0,49 €
Niedrigster Preis in 30 Tagen: 1,99 €
In 'A Crime of the Under-seas,' Guy Boothby delves into a world of intrigue beneath the ocean's surface, weaving a narrative that melds adventure with elements of crime fiction. The story navigates themes of greed, betrayal, and the unknown, all told in Boothby's distinctive prose that artfully balances suspense and vivid imagery. Set against the backdrop of the early 20th century, the novel reflects the era's fascination with the mysterious depths of the sea and the concurrent technological advancements that encouraged exploration, making it a significant contribution to the genre of maritime literature. Guy Boothby, an accomplished Australian author, was deeply influenced by his travels and the Victorian literary landscape, which often incorporated adventure and the exotic. His diverse experiences as a government clerk, journalist, and novelist inform the richly drawn characters and thrilling plots in his works. Boothby's understanding of human nature and the darker aspects of society plays a pivotal role in shaping 'A Crime of the Under-seas,' ensuring a gripping tale that captivates readers. This captivating novel is highly recommended for fans of classic adventure and crime fiction, as it promises not only a thrilling narrative but also an exploration of the psychological intricacies inherent in human relationships. Boothby's ability to transport readers into an enthralling underwater realm makes this work a must-read for those seeking both adventure and profound reflections on human behavior. In this enriched edition, we have carefully created added value for your reading experience: - A succinct Introduction situates the work's timeless appeal and themes. - The Synopsis outlines the central plot, highlighting key developments without spoiling critical twists. - A detailed Historical Context immerses you in the era's events and influences that shaped the writing. - A thorough Analysis dissects symbols, motifs, and character arcs to unearth underlying meanings. - Reflection questions prompt you to engage personally with the work's messages, connecting them to modern life. - Hand‐picked Memorable Quotes shine a spotlight on moments of literary brilliance. - Interactive footnotes clarify unusual references, historical allusions, and archaic phrases for an effortless, more informed read.
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
In a world where the promise of treasure and the terror of the deep conspire to blur the boundary between enterprise and crime, the sea itself becomes a stage for human daring, duplicity, and reckoning, drawing ambitious adventurers into perilous bargains, setting judges and outlaws adrift on the same tide, and forcing every voyager to choose whether survival, loyalty, or the glitter of ill‑gotten gain will steer the helm amid trade winds, remote coasts, and silent horizons that witness deeds the shore may never record.
A Crime of the Under-seas is a work of adventure and crime fiction by Guy Boothby, an Australian-born writer who became a prominent figure in late nineteenth-century popular literature. Emerging from the late-Victorian marketplace that prized exotic settings and swift, suspenseful plots, it taps the maritime world for both atmosphere and intrigue. The story unfolds across seafaring spaces—ships, harbors, and out-of-the-way coasts—where the reach of the law is uncertain and fortunes can change with the weather. The publication context is the 1890s–early 1900s, when Boothby’s name was widely associated with rapid, highly readable storytelling.
Without revealing more than its opening premise, the book centers on a transgression bound to the ocean itself and the dangerous compact it creates between those who commit it and those who would expose it. The narrative promises the pleasures of nautical fiction—tight quarters, wary alliances, and the constant calculus of risk—while keeping a crime-driven spine that propels the action from one tense encounter to the next. Readers can expect a clear, forward-driving voice, an emphasis on momentum, and scenes that pivot on observation, cunning, and timing rather than intricate puzzle-solving.
The sea in Boothby’s hands functions as both setting and moral pressure, testing characters at the edge of empire and at the limits of their own resolve. Themes of ambition and avarice are matched by questions about justice: who claims it, who evades it, and what it costs to pursue it in places where formal authority thins. The story probes the space between respectability and ruthlessness, showing how necessity and temptation erode tidy distinctions. It also considers the price of secrecy, the strain of complicity, and the way fear and opportunity can forge or fracture trust under relentless conditions.
Boothby’s style is brisk and vivid, attentive to the practicalities of seafaring while keeping descriptions lean enough to spotlight action and consequence. He is known for cinematic pacing and cliff-edge turns, and those qualities shape the reading experience: chapters that end on a knife’s edge, scenes that open in media res, and dialogue that carries the heat of urgency. His handling of place favors atmosphere over exhaustive detail, producing a sense of mobility and reach that suits a tale moving along global routes. The effect is a compact, immersive journey driven by stakes that escalate with each decision.
