smile showed red lips and pointed teeth. "So am I."

"Come," he said, "we shouldn't be chatting here. We can talk later. Now you want clothes, food, rest. You shall have them. This is a most-restful spot."

Ivan had reappeared, and the general spoke to him with lips that moved but gave forth no sound.

"Follow Ivan, if you please, Mr. Rainsford," said the general. "I was about to have my dinner when you came. I'll wait for you. You'll find that my clothes will fit you, I think."

It was to a huge, beam-ceilinged bedroom with a canopied bed big enough for six men that Rainsford followed the silent giant. Ivan laid out an evening suit, and Rainsford, as he put it on, noticed that it came from a London tailor who ordinarily cut and sewed for none below the rank of duke.

The dining room to which Ivan conducted him was in many ways remarkable. There was a medieval magnificence about it it suggested a baronial hall of feudal times with its oaken panels, its high ceiling, its vast refectory tables where twoscore men could sit down to eat. About the hall were mounted heads of many animals--lions, tigers, elephants, moose, bears larger or more perfect specimens Rainsford had never seen. At the great table the general was sitting, alone.

"You'll have a cocktail, Mr. Rainsford," he suggested. The cocktail was surpassingly good and, Rainsford noted, the table apointments were of the finest--the linen, the crystal, the silver, the china.

They were eating borsch, the rich, red soup with whipped cream so dear to Russian palates. Half apologetically General Zaroff said, "We do our best to preserve the amenities of civilization here. Please forgive any lapses. We are well off the beaten track, you know. Do you think the champagne has suffered from its long ocean trip?"

"Not in the least," declared Rainsford. He was finding the general a most thoughtful and affable host, a true cosmopolite. But there was one small trait of the general's that made Rainsford uncomfortable. Whenever he looked up from his plate he found the general studying him, appraising him narrowly.

"Perhaps," said General Zaroff, "you were surprised that I recognized your name. You see, I read all books on hunting published in English, French, and Russian. I have but one passion in my life, Mr. Rains. ford, and it is the hunt."

"You have some wonderful heads here," said Rainsford as he ate a particularly well-cooked filet mignon. " That Cape buffalo is the largest I ever saw."

"Oh, that fellow. Yes, he was a monster."

"Hurled me against a tree," said the general. "Fractured my skull. But I got the brute."

For a moment the general did not reply he was smiling his curious red-lipped smile. Then he said slowly, "No. You are wrong, sir. The Cape buffalo is not the most dangerous big game." He sipped his wine. "Here in my preserve on this island," he said in the same slow tone, "I hunt more dangerous game."

Rainsford expressed his surprise. "Is there big game on this island?"

The general nodded. "The biggest."

"Oh, it isn't here naturally, of course. I have to stock the island."

"What have you imported, general?" Rainsford asked. "Tigers?"

The general smiled. "No," he said. "Hunting tigers ceased to interest me some years ago. I exhausted their possibilities, you see. No thrill left in tigers, no real danger. I live for danger, Mr. Rainsford."

The general took from his pocket a gold cigarette case and offered his guest a long black cigarette with a silver tip it was perfumed and gave off a smell like incense.

"We will have some capital hunting, you and I," said the general. "I shall be most glad to have your society."

"But what game--" began Rainsford.

"I'll tell you," said the general. "You will be amused, I know. I think I may say, in all modesty, that I have done a rare thing. I have invented a new sensation. May I pour you another glass of port?"

The general filled both glasses, and said, "God makes some men poets. Some He makes kings, some beggars. Me He made a hunter. My hand was made for the trigger, my father said. He was a very rich man with a quarter of a million acres in the Crimea, and he was an ardent sportsman. When I was only five years old he gave me a little gun, specially made in Moscow for me, to shoot sparrows with. When I shot some of his prize turkeys with it, he did not punish me he complimented me on my marksmanship. I killed my first bear in the Caucasus when I was ten. My whole life has been one prolonged hunt. I went into the army--it was expected of noblemen's sons--and for a time commanded a division of Cossack cavalry, but my real interest was always the hunt. I have hunted every kind of game in every land. It would be impossible for me to tell you how many animals I have killed."

The general puffed at his cigarette.

