The Mysterious Island

by Jules Verne




[Redactor’s Note: _The Mysterious Island_ (Number V013 in the T&M
numerical listing of Verne’s works) is a translation of _L’Île
mystérieuse_ first published in England by Sampson and Low and in the
United States by Scribner and Henry L. Shepard using the same
translation of W. H. G. Kingston. English translators often altered
their translations to suit current political views of Church and
Empire. In the Kingston translation the chapters near the end of the
book where Captain Nemo makes his appearance are altered beyond all
recognition and all mention of Captain Nemo’s previous life as a
“freedom fighter” for Indian independence is removed, in addition to
other deletions. The present translation is by the American Stephen W.
White. It first appeared in the _Evening Telegraph_ of Philadelphia, PA
and was later published as an Evening Telegraph Reprint Book (1876).
The present version is prepared from a xerox copy of that book kindly
provided by Mr. Sidney Kravitz of Dover, NJ. According to Taves and
Michaluk “Although more faithful than any other translation, this one
has never been reprinted”. And so after a lapse of 127 years this
translation of _The Mysterious Island_ is now again available to the
public.

Since the text was hand set for a newspaper there are many printer’s
errors (including upside-down characters). Where obvious these have
been corrected, although an attempt has been made to retain the
original spelling of words in use at that period. Where there is a
doubt, words have been altered so that the spelling is consistent. In
other cases, like “trajopan” where the inconsistency is traced to
Verne’s original, the spelling is left unaltered. A table of contents
based on the chapter headings has been added which also indicates the
points at which the french version was divided into three parts. An
updated translation by Sidney Kravitz is now available from Wesleyan
University Press (2001).


JULES VERNE’S LAST STORY


THE

THE MYSTERIOUS ISLAND

ISLAND

WITH A MAP OF THE ISLAND AND A FULL GLOSSARY


By JULES VERNE


AUTHOR OF “THE TOUR OF THE WORLD IN EIGHTY DAYS,” “A JOURNEY TO THE
CENTRE OF THE EARTH,” “TWENTY THOUSAND LEAGUES UNDER THE SEA,”
ETC.,ETC.




_TRANSLATED EXPRESSLY FOR_

“T H E   E V E N I N G   T E L E G R A P H,”

_AND REPRINTED FROM THE COLUMNS OF THAT JOURNAL._




PHILADELPHIA:


OFFICE OF THE EVENING TELEGAPH, 108 SOUTH THIRD ST.

1876

PRICE, 25 CENTS


THE MYSTERIOUS ISLAND




CONTENTS


PART I SHIPWRECKED IN THE AIR

I  The Hurricane of 1865—Cries in the Air—A Balloon Caught By a
Waterspout—Only the Sea in Sight—Five Passengers—What Took Place in the
Basket—Land Ahead!—The End.

II  An Episode of the Rebellion—The Engineer Cyrus Smith—Gideon
Spilett—The Negro Neb—The Sailor Pencroft—The Youth, Herbert—An
Unexpected Proposal—Rendezvous at 10 O’clock P.M.—Departure in the
Storm.

III  Five O’clock in the Afternoon—The Lost One—The Despair of
Neb—Search to the Northward—The Island—A Night of Anguish—The Fog of
the Morning—Neb Swimming—Sight of the Land—Fording the Channel.

IV  The Lithodomes—The Mouth of the River—The “Chimneys”—Continuation
of the Search—The Forest of Evergreens—Getting Firewood—Waiting for the
Tide—On Top of the Cliff—The Timber-Float—The Return to the Coast.

V  Arranging the Chimneys—The Important Question of Fire—The Match
Box—Search Over the Shore—Return of the Reporter and Neb—One Match—The
Crackling Fire—The Fish Supper—The First Night on Land.

VI  The Castaways’ Inventory—No Effects—The Charred Linen—An Expedition
Into the Forest—The Flora of the Woods—The Flight of the Jacamar—Tracks
of Wild Beasts—The Couroucous—The Heath-Cock—Line-Fishing
Extraordinary.

VII  Neb Has Not Yet Returned—The Reflections of the Reporter—The
Supper—Prospect of a Bad Night—The Storm Is Frightful—They Go Out Into
the Night—Struggle with the Rain and Wind.

VIII  Is Cyrus Smith Alive?—Neb’s Story—Footprints—An Insoluble
Question—The First Words of Smith—Comparing the Footprints—Return to
the Chimneys—Pencroff Dejected.

IX  Cyrus Is Here-Pencroff’s Attempts—Rubbing Wood—Island or
Continent—The Plans of the Engineer—Whereabouts in the Pacific—In the
Depths of the Forest—The Pistachio Pine—A Pig Chase—A Smoke of Good
Omen.

X  The Engineer’s Invention—Island Or Continent?—Departure for the
Mountain—The Forest—Volcanic Soil—The Tragopans—The Moufflons—The First
Plateau—Encamping for the Night—The Summit of the Cone

XI  At the Summit of the Cone—The Interior of the Crater—Sea
Everywhere—No Land in Sight—A Bird’s Eve View of the Coast—Hydrography
and Orography—Is the Island Inhabited?—A Geographical Baptism—Lincoln
Island.

XII  Regulation of Watches—Pencroff Is Satisfied—A Suspicious Smoke—The
Course of Red Creek—The Flora of the Island—Its Fauna—Mountain
Pheasants—A Kangaroo Chase—The Agouti—Lake Grant—Return to the
Chimneys.

XIII  Top’s Contribution—Making Bows and Arrows—A Brick-Kiln—A
Pottery—Different Cooking Utensils—The First Boiled Meat—Mugwort—The
Southern Cross—An Important Astronomical Observation.

XIV  The Measure Of the Granite Wall—An Application of the Theorem of
Similar Triangles—The Latitude of the Island—An Excursion to the
North—An Oyster-Bed—Plans for the Future—The Sun’s Passage of the
Meridian—The Co-ordinates of Lincoln Island.

XV  Winter Sets In—The Metallurgic Question—The Exploration of Safety
Island—A Seal Hunt—Capture of an Echidna—The Ai—The Catalonian
Method—Making Iron and Steel.

XVI  The Question of a Dwelling Discussed Again—Pencroff’s Ideas—An
Exploration to the North of the Lake—The Western Boundary of the
Plateau—The Serpents—The Outlet of the Lake—Top’s Alarm—Top Swimming—A
Fight Under Water—The Dugong.

XVII  A Visit to the Lake—The Direction of the Current—The Prospects of
Cyrus Smith—The Dugong Fat—The Use of the Schistous Limestone—The
Sulphate of Iron—How Glycerine Is Made—Soap—Saltpetre—Sulphuric
Acid—Nitric Acid—The New Outlet.

XVIII  Pencroff Doubts No More—The Old Outlet of the Lake—A
Subterranean Descent—The Way Through the Granite—Top Has
Disappeared—The Central Cavern—The Lower Well—Mystery—The Blows with
the Pick—The Return.

XIX  Smith’s Plan—The Front of Granite House—The Rope Ladder—Pencroff’s
Ideas—The Aromatic Herbs—A Natural Warren—Getting Water—The View From
the Windows of Granite House.

XX  The Rainy Season—What to Wear-A Seal-Hunt—Candle-Making—-Work in
the Granite House—The Two Causeways—Return From a Visit to the
Oyster-Bed—What Herbert Found in His Pocket.

XXI  Several Degrees Below Zero—Exploration of the Swamp Region to the
Southeast—The View of the Sea—A Conversation Concerning the Future of
the Pacific Ocean—The Incessant Labor of the Infusoria—What Will Become
of This Globe—The Chase—The Swamp of the Tadorns.

XXII.  The Traps—The Foxes—The Peccaries—The Wind Veers to the
Northwest—The Snow-Storm—The Basket-Makers—The Coldest Snap of
Winter—Crystallization of the Sugar-Maple—The Mysterious Shafts—The
Projected Exploration—The Pellet of Lead.


PART II THE ABANDONED

XXIII  Concerning the Leaden Pellet—Making a Canoe—Hunting—In the Top
of a Kauri—Nothing to Indicate the Presence of Man—The Turtle on its
Back—The Turtle Disappears—Smith’s Explanation.

XXIV  Trial of the Canoe—A Wreck on the Shore—The Tow—Jetsam
Point—Inventory of the Box—What Pencroff Wanted—A Bible—A Verse from
the Bible.

XXV  The Departure—The Rising Tide—Elms and Other Trees—Different
Plants—The Kingfisher—Appearance of the Forest—The Gigantic
Eucalypti—Why They Are Called Fever-Trees—Monkeys—The
Waterfall—Encampment for the Night.

XXVI  Going Toward the Coast—Troops of Monkeys—A New Water-Course—Why
the Tide Was Not Felt—A Forest on the Shore—Reptile Promontory—Spilett
Makes Herbert Envious—The Bamboo Fusilade.

XXVII  Proposal to Return By the South Coast—Its Configuration—Search
for the Shipwrecked—A Waif in the Air—Discovery of a Small Natural
Harbor—Midnight on the Mercy—A Drifting Canoe.

XXVIII  Pencroff’s Halloos—A Night in the Chimneys—Herbert’s
Arrow—Smith’s Plan—An Unexpected Solution—What Had Happened in Granite
House—How the Colonists Obtained a New Domestic.

XXIX  Projects to Be Carried Out—A Bridge Over the Mercy—To Make An
Island of Prospect Plateau—The Draw-Bridge—The Corn Harvest—The
Stream—The Causeway—The Poultry Yard—The Pigeon-House—The Two Wild
Asses—Harnessed to the Wagon—Excursion to Balloon Harbor.

XXX  Clothing—Seal-Skin Boots—Making Pyroxyline—Planting—The
Fish—Turtles’ Eggs—Jup’s Education—The Corral-Hunting Moufflons—Other
Useful Animals and Vegetables—Home Thoughts.

XXXI  Bad Weather—The Hydraulic Elevator—Making Window Glass and Table
Ware—The Bread Tree—Frequent Visits to the Corral—The Increase of the
Herd—The Reporter’s Question—The Exact Position of Lincoln
Island—Pencroff’s Proposal.

XXXII  Ship Building—The Second Harvest—Ai Hunting—A New Plant—A
Whale—The Harpoon From the Vineyard—Cutting Up This Cetacea—Use of the
Whalebone—The End of May—PencroffIs Content.

XXXIII  Winter—Fulling Cloth—The Mill—Pencroff’s Fixed Purpose—The
Whalebones—The Use of An Albatross—Top and Jup—Storms—Damage to the
Poultry-Yard—An Excursion to the Marsh—Smith Alone—Exploration of the
Pits.

XXXIV  Rigging the Launch—Attacked By Foxes—Jup Wounded—Jup Nursed—Jup
Cured—Completion of the Launch—Pencroff’s Triumph—The Good Luck—Trial
Trip, to the South of the Island—An Unexpected Document.

XXXV  Departure Decided Upon—Preparations—The Three Passengers—The
First Night—The Second Night—Tabor Island—Search on the Shore—Search in
the Woods—No One—Animals—Plants—A House—Deserted.

XXXVI  The Inventory—The Night—Some Letters—The Search Continued—Plants
and Animals—Herbert in Danger—Aboard—The Departure—Bad Weather—A
Glimmer of Intelligence—Lost At Sea—A Timely Light.

XXXVII  The Return-Discussion—Smith and the Unknown—Balloon Harbor-The
Devotion of the Engineer-A Touching Experience-Tears.

XXXVIII  A Mystery to Be Solved—The First Words of the Unknown—Twelve
Years on the Island—Confessions—Disappearance—Smith’s
Confidence—Building a Wind-Mill—The First Bread—An Act of
Devotion—Honest Hands.

XXXIX  Always Apart—A Bequest of the Unknown’s—The Farm Established At
the Corral—Twelve Years—The Boatswain’s Mate of the Britannia—Left on
Tabor Island—The Hand of Smith—The Mysterious Paper

XL  A Talk—Smith and Spilett—The Engineer’s Idea—The Electric
Telegraph—The Wires—The Batter—the Alphabet—Fine Weather—The Prosperity
of the Colony—Photography—A Snow Effect—Two Years on Lincoln Island.

XLI  Thoughts of Home—Chances of Return—Plan to Explore the Coast—The
Departure of the 16th of April—Serpentine Peninsula Seen From Sea—The
Basaltic Cliffs of the Western Coast—Bad Weather—Night—A New Incident.

XLII  Night At Sea—Shark Gulf—Confidences—Preparations for Winter—Early
Advent of Bad Weather—Cold—In-Door Work—Six Months Later—A Speck on the
Photograph—An Unexpected Event.


PART III THE SECRET OF THE ISLAND

XLIII  Lost Or Saved?—Ayrton Recalled—Important Discussion—It Is Not
the Duncan—Suspicion And Precaution—Approach of the Ship—A Cannon
Shot—The Brig Anchors in Sight of the Island—Night Fall.

XLIV  Discussions—Presentiments—Ayrton’s Proposal—It Is Accepted—Ayrton
and Pencroff on Safety Islet—Norfolk Convicts—Their Projects—Heroic
Attempt of Ayrton—His Return—Six Against Fifty.

XLV  The Mist Rises—The Engineer’s Disposition of Forces—Three
Posts—Ayrton and Pencroft—The First Attack—Two Other Boat Loads—On the
Islet—Six Convicts on Shore—The Brig Weighs Anchor—The Speedy’s
Projectiles—Desperate Situation—Unexpected Denouement.

XLVI  The Colonists on the Beach—Ayrton and Pencroff as Salvors—Talk At
Breakfast—Pencroff’s Reasoning—Exploration of the Brig’s Hull in
Detail—The Magazine Uninjured—New Riches—A Discovery—A Piece of a
Broken Cylinder.

XLVII  The Engineer’s Theory—Pencroff’s Magnificent Suppositions—A
Battery in the Air—Four Projectiles—The Surviving Convicts—Ayrton
Hesitates—Smith’s Generosity and Pencroff’s Dissatisfaction.

XLVIII  The Projected Expedition—Ayrton At the Corral—Visit to Port
Balloon—Pencroff’s Remarks—Despatch Sent to the Corral—No Answer From
Ayrton—Setting Out Next Day—Why the Wire Did Not Act—A Detonation.

XLIX  The Reporter and Pencroff in the Corral—Moving Herbert—Despair of
the Sailor—Consultation of the Engineer and the Reporter—Mode of
Treatment—A Glimmer of Hope—How to Warn Neb—A Faithful Messenger—Neb’s
Reply.

L  The Convicts in the Neighborhood of the Corral—Provisional
Occupation—Continuation of Herbert’s Treatment—Pencroff’s
Jubilation—Review of the Past—Future Prospects—Smith’s Ideas.

LI  No News of Neb—A Proposal From Pencroff and Spilett—The Reporter’s
Sorties—A Fragment Of Cloth—A Message—Hurried Departure—Arrival At
Prospect Plateau.

LII  Herbert Carried to Granite House—Neb Relates What Had
Happened—Visit of Smith to the Plateau—Ruin and Devastation—The
Colonists Helpless—Willow Bark—A Mortal Fever—Top Barks Again.

LIII  An Inexplicable Mystery—Herbert’s Convalescence—The Unexplored
Parts of the Island—Preparations for Departure—The First
Day—Night—Second Day—The Kauris—Cassowaries—Footprints in the
Sand—Arrival At Reptile End.

LIV  Exploration of Reptile End—Camp At the Mouth of Fall River—By the
Corral—The Reconnaissance—The Return—Forward—An Open Door—A Light in
the Window—By Moonlight.

LV  Ayrton’s Recital—Plans of His Old Comrades—Taking Possession of the
Corral—The Rules of the Island—The Good Luck—Researches About Mount
Franklin—The Upper Valleys—Subterranean Rumblings—Pencroff’s Answer—At
the Bottom of the Crater—The Return

LVI  After Three Years—The Question of a New Ship—Its
Determination—Prosperity of the Colony—The Shipyard—The Cold
Weather—Pencroff Resigned—Washing—Mount Franklin.

LVII  The Awakening of the Volcano—The Fine Weather—Resumption of
Work—The Evening of the 15th of October—A Telegraph—A Demand—An
Answer—Departure for the Corral—The Notice—The Extra Wire—The Basalt
Wall—At High Tide—At Low Tide—The Cavern—A Dazzling Light.

LVIII  Captain Nemo—His First Words—History of a Hero of Liberty—Hatred
of the Invaders—His Companions—The Life Under Water—Alone—The Last
Refuge of the Nautilus—The Mysterious Genius of the Island.

LIX  The Last Hours of Captain Nemo—His Dying Wishes—A Souvenir for His
Friends—His Tomb—Some Counsel to the Colonists—The Supreme Moment—At
the Bottom of the Sea.

LX  The Reflections of the Colonists—Renewal of Work—The 1st of
January, 1869—A Smoke From the Volcano—Symptoms of An Eruption Ayrton
and Smith At the Corral—Exploration of the Crypt Dakkar—What Captain
Nemo Had Said to the Engineer.

LXI  Smith’s Recital—Hastening the Work—A Last Visit to the Corral—The
Combat Between the Fire and the Water—The Aspect of the Island—They
Decide to Launch the Ship—The Night of the 8th of March.

LXII  An Isolated Rock in the Pacific—The Last Refuge of the
Colonists—The Prospect of Death—Unexpected Succor—How and Why It
Came—The Last Good Action—An Island on Terra Firma—The Tomb of Captain
Nemo.




THE MYSTERIOUS ISLAND.

By JULES VERNE.


PART I
SHIPWRECKED IN THE AIR




CHAPTER I.


THE HURRICANE OF 1865—CRIES IN THE AIR—A BALLOON CAUGHT BY A
WATERSPOUT—ONLY THE SEA IN SIGHT—FIVE PASSENGERS—WHAT TOOK PLACE IN THE
BASKET—LAND AHEAD!—THE END.


“Are we going up again?”

“No. On the contrary; we are going down!”

“Worse than that, Mr. Smith, we are falling!”

“For God’s sake throw over all the ballast!”

“The last sack is empty!”

“And the balloon rises again?”

“No!”

“I hear the splashing waves!”

“The sea is under us!”

“It is not five hundred feet off!”

Then a strong, clear voice shouted:—

“Overboard with all we have, and God help us!”

Such were the words which rang through the air above the vast
wilderness of the Pacific, towards 4 o’clock in the afternoon of the
23d of March, 1865:—

Doubtless, no one has forgotten that terrible northeast gale which
vented its fury during the equinox of that year. It was a hurricane
lasting without intermission from the 18th to the 26th of March.
Covering a space of 1,800 miles, drawn obliquely to the equator,
between the 35° of north latitude and 40° south, it occasioned immense
destruction both in America and Europe and Asia. Cities in ruins,
forests uprooted, shores devastated by the mountains of water hurled
upon them, hundreds of shipwrecks, large tracts of territory desolated
by the waterspouts which destroyed everything in their path, thousands
of persons crushed to the earth or engulfed in the sea; such were the
witnesses to its fury left behind by this terrible hurricane. It
surpassed in disaster those storms which ravaged Havana and Guadeloupe
in 1810 and 1825.

While these catastrophes were taking place upon the land and the sea, a
scene not less thrilling was enacting in the disordered heavens.

A balloon, caught in the whirl of a column of air, borne like a ball on
the summit of a waterspout, spinning around as in some aerial
whirlpool, rushed through space with a velocity of ninety miles an
hour. Below the balloon, dimly visible through the dense vapor, mingled
with spray, which spread over the ocean, swung a basket containing five
persons.

From whence came this aerial traveller, the sport of the awful tempest?
Evidently it could not have been launched during the storm, and the
storm had been raging five days, its symptoms manifesting themselves on
the 18th. It must, therefore, have come from a great distance, as it
could not have traversed less than 2,000 miles in twenty-four hours.
The passengers, indeed, had been unable to determine the course
traversed, as they had nothing with which to calculate their position;
and it was a necessary effect, that, though borne along in the midst of
this tempest; they were unconscious of its violence. They were whirled
and spun about and carried up and down without any sense of motion.
Their vision could not penetrate the thick fog massed together under
the balloon. Around them everything was obscure. The clouds were so
dense that they could not tell the day from the night. No reflection of
light, no sound from the habitations of men, no roaring of the ocean
had penetrated that profound obscurity in which they were suspended
during their passage through the upper air. Only on their rapid descent
had they become conscious of the danger threatening them by the waves.

Meanwhile the balloon, disencumbered of the heavy articles, such as
munitions, arms, and provisions, had risen to a height of 4,500 feet,
and the passengers having discovered that the sea was beneath them, and
realizing that the dangers above were less formidable than those below,
did not hesitate to throw overboard everything, no matter how
necessary, at the same time endeavoring to lose none of that fluid, the
soul of the apparatus, which sustained them above the abyss.

The night passed in the midst of dangers that would have proved fatal
to souls less courageous; and with the coming of day the hurricane
showed signs of abatement. At dawn, the emptied clouds rose high into
the heavens; and, in a few hours more, the whirlwind had spent its
force. The wind, from a hurricane, had subsided into what sailors would
call a “three reef breeze.”

Toward eleven o’clock, the lower strata of the air had lightened
visibly. The atmosphere exhaled that humidity which is noticeable after
the passage of great meteors. It did not seem as if the storm had moved
westward, but rather as if it was ended. Perhaps it had flowed off in
electric sheets after the whirlwind had spent itself, as is the case
with the typhoon in the Indian Ocean.

Now, however, it became evident that the balloon was again sinking
slowly but surely. It seemed also as if it was gradually collapsing,
and that its envelope was lengthening and passing from a spherical into
an oval form. It held 50,000 cubic feet of gas, and therefore, whether
soaring to a great height or moving along horizontally, it was able to
maintain itself for a long time in the air. In this emergency the
voyagers threw overboard the remaining articles which weighed down the
balloon, the few provisions they had kept, and everything they had in
their pockets, while one of the party hoisted himself into the ring to
which was fastened the cords of the net, and endeavored to closely tie
the lower end of the balloon. But it was evident that the gas was
escaping, and that the voyagers could no longer keep the balloon
afloat.

They were lost!

There was no land, not even an island, visible beneath them. The wide
expanse of ocean offered no point of rest, nothing upon which they
could cast anchor. It was a vast sea on which the waves were surging
with incomparable violence. It was the limitless ocean, limitless even
to them from their commanding height. It was a liquid plain, lashed and
beaten by the hurricane, until it seemed like a circuit of tossing
billows, covered with a net-work of foam. Not even a ship was in sight.

In order, therefore, to save themselves from being swallowed up by the
waves it was necessary to arrest this downward movement, let it cost
what it might. And it was evidently to the accomplishment of this that
the party were directing their efforts. But in spite of all they could
do the balloon continued to descend, though at the same time moving
rapidly along with the wind toward the southwest.

It was a terrible situation, this, of these unfortunate men. No longer
masters of the balloon, their efforts availed them nothing. The
envelope collapsed more and more, and the gas continued to escape.
Faster and faster they fell, until at 1 o’clock they were not more than
600 feet above the sea. The gas poured out of a rent in the silk. By
lightening the basket of everything the party had been able to continue
their suspension in the air for several hours, but now the inevitable
catastrophe could only be delayed, and unless some land appeared before
nightfall, voyagers, balloon, and basket must disappear beneath the
waves.

It was evident that these men were strong and able to face death. Not a
murmur escaped their lips. They were determined to struggle to the last
second to retard their fall, and they tried their last expedient. The
basket, constructed of willow osiers, could not float, and they had no
means of supporting it on the surface of the water. It was 2 o’clock,
and the balloon was only 400 feet above the waves.

Then a voice was heard—the voice of a man whose heart knew no
fear—responded to by others not less strong:—

“Everything is thrown out?”

“No, we yet have 10,000 francs in gold.”

A heavy bag fell into the sea.

“Does the balloon rise?”

“A little, but it will soon fall again.”

“Is there nothing else we can gut rid of?”

“Not a thing.”

“Yes there is; there’s the basket!”

“Catch hold of the net then, and let it go.”

The cords which attached the basket to the hoop were cut, and the
balloon, as the former fell into the sea, rose again 2,000 feet. This
was, indeed, the last means of lightening the apparatus. The five
passengers had clambered into the net around the hoop, and, clinging to
its meshes, looked into the abyss below.

Every one knows the statical sensibility of a balloon. It is only
necessary to relieve it of the lightest object in order to have it
rise. The apparatus floating in air acts like a mathematical balance.
One can readily understand, then, that when disencumbered of every
weight relatively great, its upward movement will be sudden and
considerable. It was thus in the present instance. But after remaining
poised for a moment at its height, the balloon began to descend. It was
impossible to repair the rent, through which the gas was rushing, and
the men having done everything they could do, must look to God for
succor.

At 4 o’clock, when the balloon was only 500 feet above the sea, the
loud barking of a dog, holding itself crouched beside its master in the
meshes of the net, was heard.

“Top has seen something!” cried one, and immediately afterwards another
shouted:—

“Land! Land!”

The balloon, which the wind had continued to carry towards the
southwest, had since dawn passed over a distance of several hundred
miles, and a high land began to be distinguishable in that direction.
But it was still thirty miles to leeward, and even supposing they did
not drift, it would take a full hour to reach it. An hour! Before that
time could pass, would not the balloon be emptied of what gas remained?
This was the momentous question.

The party distinctly saw that solid point which they must reach at all
hazards. They did not know whether it was an island or a continent, as
they were uninformed as to what part of the world the tempest had
hurried them. But they knew that this land, whether inhabited or
desert, must be reached.

At 4 o’clock it was plain that the balloon could not sustain itself
much longer. It grazed the surface of the sea, and the crests of the
higher waves several times lapped the base of the net, making it
heavier; and, like a bird with a shot in its wing, could only half
sustain itself.

A half hour later, and the land was scarcely a mile distant. But the
balloon, exhausted, flabby, hanging in wrinkles, with only a little gas
remaining in its upper portion, unable to sustain the weight of those
clinging to the net, was plunging them in the sea, which lashed them
with its furious billows. Occasionally the envelope of the balloon
would belly out, and the wind taking it would carry it along like a
ship. Perhaps by this means it would reach the shore. But when only two
cables’ length away four voices joined in a terrible cry. The balloon,
though seemingly unable to rise again, after having been struck by a
tremendous wave, made a bound into the air, as if it had been suddenly
lightened of some of its weight. It rose 1,500 feet, and encountering a
sort of eddy in the air, instead of being carried directly to land, it
was drawn along in a direction nearly parallel thereto. In a minute or
two, however, it reapproached the shore in an oblique direction, and
fell upon the sand above the reach of the breakers. The passengers,
assisting each other, hastened to disengage themselves from the meshes
of the net; and the balloon, relieved of their weight, was caught up by
the wind, and, like a wounded bird recovering for an instant,
disappeared into space.

The basket had contained five passengers and a dog, and but four had
been thrown upon the shore. The fifth one, then, had been washed off by
the great wave which had struck the net, and it was owing to this
accident that the lightened balloon had been able to rise for the last
time before falling upon the land. Scarcely had the four castaways felt
the ground beneath their feet than all thinking of the one who was
lost, cried:—“Perhaps he is trying to swim ashore. Save him! Let us
save him!”




CHAPTER II.


AN EPISODE OF THE REBELLION-THE ENGINEER CYRUS SMITH—GIDEON SPILETT—THE
NEGRO NEB—THE SAILOR PENCROFF—THE YOUTH, HERBERT—AN UNEXPECTED
PROPOSAL—RENDEZVOUS AT 10 O’CLOCK P.M.—DEPARTURE IN THE STORM.


They were neither professional aeronauts nor amateurs in aerial
navigation whom the storm had thrown upon this coast. They were
prisoners of war whose audacity had suggested this extraordinary manner
of escape. A hundred times they would have perished, a hundred times
their torn balloon would have precipitated them into the abyss, had not
Providence preserved them for a strange destiny, and on the 20th of
March, after having flown from Richmond, besieged by the troops of
General Ulysses Grant, they found themselves 7,000 miles from the
Virginia capital, the principal stronghold of the Secessionists during
that terrible war. Their aerial voyage had lasted five days.

Let us see by what curious circumstances this escape of prisoners was
effected,—an escape which resulted in the catastrophe which we have
seen.

This same year, in the month of February, 1865, in one of those
surprises by which General Grant, though in vain, endeavored to take
Richmond, many of his officers were captured by the enemy and confined
within the city. One of the most distinguished of those taken was a
Federal staff officer named Cyrus Smith.

Cyrus Smith was a native of Massachusetts, an engineer by profession,
and a scientist of the first order, to whom the Government had given,
during the war, the direction of the railways, which played such a
great strategic part during the war.

A true Yankee, thin, bony, lean, about forty-five years old, with
streaks of grey appearing in his close cut hair and heavy moustache. He
had one of those fine classical heads that seem as if made to be copied
upon medals; bright eyes, a serious mouth, and the air of a practiced
officer. He was one of these engineers who began of his own wish with
the pick and shovel, as there are generals who have preferred to rise
from the ranks. Thus, while possessing inventive genius, he had
acquired manual dexterity, and his muscles showed remarkable firmness.
He was as much a man of action as of study; he moved without effort,
under the influence of a strong vitality and his sanguine temperament
defied all misfortune. Highly educated, practical, “clear-headed,” his
temperament was superb, and always retaining his presence of mind he
combined in the highest degree the three conditions whose union
regulates the energy of man: activity of body, strength of will, and
determination. His motto might have been that of William of Orange in
the XVIIth century—“I can undertake without hope, and persevere through
failure.”

Cyrus Smith was also the personification of courage. He had been in
every battle of the war. After having begun under General Grant, with
the Illinois volunteers, he had fought at Paducah, at Belmont, at
Pittsburg Landing, at the siege of Corinth, at Port Gibson, at the
Black River, at Chattanooga, at the Wilderness, upon the Potomac,
everywhere with bravery, a soldier worthy of the General who said “I
never counted my dead.” And a hundred times Cyrus Smith would have been
among the number of those whom the terrible Grant did not count; but in
these combats, though he never spared himself, fortune always favored
him, until the time he was wounded and taken prisoner at the siege of
Richmond.

At the same time with Cyrus Smith another important personage fell into
the power of the Southerners. This was no other than the honorable
Gideon Spilett, reporter to the New York Herald, who had been detailed
to follow the fortunes of the war with the armies of the North.

Gideon Spilett was of the race of astonishing chroniclers, English or
American, such as Stanley and the like, who shrink from nothing in
their endeavor to obtain exact information and to transmit it to their
journal in the quickest manner. The journals of the United States, such
as the New York _Herald_, are true powers, and their delegates are
persons of importance. Gideon Spilett belonged in the first rank of
these representatives.

A man of great merit; energetic, prompt, and ready; full of ideas,
having been all over the world; soldier and artist; vehement in
council; resolute in action; thinking nothing of pain, fatigue, or
danger when seeking information, first for himself and afterwards for
his journal; a master of recondite information of the unpublished, the
unknown, the impossible. He was one of those cool observers who write
amid the cannon balls, “reporting” under the bullets, and to whom all
perils are welcome.

He also had been in all the battles, in the front rank, revolver in one
hand and notebook in the other, his pencil never trembling in the midst
of a cannonade. He did not tire the wires by incessant telegraphing,
like those who speak when they have nothing to say, but each of his
messages was short, condensed, clear, and to the purpose. For the rest,
he did not lack humor. It was he who, after the affair of Black river,
wishing at any price to keep his place at the telegraph wicket in order
to announce the result, kept telegraphing for two hours the first
chapters of the Bible. It cost the New York _Herald_ $2,000, but the
New York _Herald_ had the first news.

Gideon Spilett was tall. He was forty years old or more. Sandy-colored
whiskers encircled his face. His eye was clear, lively, and quick
moving. It was the eye of a man who was accustomed to take in
everything at a glance. Strongly built, he was tempered by all climates
as a bar of steel is tempered by cold water. For ten years Gideon
Spilett had been connected with the New York _Herald_, which he had
enriched with his notes and his drawings, as he wielded the pencil as
well as the pen. When captured he was about making a description and a
sketch of the battle. The last words written in his note-book were
these:—“A Southerner is aiming at me and—.” And Gideon Spilett was
missed; so, following his invariable custom, he escaped unscratched.

Cyrus Smith and Gideon Spilett, who knew each other only by reputation,
were both taken to Richmond. The engineer recovered rapidly from his
wound, and it was during his convalescence he met the reporter. The two
soon learned to appreciate each-other. Soon their one aim was to rejoin
the army of Grant and fight again in the ranks for the preservation of
the Union.

The two Americans had decided to avail themselves of any chance; but
although free to go and come within the city, Richmond was so closely
guarded that an escape might be deemed impossible.

During this time Cyrus Smith was rejoined by a devoted servant. This
man was a negro, born upon the engineer’s estate, of slave parents,
whom Smith, an abolitionist by conviction, had long since freed. The
negro, though free, had no desire to leave his master, for whom he
would have given his life. He was a man of thirty years, vigorous,
agile, adroit, intelligent, quick, and self-possessed, sometimes
ingenuous always smiling, ready and honest. He was named
Nebuchadnezzar, but he answered to the nickname of Neb.

When Neb learned that his master had been taken prisoner he left
Massachusetts without waiting a moment, arrived before Richmond, and,
by a ruse, after having risked his life twenty times, he was able to
get within the besieged city. The pleasure of Cyrus Smith on seeing
again his servant, and the joy of Neb in finding his master, cannot be
expressed. But while he had been able to get into Richmond it was much
more difficult to get out, as the watch kept upon the Federal prisoners
was very strict. It would require an extraordinary opportunity in order
to attempt an escape with any chance of success; and that occasion not
only did not present itself, but it was difficult to make. Meanwhile,
Grant continued his energetic operations. The victory of Petersburg had
been vigorously contested. His forces, reunited to those of Butler, had
not as yet obtained any result before Richmond, and nothing indicated
an early release to the prisoners. The reporter, whose tiresome
captivity gave him no item worthy of note, grew impatient. He had but
one idea; to get out of Richmond at any risk. Many times, indeed, he
tried the experiment, and was stopped by obstacles insurmountable.

Meanwhile, the siege continued, and as the prisoners were anxious to
escape in order to join the army of Grant, so there were certain of the
besieged no less desirous to be free to join the army of the
Secessionists; and among these was a certain Jonathan Forster, who was
a violent Southerner. In truth, the Confederates were no more able to
get out of the city than the Federal prisoners, as the army of Grant
invested it around. The Mayor of Richmond had not for some time been
able to communicate with General Lee, and it was of the highest
importance to make the latter aware of the situation of the city, in
order to hasten the march of the rescuing army. This Jonathan Forster
had conceived the idea of passing over the lines of the besiegers in a
balloon, and arriving by this means in the Confederate camp.

The Mayor authorized the undertaking, a balloon was made and placed at
the disposal of Forster and five of his companions. They were provided
with arms as they might have to defend themselves in descending, and
food in case their aerial voyage should be prolonged. The departure of
the balloon had been fixed for the 18th of March. It was to start in
the night, and with a moderate breeze from the northeast, the party
expected to arrive at the quarters of General Lee in a few hours. But
the wind from the northeast was not a mere breeze. On the morning of
the 18th there was every symptom of a storm, and soon the tempest broke
forth, making it necessary for Forster to defer his departure, as it
was impossible to risk the balloon and those whom it would carry, to
the fury of the elements.

The balloon, inflated in the great square of Richmond, was all ready,
waiting for the first lull in the storm; and throughout the city there
was great vexation at the settled bad weather. The night of the 19th
and 20th passed, but in the morning the storm was only developed in
intensity, and departure was impossible.

On this day Cyrus Smith was accosted in one of the streets of Richmond
by a man whom he did not know. It was a sailor named Pencroff, aged
from thirty-five to forty years, strongly built, much sun-burnt, his
eyes bright and glittering, but with a good countenance.

This Pencroff was a Yankee who had sailed every sea, and who had
experienced every kind of extraordinary adventure that a two-legged
being without wings could encounter. It is needless to say that he was
of an adventurous nature, ready to dare anything and to be astonished
at nothing. Pencroff, in the early part of this year, had come to
Richmond on business, having with him Herbert Brown, of New Jersey, a
lad fifteen years old, the son of Pencroff’s captain, and an orphan
whom he loved as his own child. Not having left the city at the
beginning of the siege, he found himself, to his great displeasure,
blocked. He also had but one idea: to get out. He knew the reputation
of the engineer, and he knew with what impatience that determined man
chaffed at his restraint. He did not therefore hesitate to address him
without ceremony.

“Mr. Smith, have you had enough of Richmond?”

The engineer looked fixedly at the man who spoke thus, and who added in
a low voice:—

“Mr. Smith, do you want to escape?”

“How?” answered the engineer, quickly, and it was evidently an
inconsiderate reply, for he had not yet examined the man who spoke.

“Mr. Smith, do you want to escape?”

““Who are you?” he demanded, in a cold voice.

Pencroff made himself known.

“Sufficient,” replied Smith. “And by what means do you propose to
escape?”

“By this idle balloon which is doing nothing, and seems to me all ready
to take us!”—

The sailor had no need to finish his sentence. The engineer had
understood all in a word. He seized Pencroff by the arm and hurried him
to his house. There the sailor explained his project, which, in truth,
was simple enough:—They risked only their lives in carrying it out. The
storm was at its height, it is true; but a skilful and daring engineer
like Smith would know well how to manage a balloon. He, himself, would
not have hesitated to have started, had he known how—with Herbert, of
course. He had seen many storms and he thought nothing of them.

Cyrus Smith listened to the sailor without saying a word, but with
glistening eyes. This was the opportunity, and he was not the man to
let it escape him. The project was very dangerous, but it could be
accomplished. During the night, in spite of the guards, they might
reach the balloon, creep into the basket, and then cut the lines which
held it! Certainly they risked being shot, but on the other hand they
might succeed, and but for this tempest—but without this tempest the
balloon would have been gone and the long-sought opportunity would not
have been present.

“I am not alone,” said Smith at length.

“How many would you want to take?” demanded the sailor.

“Two; my friend Spilett, and my man Neb.”

“That would be three,” replied Pencroff; “and, with Herbert and myself,
five. Well, the balloon can carry six?”

“Very well. We will go!” said the engineer.

This “we” pledged the reporter, who was not a man to retreat, and who,
when the project was told him, approved of it heartily. What astonished
him was, that so simple a plan had not already occurred to himself. As
to Neb, he followed his master wherever his master wanted to go.

“To-night, then,” said Pencroff.

“To-night, at ten o’clock,” replied Smith; “and pray heaven that this
storm does not abate before we get off.”

Pencroff took leave of the engineer, and returned to his lodging, where
he found young Herbert Brown. This brave boy knew the plans of the
sailor, and he was not without a certain anxiety as to the result of
the proposal to the engineer. We see, therefore, five persons
determined to throw themselves into the vortex of the storm.

The storm did not abate. And neither Jonathan Forster nor his companion
dreamed of confronting it in that frail basket. The journey would be
terrible. The engineer feared but one thing; that the balloon, held to
the ground and beaten down under the wind, would be torn into a
thousand pieces. During many hours he wandered about the nearly
deserted square, watching the apparatus. Pencroff, his hands in his
pockets, yawning like a man who is unable to kill time, did the same;
but in reality he also feared that the balloon would be torn to pieces,
or break from its moorings and be carried off.

Evening arrived and the night closed in dark and threatening. Thick
masses of fog passed like clouds low down over the earth. Rain mingled
with snow fell. The weather was cold. A sort of mist enveloped
Richmond. It seemed as if in the face of this terrible tempest a truce
had been agreed upon between the besiegers and besieged, and the cannon
were silent before the heavy detonations of the storm. The streets of
the city were deserted; it had not even seemed necessary, in such
weather, to guard the square in which swung the balloon. Everything
favored the departure of the prisoners; but this voyage, in the midst
of the excited elements!—

“Bad weather,” said Pencroff, holding his hat, which the wind was
trying to take off, firmly to his head, “but pshaw, it can’t last, all
the same.”

At half-past 9, Cyrus Smith and his companions glided by different
routes to the square, which the gas lights, extinguished by the wind,
left in profound darkness. They could not see even the huge balloon, as
it lay pressed over against the ground. Beside the bags of ballast
which held the cords of the net, the basket was held down by a strong
cable passed through a ring fastened in the pavement, and the ends
brought back on board.

The five prisoners came together at the basket. They had not been
discovered, and such was the darkness that they could not see each
other. Without saying a word, four of them took their places in the
basket, while Pencroff, under the direction of the engineer, unfastened
successively the bundles of ballast. It took but a few moments, and
then the sailor joined his companions. The only thing that then held
the balloon was the loop of the cable, and Cyrus Smith had but to give
the word for them to let it slip. At that moment, a dog leaped with a
bound into the basket. It was Top, the dog of the engineer, who, having
broken his chain, had followed his master. Cyrus Smith, fearing to add
to the weight, wanted to send the poor brute back, but Pencroff said,
“Pshaw, it is but one more!” and at the same time threw overboard two
bags of sand. Then, slipping the cable, the balloon, shooting off in an
oblique direction, disappeared, after having dashed its basket against
two chimneys, which it demolished in its rush.

Then the storm burst upon them with frightful violence. The engineer
did not dare to descend during the night, and when day dawned all sight
of the earth was hidden by the mists. It was not until five days later
that the breaking of the clouds enabled them to see the vast sea
extending below them, lashed by the wind into a terrific fury.

We have seen how, of these five men, who started on the 20th of March,
four were thrown, four days later, on a desert coast, more than 6,000
miles from this country. And the one who was missing, the one to whose
rescue the four survivors had hurried was their leader, Cyrus Smith.

[The 5th of April, Richmond fell into the hands of Grant, the Rebellion
was repressed, Lee retreated into the West (_sic_) and the cause of the
Union triumphed.]




CHAPTER III.


FIVE O’CLOCK IN THE AFTERNOON—THE LOST ONE—THE DESPAIR OF NEB—SEARCH TO
THE NORTHWARD—THE ISLAND—A NIGHT OF ANGUISH—THE FOG OF THE MORNING—NEB
SWIMMING—SIGHT OF THE LAND—FORDING THE CHANNEL.


The engineer, on the giving way of the net, had been swept away by a
wave. His dog had disappeared at the same time. The faithful animal had
of its own accord sprung to the rescue of its master.

“Forward!” cried the reporter, and all four, forgetting weakness and
fatigue, began their search. Poor Neb wept with grief and despair at
the thought of having lost all that he loved in the world.

Not more than two minutes had passed between the moment that Smith had
disappeared, and the instant of his companions landing. They were,
therefore, hopeful of being in time to rescue him.

“Hunt, hunt for him,” cried Neb.

“Yes, Neb, and we will find him,” replied Spilett.

“Alive?”

“Alive!”

“Can he swim?” demanded Pencroff.

“Oh, yes,” responded Neb. “And, besides, Top is with him—”

The sailor, looking at the roaring sea, shook his head.

It was at a point northward from this shore, and about half a mile from
the place where the castaways had landed, that the engineer had
disappeared, and if he had come ashore at the nearest point it was at
least that distance from where they now were.

It was nearly 6 o’clock. The fog had risen and made the night very
dark. The castaways followed northward along the shore of that land
upon which chance had thrown them. A land unknown, whose geographical
situation they could not guess. They walked upon a sandy soil, mixed
with stones, seemingly destitute of any kind of vegetation. The ground,
very uneven, seemed in certain places to be riddled with small holes,
making the march very painful. From these holes, great, heavy-flying
birds rushed forth, and were lost in the darkness. Others, more active,
rose in flocks, and fled away like the clouds. The sailor thought he
recognized gulls and sea-mews, whose sharp cries were audible above the
raging of the sea.

From time to time the castaways would stop and call, listening for an
answering voice from the ocean. They thought, too, that if they were
near the place where the engineer had been, washed ashore, and he had
been unable to make any response, that, at least, the barking of the
dog Top would have been heard. But no sound was distinguishable above
the roaring of the waves and the thud of the surf. Then the little
party would resume their march, searching all the windings of the
shore.

After a walk of twenty minutes the four castaways were suddenly stopped
by a foaming line of breakers. They found themselves upon the extremity
of a sharp point upon which the sea broke with fury.

“This is a promontory,” said the sailor, “and it will be necessary to
turn back, keeping to the right in order to gain the main land.”

“But if he is there!” cried Neb, pointing towards the ocean, whose
enormous waves showed white through the gloom.

“Well, let us call again.”

And all together, uniting their voices, uttered a vigorous cry, but
without response. They waited for a lull, and tried once more. And
again there was no answer.

Then the castaways turned back, following the opposite side of the
promontory over ground equally sandy and rocky. However, Pencroff
observed that the shore was bolder, that the land rose somewhat, and he
thought that it might gradually slope up to the high hill which was
dimly visible through the darkness. The birds were less numerous on
this shore. The sea also seemed less surging and tempestuous, and it
was noticeable that the agitation of the waves was subsiding. They
hardly heard the sound of the surf, and doubtless, this side of the
promontory formed a semi-circular bay, protected by its sharp point
from the long roll of the sea.

But by following this direction they were walking towards the south,
which was going away from that place where Smith would have landed.
After a tramp of a mile and a half, the shore presented no other curve
which would permit of a return towards the north. It was evident that
this promontory, the point of which they had turned, must be joined to
the mainland. The castaways, although much fatigued, pushed on
courageously, hoping each moment to find a sudden turn which would take
them in the desired direction. What, then, was their disappointment
when, after having walked nearly two miles, they found themselves again
arrested by the sea, upon a high promontory of slippery rocks.

“We are on an island,” exclaimed Pencroff; “and we have measured it
from end to end!”

The words of the sailor were true. The castaways had been thrown, not
upon a continent, but upon an island not more than two miles long, and
of inconsiderable breadth.

This desert isle, covered with stones, without vegetation, desolate
refuge of sea-birds, did it belong to a more important archipelago?
They could not tell. The party in the balloon, when from their basket
they saw the land through the clouds, had not been able to determine
its size. But Pencroff, with the eyes of a sailor accustomed to
piercing the gloom, thought, at the moment, that he could distinguish
in the west confused masses, resembling a high coast. But at this time
they were unable, on account of the obscurity, to determine to what
system, whether simple or complex, their isle belonged. They were
unable to get off, as the sea surrounded them, and it was necessary to
wait until the next day to search for the engineer; who, alas! had made
no cry to signal his presence.

“The silence of Cyrus proves nothing,” said the reporter. “He may have
fainted, or be wounded, and unable to reply, but we will not despair.”

The reporter then suggested the idea of lighting a fire upon the point
of the island, which would serve as a signal for the engineer. But they
searched in vain for wood or dry branches. Sand and stones were all
they found.

One can understand the grief of Neb and his companions, who were
strongly attached to their brave comrade. It was too evident that they
could not help him now, and that they must wait till day. The engineer
had escaped, and was already safe upon the land, or he was lost
forever. The hours were long and dreadful, the cold was intense, and
the castaways suffered keenly, but they did not realize it. They did
not think of sleep. Thinking only of their chief, hoping, wishing to
hope, they moved back and forth upon that arid island, constantly
returning to the northern end, where they would be closest to the place
of the catastrophe. They listened, they shouted, they tried to catch
some call, and, as a lull would come, or the roar of the surf fall with
the waves, their hallooes must have sounded far into the distance.

Once the cry of Neb was answered by an echo; and Herbert made Pencroff
notice it, saying:—“That proves that there is land not far to the
west.”

The sailor nodded; he knew his eyes could not deceive him. He thought
he had seen land, and it must be there. But this distant echo was the
only answer to the cries of Neb, and the silence about the island
remained unbroken. Meanwhile the sky was clearing slowly. Towards
midnight, some stars shone out, and, had the engineer been there with
his companions, he would have noticed that these stars did not belong
to the northern hemisphere. The pole star was not visible in this new
horizon, the constellations in the zenith were not such as they had
been accustomed to see from North America, and the Southern Cross shone
resplendent in the heavens.

The night passed; and towards 5 o’clock in the morning the middle
heavens began to brighten, though the horizon remained obscure; until
with the first rays of day, a fog rose from the sea, so dense that the
eye could scarcely penetrate twenty paces into its depths, and
separated into great, heavy-moving masses. This was unfortunate, as the
castaways were unable to distinguish anything about them. While the
gaze of Neb and the reporter was directed towards the sea, the sailor
and Herbert searched for the land in the west; but they could see
nothing.

“Never mind,” said Pencroff, “if I do not see the land. I feel that it
is there,—just as sure as that we are not in Richmond.”

But the fog, which was nothing more than a morning mist, soon rose. A
clear sun warmed the upper air, its heat penetrating to the surface of
the island. At half-past 6, three quarters of an hour after sunrise,
the mist was nearly gone. Though still thick overhead, it dissolved,
below, and soon all the island appeared, as from a cloud. Then the sea
appeared, limitless towards the east, but bounded on the west by a high
and abrupt coast.

Yes, the land was there! There, safety was at least provisionally
assured. The island and the main land were separated by a channel half
a mile wide, through which rushed a strong current. Into this current
one of the party, without saying a word or consulting with his
companions, precipitated himself. It was Neb. He was anxious to be upon
that coast and to be pushing forward towards the north. No one could
keep him back. Pencroff called to him in vain. The reporter prepared to
follow, but the sailor ran to him, exclaiming:—

“Are you determined to cross this channel?”

“I am,” replied Spilett.

“Well, then, listen to me a moment. Neb can rescue his master alone. If
we throw ourselves into the channel we are in danger of being carried
out to sea by this strong current. Now, if I am not mistaken it is
caused by the ebb. You see the tide is going out. Have patience until
low water and then we may ford it.”

“You are right,” answered the reporter; “we will keep together as much
as possible.”

Meantime, Neb was swimming vigorously in a diagonal direction, against
the current; his black shoulders were seen rising with each stroke. He
was drawn backward with swiftness, but he was gaining towards the other
shore. It took him more than half an hour to cross the half mile which
separated the isle from the mainland, and when he reached the other
side it was at a place a long distance from the point opposite to that
which he had left.

Neb, having landed at the base of a high rocky wall, clambered quickly
up its side, and, running, disappeared behind a point projecting into
the sea, about the same height as the northern end of the island.

Neb’s companions had watched with anxiety his daring attempt, and, when
he was out of sight, they fixed their eyes upon that land from which
they were going to demand refuge. They ate some of the shellfish which
they found upon the sands; it was a poor meal, but then it was better
than nothing.

The opposite coast formed an immense bay, terminated to the south by a
sharp point bare of all vegetation, and having a most forbidding
aspect. This point at its junction with the shore was abutted by high
granite rocks. Towards the north, on the contrary, the bay widened,
with a shore more rounded, extending from the southwest to the
northeast, and ending in a narrow cape. Between these two points, the
distance must have been about eight miles. A half mile from the shore
the island, like an enormous whale, lay upon the sea. Its width could
not have been greater than a quarter of a mile.

Before the Island, the shore began with a sandy beach strewn with black
rocks, at this moment beginning to appear above the receding tide.
Beyond this rose, like a curtain, a perpendicular granite wall, at
least 300 feet high and terminated by a ragged edge. This extended for
about three miles, ending abruptly on the right in a smooth face, as if
cut by the hand of man. To the left on the contrary, above the
promontory, this kind of irregular cliff, composed of heaped-up rocks
and glistening in the light, sank and gradually mingled with the rocks
of the southern point.

Upon the upper level of the coast not a tree was visible. It was a
table-land, as barren though not as extensive as that around Cape Town,
or at the Cape of Good Hope. At least so it appeared from the islet. To
the right, however, and back of the smooth face of rock, some verdure
appeared. The confused massing of large trees was easily
distinguishable extending far as the eye could reach. This verdure
gladdened the sight tired by the rough face of granite. Finally, back
of and above the plateau, distant towards the northwest about seven
miles, shone a white summit, reflecting the sun’s rays. It was the
snowy cap of some lofty mountain.

It was not possible at present to say whether this land was an island
or part of a continent; but the sight of the broken rocks heaped
together on the left would have proved to a geologist their volcanic
origin, as they were incontestably the result of igneous action.

Gideon Spilett, Pencroff, and Herbert looked earnestly upon this land
where they were to live, perhaps for long years; upon which, if out of
the track of ships, they might have to die.

“Well,” demanded Herbert, “what do you think of it, Pencroff?”

“Well,” replied the sailor, “there’s good and bad in it, as with
everything else. But we shall soon see; for look; what I told you. In
three hours we can cross, and once over there, we will see what we can
do towards finding Mr. Smith.”

Pencroff was not wrong in his predictions. Three hours later, at low
tide, the greater part of the sandy bed of the channel was bare. A
narrow strip of water, easily crossed, was all that separated the
island from the shore. And at 10 o’clock, Spilett and his two
companions, stripped of their clothing, which they carried in packages
on their heads, waded through the water, which was nowhere more than
five feet deep. Herbert, where the water was too deep, swam like a
fish, acquitting himself well; and all arrived without difficulty at
the other shore. There, having dried themselves in the sun, they put on
their clothes, which had not touched the water, and took counsel
together.




CHAPTER IV.


THE LITHODOMES—THE MOUTH OF THE RIVER—THE “CHIMNEYS”—CONTINUATION OF
THE SEARCH—THE FOREST OF EVERGREENS—GETTING FIREWOOD—WAITING FOR THE
TIDE—ON TOP OF THE CLIFF—THE TIMBER-FLOAT—THE RETURN TO THE COAST.


Presently the reporter told the sailor to wait just where he was until
he should come back, and without losing a moment, he walked back along
the coast in the direction which Neb had taken some hours before, and
disappeared quickly around a turn in the shore.

Herbert wished to go with him.

“Stay, my boy,” said the sailor. “We must pitch our camp for the night,
and try to find something to eat more satisfying than shellfish. Our
friends will need food when they come back.”

“I am ready, Pencroff,” said Herbert.

“Good,” said the sailor. “Let us set to work methodically. We are
tired, cold, and hungry: we need shelter, fire, and food. There is
plenty of wood in the forest, and we can get eggs from the nests; but
we must find a house.”

“Well,” said Herbert, “I will look for a cave in these rocks, and I
shall certainly find some hole in which we can stow ourselves.”

“Right,” said Pencroff; “let us start at once.”

They walked along the base of the rocky wall, on the strand left bare
by the receding waves. But instead of going northwards, they turned to
the south. Pencroff had noticed, some hundreds of feet below the place
where they had been thrown ashore, a narrow inlet in the coast, which
he thought might be the mouth of a river or of a brook. Now it was
important to pitch the camp in the neighborhood of fresh water; in that
part of the island, too, Smith might be found.

The rock rose 300 feet, smooth and massive. It was a sturdy wall of the
hardest granite, never corroded by the waves, and even at its base
there was no cleft which might serve as a temporary abode. About the
summit hovered a host of aquatic birds, mainly of the web-footed tribe,
with long, narrow, pointed beaks. Swift and noisy, they cared little
for the unaccustomed presence of man. A shot into the midst of the
flock would have brought down a dozen; but neither Pencroff nor Herbert
had a gun. Besides, gulls and sea-mews are barely eatable, and their
eggs have a very disagreeable flavor.

Meanwhile Herbert, who was now to the left, soon noticed some rocks
thickly strewn with sea weed, which would evidently be submerged again
in a few hours. On them lay hosts of bivalves, not to be disdained by
hungry men. Herbert called to Pencroff, who came running to him.

“Ah, they are mussels,” said the sailor. “Now we can spare the eggs.”

“They are not mussels,” said Herbert, examining the mollusks carefully,
“they are lithodomes.”

“Can we eat them?” said Pencroff.

“Certainly.”

“Then let us eat some lithodomes.”

The sailor could rely on Herbert, who was versed in Natural History and
very fond of it. He owed his acquaintance with this study in great part
to his father, who had entered him in the classes of the best
professors in Boston, where the child’s industry and intelligence had
endeared him to all.

These lithodomes were oblong shell-fish, adhering in clusters to the
rocks. They belonged to that species of boring mollusk which can
perforate a hole in the hardest stone, and whose shell has the
peculiarity of being rounded at both ends.

Pencroff and Herbert made a good meal of these lithodomes. which lay
gaping in the sun. They tasted like oysters, with a peppery flavor
which left no desire for condiments of any kind.

Their hunger was allayed for the moment, but their thirst was increased
by the spicy flavor of the mollusks. The thing now was to find fresh
water, which was not likely to fail them in a region so undulating.
Pencroff and Herbert, after having taken the precaution to fill their
pockets and handkerchiefs with lithodomes, regained the foot of the
hill.

Two hundred feet further on they reached the inlet, through which, as
Pencroff had surmised, a little river was flowing with full current
Here the rocky wall seemed to have been torn asunder by some volcanic
convulsion. At its base lay a little creek, running at an acute angle.
The water in this place was 100 feet across, while the banks on either
side were scarcely 20 feet broad. The river buried itself at once
between the two walls of granite, which began to decline as one went up
stream.

“Here is water,” said Pencroff, “and over there is wood. Well, Herbert,
now we only want the house.”

The river water was clear. The sailor knew that as the tide was now low
there would be no influx from the sea, and the water would be fresh.
When this important point had been settled, Herbert looked for some
cave which might give them shelter, but it was in vain. Everywhere the
wall was smooth, flat, and perpendicular.

However, over at the mouth of the watercourse, and above high-water
mark, the detritus had formed, not a grotto, but a pile of enormous
rocks, such as are often met with in granitic countries, and which are
called _Chimneys_.

Pencroff and Herbert went down between the rocks, into those sandy
corridors, lighted only by the huge cracks between the masses of
granite, some of which only kept their equilibrium by a miracle. But
with the light the wind came in, and with the wind the piercing cold of
the outer air. Still, the sailor thought that by stopping up some of
these openings with a mixture of stones and sand, the Chimneys might be
rendered habitable. Their plan resembled the typographical sign, &, and
by cutting off the upper curve of the sign, through which the south and
the west wind rushed in, they could succeed without doubt in utilizing
its lower portion.

“This is just what we want,” said Pencroff, and if we ever see Mr.
Smith again, he will know how to take advantage of this labyrinth.”

“We shall see him again, Pencroff,” said Herbert, “and when he comes
back he must find here a home that is tolerably comfortable. We can
make this so if we can build a fireplace in the left corridor with an
opening for the smoke.”

“That we can do, my boy,” answered the sailor, “and these Chimneys will
just serve our purpose. But first we must get together some firing.
Wood will be useful, too, in blocking up these great holes through
which the wind whistles so shrilly.”

Herbert and Pencroff left the Chimneys, and turning the angle, walked
up the left bank of the river, whose current was strong enough to bring
down a quantity of dead wood. The return tide, which had already begun,
would certainly carry it in the ebb to a great distance. “Why not
utilize this flux and reflux,” thought the sailor, “in the carriage of
heavy timber?”

After a quarter of an hour’s walk, the two reached the elbow which the
river made in turning to the left. From this point onward it flowed
through a forest of magnificent trees, which had preserved their
verdure in spite of the season; for they belonged to that great
cone-bearing family indigenous everywhere, from the poles to the
tropics. Especially conspicuous were the “deodara,” so numerous in the
Himalayas, with their pungent perfume. Among them were clusters of
pines, with tall trunks and spreading parasols of green. The ground was
strewn with fallen branches, so dry as to crackle under their feet.

“Good,” said the sailor, “I may not know the name of these trees, but I
know they belong to the genus firewood, and that’s the main thing for
us.”

It was an easy matter to gather the firewood. They did not need even to
strip the trees; plenty of dead branches lay at their feet. This dry
wood would burn rapidly, and they would need a large supply. How could
two men carry such a load to the Chimneys? Herbert asked the question.

“My boy,” said the sailor, “there’s a way to do everything. If we had a
car or a boat it would be too easy.”

“We have the river,” suggested Herbert.

“Exactly,” said Pencroff. “The river shall be our road and our carrier,
too. Timber-floats were not invented for nothing.”

“But our carrier is going in the wrong direction,” said Herbert, “since
the tide is coming up from the sea.”

“We have only to wait for the turn of tide,” answered the sailor. “Let
us get our float ready.”

They walked towards the river, each carrying a heavy load of wood tied
up in fagots. On the bank, too, lay quantities of dead boughs, among
grass which the foot of man had probably never pressed before. Pencroff
began to get ready his float.

In an eddy caused by an angle of the shore, which broke the flow of the
current, they set afloat the larger pieces of wood, bound together by
liana stems so as to form a sort of raft. On this raft they piled the
rest of the wood, which would have been a load for twenty men. In an
hour their work was finished, and the float was moored to the bank to
wait for the turn of the tide. Pencroff and Herbert resolved to spend
the mean time in gaining a more extended view of the country from the
higher plateau. Two hundred feet behind the angle of the river, the
wall terminating in irregular masses of rocks, sloped away gently to
the edge of the forest. The two easily climbed this natural staircase,
soon attained the summit, and posted themselves at the angle
overlooking the mouth of the river.