For contemporary readers, the book offers both escapist propulsion and an occasion to reflect on enduring dilemmas. Its portrait of maritime enterprise and clandestine profit anticipates modern concerns about transnational crime, extractive ventures, and the tenuous boundary between legitimate trade and illicit gain. The characters’ calculations—about risk, loyalty, and the value of a promise under pressure—remain legible today, as does the insight that environments shaped by distance and danger invite their own ethics. Reading it now invites curiosity about how popular fiction framed global mobility and moral ambiguity at the height of imperial sea power.
Approached as a taut seaborne caper with a hard moral undertow, A Crime of the Under-seas rewards readers who enjoy swift, atmospheric storytelling in which the elements are as formidable as any antagonist. Admirers of classic adventure, crime tales with a frontier edge, and late-Victorian popular fiction will find familiar pleasures sharpened by Boothby’s momentum and sense of place. It is best read for its mood of mounting pressure and its layered questions rather than for a puzzle-box solution, a compact voyage that carries the brine of its time and the bite of choices that cannot be unmade.
Set in the South Seas during the height of the pearling trade, A Crime of the Under-seas follows a small expedition drawn by the promise of wealth on remote banks. The narrator joins a hard-driving skipper, seasoned divers, and a mixed crew, each with reasons for risking treacherous waters. From the outset, competition and rumor frame the voyage: tales of a rich, little-worked bed lure men from distant ports, while whispers of rival interests traveling the same route create unease. The sea itself is presented as both workplace and adversary, demanding discipline, teamwork, and vigilance as the schooner heads toward an uncharted reef system.
Upon reaching the pearling grounds, the party establishes routine and hierarchy: the divers prepare their suits and pumps, tenders rehearse signals, and the master keeps a close eye on weather and currents. Quiet tensions surface as newcomers test themselves against veterans and the value of the catch grows with each haul. The narrator observes practical frictions—dividing the proceeds, guarding finds, and maintaining secrecy—while noting an undercurrent of distrust. Rival vessels are sighted at a distance, and supplies are locked down at night. In this tightly managed setting, even small irregularities—a misplaced tool or unlogged watch—take on larger meaning and point to pressures beyond ordinary risk.
The work intensifies when a promising stretch of seabed is located. Divers describe a shelf scattered with giant shells and crevices that could conceal exceptional pearls. The team plans a sequence of careful descents, aiming to exploit the ground swiftly without drawing attention. Over successive days, the expedition sees improving results, heightening both morale and anxiety. The captain enforces strict protocols for signaling and recovery, mindful that a diver’s life depends on surface crew precision. Meanwhile, the narrator notes signs that their presence is known: distant sails that hold position, unfamiliar boats that vanish at dusk, and rumors carried by passing Islanders about men asking questions upriver.
A notable discovery raises the stakes. One dive yields a find that suggests the reef’s true value is far beyond expectations. The crew tightens security, implements double watches, and reduces shore contact. Careful records of shells, locations, and shifts are kept, and gear is examined before every descent. Yet prosperity brings friction: disagreements over shares, personal slights, and small liberties taken with rules. A new sense of urgency propels the operation; the party aims to remove the best of the bed before rivals intervene. Against this heightened backdrop, the narrator watches small misalignments—delayed signals, a fouled line, a missing key—coalesce into a pattern that hints at deliberate interference.
The pivotal incident unfolds beneath the surface. During a routine descent, a diver’s lifeline and air supply are compromised in a manner that cannot be dismissed as accident. The response on deck is immediate: emergency haul, frantic efforts to reestablish air, and swift isolation of equipment and personnel. Shock passes quickly into controlled inquiry as the party recognizes that a planned act has taken place at the most vulnerable moment. The scene underscores the peril of their trade: the sea magnifies any treachery, and seconds can decide a life. With operations suspended, the ship’s leadership moves to reconstruct events, identify opportunity and motive, and preserve the site from further harm.