"After the debacle in Russia I left the country, for it was imprudent for an officer of the Czar to stay there. Many noble Russians lost everything. I, luckily, had invested heavily in American securities, so I shall never have to open a tearoom in Monte Carlo or drive a taxi in Paris. Naturally, I continued to hunt--grizzliest in your Rockies, crocodiles in the Ganges, rhinoceroses in East Africa. It was in Africa that the Cape buffalo hit me and laid me up for six months. As soon as I recovered I started for the Amazon to hunt jaguars, for I had heard they were unusually cunning. They weren't." The Cossack sighed. "They were no match at all for a hunter with his wits about him, and a high-powered rifle. I was bitterly disappointed. I was lying in my tent with a splitting headache one night when a terrible thought pushed its way into my mind. Hunting was beginning to bore me! And hunting, remember, had been my life. I have heard that in America businessmen often go to pieces when they give up the business that has been their life."

"Yes, that's so," said Rainsford.

The general smiled. "I had no wish to go to pieces," he said. "I must do something. Now, mine is an analytical mind, Mr. Rainsford. Doubtless that is why I enjoy the problems of the chase."

"So," continued the general, "I asked myself why the hunt no longer fascinated me. You are much younger than I am, Mr. Rainsford, and have not hunted as much, but you perhaps can guess the answer."

"Simply this: hunting had ceased to be what you call `a sporting proposition.' It had become too easy. I always got my quarry. Always. There is no greater bore than perfection."

The general lit a fresh cigarette.

"No animal had a chance with me any more. That is no boast it is a mathematical certainty. The animal had nothing but his legs and his instinct. Instinct is no match for reason. When I thought of this it was a tragic moment for me, I can tell you."

Rainsford leaned across the table, absorbed in what his host was saying.

"It came to me as an inspiration what I must do," the general went on.

The general smiled the quiet smile of one who has faced an obstacle and surmounted it with success. "I had to invent a new animal to hunt," he said.

"A new animal? You're joking." "Not at all," said the general. "I never joke about hunting. I needed a new animal. I found one. So I bought this island built this house, and here I do my hunting. The island is perfect for my purposes--there are jungles with a maze of traits in them, hills, swamps--"

"But the animal, General Zaroff?"

"Oh," said the general, "it supplies me with the most exciting hunting in the world. No other hunting compares with it for an instant. Every day I hunt, and I never grow bored now, for I have a quarry with which I can match my wits."

Rainsford's bewilderment showed in his face.

"I wanted the ideal animal to hunt," explained the general. "So I said, `What are the attributes of an ideal quarry?' And the answer was, of course, `It must have courage, cunning, and, above all, it must be able to reason."'

"But no animal can reason," objected Rainsford.

"My dear fellow," said the general, "there is one that can."

"But you can't mean--" gasped Rainsford.

"I can't believe you are serious, General Zaroff. This is a grisly joke."

"Why should I not be serious? I am speaking of hunting."

"Hunting? Great Guns, General Zaroff, what you speak of is murder."

The general laughed with entire good nature. He regarded Rainsford quizzically. "I refuse to believe that so modern and civilized a young man as you seem to be harbors romantic ideas about the value of human life. Surely your experiences in the war--"

"Did not make me condone cold-blooded murder," finished Rainsford stiffly.

Laughter shook the general. "How extraordinarily droll you are!" ele disse. "One does not expect nowadays to find a young man of the educated class, even in America, with such a naive, and, if I may say so, mid-Victorian point of view. It's like finding a snuffbox in a limousine. Ah, well, doubtless you had Puritan ancestors. So many Americans appear to have had. I'll wager you'll forget your notions when you go hunting with me. You've a genuine new thrill in store for you, Mr. Rainsford."

"Thank you, I'm a hunter, not a murderer."

"Dear me," said the general, quite unruffled, "again that unpleasant word. But I think I can show you that your scruples are quite ill founded."

"Life is for the strong, to be lived by the strong, and, if needs be, taken by the strong. The weak of the world were put here to give the strong pleasure. I am strong. Why should I not use my gift? If I wish to hunt, why should I not? I hunt the scum of the earth: sailors from tramp ships--lassars, blacks, Chinese, whites, mongrels--a thoroughbred horse or hound is worth more than a score of them."

"But they are men," said Rainsford hotly.

"Precisely," said the general. "That is why I use them. It gives me pleasure. They can reason, after a fashion. So they are dangerous."

"But where do you get them?"