Their first look was at that ocean over which they had been so
frightfully swept. They beheld with emotion the northern part of the
coast, the scene of the catastrophe, and of Smith’s disappearance. They
hoped to see on the surface some wreck of the balloon to which a man
might cling. But the sea was a watery desert. The coast, too, was
desolate. Neither Neb nor the reporter could be seen.

“Something tells me,” said Herbert, “that a person so energetic as Mr.
Smith would not let himself be drowned like an ordinary man. He must
have got to shore; don’t you think so, Pencroff?”

The sailor shook his head sadly. He never thought to see Smith again;
but he left Herbert a hope.

“No doubt,” said he, “our engineer could save himself where any one
else would perish.”

Meanwhile he took a careful observation of the coast. Beneath his eyes
stretched out the sandy beach, bounded, upon the right of the
river-mouth, by lines of breakers. The rocks which still were visible
above the water were like groups of amphibious monsters lying in the
surf. Beyond them the sea sparkled in the rays of the sun. A narrow
point terminated the southern horizon, and it was impossible to tell
whether the land stretched further in that direction, or whether it
trended southeast and southwest, so as to make an elongated peninsula.
At the northern end of the bay, the outline of the coast was continued
to a great distance. There the shore was low and flat, without rocks,
but covered by great sandbanks, left by the receding tide.

When Pencroff and Herbert walked back towards the west, their looks
fell on the snowcapped mountain, which rose six or seven miles away.
Masses of tree-trunks, with patches of evergreens, extended from its
first declivities to within two miles of the coast. Then from the edge
of this forest to the coast stretched a plateau strewn at random with
clumps of trees. On the left shore through the glades the waters of the
little river, which seemed to have returned in its sinuous course to
the mountains which gave it birth.

“Are we upon an island?” muttered the sailor.

“It is big enough, at all events,” said the boy.

“An island’s an island, no matter how big,” said Pencroff.

But this important question could not yet be decided. The country
itself, isle or continent, seemed fertile, picturesque, and diversified
in its products. For that they must be grateful. They returned along
the southern ridge of the granite plateau, outlined by a fringe of
fantastic rocks, in whose cavities lived hundreds of birds. A whole
flock of them soared aloft as Herbert jumped over the rocks.

“Ah!” cried he, “these are neither gulls nor sea-mews.”

“What are they?” said Pencroff. “They look for all the world like
pigeons.”

“So they are,” said Herbert, “but they are wild pigeons, or rock
pigeons.” I know them by the two black bands on the wing, the white
rump, and the ash-blue feathers. The rock pigeon is good to eat, and
its eggs ought to be delicious; and if they have left a few in their
nests—”

“We will let them hatch in an omelet,” said Pencroff, gaily.

“But what will you make your omelet in?” asked Herbert; “in your hat?”

“I am not quite conjurer enough for that,” said the sailor. “We must
fall back on eggs in the shell, and I will undertake to despatch the
hardest.”

Pencroff and the boy examined carefully the cavities of the granite,
and succeeded in discovering eggs in some of them. Some dozens were
collected in the sailor’s handkerchief, and, high tide approaching, the
two went down again to the water-course.

It was 1 o’clock when they arrived at the elbow of the river, and the
tide was already on the turn. Pencroff had no intention of letting his
timber float at random, nor did he wish to get on and steer it. But a
sailor is never troubled in a matter of ropes or cordage, and Pencroff
quickly twisted from the dry lianas a rope several fathoms long. This
was fastened behind the raft, and the sailor held it in his hand, while
Herbert kept the float in the current by pushing it off from the shore
with a long pole.

This expedient proved an entire success. The enormous load of wood kept
well in the current. The banks were sheer, and there was no fear lest
the float should ground; before 2 o’clock they reached the mouth of the
stream, a few feet from the Chimneys.




CHAPTER V.


ARRANGING THE CHIMNEYS—THE IMPORTANT QUESTION OF FIRE—THE MATCH
BOX—SEARCH OVER THE SHORE—RETURN OF THE REPORTER AND NEB—ONE MATCH—THE
CRACKLING FIRE—THE FISH SUPPER—THE FIRST NIGHT ON LAND.


The first care of Pencroff, after the raft had been unloaded, was to
make the Chimneys habitable, by stopping up those passages traversed by
the draughts of air. Sand, stones, twisted branches, and mud,
hermetically sealed the galleries of the & open to the southerly winds,
and shut out its upper curve. One narrow, winding passage, opening on
the side; was arranged to carry out the smoke and to quicken the
draught of the fire. The Chimneys were thus divided into three or four
chambers, if these dark dens, which would hardly have contained a
beast, might be so called. But they were dry, and one could stand up in
them, or at least in the principal one, which was in the centre. The
floor was covered with sand, and, everything considered, they could
establish themselves in this place while waiting for one better.

While working, Herbert and Pencroff chatted together.

“Perhaps,” said the boy, “our companions will have found a better place
than ours.”

“It is possible.” answered the sailor, “but, until we know, don’t let
us stop. Better have two strings to one’s bow than none at all!”

“Oh,” repeated Herbert, “if they can only find Mr. Smith, and bring him
back with them, how thankful we will be!”

“Yes,” murmured Pencroff. “He was a good man.”

“Was!” said Herbert. “Do you think we shall not see him again?”

“Heaven forbid!” replied the sailor.

The work of division was rapidly accomplished, and Pencroff declared
himself satisfied. “Now,” said he, “our friends may return, and they
will find a good enough shelter.”

Nothing remained but to fix the fireplace and to prepare the meal,
which, in truth, was a task easy and simple enough. Large flat stones
were placed at the mouth of the first gallery to the left, where the
smoke passage had been made; and this chimney was made so narrow that
but little heat would escape up the flue, and the cavern would be
comfortably warmed. The stock of wood was piled up in one of the
chambers, and the sailor placed some logs and broken branches upon the
stones. He was occupied in arranging them when Herbert asked him if he
had some matches.

“Certainly,” replied Pencroff, “and moreover, fortunately; for without
matches or tinder we would indeed be in trouble.”

“Could not we always make fire as the savages do,” replied Herbert, “by
rubbing two bits of dry wood together?”

“Just try it, my boy, some time, and see if you do anything more than
put your arms out of joint.”

“Nevertheless, it is often done in the islands of the Pacific.”

“I don’t say that it is not,” replied Pencroff, “but the savages must
have a way of their own, or use a certain kind of wood, as more than
once I have wanted to get fire in that way and have never yet been able
to. For my part, I prefer matches; and, by the way, where are mine?”

Pencroff, who was an habitual smoker, felt in his vest for the box,
which he was never without, but, not finding it, he searched the
pockets of his trowsers, and to his profound amazement, it was not
there.

“This is an awkward business,” said he, looking at Herbert. “My box
must have fallen from my pocket, and I can’t find it. But you, Herbert,
have you nothing: no steel, not anything, with which we can make fire?”

“Not a thing, Pencroff.”

The sailor, followed by the boy, walked out, rubbing his forehead.

On the sand, among the rocks, by the bank of the river, both of them
searched with the utmost care, but without result. The box was of
copper, and had it been there, they must have seen it.

“Pencroff,” asked Herbert, “did not you throw it out of the basket?”

“I took good care not to,” said the sailor. “But when one has been
knocked around as we have been, so small a thing could easily have been
lost; even my pipe is gone. The confounded box; where can it be?”

“Well, the tide is out; let us run to the place where we landed,” said
Herbert.

It was little likely that they would find this box, which the sea would
have rolled among the pebbles at high water; nevertheless, it would do
no harm to search. They, therefore, went quickly to the place where
they had first landed, some 200 paces from the Chimneys. There, among
the pebbles, in the hollows of the rocks, they made minute search, but
in vain. If the box had fallen here it must have been carried out by
the waves. As the tide went down, the sailor peered into every crevice,
but without Success. It was a serious loss, and, for the time,
irreparable. Pencroff did not conceal his chagrin. He frowned, but did
not speak, and Herbert tried to console him by saying, that, most
probably, the matches would have been so wetted as to be useless.

“No, my boy,” answered the sailor. “They were in a tightly closing
metal box. But now, what are we to do?”

“We will certainly find means of procuring fire,” said Herbert. “Mr.
Smith or Mr. Spilett will not be as helpless as we are.”

“Yes, but in the meantime we are without it,” said Pencroff, “and our
companions will find but a very sorry meal on their return.”

“But,” said Herbert, hopefully, “it is not possible that they will have
neither tinder nor matches.”

“I doubt it,” answered the sailor, shaking his head. “In the first
place, neither Neb nor Mr. Smith smoke, and then I’m afraid Mr. Spilett
has more likely kept his notebook than his match-box.”

Herbert did not answer. This loss was evidently serious. Nevertheless,
the lad thought surely they could make a fire in some way or other, but
Pencroff, more experienced, although a man not easily discouraged, knew
differently. At any rate there was but one thing to do:—to wait until
the return of Neb and the reporter. It was necessary to give up the
repast of cooked eggs which they had wished to prepare, and a diet of
raw flesh did not seem to be, either for themselves or for the others,
an agreeable prospect.

Before returning to the Chimneys, the companions, in case they failed
of a fire, gathered a fresh lot of lithodomes, and then silently took
the road to their dwelling. Pencroff, his eyes fixed upon the ground,
still searched in every direction for the lost box. They followed again
up the left bank of the river, from its mouth to the angle where the
raft had been built. They returned to the upper plateau, and went in
every direction, searching in the tall grass on the edge of the forest,
but in vain. It was 5 o’clock when they returned again to the Chimneys,
and it is needless to say that the passages were searched in their
darkest recesses before all hope was given up.

Towards 6 o’clock, just as the sun was disappearing behind the high
land in the west, Herbert, who was walking back and forth upon the
shore, announced the return of Neb and of Gideon Spilett. They came
back alone, and the lad felt his heart sink. The sailor had not, then,
been wrong in his presentiments; they had been unable to find the
engineer.

The reporter, when he came up, seated himself upon a rock, without
speaking. Fainting from fatigue, half dead with hunger, he was unable
to utter a word. As to Neb, his reddened eyes showed how he had been
weeping, and the fresh tears which he was unable to restrain,
indicated, but too clearly, that he had lost all hope.

The reporter at length gave the history of their search. Neb and he had
followed the coast for more than eight miles, and, consequently, far
beyond the point where the balloon had made the plunge which was
followed by the disappearance of the engineer and Top. The shore was
deserted. Not a recently turned stone, not a trace upon the sand, not a
footprint, was upon all that part of the shore. It was evident that
nobody inhabited that portion of the island. The sea was as deserted as
the land; and it was there, at some hundreds of feet from shore, that
the engineer had found his grave.

At that moment Neb raised his head, and in a voice which showed how he
still struggled against despair, exclaimed:—

“No, he is not dead. It is impossible. It might happen to you or me,
but never to him. He is a man who can get out of anything!”

Then his strength failing him, he murmured, “But I am used up.”

Herbert ran to him and cried:—

“Neb, we will find him; God will give him back to us; but you, you must
be famishing; do eat something.”

And while speaking the lad offered the poor negro a handful of
shell-fish—a meagre and insufficient nourishment enough.

But Neb, though he had eaten nothing for hours, refused them. Poor
fellow! deprived of his master, he wished no longer to live.

As to Gideon Spilett, he devoured the mollusks, and then laid down upon
the sand at the foot of a rock. He was exhausted, but calm. Herbert,
approaching him, took his hand.

“Mr. Spilett,” said he, “we have discovered a shelter where you will be
more comfortable. The night is coming on; so come and rest there.
To-morrow we will see—”

The reporter rose, and, guided by the lad, proceeded towards the
Chimneys. As he did so, Pencroff came up to him, and in an off-hand way
asked him if, by chance, he had a match with him. The reporter stopped,
felt in his pockets, and finding none, said:—

“I had some, but I must have thrown them all away.”

Then the sailor called Neb and asked him the same question, receiving a
like answer.

“Curse it!” cried the sailor, unable to restrain the word.

The reporter heard it, and going to him said:—“Have you no matches?”

“Not one; and, of course, no fire.”

“Ah,” cried Neb, “if he was here, my master, he could soon make one.”

The four castaways stood still and looked anxiously at each other.
Herbert was the first to break the silence, by saying:—

“Mr. Spilett, you are a smoker, you always have matches about you;
perhaps you have not searched thoroughly. Look again; a single match
will be enough.”

The reporter rummaged the pockets of his trowsers, his vest, and coat,
and to the great joy of Pencroff, as well as to his own surprise, felt
a little sliver of wood caught in the lining of his vest. He could feel
it from the outside, but his fingers were unable to disengage it. If
this should prove a match, and only one, it was extremely necessary not
to rub off the phosphorus.

“Let me try,” said the lad. And very adroitly, without breaking it, he
drew out this little bit of wood, this precious trifle, which to these
poor men was of such great importance. It was uninjured.

“One match!” cried Pencroff.” “Why, it is as good as if we had a whole
ship-load!”

He took it, and, followed by his companions, regained the Chimneys.
This tiny bit of wood, which in civilised lands is wasted with
indifference, as valueless, it was necessary here to use with the
utmost care. The sailor, having assured himself that it was dry, said:—

“We must have some paper.”

“Here is some,” answered Spilett, who, after a little hesitation, had
torn a leaf from his note-book.

Pencroff took the bit of paper and knelt down before the fire-place,
where some handfuls of grass, leaves, and dry moss had been placed
under the faggots in such a way that the air could freely circulate and
make the dry wood readily ignite. Then Pencroff shaping the paper into
a cone, as pipe-smokers do in the wind, placed it among the moss.
Taking, then, a slightly rough stone and wiping it carefully, with
beating heart and suspended breath, he gave the match a little rub. The
first stroke produced no effect, as Pencroff fearing to break off the
phosphorus had not rubbed hard enough.

“Ho, I won’t be able to do it,” said he; “my hand shakes—the match will
miss—I can’t do it—I don’t want to try!” And, rising, he besought
Herbert to undertake it.

Certainly, the boy had never in his life been so affected. His heart
beat furiously. Prometheus, about to steal the fire from heaven, could
not have been more excited.

Nevertheless he did not hesitate, but rubbed the stone with a quick
stroke. A little sputtering was heard, and a light blue flame sprung
out and produced a pungent smoke. Herbert gently turned the match, so
as to feed the flame, and then slid it under the paper cone. In a few
seconds the paper took fire, and then the moss kindled. An instant
later, the dry wood crackled, and a joyous blaze, fanned by the breath
of the sailor, shone out from the darkness.

“At length,” cried Pencroff, rising, “I never was so excited in my
life!”

It was evident that the fire did well in the fireplace of flat stones.
The smoke readily ascended through its passage; the chimney drew, and
an agreeable warmth quickly made itself felt. As to the fire, it would
be necessary to take care that it should not go out, and always to keep
some embers among the cinders. But it was only a matter of care and
attention as the wood was plenty, and the supply could always be
renewed in good time.

Pencroff began at once to utilize the fire by preparing something more
nourishing than a dish of lithodomes. Two dozen eggs were brought by
Herbert, and the reporter, seated in a corner, watched these
proceedings without speaking. A triple thought held possession of his
mind. Did Cyrus still live? If alive, where was he? If he had survived
his plunge, why was it he had found no means of making his existence
known? As to Neb, he roamed the sand like one distracted.

Pencroff, who knew fifty-two ways of cooking eggs, had no choice at
this time. He contented himself with placing them in the hot cinders
and letting them cook slowly. In a few minutes the operation was
finished, and the sailor invited the reporter to take part in the
supper. This was the first meal of the castaways upon this unknown
coast. The hard eggs were excellent, and as the egg contains all the
elements necessary for man’s nourishment, these poor men found them
sufficient, and felt their strength reviving.

Unfortunately, one was absent from this repast. If the five prisoners
who had escaped from Richmond had all been there, under those piled-up
rocks, before that bright and crackling fire upon that dry sand, their
happiness would have been complete. But the most ingenious, as well as
the most learned—he who was undoubtedly their chief, Cyrus Smith—alas!
was missing, and his body had not even obtained burial.

Thus passed the 25th of March. The night was come. Outside they heard
the whistling of the wind, the monotonous thud of the surf, and the
grinding of the pebbles on the beach.

The reporter had retired to a dark corner, after having briefly noted
the events of the day—the first sight of this new land, the loss of the
engineer, the exploration of the shore, the incidents of the matches,
etc.; and, overcome by fatigue, he was enabled to find some rest in
sleep.

Herbert fell asleep at once. The sailor, dozing, with one eye open,
passed the night by the fire, on which he kept heaping fuel.

One only of the castaways did not rest in the Chimneys. It was the
inconsolable, the despairing Neb, who, during the whole night, and in
spite of his companions’ efforts to make him take some rest, wandered
upon the sands calling his master.




CHAPTER VI.


THE CASTAWAYS’ INVENTORY—NO EFFECTS —THE CHARRED LINEN—AN EXPEDITION
INTO THE FOREST—THE FLORA OF THE WOODS—THE FLIGHT OF THE JACAMAR—TRACKS
OF WILD BEASTS—THE COUROUCOUS—THE HEATH-COCK—LINE-FISHING
EXTRAORDINARY.


The inventory of the castaways can be promptly taken. Thrown upon a
desert coast, they had nothing but the clothes they wore in the
balloon. We must add Spilett’s watch and note-book, which he had kept
by some inadvertence; but there were no firearms and no tools, not even
a pocket knife. Every thing had been thrown overboard to lighten the
balloon. Every necessary of life was wanting!

Yet if Cyrus Smith had been with them, his practical science and
inventive genius would have saved them from despair. But, alas! they
could hope to see him no more. The castaways could rely on Providence
only, and on their own right hands.

And, first, should they settle down on this strip of coast without an
effort to discover whether it was island or continent, inhabited or
desert? It was an urgent question, for all their measures would depend
upon its solution. However, it seemed to Pencroff better to wait a few
days before undertaking an exploration. They must try to procure more
satisfying food than eggs and shellfish, and repair their strength,
exhausted by fatigue and by the inclemency of the weather. The Chimneys
would serve as a house for a while. Their fire was lit, and it would be
easy to keep alive some embers. For the time being there were plenty of
eggs and shell-fish. They might even be able to kill, with a stick or a
stone, some of the numerous pigeons which fluttered among the rocks.
They might find fruit-trees in the neighboring forest, and they had
plenty of fresh water. It was decided then to wait a few days at the
Chimneys, and to prepare for an expedition either along the coast or
into the interior of the country.

This plan was especially agreeable to Neb, who was in no hurry to
abandon that part of the coast which had been the scene of the
catastrophe. He could not and would not believe that Smith was dead.
Until the waves should have thrown up the engineer’s body—until Neb
should have seen with his eyes and handled with his hands his master’s
corpse, he believed him alive. It was an illusion which the sailor had
not the heart to destroy; and there was no use in talking to Neb. He
was like the dog who would not leave his master’s tomb, and his grief
was such that he would probably soon follow him.

Upon the morning of the 26th of March, at daybreak, Neb started along
the coast northward to the spot where the sea had doubtless closed over
the unfortunate engineer.

For breakfast that morning they had only eggs and lithodomes, seasoned
with salt which Herbert had found in the cavities of the rocks. When
the meal was over they divided forces. The reporter stayed behind to
keep up the fire, and in the very improbable case of Neb’s needing him
to go to his assistance. Herbert and Pencroff went into the forest.

“We will go hunting, Herbert, “said the sailor. “We shall find
ammunition on our way, and we will cut our guns in the forest.”

But, before starting, Herbert suggested that as they had no tinder they
must replace it by burnt linen. They were sorry to sacrifice a piece of
handkerchief, but the need was urgent, and a piece of Pencroff’s large
check handkerchief was soon converted into a charred rag, and put away
in the central chamber in a little cavity of the rock, sheltered from
wind and dampness.

By this time it was 9 o’clock. The weather was threatening and the
breeze blew from the southeast. Herbert and Pencroff, as they left the
Chimneys, cast a glance at the smoke which curled upwards from amid the
rocks; then they walked up the left bank of the river.

When they reached the forest, Pencroff broke from the first tree two
thick branches which he made into cudgels, and whose points Herbert
blunted against a rock. What would he not have given for a knife? Then
the hunters walked on in the high grass along the bank of the river,
which, after its turn to the southwest, gradually narrowed, running
between high banks and over-arched by interlacing trees. Pencroff, not
to lose his way, determined to follow the course of the stream, which
would bring him back to his point of departure. But the bank offered
many obstacles. Here, trees whose flexible branches bent over to the
brink of the current; there, thorns and lianas which they had to break
with their sticks. Herbert often glided between the broken stumps with
the agility of a young cat and disappeared in the copse, but Pencroff
called him back at once, begging him not to wander away.

Meanwhile, the sailor carefully observed the character and
peculiarities of the region. On this left bank the surface was flat,
rising insensibly towards the interior. Sometimes it was moist and
swampy, indicating the existence of a subterranean network of little
streams emptying themselves into the river. Sometimes, too, a brook ran
across the copse, which they crossed without trouble. The opposite bank
was more undulating, and the valley, through whose bottom flowed the
river, was more clearly defined. The hill, covered with trees rising in
terraces, intercepted the vision. Along this right bank they could
hardly have walked, for the descent was steep, and the trees which bent
over the water were only sustained by their roots. It is needless to
say that both forest and shore seemed a virgin wilderness. They saw
fresh traces of animals whose species was unknown to them. Some seemed
to them the tracks of dangerous wild beasts, but nowhere was there the
mark of an axe on a tree-trunk, or the ashes of a fire, or the imprint
of a foot. They should no doubt have been glad that it was so, for on
this land in the mid-Pacific, the presence of man was a thing more to
be dreaded than desired.

They hardly spoke, so great were the difficulties of the route; after
an hour’s walk they had but just compassed a mile. Hitherto their
hunting had been fruitless. Birds were singing and flying to and fro
under the trees; but they showed an instinctive fear of their enemy
man. Herbert descried among them, in a swampy part of the forest, a
bird with narrow and elongated beak, in shape something like a
kingfisher, from which it was distinguished by its harsh and lustrous
plumage.

“That must be a jacamar,” said Herbert, trying to get within range of
the bird.

“It would be a good chance to taste jacamar,” answered the sailor, “if
that fellow would only let himself be roasted.”

In a moment a stone, adroitly aimed by the boy, struck the bird on the
wing; but the jacamar took to his legs and disappeared in a minute.

“What a muff I am,” said Herbert. ‘Not at all,” said the sailor. “It
was a good shot, a great many would have missed the bird. Don’t be
discouraged, we’ll catch him again some day.”

The wood opened as the hunters went on, and the trees grew to a vast
height, but none had edible fruits. Pencroff sought in vain for some of
those precious palm trees, which lend themselves so wonderfully to the
needs of mankind, and which grow from 40° north latitude to 35° south.
But this forest was composed only of conifers, such as the deodars,
already recognized by Herbert; the Douglas pines, which grow on the
northeast coast of America; and magnificent fir trees, 150 feet high.
Among their branches was fluttering a flock of birds, with small bodies
and long, glittering tails. Herbert picked up some of the feathers,
which lay scattered on the ground, and looked at them carefully.

“These are ‘couroucous,’“ said he.

“I would rather have a guinea-hen, or a heath-cock,” said Pencroff,
“but still, if they are good to eat”—

“They are good to eat,” said Herbert; “their meat is delicious.
Besides, I think we can easily get at them with our sticks.”

Slipping through the grass, they reached the foot of a tree whose lower
branches were covered with the little birds, who were snapping at the
flying insects. Their feathered claws clutched tight the twigs on which
they were sitting. Then the hunters rose to their feet, and using their
sticks like a scythe, they mowed down whole rows of the couroucous, of
whom 105 were knocked over before the stupid birds thought of escape.

“Good,” said Pencroff, “this is just the sort of game for hunters like
us. We could catch them in our hands.”

They skewered the couroucous on a switch like field-larks, and
continued to explore. The object of the expedition was, of course, to
bring back as much game as possible to the Chimneys. So far it had not
been altogether attained. They looked about everywhere, and were
enraged to see animals escaping through the high grass. If they had
only had Top! But Top, most likely, had perished with his master.

About 3 o’clock they entered a wood full of juniper trees, at whose
aromatic berries flocks of birds were pecking. Suddenly they heard a
sound like the blast of a trumpet. It was the note of those gallinaceæ,
called “tetras” in the United States. Soon they saw several pairs of
them, with brownish-yellow plumage and brown tails. Pencroff determined
to capture one of these birds, for they were as big as hens, and their
meat as delicious as a pullet. But they would not let him come near
them. At last, after several unsuccessful attempts, he said,

“Well, since we can’t kill them on the wing, we must take them with a
line.”

“Like a carp,” cried the wondering Herbert.

“Like a carp,” answered the sailor, gravely.

Pencroff had found in the grass half-a-dozen tetras nests, with two or
three eggs in each.

He was very careful not to touch these nests, whose owners would
certainly return to them. Around these he purposed to draw his lines,
not as a snare, but with hook and bait. He took Herbert to some
distance from the nests, and there made ready his singular apparatus
with the care of a true disciple of Isaac Walton. Herbert watched the
work with a natural interest, but without much faith in its success.
The lines were made of small lianas tied together, from fifteen to
twenty feet long, and stout thorns with bent points, broken from a
thicket of dwarf acacias, and fastened to the ends of the lianas,
served as hooks, and the great red worms which crawled at their feet
made excellent bait. This done, Pencroff, walking stealthily through
the grass, placed one end of his hook-and-line close to the nests of
the tetras. Then he stole back, took the other end in his hand, and hid
himself with Herbert behind a large tree. Herbert, it must be said, was
not sanguine of success.

A good half hour passed, but as the sailor had foreseen, several pairs
of tetras returned to their nests. They hopped about, pecking the
ground, and little suspecting the presence of the hunters, who had
taken care to station themselves to leeward of the gallinaceæ. Herbert
held his breath with excitement, while Pencroff, with dilated eyes,
open month, and lips parted as if to taste a morsel of tetras, scarcely
breathed. Meanwhile the gallinaceæ walked heedlessly among the hooks.
Pencroff then gave little jerks, which moved the bait up and down as if
the worms were still alive. How much more intense was his excitement
than the fisherman’s who cannot see the approach of his prey!

The jerks soon aroused the attention of the gallinaceæ, who began to
peck at the bait. Three of the greediest swallowed hook and bait
together. Suddenly, with a quick jerk, Pencroff pulled in his line, and
the flapping of wings showed that the birds were taken.

“Hurrah!” cried he, springing upon the game, of which he was master in
a moment. Herbert clapped his hands. It was the first time he had seen
birds taken with a line; but the modest sailor said it was not his
first attempt, and, moreover, that the merit of the invention was not
his.

“And at any rate,” said he, “in our present situation we must hope for
many such contrivances.”

The tetras were tied together by the feet, and Pencroff, happy that
they were not returning empty handed, and perceiving that the day was
ending, thought it best to return home.

Their route was indicated by the river, and following it downward, by 6
o’clock, tired out by their excursion, Herbert and Pencroff re-entered
the Chimneys.




CHAPTER VII.


NEB HAS NOT YET RETURNED—THE REFLECTIONS OF THE REPORTER—THE
SUPPER—PROSPECT OF A BAD NIGHT—THE STORM IS FRIGHTFUL—THEY GO OUT INTO
THE NIGHT—STRUGGLE WITH THE RAIN AND WIND.


Gideon Spilett stood motionless upon the shore, his arms crossed,
gazing on the sea, whose horizon was darkened towards the east by a
huge black cloud mounting rapidly into the zenith. The wind, already
strong, was freshening, the heavens had an angry look, and the first
symptoms of a heavy blow were manifesting themselves.

Herbert went into the Chimneys, and Pencroff walked towards the
reporter, who was too absorbed to notice his approach.

“We will have a bad night, Mr. Spilett,” said the sailor. “Wind and
rain enough for Mother Cary’s chickens.”

The reporter turning, and perceiving Pencroff, asked this question:—

“How far off from the shore do you think was the basket when it was
struck by the sea that carried away our companion?”

The sailor had not expected this question. He reflected an instant
before answering:—

“Two cables’ lengths or more.”

“How much is a cable’s length?” demanded Spilett.

“About 120 fathoms, or 600 feet.”

“Then,” said the reporter, “Cyrus Smith would have disappeared not more
than 1,200 feet from the shore?”

“Not more than that.”

“And his dog, too?”

“Yes.”

“What astonishes me,” said the reporter, “admitting that our companion
and Top have perished, is the fact that neither the body of the dog nor
of his master has been cast upon the shore.”

“That is not astonishing with so heavy a sea,” replied the sailor.
“Moreover, it is quite possible that there are currents which have
carried them farther up the coast.”

“Then it is really your opinion that our companion has been drowned?”
asked, once more, the reporter.

“That is my opinion.”

“And my opinion, Pencroff,” said Spilett, “with all respect for your
experience, is, that in this absolute disappearance of both Cyrus and
Top, living or dead, there is something inexplicable and incredible.”

“I wish I could think as you do, sir,” responded Pencroff, “but,
unhappily, I cannot.”

After thus speaking the sailor returned to the Chimneys. A good fire
was burning in the fireplace. Herbert had just thrown on a fresh armful
of wood, and its flames lit up the dark recesses of the corridor.

Pencroff began at once to busy himself about dinner. It seemed
expedient to provide something substantial, as all stood in need of
nourishment, so two tetras were quickly plucked, spitted upon a stick,
and placed to roast before at blazing fire. The couroucous were
reserved for the next day.

At 7 o’clock Neb was still absent, and Pencroff began to be alarmed
about him. He feared that he might have met with some accident in this
unknown land, or that the poor fellow had been drawn by despair to some
rash act. Herbert, on the contrary, argued that Neb’s absence was owing
to some fresh discovery which had induced him to prolong his
researches. And anything new must be to Cyrus Smith’s advantage. Why
had not Neb come back, if some hope was not detaining him? Perhaps he
had found some sign or footprint which had put him upon the track.
Perhaps, at this moment he was following the trail. Perhaps, already,
he was beside his master.

Thus the lad spoke and reasoned, unchecked by his companions. The
reporter nodded approval, but Pencroff thought it more probable that
Neb, in his search, had pushed on so far that he had not been able to
return.

Meantime, Herbert, excited by vague presentiments, manifested a desire
to go to meet Neb. But Pencroff showed him that it would be useless in
the darkness and storm to attempt to find traces of the negro, and,
that the better course was, to wait. If, by morning, Neb had not
returned, Pencroff would not hesitate joining the lad in a search for
him.

Gideon Spilett concurred with the sailor in his opinion that they had
better remain together, and Herbert, though tearfully, gave up the
project. The reporter could not help embracing the generous lad.

The storm began. A furious gust of wind passed over the coast from the
southeast. They heard the sea, which was out, roaring upon the reef.
The whirlwind drove the rain in clouds along the shore. The sand,
stirred up by the wind, mingled with the rain, and the air was filled
with mineral as well as aqueous dust. Between the mouth of the river
and the cliff’s face, the wind whirled about as in a maelstrom, and,
finding no other outlet than the narrow valley through which ran the
stream, it rushed through this with irresistible violence.

Often, too, the smoke from the chimney, driven back down its narrow
vent, filled the corridors, and rendered them uninhabitable. Therefore,
when the tetras were cooked Pencroff let the fire smoulder, only
preserving some clear embers among the ashes.

At 8 o’clock Neb had not returned; but they could not help admitting
that now the tempest alone was sufficient to account for his
non-appearance, and that, probably, he had sought refuge in some
cavern, waiting the end of the storm, or, at least, daybreak. As to
going to meet him under present circumstances, that was simply
impossible.

The birds were all they had for supper, but the party found them
excellent eating. Pencroff and Herbert, their appetite sharpened by
their long walk, devoured them. Then each one retired to his corner,
and Herbert, lying beside the sailor, extended before the fireplace,
was soon asleep.

Outside, as the night advanced, the storm developed formidable
proportions. It was a hurricane equal to that which had carried the
prisoners from Richmond. Such tempests, pregnant with catastrophes,
spreading terror over a vast area, their fury withstood by no obstacle,
are frequent during the equinox. We can understand how a coast facing
the east, and exposed to the full fury of the storm, was attacked with
a violence perfectly indescribable.

Happily the heap of rocks forming the Chimneys was composed of solid,
enormous blocks of granite, though some of them, imperfectly balanced,
seemed to tremble upon their foundations. Pencroff, placing his hand
against the walls, could feel their rapid vibrations; but he said to
himself, with reason, that there was no real danger, and that the
improvised retreat would not tumble about their ears. Nevertheless, he
heard the sound of rocks, torn from the top of the plateau by the
gusts, crashing upon the shore. And some, falling perpendicularly,
struck the Chimneys and flew off into fragments. Twice the sailor rose,
and went to the opening of the corridor, to look abroad. But there was
no danger from these inconsiderable showers of stones, and he returned
to his place before the fire, where the embers glowed among the ashes.

In spite of the fury and fracas of the tempest Herbert slept
profoundly, and, at length, sleep took possession of Pencroff, whose
sailor life had accustomed him to such demonstrations. Gideon Spilett,
who was kept awake by anxiety, reproached himself for not having
accompanied Neb. We have seen that he had not given up all hope, and
the presentiments which had disturbed Herbert had affected him also.
His thoughts were fixed upon Neb; why had not the negro returned? He
tossed about on his sandy couch, unheeding the warfare of the elements.
Then, overcome by fatigue, he would close his eyes for an instant, only
to be awakened by some sudden thought.

Meantime the night advanced; and it was about 2 o’clock when Pencroff
was suddenly aroused from a deep sleep by finding himself vigorously
shaken.

“What’s the matter?” he cried, rousing and collecting himself with the
quickness peculiar to sailors.

The reporter was bending over him and saying:—

“Listen, Pencroff, listen!”

The sailor listened, but could hear no sounds other than those caused
by the gusts.

“It is the wind,” he said.

“No,” answered Spilett, listening again, “I think I heard—”

“What?”

“The barking of a dog!”

“A dog!” cried Pencroff, springing to his feet.

“Yes—the barking—”

“Impossible!” answered the sailor. “How, in the roarings of the
tempest—”

“Wait—listen,” said the reporter.

Pencroff listened most attentively, and at length, during a lull, he
thought he caught the sound of distant barking.

“Is it?” asked the reporter, squeezing the sailor’s hand.

“Yes—yes!” said Pencroff.

“It is Top! It is Top!” cried Herbert, who had just wakened, and the
three rushed to the entrance of the Chimneys.

They had great difficulty in getting out, as the wind drove against
them with fury, but at last they succeeded, and then they were obliged
to steady themselves against the rocks. They were unable to speak, but
they looked about them. The darkness was absolute. Sea, sky, and earth,
were one intense blackness. It seemed as if there was not one particle
of light diffused in the atmosphere.

For some moments the reporter and his two companions stood in this
place, beset by the gusts, drenched by the rain, blinded by the sand.
Then again, in the hush of the storm, they heard, far away, the barking
of a dog. This must be Top. But was he alone or accompanied? Probably
alone, for if Neb had been with him, the negro would have hastened, at
once, to the Chimneys.

The sailor pressed the reporter’s hand in a manner signifying that he
was to remain without, and then returning to the corridor, emerged a
moment later with a lighted fagot, which he threw into the darkness, at
the same time whistling shrilly. At this signal, which seemed to have
been looked for, the answering barks came nearer, and soon a dog
bounded into the corridor, followed by the three companions. An armful
of wood was thrown upon the coals, brightly lighting up the passage.

“It is Top!” cried Herbert.

It was indeed Top, a magnificent Anglo-Norman, uniting in the cross of
the two breeds those qualities—swiftness of foot and keenness of
scent—indispensable in coursing dogs. But he was alone! Neither his
master nor Neb accompanied him.

It seemed inexplicable how, through the darkness and storm, the dog’s
instinct had directed him to the Chimneys, a place he was unacquainted
with. But still more unaccountable was the fact that he was neither
fatigued nor exhausted nor soiled with mud or sand. Herbert had drawn
him towards him, patting his head; and the dog rubbed his neck against
the lad’s hands.

“If the dog is found, the master will be found also,” said the
reporter.

“God grant it!” responded Herbert. “Come, let us set out. Top will
guide us!”

Pencroff made no objection. He saw that the dog’s cunning had disproved
his conjectures.

“Let us set out at once,” he said; and covering the fire so that it
could be relighted on their return, and preceded by the dog, who seemed
to invite their departure, the sailor, having gathered up the remnants
of the supper, followed by the reporter and Herbert, rushed into the
darkness.

The tempest, then in all its violence, was, perhaps, at its maximum
intensity. The new moon had not sufficient light to pierce the clouds.
It was difficult to follow a straight course. The better way,
therefore, was to trust to the instinct of Top; which was done. The
reporter and the lad walked behind the dog, and the sailor followed
after. To speak was impossible. The rain, dispersed by the wind, was
not heavy, but the strength of the storm was terrible.

Fortunately, as it came from the southeast, the wind was at the back of
the party, and the sand, hurled from behind, did not prevent their
march. Indeed, they were often blown along so rapidly as nearly to be
overthrown. But they were sustained by a great hope. This time, at
least, they were not wandering at random. They felt, no doubt, that Neb
had found his master and had sent the faithful dog to them. But was the
engineer living, or had Neb summoned his companions only to render the
last services to the dead?

After having passed the smooth face of rock, which they carefully
avoided, the party stopped to take breath. The angle of the cliff
sheltered them from the wind, and they could breathe freely after this
tramp, or rather race, of a quarter of an hour. They were now able to
hear themselves speak, and the lad having pronounced the name of Smith,
the dog seemed to say by his glad barking that his master was safe.

“Saved! He is saved! Isn’t he, Top?” repeated the boy. And the dog
barked his answer.

It was half-past 2 when the march was resumed. The sea began to rise,
and this, which was a spring tide backed up by the wind, threatened to
be very high. The tremendous breakers thundered against the reef,
assailing it so violently as probably to pass completely over the
islet, which was invisible. The coast was no longer sheltered by this
long breakwater, but was exposed to the full fury of the open sea.

After the party were clear of the precipice the storm attacked them
again with fury. Crouching, with backs still to the wind, they followed
Top, who never hesitated in his course. Mounting towards the north,
they had upon their right the endless line of breakers deafening them
with its thunders, and upon their left a region buried in darkness. One
thing was certain, that they were upon an open plain, as the wind
rushed over them without rebounding as it had done from the granite
cliffs.

By 4 o’clock they estimated the distance travelled as eight miles. The
clouds had risen a little, and the wind was drier and colder.
Insufficiently clad, the three companions suffered cruelly, but no
murmur passed their lips. They were determined to follow Top wherever
he wished to lead them.

Towards 5 o’clock the day began to break. At first, overhead, where
some grey shadowings bordered the clouds, and presently, under a dark
band a bright streak of light sharply defined the sea horizon. The
crests of the billows shone with a yellow light and the foam revealed
its whiteness. At the same time, on the left, the hilly parts of the
shore were confusedly defined in grey outlines upon the blackness of
the night. At 6 o’clock it was daylight. The clouds sped rapidly
overhead. The sailor and his companions were some six miles from the
Chimneys, following a very flat shore, bordered in the offing by a reef
of rocks whose surface only was visible above the high tide. On the
left the country sloped up into downs bristling with thistles, giving a
forbidding aspect to the vast sandy region. The shore was low, and
offered no other resistance to the ocean than an irregular chain of
hillocks. Here and there was a tree, leaning its trunks and branches
towards the west. Far behind, to the southwest, extended the borders of
the forest.

At this moment Top gave unequivocal signs of excitement. He ran ahead,
returned, and seemed to try to hurry them on. The dog had left the
coast, and guided by his wonderful instinct, without any hesitation had
gone among the downs. They followed him through a region absolutely
devoid of life.

The border of the downs, itself large, was composed of hills and
hillocks, unevenly scattered here and there. It was like a little
Switzerland of sand, and nothing but a dog’s astonishing instinct could
find the way.

Five minutes after leaving the shore the reporter and his companions
reached a sort of hollow, formed in the back of a high down, before
which Top stopped with a loud bark. The three entered the cave.

Neb was there, kneeling beside a body extended upon a bed of grass—

It was the body of Cyrus Smith.




CHAPTER VIII.


IS CYPRUS SMITH ALIVE?—NEB’S STORY—FOOTPRINTS —AN INSOLUBLE
QUESTION—THE FIRST WORDS OF SMITH—COMPARING THE FOOTPRINTS—RETURN TO
THE CHIMNEYS—PENCROFF DEJECTED.


Neb did not move. The sailor uttered one word.

“Living!” he cried.

The negro did not answer. Spilett and Pencroff turned pale. Herbert,
clasping his hands, stood motionless. But it was evident that the poor
negro, overcome by grief, had neither seen his companions nor heard the
voice of the sailor.

The reporter knelt down beside the motionless body, and, having opened
the clothing, pressed his ear to the chest of the engineer. A minute,
which seemed an age, passed, daring which he tried to detect some
movement of the heart.

Neb raised up a little, and looked on as if in a trance. Overcome by
exhaustion, prostrated by grief, the poor fellow was hardly
recognizable. He believed his master dead.

Gideon Spilett, after a long and attentive examination, rose up.

“He lives!” he said.

Pencroff, in his turn, knelt down beside Cyrus Smith; he also detected
some heartbeats, and a slight breath issuing from the lips of the
engineer. Herbert, at a word from the reporter, hurried in search of
water. A hundred paces off he found a clear brook swollen by the late
rains and filtered by the sand. But there was nothing, not even a
shell, in which to carry the water; so the lad had to content himself
with soaking his handkerchief in the stream, and hastened back with it
to the cave.

Happily the handkerchief held sufficient for Spilett’s purpose, which
was simply to moisten the lips of the engineer. The drops of fresh
water produced an instantaneous effect. A sigh escaped from the breast
of Smith, and it seemed as if he attempted to speak.

“We shall save him,” said the reporter. Neb took heart at these words.
He removed the clothing from his master to see if his body was anywhere
wounded. But neither on his head nor body nor limbs was there a bruise
or even a scratch, an astonishing circumstance, since he must have been
tossed about among the rocks; even his hands were uninjured, and it was
difficult to explain how the engineer should exhibit no mark of the
efforts which he must have made in getting over the reef.

But the explanation of this circumstance would come later, when Cyrus
Smith could speak. At present, it was necessary to restore his
consciousness, and it was probable that this result could be
accomplished by friction. For this purpose they mode use of the
sailor’s pea-jacket. The engineer, warmed by this rude rubbing, moved
his arms slightly, and his breathing began to be more regular. He was
dying from exhaustion, and, doubtless, had not the reporter and his
companions arrived, it would have been all over with Cyrus Smith.

“You thought he was dead?” asked the sailor.

“Yes, I thought so,” answered Neb. “And if Top had not found you and
brought you back, I would have buried my master and died beside him.”

The engineer had had a narrow escape!

Then Neb told them what had happened. The day before, after having left
the Chimneys at day-break, he had followed along the coast in a
direction due north, until he reached that part of the beach which he
had already visited. There, though, as he said, without hope of
success, he searched the shore, the rocks, the sand for any marks that
could guide him, examining most carefully that part which was above
high-water mark, as below that point the ebb and flow of the tide would
have effaced all traces. He did not hope to find his master living. It
was the discovery of the body which he sought, that he might bury it
with his own hands. He searched a long time, without success. It seemed
as if nothing human had ever been upon that desolate shore. Of the
millions of shell-fish lying out of reach of the tide, not a shell was
broken. There was no sign of a landing having ever been made there. The
negro then decided to continue some miles further up the coast. It was
possible that the currents had carried the body to some distant point.
For Neb knew that a corpse, floating a little distance from a low
shore, was almost certain, sooner or later, to be thrown upon the
strand, and he was desirous to look upon his master one last time.

“I followed the shore two miles further, looking at it at low and high
water, hardly hoping to find anything, when yesterday evening, about 5
o’clock, I discovered footprints upon the sand.”

“Footprints,” cried Pencroff.

“Yes, sir,” replied Neb.

“And did they begin at the water?” demanded the reporter.

“No,” answered the negro, “above high-water mark; below that the tide
had washed out the others.”

“Go on, Neb,” said Spilett.

“The sight of these footprints made me wild with joy. They were very
plain, and went towards the downs. I followed them for a quarter of an
hour, running so as not to tread on them. Five minutes later, as it was
growing dark, I heard a dog bark. It was Top. And he brought me here,
to my master.”

Neb finished his recital by telling of his grief at the discovery of
the inanimate body. He had tried to discover some signs of life still
remaining in it. But all his efforts were in vain. There was nothing,
therefore, to do but to perform the last offices to him whom he had
loved so well. Then he thought of his companions. They, too, would wish
to look once more upon their comrade. Top was there. Could he not rely
upon the sagacity of that faithful animal? So having pronounced several
times the name of the reporter, who, of all the engineer’s companions,
was best known by Top, and having at the same time motioned towards the
south, the dog bounded off in the direction indicated.

We have seen how, guided by an almost supernatural instinct, the dog
had arrived at the Chimneys.

Neb’s companions listened to his story with the greatest attention. How
the engineer had been able to reach this cave in the midst of the
downs, more than a mile from the beach, was as inexplicable as was his
escape from the waves and rocks without a scratch.

“So you, Neb,” said the reporter, “did not bring your master to this
place?”

“No, it was not I,” answered Neb.

“He certainly could not have come alone,” said Pencroff.

“But he must have done it, though it does not seem credible,” said the
reporter.

They must wait for the solution of the mystery until the engineer could
speak. Fortunately the rubbing had re-established the circulation of
the blood, and life was returning. Smith moved his arm again, then his
head, and a second time some incoherent words escaped his lips.

Neb, leaning over him, spoke, but the engineer seemed not to hear, and
his eyes remained closed. Life was revealing itself by movement, but
consciousness had not yet returned. Pencroff had, unfortunately,
forgotten to bring the burnt linen, which could have been ignited with
a couple of flints, and without it they had no means of making a fire.
The pockets of the engineer were empty of everything but his watch. It
was therefore the unanimous opinion that Cyrus Smith must be carried to
the Chimneys as soon as possible.

Meantime the attention lavished on the engineer restored him to
consciousness sooner than could have been hoped. The moistening of his
lips had revived him, and Pencroff conceived the idea of mixing some of
the juice of the tetras with water. Herbert ran to the shore and
brought back two large shells; and the sailor made a mixture which they
introduced between the lips of the engineer, who swallowed it with
avidity. His eyes opened. Neb and the reporter were leaning over him.

“My master! my master!” cried Neb.

The engineer heard him. He recognized Neb and his companions, and his
hand gently pressed theirs.

Again he spoke some words—doubtless the same which he had before
uttered, and which indicated that some thoughts were troubling him.
This time the words were understood.

“Island or continent?” he murmured.

“What the devil do we care,” cried Pencroff, unable to restrain the
exclamation, “now that you are alive, sir. Island or continent? “We
will find that out later.”

The engineer made a motion in the affirmative, and then seemed to
sleep.

Taking care not to disturb him, the reporter set to work to provide the
most comfortable means of moving him.

Neb, Herbert, and Pencroff left the cave and went towards a high down
on which were some gnarled trees. On the way the sailor kept
repeating:—

“Island or continent! To think of that, at his last gasp! What a man!”

Having reached the top of the down, Pencroff and his companions tore
off the main branches from a tree, a sort of sea pine, sickly and
stunted. And with these branches they constructed a litter, which they
covered with leaves and grass.

This work occupied some little time, and it was 10 o’clock when the
three returned to Smith and Spilett.

The engineer had just wakened from the sleep, or rather stupor, in
which they had found him. The color had come back to his lips, which
had been as pale as death. He raised himself slightly, and looked
about, as if questioning where he was.

“Can you listen to me without being tired, Cyrus?” asked the reporter.

“Yes,” responded the engineer.

“I think,” said the sailor, “that Mr. Smith can listen better after
having taken some more of this tetra jelly,—it is really tetra, sir,”
he continued, as he gave him some of the mixture, to which he had this
time added some of the meat of the bird.

Cyrus Smith swallowed these bits of tetra, and the remainder was eaten
by his companions, who were suffering from hunger, and who found the
repast light enough.

“Well,” said the sailor, “there are victuals waiting for us at the
Chimneys, for you must know, Mr. Smith, that to the south of here we
have a house with rooms and beds and fire-place, and in the pantry
dozens of birds which our Herbert calls couroucous. Your litter is
ready, and whenever you feel strong enough we will carry you to our
house.”

“Thanks, my friend,” replied the engineer, “in an hour or two we will
go. And now, Spilett, continue.”

The reporter related everything that had happened. Recounting the
events unknown to Smith; the last plunge of the balloon, the landing
upon this unknown shore, its deserted appearance, the discovery of the
Chimneys, the search for the engineer, the devotion of Neb, and what
they owed to Top’s intelligence, etc.

“But,” asked Smith, in a feeble voice, “you did not pick me up on the
beach?”

“No,” replied the reporter.

“And it was not you who brought me to this hollow?”

“No.”

“How far is this place from the reef?”

“At least half a mile,” replied Pencroff, “and if you are astonished,
we are equally surprised to find you here.”

“It is indeed singular,” said the engineer, who was gradually reviving
and taking interest in these details.

“But,” asked the sailor, “cannot you remember anything that happened
after you were washed away by that heavy sea?”

Cyrus Smith tried to think, but he remembered little. The wave had
swept him from the net of the balloon, and at first he had sunk several
fathoms. Coming up to the surface, he was conscious, in the half-light,
of something struggling beside him. It was Top, who had sprung to his
rescue. Looking up, he could see nothing of the balloon, which,
lightened by his and the dog’s weight, had sped away like an arrow. He
found himself in the midst of the tumultuous sea, more than half a mile
from shore. He swum vigorously against the waves, and Top sustained him
by his garments; but a strong current seized him, carrying him to the
north, and, after struggling for half an hour, he sank, dragging the
dog with him into the abyss. From that moment to the instant of his
finding himself in the arms of his friends, he remembered nothing.

“Nevertheless,” said Pencroff, “you must have been cast upon the shore,
and had strength enough to walk to this place, since Neb found your
tracks.”

“Yes, that must be so,” answered the engineer, reflectively. “And you
have not seen any traces of inhabitants upon the shore?”

“Not a sign,” answered the reporter. “Moreover, if by chance some one
had rescued you from the waves, why should he then have abandoned you?”

“You are right, my dear Spilett. Tell me, Neb,” inquired the engineer,
turning towards his servant, “it was not you—you could not have been in
a trance—during which—. No, that’s absurd. Do any of the footprints
still remain?”

“Yes, master,” replied Neb; “there are some at the entrance, back of
this mound, in a place sheltered from the wind and rain, but the others
have been obliterated by the storm.”

“Pencroff,” said Cyrus, “will you take my shoes and see if they fit
those footprints exactly?”

The sailor did as he had been asked. He and Herbert, guided by Neb,
went to where the marks were, and in their absence Smith said to the
reporter:—

“That is a thing passing belief.”

“Inexplicable, indeed,” answered the other.

“But do not dwell upon it at present, my dear Spilett, we will talk of
it hereafter.”

At this moment the others returned. All doubt was set at rest. The
shoes of the engineer fitted the tracks exactly. Therefore it must have
been Smith himself who had walked over the sand.

“So,” he said, “I was the one in a trance, and not Neb! I must have
walked like a somnambulist, without consciousness, and Top’s instinct
brought me here after he rescued me from the waves. Here, Top. Come
here, dog.”

The splendid animal sprang, barking, to his master, and caresses were
lavished upon him. It was agreed that there was no other way to account
for the rescue than by giving Top the credit of it.

Towards noon, Pencroff having asked Smith if he felt strong enough to
be carried, the latter, for answer, by an effort which showed his
strength of will, rose to his feet. But if he had not leaned upon the
sailor he would have fallen.

“Capital,” said Pencroff. “Summon the engineer’s carriage!”

The litter was brought. The cross-branches had been covered with moss
and grass; and when Smith was laid upon it they walked towards the
coast, Neb and the sailor carrying him.

Eight miles had to be travelled, and as they could move but slowly, and
would probably have to make frequent rests, it would take six hours or
more to reach the Chimneys. The wind was still strong, but,
fortunately, it had ceased raining. From his couch, the engineer,
leaning upon his arm, observed the coast, especially the part opposite
the sea. He examined it without comment, but undoubtedly the aspect of
the country, its contour, its forests and diverse products were noted
in his mind. But after two hours, fatigue overcame him, and he slept
upon the litter.

At half-past 5 the little party reached the precipice, and soon after,
were before the Chimneys. Stopping here, the litter was placed upon the
sand without disturbing the slumber of the engineer.

Pencroff saw, to his surprise, that the terrible storm of the day
before had altered the aspect of the place. Rocks had been displaced.
Great fragments were strewn over the sand, and a thick carpet of
several kinds of seaweed covered all the shore. It was plain that the
sea sweeping over the isle had reached to the base of the enormous
granite curtain.

Before the entrance to the Chimneys the ground had been violently torn
up by the action of the waves. Pencroff, seized with a sudden fear,
rushed into the corridor. Returning, a moment after, he stood
motionless looking at his comrades.

The fire had been extinguished; the drowned cinders were nothing but
mud. The charred linen, which was to serve them for tinder, had gone.
The sea had penetrated every recess of the corridor, and everything was
overthrown, everything was destroyed within the Chimneys.




CHAPTER IX.


CYRUS IS HERE-PENCROFF’S ATTEMPTS—RUBBING WOOD—ISLAND OR CONTINENT —THE
PLANS OF THE ENGINEER—WHEREABOUTS IN THE PACIFIC—IN THE DEPTHS OF THE
FOREST—THE PISTACHIO PINE—A PIG CHASE—A SMOKE OF GOOD OMEN.


In a few words the others were informed of what had happened. This
accident, which portended serious results—at least Pencroff foresaw
such—affected each one differently. Neb, overjoyed in having recovered
his master, did not listen or did not wish to think of what Pencroff
said. Herbert shared in a measure the apprehensions of the sailor. As
to the reporter, he simply answered:—

“Upon my word, Pencroff, I don’t think it matters much!”

“But I tell you again; we have no fire!”

“Pshaw!”

“Nor any means of lighting one!”

“Absurd!”

“But, Mr. Spilett—”

“Is not Cyrus here?” asked the reporter; “Isn’t he alive? He will know
well enough how to make fire!”

“And with what?”

“With nothing!”

What could Pencroff answer? He had nothing to say, as, in his heart, he
shared his companion’s confidence in Cyrus Smith’s ability. To them the
engineer was a microcosm, a compound of all science and all knowledge.
They were better off on a desert island with Cyrus than without him in
the busiest city of the Union. With him they could want for nothing;
with him they would have no fear. If they had been told that a volcanic
eruption would overwhelm the land, sinking it into the depths of the
Pacific, the imperturbable answer of these brave men would have been,
“Have we not Cyrus!”

Meantime, the engineer had sunk into a lethargy, the result of the
journey, and his help could not be asked for just then. The supper,
therefore, would be very meagre. All the tetras had been eaten, there
was no way to cook other birds, and, finally, the couroucous which had
been reserved had disappeared. Something, therefore, must be done.

First of all, Cyrus Smith was carried into the main corridor. There
they were able to make for him a couch of seaweeds, and, doubtless, the
deep sleep in which he was plunged, would strengthen him more than an
abundant nourishment.

With night the temperature, which the northwest wind had raised, again
became very cold, and, as the sea had washed away the partitions which
Pencroff had constructed, draughts of air made the place scarcely
habitable. The engineer would therefore have been in a bad plight if
his companions had not covered him with clothing which they took from
themselves.

The supper this evening consisted of the inevitable lithodomes, an
ample supply of which Herbert and Neb had gathered from the beach. To
these the lad had added a quantity of edible seaweed which clung to the
high rocks and were only washed by the highest tides. These seaweeds,
belonging to the family of Fucaceæ, were a species of Sargassum, which,
when dry, furnish a gelatinous substance full of nutritive matter, much
used by the natives of the Asiatic coast. After having eaten a quantity
of lithodomes the reporter and his companions sucked some of the
seaweed, which they agreed was excellent.

“Nevertheless,” said the sailor, “it is time for Mr. Smith to help us.”

Meantime the cold became intense, and, unfortunately, they had no means
of protecting themselves. The sailor, much worried, tried every
possible means of procuring a fire. He had found some dry moss, and by
striking two stones together he obtained sparks; but the moss was not
sufficiently inflammable to catch fire, nor had the sparks the strength
of those struck by a steel. The operation amounted to nothing. Then
Pencroff, although he had no confidence in the result, tried rubbing
two pieces of dry wood together, after the manner of the savages. It is
true that the motion of the man, if it could have been turned into
heat, according to the new theory, would have heated the boiler of a
steamer. But it resulted in nothing except putting him in a glow, and
making the wood hot. After half an hour’s work Pencroff was in a
perspiration, and he threw away the wood in disgust.

“When you can make me believe that savages make fire after that
fashion,” said he, “it will he hot in winter! I might as well try to
light my arms by rubbing them together.”

But the sailor was wrong to deny the feasibility of this method. The
savages frequently do light wood in this way. But it requires
particular kinds of wood, and, moreover, the “knack,” and Pencroff had
not this “knack.”

Pencroff’s ill humor did not last long. The bits of wood which he had
thrown away had been picked up by Herbert, who exerted himself to rub
them well. The strong sailor could not help laughing at the boy’s weak
efforts to accomplish what he had failed in.

“Rub away, my boy; rub hard!” he cried.

“I am rubbing them,” answered Herbert, laughing, “but only to take my
turn at getting warm, instead of sitting here shivering; and pretty
soon I will be as hot as you are, Pencroff!”

This was the case, and though it was necessary for this night to give
up trying to make a fire, Spilett, stretching himself upon the sand in
one of the passages, repeated for the twentieth time that Smith could
not be baffled by such a trifle. The others followed his example, and
Top slept at the feet of his master.

The next day, the 28th of March, when the engineer awoke, about 8
o’clock, he saw his companions beside him watching, and, as on the day
before, his first words were,

“Island or continent?”

It was his one thought.

“Well, Mr. Smith,” answered Pencroff, “we don’t know.”

“You haven’t found out yet?”

“But we will,” affirmed Pencroff, “when you are able to guide us in
this country.”

“I believe that I am able to do that now,” answered the engineer, who,
without much effort, rose up and stood erect.

“That is good,” exclaimed the sailor.

“I am dying of hunger,” responded Smith. “Give me some food, my friend,
and I will feel better. You’ve fire, haven’t you?”

This question met with no immediate answer. But after some moments the
sailor said:—

“No, sir, we have no fire; at least, not now.”

And be related what had happened the day before. He amused the engineer
by recounting the history of their solitary match, and their fruitless
efforts to procure fire like the savages.

“We will think about it,” answered the engineer, “and if we cannot find
something like tinder—”

“Well,” asked the sailor.

“Well, we will make matches!”

“Friction matches?”

“Friction matches!”

“It’s no more difficult than that,” cried the reporter, slapping the
sailor on the shoulder.

The latter did not see that it would be easy, but he said nothing, and
all went out of doors. The day was beautiful. A bright sun was rising
above the sea horizon, its rays sparkling and glistening on the granite
wall. After having cast a quick look about him, the engineer seated
himself upon a rock. Herbert offered him some handfuls of mussels and
seaweed, saying:—

“It is all that we have, Mr. Smith.”

“Thank you, my boy,” answered he, “it is enough—for this morning, at
least.”

And he ate with appetite this scanty meal, washing it down with water
brought from the river in a large shell.

His companions looked on without speaking. Then, after having satisfied
himself, he crossed his arms and said:—

“Then, my friends, you do not yet know whether we have been thrown upon
an island or a continent?”

“No sir,” answered Herbert.

“We will find out to-morrow,” said the engineer. “Until then there is
nothing to do.”

“There is one thing,” suggested Pencroff.

“What is that?”

“Some fire,” replied the sailor, who thought of nothing else.

“We will have it, Pencroff,” said Smith. “But when you were carrying me
here yesterday, did not I see a mountain rising in the west?”

“Yes,” saidSpilett, “quite a high one.”

“All right,” exclaimed the engineer. “Tomorrow we will climb to its
summit and determine whether this is an island or a continent; until
then I repeat there is nothing to do.”

“But there is; we want fire!” cried the obstinate sailor again.

“Have a little patience, Pencroff, and we will have the fire,” said
Spilett.

The other looked at the reporter as much as to say, “If there was only
you to make it we would never taste roast meat.” But he kept silent.