An internal investigation begins, focused on routine and access. The narrator and captain examine pumps, valves, hoses, and the chain of custody for tools. They question watchkeepers about timings, signals, and sightings around the rail. Records are scrutinized for inconsistencies: a changed entry, a break in a shift rotation, an unexplained absence. The possibility of outside interference is weighed against evidence implying an insider’s hand. Ranges and bearings to the bed are rechecked, and contingency plans are set. As suspicion narrows, the team devises a controlled test—a monitored dive under stricter conditions—to expose weaknesses in their procedures and to force the responsible party into a revealing mistake.
The return to the reef provides the story’s tense centerpiece. With divers operating on a shortened line and multiple tenders at stations, the crew repeats the suspect routine under observation. Subtle movements on a nearby vessel, slight changes in current, and an altered signal pattern converge to trigger a confrontation. What follows is a hazardous sequence on and below the surface: a chase among coral heads, a struggle to keep air flowing, and the exposure of a concealed method used to tamper with the lines. As danger peaks, the underlying scheme becomes clear, though the narrative withholds key identities and final outcomes, sustaining the focus on process and peril rather than revelation.
After the crisis, order is restored and the expedition reassesses its aim. Authority ashore is notified, and measures are taken to secure evidence and protect the crew. The fate of the reef is decided with caution, balancing gain against safety and future risk. Relationships within the party shift: trust is recalibrated, responsibilities are redistributed, and the importance of clear procedure is reinforced. The narrator reflects on the pressures that created the conditions for wrongdoing—profit, secrecy, and isolation—and on the practical steps that curtail them. The voyage concludes with commitments to tighter discipline and cooperation, avoiding any detailed account of legal consequences or the precise disposition of the disputed find.
A Crime of the Under-seas presents a compact maritime crime tale that centers on the vulnerabilities of underwater labor and the corrosive pull of greed. Structured around a voyage, discovery, violation, and redress, it emphasizes method over melodrama: the craft of diving, the logistics of a remote operation, and the quiet calculations behind sabotage. Without lingering on final revelations, the narrative conveys a clear message about risk, responsibility, and the fragile bonds that hold small crews together under pressure. The sea’s dangers are constant, but it is human intent that turns hazard into crime, a point the story underscores through its careful escalation and restrained resolution.
Guy Boothby’s A Crime of the Under-seas (published in London in 1896) is set largely in the late Victorian maritime world of the South Pacific and the waters off northern Australia. Its imaginative geography follows steamship routes threading the Torres Strait, New Guinea, the Coral Sea, and the broader Malay Archipelago, with outposts such as Thursday Island, Cooktown, and Port Moresby functioning as staging grounds for diving, salvage, and trade. The period is defined by imperial shipping, pearling fleets, and colonial administrations projecting British law over reefs and archipelagos only recently charted. The time-and-place matrix is one of technical possibility—hard-hat diving, telegraphy—coexisting with frontier risk and opportunistic crime.
The political backdrop includes the rapid partition of New Guinea and nearby islands in the 1880s. Britain proclaimed a protectorate over southeastern New Guinea in November 1884 and annexed it as British New Guinea in 1888, while Germany declared Kaiser-Wilhelmsland (German New Guinea) in 1884 to the north. Queensland had earlier extended its jurisdiction over the Torres Strait Islands via Letters Patent in 1872 and 1879. Thursday Island became the administrative hub; John Douglas served as Government Resident from 1885. This mosaic of overlapping jurisdictions, new magistracies, and uneven enforcement produced a semi-regulated frontier that the book mirrors in its depictions of contested authority at sea and along littoral ports.
The Torres Strait and northwest Australian pearling industry shaped the era more than any single maritime pursuit. From the 1860s, mother-of-pearl shell for buttons and luxury goods drew fleets to banks between Cape York and New Guinea; by the 1890s there were hundreds of luggers operating out of Thursday Island and Broome. Early coercive labor practices (‘blackbirding’) in the wider Pacific gave way to regulated indenture under measures such as Queensland’s Polynesian Labourers Act 1868, but abuses persisted. By the late 1890s, Japanese divers, renowned for deep-water skill, dominated diving crews; Malay, Koepanger (Timorese), Filipino, and Pacific Islander seamen crewed the luggers under white owners and masters. Standard diving dress from firms like Siebe Gorman, surface-supplied air pumps, and weighted boots enabled deeper shelling and salvage, but decompression sickness, burst eardrums, and drowning were common. Storms intensified the hazard: Cyclone Mahina (4 March 1899) tore through Bathurst Bay and the far north, killing an estimated 400–410 people, including many from pearling fleets. Commercial incentives were stark—top-grade shell fetched high prices in London and New York—driving risk-taking, debt bondage, and fierce competition over productive grounds. Boothby’s tales of undersea ventures, perilous dives, and the moral ambiguities of treasure and shell closely mirror this world’s blend of technological bravado, multinational crews, and exploitative labor systems centered on Thursday Island’s late-1890s boom ecology.