The general's left eyelid fluttered down in a wink. "This island is called Ship Trap," he answered. "Sometimes an angry god of the high seas sends them to me. Sometimes, when Providence is not so kind, I help Providence a bit. Come to the window with me."

Rainsford went to the window and looked out toward the sea.

"Watch! Out there!" exclaimed the general, pointing into the night. Rainsford's eyes saw only blackness, and then, as the general pressed a button, far out to sea Rainsford saw the flash of lights.

The general chuckled. "They indicate a channel," he said, "where there's none giant rocks with razor edges crouch like a sea monster with wide-open jaws. They can crush a ship as easily as I crush this nut." He dropped a walnut on the hardwood floor and brought his heel grinding down on it. "Oh, yes," he said, casually, as if in answer to a question, "I have electricity. We try to be civilized here."

"Civilized? And you shoot down men?"

A trace of anger was in the general's black eyes, but it was there for but a second and he said, in his most pleasant manner, "Dear me, what a righteous young man you are! I assure you I do not do the thing you suggest. That would be barbarous. I treat these visitors with every consideration. They get plenty of good food and exercise. They get into splendid physical condition. You shall see for yourself tomorrow."

"We'll visit my training school," smiled the general. "It's in the cellar. I have about a dozen pupils down there now. They're from the Spanish bark San Lucar that had the bad luck to go on the rocks out there. A very inferior lot, I regret to say. Poor specimens and more accustomed to the deck than to the jungle." He raised his hand, and Ivan, who served as waiter, brought thick Turkish coffee. Rainsford, with an effort, held his tongue in check.

"It's a game, you see," pursued the general blandly. "I suggest to one of them that we go hunting. I give him a supply of food and an excellent hunting knife. I give him three hours' start. I am to follow, armed only with a pistol of the smallest caliber and range. If my quarry eludes me for three whole days, he wins the game. If I find him "--the general smiled--" he loses."

"Suppose he refuses to be hunted?"

"Oh," said the general, "I give him his option, of course. He need not play that game if he doesn't wish to. If he does not wish to hunt, I turn him over to Ivan. Ivan once had the honor of serving as official knouter to the Great White Czar, and he has his own ideas of sport. Invariably, Mr. Rainsford, invariably they choose the hunt."

The smile on the general's face widened. "To date I have not lost," he said. Then he added, hastily: "I don't wish you to think me a braggart, Mr. Rainsford. Many of them afford only the most elementary sort of problem. Occasionally I strike a tartar. One almost did win. I eventually had to use the dogs."

"This way, please. I'll show you."

The general steered Rainsford to a window. The lights from the windows sent a flickering illumination that made grotesque patterns on the courtyard below, and Rainsford could see moving about there a dozen or so huge black shapes as they turned toward him, their eyes glittered greenly.

"A rather good lot, I think," observed the general. "They are let out at seven every night. If anyone should try to get into my house--or out of it--something extremely regrettable would occur to him." He hummed a snatch of song from the Folies Bergere.

"And now," said the general, "I want to show you my new collection of heads. Will you come with me to the library?"

"I hope," said Rainsford, "that you will excuse me tonight, General Zaroff. I'm really not feeling well."

"Ah, indeed?" the general inquired solicitously. "Well, I suppose that's only natural, after your long swim. You need a good, restful night's sleep. Tomorrow you'll feel like a new man, I'll wager. Then we'll hunt, eh? I've one rather promising prospect--" Rainsford was hurrying from the room.

"Sorry you can't go with me tonight," called the general. "I expect rather fair sport--a big, strong, black. He looks resourceful--Well, good night, Mr. Rainsford I hope you have a good night's rest."

The bed was good, and the pajamas of the softest silk, and he was tired in every fiber of his being, but nevertheless Rainsford could not quiet his brain with the opiate of sleep. He lay, eyes wide open. Once he thought he heard stealthy steps in the corridor outside his room. He sought to throw open the door it would not open. He went to the window and looked out. His room was high up in one of the towers. The lights of the chateau were out now, and it was dark and silent but there was a fragment of sallow moon, and by its wan light he could see, dimly, the courtyard. There, weaving in and out in the pattern of shadow, were black, noiseless forms the hounds heard him at the window and looked up, expectantly, with their green eyes. Rainsford went back to the bed and lay down. By many methods he tried to put himself to sleep. He had achieved a doze when, just as morning began to come, he heard, far off in the jungle, the faint report of a pistol.