Smith had not spoken. He seemed little concerned about this question of
fire. For some moments he remained absorbed in his own thoughts. Then
he spoke as follows:—

“My friends, our situation is, doubtless, deplorable, nevertheless it
is very simple. Either we are upon a continent, and, in that case, at
the expense of greater or less fatigue, we will reach some inhabited
place, or else we are on an island. In the latter case, it is one of
two things; if the island is inhabited, we will get out of our
difficulty by the help of the inhabitants; if it is deserted, we will
get out of it by ourselves.”

“Nothing could be plainer than that,” said Pencroff.

“But,” asked Spilett, “whether it is a continent or an island,
whereabouts do you think this storm has thrown us, Cyrus?”

“In truth, I cannot say,” replied the engineer, “but the probability is
that we are somewhere in the Pacific. When we left Richmond the wind
was northeast, and its very violence proves that its direction did not
vary much. Supposing it unchanged, we crossed North and South Carolina,
Georgia, the Gulf of Mexico, and the narrow part of Mexico, and a
portion of the Pacific Ocean. I do not estimate the distance traversed
by the balloon at less than 6,000 or 7,000 miles, and even if the wind
had varied a half a quarter it would have carried us either to the
Marquesas Islands or to the Low Archipelago; or, if it was stronger
than I suppose, as far as New Zealand. If this last hypothesis is
correct, our return home will be easy. English or Maoris, we shall
always find somebody with whom to speak. If, on the other hand, this
coast belongs to some barren island in the Micronesian Archipelago,
perhaps we can reconnoitre it from the summit of this mountain, and
then we will consider how to establish ourselves here as if we were
never going to leave it.”

“Never?” cried the reporter. “Do you say never, my dear Cyrus?”

“It is better to put things in their worst light at first,” answered
the engineer; “and to reserve those which are better, as a surprise.”

“Well said,” replied Pencroff. “And we hope that this island, if it is
an island, will not be situated just outside of the route of ships; for
that would, indeed, be unlucky.”

“We will know how to act after having first ascended the mountain,”
answered Smith.

“But will you be able, Mr. Smith, to make the climb tomorrow?” asked
Herbert.

“I hope so,” answered the engineer, “if Pencroff and you, my boy, show
yourselves to be good and ready hunters.”

“Mr. Smith,” said the sailor, “since you are speaking of game, if when
I come back I am as sure of getting it roasted as I am of bringing it—”

“Bring it, nevertheless,” interrupted Smith.

It was now agreed that the engineer and the reporter should spend the
day at the Chimneys, in order to examine the shore and the plateau,
while Neb, Herbert, and the sailor were to return to the forest, renew
the supply of wood, and lay hands on every bird and beast that should
cross their path. So, at 6 o’clock, the party left, Herbert confident.
Neb happy, and Pencroff muttering to himself:—

“If, when I get back I find a fire in the house, it will have been the
lightning that lit it!”

The three climbed the bank, and having reached the turn in the river,
the sailor stopped and said to his companions:—

“Shall we begin as hunters or wood-choppers?”

“Hunters,” answered Herbert. “See Top, who is already at it.”

“Let us hunt, then,” replied the sailor, “and on our return here we
will lay in our stock of wood.”

This said, the party made three clubs for themselves, and followed Top,
who was jumping about in the high grass.

This time, the hunters, instead of following the course of the stream,
struck at once into the depths of the forests. The trees were for the
most part of the pine family. And in certain places, where they stood
in small groups, they were of such a size as to indicate that this
country was in a higher latitude than the engineer supposed. Some
openings, bristling with stumps decayed by the weather, were covered
with dead timber which formed an inexhaustible reserve of firewood.
Then, the opening passed, the underwood became so thick as to be nearly
impenetrable.

To guide oneself among these great trees without any beaten path was
very difficult. So the sailer from time to time blazed the route by
breaking branches in a manner easily recognizable. But perhaps they
would have done better to have followed the water course, as in the
first instance, as, after an hour’s march, no game had been taken. Top,
running under the low boughs, only flushed birds that were
unapproachable. Even the couroucous were invisible, and it seemed
likely that the sailor would be obliged to return to that swampy place
where he had fished for tetras with such good luck.

“Well, Pencroff,” said Neb sarcastically, “if this is all the game you
promised to carry back to my master it won’t take much fire to roast
it!”

“Wait a bit, Neb,” answered the sailor; “it won’t be game that will be
wanting on our return.”

“Don’t you believe in Mr. Smith?”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t believe be will make a fire?”

“I will believe that when the wood is blazing in the fire-place.”

“It will blaze, then, for my master has said so!”

“Well, we’ll see!”

Meanwhile the sun had not yet risen to its highest point above the
horizon. The exploration went on and was signalized by Herbert’s
discovery of a tree bearing edible fruit. It was the pistachio pine,
which bears an excellent nut, much liked in the temperate regions of
America and Europe. These nuts were perfectly ripe, and Herbert showed
them to his companions, who feasted on them.

“Well,” said Pencroff, “seaweed for bread, raw mussels for meat, and
nuts for dessert, that’s the sort of dinner for men who haven’t a match
in their pocket!”

“It’s not worth while complaining,” replied Herbert.

“I don’t complain, my boy. I simply repeat that the meat is a little
too scant in this sort of meal.”

“Top has seen something!” cried Neb, running toward a thicket into
which the dog had disappeared barking. With the dog’s barks were
mingled singular gruntings. The sailor and Herbert had followed the
negro. If it was game, this was not the time to discuss how to cook it,
but rather how to secure it.

The hunters, on entering the brush, saw Top struggling with an animal
which he held by the ear. This quadruped was a species of pig, about
two feet and a half long, of a brownish black color, somewhat lighter
under the belly, having harsh and somewhat scanty hair, and its toes at
this time strongly grasping the soil seemed joined together by
membranes.

Herbert thought that he recognized in this animal a cabiai, or
water-hog, one of the largest specimens of the order of rodents. The
water-hog did not fight the dog. Its great eyes, deep sank in thick
layers of fat, rolled stupidly from side to side. And Neb, grasping his
club firmly, was about to knock the beast down, when the latter tore
loose from Top, leaving a piece of his ear in the dog’s mouth, and
uttering a vigorous grunt, rushed against and overset Herbert and
disappeared in the wood.

“The beggar!” cried Pencroff, as they all three darted after the hog.
But just as they had come up to it again, the water-hog disappeared
under the surface of a large pond, overshadowed by tall, ancient pines.

The three companions stopped, motionless. Top had plunged into the
water, but the cabiai, hidden at the bottom of the pond, did not
appear.

“Wait,”, said the boy, “he will have to come to the surface to
breathe.”

“Won’t he drown?” asked Neb.

“No,” answered Herbert, “since he is fin-toed and almost amphibious.
But watch for him.”

Top remained in the water, and Pencroff and his companions took
stations upon the bank, to cut off the animal’s retreat, while the dog
swam to and fro looking for him.

Herbert was not mistaken. In a few minutes the animal came again to the
surface. Top was upon him at once, keeping him from diving again, and a
moment later, the cabiai, dragged to the shore, was struck down by a
blow from Neb’s club.

“Hurrah!” cried Pencroff with all his heart. “Nothing but a clear fire,
and this gnawer shall be gnawed to the bone.”

Pencroff lifted the carcase to his shoulder, and judging by the sun
that it must be near 2 o’clock, he gave the signal to return.

Top’s instinct was useful to the hunters, as, thanks to that
intelligent animal, they were enabled to return upon their steps. In
half an hour they had reached the bend of the river. There, as before,
Pencroff quickly constructed a raft, although, lacking fire, this
seemed to him a useless job, and, with the raft keeping the current,
they returned towards the Chimneys. But the sailor had not gone fifty
paces when he stopped and gave utterance anew to a tremendous hurrah,
and extending his hand towards the angle of the cliff—

“Herbert! Neb! See!” he cried.

Smoke was escaping and curling above the rocks!




CHAPTER X.


THE ENGINEER’S INVENTION—ISLAND OR CONTINENT?—DEPARTURE FOR THE
MOUNTAIN—THE FOREST—VOLCANIC SOIL—THE TRAGOPANS—THE MOUFFLONS —THE
FIRST PLATEAU—ENCAMPING FOR THE NIGHT—THE SUMMIT OF THE CONE


A few minutes afterwards, the three hunters were seated before a
sparkling fire. Beside them sat Cyrus Smith and the reporter. Pencroff
looked from one to the other without saying a word, his cabiai in his
hand.

“Yes, my good fellow,” said the reporter, “a fire, a real fire, that
will roast your game to a turn.”

“But who lighted it?” said the sailor.

“The sun.”

The sailor could not believe his eyes, and was too stupefied to
question the engineer.

“Had you a burning-glass, sir?” asked Herbert of Cyrus Smith.

“No, my boy,” said he, “but I made one.”

And he showed his extemporized lens. It was simply the two glasses,
from his own watch and the reporter’s, which he had taken out, filled
with water, and stuck together at the edges with a little clay. Thus he
had made a veritable burning-glass, and by concentrating the solar rays
on some dry moss had set it on fire.

The sailor examined the lens; then he looked at the engineer without
saying a word, but his face spoke for him. If Smith was not a magician
to him, he was certainly more than a man. At last his speech returned,
and he said:—

“Put that down, Mr. Spilett, put that down in your book!”

“I have it down,” said the reporter.

Then, with the help of Neb, the sailor arranged the spit, and dressed
the cabiai for roasting, like a suckling pig, before the sparkling
fire, by whose warmth, and by the restoration of the partitions, the
Chimneys had been rendered habitable.

The engineer and his companion had made good use of their day. Smith
had almost entirely recovered his strength, which he had tested by
climbing the plateau above. From thence his eye, accustomed to measure
heights and distances, had attentively examined the cone whose summit
he proposed to reach on the morrow. The mountain, situated about six
miles to the northwest, seemed to him to reach about 3,500 feet above
the level of the sea, so that an observer posted at its summit, could
command a horizon of fifty miles at least. He hoped, therefore, for an
easy solution of the urgent question, “Island or continent?”

They had a pleasant supper, and the meat of the cabiai was proclaimed
excellent; the sargassum and pistachio-nuts completed the repast. But
the engineer said little; he was planning for the next day. Once or
twice Pencroff talked of some project for the future, but Smith shook
his head.

“To-morrow,” he said, “we will know how we are situated, and we can act
accordingly.”

After supper, more armfuls of wood were thrown on the fire, and the
party lay down to sleep. The morning found them fresh and eager for the
expedition which was to settle their fate.

Everything was ready. Enough was left of the cabiai for twenty-four
hours’ provisions, and they hoped to replenish their stock on the way.
They charred a little linen for tinder, as the watch glasses had been
replaced, and flint abounded in this volcanic region.

At half-past 7 they left the Chimneys, each with a stout cudgel. By
Pencroff’s advice, they took the route of the previous day, which was
the shortest way to the mountain. They turned the southern angle, and
followed the left bank of the river, leaving it where it bent to the
southwest. They took the beaten path under the evergreens, and soon
reached the northern border of the forest. The soil, flat and swampy,
then dry and sandy, rose by a gradual slope towards the interior. Among
the trees appeared a few shy animals, which rapidly took flight before
Top. The engineer called his dog back; later, perhaps, they might hunt,
but now nothing could distract him from his great object. He observed
neither the character of the ground nor its products; he was going
straight for the top of the mountain.

At 10 o’clock they were clear of the forest, and they halted for a
while to observe the country. The mountain was composed of two cones.
The first was truncated about 2,500 feet up, and supported by fantastic
spurs, branching out like the talons of an immense claw, laid upon the
ground. Between these spurs were narrow valleys, thick set with trees,
whose topmost foliage was level with the flat summit of the first cone.
On the northeast side of the mountain, vegetation was more scanty, and
the ground was seamed here and there, apparently with currents of lava.

On the first cone lay a second, slightly rounded towards the summit. It
lay somewhat across the other, like a huge hat cocked over the ear. The
surface seemed utterly bare, with reddish rocks often protruding. The
object of the expedition was to reach the top of this cone, and their
best way was along the edge of the spurs.

“We are in a volcanic country,” said Cyrus Smith, as they began to
climb, little by little, up the side of the spurs, whose winding summit
would most readily bring them out upon the lower plateau. The ground
was strewn with traces of igneous convulsion. Here and there lay
blocks, debris of basalt, pumice-stone, and obsidian. In isolated
clumps rose some few of those conifers, which, some hundreds of feet
lower, in the narrow gorges, formed a gigantic thicket, impenetrable to
the sun. As they climbed these lower slopes, Herbert called attention
to the recent marks of huge paws and hoofs on the ground.

“These brutes will make a fight for their territory,” said Pencroff.

“Oh well,” said the reporter, who had hunted tigers in India and lions
in Africa, “we shall contrive to get rid of them. In the meanwhile, we
must be on our guard.”

While talking they were gradually ascending. The way was lengthened by
detours around the obstacles which could not be directly surmounted.
Sometimes, too, deep crevasses yawned across the ascent, and compelled
them to return upon their track for a long distance, before they could
find an available pathway. At noon, when the little company halted to
dine at the foot of a great clump of firs, at whose foot babbled a tiny
brook, they were still half way from the first plateau, and could
hardly reach it before nightfall. From this point the sea stretched
broad beneath their feet; but on the right their vision was arrested by
the sharp promontory of the southeast, which left them in doubt whether
there was land beyond. On the left they could see directly north for
several miles; but the northwest was concealed from them by the crest
of a fantastic spur, which formed a massive abutment to the central
cone. They could, therefore, make no approach as yet to the solving of
the great question.

At 1 o’clock, the ascent was again begun. The easiest route slanted
upwards towards the southwest, through the thick copse. There, under
the trees, were flying about a number of gallinaceæ of the pheasant
family. These were “tragopans,” adorned with a sort of fleshy wattles
hanging over their necks and with two little cylindrical horns behind
their eyes. Of these birds, which were about the size of a hen, the
female was invariably brown, while the male was resplendent in a coat
of red, with little spots of white. With a well-aimed stone Spilett
killed one of the tragopans, which the hungry Pencroff looked at with
longing eyes.

Leaving the copse, the climbers, by mounting on each other’s shoulders,
ascended for a hundred feet up a very steep hill, and reached a
terrace, almost bare of trees, whose soil was evidently volcanic. From
hence, their course was a zigzag towards the east, for the declivity
was so steep that they had to take every point of vantage. Neb and
Herbert led the way, then came Smith and the reporter; Pencroff was
last. The animals who lived among these heights, and whose traces were
not wanting, must have the sure foot and the supple spine of a chamois
or an izard. They saw some to whom Pencroff gave a name of his
own—“Sheep,” he cried.

They all had stopped fifty feet from half-a-dozen large animals, with
thick horns curved backwards and flattened at the end, and with woolly
fleece, hidden under long silky fawn-colored hair. They were not the
common sheep, but a species widely distributed through the mountainous
regions of the temperate zone. Their name, according to Herbert, was
_Moufflon_.

“Have they legs and chops?” asked the sailor.

“Yes,” replied Herbert.

“Then they’re sheep,” said Pencroff. The animals stood motionless and
astonished at their first sight of man. Then, seized with sudden fear,
they fled, leaping away among the rocks.

“Good-bye till next time,” cried Pencroff to them, in a tone so comical
that the others could not forbear laughing.

As the ascension continued, the traces of lava were more frequent, and
little sulphur springs intercepted their route. At some points sulphur
had been deposited in crystals, in the midst of the sand and whitish
cinders of feldspar which generally precede the eruption of lava. As
they neared the first plateau, formed by the truncation of the lower
cone, the ascent became very difficult. By 4 o’clock the last belt of
trees had been passed. Here and there stood a few dwarfed and distorted
pines, which had survived the attacks of the furious winds. Fortunately
for the engineer and his party, it was a pleasant, mild day; for a high
wind, at that altitude of 3,000 feet, would have interfered with them
sadly. The sky overhead was extremely bright and clear. A perfect calm
reigned around them. The sun was hidden by the upper mountain, which
cast its shadow, like a vast screen, westward to the edge of the sea. A
thin haze began to appear in the east, colored with all the rays of the
solar spectrum.

There were only 500 feet between the explorers and the plateau where
they meant to encamp for the night, but these 500 were increased to
2,000 and more by the tortuous route. The ground, so to speak, gave way
under their feet. The angle of ascent was often so obtuse that they
slipped upon the smooth-worn lava. Little by little the evening set in,
and it was almost night when the party, tired out by a seven hours’
climb, arrived at the top of the first cone.

Now they must pitch their camp, and think of supper and sleep. The
upper terrace of the mountain rose upon a base of rocks, amid which
they could soon find a shelter. Firewood was not plenty, yet the moss
and dry thistles, so abundant on the plateau, would serve their turn.
The sailor built up a fireplace with huge stones, while Neb and Herbert
went after the combustibles. They soon came back with a load of
thistles; and with flint and steel, the charred linen for tinder, and
Neb to blow the fire, a bright blaze was soon sparkling behind the
rocks. It was for warmth only, for they kept the pheasant for the next
day, and supped off the rest of the cabiai and a few dozen
pistachio-nuts.

It was only half-past 6 when the meal was ended. Cyrus Smith resolved
to explore, in, the semi-obscurity, the great circular pediment which
upheld the topmost cone of the mountain. Before taking rest, he was
anxious to know whether the base of the cone could be passed, in case
its flanks should prove too steep for ascent. So, regardless of
fatigue, he left Pencroff and Neb to make the sleeping arrangements,
and Spilett to note down the incidents of the day, and taking Herbert
with him, began to walk around the base of the plateau towards the
north.

The night was beautiful and still; and not yet very dark. They walked
together in silence. Sometimes the plateau was wide and easy, sometimes
so encumbered with rubbish that the two could not walk abreast.
Finally, after twenty minutes tramp, they were brought to a halt. From
this point the slant of the two cones was equal. To walk around the
mountain upon an acclivity whose angle was nearly seventy-five degrees
was impossible.

But though they had to give up their flank movement, the chance of a
direct ascent was suddenly offered to them. Before them opened an
immense chasm in the solid rock. It was the mouth of the upper crater,
the gullet, so to speak, through which, when the volcano was active,
the eruption took place. Inside, hardened lava and scoriæ formed a sort
of natural staircase with enormous steps, by which they might possibly
reach the summit. Smith saw the opportunity at a glance, and followed
by the boy, he walked unhesitatingly into the huge crevasse, in the
midst of the gathering darkness.

There were yet 1,000 feet to climb. Could they scale the interior wall
of the crater? They would try, at all events. Fortunately, the long and
sinuous declivities described a winding staircase, and greatly helped
their ascent. The crater was evidently exhausted. Not a puff of smoke,
not a glimmer of fire, escaped; not a sound or motion in the dark
abyss, reaching down, perhaps, to the centre of the globe. The air
within retained no taint of sulphur. The volcano was not only quiet,
but extinct.

Evidently the attempt was to succeed. Gradually, as the two mounted the
inner walls, they saw the crater grow larger over their heads. The
light from the outer sky visibly increased. At each step, so to speak,
which they made, new stars entered the field of their vision: The
magnificent constellations of the southern sky shone resplendent. In
the zenith glittered the splendid Antares of the Scorpion, and not far
off that Beta of the Centaur, which is believed to be the nearest star
to our terrestrial globe. Then, as the crater opened, appeared
Fomalhaut of the Fish, the Triangle, and at last, almost at the
Antarctic pole, the glowing Southern Cross.

It was nearly 8 o’clock when they set foot on the summit of the cone.
The darkness was by this time complete, and they could hardly see a
couple of miles around them. Was the land an island, or the eastern
extremity of a continent? They could not yet discover. Towards the west
a band of cloud, clearly defined against the horizon, deepened the
obscurity, and confounded sea with sky.

But at one point of the horizon suddenly appeared a vague light, which
slowly sank as the clouds mounted to the zenith. It was the slender
crescent of the moon, just about to disappear. But the line of the
horizon was now cloudless, and as the moon touched it, the engineer
could see her face mirrored for an instant on a liquid surface. He
seized the boy’s hand—

“An island!” said he, as the lunar crescent disappeared behind the
waves.




CHAPTER XI.


AT THE SUMMIT OF THE CONE—THE INTERIOR OF THE CRATER—SEA EVERYWHERE —NO
LAND IN SIGHT—A BIRD’S EVE VIEW OF THE COAST—HYDROGRAPHY AND OROGRAPHY
—IS THE ISLAND INHABITED?—A GEOGRAPHICAL BAPTISM—LINCOLN ISLAND.


A half hour later they walked back to the camp. The engineer contented
himself with saying to his comrades that the country was an island, and
that to-morrow they would consider what to do. Then each disposed
himself to sleep, and in this basalt cave, 2,500 feet above sea-level,
they passed a quiet night in profound repose. The next day, March 30,
after a hurried breakfast on roast trajopan, they started out for the
summit of the volcano. All desired to see the isle on which perhaps
they were to spend their lives, and to ascertain how far it lay from
other land, and how near the course of vessels bound for the
archipelagoes of the Pacific.

It was about 7 o’clock in the morning when they left the camp. No one
seemed dismayed by the situation. They had faith in themselves, no
doubt; but the source of that faith was not the same with Smith as with
his companions. They trusted in him, he in his ability to extort from
the wilderness around them all the necessaries of life. As for
Pencroff, he would not have despaired, since the rekindling of the fire
by the engineer’s lens, if he had found himself upon a barren rock, if
only Smith was with him.

“Bah!” said he, “we got out of Richmond without the permission of the
authorities, and it will be strange if we can’t get away some time from
a place where no one wants to keep us!”

They followed the route of the day before, flanking the cone till they
reached the enormous crevasse. It was a superb day, and the southern
side of the mountain was bathed in sunlight. The crater, as the
engineer had supposed, was a huge shaft gradually opening to a height
of 1,000 feet above the plateau. From the bottom of the crevasse large
currents of lava meandered down the flanks of the mountain, indicating
the path of the eruptive matter down to the lower valleys which
furrowed the north of the island.

The interior of the crater, which had an inclination of thirty-five or
forty degrees, was easily scaled. They saw on the way traces of ancient
lava, which had probably gushed from the summit of the cone before the
lateral opening had given it a new way of escape. As to the volcano
chimney which communicated with the subterranean abyss, its depth could
not be estimated by the eye, for it was lost in obscurity; but there
seemed no doubt that the volcano was completely extinct. Before 8
o’clock, the party were standing at the summit of the crater, on a
conical elevation of the northern side.

“The sea! the sea everywhere!” was the universal exclamation. There it
lay, an immense sheet of water around them on every side. Perhaps Smith
had hoped that daylight would reveal some neighboring coast or island.
But nothing appeared to the horizon-line, a radius of more than fifty
miles. Not a sail was in sight. Around the island stretched a desert
infinity of ocean.

Silent and motionless, they surveyed every point of the horizon. They
strained their eyes to the uttermost limit of the ocean. But even
Pencroff, to whom Nature had given a pair of telescopes instead of
eyes, and who could have detected land even in the faintest haze upon
the sea-line, could see nothing. Then they looked down upon their
island, and the silence was broken by Spilett:—

“How large do you think this island is?”

It seemed small enough in the midst of the infinite ocean.

Smith thought awhile, noticed the circumference of the island, and
allowed for the elevation.

“My friends,” he said, “if I am not mistaken, the coast of the island
is more than 100 miles around.”

“Then its surface will be—”

“That is hard to estimate; the outline is so irregular.”

If Smith was right, the island would be about the size of Malta or
Zante in the Mediterranean; but it was more irregular than they, and at
the same time had fewer capes, promontories, points, bays, and creeks.
Its form was very striking. When Spilett drew it they declared it was
like some fantastic sea beast, some monstrous pteropode, asleep on the
surface of the Pacific.

The exact configuration of the island may thus be described:—The
eastern coast, upon which the castaways had landed, was a decided
curve, embracing a large bay, terminating at the southeast in a sharp
promontory, which the shape of the land had hidden from Pencroff on his
first exploration. On the northeast, two other capes shut in the bay,
and between them lay a narrow gulf like the half-open jaws of some
formidable dog-fish. From northeast to northwest the coast was round
and flat, like the skull of a wild beast; then came a sort of
indeterminate hump, whose centre was occupied by the volcanic mountain.
From this point the coast ran directly north and south. For two-thirds
of its length it was bordered by a narrow creek; then it finished in
along cue, like the tail of a gigantic alligator. This cue formed a
veritable peninsula, which extended more than thirty miles into the
sea, reckoning from the southeastern cape before mentioned. These
thirty miles, the southern coast of the island, described an open bay.
The narrowest part of the island, between the Chimneys and the creek,
on the west, was ten miles wide, but its greatest length, from the jaw
in the northeast to the extremity of the southwestern peninsula, was
not less than thirty miles.

The general aspect of the interior was as follows:—The southern part,
from the shore to the mountain, was covered with woods; the northern
part was arid and sandy. Between the volcano and the eastern coast the
party were surprised to see a lake, surrounded by evergreens, whose
existence they had not suspected. Viewed from such a height it seemed
to be on the same level with the sea, but, on reflection, the engineer
explained to his companions that it must be at least 300 feet higher,
for the plateau on which it lay was as high as that of the coast.

“So, then, it is a fresh water lake?” asked Pencroff.

“Yes,” said the engineer, “for it must be fed by the mountain streams.”

“I can see a little river flowing into it,” said Herbert, pointing to a
narrow brook whose source was evidently in the spurs of the western
cliff.

“True,” said Smith, “and since this brook flows into the lake, there is
probably some outlet towards the sea for the overflow. We will see
about that when we go back.”

This little winding stream and the river so familiar to them were all
the watercourses they could see. Nevertheless, it was possible that
under those-masses of trees which covered two-thirds of the island,
other streams flowed towards the sea. This seemed the more probable
from the fertility of the country and its magnificent display of the
flora of the temperate zone. In the northern section there was no
indication of running water; perhaps there might be stagnant pools in
the swampy part of the northeast, but that was all; in the main this
region was composed of arid sand-hills and downs, contrasting strongly
with the fertility of the larger portion.

The volcano did not occupy the centre of the island. It rose in the
northwest, and seemed to indicate the dividing line of the two zones.
On the southwest, south, and southeast, the beginnings of the spurs
were lost in masses of verdure. To the north, on the contrary, these
ramifications were plainly visible, subsiding gradually to the level of
the sandy plain. On this side, too, when the volcano was active, the
eruptions had taken place, and a great bed of lava extended as far as
the narrow jaw which formed the northeastern gulf.

They remained for an hour at the summit of the mountain. The island lay
stretched before them like a plan in relief, with its different tints,
green for the forests, yellow for the sands, blue for the water. They
understood the configuration of the entire island; only the bottoms of
the shady valleys and the depths of the narrow gorges between the spurs
of the volcano, concealed by the spreading foliage, escaped their
searching eye.

There remained a question of great moment, whose answer would have a
controlling influence upon the fortunes of the castaways. Was the
island inhabited? It was the reporter who put this question, which
seemed already to have been answered in the negative by the minute
examination which they had just made of the different portions of the
island. Nowhere could they perceive the handiwork of man; no late
settlement on the beach, not even a lonely cabin or a fisherman’s hut.
No smoke, rising on the air, betrayed a human presence. It is true, the
observers were thirty miles from the long peninsula which extended to
the southwest, and upon which even Pencroff’s eye could hardly have
discovered a dwelling. Nor could they raise the curtain of foliage
which covered three-fourths of the island to see whether some village
lay sheltered there. But the natives of these little islands in the
Pacific usually live on the coast, and the coast seemed absolutely
desert. Until they should make a more complete exploration, they might
assume that the island was uninhabited. But was it ever frequented by
the inhabitants of neighboring islands? This question was difficult to
answer. No land appeared within a radius of fifty miles. But fifty
miles could easily be traversed by Malay canoes or by the larger
pirogues of the Polynesians. Everything depended upon the situation of
the island—on its isolation in the Pacific, or its proximity to the
archipelagoes. Could Smith succeed, without his instruments, in
determining its latitude and longitude? It would be difficult, and in
the uncertainty, they must take precautions against an attack from
savage neighbors.

The exploration of the island was finished, its configuration
determined, a map of it drawn, its size calculated, and the
distribution of its land and water ascertained. The forests and the
plains had been roughly sketched upon the reporter’s map. They had only
now to descend the declivities of the mountain, and to examine into the
animal, vegetable, and mineral resources of the country. But before
giving the signal of departure, Cyrus Smith, in a calm, grave voice,
addressed his companions.

“Look, my friends, upon this little corner of the earth, on which the
hand of the Almighty has cast us. Here, perhaps, we may long dwell.
Perhaps, too, unexpected help will arrive, should some ship chance to
pass. I say _chance_, because this island is of slight importance,
without even a harbor for ships. I fear it is situated out of the usual
course of vessels, too far south for those which frequent the
archipelagoes of the Pacific, too far north for those bound to
Australia round Cape Horn. I will not disguise from you our situation.”

“And you are right, my dear Cyrus,” said the reporter, eagerly. “You
are dealing with men. They trust you, and you can count on them. Can he
not, my friends?”

“I will obey you in everyting [sic], Mr. Smith,” said Herbert, taking
the engineer’s hand.

“May I lose my name,” said the sailor, “if I shirk my part! If you
choose, Mr. Smith, we will make a little America here. We will build
cities, lay railroads, establish telegraphs, and some day, when the
island is transformed and civilized, offer her to the United States.
But one thing I should like to ask.”

“What Is that?” said the reporter.

“That we should not consider ourselves any longer as castaways, but as
colonists.”

Cyrus Smith could not help smiling, and the motion was adopted. Then
Smith thanked his companions, and added that he counted upon their
energy and upon the help of Heaven.

“Well, let’s start for the Chimneys,” said Pencroff.

“One minute, my friends,” answered the engineer; “would it not be well
to name the island, as well as the capes, promontories, and
water-courses, which we see before us?”

“Good,” said the reporter. “That will simplify for the future the
instructions which we may have to give or to take.”

“Yes,” added the sailor, “it will be something gained to be able to say
whence we are coming and where we are going. We shall seem to be
somewhere.”

“At the Chimneys, for instance,” said Herbert.

“Exactly,” said the sailor. “That name has been quite convenient
already, and I was the author of it. Shall we keep that name for our
first encampment, Mr. Smith?”

“Yes, Pencroff, since you baptized it so.”

“Good! the others will be easy enough,” resumed the sailor, who was now
in the vein. “Let us give them names like those of the Swiss family
Robinson, whose story Herbert has read me more than once:—’Providence
Bay,’ ‘Cochalot Point,’ ‘Cape Disappointment.’“

“Or rather Mr. Smith’s name, Mr. Spilett’s, or Neb’s,” said Herbert.

“My name!” cried Neb, showing his white teeth.

“Why not?” replied Pencroff, “‘Port Neb’ would sound first-rate! And
‘Cape Gideon’—”

“I would rather have names, taken from our country,” said the reporter,
“which will recall America to us.”

“Yes,” said Smith, “the principal features, the bays and seas should be
so named. For instance, let us call the great bay to the east Union
Bay, the southern indentation Washington Bay, the mountain on which we
are standing Mount Franklin, the lake beneath our feet Lake Grant.
These names will recall our country and the great citizens who have
honored it; but for the smaller features, let us choose names which
will suggest their especial configuration. These will remain in our
memory and be more convenient at the same time. The shape of the island
is so peculiar that we shall have no trouble in finding appropriate
names. The streams, the creeks, and the forest regions yet to be
discovered we will baptize as they come. What say you, my friends?”

The engineer’s proposal was unanimously applauded. The inland bay
unrolled like a map before their eyes, and they had only to name the
features of its contour and relief. Spilett would put down the names
over the proper places, and the geographical nomenclature of the island
would be complete. First, they named the two bays and the mountain as
the engineer had suggested.

“Now,” said the reporter, “to that peninsula projecting from the
southwest I propose to give the name of Serpentine Peninsula, and to
call the twisted curve at the termination of it Reptile End, for it is
just like a snake’s tail.”

“Motion carried,” said the engineer.

“And the other extremity of the island,” said Herbert, “the gulf so
like an open pair of jaws, let us call it Shark Gulf.”

“Good enough,” said Pencroff, “and we may complete the figure by
calling the two sides of the gulf Mandible Cape.”

“But there are two capes,” observed the reporter.

“Well, we will have them North Mandible and South Mandible.”

“I’ve put them down,” said Spilett.

“Now we must name the southwestern extremity of the island,” said
Pencroff.

“You mean the end of Union Bay?” asked. Herbert.

“Claw Cape,” suggested Neb, who wished to have his turn as godfather.
And he had chosen an excellent name; for this Cape was very like the
powerful claw of the fantastic animal to which they had compared the
island. Pencroff was enchanted with the turn things were taking, and
their active imaginations soon supplied other names. The river which
furnished them with fresh water, and near which the balloon had cast
them on shore, they called the Mercy, in gratitude to Providence. The
islet on which they first set foot, was Safety Island; the plateau at
the top of the high granite wall above the Chimneys, from which the
whole sweep of the bay was visible, Prospect Plateau; and, finally,
that mass of impenetrable woods which covered Serpentine Peninsula, the
Forests of the Far West.

The engineer had approximately determined, by the height and position
of the sun, the situation of the island with reference to the cardinal
points, and had put Union Bay and Prospect Plateau to the east; but on
the morrow, by taking the exact time of the sun’s rising and setting,
and noting its situation at the time exactly intermediate, he expected
to ascertain precisely the northern point of the island; for, on
account of its situation on the Southern Hemisphere, the sun at the
moment of its culmination would pass to the north, and not to the
south, as it does in the Northern Hemisphere.

All was settled, and the colonists were about to descend the mountain,
when Pencroff cried:—

“Why, what idiots we are!”

“Why so?” said Spilett, who had gotten up and closed his note-book.

“We have forgotten to baptize our island!”

Herbert was about to propose to give it the name of the engineer, and
his companions would have applauded the choice, when Cyrus Smith said
quietly:—

“Let us give it the name of a great citizen, my friends, of the
defender of American unity! Let us call it Lincoln Island!”

They greeted the proposal with three hurrahs.




CHAPTER XII.


REGULATION OF WATCHES—PENCROFF IS SATISFIED—A SUSPICIOUS SMOKE—THE
COURSE OF RED CREEK—THE FLORA OF THE ISLAND—ITS FAUNA—MOUNTAIN
PHEASANTS—A KANGAROO CHASE—THE AGOUTI—LAKE GRANT—RETURN TO THE
CHIMNEYS.


The colonists of Lincoln Island cast a last look about them and walked
once around the verge of the crater. Half an hour afterwards they were
again upon the lower plateau, at their encampment of the previous
night. Pencroff thought it was breakfast time, and so came up the
question of regulating the watches of Smith and Spilett. The reporter’s
chronometer was uninjured by the sea water, as he had been cast high up
on the sand beyond the reach of the waves. It was an admirable
time-piece, a veritable pocket chronometer, and Spilett had wound it up
regularly every day. The engineer’s watch, of course, had stopped while
he lay upon the downs. He now wound it up, and set it at 9 o’clock,
estimating the time approximately by the height of the sun. Spilett was
about to do the same, when the engineer stopped him.

“Wait, my dear Spilett,” said he. “You have the Richmond time, have you
not?”

“Yes.”

“Your watch, then, is regulated by the meridian of that city, which is
very nearly that of Washington?”

“Certainly.”

“Well, keep it so. Wind it up carefully, but do not touch the hands.
This may be of use to us.”

“What’s the use of that?” thought the sailor.

They made such a hearty meal, that little was left of the meat and
pistachio-nuts; but Pencroff did not trouble himself about that. Top,
who had not been forgotten in the feast, would certainly find some new
game in the thicket. Besides, the sailor had made up his mind to ask
Smith to make some powder and one or two shot-guns, which, he thought,
would be an easy matter.

As they were leaving the plateau, Smith proposed to his companions to
take a new road back to the Chimneys. He wished to explore Lake Grant,
which lay surrounded so beautifully with trees. They followed the crest
of one of the spurs in which the creek which fed the lake probably had
its source. The colonists employed in conversation only the proper
names which they had just devised, and found that they could express
themselves much more easily. Herbert and Pencroff, one of whom was
young and the other something of a child, were delighted, and the
sailor said as they walked along:—

“Well, Herbert, this is jolly! We can’t lose ourselves now, my boy,
since, whether we follow Lake Grant or get to the Mercy through the
woods of the Far West, we must come to Prospect Plateau, and so to
Union Bay.”

It had been agreed that, without marching in a squad, the colonists
should not keep too far apart. Dangerous wild beasts surely inhabited
the forest recesses, and they must be on their guard. Usually Pencroff,
Herbert, and Neb walked in front, preceded by Top, who poked his nose
into every corner. The reporter and engineer walked together, the
former ready to note down every incident, the latter seldom speaking,
and turning aside only to pick up sometimes one thing, sometimes
another, vegetable or mineral, which he put in his pocket without
saying a word.

“What, the mischief, is he picking up?” muttered Pencroff. “There’s no
use in looking; I see nothing worth the trouble of stooping for.”

About 10 o’clock the little company descended the last declivities of
Mount Franklin. A few bushes and trees were scattered over the ground.
They were walking on a yellowish, calcined soil, forming a plain about
a mile long, which extended to the border of the wood. Large fragments
of that basalt which, according to Bischof’s theory, has taken
350,000,000 years to cool, strewed the uneven surface of the plain. Yet
there was no trace of lava, which had especially found an exit down the
northern declivities. Smith thought they should soon reach the creek,
which he expected to find flowing under the trees by the plain, when he
saw Herbert running back, and Neb and the sailor hiding themselves
behind the rocks.

“What’s the matter, my boy?” said Spilett.

“Smoke,” answered Herbert. “We saw smoke ascending from among the
rocks, a hundred steps in front.”

“Men in this region!” cried the reporter.

“We must not show ourselves till we know with whom we have to deal,”
answered Smith. “I have more fear than hope of the natives, if there
are any such on the island. Where is Top?”

“Top is on ahead.”

“And has not barked?”

“No.”

“That is strange. Still, let us try to call him back.”

In a few moments the three had rejoined their companions, and had
hidden themselves, like Neb and Pencroff, behind the basalt rubbish.
Thence they saw, very evidently, a yellowish smoke curling into the
air. Top was recalled by a low whistle from his master, who motioned to
his comrades to wait, and stole forward under cover of the rocks. In
perfect stillness the party awaited the result, when a call from Smith
summoned them forward. In a moment they were by his side, and were
struck at once by the disagreeable smell which pervaded the atmosphere.
This odor, unmistakable as it was, had been sufficient to reassure the
engineer.

“Nature is responsible for that fire,” he said, “or rather for that
smoke. It is nothing but a sulphur spring, which will be good for our
sore throats.”

“Good!” said Pencroff; “what a pity I have not a cold!”

The colonists walked towards the smoke. There they beheld a spring of
sulphate of soda, which flowed in currents among the rocks, and whose
waters, absorbing the oxygen of the air, gave off a lively odor of
sulpho-hydric acid. Smith dipped his hand into the spring and found it
oily. He tasted it, and perceived a sweetish savor. Its temperature he
estimated at 95° Fahrenheit; and when Herbert asked him on what he
based his estimate:—

“Simply, my boy,” said he, “because when I put my hand into this water,
I have no sensation either of heat or of cold. Therefore, it is at the
same temperature as the human body, that is, about 95°.”

Then as the spring of sulphur could be put to no present use, the
colonists walked towards the thick border of the forest, a few hundred
paces distant. There, as they had thought, the brook rolled its bright
limpid waters between high, reddish banks, whose color betrayed the
presence of oxide of iron. On account of this color, they instantly
named the water course Red Creek. It was nothing but a large mountain
brook, deep and clear, here, flowing quietly over the lands, there,
gurgling amid rocks, or falling in a cascade, but always flowing
towards the lake. It was a mile and a half long; its breadth varied
from thirty to forty feet. Its water was fresh, which argued that those
of the lake would be found the same—a fortunate occurrence, in case
they should find upon its banks a more comfortable dwelling than the
Chimneys.

The trees which, a few hundred paces down stream overshadowed the banks
of the creek, belonged principally to the species which abound in the
temperate zone of Australia or of Tasmania, and belong to those
conifers which clothed the portion of the island already explored, some
miles around Prospect Plateau. It was now the beginning of April, a
month which corresponds in that hemisphere to our October, yet their
leaves had not begun to fall. They were, especially, casuarinæ and
eucalypti, some of which, in the ensuing spring, would furnish a
sweetish manna like that of the East. Clumps of Australian cedars rose
in the glades, covered high with that sort of moss which the
New-Hollanders call _tussocks_; but the cocoa-palm, so abundant in the
archipelagoes of the Pacific, was conspicuous by its absence. Probably
the latitude of the island was too low.

“What a pity!” said Herbert, “such a useful tree and such splendid
nuts!”

There were flocks of birds on the thin boughs of the eucalypti and the
casuarinæ, which gave fine play to their wings. Black, white, and grey
cockatoos, parrots and parroquets of all colors, king-birds, birds of
paradise, of brilliant green, with a crowd of red, and blue lories,
glowing with every prismatic color, flew about with deafening clamors.
All at once, a strange volley of discordant sounds seemed to come from
the thicket. The colonists heard, one after another, the song of birds,
the cries of four-footed beasts, and a sort of clucking sound strangely
human. Neb and Herbert rushed towards the thicket, forgetting the most
elementary rules of prudence. Happily, there was neither formidable
wild beast nor savage native, but merely half-a-dozen of those mocking
birds which they recognized as “mountain pheasants.” A few skillfully
aimed blows with a stick brought this parody to an end, and gave them
excellent game for dinner that evening. Herbert also pointed out superb
pigeons with bronze-colored wings, some with a magnificent crest,
others clad in green, like their congeners at Port-Macquarie; but like
the troops of crows and magpies which flew about, they were beyond
reach. A load of small-shot would have killed hosts of them; but the
colonists had nothing but stones and sticks, very insufficient weapons.
They proved even more inadequate when a troop of quadrupeds leaped away
through the underbrush with tremendous bounds thirty feet long, so that
they almost seemed to spring from tree to tree, like squirrels.

“Kangaroos!” cried Herbert.

“Can you eat them?” said Pencroff.

“They make a delicious stew,” said the reporter.

The words had hardly escaped his lips, when the sailor, with Neb and
Herbert at his heels, rushed after the kangaroos. Smith tried in vain
to recall them, but equally in vain did they pursue the game, whose
elastic leaps left them far behind. After five minutes’ chase, they
gave it up, out of breath.

“You see, Mr. Smith,” said Pencroff, “that guns are a necessity. Will
it be possible to make them?”

“Perhaps,” replied the engineer; “but we will begin by making bows and
arrows, and you will soon use them as skilfully as the Australian
hunters.”

“Bows and arrows!” said Pencroff, with a contemptuous look. “They are
for children!”

“Don’t be so proud, my friend,” said the reporter. “Bows and arrows
were sufficient for many centuries for the warfare of mankind. Powder
is an invention of yesterday, while war, unhappily, is as old as the
race.”

“That’s true, Mr. Spilett,” said the sailor. “I always speak before I
think. Forgive me.”

Meanwhile Herbert, with his Natural History always uppermost in his
thoughts, returned to the subject of kangaroos.

“Those which escaped us,” he said, “belong to the species most
difficult to capture—very large, with long grey hair, but I am sure
there are black and red kangaroos, rock-kangaroos, kangaroo-rats—”

“Herbert,” said the sailor, “for me there is only one kind—the
‘kangaroo-on-the-spit’—and that is just what we haven’t got.”

They could not help laughing at Professor Pencroff’s new
classification. He was much cast down at the prospect of dining on
mountain-phesants; but chance was once more kind to him. Top, who felt
his dinner at stake, rushed hither and thither, his instinct quickened
by sharp appetite. In fact, he would have left very little of what he
might catch or any one else, had not Neb watched him shrewdly. About 3
o’clock he disappeared into the rushes, from which came grunts and
growls which indicated a deadly tustle. Neb rushed in, and found Top
greedily devouring an animal, which in ten seconds more would have
totally disappeared. But the dog had luckily fallen on a litter, and
two more rodents—for to this species did the beasts belong—lay
strangled on the ground. Neb reappeared in triumph with a rodent in
each hand. They had yellow hair, with patches of green, and the
rudiments of a tail. They were a sort of agouti, a little larger than
their tropical congeners, true American hares, with long ears and five
molar teeth on either side.

“Hurrah!” cried Pencroff, “the roast is here; now we can go back to the
house.”

The journey was resumed. Red Creek still rolled its limped waters under
the arching boughs of casuarence, bankseas and gigantic gum trees.
Superb liliaceæ rose, to a height of twenty feet, and other arborescent
trees of species unknown to the young naturalist, bent over the brook,
which murmered gently beneath its leafy cradle. It widened sensibly,
nevertheless, and the mouth was evidently near. As the party emerged
from a massive thicket of fine trees, the lake suddenly appeared before
them.

They were now on its left bank, and a picturesque region opened to
their view. The smooth sheet of water, about seven miles in
circumference and 250 acres in extent, lay sleeping among the trees.
Towards the east, across the intermittent screen of verdure, appeared a
shining horizon of sea. To the north the curve of the lake was concave,
contrasting with the sharp outline of its lower extremity. Numerous
aquatic birds frequented the banks of this little Ontario, in which the
“Thousand Isles” of its American original were represented by a rock
emerging from its surface some hundreds of feet from the southern bank.
There lived in harmony several couples of kingfishers, perched upon
rocks, grave and motionless, watching for fish; then they would plunge
into the water and dive with a shrill cry, reappearing with the prey in
their beaks. Upon the banks of the lake and the island were constantly
strutting wild ducks, pelicans, water-hens and red-beaks. The waters of
the lake were fresh and limpid, somewhat dark, and from the concentric
circles on its surface, were evidently full of fish.

“How beautiful this lake is!” said Spilett. “We could live on its
banks.”

“We will live there!” answered Smith.

The colonists, desiring to get back to the Chimneys by the shortest
route, went down towards the angle formed at the south by the junction
of the banks. They broke a path with much labor through the thickets
and brush wood, hitherto untouched by the hand of man, and walked
towards the seashore, so as to strike it to the north of Prospect
Plateau. After a two miles’ walk they came upon the thick turf of the
plateau, and saw before them the infinite ocean.

To get back to the Chimneys they had to walk across the plateau for a
mile to the elbow formed by the first bend of the Mercy. But the
engineer was anxious to know how and where the overflow of the lake
escaped. It was probable that a river existed somewhere pouring through
a gorge in the granite. In fine, the lake was an immense receptacle
gradually filled at the expense of the creek, and its overflow must
somehow find a way down to the sea. Why should they not utilize this
wasted store of water-power? So they walked up the plateau, following
the banks of Lake Grant, but after a tramp of a mile, they could find
no outlet.

It was now half-past 4, and dinner had yet to be prepared. The party
returned upon its track, and reached the Chimneys by the left bank of
the Mercy. Then the fire was lighted, and Neb and Pencroff, on whom
devolved the cooking, in their respective characters of negro and
sailor, skilfully broiled the agouti, to which the hungry explorers did
great honor. When the meal was over, and just as they were settling
themselves to sleep, Smith drew from his pocket little specimens of
various kinds of minerals, and said quietly,

“My friends, this is iron ore, this pyrites, this clay, this limestone,
this charcoal. Nature gives us these as her part in the common task.
To-morrow we must do our share!”




CHAPTER XIII.


TOP’S CONTRIBUTION—MAKING BOWS AND ARROWS—A BRICK-KILN—A
POTTERY—DIFFERENT COOKING UTENSILS—THE FIRST BOILED MEAT—MUGWORT—THE
SOUTHERN CROSS—AN IMPORTANT ASTRONOMICAL OBSERVATION.


“Now then, Mr. Smith, where shall we begin?” asked Pencroff the next
morning.

“At the beginning,” answered the engineer.

And this, indeed, was necessary, as the colonists did not even possess
implements with which to make implements. Neither were they in that
condition of nature which “having time,” economizes effort; the
necessities of life must be provided for at once, and, if profiting by
experience they had nothing to invent, at least they had everything to
make. Their iron and steel was in the ore, their pottery was in the
clay, their linen and clothes were still to be provided.

It must be remembered, however, that these colonists were _men_, in the
best sense of the word. The engineer Smith could not have been aided by
comrades more intelligent, or more devoted and zealous. He had
questioned them, and knew their ability.

The reporter, having learned everything so as to be able to speak of
everything, would contribute largely from his knowledge and skill
towards the settlement of the island. He would not shirk work; and, a
thorough sportsman, he would follow as a business what he had formerly
indulged in as a pastime. Herbert, a manly lad, already well versed in
natural science, would contribute his share to the common cause. Neb
was devotion personified. Adroit, intelligent, indefatigable, robust,
of iron constitution, knowing something of the work in a smithy, his
assistance would be considerable. As to Pencroff, he had sailed every
sea, had been a carpenter in the Brooklyn yards, an assistant tailor on
board ship, and, during hie leaves of absence, a gardener, farmer,
etc.; in short, like every sailor, he was a Jack-of-all-trades.

Indeed, it would have been hard to bring together five men, more able
to struggle against fate, and more certain to triumph in the end.

“At the beginning,” Smith had said. And this beginning was the
construction of an apparatus which would serve to transform the natural
substances. Every one knows what an important part heat plays in these
transformations. Therefore, as wood and coal were already provided it
was only necessary to make an oven to utilize them.

“What good is an oven,” asked Pencroff.

“To make the pottery that we want,” replied Smith.

“And how will we make an oven?”

“With bricks.”

“And how will we make the bricks?”

“With the clay. Come, friends. We will set up our factory at the place
of production, so as to avoid carriage. Neb will bring the provisions,
and we shall not lack fire to cook food.”

“No,” replied the reporter, “but suppose we lack food, since we have no
hunting implements?”

“If we only had a knife!” cried the sailor,

“What, then?” asked Smith.

“Why, I would make a bow and arrows. And game would be plenty in the
larder.”

“A knife. Something that will cut,” said the engineer, as if talking to
himself.

Suddenly his face brightened:

“Come here, Top,” he called.

The dog bounded to his master, and Smith having taken off the collar
which the animal had around his neck, broke it into halves, saying:—

“Here are two knives, Pencroff.”

For all response, the sailor gave a couple of cheers. Top’s collar was
made from a thin piece of tempered steel. All that was therefore
necessary was to rub it to an edge upon a sand-stone, and then to
sharpen it upon one of finer grain. These kind of stones were readily
procurable upon the beach, and in a couple of hours the implements of
the colony consisted of two strong blades, which it was easy to fasten
into solid handles. The overcoming of this first difficulty was greeted
as a triumph and it was indeed a fortunate event.

On setting out, it was the intention of the engineer to return to the
western bank of the lake, where he had noticed the clay, of which he
had secured a specimen. Following the bank of the Mercy they crossed
Prospect Plateau, and after a walk of about five miles, they arrived at
a glade some 200 paces distant from Lake Grant.

On the way, Herbert had discovered a tree from which the South American
Indians make bows. It was the “crejimba,” of the palm family. From it
they cut long straight branches, which they peeled and shaped into
bows. For cords they took the fibres of the “hibiscus heterophyltus”
(Indian hemp), a malvaceous plant, the fibres of which are as strong as
the tendons of an animal. Pencroff, having thus provided bows, only
needed arrows. Those were easily made from straight, stiff branches,
free from knots, but it was not so easy to arm them with a substitute
for iron. But Pencroff said that he had accomplished this much, and
that chance would do the rest.

The party had reached the place discovered the day before. The ground
was composed of that clay which is used in making bricks and tiles, and
was therefore just the thing for their purpose. The labor was not
difficult. It was only necessary to scour the clay with sand, mould the
bricks, and then bake them before a wood fire.

Usually, bricks are pressed in moulds, but the engineer contented
himself with making these by hand. All this day and the next was
employed in this work. The clay, soaked in water, was kneaded by the
hands and feet of the manipulators, and then divided into blocks of
equal size. A skilled workman can make, without machinery, as many as
10,000 bricks in twelve hours; but in the two days the brickmakers of
Lincoln Island had made but 3,000, which were piled one upon the other
to await the time when they would be dry enough to bake, which would be
in three or four days.

On the 2d of April, Smith occupied himself in determining the position
of the island.

The day before he had noted the precise minute at which the sun had
set, allowing for the refraction. On this morning, he ascertained with
equal precision the time of its rising. The intervening time was twelve
hours and twenty-four minutes. Therefore six hours and twelve minutes
after rising the sun would pass the meridian, and the point in the sky
which it would occupy at that instant would be north.

At the proper hour Smith marked this point, and by getting two trees in
line obtained a meridian for his future operations.

During the two days preceding the baking they occupied themselves by
laying in a supply of firewood. Branches were cut from the edge of the
clearing, and all the dead wood under the trees was picked up. And now
and then they hunted in the neighborhood, the more successfully, as
Pencroff had some dozens of arrows with very sharp points. It was Top
who had provided these points by bringing in a porcupine, poor game
enough, but of an undeniable value, thanks to the quills with which it
bristled. These quills were firmly fastened to the ends of the arrows,
and their flight was guided by feathering them with the cockatoo’s
feathers. The reporter and Herbert soon became expert marksmen, and all
kinds of game, such as cabiais, pigeons, agoutis, heath-cock, etc.,
abounded at the Chimneys. Most of these were killed in that part of the
forest upon the left bank of the Mercy, which they had called Jacamar
Wood, after the kingfisher which Pencroff and Herbert had pursued there
during their first exploration.

The meat was eaten fresh, but they preserved the hams of the cabiai by
smoking them before a fire of green wood, having made them aromatic
with odorous leaves. Thus, they had nothing but roast after roast, and
they would have been glad to have heard a pot singing upon the hearth;
but first they must have the pot, and for this they must have the oven.

During these excursions, the hunters noticed the recent tracks of large
animals, armed with strong claws, but they could not tell their
species; and Smith cautioned them to be prudent, as, doubtless, there
were dangerous beasts in the forest.

He was right. For one day Spilett and Herbert saw an animal resembling
a jaguar. But, fortunately, the beast did not attack them, as they
could hardly have killed it without being themselves wounded. But,
Spilett promised, if he should ever obtain a proper weapon, such as one
of the guns Pencroff begged for, that he would wage relentless war on
all ferocious beasts and rid the island of their presence.

They did not do anything to the Chimneys, as the engineer hoped to
discover, or to build, if need be, a more convenient habitation, but
contented themselves by spreading fresh quantities of moss and dry
leaves upon the sand in the corridors, and upon these primitive beds
the tired workmen slept soundly. They also reckoned the days already
passed on Lincoln Island, and began keeping a calendar. On the 5th of
April, which was a Wednesday, they had been twelve days upon the
island.

On the morning of the 6th, the engineer with his companions met at the
place where the bricks were to be baked. Of course the operation was to
be conducted in the open air, and not in an oven, or, rather, the pile
of bricks would in itself form a bake-oven. Carefully-prepared faggots
were laid upon the ground, surrounding the tiers of dry bricks, which
formed a great cube, in which air-holes had been left. The work
occupied the whole day, and it was not until evening that they lit the
fire, which all night long they kept supplied with fuel.

The work lasted forty-eight hours, and succeeded perfectly. Then, as it
was necessary to let the smoking mass cool, Neb and Pencroff, directed
by Mr. Smith, brought, on a hurdle made of branches, numerous loads of
limestone which they found scattered in abundance to the north of the
lake. These stones, decomposed by heat, furnished a thick quick-lime,
which increased in bulk by slacking, and was fully as pure as if it had
been produced by the calcimation of chalk or marble. Mixed with sand in
order to diminish its shrinkage while drying, this lime made an
excellent mortar.

By the 9th of April the engineer had at his disposal a quantity of
lime, all prepared, and some thousands of bricks. They, therefore,
began at once the construction of an oven, in which to bake their
pottery. This was accomplished without much difficulty; and, five days
later, the oven was supplied with coal from the open vein, which the
engineer had discovered near the mouth of Red Creek, and the first
smoke escaped from a chimney twenty feet high. The glade was
transformed into a manufactory, and Pencroff was ready to believe that
all the products of modern industry would be produced from this oven.

Meantime the colonists made a mixture of the clay with lime and quartz,
forming pipe-clay, from which they moulded pots and mugs, plates and
jars, tubs to hold water, and cooking vessels. Their form was rude and
defective, but after they had been baked at a high temperature, the
kitchen of the Chimneys found itself provided with utensils as precious
as if they were composed of the finest kaolin.

We must add that Pencroff, desirous of knowing whether this material
deserved its name of pipe-clay, made some large pipes, which he would
have found perfect, but for the want of tobacco. And, indeed, this was
a great privation to the sailor.

“But the tobacco will come like everything else,” he would say in his
hopeful moments.

The work lasted until the 15th of April, and the time was well spent.
The colonists having become potters, made nothing but pottery. When it
would suit the engineer to make them smiths they would be smiths. But
as the morrow would be Sunday, and moreover Easter Sunday, all agreed
to observe the day by rest. These Americans were religious men,
scrupulous observers of the precepts of the Bible, and their situation
could only develop their trust in the Author of all things.

On the evening of the 15th they returned permanently to the Chimneys,
bringing the rest of the pottery back with them, and putting out the
oven fire until there should be use for it again. This return was
marked by the fortunate discovery by the engineer of a substance that
would answer for tinder, which, we know, is the spongy, velvety pulp of
a mushroom of the polypore family. Properly prepared it is extremely
inflammable, especially when previously saturated with gunpowder, or
nitrate or chlorate of potash. But until then they had found no
polypores, nor any fungi that would answer instead. Now, the engineer,
having found a certain plant belonging to the mugwort family, to which
belong wormwood, mint, etc., broke off some tufts, and, handing them to
the sailor, said:—

“Here, Pencroff, is something for you.”

Pencroff examined the plant, with its long silky threads and leaves
covered with a cotton-like down.

“What is it, Mr. Smith?” he asked. “Ah, I know! It’s tobacco!”

“No,” answered Smith; “it is Artemesia wormwood, known to science as
Chinese mugwort, but to us it will be tinder.”

This mugwort, properly dried, furnished a very inflammable substance,
especially after the engineer had impregnated it with nitrate of
potash, which is the same as saltpetre, a mineral very plenty on the
island.

This evening the colonists, seated in the central chamber, supped with
comfort. Neb had prepared some agouti soup, a spiced ham, and the
boiled corms of the “caladium macrorhizum,” an herbaceous plant of the
arad family, which under the tropics takes a tree form. These corms,
which are very nutritious, had an excellent flavor, something like that
of Portland sago, and measurably supplied the place of bread, which the
colonists were still without.

Supper finished, before going to sleep the party took a stroll upon the
beach. It was 8 o’clock, and the night was magnificent. The moon, which
had been full five days before, was about rising, and in the zenith,
shining resplendent above the circumpolar constellations, rode the
Southern Cross. For some moments the engineer gazed at it attentively.
At its summit and base were two stars of the first magnitude, and on
the left arm and the right, stars, respectively, of the second
magnitude and the third. Then, after some reflection, he said:—

“Herbert, is not to-day the 15th of April?”

“Yes, sir,” answered the lad.

“Then, if I am not mistaken, to-morrow will be one of the four days in
the year when the mean and real time are the same; that is to say, my
boy, that to-morrow, within some seconds of noon by the clocks, the sun
will pass the meridian. If, therefore, the weather is clear, I think I
will be able to obtain the longitude of the island within a few
degrees.”

“Without a sextant or instruments?” asked Spilett.

“Yes,” replied the engineer. And since it is so clear, I will try
to-night to find our latitude by calculating the height of the Cross,
that is, of the Southern Pole, above the horizon. You see, my friends,
before settling down, it will not do to be content with determining
this land to be an island; we must find out its locality.”

“Indeed, instead of building a house, it will be better to build a
ship, if we are within a hundred miles of an inhabited land.”

“That is why I am now going to try to get the latitude of the place,
and to-morrow noon to calculate the longitude.”

If the engineer had possessed a sextant, the work would have been easy,
as this evening, by taking the height of the pole, and to-morrow by the
sun’s passage of the meridian, he would have the co-ordinates of the
island. But, having no instruments he must devise something. So
returning to the Chimneys, he made, by the light of the fire, two
little flat sticks which he fastened together with a thorn, in a way
that they could be opened and shut like compasses, and returned with
them to the beach. But as the sea horizon was hidden from this point by
Claw Cape, the engineer determined to make his observation from
Prospect Plateau, leaving, until the next day, the computation of the
height of the latter, which could easily be done by elementary
geometry.