Maritime disasters in the Great Barrier Reef and the Torres Strait also formed a vivid contemporary memory. On 28 February 1890 the RMS Quetta struck an uncharted pinnacle in Adolphus Channel and sank rapidly, with 134 lives lost out of about 292 aboard; survivors reached nearby islands and Thursday Island. Admiralty surveys subsequently corrected charts and named Quetta Rock, and local authorities strengthened pilotage and signaling. Salvage divers recovered selected cargo and mail. Such catastrophes underscored the era’s navigational uncertainties and the life-or-death stakes of reef passages that Boothby channels into plots where shipwreck, sudden fortune, and salvage rights become catalysts for crime and moral testing.
Late-Victorian maritime law framed the profits and perils of salvage that animate undersea crime narratives. The United Kingdom’s Merchant Shipping Act 1894 consolidated salvage provisions, while Lloyd’s Open Form (introduced 1892) standardized ‘no cure, no pay’ contracts encouraging rapid intervention. Colonial admiralty courts in Sydney and Brisbane adjudicated disputes over wreck, derelict, and cargo, and insurers policed fraud. Famous Australasian legends of lost bullion—such as the General Grant (wrecked 1866 in the Auckland Islands) and later gold-ship tales—kept public attention on salvage windfalls. Boothby’s scenarios of clandestine recovery, contested ownership, and insurance deception reflect this legal-economic environment where divers, shipmasters, and speculators navigated fine lines between enterprise and felony.
Smuggling and the opium economy connected northern Australian ports with Asian entrepôts. Queensland’s Opium Act 1891 restricted the drug’s sale, and colonial Chinese Restriction Acts in the 1880s foreshadowed the Commonwealth’s Immigration Restriction Act 1901, the cornerstone of White Australia. Customs enforcement intensified along the Cape York telegraph line and at Thursday Island, yet illicit flows from Hong Kong, Singapore, and Batavia persisted, exploiting the labyrinth of reefs and islets. Anti-Chinese sentiment and revenue concerns made opium and contraband central to policing. Boothby’s portrayals of furtive night landings, hidden compartments, and cosmopolitan crews mirror the smuggling milieu that thrived in these channels under the pressure of taxation and racialized immigration control.
Communications and navigational technology altered both commerce and crime. The Australian Overland Telegraph (completed 1872) linked Adelaide to Darwin, and the 1871 Darwin–Java submarine cable connected the continent to the global Eastern Extension network. By the late 1880s a telegraph line up Cape York and a cable link to Thursday Island accelerated dispatches to and from the Torres Strait; the all-British Pacific Cable opened in 1902, routing via Fiji and Canada. Hydrographic surveys by Royal Navy vessels refined charts, yet gaps remained. Faster news cycles, predictable steamship timetables, and more exact charts made fortunes—and thefts—more carefully timed. Boothby’s plots leverage this tempo, where telegraphed intelligence and tides can tilt the balance between law and outlaw.
Viewed against its historical canvas, the book functions as a critique of imperial capitalism’s margins—places where racial hierarchy, risky technology, and extractive ambition intersected. By staging conflicts over pearls, wreck-cargo, and clandestine trade, it exposes labor exploitation in the pearling fleets, the casual expendability of divers, and the unequal protections of admiralty law that favored owners and insurers over crews. The recurring friction between colonial authority and entrepreneurial predation highlights gaps in jurisdiction and the moral evasions of frontier governance. In dramatizing smuggling under exclusionary immigration regimes and profit-first salvage, Boothby illuminates class divides, racialized policing, and the ethical costs exacted by late-Victorian empire at sea.