General Zaroff did not appear until luncheon. He was dressed faultlessly in the tweeds of a country squire. He was solicitous about the state of Rainsford's health.

"As for me," sighed the general, "I do not feel so well. I am worried, Mr. Rainsford. Last night I detected traces of my old complaint."

To Rainsford's questioning glance the general said, "Ennui. Boredom."

Then, taking a second helping of crepes Suzette, the general explained: "The hunting was not good last night. The fellow lost his head. He made a straight trail that offered no problems at all. That's the trouble with these sailors they have dull brains to begin with, and they do not know how to get about in the woods. They do excessively stupid and obvious things. It's most annoying. Will you have another glass of Chablis, Mr. Rainsford?"

"General," said Rainsford firmly, "I wish to leave this island at once."

The general raised his thickets of eyebrows he seemed hurt. "But, my dear fellow," the general protested, "you've only just come. You've had no hunting--"

"I wish to go today," said Rainsford. He saw the dead black eyes of the general on him, studying him. General Zaroff's face suddenly brightened.

He filled Rainsford's glass with venerable Chablis from a dusty bottle.

"Tonight," said the general, "we will hunt--you and I."

Rainsford shook his head. "No, general," he said. "I will not hunt."

The general shrugged his shoulders and delicately ate a hothouse grape. "As you wish, my friend," he said. "The choice rests entirely with you. But may I not venture to suggest that you will find my idea of sport more diverting than Ivan's?"

He nodded toward the corner to where the giant stood, scowling, his thick arms crossed on his hogshead of chest.

"You don't mean--" cried Rainsford.

"My dear fellow," said the general, "have I not told you I always mean what I say about hunting? This is really an inspiration. I drink to a foeman worthy of my steel--at last." The general raised his glass, but Rainsford sat staring at him.

"You'll find this game worth playing," the general said enthusiastically." Your brain against mine. Your woodcraft against mine. Your strength and stamina against mine. Outdoor chess! And the stake is not without value, eh?"

"And if I win--" began Rainsford huskily.

"I'll cheerfully acknowledge myself defeat if I do not find you by midnight of the third day," said General Zaroff. "My sloop will place you on the mainland near a town." The general read what Rainsford was thinking.

"Oh, you can trust me," said the Cossack. "I will give you my word as a gentleman and a sportsman. Of course you, in turn, must agree to say nothing of your visit here."

"I'll agree to nothing of the kind," said Rainsford.

"Oh," said the general, "in that case--But why discuss that now? Three days hence we can discuss it over a bottle of Veuve Cliquot, unless--"

The general sipped his wine.

Then a businesslike air animated him. "Ivan," he said to Rainsford, "will supply you with hunting clothes, food, a knife. I suggest you wear moccasins they leave a poorer trail. I suggest, too, that you avoid the big swamp in the southeast corner of the island. We call it Death Swamp. There's quicksand there. One foolish fellow tried it. The deplorable part of it was that Lazarus followed him. You can imagine my feelings, Mr. Rainsford. I loved Lazarus he was the finest hound in my pack. Well, I must beg you to excuse me now. I always take a siesta after lunch. You'll hardly have time for a nap, I fear. You'll want to start, no doubt. I shall not follow till dusk. Hunting at night is so much more exciting than by day, don't you think? Au revoir, Mr. Rainsford, au revoir." General Zaroff, with a deep, courtly bow, strolled from the room.

From another door came Ivan. Under one arm he carried khaki hunting clothes, a haversack of food, a leather sheath containing a long-bladed hunting knife his right hand rested on a cocked revolver thrust in the crimson sash about his waist.

Rainsford had fought his way through the bush for two hours. "I must keep my nerve. I must keep my nerve," he said through tight teeth.

He had not been entirely clearheaded when the chateau gates snapped shut behind him. His whole idea at first was to put distance between himself and General Zaroff and, to this end, he had plunged along, spurred on by the sharp rowers of something very like panic. Now he had got a grip on himself, had stopped, and was taking stock of himself and the situation. He saw that straight flight was futile inevitably it would bring him face to face with the sea. He was in a picture with a frame of water, and his operations, clearly, must take place within that frame.