The colonists, therefore, went to the edge of the plateau which faced
the southeast, overlooking the fantastic rocks bordering the shore. The
place rose some fifty feet above the right bank of the Mercy, which
descended, by a double slope, to the end of Claw Cape and to the
southern boundary of the island. Nothing obstructed the vision, which
extended over half the horizon from the Cape to Reptile Promontory. To
the south, this horizon, lit by the first rays of the moon, was sharply
defined against the sky. The Cross was at this time reversed, the star
Alpha being nearest the pole. This constellation is not situated as
near to the southern as the polar star is to the northern pole; Alpha
is about 27° from it, but Smith knew this and could calculate
accordingly. He took care also to observe it at the instant when it
passed the meridian under the pole, thus simplifying the operation.

The engineer opened the arms of his compass so that one pointed to the
horizon and the other to the star, and thus obtained the angle of
distance which separated them. And in order to fix this distance
immovably, he fastened these arms, respectively, by means of thorns, to
a cross piece of wood. This done, it was only necessary to calculate
the angle obtained, bringing the observation to the level of the sea so
as to allow for the depression of the horizon caused by the height of
the plateau. The measurement of this angle would thus give the height
of Alpha, or the pole, above the horizon; or, since the latitude of a
point on the globe is always equal to the height of the pole above the
horizon at that point, the latitude of the island.

This calculation was postponed until the next day, and by 10 o’clock
everybody slept profoundly.




CHAPTER XIV.


THE MEASURE OF THE GRANITE WALL—AN APPLICATION OF THE THEOREM OF
SIMILAR TRIANGLES—THE LATITUDE OF THE ISLAND—AN EXCURSION TO THE
NORTH—AN OYSTER-BED—PLANS FOR THE FUTURE—THE SUN’S PASSAGE OF THE
MERIDIAN—THE CO-ORDINATES OF LINCOLN ISLAND.


At daybreak the next day, Easter Sunday, the colonists left the
Chimneys and went to wash their linen and clean their clothing. The
engineer intended to make some soap as soon as he could obtain some
soda or potash and grease or oil. The important question of renewing
their wardrobes would be considered in due time. At present they were
strong, and able to stand hard wear for at least six months longer. But
everything depended on the situation of the island as regarded
inhabited countries, and that would be determined this day, providing
the weather permitted.

The sun rising above the horizon, ushered in one of those glorious days
which seem like the farewell of summer. The first thing to be done was
to measure the height of Prospect Plateau above the sea.

“Do you not need another pair of compasses?” asked Herbert, of the
engineer.

“No, my boy,” responded the latter, “this time we will try another and
nearly as precise a method.”

Pencroff, Neb, and the reporter were busy at other things; but Herbert,
who desired to learn, followed the engineer, who proceeded along the
beach to the base of the granite wall.

Smith was provided with a pole twelve feet long, carefully measured off
from his own height, which he knew to a hair. Herbert carried a
plumb-line made from a flexible fibre tied to a stone. Having reached a
point 20 feet from the shore and 500 feet from the perpendicular
granite wall, Smith sunk the pole two feet in the sand, and, steadying
it carefully, proceeded to make it plumb with the horizon. Then, moving
back to a spot where, stretched upon the sand, he could sight over the
top of the pole to the edge of the cliff, bringing the two points in
line, he carefully marked this place with a stone. Then addressing
Herbert,

“Do you know the first principles of geometry?” said he.

“Slightly, sir,” answered Herbert, not wishing to seem forward.

“Then you remember the relation of similar triangles?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Herbert. “Their like sides are proportional.”

“Right, my boy. And I have just constructed two similar right angled
triangles:—the smaller has for its sides the perpendicular pole and the
distances from its base and top to the stake; the second has the wall
which we are about to measure, and the distances from its base and
summit to the stake, which are only the prolongation of the base and
hypothenuse of the first triangle.

“I understand,” cried Herbert. “As the distance from the stake to the
pole is proportional to the distance from the stake to the base of the
wall, so the height of the wall is proportional to the height of the
rod.”

“Exactly,” replied the engineer, “and after measuring the first two
distances, as we know the height of the pole, we have only to calculate
the proportion in order to find the height of the wall.”

The measurements were made with the pole and resulted in determining
the distances from the stake to the foot of the pole and the base of
the wall to be 15 and 500 feet respectively. The engineer and Herbert
then returned to the Chimneys, where the former, using a flat stone and
a bit of shell to figure with, determined the height of the wall to be
333.33 feet.

Then taking the compasses, and carefully measuring the angle which he
had obtained the night before, upon a circle which he had divided into
360 parts, the engineer found that this angle, allowing for the
differences already explained, was 53°. Which, subtracted from 90°—the
distance of the pole from the equator—gave 37° as the latitude of
Lincoln Island. And making an allowance of 5° for the imperfections of
the observations, Smith, concluded it to be situated between the 35th
and the 40th parallel of south latitude.

But, in order to establish the co-ordinates of the island, the
longitude also must be taken. And this the engineer determined to do
when the sun passed the meridian at noon.

They therefore resolved to spend the morning in a walk, or rather an
exploration of that part of the island situated to the north of Shark
Gulf and the lake; and, if they should have time, to push on as far as
the western side of South Mandible Cape. They would dine on the downs
and not return until evening.

At half-past 8 the little party set out, following the edge of the
channel. Opposite, upon Safety Islet, a number of birds of the
sphemiscus family strutted gravely about. There were divers, easily
recognizable, by their disagreeable cry, which resembled the braying of
an ass. Pencroff, regarding them with gastronomic intent, was pleased
to learn that their flesh, though dark colored, was good to eat. They
could also see amphibious animals, which probably were seals, crawling
over the sand. It was not possible to think of these as food, as their
oily flesh is detestable; nevertheless Smith observed them carefully,
and without disclosing his plans to the others, he announced that they
would very soon, make a visit to the island. The shore followed by the
colonists was strewn with mollusks, which would have delighted a
malacologist. But, what was more important, Neb discovered, about four
miles from the Chimneys, among the rocks, a bed of oysters, left bare
by the tide.

“Neb hasn’t lost his day,” said Pencroff, who saw that the bed extended
some distance.

“It is, indeed, a happy discovery,” remarked the reporter. “And when we
remember that each oyster produces fifty or sixty thousand eggs a year,
the supply is evidently inexhaustable.”

“But I don’t think the oyster is very nourishing,” said Herbert.

“No,” answered Smith. “Oysters contain very little azote, and it would
be necessary for a man living on them alone to eat at least fifteen or
sixteen dozen every day.”

“Well,” said Pencroff, “we could swallow dozens and dozens of these and
not exhaust the bed. Shall we have some for breakfast?”

And, without waiting for an answer, which he well knew would be
affirmative, the sailor and Neb detached a quantity of these mollusks
from the rocks, and placed them with the other provisions for
breakfast, in a basket which Neb had made from the hibiscus fibres.
Then they continued along the shore between the downs and the sea.

From time to time Smith looked at his watch, so as to be ready for the
noon observation.

All this portion of the island, as far as South Mandible Cape, was
desert, composed of nothing but sand and shells, mixed with the debris
of lava. A few sea birds, such as the sea-gulls and albatross,
frequented the shore, and some wild ducks excited the covetousness of
Pencroff. He tried to shoot some, but unsuccessfully, as they seldom
lit, and he could not hit them flying.

This made the sailor say to the engineer:—

“You see, Mr. Smith, how much we need guns!”

“Doubtless, Pencroff,” answered the reporter, “but it rests with you.
You find iron for the barrels, steel for the locks, saltpetre, charcoal
and sulphur for the powder, mercury and nitric acid for the fulminate,
and last of all, lead for the balls, and Mr. Smith will make us guns of
the best quality.

“Oh, we could probably find all these substances on the island,” said
the engineer. “But it requires fine tools to make such a delicate
instrument as a firearm. However, we will see after awhile.”

“Why, why did we throw the arms and everything else, even our
penknives, out of the balloon?” cried Pencroff.

“If we hadn’t, the balloon would have thrown us into the sea,” answered
Herbert.

“So it would, my boy,” answered the sailor; and then another idea
occurring to him:—

“I wonder what Mr. Forster and his friend thought,” he said, “the next
day, when they found they balloon had escaped?”

“I don’t care what they thought,” said the reporter.

“It was my plan,” cried Pencroff, with a satisfied air.

“And a good plan it was, Pencroff,” interrupted the reporter, laughing,
“to drop us here!”

“I had rather be here than in the hands of the Southerners!” exclaimed
the sailor, “especially since Mr. Smith has been kind enough to rejoin
us!”

“And I, too,” cried the reporter. “After all, what do we lack here?
Nothing.”

“That means—everything,” answered the sailor, laughing and shrugging
his shoulders. “But some day we will get away from this place.”

“Sooner, perhaps, than you think, my friends,” said the engineer, “if
Lincoln Island is not very far from an inhabited archipelego or a
continent. And we will find that out within an hour. I have no map of
the Pacific, but I have a distinct recollection of its southern
portion. Yesterday’s observation places the island in the latitude of
New Zealand and Chili. But the distance between these two countries is
at least 6,000 miles. We must therefore determine what point in this
space the island occupies, and that I hope to get pretty soon from the
longitude.

“Is not the Low Archipelago nearest us in latitude,” asked Herbert.

“Yes,” replied the engineer, “but it is more than 1,200 miles distant.”

“And that way?” inquired Neb, who followed the conversation with great
interest, pointing towards the south.

“Nothing!” answered Pencroff.

“Nothing, indeed,” added the engineer.

“Well, Cyrus,” demanded the reporter, “if we find Lincoln Island to be
only 200 or 300 miles from New Zealand or Chili?”

“We will build a ship instead of a house, and Pencroff shall command
it.”

“All right, Mr. Smith,” cried the sailor; “I am all ready to be
captain, provided you build something seaworthy.”

“We will, if it is necessary,” answered Smith.

While these men, whom nothing could discourage, were talking, the hour
for taking the observation approached. Herbert could not imagine how
Mr. Smith would be able to ascertain the time of the sun’s passage of
the meridian of the island without a single instrument. It was 11
o’clock, and the party, halting about six miles from the Chimneys, not
far from the place where they had found the engineer after his
inexplicable escape, set about preparing breakfast. Herbert found fresh
water in a neighboring brook, and brought some back in a vessel which
Neb had with him.

Meantime, the engineer made ready for his astronomical observation. He
chose a smooth dry place upon the sand, which the sea had left
perfectly level. It was no more necessary, however, for it to be
horizontal, than for the rod which he stuck in the sand to be
perpendicular. Indeed, the engineer inclined the rod towards the south
or away from the sun, as it must not be forgotten that the colonists of
Lincoln Island, being in the Southern Hemisphere, saw the orb of day
describe his diurnal arc above the northern horizon.

Then Herbert understood how by means of the shadow of the rod on the
sand, the engineer would be able to ascertain the culmination of the
sun, that is to say, its passage of the meridian of the island, or, in
other words, the _time_ of the place. For the moment that the shadow
obtained its minimum length it would be noon, and all they had to do
was to watch carefully the end of the shadow. By inclining the rod from
the sun Smith had made the shadow longer, and therefore its changes
could be the more readily noted.

When he thought it was time, the engineer knelt down upon the sand and
began marking the decrease in the length of the shadow by means of
little wooden pegs. His companions, bending over him, watched the
operation with the utmost interest.

The reporter, chronometer in hand, stood ready to mark the minute when
the shadow would be shortest. Now, as this 16th of April was a day when
the true and mean time are the same, Spilett’s watch would give the
true time of Washington, and greatly simplify the calculation.

Meantime the shadow diminished little by little, and as soon as Smith
perceived it begin to lengthen he exclaimed:—

“Now!”

“One minute past 5,” answered the reporter.

Nothing then remained but the easy work of summing up the result. There
was, as we have seen, five hours difference between the meridian of
Washington and that of the island. Now, the sun passes around the earth
at the rate of 15° an hour. Fifteen multiplied by five gives
seventy-five. And as Washington is in 77° 3’ 11” from the meridian of
Greenwich, it follows that the island was in the neighborhood of
longitude 152° west.

Smith announced this result to his companions, and, making the same
allowance as before, he was able to affirm that the bearing of the
island was between the 35° and 37° of south latitude, and between the
150° and 155° of west longitude.

The difference in this calculation, attributable to errors in
observation, was placed, as we have seen, at 5° or 300 miles in each
direction. But this error did not influence the conclusion that Lincoln
Island was so far from any continent or archipelago that they could not
attempt to accomplish the distance in a small boat.

In fact, according to the engineer, they were at least 1,200 miles from
Tahiti and from the Low Archipelago, fully 1,800 miles from New
Zealand, and more than 4,500 miles from the coast of America.

And when Cyrus Smith searched his memory, he could not remember any
island in the Pacific occupying the position of Lincoln Island.




CHAPTER XV.


WINTER SETS IN—THE METALLUGRIC QUESTION—THE EXPLORATION OF SAFETY
ISLAND—A SEAL HUNT—CAPTURE OF AN ECHIDNA—THE AI—THE CATALONIAN
METHOD—MAKING IRON AND STEEL.


The first words of the sailor, on the morning of the 17th of April,
were:—

“Well, what are we going to do to-day?”

“Whatever Mr. Smith chooses,” answered the reporter.

The companions of the engineer, having been brickmakers and potters,
were about to become metal-workers.

The previous day, after lunch, the party had explored as far as the
extremity of Mandible Cape, some seven miles from the Chimneys. The
extensive downs here came to an end and the soil appeared volcanic.
There were no longer high walls, as at Prospect Plateau, but the narrow
gulf between the two capes was enframed by a fantastic border of the
mineral matter discharged from the volcano. Having reached this point,
the colonists retraced their steps to the Chimneys, but they could not
sleep until the question whether they should look forwards to leaving
Lincoln Island had been definitely settled.

The 1,200 miles to the Low Archipelago was a long distance. And now, at
the beginning of the stormy season, a small boat would certainly not be
able to accomplish it. The building of a boat, even when the proper
tools are provided, is a difficult task, and as the colonists had none
of these, the first thing to do was to make hammers, hatchets, adzes,
saws, augers, planes, etc., which would take some time. It was
therefore decided to winter on Lincoln Island, and to search for a more
comfortable dwelling than the Chimneys in which to live during the
inclement weather.

The first thing was to utilize the iron ore which the engineer had
discovered, by transforming it into iron and steel.

Iron ore is usually found in combination with oxygen or sulphur. And it
was so in this instance, as of the two specimens brought back by Cyrus
Smith one was magnetic iron, and the other pyrites or sulphuret of
iron. Of these, it was the first kind, the magnetic ore, or oxide of
iron, which must be reduced by coal, that is to say, freed from the
oxygen, in order to obtain the pure metal. This reduction is performed
by submitting the ore to a great heat, either by the Catalonian method,
which has the advantage of producing the metal at one operation, or by
means of blast furnaces which first smelt the ore, and then the iron,
carrying off the 3 or 4 per cent of coal combined with it.

The engineer wanted to obtain iron in the shortest way possible. The
ore he had found was in itself very pure and rich. Such ore is found in
rich grey masses, yielding a black dust crystallized in regular
octahedrons, highly magnetic, and in Europe the best quality of iron is
made from it. Not far from this vein was the coal field previously
explored by the colonists, so that every facility existed for the
treatment of the ore.

“Then, sir, are we going to work the iron?” questioned Pencroff. “Yes,
my friend,” answered the engineer.

“But first we will do something I think you will enjoy—have a seal hunt
on the island.”

“A seal hunt!” cried the sailor, addressing Spilett “Do we need seals
to make iron?”

“It seems so, since Cyrus has said it,” replied the reporter.

But as the engineer had already left the Chimneys, Pencroff prepared
for the chase without gaining an explanation.

Soon the whole party were gathered upon the beach at a point where the
channel could be forded at low water without wading deeper than the
knees. This was Smith’s first visit to the islet upon which his
companions had been thrown by the balloon. On their landing, hundreds
of penguins looked fearlessly at them, and the colonists armed with
clubs could have killed numbers of these birds, but it would have been
useless slaughter, and it would not do to frighten the seals which were
lying on the sand some cable lengths away. They respected also certain
innocent-looking sphemiscus, with flattened side appendages, mere
apologies for wings, and covered with scale-like vestiges of feathers.

The colonists marched stealthily forward over ground riddled with holes
which formed the nests of aquatic birds. Towards the end of the island,
black objects, like moving rocks, appeared above the surface of the
water, they were the seals the hunters wished to capture.

It was necessary to allow them to land, as, owing to their shape, these
animals, although capital swimmers and difficult to seize in the sea,
can move but slowly on the shore. Pencroff, who knew their habits,
counselled waiting until the seals were sunning themselves asleep on
the sand. Then the party could manage so as to cut off their retreat
and despatch them with a blow on the muzzle. The hunters therefore hid
themselves behind the rocks and waited quietly.

In about an hour half a dozen seals crawled on to the sand, and
Pencroff and Herbert went off round the point of the island so as to
cut off their retreat, while the three others, hidden by the rocks,
crept forward to the place of encounter.

Suddenly the tall form of the sailor was seen. He gave a shout, and the
engineer and his companions hurriedly threw themselves between the
seals and the sea. They succeeded in beating two of the animals to
death, but the others escaped.

“Here are your seals, Mr. Smith,” cried the sailor, coming forward.

“And now we will make bellows,” replied the engineer.

“Bellows!” exclaimed the sailor. “These seals are in luck.”

It was, in effect, a huge pair of bellows, necessary in the reduction
of the ore, which the engineer expected to make from the skins of the
seals. They were medium-sized, about six feet long, and had heads
resembling those of dogs. As it was useless to burden themselves with
the whole carcass, Neb and Pencroff resolved to skin them on the spot,
while Smith and the reporter made the exploration of the island.

The sailor and the negro acquitted themselves well, and three hours
later Smith had at his disposal two seal skins, which he intended to
use just as they were, without tanning.

The colonists, waiting until low water, re-crossed the channel and
returned to the Chimneys.

It was no easy matter to stretch the skins upon the wooden frames and
to sew them so as to make them sufficiently air-tight. Smith had
nothing but the two knives to work with, yet he was so ingenious and
his companions aided him so intelligently, that, three days later, the
number of implements of the little colony was increased by a bellows
intended to inject air into the midst of the ore during its treatment
by heat—a requisite to the success of the operation.

It was on the morning of the 20th of April that what the reporter
called in his notes the “iron age” began. The engineer had decided to
work near the deposits of coal and iron, which were situated at the
base of the northeasterly spurs of Mount Franklin, six miles from the
Chimneys. And as it would not be possible to go back and forth each
day, it was decided to camp upon the ground in a temporary hut, so that
they could attend to the important work night and day.

This settled, they left in the morning, Neb and Pencroff carrying the
bellows and a stock of provisions, which latter they would add to on
the way.

The road led through the thickest part of Jacamar Wood, in a
northwesterly direction. It was as well to break a path which would
henceforth be the most direct route between Prospect Plateau and Mount
Franklin. The trees belonging to the species already recognized were
magnificent, and Herbert discovered another, the dragon tree, which
Pencroff designated as an “overgrown onion,” which, notwithstanding its
height, belongs to the same family of liliaceous plants as the onion,
the civet, the shallot, or the asparagus. These dragon trees have
ligneous roots which, cooked, are excellent, and which, fermented,
yield a very agreeable liquor. They therefore gathered some.

It took the entire day to traverse the wood, but the party were thus
able to observe its fauna and flora. Top, specially charged to look
after the fauna, ran about in the grass and bushes, flushing all kinds
of game. Herbert and Spilett shot two kangaroos and an animal which was
like a hedge-hog, in that it rolled itself into a ball and erected its
quills, and like an ant-eater, in that it was provided with claws for
digging, a long and thin snout terminating in a beak, and an extensile
tongue furnished with little points, which enabled it to hold insects.

“And what does it look like boiling in the pot?” asked Pencroff,
naturally.

“Like an excellent piece of beef,” answered Herbert.

“We don’t want to know any more than that,” said the sailor.

During the march they saw some wild boars, but they did not attempt to
attack the little troupe, and it seemed that they were not going to
have any encounter with savage beasts, when the reporter saw in a dense
thicket, among the lower branches of a tree, an animal which he took to
be a bear, and which he began tranquilly to sketch. Fortunately for
Spilett, the animal in question did not belong to that redoubtable
family of plantigrades. It was an ai, better known as a sloth, which
has a body like that of a large dog, a rough and dirty-colored skin,
the feet armed with strong claws which enable it to grasp the branches
of trees and feed upon the leaves. Having identified the animal without
disturbing it, Spilett struck out “bear” and wrote “ai” under his
drawing and the route was resumed.

At 5 o’clock Smith called a halt. They were past the forest and at the
beginning of the massive spurs which buttressed Mount Franklin towards
the east. A few hundred paces distant was Red Creek; so drinking water
was not wanting.

The camp was made. In less than an hour a hut, constructed from the
branches of the tropical bindweed, and stopped with loam, was erected
under the trees on the edge of the forest. They deferred the geological
work until the next day. Supper was prepared, a good fire blazed before
the hut, the spit turned, and at 8 o’clock, while one of the party kept
the fire going, in case some dangerous beast should prowl around, the
others slept soundly.

The next morning, Smith, accompanied by Herbert, went to look for the
place where they had found the specimen of ore. They found the deposit
on the surface, near the sources of the creek, close to the base of one
of the northeast buttresses. This mineral, very rich in iron, enclosed
in its fusible vein-stone, was perfectly suited to the method of
reduction which the engineer intended to employ, which was the
simplified Catalonian process practised in Corsica.

This method properly required the construction of ovens and crucibles
in which the ore and the coal, placed in alternate layers, were
transformed and reduced. But Smith proposed to simplify matters by
simply making a huge cube of coal and ore, into the centre of which the
air from the bellows would be introduced. This was, probably, what
Tubal Cain did. And a process which gave such good results to Adam’s
grandson would doubtless succeed with the colonists of Lincoln Island.

The coal was collected with the same facility as the ore, and the
latter was broken into little pieces and the impurities picked from it.
Then the coal and ore were heaped together in successive layers—just as
a charcoal-burner arranges his wood. Thus arranged, under the influence
of the air from the bellows, the coal would change into carbonic acid,
then into oxide of carbon, which would release the oxygen from the
oxide of iron.

The engineer proceeded in this manner. The sealskin bellows, furnished
with a pipe of refractory earth (an earth difficult of fusion), which
had previously been prepared at the pottery, was set up close to the
heap of ore. And, moved by a mechanism consisting of a frame,
fibre-cords, and balance-weight, it injected into the mass a supply of
air, which, by raising the temperature, assisted the chemical
transformation which would give the pure metal.

The operation was difficult. It took all the patience and ingenuity of
the colonists to conduct it properly; but finally it succeeded, and the
result was a pig of iron in a spongy state, which must be cut and
forged in order to expel the liquified gangue. It was evident that
these self-constituted smiths wanted a hammer, but they were no worse
off than the first metallurgist, and they did as he must have done.

The first pig, fastened to a wooden handle, served as a hammer with
which to forge the second upon an anvil of granite, and they thus
obtained a coarse metal, but one which could be utilized.

At length, after much trouble and labor, on the 25th of April, many
bars of iron had been forged and turned into crowbars, pincers,
pickaxes, mattocks, etc., which Pencroff and Neb declared to be real
jewels.

But in order to be in its most serviceable state, iron must be turned
into steel. Now steel, which is a combination of iron and carbon, is
made in two ways: first from cast iron, by decarburetting the molten
metal, which gives natural or puddled steel; and, second, by the method
of cementation, which consists in carburetting malleable iron. As the
engineer had iron in a pure state, he chose the latter method, and
heated the metal with powdered charcoal in a crucible made from
refractory earth.

This steel, which was malleable hot and cold, he worked with the
hammer. And Neb and Pencroff, skillfully directed, made axe-heads,
which, heated red-hot and quickly plunged in cold water, took an
excellent temper.

Other instruments, such as planes and hatchets, were rudely fashioned,
and bands of steel were made into saws and chisels; and from the iron,
mattocks, shovels, pickaxes, hammers, nails, etc., were manufactured.

By the 5th of May the first metallurgic period was ended, the smiths
returned to the Chimneys, and new work would soon authorize their
assumption of a new title.




CHAPTER XVI.


THE QUESTION OF A DWELLING DISCUSSED AGAIN—PENCROFF’S IDEAS—AN
EXPLORATION TO THE NORTH OF THE LAKE—THE WESTERN BOUNDARY OF THE
PLATEAU—THE SERPENTS—THE OUTLET OF THE LAKE—TOP’S ALARM—TOP SWIMMING—A
FIGHT UNDER WATER—THE DUGONG.


It was the 6th of May, corresponding to the 6th of November in the
Northern Hemisphere. For some days the sky had been cloudy, and it was
important to make provision against winter. However, the temperature
had not lessened much, and a centigrade thermometer transported to
Lincoln Island would have averaged 10° or 12° above zero. This would
not be surprising, since Lincoln Island, from its probable situation in
the Southern Hemisphere, was subject to the same climatic influences as
Greece or Sicily in the Northern. But just as the intense cold in
Greece and Sicily sometimes produces snow and ice, so, in the height of
winter, this island would probably experience sudden changes in the
temperature against which it would be well to provide.

At any rate, if the cold was not threatening, the rainy season was at
hand, and upon this desolate island, in the wide Pacific, exposed to
all the inclemency of the elements, the storms would be frequent, and,
probably, terrible.

The question of a more comfortable habitation than the Chimneys ought,
therefore, to be seriously considered, and promptly acted upon.

Pencroff having discovered the Chimneys, naturally had a predilection
for them; but he understood very well that another place must be found.
This refuge had already been visited by the sea, and it would not do to
expose themselves to a like accident.

“Moreover,” added Smith, who was discussing these things with his
companions, “there are some precautions to take.”

“Why? The island is not inhabited,” said the reporter.

“Probably not,” answered the engineer, “although we have not yet
explored the whole of it; but if there are no human beings, I believe
dangerous beasts are numerous. So it will be better to provide a
shelter against a possible attack, than for one of us to be tending the
fire every night. And then, my friends, we must foresee everything. We
are here in a part of the Pacific often frequented by Malay pirates—”

“What, at this distance from land?” exclaimed Herbert.

“Yes, my boy, these pirates are hardy sailors as well as formidable
villains, and we must provide for them accordingly.”

“Well,” said Pencroff, “we will fortify ourselves against two and
four-footed savages. But, sir, wouldn’t it be as well to explore the
island thoroughly before doing anything else?”

“It would be better,” added Spilett; “who knows but we may find on the
opposite coast one or more of those caves which we have looked for here
in vain.”

“Very true,” answered the engineer, “but you forget, my friends, that
we must be somewhere near running water, and that from Mount Franklin
we were unable to see either brook or river in that direction. Here, on
the contrary, we are between the Mercy and Lake Grant, which is an
advantage not to be neglected. And, moreover, as this coast faces the
east, it is not as exposed to the trade winds, which blow from the
northwest in this hemisphere.”

“Well, then, Mr. Smith,” replied the sailor, “let us build a house on
the edge of the lake. We are no longer without bricks and tools. After
having been brickmakers, potters, founders, and smiths, we ought to be
masons easily enough.”

“Yes, my friend; but before deciding it will be well to look about. A
habitation all ready made would save us a great deal of work, and
would, doubtless, offer a surer retreat, in which we would be safe from
enemies, native as well as foreign?”

“But, Cyrus,” answered the reporter, “have we not already examined the
whole of this great granite wall without finding even a hole?”

“No, not one!” added Pencroff. “If we could only dig a place in it high
out of reach, that would be the thing! I can see it now, on the part
overlooking the sea, five or six chambers—”

“With windows!” said Herbert, laughing.

“And a staircase!” added Neb.

“Why do you laugh?” cried the sailor. “Haven’t we picks and mattocks?
Cannot Mr. Smith make powder to blow up the mine. You will be able,
won’t you, sir, to make powder when we want it?”

The engineer had listened to the enthusiastic sailor developing these
imaginative projects. To attack this mass of granite, even by mining,
was an Herculean task, and it was truly vexing that nature had not
helped them in their necessity. But he answered Pencroff, by simply
proposing to examine the wall more attentively, from the mouth of the
river to the angle which ended it to the north. They therefore went out
and examined it most carefully for about two miles. But everywhere it
rose, uniform and upright, without any visible cavity. The rock-pigeons
flying about its summit had their nests in holes drilled in the very
crest, or upon the irregularly cut edge of the granite.

To attempt to make a sufficient excavation in such a massive wall even
with pickaxe and powder was not to be thought of. It was vexatious
enough. By chance, Pencroff had discovered in the Chimneys, which must
now be abandoned, the only temporary, habitable shelter on this part of
the coast.

When the survey was ended the colonists found themselves at the
northern angle of the wall, where it sunk by long declivities to the
shore. From this point to its western extremity it was nothing more
than a sort of talus composed of stones, earth, and sand bound together
by plants, shrubs, and grass, in a slope of about 45°. Here and there
the granite thrust its sharp points out from the cliff. Groups of trees
grew over these slopes and there was a thin carpet of grass. But the
vegetation extended but a short distance, and then the long stretch of
sand, beginning at the foot of the talus, merged into the beach.

Smith naturally thought that the over flow of the lake fell in this
direction, as the excess of water from Red Creek must be discharged
somewhere, and this point had not been found less on the side already
explored, that is to say from the mouth of the creek westward as far as
Prospect Plateau.

The engineer proposed to his companions that they clamber up the talus
and return to the Chimneys by the heights, exploring the eastern and
western shores of the lake. The proposition was accepted, and, in a few
minutes, Herbert and Neb had climbed to the plateau, the others
following more leisurely.

Two hundred feet distant the beautiful sheet of water shone through the
leaves in the sunlight. The landscape was charming. The trees in autumn
tints, were harmoniously grouped. Some huge old weatherbeaten trunks
stood out in sharp relief against the green turf which covered the
ground, and brilliant cockatoos, like moving, prisms, glanced among the
branches, uttering their shrill screams.

The colonists, instead of proceeding directly to the north bank of the
lake, bore along the edge of the plateau, so as to come back to the
mouth of the creek, on its left bank. It was a circuit of about a mile
and a half. The walk was easy, as the trees, set wide apart, left free
passage between them. They could see that the fertile zone stopped at
this point, and that the vegetation here, was less vigorous than
anywhere between the creek and the Mercy.

Smith and his companions moved cautiously over this unexplored
neighborhood. Bows and arrows and iron-pointed sticks were their sole
weapons. But no beast showed itself, and it was probable that the
animals kept to the thicker forests in the south. The colonists,
however, experienced a disagreeable sensation in seeing Top stop before
a huge serpent 14 or 15 feet long. Neb killed it at a blow. Smith
examined the reptile, and pronounced it to belong to the species of
diamond-serpents eaten by the natives of New South Wales and not
venomous, but it was possible others existed whose bite was mortal,
such as the forked-tail deaf viper, which rise up under the foot, or
the winged serpents, furnished with two ear-like appendages, which
enable them to shoot forward with extreme rapidity. Top having gotten
over his surprise, pursued these reptiles with reckless fierceness, and
his master was constantly obliged to call him in.

The mouth of Red Creek, where it emptied into the lake, was soon
reached. The party recognized on the opposite bank the point visited on
their descent from Mount Franklin. Smith ascertained that the supply of
water from the creek was considerable; there therefore must be an
outlet for the overflow somewhere. It was this place which must be
found, as, doubtless, it made a fall which could be utilized as a
motive power.

The colonists, strolling along, without, however, straying too far from
each other, began to follow round the bank of the lake, which was very
abrupt. The water was full of fishes, and Pencroff promised himself
soon to manufacture some apparatus with which to capture them.

It was necessary first to double the point at the northeast. They had
thought that the discharge would be here, as the water flowed close to
the edge of the plateau. But as it was not here, the colonists
continued along the bank, which, after a slight curve, followed
parallel with the sea-shore.

On this side the bank was less wooded, but clumps of trees, here and
there, made a picturesque landscape. The whole extent of the lake,
unmoved by a single ripple, was visible before, them. Top, beating the
bush, flushed many coveys of birds, which Spilett and Herbert saluted
with their arrows. One of these birds, cleverly hit by the lad, dropped
in the rushes. Top rushing after it, brought back a beautiful
slate-colored water fowl. It was a coot, as large as a big partridge,
belonging to the group of machio-dactyls, which form the division
between the waders and the palmipedes. Poor game and bad tasting, but
as Top was not as difficult to please as his masters, it was agreed
that the bird would answer for his supper.

Then the colonists, following the southern bank of the lake, soon came
to the place they had previously visited. The engineer was very much
surprised, as he had seen no indication of an outlet to the surplus
water. In talking with the reporter and the sailor, he did not conceal
his astonishment.

At this moment, Top, who had been behaving himself quietly, showed
signs of alarm. The intelligent animal, running along the bank,
suddenly stopped, with one foot raised, and looked into the water as if
pointing some invisible game. Then he barked furiously, questioning it,
as it were, and again was suddenly silent.

At first neither Smith nor his companions paid any attention to the
dog’s actions, but his barking became so incessant, that the engineer
noticed it.

“What is it, Top?” he called.

The dog bounded towards his master, and, showing a real anxiety, rushed
back to the bank. Then, suddenly, he threw himself into the lake.

“Come back here, Top,” cried the engineer, not wishing his dog to
venture in those supicious waters.

“What’s going on under there?” asked the sailor examining the surface
of the lake.

“Top has smelt something amphibious,” answered Herbert.

“It must be an alligator,” said the reporter.

“I don’t think so,” answered Smith. “Alligators are not met with in
this latitude.”

Meantime, Top came ashore at the call of his master, but he could not
be quiet; he rushed along the bank, through the tall grass, and, guided
by instinct, seemed to be following some object, invisible under the
water, which was hugging the shore. Nevertheless the surface was calm
and undisturbed by a ripple. Often the colonists stood still on the
bank and watched the water, but they could discover nothing. There
certainly was some mystery here, and the engineer was much perplexed.

“We will follow out this exploration,” he said.

In half an hour all had arrived at the southeast angle of the lake, and
were again upon Prospect Plateau. They had made the circle of the bank
without the engineer having discovered either where or how the surplus
water was discharged.

“Nevertheless, this outlet exists,” he repeated, “and, since it is not
outside, it must penetrate the massive granite of the coast!”

“And why do you want to find that out?” asked Spilett.

“Because,” answered the engineer, “if the outlet is through the solid
rock it is possible that there is some cavity, which could be easily
rendered habitable, after having turned the water in another
direction.”

“But may not the water flow into the sea, through a subterranean outlet
at the bottom of the lake?” asked Herbert.

“Perhaps so,” answered Smith, “and in that case, since Nature has not
aided us, we must build our house ourselves.”

As it was 5 o’clock, the colonists were thinking of returning to the
Chimneys across the plateau, when Top again became excited, and,
barking with rage, before his master could hold him, he sprang a second
time into the lake. Every one ran to the bank. The dog was already
twenty feet off, and Smith called to him to come back, when suddenly an
enormous head emerged from the water.

Herbert instantly recognized it, the comical face, with huge eyes and
long silky moustaches.

“A manatee,” he cried.

Although not a manatee, it was a dugong, which belongs to the same
species.

The huge monster threw himself upon the dog. His master could do
nothing to save him, and, before Spilett or Herbert could draw their
bows, Top, seized by the dugong, had disappeared under the water.

Neb, spear in hand, would have sprung to the rescue of the dog, and
attacked the formidable monster in its own element, had he not been
held back by his master.

Meanwhile a struggle was going on under the water—a struggle which,
owing to the powerlessness of the dog, was inexplicable; a struggle
which, they could see by the agitation of the surface, was becoming
more terrible each moment; in short, a struggle which could only be
terminated by the death of the dog. But suddenly, through the midst of
a circle of foam, Top appeared, shot upward by some unknown force,
rising ten feet in the air, and falling again into the tumultuous
waters, from which he escaped to shore without any serious wounds,
miraculously saved.

Cyrus Smith and his companions looked on amazed. Still more
inexplicable, it seemed as if the struggle under water continued.
Doubtless the dugong, after having seized the dog, had been attacked by
some more formidable animal, and had been obliged to defend itself.

But this did not last much longer. The water grew red with blood, and
the body of the dugong, emerging from the waves, floated on to a little
shoal at the southern angle of the lake.

The colonists ran to where the animal lay, and found it dead. Its body
was enormous, measuring between 15 and 16 feet long and weighing
between 3,000 and 4,000 pounds. On its neck, yawned a wound, which
seemed to have been made by some sharp instrument.

What was it that had been able, by this terrible cut, to kill the
formidable dugong? None of them could imagine, and, preoccupied with
these incidents, they returned to the Chimneys.




CHAPTER XVII


A VISIT TO THE LAKE—THE DIRECTION OF THE CURRENT—THE PROSPECTS OF CYRUS
SMITH—THE DUGONG FAT—THE USE OF THE SCHISTOUS LIMESTONE—THE SULPHATE OF
IRON—HOW GLYCERINE IS MADE—SOAP—SALTPETRE—SULPHURIC ACID—NITRIC
ACID—THE NEW OUTLET.


The next day, the 7th of May, Smith and Spilett, leaving Neb to prepare
the breakfast, climbed the plateau, while Herbert and Pencroff went
after a fresh supply of wood.

The engineer and the reporter soon arrived, at the little beach where
the dugong lay stranded. Already flocks of birds had gathered about the
carcass, and it was necessary to drive them off with stones, as the
engineer wished to preserve the fat for the use of the colony. As to
the flesh of the dugong, it would undoubtedly furnish excellent food,
as in certain portions of the Malay archipelago it is reserved for the
table of the native princes. But it was Neb’s affair to look after
that.

Just now, Cyrus Smith was thinking of other things. The incident of the
day before was constantly presenting itself. He wanted to solve the
mystery of that unseen combat, and to know what congener of the
mastodons or other marine monster had given the dugong this strange
wound.

He stood upon the border of the lake, looking upon its tranquil surface
sparkling under the rays of the rising sun. From the little beach where
the dugong lay, the waters deepened slowly towards the centre, and the
lake might be likened to a large basin, filled by the supply from Red
Creek.

“Well, Cyrus,” questioned the reporter, “I don’t see anything
suspicious in this?”

“No, my dear fellow, and I am at a loss how to explain yesterday’s
affair.”

“The wound on this beast is strange enough, and I can’t understand how
Top could have been thrown out of the water in that way. One would
suppose that it had been done by a strong arm, and that that same arm,
wielding a poignard, had given the dugong his death-wound.”

“It would seem so,” answered the engineer, who had become thoughtful.
“There is something here which I cannot understand. But neither can we
explain how I myself was saved; how I was snatched from the waves and
borne to the downs. Therefore, I am sure there is some mystery which we
will some day discover. In the mean time, let us take care not to
discuss these singular incidents before our companions, but keep our
thoughts for each other, and continue our work.”

It will be remembered that Smith had not yet discovered what became of
the surplus water of the lake, and as there was no indication of its
ever overflowing, an outlet must exist somewhere. He was surprised,
therefore, on noticing a slight current just at this place. Throwing in
some leaves and bits of wood, and observing their drift, he followed
this current, which brought him to the southern end of the lake. Here
he detected a slight depression in the waters, as if they were suddenly
lost in some opening below.

Smith listened, placing his ear to the surface of the lake, and
distinctly heard the sound of a subterranean fall.

“It is there,” said he, rising, “there that the water is discharged,
there, doubtless, through a passage in the massive granite that it goes
to join the sea, through cavities which we will be able to utilize to
our profit! Well! I will find out!”

The engineer cut a long branch, stripped off its leaves, and, plunging
it down at the angle of the two banks, he found that there was a large
open hole a foot below the surface. This was the long-sought-for
outlet, and such was the force of the current that the branch was
snatched from his hands and disappeared.

“There can be no doubt of it now,” repeated the engineer. “It is the
mouth of the outlet, and I am going to work to uncover it.

“How?” inquired Spilett.

“By lowering the lake three feet.”

“And how will you do that?”

“By opening another vent larger than this.”

“Whereabouts, Cyrus?”

“Where the bank is nearest the coast.”

“But it is a granite wall,” exclaimed Spilett,

“Very well,” replied Smith. “I will blow up the wall, and the waters,
escaping, will subside so as to discover the orifice—”

“And will make a waterfall at the cliff,” added the reporter.

“A fall that we will make use of!” answered Cyrus. “Come, come!”

The engineer hurried off his companion, whose confidence in Smith was
such that he doubted not the success of the undertaking. And yet, this
wall of granite, how would they begin: how, without powder, with but
imperfect tools, could they blast the rock? Had not the engineer
undertaken a work beyond his skill to accomplish?

When Smith and the reporter re-entered the Chimneys, they found Herbert
and Pencroff occupied in unloading their raft.

“The wood-choppers have finished, sir,” said the sailor, laughing, “and
when you want masons—”

“Not masons, but chemists,” interrupted the engineer.

“Yes,” added Spilett, “we are going to blow up the island.”

“Blow up the island?” cried the sailor.

“A part of it, at least,” answered the reporter.

“Listen to me, my friends,” said the engineer, who thereupon made known
the result of his observations. His theory was, that a cavity, more or
less considerable, existed in the mass of granite which upheld Prospect
Plateau, and he undertook to penetrate to it. To do this, it was first
necessary to free the present opening, in other words to lower the
level of the lake by giving the water a larger issue. To do this they
must manufacture an explosive with which to make a drain in another
part of the bank. It was this Smith was going to attempt to do, with
the minerals Nature had placed at his disposal.

All entered into the proposal with enthusiasm. Neb and Pencroff were at
once detailed to extract the fat from the dugong and to preserve the
flesh for food; and soon after their departure the others, carrying the
hurdle, went up the shore to the vein of coal, where were to be found
the schistous pyrites of which Smith had procured a specimen.

The whole day was employed in bringing a quantity of these pyrites to
the Chimneys, and by evening they had several tons.

On the next day, the 8th of May, the engineer began his manipulations.
The schistous pyrites were principally composed of carbon, of silica,
of alumina, and sulphuret of iron,—these were in excess,—it was
necessary to separate the sulphuret and change it into sulphate by the
quickest means. The sulphate obtained, they would extract the Sulphuric
acid, which was what they wanted.

Sulphuric acid is one of the agents in most general use, and the
industrial importance of a nation can be measured by its consumption.
In the future this acid would be of use to the colonists in making
candles, tanning skins, etc., but at present the engineer reserved it
for another purpose.

Smith chose, behind the Chimneys, a place upon which the earth was
carefully levelled. On this he made a pile of branches and cut wood, on
which were placed pieces of schistous pyrites leaning against each
other, and then all was covered over with a thin layer of pyrites
previously reduced to the size of nuts.

This done, they set the wood on, fire, which in turn inflamed the
schist, as it contained carbon and sulphur. Then new layers of pyrites
were arranged so as to form an immense heap, surrounded with earth, and
grass, with air-holes left here and there, just as is done in reducing
a pile of wood to charcoal.

Then they left the transformation to complete itself. It would take ten
or twelve days for the sulphuret of iron and the alumina to change into
sulphates, which substances were equally soluble; the others—silica,
burnt carbon, and cinders—were not so.

While this chemical process was accomplishing itself, Smith employed
his companions upon other branches of the work, which they undertook
with the utmost zeal.

Neb and Pencroff had taken the fat from the dugong, which had been
placed in large earthen jars. It was necessary to separate the
glycerine from this fat by saponifying it. It was sufficient, in order
to do this, to treat it with chalk or soda. Chalk was not wanting, but
by this treatment the soap would be calcareous and useless, while by
using soda, a soluble soap, which could be employed for domestic
purposes, would be the result. Cyrus Smith, being a practical man,
preferred to try to get the soda. Was this difficult? No, since many
kinds of marine plants abounded on the shore, and all those fucaceæ
which form wrack. They therefore gathered a great quantity of these
seaweed, which were first dried, and, afterwards, burnt in trenches in
the open air. The combustion of these plants was continued for many
days, so that the heat penetrated throughout, and the result was the
greyish compact mass, long known as “natural soda.”

This accomplished, the engineer treated the fat with the soda, which
gave both a soluble soap and the neutral substance, glycerine.

But this was not all. Smith wanted, in view of his future operations,
another substance, nitrate of potash, better known as saltpetre.

He could make this by treating carbonate of potash, which is easily
extracted from vegetable ashes, with nitric acid. But this acid, which
was precisely what he wanted in order to complete his undertaking
successfully, he did not have. Fortunately, in this emergency, Nature
furnished him with saltpetre, without any labor other than picking it
up. Herbert had found a vein of this mineral at the foot of Mount
Franklin, and all they had to do was to purify the salt.

These different undertakings, which occupied eight days, were finished
before the sulphate of iron was ready. During the interval the
colonists made some refractory pottery in plastic clay, and constructed
a brick furnace of a peculiar shape, in which to distil the sulphate of
iron. All was finished on the 18th of May, the very day the chemical
work was completed.

The result of this latter operation, consisting of sulphate of iron,
sulphate of alumina, silica, and a residue of charcoal and cinders, was
placed, in a basin full of water. Having stirred up the mixture, they
let it settle, and at length poured off a clear liquid holding the
sulphates of iron and alumina in solution. Finally, this liquid was
partly evaporated, the sulphate of iron crystalized, and the
mother-water was thrown away.

Smith had now a quantity of crystals, from which the sulphuric acid was
to be extracted.

In commerce this acid is manufactured in large quantities and by
elaborate processes. The engineer had no such means at his command, but
he knew that in Bohemia an acid known as Nordhausen is made by simpler
means, which has, moreover, the advantage of being non-concentrated.
For obtaining the acid in this way, all the engineer had to do was to
calcinize the crystals in a closed jar in such a manner that the
sulphuric acid distilled in vapor, which would in turn produce the acid
by condensation.

It was for this that the refractory jars and the furnace had been made.
The operation was a success; and on the 20th of May, twelve days after
having begun, Smith was the possessor of the agent which he expected to
use later in different ways.

What did he want with it now? Simply to produce nitric acid, which was
perfectly easy, since the saltpetre, attacked by the sulphuric acid,
would give it by distillation.

But how would he use this acid? None of the others knew, as he had
spoken no word on the subject.

The work approached completion, and one more operation would procure
the substance which had required all this labor. The engineer mixed the
nitric acid with the glycerine, which latter had been previously
concentrated by evaporation in a water-bath, and without employing any
freezing mixture, obtained many pints of an oily yellow liquid.

This last operation Smith had conducted alone, at some distance from
the Chimneys, as he feared an explosion, and when he returned, with a
flagon of this liquid, to his friends, he simply said:—“Here is some
nitro-glycerine!”

It was, in truth, that terrible product, whose explosive power is,
perhaps, ten times as great as that of gunpowder, and which has caused
so many accidents! Although, since means have been found of
transforming it into dynamite, that is, of mixing it with clay or sugar
or some solid substance sufficiently porous to hold it, the dangerous
liquid can be used with more safety. But dynamite was not known when
the colonists were at work on Lincoln Island.

“And is that stuff going to blow up the rocks?” asked Pencroff,
incredulously.

“Yes, my friend,” answered the engineer, “and it will do all the better
since the granite is very hard and will oppose more resistance to the
explosion.”

“And when will we see all this, sir?”

“To-morrow,” when we have drilled a hole,” answered the engineer.

Early the next morning, the 21st of May, the miners betook themselves
to a point which formed the east bank of Lake Grant, not more than 500
feet from the coast. At this place the plateau was lower than the lake,
which was upheld by the coping of granite. It was plain that could they
break this the waters would escape by this vent, and, forming a stream,
flow over the inclined surface of the plateau, and be precipitated in a
waterfall over the cliff on to the shore. Consequently, there would be
a general lowering of the lake, and the orifice of the water would be
uncovered—this was to be the result.

The coping must be broken. Pencroff, directed by the engineer, attacked
its outer facing vigorously. The hole which he made with his pick began
under a horizontal edge of the bank, and penetrated obliquely so as to
reach a level lower than the lake’s surface. Thus the blowing up of the
rocks would permit the water to escape freely and consequently lower
the lake sufficiently.

The work was tedious, as the engineer, wishing to produce a violent
shock, had determined to use not less than two gallons of
nitro-glycerine in the operation. But Pencroff and Neb, taking turns at
the work, did so well, that by 4 o’clock in the afternoon it was
achieved.

Now came the question of igniting the explosive. Ordinarily,
nitro-glycerine is ignited by the explosion of fulminated caps, as, if
lighted without percussion, this substance burns and does not explode.

Smith could doubtless make a cap. Lacking fulminate, he could easily
obtain a substance analogous to gun-cotton, since he had nitric acid at
hand. This substance pressed in a cartridge, and introduced into the
nitro-glycerine, could be lighted with a slow match, and produce the
explosion.

But Smith knew that their liquid had the property of exploding under a
blow. He determined, therefore, to make use of this property, reserving
the other means in case this experiment failed.

The blow of a hammer upon some drops of the substance spread on a hard
stone, suffices to provoke an explosion. But no one could give those
blows without being a victim to the operation. Smith’s idea was to
suspend a heavy mass of iron by means of a vegetable fibre to an
upright post, so as to have the iron hang directly over the hole.
Another long fibre, previously soaked in sulphur, was to be fastened to
the middle of the first and laid along the ground many feet from this
excavation. The fire was to be applied to this second fibre, it would
burn till it reached the first and set it on fire, then the latter
would break and the iron be precipitated upon the nitro-glycerine.

The apparatus was fixed in place; then the engineer, after having made
his companions go away, filled the hole so that the fluid overflowed
the opening, and spread some drops underneath the mass of suspended
iron.

This done, Smith lit the end of the sulfured fibre, and, leaving the
place, returned with his companions to the Chimneys.

Twenty-five minutes after a tremendous explosion was heard. It seemed
as if the whole island trembled to its base. A volley of stones rose
into the air as if they had been vomited from a volcano. The concussion
was such that it shook the Chimneys. The colonists, though two miles
away, were thrown to the ground. Rising again, they clambered up to the
plateau and hurried towards the place.

A large opening had been torn in the granite coping. A rapid stream of
water escaped through it, leaping and foaming across the plateau, and,
reaching the brink, fell a distance of 300 feet to the shore below.




CHAPTER XVIII.


PENCROFF DOUBTS NO MORE—THE OLD OUTLET OF THE LAKE—A SUBTERRANEAN
DESCENT—THE WAY THROUGH THE GRANITE—TOP HAS DISAPPEARED—THE CENTRAL
CAVERN—THE LOWER WELL—MYSTERY—THE BLOWS WITH THE PICK—THE RETURN.


Smith’s project had succeeded; but, as was his manner, he stood
motionless, absorbed, his lips closed, giving no sign of satisfaction.
Herbert was all enthusiasm; Neb jumped with joy; Pencroff, shaking his
head, murmured:—

“Indeed, our engineer does wonders!”

The nitro-glycerine had worked powerfully. The opening was so great
that at least a three times greater volume of water escaped by it than
by the former outlet. In a little while, therefore, the level of the
lake would be lowered two feet or more.

The colonists returned to the Chimneys, and collecting some picks,
spears, ropes, a steel and tinder, returned to the plateau. Top went
with them.

On the way the sailor could not resist saying to the engineer:—

“But do you really think, Mr. Smith, that one could blow up the whole
island with this beautiful liquid of yours?”

“Doubtless,” replied the other, “island, continents, the world itself.
It is only a question of quantity.”

“Couldn’t you use this nitro-glycerine to load firearms.”

“No, Pencroff, because it is too shattering. But it would be easy to
make gun-cotton, or even common powder, as we have the material.
Unfortunately, the guns themselves are wanting.”

“But with a little ingenuity!—”

Pencroff had erased “impossible” from his vocabulary.

The colonists having reached Prospect Plateau, hastened at once to the
old outlet of the lake, which ought now to be uncovered. And when the
water no longer poured through it, it would, doubtless, be easy to
explore its interior arrangement.

In a few moments they reached the lower angle of the lake, and saw at a
glance what the result was.

There, in the granite wall of the lake, above the water-level, appeared
the long-looked for opening. A narrow ledge, left bare, by the
subsidence of the water, gave them access to it. The opening was twenty
feet wide, though only two feet high. It was like the gutter-mouth in a
pavement. It was not open enough for the party to get in, but Neb and
Pencroff, with their picks, in less than an hour had given it a
sufficient height.

The engineer looked in and saw that the walls of the opening in its
upper part showed a slope of from 30° to 35°. And, therefore, unless
they became much steeper it would be easy to descend, perhaps, to the
level of the sea. And if, as was probable, some vast cavern existed in
the interior of the massive granite, it was possible that they could
make use of it.

“What are we waiting for, Mr. Smith,” cried the sailor, all impatience
to begin the exploration, “Top, you see, has gone ahead!”

“We must have some light,” said the engineer. “Go, Neb, and cut some
resinous branches.”

The negro and Herbert ran to some pine and evergreens growing upon the
bank, and soon returned with branches which were made into torches.
Having lit them, the colonists, with Smith leading, entered the dark
passage, but recently filled with water.

Contrary to their expectation, the passage grew higher as they
advanced, until soon they were able to walk upright. The granite walls,
worn, by the water, were very slippery, and the party had to look out
for falls. They, therefore, fastened themselves together with a cord,
like mountain climbers. Fortunately, some granite steps made the
descent less perilous. Drops of water, still clinging to the rocks,
glistened like stalactites in the torchlight. The engineer looked
carefully at this black granite. He could not see a stratum or a flaw.
The mass was compact and of fine grain, and the passage must have been
coeval with the island. It had not been worn little by little by the
constant action of water. Pluto, and not Neptune, had shaped it; and
the traces of igneous action were still visible upon its surface.

The colonists descended but slowly. They experienced some emotion in
thus adventuring into the depths of the earth, in being its first human
visitants. No one spoke, but each was busied with his own reflections
and the thought occurred to more than one, that perhaps some pulp or
other gigantic cephalopod might inhabit the interior cavities which
communicated with the sea. It was, therefore, necessary to advance
cautiously.

Top was ahead of the little troop and they could rely on the dog’s
sagacity to give the alarm on occasion. After having descended 100
feet, Smith halted, and the others came up with him. They were standing
in a cavern of moderate size. Drops of water fell from the roof, but
they did not ooze through the rocks, they were simply the last traces
of the torrent which had so long roared through this place, and the
air, though humid, emitted no mephitic vapor.

“Well, Cyrus,” said Spilett, “here is a retreat sufficiently unknown
and hidden in the depths, but it is uninhabitable.”

“How, uninhabitable?” asked the sailor.

“Why, it is too small and too dark.”

“Cannot we make it bigger, blast it out, and make openings for the
light and air?” answered Pencroff, who now thought nothing
impracticable.

“Let us push on,” said Smith. “Perhaps lower down, nature will have
spared us this work.”

“We are only a third of the way down,” observed Herbert.

“But 100 feet,” responded Cyrus; “and it is possible that 100 feet
lower—.”

“Where is Top?” asked Neb, interrupting his master.

They looked about the cavern. The dog was not there.

“Let us overtake him,” said Smith, resuming the march. The engineer
noted carefully all the deviations of the route, and easily kept a
general idea of their direction, which was towards the sea. The party
had not descended more than fifty feet further, when their attention
was arrested by distant sounds coming from the depths of the rock. They
stopped and listened. These sounds, borne along the passage, as the
voice through an acoustic tube, were distinctly heard.

“Its Top’s barking!” cried Herbert.

“Yes, and the brave dog is barking furiously,” added Pencroff.

“We have our spears,” said Smith. “Come on, and be ready.”

“It is becoming more and more interesting,” whispered Spilett to the
sailor, who nodded assent.

They hurried to the rescue of the dog. His barks grew more distinct.
They could hear that he was in a strange rage. Had he been captured by
some animal whom he had disturbed? Without thinking of the danger, the
colonists felt themselves drawn on by an irresistible curiosity, and
slipped rather than ran down the passage. Sixteen feet lower they came
up with the dog.

There, the corridor opened out into a vast and magnificent cavern. Top,
rushing about, was barking furiously. Pencroff and Neb, shaking their
torches, lit up all the inequalities of the granite, and the others,
with their spears ready, held themselves prepared for any emergency.

But the enormous cavern was empty. The colonists searched everywhere;
they could find no living thing. Nevertheless, Top continued barking,
and neither threats nor caresses could stop him.

“There must be some place where the water escaped to the sea,” said the
engineer.

“Yes, and look out for a hole,” answered Pencroff.

“On, Top, on,” cried Smith, and the dog, encouraged by his master, ran
towards the end of the cavern, and redoubled his barking.

Following him, they saw by the light of the torches the opening of what
looked like a well in the granite. Here, undoubtedly, was the place
where the water had found its way out of the cavern, but this time,
instead of being a corridor sloping and accessible, it was a
perpendicular well, impossible to descend.

The torches were waved above the opening. They saw nothing. Smith broke
off a burning branch and dropped it into the abyss. The resin, fanned
by the wind of its fall, burned brightly and illuminated the interior
of the pit, but showed nothing else. Then the flame was extinguished
with a slight hiss, which indicated that it had reached the water,
which must be the sea level.

The engineer calculated, from the time taken in the fall, that the
depth was about ninety feet. The floor of the cavern was therefore that
distance above the sea.

“Here is our house,” said Smith.

“But it was preoccupied,” said Spilett, whose curiosity was
unsatisfied.

“Well, the thing that had it, whether amphibious or not, has fled by
this outlet and vacated in our favor,” replied the engineer.

“Any how, I should like to have been Top a quarter of an hour ago,”
said the sailor, “for he does not bark at nothing.”

Smith looked at his dog, and those who were near him heard him murmur:—

“Yes, I am convinced that Top knows more than we do about many things!”

However, the wishes of the colonists had been in a great measure
realized. Chance, aided by the marvelous acuteness of their chief, had
done them good service. Here they had at their disposal a vast cavern,
whose extent could not be estimated In the insufficient light of the
torches, but which could certainly be easily partitioned off with
bricks into chambers, and arranged, if not as a house, at least as a
spacious suite of rooms. The water having left it, could not return.
The place was free.

But two difficulties remained, the possibility of lighting the cavern
and the necessity of rendering it easier of access. The first could not
be done from above as the enormous mass of granite was over them; but,
perhaps, they would be able to pierce the outer wall which faced the
sea. Smith, who during the descent had kept account of the slope, and
therefore of the length of the passage, believed that this part of the
wall could not be very thick. If light could be thus obtained, so could
entrance, as it was as easy to pierce a door as windows, and to fix a
ladder on the outside.

Smith communicated his ideas to his companions.

“Then let us set to work!” answered Pencroff; “I have my pick and will
I soon make daylight in the granite! Where shall I begin?”

“Here,” answered the engineer, showing the strong sailor a considerable
hollow in the wall, which greatly diminished its thickness.

Pencroff attacked the granite, and for half an hour, by the light of
the torches, made the splinters fly about him. Then Neb took his place,
and Spilett after Neb. The work continued, two hours longer, and, when
it seemed as if the wall could not be thicker than the length of the
pick, at the last stroke of Spilett the implement, passing through,
fell on the outside.

“Hurrah forever!” cried Pencroff.

The wall was but three feet thick.

Smith looked through the opening, which was eighty feet above the
ground. Before him extended the coast, the islet, and, beyond, the
boundless sea.

Through the hole the light entered in floods, inundating the splendid
cavern and producing a magical effect. While on the left hand it
measured only thirty feet in height and one hundred in length, to the
right it was enormous, and its vault rose to a height of more than
eighty feet. In some places, granite pillars, irregularly disposed,
supported the arches as in the nave of a cathedral. Resting upon a sort
of lateral piers, here, sinking into elliptic arches, there, rising in
ogive mouldings, losing itself in the dark bays, half seen in the
shadow through the fantastic arches, ornamented by a profusion of
projections which seemed like pendants, this vaulted roof afforded a
picturesque blending of all the architectures—Byzantine, Roman,
Gothic—that the hand of man has produced. And this was the work of
nature! She alone had constructed this magic Alhambra in a granite
rock!

The colonists were overcome with admiration. Expecting to find but a
narrow cavern, they found themselves in a sort of marvellous palace,
and Neb had taken off his hat as if he had been transported into a
temple!

Exclamations of pleasure escaped from their lips, and the hurrahs
echoed and reechoed from the depths of the dark nave.

“My friends,” cried Smith, “when we shall have lighted the interior of
this place, when we shall have arranged our chambers, our store-rooms,
our offices in the left-hand portion, we will still have this splendid
cavern, which shall be our study and our museum!

“And we will call it—” asked Herbert.

“Granite House,” answered Smith; and his companions saluted the name
with their cheers.

By this time the torches were nearly consumed, and as, in order to
return, it was necessary to regain the summit of the plateau and to
remount the corridor, it was decided to postpone until the morrow the
work of arranging their new home.

Before leaving, Smith leaned over the dark pit once more and listened
attentively. But there was no sound from these depths save that of the
water agitated by the undulations of the surge. A resinous torch was
again thrown in, lighting up anew for an instant the walls of the well,
but nothing suspicions was revealed. If any marine monster had been
inopportunely surprised by the retreat of the waters, he had already
regained the open sea by the subterranean passage which extended under
the shore.

Nevertheless the engineer stood motionless, listening attentively, his
gaze plunged in the abyss, without speaking.

Then the sailor approached him, and, touching his arm:—

“Mr. Smith,” he said.

“What is it, my friend,” responded the engineer, like one returning
from the land of dreams.

“The torches are nearly out.”

“Forward!” said Smith; and the little troop left the cavern and began
the ascent through the dark weir. Top walked behind, still growling in
an odd way. The ascension was sufficiently laborious, and the colonists
stopped for a few minutes at the upper grotto, which formed a sort of
landing half way up the long granite stairway. Then they began again to
mount, and pretty soon they felt the fresh air. The drops, already
evaporated, no longer shone on the walls. The light of the torches
diminished; Neb’s went out, and they had to hasten in order to avoid
having to grope their way through, the profound darkness. A little
before 4 o’clock, just as the torch of the sailor was burnt out, Smith
and his companions emerged from the mouth of the passage.




CHAPTER XIX.


SMITH’S PLAN—THE FRONT OF GRANITE HOUSE—THE ROPE LADDER—PENCROFF’S
IDEAS—THE AROMATIC HERBS—A NATURAL WARREN—GETTING WATER—THE VIEW FROM
THE WINDOWS OF GRANITE HOUSE.


On the next day, May 22, the colonists proceeded to take possession of
their new abode. They longed to exchange their insufficient shelter for
the vast retreat in the rock, impenetrable to wind and wave. Still they
did not intend altogether to abandon the Chimneys, but to make a
workshop of it.

Smith’s first care was to ascertain exactly over what point rose the
face of Granite House. He went down on the shore to the foot of the
immense wall, and, as the pickaxe, which slipped from the reporter’s
hands, must have fallen perpendicularly, he could ascertain, by finding
this pickaxe, the place where the granite had been pierced. And, in
fact, when the implement was found, half buried in the sand, the hole
in the rock could be seen eighty feet above it, in a straight line.
Rock pigeons were already fluttering in and out by this narrow opening.
They evidently thought Granite House had been discovered for their
benefit.

The engineer intended to divide the right portion of the cavern into
several chambers opening upon an entrance-corridor, and lighted by five
windows and a door cut in the face of the rock. Pencroff agreed with
him as to the window, but could not understand the use of the door,
since the old weir furnished a natural staircase to Granite House.

“My friend,” said Smith, “if we could get to our abode by the weir, so
can others. I want to block up this passage at its month, to seal it
hermetically, and even, if necessary, to conceal the entrance by
damming up the lake.”

“And how shall we get in?” said the sailor.

“By a rope ladder from the outside,” answered Smith, “which we can pull
up after us.”

“But why take so many precautions?” said Pencroff. “So far, the animals
we have found here have not been formidable; and there are certainly no
natives.”

“Are you so sure, Pencroff?” said the engineer, looking steadily at the
sailor.

“Of course we shall not be perfectly sure till we have explored every
part.”

“Yes,” said Smith, “for we know as yet only a small portion. But even
if there are no enemies upon the island, they may come from the
outside, for this part of the Pacific is a dangerous region. We must
take every precaution.”

So the facade of Granite House was lighted with five windows, and with
a door opening upon the “apartments,” and admitting plenty of light
into that wonderful nave which was to serve as their principal
hallroom. This facade, eighty feet above the ground, was turned to the
east, and caught the first rays of the morning sun. It was protected by
the slope of the rock from the piercing northeast wind. In the
meantime, while the sashes of the windows were being made, the engineer
meant to close the openings with thick shutters, which would keep out
wind and rain, and which could be readily concealed. The first work was
to hollow out these windows. But the pickaxe was at a disadvantage
among these hard rocks, and Smith again had recourse to the
nitro-glycerine, which, used in small quantities, had the desired
effect. Then the work was finished by the pick and mattock—the five
ogive windows, the bay, the bull’s-eyes, and the door—and, some days
after the work was begun, the sun shone in upon the innermost recesses
of Granite House.

According to Smith’s plan, the space had been divided into five
compartments looking out upon the sea; upon the right was the hall,
opposite to the door from which the ladder was to hang, then a kitchen
thirty feet long, a dining-room forty feet long, a sleeping-room of the
same size, and last a “guest chamber,” claimed by Pencroff; and
bordering on the great hall.

These rooms, or rather this suite of rooms, in which they were to live,
did not occupy the full depth of the cave. They opened upon a corridor
which ran between them and a long storehouse, where were kept their
utensils and provisions. All the products of the island, animal and
vegetable, could be kept there in good condition and free from damp.
They had room enough, and there was a place for everything. Moreover,
the colonists still had at their disposal the little grotto above the
large cavern, which would serve them as a sort of attic. This plan
agreed upon, they became brickmakers again, and brought their bricks to
the foot of Granite House.

Until that time the colonists had had access to the cavern only by the
old weir. This mode of communication compelled them first to climb up
Prospect Plateau, going round by the river, to descend 200 feet through
the passage, and then to ascend the same distance when they wanted to
regain the plateau. This involved fatigue and loss of time. Smith
resolved to begin at once the construction of a strong rope ladder,
which, once drawn up after them, would render the entrance to Granite
House absolutely inaccessible. This ladder was made with the greatest
care, and its sides were twisted of fibres by means of a shuttle. Thus
constructed, it had the strength of a cable. The rungs were made of a
kind of red cedar, with light and durable branches; and the whole was
put together by the practised hand of Pencroff.

Another kind of tackle was made of vegetable fibre, and a sort of
derrick was setup at the door of Granite House. In this way the bricks
could easily be carried to the level of Granite House; and when some
thousands of them were on the spot, with abundance of lime, they began
work on the interior. They easily set up the wood partitions, and in a
short time the space was divided into chambers and a store-house,
according to the plan agreed upon.

These labors went on quickly under the direction of the engineer, who
himself wielded hammer and trowel. They worked confidently and gaily.
Pencroff, whether carpenter, ropemaker, or mason, always had a joke
ready, and all shared in his good humor. His confidence in the engineer
was absolute. All their wants would be supplied in Smith’s own time. He
dreamed of canals, of quarries, of mines, of machinery, even of
railroads, one day, to cover the island. The engineer let Pencroff
talk. He knew how contagious is confidence; he smiled to hear him, and
said nothing of his own inquietude. But in his heart he feared that no
help could come from the outside. In that part of the Pacific, out of
the track of ships, and at such a distance from other land that no boat
could dare put out to sea, they had only themselves to rely upon.

But, as the sailor said, they were far ahead of the Swiss Family
Robinson, for whom miracles were always being wrought. In truth they
knew Nature; and he who knows Nature will succeed when others would lie
down to die.

Herbert especially distinguished himself in the work. He understood at
a word and was prompt in execution. Smith grew fonder of him every day
and Herbert was devoted to the engineer. Pencroff saw the growing
friendship, but the honest sailor was not jealous. Neb was courage,
zeal, and self-denial in person. He relied on his master as absolutely
as Pencroff, but his enthusiasm was not so noisy. The sailor and he
were great friends. As to Spilett, his skill and efficiency were a
daily wonder to Pencroff. He was the model of a newspaper man—quick
alike to understand and to perform.

The ladder was put in place May 28. It was eighty feet high, and
consisted of 100 rungs; and, profiting by a projection in the face of
the cliff, about forty feet up, Smith had divided it into two parts.
This projection served as a sort of landing-place for the head of the
lower ladder, shortening it, and thus lessening its swing. They
fastened it with a cord so that it could easily be raised to the level
of Granite House. The upper ladder they fastened at top and bottom. In
this way the ascent was much more easy. Besides, Smith counted upon
putting up at some future time a hydraulic elevator, which would save
his companions much fatigue and loss of time.

The colonists rapidly accustomed themselves to the use of this ladder.
The sailor, who was used to shrouds and ratlines, was their teacher.
The great trouble was with Top, whose four feet were not intended for
ladders. But Pencroff was persevering, and Top at last learned to run
up and down as nimbly as his brothers of the circus. We cannot say
whether the sailor was proud of this pupil, but he sometimes carried
Top up on his back, and Top made no complaints.

All this time, the question of provisions was not neglected. Every day
Herbert and the reporter spent some hours in the chase. They hunted
only through Jacamar Woods, on the left of the river, for, in the
absence of boat or bridge, they had not yet crossed the Mercy. The
immense woody tracts which they had named the Forests of the Far West
were entirely unexplored. This important excursion was set apart for
the first five days of the coming spring. But Jacamar Woods were not
wanting in game; kangaroos and boars were plenty there, and the
iron-tipped spears, the bows and arrows of the hunters did wonders.
More than this, Herbert discovered, at the southwest corner of, the
lagoon, a natural warren, a sort of moist meadow covered with willows
and aromatic herbs, which perfumed the air, such as thyme, basil, and
all sorts of mint, of which rabbits are so fond. The reporter said that
when the feast was spread for them it would be strange if the rabbits
did not come; and the hunters explored the warren carefully. At all
events, it produced an abundance of useful plants, and would give a
naturalist plenty of work. Herbert gathered a quantity of plants
possessing different medicinal properties, pectoral, astringent,
febrifuge, anti-rheumatic. When Pencroff asked of what good were all
this collection of herbs:—

“To cure us when we are sick,” answered the boy.

“Why should we be sick, since there are no doctors on the island?” said
Pencroff, quite seriously.

To this no reply could be made, but the lad went on gathering his
bundle, which was warmly welcomed at Granite House; especially as he
had found some Mountain Mint, known in North America as “Oswego Tea,”
which produces a pleasant beverage.

That day the hunters, in their search, reached the site of the warren.
The ground was perforated with little holes like a colander.

“Burrows!” cried Herbert.

“But are they inhabited?”

“That is the question.”

A question which was quickly resolved. Almost immediately, hundreds of
little animals, like rabbits, took to flight in every direction, with
such rapidity that Top himself was distanced. But the reporter was
determined not to quit the place till he had captured half a dozen of
the little beasts. He wanted them now for the kitchen: domestication
would come later. With a few snares laid at the mouth of the burrows,
the affair would be easy; but there were no snares, nor materials for
snares; so they patiently rummaged every form with their sticks, until
four rodents were taken.

They were rabbits, much like their European congeners, and commonly
known as “American hares.” They were brought back to Granite Home, and
figured in that evening’s meal. Delicious eating they were; and the
warren bade fair to be a most valuable reserve for the colonists.

On May 31, the partitions were finished, and nothing remained but to
furnish the rooms, which would occupy the long days of winter. A
chimney was built in the room which served as a kitchen. The
construction of the stove-pipe gave them a good deal of trouble. The
simplest material was clay; and as they did not wish to have any outlet
on the upper plateau, they pierced a hole above the kitchen window, and
conducted the pipe obliquely to this hole. No doubt during an eastern
gale the pipe would smoke, but the wind rarely blew from that quarter,
and head-cook Neb was not particular

When these domestic arrangements had been made, the engineer proceeded
to block up the mouth of the old weir by the lake, so as to prevent any
approach from that quarter. Great square blocks were rolled to the
opening, and strongly cemented together. Smith did not yet attempt to
put in execution his project of damming up the waters of the lake so as
to conceal this weir; he was satisfied with concealing the obstruction
he had placed there by means of grass, shrubs, and thistles, which were
planted in the interstices of the rocks, and which by the next spring
would sprout up luxuriantly. Meanwhile he utilized the weir in
conducting to their new abode a little stream of fresh water from the
lake. A little drain, constructed just below its level, had the effect
of supplying them with twenty-five or thirty gallons a day; so there
was likely to be no want of water at Granite House.

At last, all was finished, just in time for the tempestuous season.
They closed the windows with thick shutters till Smith should have time
to make glass from the sand. In the rocky projections around the
windows Spilett had arranged, very artistically, plants of various
kinds and long floating grasses, and thus the windows were framed
picturesquely in green. The denizens of this safe and solid dwelling
could but be delighted with their work. The windows opened upon a
limitless horizon, shut in only by the two Mandible Capes on the north
and by Claw Cape at the south. Union Bay spread magnificently before
them. They had reason enough to be satisfied, and Pencroff did not
spare his praises of what he called “his suite on the fifth floor.”




CHAPTER XX.


THE RAINY SEASON—WHAT TO WEAR-A SEAL-HUNT—CANDLE-MAKING—-WORK IN THE
GRANITE HOUSE—THE TWO CAUSEWAYS—RETURN FROM A VISIT TO THE
OYSTER-BED—WHAT HERBERT FOUND IS HIS POCKET.


The winter season began in earnest with the month of June, which
corresponded with December in our northern hemisphere. Showers and
storms succeeded each other without an intermission, and the inmates of
the Granite House could appreciate the advantages of a dwelling
impervious to the weather. The Chimneys would indeed have proved a
miserable shelter against the inclemency of the winter; they feared
even lest the high tides driven by the sea-wind should pour in and
destroy their furnaces and their foundry. All this month of June was
occupied with various labors, which left plenty of time for hunting and
fishing, so that the reserve stock of food was constantly kept up.
Pencroff intended, as soon as he had time, to set traps, from which he
expected great results. He had made snares of ligneous fibre, and not a
day passed but some rodent was captured from the warren. Neb spent all
his time in smoking and salting meat.

The question of clothes now came up for serious discussion. The
colonists had no other garments than those which they wore when the
balloon cast them on shore. These, fortunately, were warm and
substantial; and by dint of extreme care, even their linen had been
kept clean and whole; but everything would soon wear out, and moreover,
during a vigorous winter, they would suffer severely from cold. Here
Smith was fairly baffled. He had been occupied in providing for their
most urgent wants, food and shelter, and the winter was upon them
before the clothes problem could be solved. They must resign themselves
to bear the cold with fortitude, and when the dry season returned would
undertake a great hunt of the moufflons, which they had seen on Mount
Franklin, and whose wool the engineer could surely make into warm thick
cloth. He would think over the method.

“Well, we must toast ourselves before the fire!” said Pencroff.”
There’s plenty of fire wood, no reason for sparing it.”

“Besides,” added Spilett, “Lincoln Island is not in very high latitude,
and the winters are probably mild. Did you not say, Cyrus that the
thirty-fifth parallel corresponded with that of Spain in the other
hemisphere?”

“Yes,” said the engineer, “but the winter in Spain is sometimes very
cold, with snow and ice, and we may have a hard time of it. Still we
are on an island, and have a good chance for more moderate weather.”

“Why, Mr. Smith?” said Herbert.

“Because the sea, my boy, may be considered as an immense reservoir, in
which the summer heat lies stored. At the coming of winter this heat is
again given out, so that the neighboring regions have always a medium
temperature, cooler in summer and warmer in winter.”

“We shall see,” said Pencroff. “I am not going to bother myself about
the weather. One thing is certain, the days are getting short already
and the evenings long. Suppose we talk a little about candles.”

“Nothing is easier,” said Smith.

“To talk about?” asked the sailor.

“To make.”

“And when shall we begin?”

“To-morrow, by a seal-hunt.”

“What! to make dips?”

“No, indeed, Pencroff, candles.”

Such was the engineer’s project, which was feasible enough, as he had
lime and sulphuric acid, and as the amphibia of the island would
furnish the necessary fat. It was now June 4, and Pentecost Sunday,
which they kept as a day of rest and thanksgiving. They were no longer
miserable castaways, they were colonists. On the next day, June 5, they
started for the islet. They had to choose the time of low tide to ford
the channel; and all determined that, somehow or other, they must build
a boat which would give them easy communication with all parts of the
island, and would enable them to go up the Mercy, when they should
undertake that grand exploration of the southwestern district which
they had reserved for the first good weather.

Seals were numerous, and the hunters, armed with their iron-spiked
spears, easily killed half a dozen of them, which Neb and Pencroff
skinned. Only the hides and fat were carried back to Granite House, the
former to be made into shoes. The result of the hunt was about 300
pounds of fat, every pound of which could be used in making candles.
The operation was simple enough, and the product, if not the best of
its kind, was all they needed. Had Smith had at his disposition nothing
but sulphuric acid, he could, by heating this acid with neutral fats,
such as the fat of the seal, separate the glycerine, which again could
be resolved, by means of boiling water, into oleine, margarine, and
stearine. But, to simplify the operation, he preferred to saponify the
fat by lime. He thus obtained a calcareous soap, easily decomposed by
sulphuric acid, which precipitated the lime as a sulphate, and freed
the fatty acids. The first of these three acids (oleine, margarine, and
stearine) was a liquid which he expelled by pressure. The other two
formed the raw material of the candles.

In twenty-four hours the work was done. Wicks were made, after some
unsuccessful attempts, from vegetable fibre, and were steeped in the
liquified compound. They were real stearine candles, made by hand,
white and smooth.

During all this month work was going on inside their new abode. There
was plenty of carpenter’s work to do. They improved and completed their
tools, which were very rudimentary. Scissors were made, among other
things, so that they were able to cut their hair, and, if not actually
to shave their beards, at least to trim them to their liking. Herbert
had no beard, and Neb none to speak of, but the others found ample
employment for the scissors.

They had infinite trouble in making a hand-saw; but at last succeeded
in shaping an instrument which would cut wood by a rigorous
application. Then they made tables, chairs and cupboards to furnish the
principal rooms, and the frames of beds whose only bedding was
mattrasses of wrack-grass. The kitchen, with its shelves, on which lay
the terra-cotta utensils, its brick furnace, and its washing-stone,
looked very comfortable, and Neb cooked with the gravity of a chemist
in his laboratory.

But joiners work had to give place to carpentry. The new weir created
by the explosion rendered necessary the construction of two causeways,
one upon Prospect Plateau, the other on the shore itself. Now the
plateau and the coast were transversely cut by a water-course which the
colonists had to cross when ever they wished to reach the northern part
of the island. To avoid this they had to make a considerable detour,
and to walk westward as far as the sources of Red creek. Their best
plan therefore was to build two causeways, one on the plateau and one
on the shore, twenty to twenty-five feet long, simply constructed of
trees squared by the axe. This was the work of some days. When these
bridges had been built, Neb and Pencroff profited by them to go to the
oyster-bed which had been discovered off the down. They dragged after
them a sort of rough cart which had taken the place of the inconvenient
hurdle; and they brought back several thousand oysters, which, were
readily acclimated among the rocks, and formed a natural preserve at
the mouth of the Mercy. They were excellent of their kind, and formed
an almost daily article of diet. In fact, Lincoln Island, though the
colonists had explored but a small portion of it, already supplied
nearly all their wants, while it seemed likely that a minute
exploration of the western forests would reveal a world of new
treasures.

Only one privation still distressed the colonists. Azotic food they had
in plenty, and the vegetables which corrected it; from the ligneous
roots of the dragon-trees, submitted to fermentation, they obtained a
sort of acidulated beer. They had even made sugar, without sugar-cane
or beet-root, by collecting the juice which distills from the “acer
saccharinum,” a sort of maple which flourishes in all parts of the
temperate zone, and which abounded on the island. They made a very
pleasant tea from the plant brought from the warren; and, finally, they
had plenty of salt, the only mineral component necessary to food—but
bread was still to seek.

Perhaps, at some future time, they would have been able to replace this
aliment by some equivalent, sago flour, or the breadfruit tree, which
they might possibly have discovered in the woods of the southwest; but
so far they had not met with them. Just at this time a little incident
occurred which brought about what Smith, with all his ingenuity, could
not have achieved.

One rainy day the colonists were together in the large hall of Granite
House, when Herbert suddenly cried,

“See, Mr. Smith, a grain of corn.”

And he showed his companions a single gram which had got into the
lining of his waistcoat through a hole in his pocket. Pencroff had
given him some ring-doves in Richmond, and in feeding them one of the
grains had remained in his pocket.

“A grain of corn?” said the engineer, quickly.

“Yes, sir; but only one.”

“That’s a wonderful help,” said Pencroff, laughing. “The bread that
grain will make will never choke us.”

Herbert was about to throw away the grain, when Cyrus Smith took it,
examined it, found that it was in good condition, and said quietly to
the sailor:—

“Pencroff, do you know how many ears of corn will spring from one
grain?”

“One, I suppose,” said the sailor, surprised at the question.

“Ten, Pencroff. And how many grains are there to an ear?”

“Faith, I don’t know.”

“Eighty on an average,” said Smith. “So then, if we plant this grain,
we shall get from it a harvest of 800 grains; from them in the second
year 640,000; in the third, 512,000,000; in the fourth, more than
400,000,000,000. That is the proportion.”

His companions listened in silence. The figures stupefied them.

“Yes, my friend,” resumed the engineer. “Such is the increase of
Nature. And what is even this multiplication of a grain of corn whose
ears have only 800 grains, compared with the poppy plant, which has
32,000 seeds, or the tobacco plant, which has 360,000? In a few years,
but for the numerous enemies which destroy them, these plants would
cover the earth. And now, Pencroff,” he resumed, “do you know how many
bushels there are in 400,000,000,000 grains?”

“No,” answered the sailor, “I only know that I am an idiot!”

“Well, there will be more than 3,000,000, at 130,000 the bushel!”

“Three millions!” cried Pencroff.

“Three millions.”

“In four years?”

“Yes,” said Smith, “and even in two, if, as I hope, we can get two
harvests a year in this latitude.”

Pencroff answered with a tremendous hurrah.

“So, Herbert,” added the engineer, “your discovery is of immense
importance. Remember, my friends, that everything may be of use to us
in our present situation.”

“Indeed, Mr. Smith, I will remember it,” said Pencroff, “and if ever I
find one of those grains of tobacco which increase 360,000 times, I’ll
take care not to throw it away. And now what must we do?”

“We must plant this grain,” said Herbert.

“Yes,” added Spilett, “and with the greatest care, for upon it depend
our future harvests!”

“Provided that it grows,” said the sailor.

“It will grow,” answered Smith.

It was now the 20th of June, a good time for planting the precious
grain. They thought at first of planting it in a pot; but upon
consideration, they determined to trust it frankly to the soil. The
same day it was planted, with the greatest precaution. The weather
clearing a little, they walked up to the plateau above Granite House,
and chose there a spot well sheltered from the wind, and exposed to the
midday fervor of the sun. This spot was cleared, weeded, and even dug,
so as to destroy insects and worms; it was covered with a layer of
fresh earth, enriched with a little lime; a palissade was built around
it, and then the grain was covered up in its moist bed.

They seemed to be laying the corner-stone of an edifice. Pencroff was
reminded of the extreme care with which they had lighted their only
match; but this was a more serious matter. The castaways could always
have succeeded in obtaining fire by some means or other; but no earthly
power could restore that grain of corn, if, by ill fortune, it should
perish!




CHAPTER XXI


SEVERAL DEGREES BELOW ZERO—EXPLORATION OF THE SWAMP REGION TO THE
SOUTHEAST—THE VIEW OF THE SEA—A CONVERSATION CONCERNING THE FUTURE OF
THE PACIFIC OCEAN—THE INCESSANT LABOR OF THE INFUSORIA—WHAT WILL BECOME
OF THIS GLOBE—THE CHASE—THE SWAMP OF THE TADORNS.


From this moment Pencroff did not let a day pass without visiting what
he called with perfect gravity, his “corn field.” And alas, for any
insects that ventured there, no mercy would be shown them. Near the end
of the month of June, after the interminable rains, the weather became
decidedly cold, and on the 29th, a Fahrenheit thermometer would
certainly have stood at only 20° above zero.

The next day, the 30th of June, the day which corresponds to the 3lst
of December in the Northern Hemisphere, was a Friday. Neb said the year
ended on an unlucky day, but Pencroff answered that consequently the
new year began on a lucky one, which was more important. At all events,
it began with a very cold snap. Ice accumulated at the mouth of the
Mercy, and the whole surface of the lake was soon frozen over.

Fresh firewood had continually to be procured. Pencroff had not waited
for the river to freeze to convey enormous loads of wood to their
destination. The current was a tireless motor, and conveyed the
floating wood until the ice froze around it. To the fuel, which the
forest so plentifully furnished, were added several cartloads of coal,
which they found at the foot of the spurs of Mount Franklin. The
powerful heat from the coal was thoroughly appreciated in a temperature
which on the 4th of July fell to eight degrees above zero. A second
chimney had been set up in the dining-room, where they all worked
together. During this cold spell Cyrus Smith could not be thankful
enough that he had conducted to Granite House a small stream of water
from Lake Grant. Taken below the frozen surface, then conducted through
the old weir, it arrived unfrozen at the interior reservoir, which had
been dug at the angle of the storehouse, and which, when too full,
emptied itself into the sea. About this time the weather being very
dry, the colonists, dressing as warmly as possible, determined to
devote a day to the exploration of that part of the island situated to
the southeast, between the Mercy and Claw Cape. It was a large swampy
district and might offer good hunting, as aquatic birds must abound
there. They would have eight or nine miles to go and as far to return,
consequently the whole day must be given up. As it concerned the
exploration of an unknown portion of the island, every one had to take
part.

Therefore, on the 5th of July, at 6 o’clock in the morning, before the
sun had fairly risen, the whole party, armed with spears, snares, bows
and arrows, and furnished with enough provisions for the day, started
from Granite House, preceded by Top, who gambolled before them. They
took the shortest route, which was to cross the Mercy on the blocks of
ice which then obstructed it.

“But,” as the reporter very truly observed, “this cannot supply the
place of a real bridge.”

So the construction of a “real” bridge was set down as work for the
future. This was the first time that the colonists had set foot on the
right bank of the Mercy and had plunged into the forest of large and
magnificent firs, then covered with snow. But they had not gone half a
mile when the barking of Top frightened from a dense thicket where they
had taken up their abode, a whole family of quadrupeds.

“Why they look like foxes,” said Herbert, when he saw them scampering
quickly away.

And they were foxes, but foxes of enormous size. They made a sort of
bark which seemed to astonish Top, for he stopped in his chase and gave
these swift animals time to escape. The dog had a right to be
surprised, for he knew nothing of natural history; but by this barking,
the greyish-red color of their hair, and their black tails, which ended
in a white tuft, these foxes had betrayed their origin. So Herbert gave
them without hesitation their true name of culpeux. These culpeux are
often met with in Chili, in the Saint Malo group, and in all those
parts of America lying between the 30th and 40th parallels.

Herbert was very sorry that Top had not caught one of these carnivora.

“Can we eat them?” asked Pencroff, who always considered the fauna of
the island from that special point of view.

“No,” said Herbert, “but zoologists have not yet ascertained whether
the pupil of the eye of this fox is diurnal or nocturnal, or whether
the animal would come under the genus “canine.”

Smith could not help smiling at this remark of the boy, which showed
thoughtfulness beyond his years. As for the sailor, from the moment
these foxes ceased to belong to the edible species, they ceased to
interest him. Ever since the kitchen had been established at Granite
House he had been saying that precautions ought to be taken against
these four-footed plunderers. A fact which no one denied.

Having turned Jetsam Point the party came upon a long reach washed by
the sea. It was then 8 o’clock in the morning. The sky was very clear,
as is usual in prolonged cold weather; but, warmed by their work, Smith
and his companions did not suffer from the sharpness of the atmosphere.
Besides, there was no wind, the absence of which always renders a low
temperature more endurable. The sun, bright but cold, rose from the
ocean, and his enormous disc was poised in the horizon. The sea was a
calm, blue sheet of water, like a land-locked sea under a clear sky.
Claw Cape, bent in the shape of an ataghan, was clearly defined about
four miles to the southeast. To the left, the border of the swamp was
abruptly intercepted by a little point which shone brightly against the
sun. Certainly in that part of Union Bay, which was not protected from
the open sea, even by a sand bank, ships beaten by an east wind could
not have found shelter.

By the perfect calm of the sea, with no shoals to disturb its waters,
by its uniform color, with no tinge of yellow, and, finally, by the
entire absence of reefs, they knew that this side was steep, and that
here the ocean was fathoms deep. Behind them, in the west, at a
distance of about four miles, they saw the beginning of the Forests of
the Far West. They could almost have believed themselves upon some
desolate island in the Antarctic regions surrounded by ice.

The party halted here for breakfast; a fire of brushwood and seaweed
was lighted, and Neb prepared the meal of cold meat, to which he added
some cups of Oswego tea. While eating they looked around them. This
side of Lincoln island was indeed barren, and presented a strong
contrast to the western part.

The reporter thought that if the castaways had been thrown upon this
coast, they would have had a very melancholy impression of their future
home.

“I do not believe we could even have reached it,” said the engineer,
“for the sea is very deep here, and there is not even a rock which
would have served as a refuge; before Granite House there were shoals,
at least, and a little island which multiplied our chances of safety;
here is only the bottomless sea.”

“It is curious enough,” said Spilett, “that this island, relatively so
small, presents so varied a soil. This diversity of appearance belongs,
logically, only to continents of a considerable area. One would really
think that the western side of Lincoln Island, so rich and fertile, was
washed by the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico, and that the northern
and southern coasts extended into a sort of Arctic Sea.”

“You are right, my dear Spilett,” replied the engineer, “I have
observed the same thing. I have found this island curious both in its
shape and in its character. It has all the peculiarities of a
continent, and I would not be surprised if it had been a continent
formerly.”

“What! a continent in the middle of the Pacific!” cried Pencroff.

“Why not?” answered Smith. “Why should not Australia, New Ireland, all
that the English geographers call Australasia, joined to the
Archipelagoes of the Pacific Ocean, have formed in times past a sixth
part of the world as important as Europe or Asia, Africa or the two
Americas. My mind does not refuse to admit that all the islands rising
from this vast ocean are the mountains of a continent now engulphed,
but which formerly rose majestically from these waters.”

“Like Atlantis?” asked Herbert. “Yes. my boy, if that ever existed.”
“And Lincoln Island may have been a part of this continent?” asked
Pencroff. “It is probable,” replied Smith. “And that would explain the
diversity of products upon the surface, and the number of animals which
still live here,” added Herbert.

“Yes, my boy,” answered the engineer, “and that gives me a new argument
in support of my theory. It is certain after what we have seen that the
animals in the island are numerous, and what is more curious, is that
the species are extremely varied. There must be a reason for this, and
mine is, that Lincoln Island was formerly a part of some vast
continent, which has, little by little, sunk beneath the surface of the
Pacific.” “Then,” said Pencroff, who did not seem entirely convinced,
“what remains of this old continent may disappear in its turn and leave
nothing between America and Asia.” “Yes,” said Smith, “there will be
new continents which millions upon millions of animalculæ are building
at this moment.” “And who are these masons?” inquired Pencroff. “The
coral insects,” answered Smith. “It is these who have built by their
constant labor the Island of Clermont Tonnerre, the Atolls and many
other coral islands which abound in the Pacific. It takes 47,000,000 of
these insects to deposit one particle; and yet with the marine salt
which they absorb, and the solid elements of the water which they
assimilate, these animalculæ produce limestone, and limestone forms
those enormous submarine structures whose hardness and solidity is
equal to that of granite.

Formerly, during the first epochs of creation, Nature employed heat to
produce land by upheaval, but now she lets these microscopic insects
replace this agent, whose dynamic power at the interior of this globe
has evidently diminished. This fact is sufficiently proved by the great
number of volcanoes actually extinct on the surface of the earth. I
verily believe that century after century, and infusoria after
infusoria will change the Pacific some day into a vast continent, which
new generations will, in their turn, inhabit and civilize.”

“It will take a long time,” said Pencroff. “Nature has time on her
side,” replied the engineer. “But what is the good of new continents?”
asked Herbert. “It seems to me that the present extent of habitable
countries is enough for mankind. Now Nature does nothing in vain.”
“Nothing in vain, indeed,” replied the engineer; “but let us see how we
can explain the necessity of new continents in the future, and
precisely in these tropical regions occupied by these coral islands.
Here is an explanation, which seems to me at least plausible.”

“We are listening, Mr. Smith,” replied Herbert.

“This is my idea: Scientists generally admit that some day the globe
must come to an end, or rather the animal and vegetable life will be no
longer possible, on account of the intense cold which will prevail.
What they cannot agree upon is the cause of this cold. Some think that
it will be produced by the cooling of the sun in the course of millions
of years; others by the gradual extinction of the internal fires of our
own globe, which have a more decided influence than is generally
supposed. I hold to this last hypothesis, based upon the fact that the
moon is without doubt a refrigerated planet, which is no longer
habitable, although the sun continues to pour upon its surface the same
amount of heat. If then, the moon is refrigerated, it is because these
internal fires, to which like all the stellar world it owes its origin,
are entirely extinct. In short, whatever be the cause, our world will
certainly some day cool; but this cooling will take place gradually.
What will happen then? Why, the temperate zones, at a time more or less
distant, will be no more habitable than are the Polar regions now. Then
human, as well as animal life, will be driven to latitudes more
directly under the influence of the solar rays. An immense emigration
will take place. Europe, Central Asia, and North America will little by
little be abandoned, as well as Australasia and the lower parts of
South America. Vegetation will follow the human emigration. The flora
will move towards the equator at the same time with the fauna, the
central parts of South America and Africa will become the inhabited
continent. The Laplanders and the Samoyedes will find the climate of
the Polar Sea on the banks of the Mediterranean. Who can tell but that
at this epoch, the equatorial regions will not be too small to contain
and nourish the population of the globe. Now, why should not a
provident nature, in order from this time, to provide a refuge for this
animal and vegetable emigration, lay the foundation, under the equator,
of a new continent, and charge these infusoria with the building of it?
I have often thought of this, my friends, and I seriously believe that,
some day, the aspect of our globe will be completely transformed, that
after the upheaval of new continents the seas will cover the old ones,
and that in future ages some Columbus will discover in the islands of
Chimborazo or the Himalaya, or Mount Blanc, all that remains of an
America, an Asia, and a Europe. Then at last, these new continents, in
their turn, will become uninhabitable. The heat will die out as does
the heat from a body whose soul has departed, and life will disappear
from the globe, if not forever, at least for a time. Perhaps then our
sphere will rest from its changes, and will prepare in death to live
again under nobler conditions.

“But all this my friends, is with the Creator of all things. From the
talking of the work of these infusoria I have been led into too deep a
scrutiny of the secrets of the future.”

“My dear Cyrus,” said the reporter, “these theories are to me
prophesies. Some day they will be accomplished.”

“It is a secret with the Almighty,” replied Smith.

“All this is well and good,” said Pencroff, who had listened with all
his ears, “but will you tell me, Mr. Smith, if Lincoln Island has been
constructed by these infusoria.”

“No,” replied Smith, “it is of purely volcanic origin.”

“Then it will probably disappear some day. I hope sincerely we won’t be
here.”

“No, be easy, Pencroff, we will get away.”

“In the meantime,” said Spilett, “let us settle ourselves as if
forever. It is never worth while to do anything by halves.”

This ended the conversation. Breakfast was over, the exploration
continued, and the party soon arrived at the beginning of the swampy
district.

It was, indeed, a marsh which extended as far as the rounded side
forming the southeastern termination of the island, and measuring
twenty square miles. The soil was formed of a silicious clay mixed with
decayed vegetation. It was covered by confervæ, rushes, sedges, and
here and there by beds of herbage, thick as a velvet carpet. In many
places frozen pools glistened under the sun’s rays. Neither rains, nor
any river swollen by a sudden increase could have produced this water.
One would naturally conclude that this swamp was fed by the
infiltration of water through the soil. And this was the fact. It was
even to be feared that the air here during hot weather, was laden with
that miasma which engenders the marsh fever. Above the aquatic herbs on
the surface of the stagnant waters, a swarm of birds were flying. A
hunter would not have lost a single shot. Wild ducks, teal, and snipe
lived there in flocks, and it was easy to approach these fearless
creatures. So thick were these birds that a charge of shot would
certainly have brought down a dozen of them, but our friends had to
content themselves with their bows and arrows. The slaughter was less,
but the quiet arrow had the advantage of not frightening the birds,
while the sound of fire-arms would have scattered them to every corner
of the swamp. The hunters contented themselves this time with a dozen
ducks, with white bodies, cinnamon-colored belts, green heads, wings
black, white, and red, and feathered beaks. These Herbert recognized as
the “Tadorns.” Top did his share well in the capture of these birds,
whose name was given this swampy district.

The colonists now had an abundant reserve of aquatic game. When the
time should come the only question would be how to make a proper use of
them, and it was probable that several species of these birds would be,
if not domesticated, at least acclimated, upon the borders of the lake,
which would bring them nearer to the place of consumption.

About 5 o’clock in the afternoon Smith and his companions turned their
faces homewards. They crossed Tadorn’s Fens, and re-crossed the Mercy
upon the ice, arriving at Granite House at 8 o’clock in the evening.




CHAPTER XXII.


THE TRAPS—THE FOXES—THE PECCARIES —THE WIND VEERS TO THE NORTHWEST —THE
SNOW-STORM—THE BASKET-MAKERS —THE COLDEST SNAP OF WINTER
—CRYSTALLIZATION OF THE SUGAR-MAPLE —THE MYSTERIOUS SHAFTS—THE
PROJECTED EXPLORATION—THE PELLET OF LEAD.


The intense cold lasted until the 15th of August, the thermometer never
rising above the point hitherto observed. When the atmosphere was calm
this low temperature could be easily borne; but when the wind blew, the
poor fellows suffered much for want of warmer clothing. Pencroff
regretted that Lincoln Island, instead of harboring so many foxes and
seals, with no fur to speak of, did not shelter some families of bears.

“Bears,” said he, “are generally well dressed; and I would ask nothing
better for the winter than the loan of their warm cloaks.”.

“But perhaps,” said Neb, laughing “These bears would not consent to
give you their cloak. Pencroff, these fellows are no Saint Martins.”

“We would make them, Neb, we would make them,” answered Pencroff in a
tone of authority.

But these formidable carnivora did not dwell on the island, or if they
did, had not yet shown themselves. Herbert, Pencroff, and the reporter
were constantly at work getting traps on Prospect Plateau and on the
borders of the forest. In the sailor’s opinion any animal whatever
would be a prize, and rodents or carnivora, whichever these new traps
should entice, would be well received at Granite House. These traps
were very simple. They were pits dug in the ground and covered with
branches and grass, which hid the openings. At the bottom they placed
some bait, whose odor would attract the animals. They used their
discretion about the position of their traps, choosing places where
numerous footprints indicated the frequent passage of quadrupeds. Every
day they went to look at them, and at three different times during the
first few days they found in them specimens of those foxes which had
been already seen on the right bank of the Mercy.

“Pshaw! there are nothing but foxes in this part of the world,” said
Pencroff, as, for the third time, he drew one of these animals out of
the pit. “Good-for-nothing beasts;”

“Stop,” said Spilett; “they are good for something.”

“For what?”

“To serve as bait to attract others!”

The reporter was right, and from this time the traps were baited with
the dead bodies of foxes. The sailor had made snares out of the threads
of curry-jonc, and these snares were more profitable than the traps. It
was a rare thing for a day to pass without some rabbit from the warren
being captured. It was always a rabbit, but Neb knew how to vary his
sauces, and his companions did not complain. However, once or twice in
the second week in August, the traps contained other and more useful
animals than the foxes. There were some of those wild boars which had
been already noticed at the north of the lake. Pencroff had no need to
ask if these animals were edible, that was evident from their
resemblance to the hog of America and Europe.

“But these are not hogs, let me tell you,” said Herbert.

“My boy,” replied the sailor, handing over the trap and drawing out one
of these representatives of the swine family by the little appendage
which served for a tail, “do let me believe them to be hogs.”

“Why?”

“Because it pleases me.”

“You are fond of hogs, then, Pencroff?”

“I am very fond of them,” replied the sailor, “especially of their
feet, and if any had eight instead of four I would like them twice as
much.”

These animals were peccaries, belonging to one of the four genera,
which make up that family. This particular species were the
“tajassans,” known by there dark color and the absence of those long
fangs which belong to the others of their race. Peccaries generally
live in herds, and it was likely that these animals abounded in the
woody parts of the island. At all events they were edible from head to
foot, and Pencroff asked nothing more.

About the 15th of August the weather moderated suddenly by a change of
wind to the northwest. The temperature rose several degrees higher, and
the vapors accumulated in the air were soon resolved into snow. The
whole island was covered with a white mantle, and presented a new
aspect to its inhabitants. It snowed hard for several days and the
ground was covered two feet deep. The wind soon rose with great
violence and from the top of Granite House they could hear the sea
roaring against the reefs.

At certain angles the wind made eddies in the air, and the snow,
forming itself into high whirling columns, looked like those twisting
waterspouts which vessels attack with cannon. The hurricane, coming
steadily from the northwest, spent its force on the other side of the
island, and the eastern lookout of Granite House preserved it from a
direct attack.

During this snow-storm, as terrible as those of the polar regions,
neither Smith nor his companions could venture outside. They were
completely housed for five days, from the 20th to the 25th of August.
They heard the tempest roar though Jacamar Woods, which must have
suffered sadly. Doubtless numbers of trees were uprooted, but Pencroff
comforted himself with the reflection that there would be fewer to cut
down.

“The wind will be wood-cutter; let it alone,” said he.

How fervently now the inhabitants of Granite House must have thanked
Heaven for having given to them this solid and impenetrable shelter!
Smith had his share of their gratitude, but after all, it was nature
which had hollowed out this enormous cave, and he had only discovered
it. Here all were in safety, the violence of the tempest could not
reach them. If they had built a house of brick and wood on Prospect
Plateau, it could not have resisted the fury of this hurricane. As for
the Chimneys, they heard the billows strike them with such violence
that they knew they must be uninhabitable, for the sea, having entirely
covered their islet, beat upon them with all its force.

But here at Granite House, between these solid walls which neither wind
nor water could effect, they had nothing to fear. During this
confinement the colonists were not idle. There was plenty of wood in
the storehouse cut into planks, and little by little they completed
their stock of furniture. As far as tables and chairs went they were
certainly solid enough, for the material was not spared. This furniture
was a little too heavy to fulfil its essential purpose of being easily
moved, but it was the pride of Neb and Pencroff, who would not have
exchanged it for the handsomest Buhl.

Then the carpenters turned basket-makers, and succeeded remarkably well
at this new occupation.

They had discovered at the northern part of the lake a thick growth of
purple osiers. Before the rainy season, Pencroff and Herbert had
gathered a good many of these useful shrubs; and their branches, being
now well seasoned, could be used to advantage. Their first specimens
were rough; but, thanks to the skill and intelligence of the workmen
consulting together, recalling the models they had seen, and rivalling
each other in their efforts, hampers and baskets of different sizes
here soon added to the stock of the colony. The storehouse was filled
with them, and Neb set away in special baskets his stock of pistachio
nuts and roots of the dragon tree.

During the last week in August the weather changed again, the
temperature fell a little, and the storm was over. The colonists at
once started out. There must have been at least two feet of snow on the
shore, but it was frozen over the top, which made it easy to walk over.
Smith and his companions climbed up Prospect Plateau. What a change
they beheld! The woods which they had left in bloom, especially the
part nearest to them where the conifers were plenty, were now one
uniform color.

Everything was white, from the top of Mount Franklin to the
coast—forests, prairie, lake, river, beach. The waters of the Mercy ran
under a vault of ice, which cracked and broke with a loud noise at
every change of tide. Thousands of birds—ducks and wood-peckers—flew
over the surface of the lake. The rocks between which the cascade
plunged to the borders of the Plateau were blocked up with ice. One
would have said that the water leaped out of a huge gargoyle, cut by
some fantastic artist of the Renaissance. To calculate the damage done
to the forest by this hurricane would be impossible until the snow had
entirely disappeared.

Spilett, Pencroff, and Herbert took this opportunity to look after
their traps and had hard work finding them under their bed of snow.
There was danger of their falling in themselves; a humiliating thing to
be caught in one’s own trap! They were spared this annoyance, however,
and found the traps had been untouched; not an animal had been caught,
although there were a great many footprints in the neighborhood, among
others, very clearly impressed marks of claws.

Herbert at once classified these carnivora among the cat tribe, a
circumstance which justified the engineer’s belief in the existence of
dangerous beasts on Lincoln Island. Doubtless these beasts dwelt in the
dense forests of the Far West; but driven by hunger, they had ventured
as far as Prospect Plateau. Perhaps they scented the inhabitants of
Granite House.

“What, exactly, are these carnivora?” asked Pencroff.

“They are tigers,” replied Herbert.

“I thought those animals were only found in warm countries.”

“In the New World,” replied the lad, “they are to be found from Mexico
to the pampas of Buenos Ayres. Now, as Lincoln Island is in almost the
same latitude as La Plata, it is not surprising that tigers are found
here.”

“All right, we will be on our guard,” replied Pencroff.

In the meantime, the temperature rising, the snow began to melt, it
came on to rain, and gradually the white mantle disappeared.
Notwithstanding the bad weather the colonists renewed their stock of
provisions, both animal and vegetable.

This necessitated excursions into the forest, and thus they discovered
how many trees had been beaten down by the hurricane. The sailor and
Neb pushed forward with their wagon as far as the coal deposit in order
to carry back some fuel. They saw on their way that the chimney of the
pottery oven had been much damaged by the storm; at least six feet had
been blown down.

They also renewed their stock of wood as well as that of coal, and the
Mercy having become free once more, they employed the current to draw
several loads to Granite House. It might be that the cold season was
not yet over.

A visit had been made to the Chimneys also, and the colonists could not
be sufficiently grateful that this had not been their home during the
tempest. The sea had left undoubted signs of its ravages. Lashed by the
fury of the wind from the offing, and rushing over Safety Island, it
spent its full force upon these passages, leaving them half full of
sand and the rocks thickly covered with seaweed.

While Neb, Herbert, and Pencroff spent their time in hunting and
renewing their supply of fuel, Smith andSpilett set to work to clear
out the Chimneys. They found the forge and furnaces almost unhurt, so
carefully protected had they been by the banks of sand which the
colonists had built around them.

It was a fortunate thing that they laid in a fresh supply of fuel, for
the colonists had not yet seen the end of the intense cold. It is well
known that in the Northern Hemisphere, the month of February is noted
for its low temperature. The same rule held good in the Southern
Hemisphere, and the end of August, which is the February of North
America, did not escape from this climatic law.

About the 25th, after another snow and rain storm, the wind veered to
the southeast, and suddenly the cold became intense. In the engineer’s
opinion, a Fahrenheit thermometer would have indicated about eight
degrees below zero, and the cold was rendered more severe by a cutting
wind which lasted for several days.

The colonists were completely housed again, and as they were obliged to
block up all their windows, only leaving one narrow opening for
ventilation, the consumption of candles was considerable. In order to
economize them, the colonists often contented themselves with only the
light from the fire; for fuel was plenty.

Once or twice some of them ventured to the beach, among the blocks of
ice which were heaped up there by every fresh tide. But they soon
climbed up to Granite House again. This ascent was very painful, as
their hands were frostbitten by holding on to the frozen sides of the
ladder.

There were still many leisure hours to be filled up during this long
confinement, so Smith undertook another indoor occupation.

The only sugar which they had had up to this time was a liquid
substance which they had procured by making deep cuts in the bark of
the maple tree. They collected this liquid in jars and used it in this
condition for cooking purposes. It improved with age, becoming whiter
and more like a syrup in consistency. But they could do better than
this, and one day Cyrus Smith announced to his companions that he was
going to turn them into refiners.

“Refiners! I believe that’s a warm trade?” said Pencroff.

“Very warm!” replied the engineer.

“Then it will suit this season!” answered the sailor.

Refining did not necessitate a stock of complicated tools or skilled
workmen; it was a very simple operation.

To crystallize this liquid they first clarified it, by putting it on
the fire in earthenware jars, and submitting it to evaporation. Soon a
scum rose to the surface, which, when it began to thicken, Neb removed
carefully with a wooden ladle. This hastened the evaporation, and at
the same time prevented it from scorching.

After several hours boiling over a good fire, which did as much good to
the cooks as it did to the boiling liquid, it turned into a thick
syrup. This syrup was poured into clay moulds which they had made
beforehand, in various shapes in the same kitchen furnace.

The next day the syrup hardened, forming cakes and loaves. It was sugar
of a reddish color, but almost transparent, and of a delicious taste.

The cold continued until the middle of September, and the inmates of
Granite House began to find their captivity rather tedious. Almost
every day they took a run out-doors, but they always soon returned.
They were constantly at work over their household duties, and talked
while they worked.

Smith instructed his companions in everything, and especially explained
to them the practical applications of science.

The colonists had no library at their disposal, but the engineer was a
book, always ready, always open at the wished-for page. A book which
answered their every question, and one which they often read. Thus the
time passed, and these brave man had no fear for the future.

However, they were all anxious for the end of their captivity, and
longed to see, if not fine weather, at least a cessation of the intense
cold. If they had only had warmer clothing, they would have attempted
excursions to the downs and to Tadorns’ Fens, for game would have been
easy to approach, and the hunt would assuredly have been fruitful. But
Smith insisted that no one should compromise his health, as he had need
of every hand; and his advice was taken.

The most impatient of the prisoners, after Pencroff, was Top. The poor
dog found himself in close quarters in Granite House, and ran from room
to room, showing plainly the uneasiness he felt at this confinement.

Smith often noticed that whenever he approached the dark well
communicating with the sea, which had its opening in the rear of the
storehouse, Top whined in a most curious manner, and ran around and
around the opening, which had been covered over with planks of wood.
Sometimes he even tried to slip his paws under the planks, as if trying
to raise them up, and yelped in a way which indicated at the same time
anger and uneasiness.

The engineer several times noticed this strange behavior, and wondered
what there could be in the abyss to have such a peculiar effect upon
this intelligent dog.

This well, of course, communicated with the sea. Did it then branch off
into narrow passages through the rock-work of the island? Was it in
communication with other caves? Did any sea-monsters come into it from
time to time from the bottom of these pits?

The engineer did not know what to think, and strange thoughts passed
through his mind. Accustomed to investigate scientific truths, he could
not pardon himself for being drawn into the region of the mysterious
and supernatural; but how explain why Top, the most sensible of dogs,
who never lost his time in barking at the moon, should insist upon
exploring this abyss with nose and ear, if there was nothing there to
arouse his suspicions?

Top’s conduct perplexed Smith more than he cared to own to himself.
However, the engineer did not mention this to any one but Spilett,
thinking it useless to worry his companions with what might be, after
all, only a freak of the dog.

At last the cold spell was over. They had rain, snow-squalls,
hail-storms, and gales of wind, but none of these lasted long. The ice
thawed and the snow melted; the beach, plateau, banks of the Mercy, and
the forest were again accessible. The return of spring rejoiced the
inmates of Granite House, and they soon passed all their time in the
open air, only returning to eat and sleep.

They hunted a good deal during the latter part of September, which led
Pencroff to make fresh demands for those fire-arms which he declared
Smith had promised him. Smith always put him off, knowing that without
a special stock of tools it would be almost impossible to make a gun
which would be of any use to them.

Besides, he noticed that Herbert and Spilett had become very clever
archers, that all sorts of excellent game, both feathered and
furred—agoutis, kangaroos, cabiais, pigeons, bustards, wild ducks, and
snipe—fell under their arrows; consequently the firearms could wait.
But the stubborn sailor did not see it in this light, and constantly
reminded the engineer that he had not provided them with guns; and
Gideon Spilett supported Pencroff.

“If,” said he, “the island contains, as we suppose, wild beasts, we
must consider how to encounter and exterminate them. The time may come
when this will be our first duty.”

But just now it was not the question of firearms which occupied Smith’s
mind, but that of clothes. Those which the colonists were wearing had
lasted through the winter, but could not hold out till another. What
they must have at any price was skins of the carnivora, or wool of the
ruminants; and as moufflons (mountain goats), were plenty, they must
consider how to collect a flock of them which they could keep for the
benefit of the colony. They would also lay out a farm yard in a
favorable part of the island, where they could have an enclosure for
domestic animals and a poultry yard.

These important projects must be carried out during the good weather.
Consequently, in view of these future arrangements, it was important to
undertake a reconnoissance into the unexplored part of Lincoln Island,
to wit:—the high forests which extended along the right bank of the
Mercy, from its mouth to the end of Serpentine Peninsula. But they must
be sure of their weather, and a month must yet elapse before it would
be worth while to undertake this exploration. While they were waiting
impatiently, an incident occurred which redoubled their anxiety to
examine the whole island.

It was now the 24th of October. On this day Pencroff went to look after
his traps which he always kept duly baited. In one of them, he found
three animals, of a sort welcome to the kitchen. It was a female
peccary with her two little ones. Pencroff returned to Granite House,
delighted with his prize, and, as usual, made a great talk about it.

“Now, we’ll have a good meal, Mr Smith,” cried he, “and you too, Mr.
Spilett, must have some.”

“I shall be delighted,” said the reporter, “but what is it you want me
to eat?”

“Sucking pig,” said Pencroff.

“Oh, a suckling-pig! To hear you talk one would think you had brought
back a stuffed partridge!”

“Umph,” said Pencroff, “so you turn up your nose at my suckling pig?”

“No,” answered Spilett coolly, “provided one does not get too much of
them—”

“Very well, Mr. Reporter!” returned the sailor, who did not like to
hear his game disparaged. “You are getting fastidious! Seven months
ago, when we were cast upon this island, you would have been only too
glad to have come across such game.”

“Well, well,” said the reporter, “men are never satisfied.”

“And now,” continued Pencroff, “I hope Neb will distinguish himself.
Let us see; these little peccaries are only three months old, they will
be as tender as quail. Come, Neb, I will superintend the cooking of
them myself.”

The sailor, followed by Neb, hastened to the kitchen, and was soon
absorbed over the oven. The two prepared a magnificent repast; the two
little peccaries, kangaroo soup, smoked ham, pistachio nuts,
dragon-tree wine, Oswego tea; in a word, everything of the best. But
the favorite dish of all was the savory peccaries made into a stew. At
5 o’clock, dinner was served in the dining-room of Granite House. The
kangaroo soup smoked upon the table. It was pronounced excellent.

After the soup came the peccaries, which Pencroff begged to be allowed
to carve, and of which he gave huge pieces to every one. These suckling
pigs were indeed delicious, and Pencroff plied his knife and fork with
intense earnestness, when suddenly a cry and an oath escaped him.

“What’s the matter?” said Smith.

“The matter is that I have just lost a tooth!” replied the sailor.

“Are there pebbles in your peccaries, then?” said Spilett.

“It seems so,” said the sailor, taking out of his mouth the object
which had cost him a grinder.

It was not a pebble, it was a leaden pellet.




PART II
THE ABANDONED




CHAPTER XXIII.


CONCERNING THE LEADEN PELLET—MAKING A CANOE—HUNTING—IN THE TOP OF A
KAURI—NOTHING TO INDICATE THE PRESENCE OF MAN—THE TURTLE ON ITS
BACK—THE TURTLE DISAPPEARS—SMITH’S EXPLANATION.


It was exactly seven months since the passengers in the balloon had
been thrown upon Lincoln Island. In all this time no human being had
been seen. No smoke had betrayed the presence of man upon he island. No
work of man’s hands, either ancient or modern, had attested his
passage. Not only did it seem uninhabited at present, but it appeared
to have been so always. And now all the framework of deductions fell
before a little bit of metal found in the body of a pig.

It was certainly a bullet from a gun, and what but a human being would
be so provided?

When Pencroff had placed it upon the table, his companions looked at it
with profound astonishment. The possibilities suggested by this
seemingly trivial incident flashed before them. The sudden appearance
of a supernatural being could not have impressed them more.

Smith instantly began to reason upon the theories which this incident,
as surprising as it was unexpected, suggested. Taking the bit of lead
between his fingers he turned it round and about for some time before
he spoke.

“You are sure, Pencroff,” he asked, at length, “that the peccary was
hardly three months old?”

“I’m sure, sir,” answered the sailor. “It was sucking its mother when I
found it in the ditch.”

“Well, then, that proves that within three months a gun has been fired
upon Lincoln Island.”

“And that the bullet has wounded, though not mortally, this little
animal,” added Spilett.

“Undoubtedly,” replied Smith; “and now let us see what conclusions are
to be drawn from this incident. Either the island was inhabited before
our arrival, or men have landed here within three months. How these men
arrived, whether voluntarily or involuntarily, whether by landing or by
shipwreck, cannot be settled at present. Neither have we any means of
determining whether they are Europeans or Malays, friends or enemies;
nor do we know whether they are living here at present or whether they
have gone. But these questions are too important to be allowed to
remain undecided.”

“No!” cried the sailor springing from the table. “There can be no men
besides ourselves on Lincoln Island. Why, the island is not large: and
if it had been inhabited, we must have met some one of its people
before this.”

“It would, indeed, be astonishing if we had not,” said Herbert.

“But it would be much more astonishing, I think,” remarked the
reporter, “if this little beast had been born with a bullet in his
body!”

“Unless,” suggested Neb, seriously, “Pencroff had had it—”

“How’s that, Neb?” interrupted the sailor, “I, to have had a bullet in
my jaw for five or six months, without knowing it? Where would it have
been?” he added, opening his mouth and displaying the thirty-two
splendid teeth that ornamented it. “Look, Neb, and if you can find one
broken one in the whole set you may pull out half-a-dozen!”

“Neb’s theory is inadmissible,” said Smith, who, in spite of the
gravity of his thoughts, could not restrain a smile. “It is certain
that a gun has been discharged on the island within three months. But I
am bound to believe that the persons on this island have been here but
a short time, or else simply landed in passing; as, had the island had
inhabitants when we made the ascent of Mount Franklin, we must have
seen them or been seen. It is more probable, that within the past few
weeks some people have been shipwrecked somewhere upon the coast; the
thing, therefore, to do is to discover this point.”

“I think we should act cautiously,” said the reporter.

“I think so, too,” replied Smith, “as I fear that they must be Malay
pirates;”

“How would it do, Mr. Smith,” said the sailor, “to build A canoe so
that we could go up this river, or, if need be, round the coast? It
won’t do to be taken unawares.”

“It’s a good idea,” answered the engineer; “but we have not the time
now. It would take at least a month to build a canoe—”

“A regular one, yes,” rejoined the sailor; “but we don’t want it to
stand the sea. I will guarantee to make one in less than five days that
will do to use on the Mercy.”

“Build a boat in five days,” cried Neb.

“Yes, Neb, one of Indian fashion.”

“Of wood?” demanded the negro, still incredulous.

“Of wood, or what is better, of bark,” answered Pencroff. “Indeed, Mr.
Smith, it could be done in five days!”

“Be it so, then,” answered the engineer. “In five days.”

“But we must look out for ourselves in the meantime!” said Herbert.

“With the utmost caution, my friends,” answered Smith. “And be very
careful to confine your hunting expeditions to the neighborhood of
Granite House.”

The dinner was finished in lower spirits than Pencroff had expected.
The incident of the bullet proved beyond doubt that the island had
been, or was now, inhabited by others, and such a discovery awakened
the liveliest anxiety in the breasts of the colonists.

Smith and Spilett, before retiring, had a long talk about these things.
They questioned, if by chance this incident had an connection with the
unexplained rescue of the engineer, and other strange events which they
had encountered in so many ways. Smith, after having discussed the pros
and cons of the question, ended by saying:—

“In short, Spilett, do you want to know my opinion?”

“Yes, Cyrus.”

“Well, this is it. No matter how minutely we examine the island, we
will find nothing!”

Pencroff began his work the next day. He did not mean to build a boat
with ribs and planks, but simply a flat bottomed float, which would do
admirably in the Mercy, especially in the shallow water and its
sources. Strips of bark fastened together would be sufficient for their
purpose, and in places where a portage would be necessary the affair
would be neither heavy nor cumbersome. The sailor’s idea was to fasten
the strips of bark together with clinched nails, and thus to make the
craft staunch.

The first thing was to select trees furnishing a supple and tough bark.
Now, it had happened that the last storm had blown down a number of
Douglass pines, which were perfectly adapted to this purpose. Some of
these lay prone upon the earth, and all the colonists had to do was to
strip them of their bark, though this indeed was somewhat difficult, on
account of the awkwardness of their tools.

While the sailor, assisted by the engineer was thus occupied, Herbert
and Spilett, who had been made purveyors to the colony, were not idle.
The reporter could not help admiring the young lad, who had acquired a
remarkable proficiency in the use of the bow and arrows, and who
exhibited, withal, considerable hardiness and coolness. The two
hunters, remembering the caution of the engineer, never ventured more
than two miles from Granite House, but the outskirts of the forest
furnished a sufficient supply of agoutis, cabiais, kangaroos,
peccaries, etc., and although the traps had not done so well since the
cold had abated, the warren furnished a supply sufficient for the wants
of the colonists.