"I'll give him a trail to follow," muttered Rainsford, and he struck off from the rude path he had been following into the trackless wilderness. He executed a series of intricate loops he doubled on his trail again and again, recalling all the lore of the fox hunt, and all the dodges of the fox. Night found him leg-weary, with hands and face lashed by the branches, on a thickly wooded ridge. He knew it would be insane to blunder on through the dark, even if he had the strength. His need for rest was imperative and he thought, "I have played the fox, now I must play the cat of the fable." A big tree with a thick trunk and outspread branches was near by, and, taking care to leave not the slightest mark, he climbed up into the crotch, and, stretching out on one of the broad limbs, after a fashion, rested. Rest brought him new confidence and almost a feeling of security. Even so zealous a hunter as General Zaroff could not trace him there, he told himself only the devil himself could follow that complicated trail through the jungle after dark. But perhaps the general was a devil--

An apprehensive night crawled slowly by like a wounded snake and sleep did not visit Rainsford, although the silence of a dead world was on the jungle. Toward morning when a dingy gray was varnishing the sky, the cry of some startled bird focused Rainsford's attention in that direction. Something was coming through the bush, coming slowly, carefully, coming by the same winding way Rainsford had come. He flattened himself down on the limb and, through a screen of leaves almost as thick as tapestry, he watched. . . . That which was approaching was a man.

It was General Zaroff. He made his way along with his eyes fixed in utmost concentration on the ground before him. He paused, almost beneath the tree, dropped to his knees and studied the ground. Rainsford's impulse was to hurl himself down like a panther, but he saw that the general's right hand held something metallic--a small automatic pistol.

The hunter shook his head several times, as if he were puzzled. Then he straightened up and took from his case one of his black cigarettes its pungent incenselike smoke floated up to Rainsford's nostrils.

Rainsford held his breath. The general's eyes had left the ground and were traveling inch by inch up the tree. Rainsford froze there, every muscle tensed for a spring. But the sharp eyes of the hunter stopped before they reached the limb where Rainsford lay a smile spread over his brown face. Very deliberately he blew a smoke ring into the air then he turned his back on the tree and walked carelessly away, back along the trail he had come. The swish of the underbrush against his hunting boots grew fainter and fainter.

The pent-up air burst hotly from Rainsford's lungs. His first thought made him feel sick and numb. The general could follow a trail through the woods at night he could follow an extremely difficult trail he must have uncanny powers only by the merest chance had the Cossack failed to see his quarry.

Rainsford's second thought was even more terrible. It sent a shudder of cold horror through his whole being. Why had the general smiled? Why had he turned back?

Rainsford did not want to believe what his reason told him was true, but the truth was as evident as the sun that had by now pushed through the morning mists. The general was playing with him! The general was saving him for another day's sport! The Cossack was the cat he was the mouse. Then it was that Rainsford knew the full meaning of terror.

"I will not lose my nerve. I will not."

He slid down from the tree, and struck off again into the woods. His face was set and he forced the machinery of his mind to function. Three hundred yards from his hiding place he stopped where a huge dead tree leaned precariously on a smaller, living one. Throwing off his sack of food, Rainsford took his knife from its sheath and began to work with all his energy.

The job was finished at last, and he threw himself down behind a fallen log a hundred feet away. He did not have to wait long. The cat was coming again to play with the mouse.

Following the trail with the sureness of a bloodhound came General Zaroff. Nothing escaped those searching black eyes, no crushed blade of grass, no bent twig, no mark, no matter how faint, in the moss. So intent was the Cossack on his stalking that he was upon the thing Rainsford had made before he saw it. His foot touched the protruding bough that was the trigger. Even as he touched it, the general sensed his danger and leaped back with the agility of an ape. But he was not quite quick enough the dead tree, delicately adjusted to rest on the cut living one, crashed down and struck the general a glancing blow on the shoulder as it fell but for his alertness, he must have been smashed beneath it. He staggered, but he did not fall nor did he drop his revolver. He stood there, rubbing his injured shoulder, and Rainsford, with fear again gripping his heart, heard the general's mocking laugh ring through the jungle.

"Rainsford," called the general, "if you are within sound of my voice, as I suppose you are, let me congratulate you. Not many men know how to make a Malay mancatcher. Luckily for me I, too, have hunted in Malacca. You are proving interesting, Mr. Rainsford. I am going now to have my wound dressed it's only a slight one. But I shall be back. I shall be back."