Often, while on these excursions, Herbert conversed with Spilett about
the incident of the bullet and of the engineer’s conclusions, and one
day—the 26th of October—he said:—

“Don’t you think it strange, Mr. Spilett, that any people should have
been wrecked on this island, and never have followed up the coast to
Granite House?”

“Very strange if they are still here,” answered the reporter, “but not
at all astonishing if they are not.”

“Then you think they have gone again?”

“It is likely, my boy, that, if they had staid any time, or were still
here, something would have discovered their presence.”

“But if they had been able to get off again they were not really
shipwrecked.”

“No, Herbert, they were what I should call shipwrecked temporarily.
That is, it is possible that they were driven by stress of weather upon
the island, without having to abandon their vessel, and when the wind
moderated they set out again.”

“One thing is certain,” said Herbert, “and that is, that Mr. Smith has
always seemed to dread, rather than to desire, the presence of human
beings on our island.”

“The reason is, that he knows that only Malays frequent these seas, and
these gentlemen are a kind of rascals that had better be avoided.”

“Is it not possible, sir, that some time we will discover traces of
their landing and, perhaps, be able to settle this point?”

“It is not unlikely, my boy. An abandoned camp or the remains of a
fire, we would certainly notice, and these are what we will look for on
our exploration.”

The hunters, talking in this way, found themselves in a portion of the
forest near the Mercy, remarkable for its splendid trees. Among others,
were those magnificent conifera, called by the New Zealanders “kauris,”
rising mere than 200 feet in height.

“I have an idea, Mr. Spilett,” said Herbert, “supposing I climb to the
top of one of these kauris, I could see, perhaps, for a good ways.”

“It’s a good idea,” answered the other, “but can you climb one of these
giants?”

“I am going to try, anyhow,” exclaimed the boy, springing upon the
lower branches of one, which grew in such a manner as to make the tree
easy to mount. In a few minutes he was in its top, high above all the
surrounding leafage of the forest.

From this height, the eye could take in all the southern portion of the
island between Claw Cape on the southeast and Reptile Promontory on the
southwest. To the northwest rose Mount Franklin, shutting out more than
one-fourth of the horizon.

But Herbert, from his perch, could overlook the very portion of the
island which was giving, or had given, refuge to the strangers whose
presence they suspected. The lad looked about him with great attention,
first towards the sea, where not a sail was visible, although it was
possible that a ship, and especially one dismasted, lying close in to
shore, would be concealed from view by the trees which hid the coast.
In the woods of the Far West nothing could be seen. The forest formed a
vast impenetrable dome many miles in extent, without an opening or
glade. Even the course of the Mercy could not be seen, and it might be
that there were other streams flowing westward, which were equally
invisible.

But, other signs failing, could not the lad catch in the air some smoke
that would indicate the presence of man? The atmosphere was pure, and
the slightest vapor was sharply outlined against the sky. For an
instant Herbert thought he saw a thin film rising in the west, but a
more careful observation convinced him that he was mistaken. He looked
again, however, with all care, and his sight was excellent. No,
certainly, it was nothing.

Herbert climbed down the tree, and he and the reporter returned to
Granite House. There Smith listened to the lad’s report without
comment. It was plain he would not commit himself until after the
island had been explored.

Two days later—the 28th of October—another unaccountable incident
happened.

In strolling along the beach, two miles from Granite House, Herbert and
Neb had been lucky enough to capture a splendid specimen of the
chelonia mydas (green turtle), whose carapace shone with emerald
reflections. Herbert had caught sight of it moving among the rocks
towards the sea.

“Stop him, Neb, stop him!” he cried.

Neb ran to it.

“It’s a fine animal,” said Neb, “but how are we going to keep it?”

“That’s easy enough, Neb. All we have to do is to turn it on its back,
and then it cannot get away. Take your spear and do as I do.”

The reptile had shut itself in its shell, so that neither its head nor
eyes were visible, and remained motionless as a rock. The lad and the
negro placed their spears underneath it, and, after some difficulty,
succeeded in turning it over. It measured three feet in length, and
must have weighed at least 400 pounds.

“There, that will please Pencroff,” cried Neb.

Indeed, the sailor could not fail to be pleased, as the flesh of these
turtles, which feed upon eel-grass, is very savory.

“And now what can we do with our game?” asked Neb; “we can’t carry it
to Granite House.”

“Leave it here, since it cannot turn back again,” answered Herbert,
“and we will come for it with the cart.”

Neb agreed, and Herbert, as an extra precaution, which the negro
thought useless, propped up the reptile with large stones. Then the two
returned to Granite House, following the beach, on which the tide was
down. Herbert, wishing to surprise Pencroff, did not tell him of the
prize which was lying on its back upon the sand; but two hours later
Neb and he returned with the cart to where they had left it, and—the
“splendid specimen of chelonia mydas” was not there!

The two looked about them. Certainly, this was where they had left it.
Here were the stones he had used, and, therefore, the lad could not be
mistaken.

“Did the beast turn over, after all?” asked Neb.

“It seems so,” replied Herbert, puzzled, and examining the stones
scattered over the sand.

“Pencroff will be disappointed.”

“And Mr. Smith will be troubled to explain this!” thought Herbert.

“Well,” said Neb, who wished to conceal their misadventure, “we won’t
say anything about it.”

“Indeed, we will tell the whole story,” answered Herbert.

And taking with them the useless cart, they returned to Granite House.

At the shipyard they found the engineer and the sailor working
together. Herbert related all that happened.

“You foolish fellows,” cried the sailor, “to let at least fifty pounds
of soup, escape!”

“But, Pencroff,” exclaimed Neb, “it was not our fault that the reptile
got away; haven’t I told you we turned it on its back?”

“Then you didn’t turn it enough!” calmly asserted the stubborn sailor.

“Not enough!” cried Herbert; and he told how he had taken care to prop
the turtle up with stones.

“Then it was a miracle!” exclaimed Pencroff.

“Mr. Smith,” asked Herbert, “I thought that turtles once placed on
their backs could not get over again, especially the very large ones?”

“That is the fact,” answered Smith.

“Then how did it—”

“How far off from the sea did you leave this turtle,” asked the
engineer, who had stopped working and was turning this incident over in
his mind.

“About fifteen feet,” answered Herbert.

“And it was low water?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well,” responded the engineer, “what the turtle could not do on land,
he could do in water. When the tide rose over him he turned over,
and—tranquilly paddled off.”

“How foolish we are,” cried Neb.

“That is just what I said you were,” answered Pencroff.

Smith had given this explanation, which was doubtless admissible; but
was he himself satisfied with it? He did not venture to say that.




CHAPTER XXIV.


TRIAL OF THE CANOE—A WRECK ON THE SHORE—THE TOW—JETSAM POINT—INVENTORY
OF THE BOX—WHAT PENCROFF WANTED—A BIBLE—A VERSE FROM THE BIBLE.


On the 29th of October the canoe was finished. Pencroff had kept his
word, and had built, in five days, a sort of bark shell, stiffened with
flexible crejimba rods. A seat at either end, another midway to keep it
open, a gunwale for the thole-pins of a pair of oars, and a paddle to
steer with, completed this canoe, which was twelve feet in length, and
did not weigh 200 pounds.

“Hurrah!” cried the sailor, quite ready to applaud his own success.
“With this we can make the tour of—”

“Of the world?” suggested Spilett.

“No, but of the island. Some stones for ballast, a mast in the bow,
with a sail which Mr. Smith will make some day, and away we’ll go! But
now let us try our new ship, for we must see if it will carry all of
us.”

The experiment was made. Pencroff, by a stroke of the paddle, brought
the canoe close to the shore by a narrow passage between the rocks, and
he was confident that they could at once make a trial trip of the craft
by following the bank as far as the lower point where the rocks ended.

As they were stepping in, Neb cried:—

“But your boat leaks, Pencroff.”

“Oh, that’s nothing, Neb,” answered the sailor. “The wood has to drink!
But in two days it will not show, and there will be as little water in
our canoe as in the stomach of a drunkard! Come, get in!”

They all embarked, and Pencroff pushed off. The weather was splendid,
the sea was as calm as a lake, and the canoe could venture upon it with
as much security as upon the tranquil current of the Mercy.

Neb and Herbert took the oars, and Pencroff sat in the stern with the
paddle as steersman.

The sailor crossed the channel, and rounded the southern point of the
islet. A gentle breeze was wafted from the south. There were no
billows, but the canoe rose and fell with the long undulations of the
sea, and they rowed out half a mile from the coast so as to get a view
of the outline of Mount Franklin. Then, putting about, Pencroff
returned towards the mouth of the river, and followed along the rounded
shore which hid the low marshy ground of Tadorn’s Fen. The point, made
longer by the bend of the coast, was three miles from the Mercy, and
the colonists resolved to go past it far enough to obtain a hasty
glance at the coast as far as Claw Cape.

The canoe followed along the shore, keeping off some two cables length
so as to avoid the line of rocks beginning to be covered by the tide.
The cliff, beginning at the mouth of the river, lowered as it
approached the promontory. It was a savage-looking, unevenly-arranged
heap of granite blocks, very different from the curtain of Prospect
Plateau. There was not a trace of vegetation on this sharp point, which
projected two miles beyond the forest, like a giant’s arm, thrust out
from a green sleeve.

The canoe sped easily along. Spilett sketched the outline of the coast
in his note-book, and Neb, Pencroff, and Herbert discussed the features
of their new domain; and as they moved southward the two Mandible Capes
seemed to shut together and enclose Union Bay. As to Smith, he regarded
everything in silence, and from his distrustful expression it seemed as
if he was observing some suspicious land.

The canoe had reached the end of the point and was about doubling it,
when Herbert rose, and pointing out a black object, said:—

“What is that down there on the sand?”

Every one looked in the direction indicated.

“There is something there, indeed,” said the reporter. “It looks like a
wreck half buried in the sand.”

“Oh, I see what it is!” cried Pencroff.

“What?” asked Neb.

“Barrels! they are barrels, and, may be, they are full!”

“To shore, Pencroff!” said Smith.

And with a few strokes the canoe was driven into a little cove, and the
party went up the beach.

Pencroff was not mistaken. There were two barrels half buried in the
sand; but firmly fastened to them was a large box, which, borne up by
them, had been floated on to the shore.

“Has there been a shipwreck here?” asked Herbert.

“Evidently,” answered Spilett.

“But what is in this box?” exclaimed Pencroff, with a natural
impatience. “What is in this box? It is closed, and we have nothing
with which to raise the lid. However, with a stone—”

And the sailor picked up a heavy rock, and was about to break one of
the sides, when the engineer, stopping him, said:—

“Cannot you moderate your impatience for about an hour, Pencroff?”

“But, think, Mr. Smith! May be there is everything we want in it!”

“We will find out, Pencroff,” answered the engineer, “but do not break
the box, as it will be useful. Let us transport it to Granite House,
where we can readily open it without injuring it. It is all prepared
for the voyage, and since it has floated here, it can float again to
the river month.”

“You are right, sir, and I am wrong,” answered the sailor, “but one is
not always his own master!”

The engineer’s advice was good. It was likely that the canoe could not
carry the things probably enclosed in the box, since the latter was so
heavy that it had to be buoyed up by two empty barrels. It was,
therefore, better to tow it in this condition to the shore at the
Granite House.

And now the important question was, from whence came this jetsam? Smith
and his companions searched the beach for several hundred paces, but
there was nothing else to be seen. They scanned the sea, Herbert and
Neb climbing up a high rock, but not a sail was visible on the horizon.

Nevertheless, there must have been a shipwreck, and perhaps this
incident was connected with the incident of the bullet. Perhaps the
strangers had landed upon another part of the island. Perhaps they were
still there. But the natural conclusion of the colonists was that these
strangers could not be Malay pirates, since the jetsam was evidently of
European or American production.

They all went back to the box, which measured five feet by three. It
was made of oak, covered with thick leather, studded with copper nails.
The two large barrels, hermetically sealed, but which sounded empty,
were fastened to its sides by means of strong ropes, tied in what
Pencroff recognized to be “sailor’s knots.” That it was uninjured
seemed to be accounted for by the fact of its having been thrown upon
the sand instead of the rocks. And it was evident that it had not been
long either in the sea or upon the beach. It seemed probable, also,
that the water had not penetrated, and that its contents would be found
uninjured. It therefore looked as if this box must have been thrown
overboard from a disabled ship making for the island. And, in the hope
that it would reach the island, where they would find it later, the
passengers had taken the precaution to buoy it up.

“We will tow this box to Granite House,” said the engineer, “and take
an inventory of its contents; then, if we discover any of the survivors
of this supposed shipwreck, we will return them what is theirs. If we
find no one—”

“We will keep the things ourselves!” cried the sailor. “But I wish I
knew what is in it.”

The sailor was already working at the prize, which would doubtless
float at high water. One of the ropes which was fastened to the barrels
was partly untwisted and served to fasten these latter to the canoe.
Then, Neb and Pencroff dug out the sand with their oars, and soon the
canoe, with the jetsam in tow, was rounding the promontory to which
they gave the name of Jetsam Point. The box was so heavy that the
barrels just sufficed to sustain it above the water; and Pencroff
feared each moment that it would break loose and sink to the bottom.
Fortunately his fears were groundless, and in an hour and a half the
canoe touched the bank before Granite House.

The boat and the prize were drawn upon the shore, and as the tide was
beginning to fall, both soon rested on dry ground. Neb brought some
tools so as to open the box without injury, and the colonists forthwith
proceeded to examine its contents.

Pencroff did not try to hide his anxiety. He began by unfastening the
barrels, which would be useful in the future, then the fastenings were
forced with pincers, and the cover taken off. A second envelope, of
zinc, was enclosed within the case, in such a manner that its contents
were impervious to moisture.

“Oh!” cried Pencroff, “they must be preserves which are inside.”

“I hope for something better than that,” answered the reporter.

“If it should turn out that there was—” muttered the sailor.

“What?” asked Neb.

“Nothing!”

The zinc cover was split, lengthwise and turned back, and, little by
little, many different objects were lifted out on the sand. At each new
discovery Pencroff cheered, Herbert clapped his hands, and Neb danced.
There were books which made the lad crazy with pleasure, and cooking
implements which Neb covered with kisses.

In truth the colonists had reason to be satisfied, as the following
inventory, copied from Spilett’s note-book, will show:—

TOOLS.—3 pocket-knives, with-several blades, 2 wood-chopper’s hatchets,
2 carpenter’s hatchets, 3 planes, I adzes, l axe, 6 cold chisels, 2
files, 3 hammers, 3 gimlets, 2 augers, 10 bags of nails and screws, 3
saws of different sizes, 2 boxes of needles.

ARMS.—2 flint-lock guns, 2 percussion guns, 2 central-fire carbines; 5
cutlasses, 4 boarding sabres, 2 barrels of powder, holding l5 pounds
each, l2 boxes of caps.

INSTRUMENTS.—1 sextant, 1 opera-glass, 1 spyglass, 1 box compass, 1
pocket compass, 1 Fahrenheit thermometer, 1 aneroid barometer, 1 box
containing a photographic apparatus, together with glasses, chemicals,
etc.

CLOTHING.—2 dozen shirts of a peculiar material resembling wool, though
evidently a vegetable substance; 3 dozen stockings of the same
material.

UTENSILS.—1 Iron pot, 6 tinned copper stewpans, 3 iron plates, 10
aluminium knives and forks, 2 kettles, 1 small portable stove. 5 table
knives.

BOOKS.-l Bible, 1 atlas, 1 dictionary of Polynesian languages, 1
dictionary of the Natural Sciences, 3 reams of blank paper, 2 blank
books.

“Unquestionably,” said the reporter, after the inventory had been
taken, “the owner of this box was a practical man! Tools, arms,
instruments, clothing, utensils, books, nothing is wanting. One would
say that he had made ready for a shipwreck before-hand!”

“Nothing, Indeed, is wanting,” murmured Smith, thoughtfully.

“And it is a sure thing,” added Herbert, “that the ship that brought
this box was not a Malay pirate!”

“Unless its owner had been taken prisoner,” said Pencroff.

“That is not likely,” answered the reporter. “It is more probable that
an American or European ship has been driven to this neighborhood, and
that the passengers, wishing to save what was, at least, necessary,
have prepared this box and have thrown it overboard.”

“And do you think so, Mr. Smith?” asked Herbert.

“Yes, my boy,” answered the engineer, “that might have been the case.
It is possible, that, anticipating a ship wreck, this chest has been
prepared, so that it might be found again on the coast—”

“But the photographic apparatus!” observed the sailor incredulously.

“As to that,” answered the engineer, “I do not see its use; what we, as
well as any other ship wrecked person, would have valued more, would
have been a greater assortment of clothing and more ammunition!”

“But have none of these things any mark by which we can tell where they
came from,” askedSpilett.

They looked to see. Each article was examined attentively, but,
contrary to custom, neither books, instruments, nor arms had any name
or mark; nevertheless, they were in perfect order, and seemed never to
have been used. So also with the tools and utensils; everything was
new, and this went to prove that the things had not been hastily thrown
together in the box, but that their selection had been made
thoughtfully and with care. This, also, was evident from the zinc case
which had kept everything watertight, and which could not have been
soldered in a moment.

The two dictionaries and the Bible were in English, and the latter
showed that it had been often read. The Atlas was a splendid work,
containing maps of every part of the world, and many charts laid out on
Mercator’s Projection. The nomenclature in this book was in French, but
neither in it, nor in any of the others, did the name of the editor or
publisher appear.

The colonists, therefore, were unable to even conjecture the
nationality of the ship that had so recently passed near them. But no
matter where it came from, this box enriched the party on Lincoln
Island. Until now, in transforming the products of nature, they had
created everything for themselves, and had succeeded by their own
intelligence. Did it not now seem as if Providence had intended to
reward them by placing these divers products of human industry in their
hands? Therefore, with one accord, they all rendered thanks to Heaven.

Nevertheless, Pencroff was not entirely satisfied. It appeared that the
box did not contain something to which he attached an immense
importance, and as its contests lessened, his cheers had become less
hearty, and when the inventory was closed, he murmured:—

“That’s all very fine, but you see there is nothing for me here!”

“Why, what did you expect, Pencroff?” exclaimed Neb.

“A half pound of tobacco,” answered the sailor, “and then I would have
been perfectly happy!”

The discovery of this jetsam made the thorough exploration of the
island more necessary than ever. It was, therefore, agreed that they
should set out early the next morning, proceeding to the western coast
via the Mercy. If anyone had been shipwrecked on that part of the
island, they were doubtless without resources, and help must be given
them at once.

During the day the contents of the box were carried to Granite House
and arranged in order in the great hall. And that evening—the 29th of
October—Herbert before retiring asked Mr. Smith to read some passages
from the Bible.

“Gladly,” answered the engineer, taking the sacred book in his hands;
when Pencroff checking him, said:—

“Mr. Smith, I am superstitious. Open the book at random and read the
first verse which you meet with. We will see if it applies to our
situation.”

Smith smiled at the words of the sailor, but yielding to his wishes he
opened the Bible where the marker lay between the leaves. Instantly his
eye fell upon a red cross made with a crayon, opposite the 8th verse of
the seventh chapter of St. Matthew.

He read these words:—

“For every one that asketh, receiveth; and he that seeketh, findeth.”




CHAPTER XXV.


THE DEPARTURE—THE RISING TIDE—ELMS AND OTHER TREES—DIFFERENT PLANTS—THE
KINGFISHER—APPEARANCE OF THE FOREST—THE GIGANTIC EUCALYPTI—WHY THEY ARE
CALLED FEVER-TREES—MONKEYS—THE WATERFALL—ENCAMPMENT FOR THE NIGHT.


The next day—the 30th of October—everything was prepared for the
proposed exploration, which these last events had made so necessary.
Indeed, as things had turned out, the colonists could well imagine
themselves in a condition to give, rather than to receive, help.

It was agreed that they ascend the Mercy as far as practicable. They
would thus be able to transport their arms and provisions a good part
of the way without fatigue.

It was also necessary to think, not only of what they now carried, but
of what they might perhaps bring back to Granite House. If, as all
thought, there had been a shipwreck on the coast, they would find many
things they wanted on the shore, and the cart would doubtless have
proved more convenient than the canoe. But the cart was so heavy and
unwieldy that it would have been too hard work to drag it, which fact
made Pencroff regret that the box had not only held his half-pound of
tobacco, but also a pair of stout New Jersey horses, which would have
been so useful to the colony.

The provisions, already packed by Neb, consisted of enough dried meat,
beer, and fermented liquor to last them for the three days which Smith
expected they would be absent. Moreover, they counted on being able to
replenish their stock at need along the route, and Neb had taken care
not to forget the portable stove.

They took the two wood-choppers’ hatchets to aid in making their way
through the thick forest, and also the glass and the pocket compass.

Of the arms, they chose the two flint-lock guns in preference to the
others, as the colonists could always renew the flints; whereas the
caps could not be replaced. Nevertheless, they took one of the carbines
and some cartridges. As for the powder, the barrels held fifty pounds,
and it was necessary to take a certain amount of that; but the engineer
expected to manufacture an explosive substance, by which it could be
saved in the future. To the firearms they added the five cutlasses, in
leather scabbards. And thus equipped, the party could venture into the
forest with some chance of success.

Armed in this manner, Pencroff, Herbert, and Neb had all they could
desire, although Smith made them promise not to fire a shot
unnecessarily.

At 6 o’clock the party, accompanied by Top, started for the mouth of
the Mercy. The tide had been rising half an hour, and there were
therefore some hours yet of the flood which they could make use of. The
current was strong, and they did not need to row to pass rapidly up
between the high banks and the river. In a few minutes the explorers
had reached the turn where, seven months before, Pencroff had made his
first raft. Having passed this elbow, the river, flowing from the
southwest, widened out under the shadow of the grand ever-green
conifers; and Smith and his companions could not but admire the
beautiful scenery. As they advanced the species of forest trees
changed. On the right bank rose splendid specimens of ulmaceæ, those
valuable elms so much sought after by builders, which have the property
of remaining sound for a long time in water. There was, also, numerous
groups belonging to the same family, among them the micocouliers, the
root of which produces a useful oil. Herbert discovered some
lardizabalaceæ, whose flexible branches, soaked in water, furnish
excellent ropes, and two or three trunks of ebony of a beautiful black
color, curiously veined.

From time to time, where a landing was easy, the canoe stopped, and
Spilett, Herbert, and Pencroff, accompanied by Top, explored the bank.
In addition to the game, Herbert thought that he might meet with some
useful little plant which was not to be despised, and the young
naturalist was rewarded by discovering a sort of wild spinach and
numerous specimens of the genus cabbage, which would, doubtless, bear
transplanting; they were cresses, horse-radishes, and a little,
velvety, spreading plant, three-feet high, bearing brownish-colored
seeds.

“Do you know what this is?” asked Herbert of the sailor.

“Tobacco!” cried Pencroff, who had evidently never seen the plant which
he fancied so much.

“No, Pencroff,” answered Herbert, “It is not tobacco, it is mustard.”

“Only mustard!” exclaimed the other. “Well if you happen to come across
a tobacco plant, my boy, do not pass it by.”

“We will find it someday,” said Spilett.

“All right,” cried Pencroff, “and then I will be able to say that the
island lacks nothing!”

These plants were taken up carefully and carried back to the canoe,
where Cyrus Smith had remained absorbed in his own thoughts.

The reporter, Herbert, and Pencroff, made many of these excursions,
sometimes on the right bank of the Mercy and sometimes upon the left.
The latter was less abrupt, but more wooded. The engineer found, by
reference to the pocket-compass, that the general direction of the
river from its bend was southwest, and that it was nearly straight for
about three miles. But it was probable that the direction would change
further up, and that it would flow from the spurs of Mount Franklin,
which fed its waters in the northwest.

During one of these excursions Spilett caught a couple of birds with
long, slim beaks, slender necks, short wings, and no tails, which
Herbert called tinamous, and which they resolved should be the first
occupants of the future poultry-yard.

But the first report of a gun that echoed through the forests of the
Far West, was provoked by the sight of a beautiful bird, resembling a
kingfisher.

“I know it,” cried Pencroff.

“What do you know?” asked the reporter.

“That bird! It is the bird which escaped on our first exploration, the
one after which we named this part of the forest!”

“A jacamar!” exclaimed Herbert.

It was, indeed, one of those beautiful birds, whose harsh plumage is
covered with a metallic lustre. Some small shot dropped it to the
earth, and Top brought it, and also some touracolories, climbing birds,
the size of pigeons, to the canoe. The honor of this first shot
belonged to the lad, who was pleased enough with the result. The
touracolories were better game than the jacamar, the flash of the
latter being tough, but it would have been hard to persuade Pencroff
that they had not killed the most delicious of birds.

It was 10 o’clock when the canoe reached the second bend of the river,
some five miles from the mouth. Here they stopped half an hour, under
the shadow of the trees, for breakfast.

The river measured from sixty to seventy feet in width, and was five or
six feet deep. The engineer had remarked its several affluents, but
they were simply unnavigable streams. The Forests of the Far West, or
Jacamar Wood, extended farther than they could see, but no where could
they detect the presence of man. If, therefore, any persons had been
shipwrecked on the island, they had not yet quitted the shore, and it
was not in those thick coverts that search must be made for the
survivors.

The engineer began to manifest some anxiety to get to the western coast
of the island, distant, as he calculated, about five miles or less. The
journey was resumed, and, although the course of the Mercy, sometimes
towards the shore, was oftener towards the mountain, it was thought
better to follow it as long as possible, on account of the fatigue and
loss of time incident to hewing a way through the wood. Soon, the tide
having attained its height, Herbert and Neb took the oars, and Pencroff
the paddle, wad they continued the ascent by rowing.

It seemed as if the forest of the Far West began to grow thinner. But,
as the trees grew farther apart, they profited by the increased space,
and attained a splendid growth.

“Eucalypti!” cried Herbert, descrying some of these superb plants, the
loftiest giants of the extra-tropical zone, the congeners of the
eucalypti of Australia and New Zealand, both of which countries were
situated in the same latitude as Lincoln Island. Some rose 200 feet in
height and measured twenty feet in circumference, and their bark, five
fingers in thickness, exuded an aromatic resin. Equally wonderful were
the enormous specimens of myrtle, their leaves extending edgewise to
the sun, and permitting its rays to penetrate and fall upon the ground.

“What trees!” exclaimed Neb. “Are they good for anything?”

“Pshaw!” answered Pencroff. “They are like overgrown men, good for
nothing but to show in fairs!”

“I think you’re wrong, Pencroff,” said Spilett, “the eucalyptus wood is
beginning to be extensively used in cabinet work.”

“And I am sure,” added Herbert, “that it belongs to a most useful
family,” and thereupon the young naturalist enumerated many species of
the plant and their uses.

Every one listened to the lad’s lesson in botany, Smith smiling,
Pencroff with an indescribable pride. “That’s all very well, Herbert,”
answered the sailor, “but I dare swear that of all these useful
specimens none are as large as these!”

“That is so.”

“Then, that proves what I said,” replied the sailor, “that giants are
good for nothing.”

“There’s where you are wrong, Pencroff,” said the engineer, “these very
eucalypti are good for something.”

“For what?”

“To render the country healthy about them. Do you know what they call
them In Australia and New Zealand?”

“No sir.”

“They call them ‘fever’ trees.”

“Because they give it?”

“No; because they prevent it!”

“Good. I shall make a note of that,” said the reporter.

“Note then, my dear Spilett, that it has been proved that the presence
of these trees neutralizes marsh miasmas. They have tried this natural
remedy in certain unhealthy parts of Europe, and northern Africa, with
the best results. And there are no intermittent fevers in the region of
these forests, which is a fortunate thing for us colonists of Lincoln
Island.”

“What a blessed island!” cried Pencroff. “It would lack nothing—if it
was not—”

“That will come, Pencroff, we will find it,” answered the reporter;
“but now let us attend to our work and push on as far as we can get
with the canoe.”

They continued on through the woods two miles further, the river
becoming more winding, shallow, and so narrow that Pencroff pushed
along with a pole. The sun was setting, and, as it would be impossible
to pass in the darkness through the five or six miles of unknown woods
which the engineer estimated lay between them and the coast, it was
determined to camp wherever the canoe was obliged to stop.

They now pushed on without delay through the forest, which grew more
dense, and seemed more inhabited, because, if the sailor’s eyes did not
deceive him, he perceived troops of monkeys running among the
underbrush. Sometimes, two or three of these animals would halt at a
distance from the canoe and regard its occupants, as if, seeing men for
the first time, they had not then learned to fear them. It would have
been easy to have shot some of these quadrumanes, but Smith was opposed
to the useless slaughter. Pencroff, however, looked upon the monkey
from a gastronomic point of view, and, indeed, as these animals are
entirely herberiferous, they make excellent game; but since provisions
abounded, it was useless to waste the ammunition.

Towards 4 o’clock the navigation of the Mercy became very difficult,
its course being obstructed by rocks and aquatic plants. The banks rose
higher and higher, and, already, the bed of the stream was confined
between the outer spurs of Mount Franklin. Its sources could not be far
off, since the waters were fed by the southern watershed of that
mountain.

“Before a quarter of an hour we will have to stop, sir,” said Pencroff.

“Well, then, we will make a camp for the night.”

“How far are we from Granite House?” asked Herbert.

“About seven miles, counting the bends of the river, which have taken
us to the northwest.”

“Shall we keep on?” asked the reporter.

“Yes, as far as we can get,” answered the engineer. “To-morrow, at
daylight, we will leave the canoe, and traverse, in two hours I hope,
the distance which separates us from the coast, and then we will have
nearly the whole day in which to explore the shore.”

“Push on,” cried Pencroff.

Very soon the canoe grated on the stones at the bottom of the river,
which was not more than twenty feet wide. A thick mass of verdure
overhung and descended the stream, and they heard the noise of a
waterfall, which indicated that some little distance further on there
existed a natural barrier.

And, indeed, at the last turn in the river, they saw the cascade
shining through the trees. The canoe scraped over the bottom and then
grounded on a rock near the right bank.

It was 5 o’clock, and the level rays of the setting sun illuminated the
little fall. Above, the Mercy, supplied from a secret source, was
hidden by the bushes. The various streams together had made it a river,
but here it was but a shallow, limpid brook.

They made camp in this lovely spot. Having disembarked, a fire was
lighted under a group of micocouliers, in whose branches Smith and his
companions could, if need be, find a refuge for the night.

Supper was soon finished, as they were very hungry, and then there was
nothing to do but to go to sleep. But some suspicious growling being
heard at nightfall, the fire was so arranged as to protect the sleepers
by its flames. Neb and Pencroff kept it lit, and perhaps they were not
mistaken in believing to have seen some moving shadows among the trees
and bushes; but the night passed without accident, and the next day—the
31st of October—by 5 o’clock all were on foot ready for the start.




CHAPTER XXVI.


GOING TOWARD THE COAST—TROOPS OF MONKEYS—A NEW WATER-COURSE—WHY THE
TIDE WAS NOT FELT—A FOREST ON THE SHORE—REPTILE PROMONTORY—SPILETT
MAKES HERBERT ENVIOUS—THE BAMBOO FUSILADE.


It was 6 o’clock when the colonists, after an early breakfast, started
with the intention of reaching the coast by the shortest route. Smith
had estimated that it would take them two hours, but it must depend
largely on the nature of the obstacles in the way. This part of the Far
West was covered with trees, like an immense thicket composed of many
different species. It was, therefore, probable that they would have to
make a way with hatchets in hand—and guns also, if they were to judge
from the cries heard over night.

The exact position of the camp had been determined by the situation of
Mount Franklin, and since the volcano rose less than three miles to the
north, it was only necessary to go directly toward the southwest to
reach the west coast.

After having seen to the mooring of the canoe, the party started, Neb
and Pencroff carrying sufficient provisions to last the little troop
for two days at least. They were no longer hunting, and the engineer
recommended his companions to refrain from unnecessary firing, so as
not to give warning of their presence on the coast. The first blows of
the hatchet were given in the bushes just above the cascade, while
Smith, compass in hand, indicated the route. The forest was, for the
most part, composed of such trees as had already been recognized about
the lake and on Prospect Plateau. The colonists could advance but
slowly, and the engineer believed that in time their route would join
with that of Red Creek.

Since their departure, the party had descended the low declivities
which constituted the orography of the island, over a very dry
district, although the luxuriant vegetation suggested either a
hydrographic network permeating the ground beneath, or the proximity to
some stream. Nevertheless, Smith did not remember having seen, during
the excursion to the crater, any other water courses than Bed Creek and
the Mercy.

During the first few hours of the march, they saw troops of monkeys,
who manifested the greatest astonishment at the sight of human beings.
Spilett laughingly asked if these robust quadrumanes did not look upon
their party as degenerate brethren; and, in truth, the simple
pedestrians, impeded at each step by the bushes, entangled in the
lianas, stopped by tree trunks, did not compare favorably with these
nimble animals, which bounded from branch to branch, moving about
without hindrance. These monkeys were very numerous, but, fortunately,
they did not manifest any hostile disposition.

They saw, also, some wild-boars, some agoutis, kangaroos, and other
rodents, and two or three koulas, which latter Pencroff would have been
glad to shoot.

“But,” said he, “the hunt has not begun. Play now, my friends, and we
will talk to you when we come back.”

At half-past 9, the route, which bore directly southwest, was suddenly
interrupted by a rapid stream, rushing over rocks, and pent in between
banks but thirty or forty feet apart. It was deep and clear, but
absolutely unnavigable.

“We are stopped!” cried Neb.

“No,” replied Herbert; “we can swim such a brook as this.”

“Why should we do that?” answered Smith. “It is certain that this creek
empties into the sea. Let us keep to this bank and I will be astonished
if it does not soon bring us to the coast. Come on!”

“One minute,” said the reporter. “The name of this creek, my friends?
We must not leave our geography incomplete.”

“True enough,” said Pencroff.

“You name it, my boy,” said the engineer, addressing Herbert.

“Will not it be better to wait till we have discovered its mouth?”
asked Herbert.

“Right,” replied Smith, “let us push on.”

“Another minute,” exclaimed Pencroff.

“What more?” demanded the reporter.

“If hunting is forbidden, fishing is allowed, I suppose,” said the
sailor.

“We haven’t the time to waste,” answered the engineer.

“But just five minutes,” pleaded Pencroff; “I only want five minutes
for the sake of breakfast!” And lying down on the bank he plunged his
arms in the running waters and soon brought up several dozen of the
fine crawfish which swarmed between the rocks.

“These will be good!” cried Neb, helping the sailor.

“Did not I tell you that the island had everything but tobacco?” sighed
the sailor.

It took but five minutes to fill a sack with these little blue
crustaceæ, and then the journey was resumed.

By following the bank the colonists moved more freely. Now and then
they found traces of large animals which came to the stream for water,
but they found no sign of human beings, and they were not yet in that
part of the Far West where the peccary had received the leaden pellet
which cost Pencroff a tooth.

Smith and his companions judged, from the fact that the current rushed
towards the sea with such rapidity, that they must be much farther
from, the coast than they imagined, because at this time the tide was
rising, and its’ effect would have been visible near the mouth of the
creek. The engineer was greatly astonished, and often consulted his
compass to be sure that the stream, was not returning towards the
depths of the forest. Meantime, its waters, gradually widening, became
less tumultuous. The growth of trees on the right bank was much denser
than on the left, and it was impossible to see through this thicket;
but these woods were certainly not inhabited, or Top would have
discovered it. At half-past 10, to the extreme surprise of Smith,
Herbert, who was walking some paces ahead, suddenly stopped,
exclaiming, “The sea!”

And a few minutes later the colonists, standing upon the border of the
forest, saw the western coast of the island spread before them.

But what a contrast was this coast to the one on which chance had
thrown them! No granite wall, no reef in the offing, not even a beach.
The forest formed the shore, and its furthermost trees, washed by the
waves, leaned over the waters. It was in no sense such a beach as is
usually met with, composed of vast reaches of sand or heaps of rocks,
but a fine border of beautiful trees. The bank was raised above the
highest tides, and upon this rich soil, supported by a granite base,
the splendid monarchs of the forest seemed to be as firmly set as were
those which stood in the interior of the island.

The colonists stood in a hollow by a tiny rivulet, which served as a
neck to the other stream; but, curiously enough, these waters, instead
of emptying into the sea by a gently sloping opening, fell from a
height of more than forty feet—which fact explained why the rising tide
did not affect the current. And, on this account, they were unanimous
in giving this water-course the name of Fall River.

Beyond, towards the north, the forest shore extended for two miles;
then the trees became thinner, and, still further on, a line of
picturesque heights extended from north to south. On the other hand,
all that part of the coast comprised between Fall River and the
promontory of Reptile End was bordered by masses of magnificent trees,
some upright and others leaning over the sea, whose waves lapped their
roots. It was evidently, therefore, on this part of the coast that the
exploration must be continued, as this shore offered to the castaways,
whoever they might be, a refuge, which the other, desert and savage,
had refused.

The weather was beautiful, and from the cliff where the breakfast had
been prepared, the view extended far and wide. The horizon was
perfectly distinct, without a sail in sight, and upon the coast, as far
as could be seen, there was neither boat nor wreck, but the engineer
was not willing to be satisfied in this respect, until they had
explored the whole distance as far as Serpentine Peninsula.

After a hurried breakfast he gave the signal to start. Instead of
traversing a beach, the colonists followed along the coast, under the
trees. The distance to Reptile End was about twelve miles, and, had the
way been clear, they could have accomplished it in four hours, but the
party were constantly obliged to turn out from the way, or to cut
branches, or to break through thickets, and these hindrances multiplied
as they proceeded. But they saw no signs of a recent shipwreck on the
shore; although, as Spilett observed, as the tide was up, they could
not say with certainty that there had not been one.

This reasoning was just, and, moreover, the incident of the bullet
proved, indubitably, that within three months a gun had been fired on
the island.

At 5 o’clock the extremity of the peninsula was still two miles
distant, and it was evident that the colonists would have to camp for
the night on the promontory of Reptile End. Happily, game was as plenty
here as on the other coast, and birds of different kinds abounded. Two
hours later, the party, tired out, reached the promontory. Here the
forest border ended, and the shore assumed the usual aspect of a coast.
It was possible that an abandoned vessel might be here, but, as the
night was falling, it was necessary to postpone the exploration until
the morrow.

Pencroff and Herbert hastened to find a suitable place for a camp. The
outskirts of the forest died away here, and near them the lad found a
bamboo thicket.

“Good,” said he, “this is a valuable discovery.”

“Valuable?” asked Pencroff.

“Yes, indeed, I need not tell you, Pencroff, all its uses, such as for
making baskets, paper, and water-pipes; that the larger ones make
excellent building material and strong jars. But—”

“But?”

“But perhaps you do not know that in India they eat bamboo as we do
asparagus.”

“Asparagus thirty feet high?” cried, Pencroff. “And is it good?”

“Excellent,” answered the lad. “But they eat only the young sprouts.”

“Delicious!” cried Pencroff.

“And I am sure that the pith of young plants preserved in vinegar makes
an excellent condiment.”

“Better and better.”

“And, lastly, they exude a sweet liquor which makes a pleasant drink.”

“Is that all?” demanded the sailor.

“That’s all.”

“Isn’t it good to smoke?”

“No, my poor Pencroff, you cannot smoke it!”

They did not have to search far for a good place for the camp. The
rocks, much worn by the action of the sea, had many hollows that would
afford shelter from the wind. But just as they were about to enter one
of these cavities they were arrested by formidable growlings.

“Get back!” cried Pencroff, “we have only small shot in our guns, and
these beasts would mind it no more than salt!”

And the sailor, seizing Herbert, dragged him behind some rocks, just as
a huge jaguar appeared at the mouth of the cavern. Its skin was yellow,
striped with black, and softened off with white under its belly. The
beast advanced, and looked about. Its hair was bristling, and its eyes
sparkling as if it was not scenting man for the first time.

Just then Spilett appeared, coming round the high rocks, and Herbert,
thinking he had not seen the jaguar, was about rushing towards him,
when the reporter, motioning with his hand, continued his approach. It
was not his first tiger.

Advancing within ten paces of the animal, he rested motionless, his gun
at his shoulder, not a muscle quivering. The jaguar, crouching back,
made a bound towards the hunter, but as it sprung a bullet struck it
between the eyes, dropping it dead.

Herbert and Pencroff rushed to it, and Smith and Neb coming up at the
moment, all stopped to look at the splendid animal lying at length upon
the sand.

“Oh, Mr. Spilett, how I envy you!” cried Herbert, in an excess of
natural enthusiasm.

“Well, my boy, you would have done as well,” answered the reporter.

“I have been as cool as that!”

“Only imagine, Herbert, that a jaguar is a hare, and you will shoot him
as unconcernedly as anything in the world! And now,” continued the
reporter, “since the jaguar has left his retreat I don’t see, my
friends, why we should not occupy the place during the night”

“But some others may return!” said Pencroff.

“We will only have to light a fire at the entrance of the cavern,” said
the reporter, “and they will not dare to cross the threshold.”

“To the jaguar house, then,” cried the sailor, dragging the body of the
animal after him.

The colonists went to the abandoned cave, and, while Neb was occupied
in skinning the carcass, the others busied themselves with piling a
great quantity of dry wood around the threshold. This done they
installed themselves in the cave, whose floor was strewn with bones;
the arms were loaded for an emergency; and, having eaten supper, as
soon as the time for sleep was come, the fire at the entrance was lit.

Immediately a tremendous fusilade ensued! It was the bamboo which, in
burning, exploded like fire-works! The noise, in itself, would have
been sufficient to frighten off the bravest beasts.




CHAPTER XXVII.


PROPOSAL TO RETURN BY THE SOUTH COAST—ITS CONFIGURATION—SEARCH FOR THE
SHIPWRECKED—A WAIF IN THE AIR—DISCOVERY OF A SMALL NATURAL
HARBOR—MIDNIGHT ON THE MERCY—A DRIFTING CANOE.


Smith and his companions slept like mice in the cavern which the jaguar
had so politely vacated, and, by sunrise, all were on the extremity of
the promontory, and scrutinizing the horizon visible on either hand. No
ship or wreck was to be seen, and not even with the spy-glass could any
suspicious object be discerned. It was the same along the shore, at
least on all that portion, three miles in length, which formed the
south side of the promontory; as, beyond that, a slope of the land
concealed the rest of the coast, and even from the extremity of
Serpentine Peninsula, Claw Cape was hidden by high rocks.

The southern bank of the island remained to be explored. Had they not
better attempt this at once, and give up this day to it? This procedure
had not entered into their first calculations, as, when the canoe was
left at the sources of the Mercy, the colonists thought that, having
explored the west coast, they would return by the river; Smith having
then believed that this coast sheltered either a wreck or a passing
ship. But as soon as this shore disclosed no landing place, it became
necessary to search the south side of the island for those whom they
had failed to discover on the west.

It was Spilett who proposed continuing the exploration so as to settle
definitely the question of the supposed shipwreck, and he inquired how
far it would be to Claw Cape.

“About thirty miles,” answered the engineer, “if we allow for the
irregularity of the shore.”

“Thirty miles!” exclaimed Spilett, “that would be a long walk.
Nevertheless, I think we should return to Granite House by the south
coast.”

“But,” observed Herbert, “from Claw Cape to Granite House is at least
ten miles further.”

“Call it forty miles altogether,” answered the reporter, “and do not
let us hesitate to do it. At least we will have seen this unknown
shore, and will not have it to explore over again.”

“That is so,” said Pencroff. “But how about the canoe?”

“The canoe can stay where it is for a day or two,” replied Spilett. “We
can hardly say that the island is infested with thieves!” ‘

“Nevertheless, when I remember that affair of the turtle, I am not so
confident.”

“The turtle! the turtle!” cried the reporter, “don’t you know that the
sea turned it over?”

“Who can say?” murmured the engineer.

“But—,” began Neb, who, it was evident, wished to say something.

“What is it, Neb?” questioned the engineer.

“If we do return by the shore to Claw Cape, after having gone round it,
we will be stopped—”

“By the Mercy!” cried Herbert. “And we have no bridge or boat!”

“Oh!” answered Pencroff, “we can cross it readily enough with some
logs.”

“Nevertheless,” said Spilett, “it would be well to build a bridge some
time if we wish to have ready access to the Far West.”

“A bridge!” cried Pencroff. “Well isn’t Mr. Smith State Engineer? If we
shall need a bridge we will have one. As to carrying you over the Mercy
to-night without getting wet, I will look out for that. We still have a
day’s provision, which is all that is necessary, and, besides, the game
may not give out to-day as It did yesterday. So let us go.”

The proposal of the reporter, strongly seconded by the sailor, obtained
general approval, as every one wished to end their doubts, and by
returning by Claw Cape the exploration would be complete. But no time
was to be lost, for the tramp was long, and they counted on reaching
Granite House that night. So by 6 o’clock the little party was on its
way, the guns loaded with ball in case of an encounter, and Top, who
went ahead, ordered to search the edge of the forest.

The first five miles of the distance was rapidly traversed, and not the
slightest sign of any human being was seen. When the colonists arrived
at the point where the curvature of the promontory ended, and
Washington Bay began, they were able to take in at one view the whole
extent of the southern coast. Twenty-five miles distant the shore was
terminated by Claw Cape, which was faintly visible through the morning
mists, and reproduced as a mirage in mid-air. Between the place
occupied by the colonists and the upper end of the Great Bay the shore
began with a flat and continuous beach, bordered in the background by
tall trees; following this, it became very irregular, and thrust sharp
points into the sea, and finally a heap of black rocks, thrown together
in picturesque disorder, completed the distance to Claw Cape.

“A ship would surely be lost on these sands and shoals and reefs,” said
Pencroff.

“It is poor quarters!”

“But at least a portion of her would be left,” observed the reporter.

“Some bits of wood would remain on the reefs, nothing on the sands,”
answered the sailor.

“How is that?”

“Because the sands are even more dangerous than the rocks, and swallow
up everything that is thrown upon them; a few days suffice to bury out
of sight the hull of a ship of many tons measurement.”

“Then, Pencroff,” questioned the engineer, “if a vessel had been lost
on these banks, it would not be surprising if there was no trace left?”

“No, sir, that is after a time or after a tempest. Nevertheless, it
would be surprising, as now, that no spars or timbers were thrown upon
the shore beyond the reach of the sea.”

“Let us continue our search,” replied Smith.

By 1 o’clock the party had accomplished twenty miles, having reached
the upper end of Washington Bay, and they stopped to lunch.

Here began an irregular shore, oddly cut into by a long line of rocks,
succeeding the sand banks, and just beginning to show themselves by
long streaks of foam, above the undulations of the receding waves. From
this point to Claw Cape the beach was narrow and confined between the
reef of rocks and the forest, and the march would therefore be more
difficult. The granite wall sunk more and more, and above it the tops
of the trees, undisturbed by a breath of air, appeared in the
background.

After half an hour’s rest the colonists took up the march again, on the
lookout for any sign of a wreck, but without success. They found out,
however, that edible mussels were plenty on this beach, although they
would not gather them until means of transport between the two banks of
the river should have been perfected.

Towards 3 o’clock, Smith and his companions reached a narrow inlet,
unfed by any water-course. It formed a veritable little natural harbor,
invisible from without, and approached by a narrow passage guarded by
the reefs. At the upper end of this creek some violent convulsion had
shattered the rock, and a narrow, sloping passage gave access to the
upper plateau, which proved to be ten miles from Claw Cape, and
therefore four miles in a direct line from Prospect Plateau.

Spilett proposed to his companions to halt here, and, as the march had
sharpened their appetites, although it was not dinner time, no one
objected to a bit of venison, and with this lunch they would be able to
await supper at Granite House.

Soon the colonists, seated under a group of splendid pines, were eating
heartily of the provisions which Neb had brought out from his
haversack. The place was some fifty or sixty feet above the sea, and
the view, extending beyond the furthest rock of the cape, was lost in
Union Bay. But the islet and Prospect Plateau were invisible, as the
high ground and the curtain of high trees shut out the horizon to the
north. Neither over the extent of sea nor on that part of the coast
which it was still necessary to explore could they discover even with
the spyglass any suspicious object.

“Well” said Spilett, “we can console ourselves by thinking that no one
is disputing the island with us.”

“But how about the pellet?” said Herbert. “It was not a dream.”

“Indeed it was not!” cried Pencroff, thinking of his missing tooth.

“Well, what are we to conclude?” asked the reporter.

“This,” said Smith, “that within three months a ship, voluntarily or
otherwise, has touched—”

“What! You will admit, Cyrus, that it has been swallowed up without
leaving any trace?” cried the reporter.

“No, my dear Spilett; but you must remember that while it is certain
that a human being has been here, it seems just as certain that he is
not here now.”

“Then, if I understand you sir,” said Herbert, “the ship has gone
again?”

“Evidently.”

“And we have lost, beyond return, a chance to get home?” said Neb.

“I believe without return.”

“Well then, since the chance is lost, let us push on,” said Pencroff,
already home-sick for Granite House.

“But, just as they were rising, Top’s barking was heard, and the dog
burst from the forest, holding in his mouth a soiled rag.

Neb took it from him. It was a bit of strong cloth. Top, still barking,
seemed by his motions to invite his master to follow into the wood.

“Here is something which will explain my bullet,” cried Pencroff.

“A shipwrecked person!” answered Herbert.

“Wounded, perhaps!” exclaimed Neb.

“Or dead!” responded the reporter.

And all holding their arms in readiness, hurried after the dog through
the outskirts of the forests. They advanced some distance into the
wood, but, to their disappointment, they saw no tracks. The underbrush
and lianas were uninjured and had to be cut away with the hatchet, as
in the depths of the forest. It was hard to imagine that any human
creature had passed there, and yet Top’s action showed no uncertainty,
but was more like that of a human being having a fixed purpose.

In a few minutes the dog stopped. The colonists, who had arrived at a
sort of glade surrounded by high trees, looked all about them, but
neither in the underbrush or between the tree trunks could they
discover a thing.

“What is it, Top?” said Smith.

Top, barking louder, ran to the foot of a gigantic pine.

Suddenly Pencroff exclaimed:—

“This is capital!”

“What’s that,” asked Spilett.

“We’ve been hunting for some waif on the sea or land—”

“Well?”

“And here it is in the air!”

And the sailor pointed out a mass of faded cloth caught on the summit
of the pine, a piece of which Top had found on the ground.

“But that is no waif!” exclaimed Spilett.

“Indeed it is,” answered Pencroff.

“How is it!”

“It is all that is left of our balloon, of our ship which is stranded
on the top of this tree.”

Pencroff was not mistaken, and he added, with a shout:—

“And there is good stuff in it which will keep us in linen for years.
It will make us handkerchiefs and shirts. Aha, Mr. Spilett! what do you
say of an island where shirts grow on the trees?”

It was, indeed, a fortunate thing for the colonists that the aerostat,
after having made its last bound into the air, had fallen again on the
island. They could, either keep the envelope in its present shape, in
case they might desire to attempt a new flight through the air, or,
after having taken off the varnish, they could make use of its hundreds
of ells of good cotton cloth. At these thoughts all shared Pencroff’s
joy.

It was no easy task to take down this envelope from the tree top. But
Neb, Herbert, and the sailor climbed up to it, and after two hours of
hard work not only the envelope, with its valve, springs, and leather
mountings, but the net, equivalent to a large quantity of cordage and
ropes, together with the iron ring and the anchor, lay upon the ground.
The envelope, excepting the rent, was in good order, and only its lower
end had been torn away.

It was a gift from heaven.

“Nevertheless, Mr. Smith,” said the sailor, “if we ever do decide to
leave the island it won’t be in a balloon, I hope. These air ships
don’t always go the way you want them to, as we have found out. If you
will let me have my way, we will build a ship of twenty tons, and you
will allow me to cut from this cloth a foresail and jib. The rest of it
will do for clothes.”

“We will see about it, Pencroff,” answered Smith.

“And meanwhile it must all be put away carefully,” said Neb.

In truth, they could not think of carrying all this weight of material
to Granite House; and while waiting for a proper means of removing it,
it was important not to leave it exposed to the weather. The colonists,
uniting their efforts, succeeded in dragging it to the shore, where
they discovered a cave so situated that neither wind, rain, nor sea
could get at it.

“It is a wardrobe,” said Pencroff; “but since it does not kick, it will
be prudent to hide the opening, not, perhaps from two-footed, but from
four-footed thieves!”

By 6 o’clock everything was stored away, and after having named the
little inlet, Balloon, Harbor, they took the road for Claw Cape.
Pencroff and the engineer discussed several projects, which it would be
well to attend to at once. The first thing was to build a bridge across
the Mercy, and, as the canoe was too small, to bring the balloon over
in the cart. Then to build a decked launch, which Pencroff would make
cutter-rigged, and in which they could make voyages of
circumnavigation—around the island; then, etc.

In the meantime the night approached, and it was already dark, when the
colonists reached Jetsam Point, where they had discovered the precious
box. But here, as elsewhere, there was nothing to indicate a shipwreck,
and it became necessary to adopt the opinions expressed by Smith.

The four miles from Jetsam Point to Granite House were quickly
traversed, but it was midnight when the colonists arrived at the first
bend above the mouth of the Mercy. There the river was eighty feet
wide, and Pencroff, who had undertaken to overcome the difficulty of
crossing it, set to work. It must be admitted that the colonists were
fatigued. The tramp had been long, and the incident of the balloon had
not rested their arms or legs. They were therefore anxious to get back
to Granite House to supper and bed, and if they had only had the
bridge, in a quarter of an hour they could have been at home.

The night was very dark. Pencroff and Neb, armed with the hatchets,
chose two trees near the bank, and began cutting them down, in order to
make a raft. Smith and Spilett, seated on the ground, waited to assist
their companions, and Herbert sauntered about, doing nothing.

All at once the lad, who had gone up the stream, returned hurriedly,
and, pointing back, exclaimed:—

“What is that drifting there?”

Pencroff stopped work and perceived an object resting motionless in the
gloom.

“A canoe!” he exclaimed.

All came up and saw, to their astonishment, a boat following the
current.

“Canoe, ahoy!” shouted Pencroff from force of habit, forgetting that it
might be better to keep quiet.

There was no answer. The boat continued to drift, and it was not more
than a dozen paces off, when the sailor exclaimed:—

“Why, it’s our canoe! She has broken away and drifted down with the
current. Well, we must admit that she comes in the nick of time!”

“Our canoe!” murmured the engineer.

Pencroff was right. It was indeed their canoe, which had doubtless
broken loose and drifted all the way from the headwaters of the Mercy!
It was important to seize it in passing before it should be drawn into
the rapid current at the mouth of the river, and Pencroff and Neb, by
the aid of a long pole, did this, and drew the canoe to the bank.

The engineer stepped in first, and, seizing the rope, assured himself
that it had been really worn in two against the rocks.

“This,” said the reporter in an undertone; “this is a coincidence—”

“It is very strange!” answered the engineer.

At least it was fortunate, and while no one could doubt that the rope
had been broken by friction, the astonishing part of the affair was
that the canoe had arrived at the moment when the colonists were there
to seize it, for a quarter of an hour later, and it would have been
carried out to sea. Had there been such things as genii, this incident
would have been sufficient to make the colonists believe that the
island was inhabited by a supernatural being, who placed his power at
their disposal.

With a few strokes the party arrived at the mouth of the Mercy. The
canoe was drawn on shore at the Chimneys, and all took their way to the
ladder at Granite House.

But, just then, Top began barking furiously, and Neb, who was feeling
for the lower rung, cried out:—

“The ladder’s gone!”




CHAPTER XXVIII


PENCROFF’S HALLOOS—A NIGHT IN THE CHIMNEYS—HERBERT’S ARROW—SMITH’S
PLAN—AN UNEXPECTED SOLUTION—WHAT HAD HAPPENED IN GRANITE HOUSE—HOW THE
COLONISTS OBTAINED A NEW DOMESTIC.


Smith stood silent. His companions searched in the obscurity along the
wall, over the ground, for the broken part of the ladder, supposing it
had been torn off by the wind. But the ladder had certainly
disappeared, although it was impossible to tell in the darkness whether
a gust of wind had not carried it up and lodged it on the first ledge.

“If this is a joke, it’s a pretty poor one,” cried Pencroff. “To get
home and not be able to find the staircase, won’t do for tired men.”

Neb stood in open-mouthed amazement.

“It could not have been carried away by the wind!” said Herbert.

“I’m beginning to think that strange things happen in Lincoln Island!”
said Pencroff.

“Strange?” rejoined Spilett. “Why no, Pencroff, nothing is more
natural. Somebody has come while we have been absent, and has taken
possession of the house and drawn up the ladder!”.

“Some one!” cried the sailor. “Who could it be?”

“Why, the man who shot the bullet,” answered the reporter “How else can
you explain it?”

“Very well, if any one is up there,” replied Pencroff, beginning to get
angry, “I will hail him, and he had better answer.”

And in a voice of thunder the sailor gave a prolonged “Ohe,” which was
loudly repeated by the echoes.

The colonists listened, and thought that they heard a sort of chuckling
proceed from Granite House. But there was no answering voice to the
sailor, who repeated his appeal in vain.

Here was an event that would have astonished people the most
indifferent, and from their situation the colonists could not be that.
To them, the slightest incident was of moment, and certainly during
their seven months’ residence nothing equal to this had happened.

They stood there at the foot of Granite House not knowing what to do or
to say. Neb was disconsolate at not being able to get back to the
kitchen, especially as the provisions taken for the journey had all
been eaten, and they had no present means of renewing them.

“There is but one thing to do, my friends,” said Smith, “to wait until
daylight, and then to be governed by circumstances. Meanwhile let us go
to the Chimneys, where we will be sheltered, and, even if we cannot
eat, we can sleep.”

“But who is the ill-mannered fellow that has played us this trick?”
asked Pencroff again, who thought it no joke.

Whoever he was, there was nothing to do but to follow the engineer’s
advice. Top having been ordered to lie down under the windows of
Granite House, took his place without complaint. The brave dog remained
at the foot of the wall, while his master and his companions took
shelter among the rocks.

The colonists, tired as they were, slept but little. Not only were
their beds uncomfortable, but it was certain that their house was
occupied at present, and they were unable to get into it. Now Granite
House was not only their dwelling, it was their storehouse. Everything
they possessed was stored there. It would be a serious thing if this
should be pillaged and they should have again to begin at the
beginning. In their anxiety, one or the other went out often to see if
the dog remained on watch. Smith, alone, waited with his accustomed
patience, although he was exasperated at finding himself confronted by
something utterly inexplicable, and his reason shrank from the thought
that around him, over him, perhaps, was exercising an influence to
which he could give no name. Spilett sharing his thoughts, they
conversed together in an undertone of those unaccountable events which
defied all their knowledge and experience. Certainly, there was a
mystery about this island, but how discover it? Even Herbert did not
know what to think, and often questioned Smith. As to Neb, he said that
this was his master’s business and not his; and if he had not feared
offending his companions, the brave fellow would have slept this night
as soundly as if he had been in his bed in Granite House.

Pencroff, however, was very much put out.

“It’s a joke,” he said. “It’s a joke that is played on us. Well, I
don’t like such jokes, and the joker won’t like it, if I catch him!”

At dawn the colonists, well armed, followed along the shore to the
reefs. By 5 o’clock the closed windows of Granite House appeared
through their leafy curtain. Everything, from this side, appeared to be
in order, but an exclamation escaped from the colonists when they
perceived that the door which they had left closed was wide open. There
could be no more doubt that some one was in Granite House, The upper
ladder was in its place; but the lower had been drawn up to the
threshold. It was evident that the intruders wished to guard against a
surprise. As to telling who or how many they were, that was still
impossible, as none had yet shown themselves.

Pencroff shouted again, but without answer.

“The beggars!” he exclaimed, “to sleep as soundly as if they were at
home! Halloo! pirates! bandits! corsairs! sons of John Bull!”

When Pencroff, as an American, called any one a “son of John Bull,” he
had reached the acme of insult.

Just then, the day broke and the facade of Granite House was
illuminated by the rays of the rising sun. But inside as well as
without all was still and calm. It was evident from the position of the
ladder that whoever had been inside the house had not come out. But how
could they get up to them?

Herbert conceived the idea of shooting an arrow attached to a cord
between the lower rungs of the ladder which were hanging from the
doorway: They would thus be able by means of the cord to pull this
ladder down, and gain access to Granite House. There was evidently
nothing else to do, and with a little skill this attempt might prove
successful. Fortunately there were bows and arrows at the Chimneys, and
they found there, also, some twenty fathoms of light hibiscus cord.
Pencroff unrolled this, and fastened the end to a well-feathered arrow.
Then Herbert having placed the arrow in his bow took careful aim at the
hanging part of the ladder.

The others stationed themselves some distance in the background to
observe what might happen, and the reporter covered the doorway with
his carbine.