When the general, nursing his bruised shoulder, had gone, Rainsford took up his flight again. It was flight now, a desperate, hopeless flight, that carried him on for some hours. Dusk came, then darkness, and still he pressed on. The ground grew softer under his moccasins the vegetation grew ranker, denser insects bit him savagely.

Then, as he stepped forward, his foot sank into the ooze. He tried to wrench it back, but the muck sucked viciously at his foot as if it were a giant leech. With a violent effort, he tore his feet loose. He knew where he was now. Death Swamp and its quicksand.

His hands were tight closed as if his nerve were something tangible that someone in the darkness was trying to tear from his grip. The softness of the earth had given him an idea. He stepped back from the quicksand a dozen feet or so and, like some huge prehistoric beaver, he began to dig.

Rainsford had dug himself in in France when a second's delay meant death. That had been a placid pastime compared to his digging now. The pit grew deeper when it was above his shoulders, he climbed out and from some hard saplings cut stakes and sharpened them to a fine point. These stakes he planted in the bottom of the pit with the points sticking up. With flying fingers he wove a rough carpet of weeds and branches and with it he covered the mouth of the pit. Then, wet with sweat and aching with tiredness, he crouched behind the stump of a lightning-charred tree.

He knew his pursuer was coming he heard the padding sound of feet on the soft earth, and the night breeze brought him the perfume of the general's cigarette. It seemed to Rainsford that the general was coming with unusual swiftness he was not feeling his way along, foot by foot. Rainsford, crouching there, could not see the general, nor could he see the pit. He lived a year in a minute. Then he felt an impulse to cry aloud with joy, for he heard the sharp crackle of the breaking branches as the cover of the pit gave way he heard the sharp scream of pain as the pointed stakes found their mark. He leaped up from his place of concealment. Then he cowered back. Three feet from the pit a man was standing, with an electric torch in his hand.

"You've done well, Rainsford," the voice of the general called. "Your Burmese tiger pit has claimed one of my best dogs. Again you score. I think, Mr. Rainsford, I'll see what you can do against my whole pack. I'm going home for a rest now. Thank you for a most amusing evening."

At daybreak Rainsford, lying near the swamp, was awakened by a sound that made him know that he had new things to learn about fear. It was a distant sound, faint and wavering, but he knew it. It was the baying of a pack of hounds.

Rainsford knew he could do one of two things. He could stay where he was and wait. That was suicide. He could flee. That was postponing the inevitable. For a moment he stood there, thinking. An idea that held a wild chance came to him, and, tightening his belt, he headed away from the swamp.

The baying of the hounds drew nearer, then still nearer, nearer, ever nearer. On a ridge Rainsford climbed a tree. Down a watercourse, not a quarter of a mile away, he could see the bush moving. Straining his eyes, he saw the lean figure of General Zaroff just ahead of him Rainsford made out another figure whose wide shoulders surged through the tall jungle weeds it was the giant Ivan, and he seemed pulled forward by some unseen force Rainsford knew that Ivan must be holding the pack in leash.

They would be on him any minute now. His mind worked frantically. He thought of a native trick he had learned in Uganda. He slid down the tree. He caught hold of a springy young sapling and to it he fastened his hunting knife, with the blade pointing down the trail with a bit of wild grapevine he tied back the sapling. Then he ran for his life. The hounds raised their voices as they hit the fresh scent. Rainsford knew now how an animal at bay feels.

He had to stop to get his breath. The baying of the hounds stopped abruptly, and Rainsford's heart stopped too. They must have reached the knife.

He shinned excitedly up a tree and looked back. His pursuers had stopped. But the hope that was in Rainsford's brain when he climbed died, for he saw in the shallow valley that General Zaroff was still on his feet. But Ivan was not. The knife, driven by the recoil of the springing tree, had not wholly failed.

Rainsford had hardly tumbled to the ground when the pack took up the cry again.

"Nerve, nerve, nerve!" he panted, as he dashed along. A blue gap showed between the trees dead ahead. Ever nearer drew the hounds. Rainsford forced himself on toward that gap. He reached it. It was the shore of the sea. Across a cove he could see the gloomy gray stone of the chateau. Twenty feet below him the sea rumbled and hissed. Rainsford hesitated. He heard the hounds. Then he leaped far out into the sea. . . .

When the general and his pack reached the place by the sea, the Cossack stopped. For some minutes he stood regarding the blue-green expanse of water. He shrugged his shoulders. Then be sat down, took a drink of brandy from a silver flask, lit a cigarette, and hummed a bit from Madame Butterfly.

General Zaroff had an exceedingly good dinner in his great paneled dining hall that evening. With it he had a bottle of Pol Roger and half a bottle of Chambertin. Two slight annoyances kept him from perfect enjoyment. One was the thought that it would be difficult to replace Ivan the other was that his quarry had escaped him of course, the American hadn't played the game--so thought the general as he tasted his after-dinner liqueur. In his library he read, to soothe himself, from the works of Marcus Aurelius. At ten he went up to his bedroom. He was deliciously tired, he said to himself, as he locked himself in. There was a little moonlight, so, before turning on his light, he went to the window and looked down at the courtyard. He could see the great hounds, and he called, "Better luck another time," to them. Then he switched on the light.

A man, who had been hiding in the curtains of the bed, was standing there.

"Rainsford!" screamed the general. "How in God's name did you get here?"

"Swam," said Rainsford. "I found it quicker than walking through the jungle."

The general sucked in his breath and smiled. "I congratulate you," he said. "You have won the game."

Rainsford did not smile. "I am still a beast at bay," he said, in a low, hoarse voice. "Get ready, General Zaroff."

The general made one of his deepest bows. "I see," he said. "Splendid! One of us is to furnish a repast for the hounds. The other will sleep in this very excellent bed. On guard, Rainsford." . . .

He had never slept in a better bed, Rainsford decided.

If you enjoyed this story of a forced "choice" with morbid consequences, you may also enjoy a different kind of life-or-death quandary, The Lady, or the Tiger?. For another story about uncontrollable beasts of the jungle, we suggest Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Brazilian Cat. Visit our Mystery Stories for more "whodunnits."

Return to the Richard Connell Home Page, or . . . Read the next short story The Sin Of Monsieur Pettipon


Solar-Powered Airplane Is About To Make History

Aviation history is in the making -- no fossil fuels necessary.

Solar Impulse 2, the revolutionary airplane powered exclusively by sunlight, is about to depart on the longest leg of its around-the-world journey.

The 4,000-mile flight from Japan to Hawaii will kick off as soon as weather permits. Because the aircraft's maximum speed is only 90 mph and it typically flies even slower to conserve energy, the non-stop journey is predicted to take four to five days. A Boeing 777, with a top speed of around 600 mph, can make the trip in about 8.5 hours.

The Solar Impulse 2's maiden flight.

Solar Impulse 2 is mostly made of carbon fiber. It has 17,248 solar cells on the wings that recharge four lithium polymer batteries. It is extremely light at 5,070 pounds, about the weight of a Ford Explorer, but has a 236-foot wingspan, which generates enough lift to maintain flight over long periods of time.

André Borschberg, co-founder of Solar Impulse, will pilot the single-seat aircraft for this leg of the flight. He'll be permitted 20-minute naps throughout the multi-day flight, during which an extensive team on the ground will monitor progress.

For the #Pacific, I need to be ready for the unknown: I’m not sure how #Si2 will behave over so many days and nights pic.twitter.com/I31FHaQTmh

&mdash André Borschberg (@andreborschberg) May 30, 2015

The trip to Hawaii was attempted in late May, but was aborted mid-flight due to precarious weather. Solar Impulse 2 made an emergency landing in Nagoya, Japan, where a wing was slightly damaged by strong winds.

Solar Impulse 2 can fly at night because of its battery storage technology. It needs relatively sunny skies during the day and low winds.

Solar flight may seem slow, expensive, and downright impractical at this point, but Borschberg and co-founder Bertrand Piccard said they see the project as a lofty jumping-off point for more eco-friendly travel.

After founding the project in 2003, they set out to change the face of modern aviation.

"It’s really to show what we can do with renewable energies," Piccard told The Verge. "This is really the vision I had in the beginning, to do something extremely difficult, something that people would consider impossible."

The around-the-world journey began in the United Arab Emirates on March 9, 2015, and is expected to be completed in July or August with a return to the UAE.