The bow bent, the arrow shot upward with the cord, and passed between
the two lower rungs of the ladder. The operation had succeeded. But
just as Herbert, having caught the end of the cord, was about giving it
a pull to make the ladder fall, an arm thrust quickly between the door
and the wall seized the ladder and drew it within Granite House.

“You little beggar!” cried Pencroff. “If a ball would settle you, you
would not have to wait long!”

“But what is it?” demanded Neb.

“What! didn’t you see?”

“No.”

“Why, it’s a monkey, a macauco, a sapajo, an orang, a baboon, a
gorilla, a sagoin! Our house has been invaded by monkeys, which have
climbed up the ladder while we were away.”

And at the moment, as if to prove the truth of what the sailor said,
three or four quadrumana threw open the window shutters and saluted the
true proprietors of the place with a thousand contortions and grimaces.

“I knew all the time it was a joke,” cried Pencroff, “But here’s one of
the jokers that will pay for the others!” he added, covering a monkey
with his gun and firing. All disappeared but, this one, which, mortally
wounded, fell to the ground.

This monkey was very large and evidently belonged to the first order of
quadrumana. Whether a chimpanzee, an orang, a gorilla, or a gibbon, it
ranked among these anthropomorphi, so called on account of their
likeness to the human race. Herbert declared it was an orang-outang,
and we all know that the lad understood zoology.

“What a fine beast!” cried Neb.

“As fine as you choose!” answered the reporter, “but I don’t see yet
how we are going to get in!”

“Herbert is a good shot,” said the reporter, “and his bow is sure! We
will try again—”

“But these monkeys are mischievous,” cried Pencroff, “and if they don’t
come to the windows, we cannot shoot them; and when I think of the
damage they can do in the rooms and, in the magazine—”

“Have patience,” answered Smith. “These animals cannot hold us in
check, very long.”

“I will be sure of that when they are out of there, “rejoined Pencroff,
“Can you say how many dozens of these fools there may be?”

It would hare been hard to answer Pencroff, but it was harder to try
again the experiment of the arrow, as the lower end of the ladder had
been drawn within the doorway, and when they pulled on the cord again,
it broke, and the ladder remained, as before.

It was, Indeed, vexatious. Pencroff was in a fury, and, although the
situation had a certain comic aspect, he did not think it funny at all.
It was evident that the colonists would, eventually, get back into
their house and drive out the monkeys, but when and how they could not
say.

Two hours passed, during which the monkeys avoided showing themselves;
but they were there, for all that, and, two or three times, a muzzle or
paw slipped by the door or the windows, and was saluted by a shot.

“Let us conceal ourselves,” said the engineer, at length. “And then the
monkeys will think we have gone off, and will show themselves again.
Let Herbert and Spilett remain hidden behind the rocks and fire on any
that appear.

The directions of the engineer were followed, and while the reporter
and the lad, who were the best shots in the party, took their
positions, the others went over the plateau to the forest to shoot some
game, as it was breakfast time and they had no food.

In half an hour the hunters returned with some wild pigeons, which
would be pretty good roasted. Not a monkey had shown itself.

Spilett and Herbert went to their breakfast, while Top kept watch under
the windows. Then they returned to their post. Two hours later the
situation was unchanged. The quadrumana gave no sign of existence, and
it seemed as if they must have disappeared; but it was more likely
that, frightened by the death of one of their number and the
detonations of the guns, they kept themselves hidden in the chambers or
the store-room of Granite House. And, when the colonists thought of all
that was stored in this latter room, the patience which the engineer
had recommended turned into irritation, and indeed they could not be
blamed for it.

“It is too bad!” exclaimed the reporter, at length; “and is there no
way we can put an end to this?”

“We must make these beggars give up!” cried Pencroff. “We can readily
do it, even if there are twenty of them, in a hand-to hand fight! Oh,
is there no way we can get at them?”

“Yes,” replied Smith, struck by an idea.

“Only one?” rejoined Pencroff. “Well, that’s better than none at all.
What is it?”

“Try to get into Granite House by the old weir,” answered the engineer.

“Why in the mischief didn’t I think of that!” cried the sailor.

This was, indeed, the only way to get into Granite House, in order to
fight the band and drive them out. It is true that, if they tore down
the cemented wall which closed the weir, the work would have all to be
done over again; but, fortunately, Smith had not yet effected his
design of hiding this opening by covering it again with the lake, as
that operation necessitated a good deal of time.

It was already past noon when the colonists, well armed and furnished
with picks and mattocks, left the Chimneys, passed under the windows of
Granite House, and, having ordered Top to remain at his post, made
ready to climb the left bank of the Mercy, so as to reach Prospect
Plateau. But they had hardly gone fifty paces, when they heard the loud
barkings of the dog, as if making a desperate appeal. All halted.

“Let us run back,” cried Pencroff. And all did as proposed as fast as
possible.

Arrived at the turn, the whole situation was changed. The monkeys,
seized with a sudden fright, startled by some unknown cause, were
trying to escape. Two or three were running and springing from window
to window, with the agility of clowns. In their fright they seemed to
have forgotten to replace the ladder, by which they could easily have
descended. In a moment half a dozen were in such a position that they
could be shot, and the colonists, taking aim, fired. Some fell, wounded
or killed, within the chambers, uttering sharp cries. Others, falling
to the ground without, were crushed by the fall, and a few moments
afterwards it seemed as if there was not one living quadrumana in
Granite House.

“Hurrah,” said Pencroff, “hurrah, hurrah!”

“Don’t cheer yet,” saidSpilett.

“Why not,” asked Pencroff. “Ain’t they all killed.”

“Doubtless: but that does not give us the means of getting in.”

“Let us go the weir!” exclaimed Pencroff.

“We will have to,” said the engineer. “Nevertheless it would have been
preferable—”

And at the instant, as if in answer to the observation of the engineer,
they saw the ladder slide over the door-sill and roll over to the
ground.

“By the thousand pipes, but that is lucky!” cried Pencroff, looking at
Smith.

“Too lucky!” muttered Smith, springing up the ladder.

“Take care, Mr. Smith!” exclaimed Pencroff, “if there should be any
sojourners—”

“We will soon see,” responded the other.

All his companions followed him and in a moment were within the
doorway.

They searched everywhere. No one was in the chambers or in the
storeroom, which remained undisturbed by the quadrumana.

“And the ladder,” said Pencroff; “where is the gentleman who pushed it
down to us?”

But just then a cry was heard, and a huge monkey, that had taken refuge
in the corridor, sprang into the great hall, followed by Neb.

“Ah, the thief!” cried Pencroff, about to spring with his hatchet at
the head of the animal, when Smith stopped him.

“Spare it, Pencroff.”

“What, spare this black ape?”

“Yes, it is he that has thrown us the ladder,” said the engineer, in a
voice so strange, that it was hard to say whether he was in earnest or
not.

Nevertheless, all threw themselves on the monkey, which, after a brave
resistance, was thrown down and tied.

“Ugh!” exclaimed Pencroff; “and now what will we do with it?”

“Make a servant of it,” answered Herbert, half in earnest, as the lad
knew how great was the intelligence of this race of quadrumana.

The colonists gathered round the monkey and examined it attentively. It
appeared to belong to that species of anthropomorphi in which the
facial angle is not visibly inferior to that of the Australians or
Hottentots. He was an orang of the kind which has neither the ferocity
of the baboon nor the macauco, nor the thoughtlessness of the sagoin,
nor the impatience of the magot, nor the bad instincts of the
cynocephalous. It was of a family of anthropomorphi which has traits
indicating a half-human intelligence. Employed in houses, they can wait
on the table, do chamber-work, brush clothes, black boots, clean the
knives and forks, and—empty the bottles, as well as the best trained
flunkey. Buffon possessed one of these monkeys, which served him a long
time as a zealous and faithful servant.

The one at present tied in the hall of Granite House was a big fellow,
six feet high, deep-chested, and finely built, a medium-sized head,
with a sharp facial angle, a well-rounded skull, and a prominent nose,
and a skin covered with smooth hair, soft and shining,—in short, a
finished type of anthropomorphi. Its eyes, somewhat smaller than those
of a human being, sparkled with intelligence; its teeth glistened
beneath its moustache, and it wore a small nut-brown beard.

“He is a fine chap,” said Pencroff. “If we only understood his
language, one might talk with him!”

“Then,” said Neb, “are they in earnest, my master? Will we take it as a
domestic?”

“Yes, Neb,” said the engineer, smiling. “But you need not be jealous.”

“And I hope it will make an excellent servant. As it is young its
education will be easy, and we will not have to use force to make it
mind, nor to pull out its teeth as is sometimes done. It cannot fail to
become attached to masters who only treat it well.”

“And we will do that,” said Pencroff, who having forgotten his recent
wrath against the “jokers,” approached the orang and accosted him
with:—

“Hullo, my boy, how goes it?”

The orang responded with a little grunt, which seemed to denote a not
bad temper.

“You want to join the colony, do you? Would you like to enter the
service of Mr. Smith?”

The monkey gave another affirmative grunt.

“And you’ll be satisfied with your board as wages?”

A third affirmative grunt.

“His conversation is a little monotonous,” observed Spilett.

“Well,” replied Pencroff, “the best domestics are those that speak
least. And then, no wages! Do you hear, my boy? At first we give you no
wages, but we will double them later, if you suit us!”

Thus the colonists added to their number one who had already done them
a service. As to a name, the sailor asked that he should be called, in
remembrance of another monkey, Jupiter, or by abbreviation, Jup. And
thus, without more ado, Master Jup was installed in Granite House.




CHAPTER XXIX.


PROJECTS TO BE CARRIED OUT—A BRIDGE OVER THE MERCY—TO MAKE AN ISLAND OF
PROSPECT PLATEAU—THE DRAW-BRIDGE—THE CORN HARVEST—THE STREAM—THE
CAUSEWAY—THE POULTRY YARD—THE PIGEON-HOUSE—THE TWO WILD ASSES—HARNESSED
TO THE WAGON—EXCURSION TO BALLOON HARBOR.


The colonists had now reconquered their domicile without having been
obliged to follow the weir. It was, indeed, fortunate, that at the
moment they decided to destroy their masonry, the band of monkeys,
struck by a terror not less sudden than inexplicable, had rushed from
Granite House. Had these animals a presentiment that a dangerous attack
was about to be made on them from another direction? This was the only
way to account for their retreat.

The rest of the day was occupied in carrying the dead monkeys to the
wood and burying them there, and in repairing the disorder made by the
intruders,—disorder and not damage, as, though they had upset the
furniture in the rooms, they had broken nothing. Neb rekindled the
range, and the supply in the pantry furnished a substantial repast that
was duly honored.

Jup was not forgotten, and he ate with avidity the pistachio nuts and
the roots of the sumach, with which he saw himself abundantly provided.
Pencroff had unfastened his arms, although he thought it best to keep
the monkey’s legs bound until they could be sure he had surrendered.

Seated at the table, before going to bed, Smith and his companions
discussed three projects, the execution of which was urgent. The most
important and the most pressing was the establishment of a bridge
across the Mercy, then the building of a corral, designed for the
accommodation of moufflons or other woolly animals which they had
agreed to capture. These two plans tended to solve the question of
clothing, which was then the most serious question.

It was Smith’s intention to establish this corral at the sources of Red
Creek, where there was abundant pasturage. Already the path between
there and Prospect Plateau was partially cleared, and with a better
constructed cart, carriage would be easy, especially if they should
capture some animal that could draw it.

But while it would not be inconvenient to have the corral some distance
from Granite House, it was different with the poultry-yard, to which
Neb called attention. It was necessary that the “chickens” should be at
the hand of the cook, and no place seemed more favorable for an
establishment of this kind than that portion of the lake shore
bordering on the former weir. The aquatic birds also would thrive
there, and the pair of tinamons, taken in the last excursion, would
serve as a beginning.

The next day—the 3d of November—work was begun on the bridge, and all
hands were required on the important undertaking. Laden with tools the
colonists descended to the shore.

Here Pencroff reflected as follows:—

“Supposing while we are away Master Jup takes the notion of hauling up
the ladder, which he so gallantly unrolled for us yesterday.”

“We would be dependent on his tail!” answered Spilett.

The ladder was therefore made fast to two stakes driven firmly into the
ground. The colonists ascended the river, and soon arrived at its
narrow bend, where they halted to examine whether the bridge could not
be thrown across at this place. The situation was suitable, as from
this point to Balloon Harbor the distance was three miles and a half,
and a wagon road connecting Granite House with the southern part of the
island, could easily be constructed.

Then Smith communicated to his companions a project which he had had in
view for some time. This was to completely isolate Prospect Plateau, so
as to protect it from all attacks of quadrupeds or quadrumana. By this
means Granite House, the Chimneys, the poultry yard, and all the upper
part of the plateau destined for sowing would be protected against the
depredations of animals.

Nothing could be easier than to do this, and the engineer proposed to
accomplish it as follows:—The plateau was already protected on three
sides by either natural or artificial water courses. On the northwest,
by the bank of Lake Grant, extending from the angle against the former
weir to the cut made in the east bank to draw off the water. On the
north, by this new water course which had worn itself a bed both above
and below the fall, which could be dug out sufficiently to render the
passage impracticable to animals. And upon the east, by the sea itself,
from the mouth of this new creek to the mouth of the Mercy. Therefore
the only part remaining open was the western part of the plateau
included between the bend in the river and the southern angle of the
lake, a distance of leas than a mile. But nothing could be easier than
to dig a ditch, wide and deep, which would be filled from the lake, and
flow into the Mercy. Doubtless the level of the lake would be lowered
somewhat by this new drain on its resources, but Smith had assured
himself that the flow of Red Creek was sufficient for his purpose.

“Thus,” added the engineer, “Prospect Plateau will be a veritable
island, unconnected with the rest of our domain, save by the bridge
which we will throw over the Mercy, by the two causeways already built
above and below the fall, and by the two others which are to be
constructed, one over the proposed ditch, and the other over the left
bank of the Mercy. Now if this bridge and the causeways can be raised
at will, Prospect Plateau will be secured from surprise.”

Smith, in order to make his companions comprehend clearly his plans,
had made a plot of the plateau, and his project was rendered perfectly
plain. It met with unanimous approval; and Pencroff, brandishing his
hatchet, exclaimed:—

“And first, for the bridge!”

This work was the most urgent. Trees were selected, felled, lopped, and
cut into beams, planks, and boards. The bridge was to be stationary on
the right bank of the Mercy, but on the left it was to be so
constructed as to raise by means of counterweights, as in some
draw-bridges.

It will be seen that this work, even if it could be easily
accomplished, would take considerable time, as the Mercy was eighty
feet wide at this point. It was first necessary to drive piles in the
bed of the river, to sustain the flooring of the bridge, and to set up
a pile-driver to drive the piles, so as to form two arches capable of
supporting heavy weights.

Fortunately they lacked neither the necessary tools for preparing the
timber, nor the iron work, to bind it together, nor the ingenuity of a
man who was an adept at this sort of work, nor, finally, the zeal of
his companions who in these seven months had necessarily acquired
considerable manual skill. And it should be added that Spilett began to
do nearly as well as the sailor himself “who would never have expected
so much from a newspaper man!”

It took three weeks of steady work to build this bridge. And as the
weather was fine they lunched on the ground, and only returned to
Granite House for supper.

During this period it was observed that Master Jup took kindly to and
familiarized himself with his new masters, whom he watched with the
greatest curiosity. Nevertheless, Pencroff was careful not to give him
complete liberty until the limits of the plateau had been rendered
impassible. Top and he were the best possible friends, and got on
capitally together although Jup took everything gravely.

The bridge was finished on the 20th of November. The movable part
balanced perfectly with the counterpoise, and needed but little effort
to raise it; between the hinge and crossbeam on which the draw rested
when closed, the distance was twenty feet, a gap sufficiently wide to
prevent animals from getting across.

It was next proposed to go for the envelope of the balloon, which the
colonists were anxious to place in safety; but in order to bring it,
the cart would have to be dragged to Balloon Harbor, necessitating the
breaking of a road through the dense underwood of the Far West, all of
which would take time. Therefore Neb and Pencroff made an excursion to
the harbor, and as they reported that the supply of cloth was well
protected in the cave, it was decided that the works about the plateau
should not be discontinued.

“This,” said Pencroff, “will enable us to establish the poultry-yard
under the most advantageous conditions, since we need have no fear of
the visits of foxes or other noxious animals.”

“And also,” added Neb, “we can clear the plateau, and transplant wild
plants”—

“And make ready our second corn-field,” continued the sailor with a
triumphant air.

Indeed the first corn-field, sowed with a single grain, had prospered
admirably, thanks to the care of Pencroff. It had produced the ten ears
foretold by the engineer, and as each ear had eighty grains, the
colonists found themselves possessed of 800 grains—in six months—which
promised them a double harvest each year. These 800 grains, excepting
fifty which it was prudent to reserve, were now about to be sowed in a
new field with as much care as the first solitary specimen.

The field was prepared, and inclosed with high, sharp-pointed
palisades, which quadrupeds would have found very difficult to
surmount. As to the birds, the noisy whirligigs and astonishing
scarecrows, the product of Pencroff’s genius, were enough to keep them
at a distance. Then the 750 grains were buried in little hills,
regularly disposed, and Nature was left to do the rest.

On the 21st of November, Smith began laying out the ditch which was to
enclose the plateau on the west. There were two or three feet of
vegetable earth, and beneath that the granite. It was, therefore,
necessary to manufacture some more nitro-glycerine, and the
nitro-glycerine had its accustomed effect. In less than a fortnight a
ditch, twelve feet wide and six feet deep was excavated in the plateau.
A new outlet was in like manner made in the rocky border of the lake,
and the waters rushed into this new channel, forming a small stream, to
which they gave the name of Glycerine Creek. As the engineer had
foreseen the level of the lake was lowered but very slightly. Finally,
for completing the enclosure, the bed of the stream across the beach
was considerably enlarged, and the sand was kept up by a double
palisade.

By the middle of December all these works were completed, and Prospect
Plateau, shaped something like an irregular pentagon, having a
perimeter of about four miles, was encircled with a liquid belt, making
it absolutely safe from all aggression.

During this month the heat was very great. Nevertheless, the colonists,
not wishing to cease work, proceeded to construct the poultry-yard.
Jup, who since the enclosing of the plateau had been given his liberty,
never quitted his masters nor manifested the least desire to escape. He
was a gentle beast, though possessing immense strength and wonderful
agility. No one could go up the ladder to Granite House as he could.
Already he was given employment; he was instructed to fetch wood and
carry off the stones which had been taken from the bed of Glycerine
Creek.

“Although he’s not yet a mason, he is already a ‘monkey,’“ said
Herbert, making a joking allusion to the nickname masons give their
apprentices. And if ever a name was well applied, it was so in this
instance!

The poultry-yard occupied an area of 200 square yards on the southeast
bank of the lake. It was enclosed with a palisade, and within were
separate divisions for the proposed inhabitants, and huts of branches
divided into compartments awaiting their occupants.

The first was the pair of tinamons, who were not long in breeding
numerous little ones. They had for companions half-a-dozen ducks, who
were always by the water-side. Some of these belonged to that Chinese
variety whose wings open like a fan, and whose plumage rivals in
brilliance that of the golden pheasant. Some days later, Herbert caught
a pair of magnificent curassows, birds of the gallinaceæ family, with
long rounding tails. These soon bred others, and as to the pellicans,
the kingfishers, the moorhens, they came of themselves to the
poultry-yard. And soon, all this little world, after some disputing,
cooing, scolding, clucking, ended by agreeing and multiplying at a rate
sufficient for the future wants of the colony.

Smith, in order to complete his work, established a pigeon-house in the
corner of the poultry-yard, and placed therein a dozen wild pigeons.
These birds readily habituated themselves to their new abode, and
returned there each evening, showing a greater propensity to
domestication than the wood pigeons, their congeners, which do not
breed except in a savage state.

And now the time was come to make use of the envelope in the
manufacture of clothing, for to keep it intact in order to attempt to
leave the island by risking themselves in a balloon filled with heated
air over a sea, which might be called limitless, was only to be thought
of by men deprived of all other resources, and Smith, being eminently
practical, did not dream of such a thing.

It was necessary to bring the envelope to Granite House, and the
colonists busied themselves in making their heavy cart less unwieldly
and lighter. But though the vehicle was provided, the motor was still
to be found! Did not there exist in the island some ruminant of
indiginous species which could replace the horse, ass, ox, or cow? That
was the question.

“Indeed,” said Pencroff, “a draught animal would be very useful to us,
while we are waiting until Mr. Smith is ready to build a steam-wagon or
a locomotive, though doubtless, some day we will have a railway to
Balloon Harbor, with a branch road up Mount Franklin!”

And the honest sailor, in talking thus, believed what he said. Such is
the power of imagination combined with faith!

But, in truth, an animal capable of being harnessed would have just
suited Pencroff, and as Fortune favored him, she did not let him want.

One day, the 23d of December, the colonists, busy at the Chimneys,
heard Neb crying and Top barking in such emulation, that dreading some
terrible accident, they ran to them.

What did they see? Two large, beautiful animals, which had imprudently
ventured upon the plateau, the causeways not having been closed. They
seemed like two horses, or rather two asses, male and female, finely
shaped, of a light bay color, striped with black on the head, neck, and
body, and with white legs and tail. They advanced tranquilly, without
showing any fear, and looked calmly on these men in whom they had not
yet recognized their masters.

“They are onagers,” cried Herbert. “Quadrupeds of a kind between the
zebra and the quagga.”

“Why aren’t they asses?” asked Neb.

“Because they have not long ears, and their forms are more graceful.”

“Asses or horses,” added Pencroff—“they are what Mr. Smith would call
“motors,” and it will be well to capture them!”

The sailor, without startling the animals, slid through the grass to
the causeway over Glycerine Creek, raised it, and the onagers were
prisoners. Should they be taken by violence, and made to submit to a
forced domestication? No. It was decided that for some days they would
let these animals wander at will over the plateau where the grass was
abundant, and a stable was at once constructed near to the poultry-yard
in which the onagers would find a good bedding, and a refuge for the
night.

The fine pair were thus left entirely at liberty, and the colonists
avoided approaching them. In the meantime the onagers often tried to
quit the plateau, which was too confined for them, accustomed to wide
ranges and deep forests. The colonists saw them following around the
belt of water impossible to cross, whinnying and galloping over the
grass, and then resting quietly for hours regarding the deep woods from
which they were shut off.

In the meantime, harness had been made from vegetable fibres, and some
days after the capture of the onagers, not only was the cart ready, but
a road, or rather a cut, had been made through the forest all the way
from the bend in the Mercy to Balloon Harbor. They could therefore get
to this latter place with the cart, and towards the end of the month
the onagers were tried for the first time.

Pencroff had already coaxed these animals so that they ate from his
hand, and he could approach them without difficulty, but, once
harnessed, they reared and kicked, and were with difficulty kept from
breaking loose, although it was not long before they submitted to this
new service.

This day, every one except Pencroff, who walked beside his team, rode
in the cart to Balloon Harbor. They were jolted about a little over
this rough road, but the cart did not break down, and they were able to
load it, the same day, with the envelope and the appurtenances to the
balloon.

By 8 o’clock in the evening, the cart, having recrossed the bridge,
followed down the bank of the Mercy and stopped on the beach. The
onagers were unharnessed, placed in the stable, and Pencroff, before
sleeping, gave a sigh of satisfaction that resounded throughout Granite
House.




CHAPTER XXX.


CLOTHING—SEAL-SKIN BOOTS—MAKING PYROXYLINE—PLANTING—THE FISH—TURTLES’
EGGS—JUP’S EDUCATION—THE CORRAL-HUNTING MOUFFLONS—OTHER USEFUL ANIMALS
AND VEGETABLES—HOME THOUGHTS.


The first week In January was devoted to making clothing. The needles
found in the box were plied by strong, if not supple fingers, and what
was sewed, was sewed strongly. Thread was plenty, as Smith had thought
of using again that with which the strips of the balloon had been
fastened together. These long bands had been carefully unripped by
Spilett and Herbert with commendable patience, since Pencroff had
thrown aside the work, which bothered him beyond measure; but when it
came to sewing again the sailor was unequalled.

The varnish was then removed from the cloth by means of soda procured
as before, and the cloth was afterwards bleached in the sun. Some
dozens of shirts and socks—the latter, of course, not knitted, but made
of sewed strips—were thus made. How happy it made the colonists to be
clothed again in white linen—linen coarse enough, it is true, but they
did not mind that—and to lie between sheets, which transformed the
banks of Granite House into real beds! About this time they also made
boots from seal leather, which were a timely substitute for those
brought from America. They were long and wide enough, and never pinched
the feet of the pedestrians.

In the beginning of the year (1866) the hot weather was incessant, but
the hunting in the woods, which fairly swarmed with birds and beasts,
continued; and Spilett and Herbert were too good shots to waste powder.
Smith had recommended them to save their ammunition, and that they
might keep it for future use the engineer took measures to replace it
by substances easily renewable. How could he tell what the future might
have in store for them in case they left the island? It behooved them,
therefore, to prepare for all emergencies.

As Smith had not discovered any lead in the island he substituted iron
shot, which were easily made. As they were not so heavy as leaden ones
they had to be made larger, and the charges contained a less number,
but the skill of the hunters counterbalanced this defect. Powder he
could have made, since he had all the necessary materials but as its
preparation requires extreme care, and as without special apparatus it
is difficult to make it of good quality, Smith proposed to manufacture
pyroxyline, a kind of gun-cotton, a substance in which cotton is not
necessary, except as cellulose. Now cellulose is simply the elementary
tissue of vegetables, and is found in almost a pure state not only in
cotton, but also in the texile fibres of hemp and flax, in paper and
old rags, the pith of the elder, etc. And it happened that elder trees
abounded in the island towards the mouth of Red Creek:—the colonists
had already used its shoots and berries in place of coffee.

Thus they had the cellulose at hand, and the only other substance
necessary for the manufacture of pyroxyline was nitric acid, which
Smith could easily produce as before. The engineer, therefore, resolved
to make and use this combustible, although he was aware that it had
certain serious inconveniences, such as inflaming at 170° instead of
240°, and a too instantaneous deflagration for firearms. On the other
hand, pyroxyline had these advantages—it was not affected by dampness,
it did not foul the gun-barrels, and its explosive force was four times
greater than that of gunpowder.

In order to make the pyroxyline, Smith made a mixture of three parts of
nitric acid with five of concentrated sulphuric acid, and steeped the
cellulose in this mixture for a quarter of an hour; afterwards it was
washed in fresh water and left to dry. The operation succeeded
perfectly, and the hunters had at their disposal a substance perfectly
prepared, and which, used with discretion, gave excellent results.

About this time the colonists cleared three acres of Prospect Plateau,
leaving the rest as pasture for the onagers. Many excursions were made
into Jacamar Wood and the Far West, and they brought back a perfect
harvest of wild vegetables, spinach, cresses, charlocks, and radishes,
which intelligent culture would greatly change, and which would serve
to modify the flesh diet which the colonists had been obliged to put up
with. They also hauled large quantities of wood and coal, and each
excursion helped improve the roads by grinding down its inequalities
under the wheels.

The warren always furnished its contingent of rabbits, and as it was
situated without Glycerine creek, its occupants could not reach nor
damage the new plantations. As to the oyster-bed among the coast rocks,
it furnished a daily supply of excellent mollusks. Further, fish from
the lake and river were abundant, as Pencroff had made set-lines on
which they often caught trout and another very savory fish marked with
small yellow spots on a silver-colored body. Thus Neb, who had charge
of the culinary department, was able to make an agreeable change in the
menu of each repast. Bread alone was wanting at the colonists’ table,
and they felt this privation exceedingly.

Sometimes the little party hunted the sea-turtles, which frequented the
coast at Mandible Cape. At this season the beach was covered with
little mounds enclosing the round eggs, which were left to the sun to
hatch; and as each turtle produces two hundred and fifty eggs annually,
their number was very great.

“It is a true egg-field,” said Spilett, “and all we have to do is to
gather them.”

But they did not content themselves with these products; they hunted
also the producers, and took back to Granite House a dozen of these
reptiles, which were excellent eating. Turtle soup, seasoned with
herbs, and a handful of shell-fish thrown in, gained high praise for
its concoctor, Neb.

Another fortunate event, which permitted them to make new provision for
winter, must be mentioned. Shoals of salmon ascended the Mercy for many
miles, in order to spawn. The river was full of these fish, which
measured upwards of two feet in length, and it was only necessary to
place some barriers in the stream in order to capture a great many.
Hundreds were caught in this way, and salted down for winter, when the
ice would stop the fishing.

Jup, during this time, was elevated to the position of a domestic. He
had been clothed in a jacket, and short trowsers, and an apron with
pockets, which were his joy, as he kept his hands in them and allowed
no one to search them. The adroit orang had been wonderfully trained by
Neb, and one would have said they understood each other’s conversation.
Jup had, moreover, a real affection for the Negro, which was
reciprocated. When the monkey was not wanted to carry wood or to climb
to the top of some tree, he was passing his time in the kitchen,
seeking to imitate Neb in all that he was doing. The master also showed
great patience and zeal in instructing his pupil, and the pupil showed
remarkable intelligence in profiting by these lessons.

Great was the satisfaction one day when Master Jup, napkin on arm, came
without having been called to wait on the table. Adroit and attentive,
he acquitted himself perfectly, changing the plates, bringing the
dishes, and pouring the drink, all with a gravity which greatly amused
the colonists, and completely overcame Pencroff.

“Jup, some more soup! Jup, a bit more agouti! Jup, another plate! Jup,
brave, honest Jup!”

Jup, not in the least disconcerted, responded to every call, looked out
for everything, and nodded his head intelligently when the sailor,
alluding to his former pleasantry said:—

“Decidedly, Jup, we must double your wages!”

The orang had become perfectly accustomed, to Granite House, and often
accompanied his masters to the forest without manifesting the least
desire to run off. It was laughable to see him march along with a stick
of Pencroff’s on his shoulder, like a gun. If any one wanted some fruit
gathered from a treetop how quickly be was up there. If the wagon
wheels stuck in the mire, with what strength he raised it onto the road
again.

“What a Hercules!” exclaimed Pencroff. “If he was as mischievous as he
is gentle we could not get along with him.”

Towards the end of January the colonists undertook great work in the
interior of the island. It had been decided that they would establish
at the foot of Mount Franklin, near the sources of Red Creek, the
corral destined to contain the animals whose presence would have been
unpleasant near Granite House, and more particularly the moufflons,
which were to furnish wool for winter clothing. Every morning all the
colonists, or oftener Smith, Herbert, and Pencroff, went with the
onagers to the site, five miles distant, over what they called Corral
Road. There an extensive area had been chosen opposite the southern
slope of the mountain. It was a level plain, having here and there
groups of trees, situated at the base of one of the spurs, which closed
it in on that side. A small stream, rising close by, crossed it
diagonally, and emptied into Red Creek. The grass was lush, and the
position of the trees allowed the air to circulate freely. All that was
necessary was to build a palisade around to the mountain spur
sufficiently high to keep in the animals. The enclosure would be large
enough to contain one hundred cattle, moufflons or wild goats and their
young.

The line of the corral was marked out by the engineer, and they all set
to work to cut down the trees necessary for the palisade. The road
which they had made furnished some hundred trees, which were drawn to
the place and set firmly in the ground. At the back part of the
palisade they made an entranceway, closed by a double gate made from
thick plank, which could be firmly fastened on the outside.

The building of this corral took all of three weeks, as, besides the
work on the palisades, Smith put up large sheds for the animals. These
were made of planks, and, indeed, everything had to be made solidly and
strong, as moufflons have great strength, and their first resistance
was to be feared. The uprights, pointed at the end and charred, had
been bolted together, and the strength of the whole had been augmented
by placing braces at intervals.

The corral finished, the next thing was to inaugurate a grand hunt at
the pasturages, near the foot of Mount Franklin, frequented by the
animals. The time chosen was the 7th of February, a lovely summer day,
and everybody took part in the affair. The two onagers, already pretty
well trained, were mounted by Spilett and Herbert and did excellent
service. The plan was to drive together the moufflons and goats by
gradually narrowing the circle of the chase around them. Smith,
Pencroff, Neb, and Jup posted themselves in different parts of the
wood, while the two horsemen and Top scoured the country for half a
mile around the corral. The moufflons were very numerous in this
neighborhood. These handsome animals were as large as deer, with larger
horns than those of rams, and a greyish-colored wool, mingled with long
hair, like argali.

The hunt, with its going and coming, the racing backwards and forwards,
the shouting and hallooing, was fatiguing enough. Out of a hundred
animals that were driven together many escaped, but little by little
some thirty moufflons and a dozen wild goats were driven within the
corral, whose open gate seemed to offer a chance of escape. The result
was, therefore, satisfactory; and as many of these moufflons were
females with young, it was certain that the herd would prosper, and
milk and skins be plenty in the future.

In the evening the hunters returned to Granite House nearly tired out.
Nevertheless the next day they went back to look at the corral. The
prisoners had tried hard to break down the palisade, but, not
succeeding, they had soon become quiet.

Nothing of any importance happened during February. The routine of
daily work continued, and while improving the condition of the existing
roads, a third, starting from the enclosure, and directed towards the
southern coast, was begun. This unknown portion of Lincoln Island was
one mass of forest, such as covered Serpentine Peninsula, giving
shelter to the beasts from whose presence Spilett proposed to rid their
domain.

Before the winter returned careful attention was given to the
cultivation of the wild plants which had been transplanted to the
plateau, and Herbert seldom returned from an excursion without bringing
back some useful vegetable. One day it was a kind of succory, from the
seed of which an excellent oil can be pressed; another time, it was the
common sorrel, whose anti-scorbutic properties were not to be
neglected; and again, it was some of those valuable tubercles which
have always been cultivated in South America, those potatoes, of which
more than two hundred species are known at present. The kitchen garden,
already well enclosed, well watered, and well defended against the
birds, was divided into small beds of lettuce, sorrel, radish,
charlock, and other crucifers; and as the soil upon the plateau was of
wonderful richness, abundant crops might be anticipated.

Neither were various drinks wanting, and unless requiring wine, the
most fastidious could not have complained. To the Oswego tea, made from
the mountain mint, and the fermented liquor made from the roots of the
dragon-tree, Smith added a genuine beer; this was made from the young
shoots of the “abies nigra,” which, after having been boiled and
fermented, yielded that agreeable and particularly healthful drink,
known to Americans as “spring beer,” that is, spruce beer.

Toward the close of summer the poultry yard received a fine pair of
bustards belonging to the species “houbara,” remarkable for a sort of
short cloak of feathers and a membranous pouch extending on either side
of the upper mandible; also some fine cocks, with black skin, comb, and
wattles, like those of Mozambique, which strutted about the lake shore.

Thus the zeal of these intelligent and brave men made every thing
prosper. Providence, doubtless, assisted them; but, faithful to the
precept, they first helped themselves, and Heaven helped them
accordingly.

In the evenings, during this warm summer weather, after the day’s work
was ended, and when the sea breeze was springing up, the colonists
loved to gather together on the edge of Prospect Plateau in an arbor of
Neb’s building, covered with climbing plants. There they conversed and
instructed each other, and planned for the future; or the rough wit of
the sailor amused this little world, in which the most perfect harmony
had never ceased to reign.

They talked, too, of their country, dear and grand America. In what
condition was the Rebellion? It certainly could not have continued.
Richmond had, doubtless, soon fallen into General Grant’s hands. The
capture of the Confederate capital was necessarily the last act in that
unhappy struggle. By this time the North must have triumphed. How a
newspaper would have been welcomed by the colonists of Lincoln Island!
It was eleven months since all communication between them and the rest
of the world had been interrupted, and pretty soon, the 24th of March,
the anniversary of the day when the balloon had thrown them on this
unknown coast, would have arrived. Then they were castaways, struggling
with the elements for life. Now thanks to the knowledge of their
leader, thanks to their own intelligence, they were true colonists,
furnished with arms, tools, instruments, who had turned to their use
the animals, vegetables and minerals of the island, the three kingdoms
of nature.

As to Smith, he listened to the conversation of his companions oftener
than he spoke himself. Sometimes he smiled at some thought of
Herbert’s, or some sally of Pencroff’s, but always and above all other
things, he reflected upon those inexplicable events, upon that strange
enigma whose secret still escaped him.




CHAPTER XXXI.


BAD WEATHER—THE HYDRAULIC ELEVATOR—MAKING WINDOW GLASS AND TABLE
WARE—THE BREAD TREE—FREQUENT VISITS TO THE CORRAL—THE INCREASE OF THE
HERD—THE REPORTER’S QUESTION—THE EXACT POSITION OF LINCOLN
ISLAND—PENCROFF’S PROPOSAL.


The weather changed during the first week in March. There was a full
moon in the beginning of the month, and the heat was excessive. The
electricity in the air could be felt, and the stormy weather was at
hand. On the 2d the thunder was very violent, the wind came out east,
and the hail beat against the front of Granite House, pattering like a
volley of musketry. It was necessary to fasten the doors and shutters
in order to keep the rooms from being inundated. Some of the hailstones
were as large as pigeons’ eggs, and made Pencroff think of his
cornfield. He instantly ran there, and by covering the tiny young
sprouts with a large cloth was able to protect them. The sailor was
well pelted, but he did not mind that.

The stormy weather lasted for eight days, and the thunder was almost
continuous. The heavens were full of lightning, and many trees in the
forest were struck, and also a huge pine growing upon the border of the
lake. Two or three times the electric fluid struck the beach, melting
and vitrifying the sand. Finding these fulgurites, Smith conceived the
idea that it would be possible to furnish the windows of Granite House
with glass thick and solid enough to resist the wind and rain and hail.

The colonists, having no immediate out-of-doors work, profited by the
bad weather to complete and perfect the interior arrangements of
Granite House. The engineer built a lathe with which they were able to
turn some toilette articles and cooking utensils, and also some
buttons, the need of which had been pressing. They also made a rack for
the arms, which were kept with the utmost care. Nor was Jup forgotten;
he occupied a chamber apart, a sort of cabin with a frame always full
of good bedding, which suited him exactly.

“There’s no such thing as fault-finding with Jup,” said Pencroff. “What
a servant he is, Neb!”

“He is my pupil and almost my equal!”

“He’s your superior,” laughed the sailor, “as you can talk, Neb, and he
cannot!”

Jup had by this time become perfectly familiar with all the details of
his work. He brushed the clothes, turned the spit, swept the rooms,
waited at table, and—what delighted Pencroff—never laid down at night
before he had tucked the worthy sailor in his bed.

As to the health of the colony, bipeds and bimana, quadrupeds and
quadrumana, it left nothing to be desired. With the out-of-doors work,
on this salubrious soil, under this temperate zone, laboring with head
and hand, they could not believe that they could ever be sick, and all
were in splendid health. Herbert had grown a couple of inches during
the year; his figure had developed and knitted together, and he
promised to become a fine man physically and morally. He profited by
the lessons which he learned practically and from the books in the
chest, and he found in the engineer and the reporter masters pleased to
teach him. It was the engineer’s desire to teach the lad all he himself
knew.

“If I die,” thought Smith, “he will take my place.”

The storm ended on the 9th of March, but the sky remained clouded
during the remainder of the month, and, with the exception of two or
three fine days, rainy or foggy.

About this time a little onager was born, and a number of moufflons, to
the great joy of Neb and Herbert, who had each their favorites among
these new comers.

The domestication of piccaries was also attempted—a pen being built
near the poultry-yard, and a number of the young animals placed therein
under Neb’s care. Jup was charged with taking them their daily
nourishment, the kitchen refuse, and he acquitted himself
conscientiously of the task. He did, indeed, cut off their tails, but
this was a prank and not naughtiness, because those little twisted
appendages amused him like a toy, and his instinct was that of a child.

One day in March, Pencroff, talking with the engineer, recalled to his
mind a promise made some time before.

“You have spoken of something to take the place of our long ladder, Mr.
Smith. Will you make it some day?”

“You mean a kind of elevator?” answered Smith.

“Call it an elevator if you wish,” responded the sailor. “The name does
not matter, provided we can get to our house easily.”

“Nothing is easier, Pencroff; but is it worth while?”

“Certainly, sir, it is. After we have the necessaries, let us think of
the conveniences. For people this will be a luxury, if you choose; but
for things, it is indispensable. It is not so easy to climb a long
ladder when one is heavily loaded.”

“Well, Pencroff, we will try to satisfy you,” answered Smith.

“But you haven’t the machine.”

“We will make one.”

“To go by steam?”

“No, to go by water.”

Indeed, a natural force was at hand. All that was necessary was to
enlarge the passage which furnished Granite House with water, and make
a fall at the end of the corridor. Above this fall the engineer placed
a paddle-wheel, and wrapped around its axle a strong rope attached to a
basket. In this manner, by means of a long cord which reached to the
ground, they could raise or lower the basket by means of the hydraulic
motor.

On the 17th of March the elevator was used for the first time, and
after that everything was hoisted into Granite House by its means. Top
was particularly pleased by this improvement, as he could not climb
like Jup, and he had often made the ascent on the back of Neb or of the
orang.

Smith also attempted to make glass, which was difficult enough, but
after numerous attempts he succeeded in establishing a glass-works at
the old pottery, where Herbert and Spilett spent several days. The
substances entering into the composition of glass—sand, chalk, and
soda—the engineer had at hand; but the “cane” of the glassmaker, an
iron tube five or six feet long, was wanting. This Pencroff, however,
succeeded in making, and on the 28th of March the furnace was heated.

One hundred parts of sand, thirty-five of chalk, forty of sulphate of
soda, mixed with two of three parts of powdered charcoal, composed the
substance which was placed in earthen vessels and melted to a liquid,
or rather to the consistency of paste. Smith “culled” a certain
quantity of this paste with his cane, and turned it back and forth on a
metal plate so placed that it could be blown on; then he passed the
cane to Herbert, telling him to blow in it.

“As you do to make soap bubbles?”

“Exactly.”

So Herbert, puffing out his cheeks, blew through the cane, which he
kept constantly turning about, in such a manner as to inflate the
vitreous mass. Other quantities of the substance in fusion were added
to the first, and the result was a bubble, measuring a foot in
diameter. Then Smith took the cane again, and swinging it like a
pendulum, he made this bubble lengthen into the shape of cylinder.

This cylinder was terminated at either end by two hemispherical caps,
which were easily cut off by means of a sharp iron dipped in cold
water; in the same way the cylinder was cut lengthwise, and after
having been heated a second time it was spread on the plate and
smoothed with a wooden roller.

Thus the first glass was made, and by repeating the operation fifty
times they had as many glasses, and the windows of Granite House were
soon garnished with transparent panes, not very clear, perhaps, but
clear enough.

As to the glassware, that was mere amusement. They took whatever shape
happened to come at the end of the cane. Pencroff had asked to be
allowed to blow in his turn and he enjoyed it, but he blew so hard that
his products took the most diverting forms, which pleased him
amazingly.

During one of the excursions undertaken about this time a new tree was
discovered, whose products added much to the resources of the colony.

Smith and Herbert, being out hunting one day, went into the forests of
the Far West, and as usual the lad asked the engineer a thousand
questions, and as Smith was no sportsman, and Herbert was deep in
physics and chemistry, the game did not suffer; and so it fell out that
the day was nearly ended, and the two hunters were likely to have made
a useless excursion, when Herbert, stopping suddenly, exclaimed
joyfully:—

“Oh, Mr. Smith, do you see that tree?”

And he pointed out a shrub rather than a tree, as it was composed of a
single stem with a scaly bark, and leaves striped with small parallel
veins.

“It looks like a small palm. What is it?” asked Smith.

“It is a “cycas revoluta,” about which I have read in our Dictionary of
Natural History.”

“But I see no fruit on this shrub?”

“No, sir, but its trunk contains a flour which Nature furnishes all
ground.”

“Is it a bread-tree?”

“That’s it, exactly.”

“Then, my boy, since we are waiting for our wheat crop, this is a
valuable discovery. Examine it, and pray heaven you are not mistaken.”

Herbert was not mistaken. He broke the stem of the cycas, which was
composed of a glandular tissue containing a certain quantity of
farinaceous flour, traversed by ligneous fibres and separated by
concentric rings of the same substance. From the fecula oozed a sticky
liquid of a disagreeable taste, but this could readily be removed by
pressure. The substance itself formed a real flour of superior quality,
extremely nourishing, and which used to be forbidden exportation by the
laws of Japan.

Smith and Herbert, after baring carefully noted the location of the
cycas, returned to Granite House and made known their discovery, and
the next day all the colonists went to the place, and, Pencroff,
jubilant, asked the engineer:—

“Mr Smith, do you believe there are such things as castaways’ islands?”

“What do you mean, Pencroff?.”

“Well, I mean islands made especially for people to be shipwrecked
upon, where the poor devils could always get along!”

“Perhaps,” said the engineer, smiling.

“Certainly!” answered the sailor, “and just as certainly Lincoln Island
is one of them!”

They returned to Granite House with an ample supply of cycas stems, and
the engineer made a press by which the liquid was expelled, and they
obtained a goodly quantity of flour which Neb transformed into cakes
and puddings. They had not yet real wheaten bread, but it was the next
thing to do.

The onager, the goats, and the sheep in the corral furnished a daily
supply of milk to the colony, and the cart, or rather a light wagon,
which had taken its place, made frequent trips to the corral. And when
Pencroff’s turn came, he took Jup along, and made him drive, and Jup,
cracking his whip, acquitted himself with his usual intelligence. Thus
everything prospered, and the colonists, if they had not been so far
from their country, would have had nothing to complain of. They liked
the life and they were so accustomed to the island that they would have
left it with regret. Nevertheless, such is man’s love of country, that
had a ship hove in sight the colonists would have signalled it, have
gone aboard and departed. Meantime, they lived this happy life and they
had rather to fear than to wish for any interruption of its course.

But who is able to flatter himself that he has attained his fortune and
reached the summit of his desires?

The colonists often discussed the nature of their Island, which they
had inhabited for more than a year, and one day a remark was made
which, was destined, later, to bring about the most serious result.

It was the 1st of April, a Sunday, and the Pascal feast, which Smith
and his companions had sanctified by rest and prayer. The day had been
lovely, like a day in October in the Northern Hemisphere. Towards
evening all were seated in the arbor on the edge of the plateau,
watching the gradual approach of night, and drinking some of Neb’s
elderberry coffee. They had been talking of the island and its isolated
position in the Pacific, when something made Spilett say:—

“By the way, Cyrus, have you ever taken the position of the island
again since you have had the sextant?”

“No,” answered the engineer.

“Well, wouldn’t it be well enough to do so?”.

“What would be the use?” asked Pencroff. “The island is well enough
where it is.”

“Doubtless,” answered Spilett, “but it is possible that the
imperfections of the other instruments may have caused an error in that
observation, and since, it is easy to verify it exactly—”

“You are right, Spilett,” responded the engineer, “and I would have
made this verification before, only that if I have made an error it
cannot exceed five degrees in latitude or longitude.”

“Who knows,” replied the reporter, “who knows but that we are much
nearer an inhabited land than we believe?”

“We will know to-morrow,” responded the engineer,” and had it not been
for the other work, which has left us no leisure, we would have known
already.”

“Well,” said Pencroff, “Mr. Smith is too good an observer to have been
mistaken, and if the island has not moved, it is just where he put it!”

So the next day the engineer made the observations with the sextant
with the following result:—Longitude 150° 30’ west; latitude 34° 57’
south. The previous observation had given the situation of the island
as between longitude 150° and 155° west, and latitude 36° and 35°
south, so that, notwithstanding the rudeness of his apparatus, Smith’s
error had not been more than five degrees.

“Now,” said Spilett, “since, beside a sextant, we have an atlas, see,
my dear Cyrus, the exact position of Lincoln Island in the Pacific.”

Herbert brought the atlas, which it will be remembered gave the
nomenclature in the French language, and the volume was opened at the
map of the Pacific. The engineer, compass in hand, was about to
determine their situation, when, suddenly he paused, exclaiming:—

“Why, there is an island marked in this part of the Pacific!”

“An island?” cried Pencroff.

“Doubtless it is ours.” added Spilett.

“No.” replied Smith. “This island is situated in 153° of longitude and
37° 11’ of latitude.”

“And what’s the name?” asked Herbert.

“Tabor Island.”

“Is it important?”

“No, it is an island lost in the Pacific, and which has never, perhaps,
been visited.”

“Very well, we will visit it,” said Pencroff.

“We?”

“Yes, sir; We will build a decked boat, and I will undertake to steer
her. How far are we from this Tabor Island?”

“A hundred and fifty miles to the northeast.”

“Is that all?” responded Pencroff.

“Why in forty-eight hours, with a good breeze, we will be there!”

“But what would be the use?” asked the reporter.

“We cannot tell till we see it!”

And upon this response it was decided that a boat should be built so
that it might be launched by about the next October, on the return of
good weather.




CHAPTER XXXII.


SHIP BUILDING—THE SECOND HARVEST—AI HUNTING—A NEW PLANT—A WHALE—THE
HARPOON FROM THE VINEYARD—CUTTING UP THIS CETACEA—USE OF THE
WHALEBONE—THE END OF MAY—PENCROFF IS CONTENT.


When Pencroff was possessed of an idea, he would not rest till it was
executed. Now, he wanted to visit Tabor Island, and as a boat of some
size was necessary, therefore the boat must be built. He and the
engineer accordingly determined upon the following model:—

The boat was to measure thirty-five feet on the keel by nine feet
beam—with the lines of a racer—and to draw six feet of water, which
would be sufficient to prevent her making leeway. She was to be
flush-decked, with the two hatchways into two holds separated by a
partition, and sloop-rigged with mainsail, topsail, jib, storm-jib and
brigantine, a rig easily handled, manageable in a squall, and excellent
for lying close in the wind. Her hull was to be constructed of planks,
edge to edge, that is, not overlapping, and her timbers would be bent
by steam after the planking had been adjusted to a false frame.

On the question of wood, whether to use elm or deal, they decided on
the latter as being easier to work, and supporting immersion in water
the better.

These details having been arranged, it was decided that, as the fine
weather would not return before six months, Smith and Pencroff should
do this work alone. Spilett and Herbert were to continue hunting, and
Neb and his assistant, Master Jup, were to attend to the domestic cares
as usual.

At once trees were selected and cut down and sawed into planks, and a
week later a ship-yard was made in the hollow between Granite House and
the Cliff, and a keel thirty-five feet long, with stern-post and stem
lay upon the sand.

Smith had not entered blindly upon this undertaking. He understood
marine construction as he did almost everything else, and he had first
drawn the model on paper. Moreover, he was well aided by Pencroff, who
had worked as a ship-carpenter. It was, therefore, only after deep
thought and careful calculation that the false frame was raised on the
keel.

Pencroff was very anxious to begin the new enterprise, and but one
thing took him away, and then only for a day, from the work. This was
the second harvest, which was made on the 15th of April. It resulted as
before, and yielded the proportion of grains calculated.

“Five bushels, Mr. Smith,” said Pencroff, after having scrupulously
measured these riches.

“Five bushels,” answered the engineer, “or 650,000 grains of corn.”

“Well, we will sow them all this time, excepting a small reserve.”

“Yes, and if the next harvest is proportional to this we will have
4,000 bushels.”

“And we will eat bread.”

“We will, indeed.”

“But we must build a mill?”

“We will build one.”

The third field of corn, though incomparably larger than the others,
was prepared with great care and received the precious seed. Then
Pencroff returned to his work.

In the meantime, Spilett and Herbert hunted in the neighborhood, or
with their guns loaded with ball, adventured into the unexplored depths
of the Far West. It was an inextricable tangle of great trees growing
close together. The exploration of those thick masses was very
difficult and the engineer never undertook it without taking with him
the pocket compass, as the sun was rarely visible through the leaves.
Naturally, game was not plenty in these thick undergrowths, but three
ai were shot during the last fortnight in April, and their skins were
taken to Granite House, where they received a sort of tanning with
sulfuric acid.

On the 30th of April, a discovery, valuable for another reason, was
made by Spilett. The two hunters were deep in the south-western part of
the Far West when the reporter, walking some fifty paces ahead of his
companion, came to a sort of glade, and was surprised to perceive an
odor proceeding from certain straight stemmed plants, cylindrical and
branching, and bearing bunches of flowers and tiny seeds. The reporter
broke off some of these stems, and, returning to the lad, asked him if
he knew what they were.

“Where did you find this plant?” asked Herbert.

“Over there in the glade; there is plenty of it.”

“Well, this is a discovery that gives you Pencroff’s everlasting
gratitude.”

“Is it tobacco?”

“Yes, and if it is not first quality it is all the same, tobacco.”

“Good Pencroff, how happy he’ll be. But he cannot smoke all. He’ll have
to leave some for us.”

“I’ll tell you what, sir. Let us say nothing to Pencroff until the
tobacco has been prepared, and then some fine day we will hand him a
pipe full.”

“And you may be sure, Herbert, that on that day the good fellow will
want nothing else in the world.”

The two smuggled a good supply of the plant into Granite House with as
much precaution as if Pencroff had been the strictest of custom house
officers. Smith and Neb were let into the secret, but Pencroff never
suspected any thing during the two months it took to prepare the
leaves, as he was occupied all day at the ship-yard.

On the 1st of May the sailor was again interrupted at his favorite work
by a fishing adventure, in which all the colonists took part.

For some days they had noticed an enormous animal swimming in the sea
some two or three miles distant from the shore. It was a huge whale,
apparently belonging to the species _australis_, called “cape whales.”

“How lucky for us if we could capture it!” cried the sailor. “Oh, if we
only had a suitable boat and a harpoon ready, so that I could
say:—Let’s go for him! For he’s worth all the trouble he’ll give us!”

“Well, Pencroff, I should like to see you manage a harpoon. It must be
interesting.”

“Interesting and somewhat dangerous,” said the engineer, “but since we
have not the means to attack this animal, it is useless to think about
him.”

“I am astonished to see a whale in such comparatively high latitude.”

“Why, Mr. Spilett, we are in that very part of the Pacific which
whalers call the ‘whale-field,’ and just here whales are found in the
greatest number.”

“That is so,” said Pencroff, “and I wonder we have not seen one before,
but it don’t matter much since we cannot go to it.”

And the sailor turned with a sigh to his work, as all sailors are
fishermen; and if the sport is proportionate to the size of the game,
one can imagine what a whaler must feel in the presence of a whale.
But, aside from the sport, such spoil would have been very acceptable
to the colony, as the oil, the fat, and the fins could be turned to
various uses.

It appeared as if the animal did not wish to leave these waters. He
kept swimming about in Union Bay for two days, now approaching the
shore, when his black body could be seen perfectly, and again darting
through the water or spouting vapor to a vast height in the air. Its
presence continually engaged the thoughts of the colonists, and
Pencroff was like a child longing for some forbidden object.

Fortune, however, did for the colonists what they could not have done
for themselves, and on the 3d of May, Neb looking from his kitchen
shouted that the whale was aground on the island.

Herbert and Spilett, who were about starting on a hunt, laid aside
their guns, Pencroff dropped his hatchet, and Smith and Neb, joining
their companions, hurried down to the shore. It had grounded on Jetsam
Point at high water, and it was not likely that the monster would be
able to get off easily; but they must hasten in order to cut off its
retreat if necessary. So seizing some picks and spears they ran across
the bridge, down the Mercy and along the shore, and in less than twenty
minutes the party were beside the huge animal, above whom myriads of
birds were already hovering.

“What a monster!” exclaimed Neb.

And the term was proper, as it was one of the largest of the southern
whales, measuring forty-five feet in length and weighing not less than
150,000 pounds.

Meantime the animal, although the tide was still high, made no effort
to get off the shore, and the reason for this was explained later when
at low water the colonists walked around its body.

It was dead, and a harpoon protruded from its left flank.

“Are there whalers in our neighborhood?” asked Spilett.

“Why do you ask?”

“Since the harpoon is still there—”

“Oh that proves nothing, sir,” said Pencroff. “Whales sometimes go
thousands of miles with a harpoon in them, and I should not be
surprised if this one which came to die here had been struck in the
North Atlantic.”

“Nevertheless”—began Spilett, not satisfied with Pencroff’s
affirmation.

“It is perfectly possible,” responded the engineer, “but let us look at
the harpoon. Probably it will have the name of the ship on it.”

Pencroff drew out the harpoon, and read this inscription:—

Maria-Stella Vineyard.


“A ship from the Vineyard! A ship of my country!” be cried. “The
Maria-Stella! a good whaler! and I know her well! Oh, my friends, a
ship from the Vineyard! A whaler from the Vineyard!”

And the sailor, brandishing the harpoon, continued to repeat that name
dear to his heart, the name of his birthplace.

But as they could not wait for the Maria-Stella to come and reclaim
their prize, the colonists resolved to cut it up before decomposition
set in. The birds of prey were already anxious to become possessors of
the spoil, and it was necessary to drive them away with gunshots.

The whale was a female, and her udders furnished a great quantity of
milk, which, according to Dieffenbach, resembles in taste, color, and
density, the milk of cows.

As Pencroff had served on a whaler he was able to direct the
disagreeable work of cutting up the animal—an operation which lasted
during three days. The blubber, cut in strips two feet and a half thick
and divided into pieces weighing a thousand pounds each, was melted
down in large earthen vats, which had been brought on to the ground.
And such was its abundance, that notwithstanding a third of its weight
was lost by melting, the tongue alone yielded 6,000 pounds of oil. The
colonists were therefore supplied with an abundant supply of stearine
and glycerine, and there was, besides, the whalebone, which would find
its use, although there were neither umbrellas nor corsets in Granite
House.

The operation ended, to the great satisfaction of the colonists, the
rest of the animal was left to the birds, who made away with it to the
last vestiges, and the daily routine of work was resumed. Still, before
going to the ship-yard, Smith worked on certain affairs which excited
the curiosity of his companions. He took a dozen of the plates of
baleen (the solid whalebone), which he cut into six equal lengths,
sharpened at the ends.

“And what is that for?” asked Herbert, when they were finished.

“To kill foxes, wolves, and jaguars,” answered the engineer.

“Now?”

“No, but this winter, when we have the ice.”

“I don’t understand,” answered Herbert.

“You shall understand, my lad,” answered the engineer. “This is not my
invention; it is frequently employed by the inhabitants of the Aleutian
islands. These whalebones which you see, when the weather is freezing I
will bend round and freeze in that position with a coating of ice; then
having covered them with a bit of fat, I will place them in the snow.
Supposing a hungry animal swallows one of these baits? The warmth will
thaw the ice, and the whalebone, springing back, will pierce the
stomach.”

“That is ingenious!” said Pencroff.

“And it will save powder and ball,” said Smith.

“It will be better than the traps.”

“Just wait till winter comes.”

The ship-building continued, and towards the end of the month the
little vessel was half-finished. Pencroff worked almost too hard, but
his companions were secretly preparing a recompense for all his toil,
and the 31st of May was destined to be one of the happiest times in his
life.

After dinner on that day, just as he was leaving table, Pencroff felt a
hand on his shoulder and heard Spilett saying to him:—

“Don’t go yet awhile, Pencroff. You forget the dessert.”

“Thank you, Spilett, but I must get back to work.”

“Oh, well, have a cup of coffee.”

“Not any.”

“Well, then, a pipe?”

Pencroff started up quickly, and when he saw the reporter holding him a
pipe full of tobacco, and Herbert with a light, his honest, homely face
grew pale, and he could not say a word; but taking the pipe, he placed
it to his lips, lit it, and drew five or six long puffs, one after the
other.

A fragrant, blueish-colored smoke filled the air, and from the depths
of this cloud came a voice, delirious with joy, repeating,

“Tobacco! real tobacco!”

“Yes, Pencroff,” answered Smith, “and good tobacco at that.”

“Heaven be praised!” ejaculated the sailor. “Nothing now is wanting in
our island. And he puffed and puffed and puffed.

“Who found it?” he asked, at length. “It was you, Herbert, I suppose?”

“No, Pencroff, it was Mr. Spilett.”

“Mr. Spilett!” cried the sailor, hugging the reporter, who had never
been treated that way before.

“Yes, Pencroff,”—taking advantage of a cessation in the embrace to get
his breath—“But include in your thanksgiving Herbert, who recognized
the plant, Mr. Smith, who prepared it, and Neb, who has found it hard
to keep the secret.”

“Well, my friends, I will repay you for this some day! Meanwhile I am
eternally grateful!.”




CHAPTER XXXIII


WINTER—FULLING CLOTH—THE MILL —PENCROFF’S FIXED PURPOSE—THE
WHALEBONES—THE USE OF AN ALBATROSS —TOP AND JUP—STORMS—DAMAGE TO THE
POULTRY-YARD—AN EXCURSION TO THE MARSH—SMITH ALONE—EXPLORATION OF THE
PITS.