Whatever the result, the plane itself is indisputably cool. Veja por si mesmo:


Impulse For Change: The Story Of Impulse! Registros

Impulse! Records’ history blends indie hipness with a compulsion to push the boundaries, creating some of the most forward-thinking music in history.

Founded in 1961 by Creed Taylor, Impulse! Records is regarded as one of the most important and iconic record labels in jazz. Its history is rich with pioneering musicians who refused to sit still, pushing musical boundaries and creating a discography that’s the equal of any other major jazz record label.

One man looms large in Impulse! Records’ history: John Coltrane. A musical seeker who played saxophone and flute, and recorded for Prestige, Blue Note, and Atlantic before landing at Impulse! in 1961, Coltrane evolved into a paradigm-busting pathfinder who became not only the label’s talisman but also, both musically and spiritually, its guiding light. Indeed, such was his influence on the company’s mindset and raison d’être that Impulse! Records was often referred to as “the house that Trane built.”

“The New Wave Of Jazz Is On Impulse!”

Certainly, Coltrane, who stayed with Impulse! until his death in 1967, was hugely influential and his presence was a key factor in attracting some of the leading protagonists of jazz’s avant-garde movement (namely Albert Ayler, Pharoah Sanders, Archie Shepp, Sun Ra, Michael White, and Alice Coltrane) to join the roster of what was, in essence, a major label. And yet if you examine the Impulse! Records story in finer detail, you’ll find that, despite its forward-looking motto, “The New Wave Of Jazz Is On Impulse!”, it was a record label that also honored the idiom’s old guard.

Duke Ellington, Coleman Hawkins, Ben Webster, Earl Hines, Benny Carter, and Lionel Hampton all recorded for Impulse! Records, a fact that torpedoes the notion that the label favored only jazz revolutionaries. Despite its seeming inclinations towards the “new thing,” Impulse! wasn’t biased towards any particular style of jazz, but rather sought to bring the young upstarts and old masters together to present their respective talents in the best possible way. Or, as an advertisement the label took out in Painel publicitário, in 1961, stated: “Dedicated To Presenting The Greats In A Showcase Of Sonic Perfection!!”

Different from other jazz labels

From the outset, Impulse! Records was different from other jazz labels. Unlike, say, Blue Note or Prestige, it didn’t evolve gradually over time but emerged fully-formed and ready to run. Its albums, distinguished by a visually striking orange, black, and white color scheme, looked different as well. They were classy, upmarket, and perfectly complimented the music’s impeccable sound quality.

For the label’s founder, Creed Taylor, how the music was packaged and presented was an important component in the art of record-making, as he told this writer in 2008: “The packaging was very distinctive – it was double-fold, laminated jackets. After people heard the music on the radio, it was very easy to identify when they went into the record store because Impulse! had the best-looking covers.”

Within a short space of time, Impulse! became seen as a serious rival to long-established specialist jazz labels such as Blue Note, Prestige, and Riverside. Unlike those companies, however, it was a newly-created division of a well-heeled major label where there were fewer financial constrictions. Even so, from the very beginning, Impulse! Records was driven by an indie label mentality. It could be likened, then, to Blue Note on steroids, though where Alfred Lion’s iconic company had an aura of cool, Impulse! emanated a sense of mystique and – as it progressed – otherworldliness. From its inception in 1961 until it ceased operations in 1977, Impulse! Records was the undisputed standard-bearer for the most cutting-edge sounds in jazz.

Laying the foundations: the early years

Rewinding back to 1961: Impulse! was born when the New York-based company ABC/Paramount – a major record label chiefly known for producing pop acts such as Paul Anka, Danny And The Juniors, and Frankie Avalon in the late 50s – sought to venture more deeply into the jazz market. Creed Taylor joined ABC/Paramount in the company’s inaugural year, 1955, heading up its jazz department, which he aimed to expand. He became renowned for dreaming up original and savvy concepts to help sell jazz to the wider public, finding success in 1957 with the bebop-influenced vocal trio Lambert, Hendricks And Ross, whose groundbreaking album, Sing A Song Of Basie, used layered, multi-tracked voices to recreate vocalese versions of Count Basie tunes. In fact, it was Taylor’s success at generating sales in the jazz field – combined with the label’s accumulated wealth from its chart successes in the pop singles market – that led his bosses at ABC/Paramount to green-light the launch of a separate jazz division in 1961.


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