Winter came with June, and the principal work was the making of strong
warm clothing. The moufflons had been clipped, and the question was how
to transform the wool into cloth.

Smith, not having any mill machinery, was obliged to proceed in the
simplest manner, in order to economize the spinning and weaving.
Therefore he proposed to make use of the property possessed by the
filaments of wool of binding themselves together under pressure, and
making by their mere entanglement the substance known as felt. This
felt can be obtained by a simple fulling, an operation which, while it
diminishes the suppleness of the stuff, greatly augments its
heat-preserving qualities; and as the moufflons’ wool was very short it
was in good condition for felting.

The engineer, assisted by his companions, including Pencroff—who had to
leave his ship again—cleansed the wool of the grease and oil by soaking
it in warm water and washing it with soda, and, when it was partially
dried by pressure it was in a condition to be milled, that is, to
produce a solid stuff, too coarse to be of any value in the industrial
centres of Europe, but valuable enough in the Lincoln Island market.

The engineer’s professional knowledge was of great service in
constructing the machine destined to mill the wool, as he knew how to
make ready use of the power, unemployed up to this time, in the
water-fall at the cliff, to move a fulling mill.

Its construction was most simple. A tree furnished with cams, which
raised and dropped the vertical millers, troughs for the wool, into
which the millers fell, a strong wooden building containing and
sustaining the contrivance, such was the machine in question.

The work, superintended by Smith, resulted admirably. The wool,
previously impregnated with a soapy solution, came from the mill in the
shape of a thick felt cloth. The striæ and roughnesses of the material
had caught and blended together so thoroughly that they formed a stuff
equally suitable for cloths or coverings. It was not, indeed, one of
the stuffs of commerce, but it was “Lincoln felt,” and the island had
one more industry.

The colonists, being thus provided with good clothes and warm
bed-clothing, saw the winter of 1866-67 approach without any dread. The
cold really began to be felt on the 20th of June, and, to his great
regret, Pencroff was obliged to suspend work on his vessel, although it
would certainly be finished by the next spring.

The fixed purpose of the sailor was to make a voyage of discovery to
Tabor Island, although Smith did not approve of this voyage of simple
curiosity, as there was evidently no succor to be obtained from that
desert and half arid rock. A voyage of 150 miles in a boat,
comparatively small, in the midst of unknown seas, was cause for
considerable anxiety. If the frail craft, once at sea, should be unable
to reach Tabor Island, or to return to Lincoln Island, what would
become of her in the midst of this ocean so fertile in disasters?

Smith often talked of this project with Pencroff, and he found in the
sailor a strange obstinacy to make the voyage, an obstinacy for which
Pencroff himself could not account.

“Well,” said the engineer one day, “you must see, Pencroff, after
having said every good of Lincoln Island, and expressing the regret you
would feel should you have to leave it, that you are the first to want
to get away.”

“Only for a day or two,” answered Pencroff, “for a few days, Mr. Smith;
just long enough to go and return, and see what this island is.”

“But it cannot compare with ours.”

“I know that.””

“Then why go?”

“To find out what’s going on there!”

“But there is nothing; there can be nothing there.”

“Who knows?”

“And supposing you are caught in a storm?”

“That is not likely in that season,” replied Pencroff. “But, sir, as it
is necessary to foresee everything, I want your permission to take
Herbert with me.”

“Pencroff,” said the engineer, laying his hand on the shoulder of the
sailor, “If anything should happen to you and this child, whom chance
has made our son, do you think that we would ever forgive ourselves?”

“Mr. Smith,” responded Pencroff with unshaken confidence, “we won’t
discuss such mishaps. But we will talk again of this voyage when the
time comes. Then, I think, when you have seen our boat well rigged,
when you have seen how well she behaves at sea, when you have made the
tour of the island—as we will, together—I think, I say, that you will
not hesitate to let me go. I do not conceal from you that this will be
a fine work, your ship.”

“Say rather, our ship, Pencroff,” replied the engineer, momentarily
disarmed. And the conversation, to be renewed later, ended without
convincing either of the speakers.

The first snow fell towards the end of the month. The corral had been
well provisioned, and there was no further necessity for daily visits,
but it was decided to go there at least once a week. The traps were set
again, and the contrivances of Smith were tried, and worked perfectly.
The bent whalebones, frozen, and covered with fat, were placed near the
edge of the forest, at a place frequented by animals, and some dozen
foxes, some wild boars, and a jaguar were found killed by this means,
their stomachs perforated by the straightened whalebones.

At this time, an experiment, thought of by the reporter, was made. It
was the first attempt of the colonists to communicate with their
kindred.

Spilett had already often thought of throwing a bottle containing a
writing into the sea, to be carried by the currents, perhaps, to some
inhabited coast, or to make use of the pigeons. But it was pure folly
to seriously believe that pigeons or bottles could cross the 1,200
miles separating the island from all lands.—

But on the 30th of June they captured, not without difficulty, an
albatross, which Herbert had slightly wounded in the foot. It was a
splendid specimen of its kind, its wings measuring ten feet from tip to
tip, and it could cross seas as vast as the Pacific.

Herbert would have liked to have kept the bird and tamed it, but
Spilett made him understand that they could not afford to neglect this
chance of corresponding by means of this courier with the Pacific
coasts. So Herbert gave up the bird, as, if it had come from some
inhabited region, it was likely to return there if at liberty.

Perhaps, in his heart, Spilett, to whom the journalistic spirit
returned sometimes, did not regret giving to the winds an interesting
article relating the adventures of the colonists of Lincoln Island.
What a triumph for the reporters of the New York _Herald_, and for the
issue containing the chronicle, if ever the latter should reach his
director, the honorable John Bennett!

Spilett, therefore, wrote out a succinct article, which was enclosed in
a waterproof-cloth bag, with the request to whoever found it to send it
to one of the offices of the _Herald_. This little bag was fastened
around the neck of the albatross and the bird given its freedom, and it
was not without emotion that the colonists saw this rapid courier of
the air disappear in the western clouds.

“Where does he go that way?” asked Pencroff.

“Towards New Zealand,” answered Herbert.

“May he have a good voyage,” said the sailor, who did not expect much
from this method of communication.

With the winter, in-door work was resumed; old clothes were repaired,
new garments made, and the sails of the sloop made from the
inexhaustible envelope of the balloon. During July the cold was
intense, but coal and wood were abundant, and Smith had built another
chimney in the great hall, where they passed the long evenings. It was
a great comfort to the colonists, when, seated in this well-lighted and
warm hall, a good dinner finished, coffee steaming in the cups, the
pipes emitting a fragrant smoke, they listened to the roar of the
tempest without. They were perfectly comfortable, if that is possible
where one is far from his kindred and without possible means of
communicating with them. They talked about their country, of their
friends at home, of the grandeur of the republic, whose influence must
increase; and Smith, who had had much to do with the affairs of the
Union, entertained his hearers with his stories, his perceptions and
his prophecies.

One evening as they had been sitting talking in this way for some time,
they were interrupted by Top, who began barking in that peculiar way
which had previously attracted the attention of the engineer, and
running around the mouth of the well which opened at the end of the
inner corridor.

“Why is Top barking that way again?” asked Pencroff.

“And Jup growling so?” added Herbert.

Indeed, both the dog and the orang gave unequivocal signs of agitation,
and curiously enough these two animals seemed to be more alarmed than
irritated.

It is evident,” said Spilett, “that this well communicates directly
with the sea, and that some animal comes to breathe in its depths.”

“It must be so, since there is no other explanation to give. Be quiet,
Top! and you, Jup! go to your room.”

The animals turned away, Jup went to his bed, but Top remained in the
hall, and continued whining the remainder of the evening. It was not,
however, the question of this incident that darkened the countenance of
the engineer.

During the remainder of the month, rain and snow alternated, and though
the temperature was not as low as during the preceding winter, there
were more storms and gales. On more than one occasion the Chimneys had
been threatened by the waves, and it seemed as if an upraising of the
sea, caused by some submarine convulsion, raised the monstrous billows
and hurled them against Granite House.

During these storms it was difficult, even dangerous, to attempt using
the roads on the island, as the trees were falling constantly.
Nevertheless, the colonists never let a week pass without visiting the
corral, and happily this enclosure, protected by the spur of the
mountain, did not suffer from the storms. But the poultry-yard, from
its position, exposed to the blast, suffered considerable damage. Twice
the pigeon-house was unroofed, and the fence also was demolished,
making it necessary to rebuild it more solidly. It was evident that
Lincoln Island was situated in the worst part of the Pacific. Indeed,
it seemed as if the island formed the central point of vast cyclones
which whipped it as if it were a top; only in this case the top was
immovable and the whip spun about.

During the first week in August the storm abated, and the atmosphere
recovered a calm which it seemed never to have lost. With the calm the
temperature lowered, and the thermometer of the colonists indicated 8°
below zero.

On the 3d of August, an excursion, which had been planned for some time
was made to Tadorn’s Fen. The hunters were tempted by the great number
of aquatic birds which made these marshes their home, and not only
Spilett and Herbert, but Pencroff and Neb took part in the expedition.
Smith alone pleaded some excuse for remaining behind at Granite House.

The hunters promised to return by evening. Top and Jup accompanied
them. And when they had crossed the bridge over the Mercy the engineer
left them, and returned with the idea of executing a project in which
he wished to be alone. This was to explore minutely the well opening
into the corridor.

Why did Top run round this place so often? Why did he whine in that
strange way? Why did Jup share Top’s anxiety? Had this well other
branches beside the communication with the sea? Did it ramify towards
other portions of the island? This is what Smith wanted to discover,
and, moreover, to be alone in his discovery. He had resolved to make
this exploration during the absence of his companions, and here was the
opportunity.

It was easy to descend to the bottom of the well by means of the
ladder, which had not been used since the elevator had taken its place.
The engineer dragged this ladder to the opening of the well, and,
having made fast one end, let it unroll itself into the abyss. Then,
having lit a lantern, and placing a revolver and cutlass in his belt,
he began to descend the rungs. The sides of the well were smooth, but
some projections of rocks appeared at intervals, and by means of these
projections an athlete could have raised himself to the mouth of the
well. The engineer noticed this, but in throwing the light of the
lantern on these points he could discover nothing to indicate that they
had ever been used in that way.

Smith descended deeper, examining every part of the well, but he saw
nothing suspicious. When he had reached the lowermost rung, he was at
the surface of the water, which was perfectly calm. Neither there, nor
in any other part of the well, was there any lateral opening. The wall,
struck by the handle of Smith’s cutlass, sounded solid. It was a
compact mass, through which no human being could make his way. In order
to reach the bottom of the well, and from thence climb to its mouth, it
was necessary to traverse the submerged passage under the shore, which
connected with the sea, and this was only possible for marine animals.
As to knowing whereabouts on the shore, and at what depth under the
waves, this passage came out, that was impossible to discover.

Smith, having ended his exploration, remounted the ladder, covered over
again the mouth of the well, and returned thoughtfully to the great
hall of Granite House, saying to himself:—

“I have seen nothing, and yet, there is something there.”




CHAPTER XXXIV.


RIGGING THE LAUNCH—ATTACKED BY FOXES—JUP WOUNDED—JUP NURSED—JUP
CURED—COMPLETION OF THE LAUNCH—PENCROFF’S TRIUMPH—THE GOOD LUCK—TRIAL
TRIP, TO THE SOUTH OF THE ISLAND—AN UNEXPECTED DOCUMENT.


The same evening the hunters returned, fairly loaded down with game,
the four men having all they could carry. Top had a circlet of ducks
round his neck, and Jup belts of woodcock round his body.

“See, my master,” cried Neb, “see how we have used our time. Preserves,
pies, we will have a good reserve! But some one must help me, and I
count upon you, Pencroff.”

“No, Neb,” responded the sailor, “the rigging of the launch occupies my
time, and you will have to do without me.”

“And you, Master Herbert?”

“I, Neb, must go to-morrow to the corral.”

“Then will you help me, Mr. Spilett?”

“To oblige you, I will, Neb,” answered the reporter, “but I warn you
that if you discover your recipes to me I will publish them.”

“Whenever you choose, sir,” responded Neb; “whenever you choose.”

And so the next day the reporter was installed as Neb’s aid in his
culinary laboratory. But beforehand the engineer had given him the
result of the previous day’s exploration, and Spilett agreed with Smith
in his opinion that, although he had found out nothing, still there was
a secret to be discovered.

The cold continued a week longer, and the colonists did not leave
Granite House excepting to look after the poultry-yard. The dwelling
was perfumed by the good odors which the learned manipulations of Neb
and the reporter emitted; but all the products of the hunt in the fen
had not been made into preserves, and as the game kept perfectly in the
intense cold, wild ducks and others, were eaten fresh, and declared
better than any waterfowl in the world.

During the week, Pencroff, assisted by Herbert, who used the sailor’s
needle skilfully, worked with such diligence that the sails of the
launch were finished. Thanks to the rigging which had been recovered
with the envelope of the balloon, hemp cordage was not wanting. The
sails were bordered by strong bolt-ropes, and there was enough left to
make halliards, shrouds, and sheets. The pulleys were made by Smith on
the lathe which he had set up, acting under Pencroff’s instruction. The
rigging was, therefore, completed before the launch was finished.
Pencroff made a red, white, and blue flag, getting the dye from certain
plants; but to the thirty-seven stars representing the thirty-seven
States of the Union, the sailor added another star, the star of the
“State of Lincoln:” as he considered his island as already annexed to
the great republic.

“And,” said he, “it is in spirit, if it is not in fact!”

For the present the flag was unfurled from the central window of
Granite House and saluted with three cheers.

Meantime, they had reached the end of the cold season; and it seemed as
if this second winter would pass without any serious event, when during
the night of the 11th of August, Prospect Plateau was menaced by a
complete devastation. After a busy day the colonists were sleeping
soundly, when towards 4 o’clock in the morning, they were suddenly
awakened by Top’s barking. The dog did not bark this time at the mouth
of the pit, but at the door, and he threw himself against it as if he
wished to break it open. Jup, also, uttered sharp cries.

“Be quiet, Top!” cried Neb, who was the first awake.

But the dog only barked the louder.

“What’s the matter?” cried Smith. And every one dressing in haste,
hurried to the windows and opened them.

“Beneath them a fall of snow shone white through the darkness. The
colonists could see nothing, but they heard curious barkings
penetrating the night. It was evident that the shore had been invaded
by a number of animals which they could not see.”

“What can they be?” cried Pencroff.

“Wolves, jaguars, or monkeys!” replied Neb.

“The mischief! They can get on to the plateau!” exclaimed the reporter.

“And our poultry-yard, and our garden!” cried Herbert.

“How have they got in?” asked Pencroff.

“They have come through the causeway,” answered the engineer, “which
one of us must have forgotten to close!”

“In truth,” said Spilett, “I remember that I left it open—”

“A nice mess you have made of it, sir!” cried the sailor.

“What is done, is done,” replied Spilett. “Let us consider what it is
necessary to do!”

These questions and answers passed rapidly between Smith and his
companions. It was certain that the causeway had been passed, that the
shore had been invaded by animals, and that, whatever they were, they
could gain Prospect Plateau by going up the left bank of the Mercy. It
was, therefore, necessary quickly to overtake them, and, if necessary,
to fight them!

“But what are they?” somebody asked a second time, as the barking
resounded more loudly.

Herbert started at the sound, and he remembered having heard it during
his first visit to the sources of Red Creek.

“They are foxes! they are foxes!” he said.

“Come on!” cried the sailor. And all, armed with hatchets, carbines,
and revolvers, hurried into the elevator, and were soon on the shore.

These foxes are dangerous animals, when numerous or irritated by
hunger. Nevertheless, the colonists did not hesitate to throw
themselves into the midst of the band, and their first shots, darting
bright gleams through the darkness, drove back the foremost assailants.

It was most important to prevent these thieves from gaining Prospect
Plateau, as the garden and the poultry-yard would have been at their
mercy, and the result would have been immense, perhaps, irreparable
damage, especially to the corn-field. But as the plateau could only be
invaded by the left bank of the Mercy, it would suffice to oppose a
barrier to the foxes on the narrow portion of the shore comprised
between the river and the granite wall.

This was apparent to all, and under Smith’s direction the party gained
this position and disposed themselves so as to form an impassable line.
Top, his formidable jaws open, preceded the colonists, and was followed
by Jup, armed with a knotty cudgel, which he brandished like a
cricket-bat.

The night was very dark, and it was only by the flash of the discharges
that the colonists could perceive their assailants, who numbered at
least 100, and whose eyes shone like embers.

“They must not pass!” cried Pencroff.

“They shall not pass!” answered the engineer.

But if they did not it was not because they did not try. Those behind
kept pushing on those in front, and it was an incessant struggle; the
colonists using their hatchets and revolvers. Already the dead bodies
of the foxes were strewn over the ground, but the band did not seem to
lessen; and it appeared as if reinforcements were constantly pouring in
through the causeway on the shore. Meantime the colonists fought side
by side, receiving some wounds, though happily but trifling. Herbert
shot one fox, which had fastened itself on Neb like a tiger-cat. Top
fought with fury, springing at the throats of the animals and
strangling them at once. Jup, armed with his cudgel, laid about him
like a good fellow, and it was useless to try to make him stay behind.
Gifted, doubtless, with a sight able to pierce the darkness, he was
always in the thick of the fight, uttering from time to time a sharp
cry, which was with him a mark of extreme jollification. At one time he
advanced so far, that by the flash of a revolver he was seen,
surrounded by five or six huge foxes, defending himself with rare
coolness.

At length the fight ended in a victory for the colonists, but only
after two hours of resistance. Doubtless the dawn of day determined the
retreat of the foxes, who scampered off toward the north across the
drawbridge, which Neb ran at once to raise. When daylight lit the
battlefield, the colonists counted fifty dead bodies upon the shore.

“And Jup! Where is Jup?” cried Neb.

Jup had disappeared. His friend Neb called him, and for the first time
he did not answer the call. Every one began to search for the monkey,
trembling lest they should find him among the dead. At length, under a
veritable mound of carcasses, each one marked by the terrible cudgel of
the brave animal, they found Jup. The poor fellow still held in his
hand the handle of his broken weapon; but deprived of this arm, he had
been overpowered by numbers, and deep wounds scored his breast.

“He’s alive!” cried Neb, who knelt beside him.

“And we will save him,” answered the sailor, “We will nurse him as one
of ourselves!”

It seemed as if Jup understood what was said, for he laid his head on
Pencroff’s shoulder as if to thank him. The sailor himself was wounded,
but his wounds, like those of his companions, were trifling, as thanks
to their firearms, they had always been able to keep the assailants at
a distance. Only the orang was seriously hurt.

Jup, borne by Neb and Pencroff, was carried to the elevator, and lifted
gently to Granite House. There he was laid upon one of the beds, and
his wounds carefully washed. No vital organ seemed to have been
injured, but the orang was very feeble from loss of blood, and a strong
fever had set in. His wounds having been dressed, a strict diet was
imposed upon him, “just as for a real person,” Neb said, and they gave
him a refreshing draught made from herbs.

He slept at first but brokenly, but little by little, his breathing
became more regular, and they left him in a heavy sleep. From time to
time Top came “on tip-toe” to visit his friend, and seemed to approve
of the attentions which had been bestowed upon it.

One of Jup’s hands hung over the side of the bed, and Top licked it
sympathetically.

The same morning they disposed of the dead foxes by dragging the bodies
to the Far West and burying them there.

This attack, which might have been attended with very grave results,
was a lesson to the colonists, and thenceforth they never slept before
having ascertained that all the bridges were raised and that no
invasion was possible.

Meantime Jup, after having given serious alarm for some days, began to
grow better. The fever abated gradually, and Spilett, who was something
of a physician, considered him out of danger. On the 16th of August Jup
began to eat. Neb made him some nice, sweet dishes, which the invalid
swallowed greedily, for if he had a fault, it was that he was a bit of
a glutton, and Neb had never done anything to correct this habit.

“What would you have?” he said to Spilett, who sometimes rebuked the
negro for indulging him. “Poor Jup has no other pleasure than to eat!
and I am only too glad to be able to reward his services in this way!”

By the 21st of August he was about again. His wounds were healed, and
the colonists saw that he would soon recover his accustomed suppleness
and vigor. Like other convalescents he was seized with an excessive
hunger, and the reporter let him eat what he wished, knowing that the
monkey’s instinct would preserve him from excess. Neb was overjoyed to
see his pupil’s appetite returned.

“Eat Jup,” he said, “and you shall want for nothing. You have shed your
blood for us, and it is right that I should help you to make it again!”

At length, on the 25th of August, the colonists seated in the great
hall, were called by Neb to Jup’s room.

“What is it?” asked the reporter.

“Look!” answered Neb, laughing, and what did they see but Jup, seated
like a Turk within the doorway of Granite House, tranquilly and gravely
smoking!

“My pipe!” cried Pencroff. “He has taken my pipe! Well, Jup, I give it
to you. Smoke on my friend, smoke on!”

And Jup gravely puffed on, seeming to experience the utmost enjoyment.

Smith was not greatly astonished at this incident, and he cited
numerous examples of tamed monkeys that had become accustomed to the
use of tobacco.

And after this day master Jup had his own pipe hung in his room beside
his tobacco-bag, and, lighting it himself with a live coal, he appeared
to be the happiest of quadrumana. It seemed as if this community of
taste drew closer together the bonds of friendship already existing
between the worthy monkey and the honest sailor.

“Perhaps he is a man,” Pencroff would sometimes say to Neb. “Would it
astonish you if some day he was to speak?”

“Indeed it would not,” replied Neb. “The wonder is that he don’t do it,
as that is all he lacks!”

“Nevertheless, it would be funny if some fine day he said to
me:—Pencroff, suppose we change pipes!”

“Yes,” responded Neb. “What a pity he was born mute!”

Winter ended with September, and the work was renewed with ardor. The
construction of the boat advanced rapidly. The planking was completed,
and as wood was plenty Pencroff proposed that they line the interior
with a stout ceiling, which would insure the solidity of the craft.
Smith, not knowing what might be in store for them, approved the
sailor’s idea of making his boat as strong as possible. The ceiling and
the deck were finished towards the 13th of September. For caulking,
they used some dry wrack, and the seams were then covered with boiling
pitch, made from the pine trees of the forest.

The arrangement of the boat was simple. She had been ballasted with
heavy pieces of granite, set in a bed of lime, and weighing 12,000
pounds. A deck was placed over this ballast, and the interior was
divided into two compartments, the larger containing two bunks, which
served as chests. The foot of the mast was at the partition separating
the compartments, which were entered through hatchways.

Pencroff had no difficulty in finding a tree suitable for a mast. He
chose a young straight fir, without knots, so that all he had to do was
to square the foot and round it off at the head. All the iron work had
been roughly but solidly made at the Chimneys; and in the first week of
October yards, topmast, spars, oars, etc., everything, in short, was
completed; and it was determined that they would first try the craft
along the shores of the island, so as to see how she acted.

She was launched on the 10th of October. Pencroff was radiant with
delight. Completely rigged, she had been pushed on rollers to the edge
of the shore, and, as the tide rose, she was floated on the surface of
the water, amid the applause of the colonists, and especially of
Pencroff, who showed no modesty on this occasion. Moreover, his vanity
looked beyond the completion of the craft, as, now that she was built,
he was to be her commander. The title of captain was bestowed upon him
unanimously.

In order to satisfy Captain Pencroff it was necessary at once to name
his ship, and after considerable discussion they decided upon Good
Luck—the name chosen by the honest sailor. Moreover, as the weather was
fine, the breeze fresh, and the sea calm, the trial must be made at
once in an excursion along the coast.

“Get aboard! Get aboard!” cried Captain Pencroff.

At half-past 10, after having eaten breakfast and put some provisions
aboard, everybody, including Top and Jup, embarked, the sails were
hoisted, the flag set at the masthead, and the Good Luck, with Pencroff
at the helm, stood out to sea.

On going out from Union Bay they had a fair wind, and they were able to
see that, sailing before it, their speed was excellent. After doubling
Jetsam Point and Claw Cape, Pencroff had to lie close to the wind in
order to skirt along the shore, and he observed the Good Luck would
sail to within five points of the wind, and that she made but little
lee-way. She sailed very well, also, before the wind, minding her helm
perfectly, and gained even in going about.

The passengers were enchanted. They had a good boat, which, in case of
need, could render them great service, and in this splendid weather,
with the fair wind, the sail was delightful. Pencroff stood out to sea
two or three miles, opposite Balloon Harbor, and then the whole varied
panorama of the island from Claw Cape to Reptile Promontory was visible
under a new aspect. In the foreground were the pine forests,
contrasting with the foliage of the other trees, and over all rose Mt.
Franklin, its head white with snow.

“How beautiful it is!” exclaimed Herbert.

“Yes, she is a pretty creature,” responded Pencroff. “I love her as a
mother. She received us poor and needy, and what has she denied to
these five children who tumbled upon her out of the sky?”

“Nothing, captain, nothing,” answered Neb. And the two honest fellows
gave three hearty cheers in honor of their island.

Meantime, Spilett, seated by the mast, sketched the panorama before
him, while Smith looked on in silence.

“What do you say of our boat, now, sir?” demanded Pencroff.

“It acts very well,” replied the engineer.

“Good. And now don’t you think it could undertake a voyage of some
length?”

“Where, Pencroff?”

“To Tabor Island, for instance.”

“My friend,” replied the engineer, “I believe that in a case of
necessity there need be no hesitancy in trusting to the Good Luck even
for a longer journey; but, you know, I would be sorry to see you leave
for Tabor Island, because nothing obliges you to go.”

“One likes to know one’s neighbors,” answered Pencroff, whose mind was
made up. “Tabor Island is our neighbor, and is all alone. Politeness
requires that at least we make her a visit.”

“The mischief!” exclaimed Spilett, “our friend Pencroff is a stickler
for propriety.”

“I am not a stickler at all,” retorted the sailor, who was a little
vexed by the engineer’s opposition.

“Remember, Pencroff,” said Smith, “that you could not go the island
alone.”

“One other would be all I would want.”

“Supposing so,” replied the engineer, “would you risk depriving our
colony of five, of two of its colonists?”

“There are six,” rejoined Pencroff. “You forget Jup.”

“There are seven,” added Neb. “Top is as good as another.”

“There is no risk in it, Mr. Smith,” said Pencroff again.

“Possibly not, Pencroff; but, I repeat, that it is exposing oneself
without necessity.”

The obstinate sailor did not answer, but let the conversation drop for
the present. He little thought that an incident was about to aid him,
and change to a work of humanity what had been merely a caprice open to
discussion.

The Good Luck, after having stood out to sea, was returning towards the
coast and making for Balloon Harbor, as it was important to locate the
channel-way between the shoals and reefs so as to buoy them, for this
little inlet was to be resting place of the sloop.

They were half a mile off shore, beating up to windward and moving
somewhat slowly, as the boat was under the lee of the land. The sea was
as smooth as glass. Herbert was standing in the bows indicating the
channel-way. Suddenly he cried:—

“Luff, Pencroff, luff.”

“What is it?” cried the sailor, springing to his feet. “A rock?”

“No—hold on, I cannot see very well—luff again—steady—bear away a
little—” and while thus speaking, the lad lay down along the deck,
plunged his arm quickly into the water, and then rising up again with
something in his hand, exclaimed:—

“It is a bottle!”

Smith took it, and without saying a word, withdrew the cork and took
out a wet paper, on which was written these words:—

“A shipwrecked man—Tabor Island:—l53° W. lon.—37° 11’ S. lat.”




CHAPTER XXXV.


DEPARTURE DECIDED UPON—PREPARATIONS—THE THREE PASSENGERS—THE FIRST
NIGHT—THE SECOND NIGHT—TABOR ISLAND—SEARCH ON THE SHORE—SEARCH IN THE
WOODS—NO ONE—ANIMALS—PLANTS—A HOUSE—DESERTED.


“Some one shipwrecked!” cried Pencroff, “abandoned some hundred miles
from us upon Tabor Island! Oh! Mr. Smith, you will no longer oppose my
project!”

“No, Pencroff, and you must leave as soon as possible.”.

“To-morrow?”

“To-morrow.”

The engineer held the paper which he had taken from the bottle in his
hand. He considered for a few moments, and then spoke:—

“From this paper, my friends,” said he, “and from the manner in which
it is worded, we must conclude that, in the first place, the person
cast away upon Tabor Island is a man well informed, since he gives the
latitude and longitude of his island exactly; secondly, that he is
English or American, since the paper is written in English.”

“That is a logical conclusion,” answered Spilett, “and the presence of
this person explains the arrival of the box on our coast. There has
been a shipwreck, since some one has been shipwrecked. And he is
fortunate in that Pencroff had the idea of building this boat and even
of trying it to-day, for in twenty-four hours the bottle would have
been broken on the rocks.”

“Indeed,!’ said Herbert, “it is a happy chance that the Good Luck
passed by the very spot where this bottle was floating.”

“Don’t it seem to you odd?” asked Smith of Pencroff.

“It seems fortunate, that’s all,” replied the sailor. “Do you see
anything extraordinary in it, sir? This bottle must have gone
somewhere, and why not here as well as anywhere else?”

“Perhaps you are right, Pencroff,” responded the engineer, “and
nevertheless—”

“But,” interrupted Herbert, “nothing proves that this bottle has
floated in the water for a long time.”

“Nothing,” responded Spilett, “and moreover the paper seems to have
been recently written. What do you think, Cyrus?”

“It is hard to decide.” answered Smith..

Meanwhile Pencroff had not been idle. He had gone about, and the Good
Luck, with a free wind, all her sails drawing, was speeding toward Claw
Cape. Each one thought of the castaway on Tabor Island. Was there still
time to save him? This was a great event in the lives of the colonists.
They too were but castaways, but it was not probable that another had
been as favored as they had been, and it was their duty to hasten at
once to this one’s relief. By 2 o’clock Claw Cape was doubled, and the
Good Luck anchored at the mouth of the Mercy.

That evening all the details of the expedition were arranged. It was
agreed that Herbert and Pencroff, who understood the management of a
boat, were to undertake the voyage alone. By leaving the next day, the
11th of October, they would reach the island, supposing the wind
continued, in forty-eight hours. Allowing for one day there, and three
or four days to return in, they could calculate on being at Lincoln
Island again on the 17th. The weather was good, the barometer rose
steadily, the wind seemed as if it would continue, everything favored
these brave men, who were going so far to do a humane act.

Thus, Smith, Neb, and Spilett was to remain at Granite House; but at
the last moment, the latter, remembering his duty as reporter to the
New York _Herald_, having declared that he would swim rather than lose
such an opportunity, was allowed to take part in the voyage.

The evening was employed in putting bedding, arms, munitions,
provisions, etc., on board, and the next morning, by 5 o’clock, the
good-byes were spoken, and Pencroff, hoisting the sails, headed for
Claw Cape, which had to be doubled before taking the route to the
southeast. The Good Luck was already a quarter of a mile from shore
when her passengers saw upon the heights of Granite House two men
signalling farewells. They were Smith and Neb, from whom they were
separating for the first time in fifteen months.

Pencroff, Herbert, and the reporter returned the signal, and soon
Granite House disappeared behind the rocks of the Cape.

During the morning, the Good Luck remained in view of the southern
coast of the island, which appeared like a green clump of trees, above
which rose Mount Franklin. The heights, lessened by distance, gave it
an appearance little calculated to attract ships on its coasts. At 1
o’clock Reptile Promontory was passed ten miles distant. It was
therefore impossible to distinguish the western coast, which extended
to the spurs of the mountain, and three hours later, Lincoln Island had
disappeared behind the horizon.

The Good Luck behaved admirably. She rode lightly over the seas and
sailed rapidly. Pencroff had set his topsail, and with a fair wind he
followed a straight course by the compass. Occasionally Herbert took
the tiller, and the hand of the young lad was so sure, that the sailor
had nothing to correct.

Spilett chatted with one and the other, and lent a hand when necessary
in manœuvring the sloop. Captain Pencroff was perfectly satisfied with
his crew, and was constantly promising them an extra allowance of grog.

In the evening the slender crescent of the moon glimmered in the
twilight. The night came on dark but starlit, with the promise of a
fine day on the morrow. Pencroff thought it prudent to take in the
topsail, which was perhaps an excess of caution in so still a night,
but he was a careful sailor, and was not to be blamed.

The reporter slept during half the night, Herbert and Pencroff taking
two-hour turns at the helm. The sailor had as much confidence in his
pupil as he had in himself, and his trust was justified by the coolness
and judgment of the lad. Pencroff set the course as a captain to his
helmsman, and Herbert did not allow the Good Luck to deviate a point
from her direction.

The night and the next day passed quietly and safely. The Good Luck
held her southeast course, and, unless she was drawn aside by some
unknown current, she would make Tabor Island exactly. The sea was
completely deserted, save that sometimes an albatross or frigate-bird
passed within gun-shot distance.

“And yet,” said Herbert, “this is the season when the whalers usually
come towards the southern part of the Pacific. I don’t believe that
there is a sea more deserted than this.”

“It is not altogether deserted,” responded Pencroff.

“What do you mean?”

“Why we are here. Do you take us for porpoises or our sloop for
driftwood?” And Pencroff laughed at his pleasantry.

By evening they calculated the distance traversed at 130 miles, or
three and a third miles an hour. The breeze was dying away, but they
had reason to hope, supposing their course to have been correct, that
they would sight Tabor Island at daylight.

No one of the three slept during this night. While waiting for morning
they experienced the liveliest emotions. There was so much uncertainty
in their enterprise. Were they near the island? Was the shipwrecked man
still there? Who was he? Might not his presence disturb the unity of
the colony? Would he, indeed, consent to exchange one prison for
another? All these questions, which would doubtless be answered the
next day, kept them alert, and at the earliest dawn they began to scan
the western horizon.

What was the joy of the little crew when towards 6 o’clock Pencroff
shouted—

“Land!”

In a few hours they would be upon its shore.

The island was a low coast, raised but a little above the waves, not
more than fifteen miles away. The sloop, which had been heading south
of it, was put about, and, as the sun rose, a few elevations became
visible here and there.

“It is not as large as Lincoln Island,” said Herbert, “and probably
owes its origin to like submarine convulsions.”

By 11 o’clock the Good Luck was only two miles distant from shore, and
Pencroff, while seeking some place to land, sailed with extreme caution
through these unknown waters. They could see the whole extent of this
island, on which were visible groups of gum and other large trees of
the same species as those on Lincoln Island. But, it was astonishing,
that no rising smoke indicated that the place was inhabited, nor was
any signal visible upon the shore. Nevertheless the paper had been
precise: it stated that there was a shipwrecked man here; and he should
have been upon the watch.

Meanwhile the Good Luck went in through the tortuous passages between
the reefs, Herbert steering, and the sailor stationed forward, keeping
a sharp lookout, with the halliards in his hand, ready to run down the
sail. Spilett, with the spy-glass, examined all the shore without
perceiving anything. By noon the sloop touched the beach, the anchor
was let go, the sails furled, and the crew stepped on shore.

There could be no doubt that that was Tabor Island, since the most
recent maps gave no other land in all this part of the Pacific.

After having securely moored the sloop, Pencroff and his companion,
well armed, ascended the coast towards a round hill, some 250 feet
high, which was distant about half a mile, from the summit of which
they expected to have a good view of the island.

The explorers followed the edge of grassy plain which ended at the foot
of the hill. Rock-pigeons and sea-swallows circled about them, and in
the woods bordering the plain to the left they heard rustlings in the
bushes and saw movements in the grass indicating the presence of very
timid animals, but nothing, so far, indicated that the island was
inhabited.

Having reached the hill the party soon climbed to its summit, and their
gaze traversed the whole horizon. They were certainly upon an island,
not more than six miles in circumference, in shape a long oval, and but
little broken by inlets or promontories. All around it, the sea,
absolutely deserted, stretched away to the horizon.

This islet differed greatly from Lincoln Island in that it was covered
over its entire surface with woods, and the uniform mass of verdure
clothed two or three less elevated hills. Obliquely to the oval of the
island a small stream crossed a large grassy plain and emptied into the
sea on the western side by a narrowed mouth.

“The place is small,” said Herbert.

“Yes,” replied the sailor. “It would have been too small for us.”

“And,” added the reporter, “it seems uninhabited.”

“Nevertheless,” said Pencroff, “let us go down and search.”

The party returned to the sloop, and they decided to walk round the
entire island before venturing into its interior, so that no place
could escape their investigation.

The shore was easily followed, and the explorers proceeded towards the
south, starting up flocks of aquatic birds and numbers of seals, which
latter threw themselves into the sea as soon as they caught sight of
the party.

“Those beasts are not looking on man for the first time. They fear what
they know,” said the reporter.

An hour after their departure the three had reached the southern point
of the islet, which terminated in a sharp cape, and they turned towards
the north, following the western shore, which was sandy, like the
other, and bounded by a thick wood.

In four hours after they had set out the party had made the circuit of
the island, without having seen any trace of a habitation, and not even
a footprint. It was most extraordinary, to say the least, and it seemed
necessary to believe that the place was not and had not been inhabited.
Perhaps, after all, the paper had been in the water for many months, or
even years, and it was possible, in that case, that the shipwrecked one
had been rescued or that he had died from suffering.

The little party, discussing all sorts of possibilities, made a hasty
dinner on board the sloop, and at 5 o’clock started to explore the
woods.

Numerous animals fled before their approach, principally, indeed
solely, goats and pigs, which it was easy to see were of European
origin. Doubtless some whaler had left them here, and they had rapidly
multiplied. Herbert made up his mind to catch two or three pairs to
take back to Lincoln Island.

There was no longer any doubt that the island had previously been
visited. This was the more evident as in passing through the forest
they saw the traces of pathways, and the trunks of trees felled by the
hatchet, and all about, marks of human handiwork; but these trees had
been felled years before; the hatchet marks were velvetted with moss,
and the pathways were so overgrown with grass that it was difficult to
discover them.

“But,” observed Spilett, “this proves that men not only landed here,
but that they lived here. Now who and how many were these men, and how
many remain?”

“The paper speaks of but one,” replied Herbert.

“Well,” said Pencroff, “if he is still here we cannot help finding
him.”

The exploration was continued, following diagonally across the island,
and by this means the sailor and his companions reached the little
stream which flowed towards the sea.

If animals of European origin, if works of human hands proved
conclusively that man had once been here, many specimens of the
vegetable kingdom also evidenced the fact. In certain clear places it
was plain that kitchen vegetables had formerly been planted. And
Herbert was overjoyed when he discovered potatoes, succory, sorrel,
carrots, cabbage, and turnips, the seeds of which would enrich the
garden at Granite House.

“Indeed,” exclaimed Pencroff, “this will rejoice Neb. Even if we don’t
find the man, our voyage will not have been useless, and Heaven will
have rewarded us.”

“Doubtless,” replied Spilett, “but from the conditions of these fields,
it looks as if the place had not been inhabited for a long time.”

“An inhabitant, whoever he was, would not neglect anything so important
as this.”

“Yes, this man has gone. It must be—”

“That the paper had been written a long time ago?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“And that the bottle had been floating in the sea a good while before
it arrived at Lincoln Island?”

“Why not?” said Pencroff. “But, see, it is getting dark,” he added,
“and I think we had better give over the search.”

“We will go aboard, and to-morrow we will begin again,” replied the
reporter.

They were about adopting this counsel, when Herbert, pointing to
something dimly visible, through the trees, exclaimed:—

“There’s a house!”

All three directed their steps towards the place indicated, and they
made out in the twilight that it was built of planks, covered with
heavy tarpaulin. The door, half closed, was pushed back by Pencroff,
who entered quickly.

The place was empty!




CHAPTER XXXVI.


THE INVENTORY—THE NIGHT—SOME LETTERS—THE SEARCH CONTINUED—PLANTS AND
ANIMALS—HERBERT IN DANGER—ABOARD—THE DEPARTURE—BAD WEATHER—A GLIMMER OF
INTELLIGENCE —LOST AT SEA—A TIMELY LIGHT.


Pencroff, Spilett and Herbert stood silent In darkness. Then the former
gave a loud call. There was no answer. He lit a twig, and the light
illuminated for a moment a small room, seemingly deserted. At one end
was a large chimney, containing some cold cinders and an armful of dry
wood. Pencroff threw the lighted twig into it, and the wood caught fire
and gave out a bright light.

The sailor and his companions thereupon discovered a bed in disorder,
its damp and mildewed covers proving that it had been long unused; in
the corner of the fireplace were two rusty kettles and an overturned
pot; a clothes-press with some sailors’ clothing, partially moulded; on
the table a tin plate, and a Bible, injured by the dampness; in a
corner some tools, a shovel, a mattock, a pick, two shot guns, one of
which was broken; on a shelf was a barrel full of powder, a barrel of
lead, and a number of boxes of caps. All were covered with a thick
coating of dust.

“There is no one here,” said the reporter.

“Not a soul.”

“This room has not been occupied in a long time.”

“Since a very long time.”

“Mr. Spilett,” said Pencroff, “I think that instead of going on board
we had better stay here all night.”

“You are right, Pencroff, and if the proprietor returns he will not be
sorry, perhaps, to find the place occupied.”

“He won’t come back, though,” said the sailor, shaking his head.

“Do you think he has left the island?”

“If he had left the island he would have taken these things with him.
You know how much a shipwrecked person would be attached to these
objects. No, no,” repeated the sailor, in the tone of a man perfectly
convinced; “no, he has not left the island. He is surely here.”

“Alive?”

“Alive or dead. But if he is dead he could not have buried himself, I
am sure, and we will at least find his remains.”

It was therefore agreed to pass the night in this house, and a supply
of wood in the corner gave them the means of heating it. The door
having been closed, the three explorers, seated upon a bench, spoke
little, but remained deep in thought. They were in the mood to accept
anything that might happen, and they listened eagerly for any sound
from without. If the door had suddenly opened and a man had stood
before them, they would not have been much surprised, in spite of all
the evidence of desolation throughout the house; and their hands were
ready to clasp the hands of this man, of this shipwrecked one, of this
unknown friend whose friends awaited him.

But no sound was heard, the door did not open, and the hours passed by.

The night seemed interminable to the sailor and his companions.
Herbert, alone, slept for two hours, as at his age, sleep is a
necessity. All were anxious to renew the search of the day before, and
to explore the innermost recesses of the islet. Pencroff’s conclusions
were certainly just, since the house and its contents had been
abandoned. They determined, therefore, to search for the remains of its
inhabitant, and to give them Christian burial.

As soon as it was daylight they began to examine the house. It was
prettily situated under a small hill, on which grew several fine gum
trees. Before it a large space had been cleared, giving a view over the
sea. A small lawn, surrounded by a dilapidated fence, extended to the
bank of the little stream. The house had evidently been built from
planks taken from a ship. It seemed likely that a ship had been thrown
upon the island, that all or at least one of the crew had been saved,
and that this house had been built from the wreck. This was the more
probable, as Spilett, in going round the dwelling, saw on one of the
planks these half-effaced letters:—

BR ... TAN ... A.

“Britannia,” exclaimed Pencroff, who had been called by the reporter to
look at it; “that is a common name among ships, and I cannot say
whether it is English or American. However, it don’t matter to what
country the man belongs, we will save him, if he is alive. But before
we begin our search let us go back to the Good Luck.”

Pencroff had been seized with a sort of anxiety about his sloop.
Supposing the island was inhabited, and some one had taken it—but he
shrugged his shoulders at this unlikely thought. Nevertheless the
sailor was not unwilling to go on board to breakfast. The route already
marked was not more than a mile in length, and they started on their
walk, looking carefully about them in the woods and underbrush, through
which ran hundreds of pigs and goats.

In twenty minutes the party reached the place where the Good Luck rode
quietly at anchor. Pencroff gave a sigh of satisfaction.

After all, this boat was his baby, and it is a father’s right to be
often anxious without reason.

All went on board and ate a hearty breakfast, so as not to want
anything before a late dinner; then the exploration was renewed, and
conducted with the utmost carefulness. As it was likely that the
solitary inhabitant of this island was dead, the party sought rather to
find his remains than any traces of him living. But during all the
morning they were unable to find anything; if he was dead, some animal
must have devoured his body.

“We will leave to-morrow at daylight,” said Pencroff to his companions,
who towards 2 o’clock were resting for a few moments under a group of
trees.

“I think we need not hesitate to take those things which belonged to
him?” queried Herbert.

“I think not,” answered Spilett; “and these arms and tools will add
materially to the stock at Granite House. If I am not mistaken, what is
left of the lead and powder is worth a good deal.”

“And we must not forget to capture a couple of these pigs,” said
Pencroff.

“Nor to gather some seed,” added Herbert, “which will give us some of
our own vegetables.”

“Perhaps it would be better to spend another day here, in order to get
together everything that we want,” suggested the reporter.

“No, sir;” replied the sailor. “I want to get away to-morrow morning.
The wind seems to be shifting to the west, and will be in our favor
going back.”

“Then don’t let us lose any time,” said Herbert, rising.

“We will not,” replied Pencroff. “Herbert, you get the seed, and
Spilett and I will chase the pigs, and although we haven’t Top, I think
we will catch some.”

Herbert, therefore, followed the path which led to the cultivated part
of the island, while the others plunged at once into the forest.
Although the pigs were plenty they were singularly agile, and not in
the humor to be captured. However, after half an hour’s chasing the
hunters had captured a couple in their lair, when cries mingled with
horrible hoarse sounds, having nothing human in them, were heard.
Pencroff and Spilett sprang to their feet, regardless of the pigs,
which escaped.

“It is Herbert!” cried the reporter.

“Hurry!” cried the sailor, as the two ran with their utmost speed
towards the place from whence the cries came.

They had need to hasten, for at a turn in the path they saw the lad
prostrate beneath a savage, or perhaps a gigantic ape, who was
throttling him.

To throw themselves on this monster and pinion him to the ground,
dragging Herbert away, was the work of a moment. The sailor had
herculean strength. Spilett, too, was muscular, and, in spite of the
resistance of the monster, it was bound so that it could not move.

“You are not wounded, Herbert?”

“No, oh no.”

“Ah! if it had hurt you, this ape-”

“But he is not an ape!” cried Herbert.

At these words Pencroff and Spilett looked again at the object lying on
the ground. In fact, it was not an ape, but a human being—a man! But
what a man! He was a savage, in all the horrible acceptation of the
word; and, what was more frightful, he seemed to have fallen to the
last degree of brutishness.

Matted hair, tangled beard descending to his waist, his body naked,
save for a rag about his loins, wild eyes, long nails, mahogany-colored
skin, feet as hard as if they had been made of horn; such was the
miserable creature which it was, nevertheless, necessary to call a man.
But one might well question whether this body still contained a soul,
or whether the low, brutish instinct alone survived.

“Are you perfectly sure that this is what has been a man?” questioned
Pencroff of the reporter.

“Alas! there can be no doubt of it,” replied Spilett.

“Can he be the person shipwrecked?” asked Herbert

“Yes,” responded the reporter, “but the poor creature is no longer
human.”

Spilett was right. Evidently, if the castaway had ever been civilized,
isolation had made him a savage, a real creature of the woods. He gave
utterance to hoarse sounds, from between teeth which were as sharp as
those of animals living on raw flesh. Memory had doubtless long ago
left him, and he had long since forgotten the use of arms and tools,
and even how to make a fire. One could see that he was active and
supple, but that his physical qualities had developed to the exclusion
of his moral perception.

Spilett spoke to him, but he neither understood nor listened, and,
looking him in the eye, the reporter could see that all intelligence
had forsaken him. Nevertheless, the prisoner did not struggle or strive
to break his bonds. Was he cowed by the presence of these men, whom he
had once resembled? Was there in some corner of his brain a flitting
remembrance which drew him towards humanity? Free, would he have fled
or would he have remained? They did not know, and they did not put him
to the proof. After having looked attentively at the miserable
creature, Spilett said:—

“What he is, what he has been, and what he will be; it is still our
duty to take him to Lincoln Island.”

“Oh yes, yes,” exclaimed Herbert, “and perhaps we can, with care,
restore to him some degree of intelligence.”

“The soul never dies,” answered the reporter, “and it would be a great
thing to bring back this creature of God’s making from his
brutishness.”

Pencroff shook his head doubtfully.

“It is necessary to try at all events,” said the reporter, “humanity
requires it of us.”

“It was, indeed, their duty as civilized and Christian beings, and they
well knew that Smith would approve of their course.

“Shall we leave him bound?” inquired the sailor.

“Perhaps if we unfasten his feet he will walk,” said Herbert.

“Well, let us try,” replied the sailor.

And the cords binding the creature’s legs were loosened, although his
arms were kept firmly bound. He rose without manifesting any desire to
escape. His tearless eyes darted sharp glances upon the three men who
marched beside him, and nothing denoted that he remembered being or
having been like them. A wheezing sound escaped from his lips, and his
aspect was wild, but he made no resistance.

By the advice of the reporter, the poor wretch was taken to the house,
where, perhaps, the sight of the objects in it might make some
impression upon him. Perhaps a single gleam would awaken his sleeping
consciousness, illuminate his darkened mind.

The house was near by, and in a few minutes they were there; but the
prisoner recognized nothing—he seemed to have lost consciousness of
everything. Could it be that this brutish state was due to his long
imprisonment on the island? That, having come here a reasoning being,
his isolation had reduced him to this state?

The reporter thought that perhaps the sight of fire might affect him,
and in a moment one of those lovely flames which attract even animals
lit up the fireplace. The sight of this flame seemed at first to
attract the attention of the unfortunate man, but very soon he ceased
regarding it. Evidently, for the present at least, there was nothing to
do but take him aboard the Good Luck, which was accordingly done. He
was left in charge of Pencroff, while the two others returned to the
island and brought over the arms and implements, a lot of seeds, some
game, and two pairs of pigs which they had caught. Everything was put
on board, and the sloop rode ready to hoist anchor as soon as the next
morning’s tide would permit.

The prisoner had been placed in the forward hold, where he lay calm,
quiet, insensible, and mute. Pencroff offering him some cooked meat to
eat, he pushed it away; but, on being shown one of the ducks which
Herbert had killed, he pounced on it with bestial avidity and devoured
it.

“You think he’ll be himself again?” asked the sailor, shaking his head.

“Perhaps,” replied the reporter. “It is not impossible that our
attentions will react on him, since it is the isolation that has done
this; and he will be alone no longer.”

“The poor fellow has doubtless been this way for a long time.”

“Perhaps so.”

“How old do you think he is?” asked the lad.

“That is hard to say,” replied the reporter, “as his matted beard
obscures his face; but he is no longer young, and I should say he was
at least fifty years old.”

“Have you noticed how his eyes are set deep in his head?”

“Yes, but I think that they are more human than one would suspect from
his general appearance.”

“Well, we will see,” said Pencroff; “and I am curious to have Mr.
Smith’s opinion of our savage. We went to find a human being, and we
are bringing back a monster. Any how, one takes what he can get.”

The night passed, and whether the prisoner slept or not he did not
move, although he had been unbound. He was like one of those beasts
that in the first moments of their capture submit, and to whom the rage
returns later.

At daybreak the next day, the 17th, the change in the weather was as
Pencroff had predicted. The wind hauled round to the northwest and
favored the return of the Good Luck; but at the same time it had
freshened, so as to make the sailing more difficult. At 5 o’clock the
anchor was raised, Pencroff took a reef in the mainsail and headed
directly towards home.

The first day passed without incident. The prisoner rested quietly in
the forward cabin, and, as he had once been a sailor, the motion of the
sloop produced upon him a sort of salutary reaction. Did it recall to
him some remembrance of his former occupation? At least he rested
tranquil, more astonished than frightened.

On the 16th the wind freshened considerably, coming round more to the
north, and therefore in a direction less favorable to the course of the
Good Luck, which bounded over the waves. Pencroff was soon obliged to
hold her nearer to the wind, and without saying so, he began to be
anxious at the lookout ahead. Certainly, unless the—wind moderated, it
would take much longer to go back than it had taken to come.

On the 17th they had been forty-eight hours out, and yet nothing
indicated they were in the neighborhood of Lincoln Island. It was,
moreover, impossible to reckon their course, or even to estimate the
distance traversed, as the direction and the speed had been too
irregular. Twenty-four hours later there was still no land in view. The
wind was dead ahead, and an ugly sea running. On the 18th a huge wave
struck the sloop, and had not the crew been lashed to the deck, they
would have been swept overboard.

On this occasion Pencroff and his companions, busy in clearing things
away, received an unhoped-for assistance from the prisoner, who sprang
from the hatchway as if his sailor instinct had returned to him, and
breaking the rail by a, vigorous blow—with a spar, enabled the water on
the deck to flow off more freely. Then, the boat cleared, without
having said a word, he returned to his cabin.

Nevertheless, the situation was bad, and the sailor had cause to
believe himself lost upon this vast sea, without the possibility of
regaining his course. The night of the 18th was dark and cold. But
about 11 o’clock the wind lulled, the sea fell, and the sloop, less
tossed about, moved more rapidly. None of the crew thought of sleep.
They kept an eager lookout, as either Lincoln Island must be near at
hand and they would discover it at daybreak, or the sloop had been
drifted from her course by the currents, and it would be next to
impossible to rectify the direction.

Pencroff, anxious to the last degree, did not, however, despair; but,
seated at the helm, he tried to see through the thick darkness around
him. Towards 2 o’clock he suddenly started up, crying:—“A light! a
light!” It was indeed a bright light appearing twenty miles to—the
northeast. Lincoln Island was there, and this light, evidently lit by
Smith, indicated the direction to be followed.

Pencroff, who had been heading much too far towards the north, changed
his course, and steered directly towards the light, which gleamed above
the horizon like a star of the first magnitude.




CHAPTER XXXVII.


THE RETURN-DISCUSSION—SMITH AND THE UNKNOWN—BALLOON HARBOR-THE DEVOTION
OF THE ENGINEER-A TOUCHING EXPERIENCE-TEARS.


At 7 o’clock the next morning the boat touched the shore at the mouth
of the Mercy. Smith and Neb, who had become very anxious at the stormy
weather and the prolonged absence of their companions, had climbed, at
daylight, to Prospect Plateau, and had at length perceived the sloop in
the distance.

“Thank Heaven! There they are,” exclaimed Smith; while Neb, dancing
with pleasure, turned towards his master, and, striking his hands
together, cried, “Oh, my master!”-a more touching expression than, the
first polished phrase.

The engineer’s first thought, on counting the number of persons on the
deck of the Good Luck, was that Pencroff had found no one on Tabor
Island, or that the unfortunate man had refused to exchange one prison
for another.

The engineer and Neb were on the beach at the moment the sloop arrived,
and before the party had leaped ashore, Smith said:—

“We have been very anxious about you, my friends. Did anything happen
to you?” “No, indeed; everything went finely,” replied Spilett. “We
will tell you all about it.”

“Nevertheless, you have failed in your search, since you are all
alone.”, “But, sir, there are four of us,” said the sailor.

“Have you found this person?”. “Yes.”

“And brought him back?” “Yes.” “Living?” “Where is he, and what is he,
then?” “He is, or rather, he was a human being; and that is all, Cyrus,
that we can say.”

The engineer was thereupon, informed of everything that had happened;
of the search, of the long-abandoned house, of the capture of the
scarcely human inhabitant.

“And,” added Pencroff,” I don’t know whether we have done right in
bringing him here.”

“Most certainly you have done right,” replied the engineer.

“But the poor fellow has no sense at all.” “Not now, perhaps; in a few
months, he will be as much a man as any of us. “Who knows what might
happen to the last one of us, after living for a long time alone on
this island? It is terrible to be all alone, my friends, and it is
probable that solitude quickly overthrows reason, since you have found
this poor being in such a condition.”

“But, Mr. Smith,” asked Herbert, “what makes you think that the
brutishness of this man has come on within a little while?”

“Because the paper we found had been recently written, and no one but
this shipwrecked man could have written it.”

“Unless,” suggested Spilett, “it had been written by a companion of
this man who has since died.”

“That is impossible, Spilett.”

“Why so?”

“Because, then, the paper would have mentioned two persons instead of
one.”

Herbert briefly related the incident of the sea striking the sloop, and
insisted that the prisoner must then have had a glimmer of his sailor
instinct.

“You are perfectly right, Herbert,” said the engineer, “to attach great
importance to this fact. This poor man will not be incurable; despair
has made him what he is. But here he will find his kindred, and if he
still has any reason, we will save it.”

Then, to Smith’s great pity and Neb’s wonderment, the man was brought
up from the cabin of the sloop, and as soon as he was on land, he
manifested a desire to escape. But Smith, approaching him, laid his
hand authoritatively upon his shoulder and looked at him with infinite
tenderness. Thereupon the poor wretch, submitting to a sort of
instantaneous power, became quiet, his eyes fell, his head dropped
forward, and he made no further resistance.

“Poor shipwrecked sailor,” murmured the reporter.

Smith regarded him attentively. To judge from his appearance, this
miserable creature had little of the human left in him; but Smith
caught in his glance, as the reporter had done, an almost imperceptible
gleam of intelligence.

It was decided that the Unknown, as his new companions called him,
should stay in one of the rooms of Granite House, from which he could
not escape. He made no resistance to being conducted there, and with
good care they might, perhaps, hope that some day he would prove a
companion to them.

Neb hastened to prepare breakfast, for the voyagers were very hungry,
and during the meal Smith made them relate in detail every incident of
the cruise. He agreed with them in thinking that the name of the
Britannia gave them reason to believe that the Unknown was either
English or American; and, moreover, under all the growth of hair
covering the man’s face, the engineer thought he recognized the
features characteristic of an Anglo-Saxon.

“But, by the way, Herbert,” said the reporter, “you have never told us
how you met this savage, and we know nothing, except that he would have
strangled you, had we not arrived so opportunely.”

“Indeed, I am not sure that I can tell just what happened,” replied
Herbert. “I was, I think, gathering seeds, when I heard a tremendous
noise in a high tree near by. I had hardly time to turn, when this
unhappy creature, who had, doubtless, been hidden crouching in the
tree, threw himself upon me; and, unless Mr. Spilett and Pencroff—”

“You were in great danger, indeed, my boy,” said Smith; “but perhaps,
if this had not happened, this poor being would have escaped your
search, and we would have been without another companion.”

“You expect, then, to make him a man again?” asked the reporter.

“Yes,” replied Smith.

Breakfast ended, all returned to the shore and began unloading the
sloop; and the engineer examined the arms and tools, but found nothing
to establish the identity of the Unknown.

The pigs were taken to the stables, to which they would soon become
accustomed. The two barrels of powder and shot and the caps were a
great acquisition, and it was determined to make a small powder
magazine in the upper cavern of Granite House, where there would be no
danger of an explosion. Meantime, since the pyroxyline answered very
well, there was no present need to use this powder.

When the sloop was unloaded Pencroff said:—

“I think, Mr. Smith, that it would be better to put the Good Luck in a
safe place.”

“Is it not safe enough at the mouth of the Mercy?”

“No, sir,” replied the sailor. “Most of the time she is aground on the
sand, which strains her.”

“Could not she be moored out in the stream?”

“She could, but the place is unsheltered, and in an easterly wind I am
afraid she would suffer from the seas.”

“Very well; where do you want to put her?”

“In Balloon Harbor,” replied the sailor. “It seems to me that that
little inlet, hidden by the rocks, is just the place for her.”

“Isn’t it too far off?”

“No, it is only three miles from Granite House, and we have a good
straight road there.”

“Have your way, Pencroff,” replied the engineer. “Nevertheless, I
should prefer to have the sloop under our sight. We must, when we have
time, make a small harbor.”

“Capital!” cried Pencroff. “A harbor with a light house, a breakwater,
and a dry dock! Oh, indeed, sir, everything will be easy enough with
you!”

“Always provided, my good man, that you assist me, as you do three
fourths of the work.”

Herbert and the sailor went aboard the Good Luck, and set sail, and in
a couple of hours the sloop rode quietly at anchor in the tranquil
water of Balloon Harbor.

During the first few days that the Unknown was at Granite House, had he
given any indication of a change in his savage nature? Did not a
brighter light illumine the depths of his intelligence? Was not, in
short, his reason returning to him? Undoubtedly, yes; and Smith and
Spilett questioned whether this reason had ever entirely forsaken him.

At first this man, accustomed to the air and liberty which he had had
in Tabor Island, was seized with fits of passion, and there was danger
of his throwing himself out of one of the windows of Granite House. But
little by little he grew more quiet, and he was allowed to move about
without restraint.

Already forgetting his carnivorous instincts, he accepted a less
bestial nourishment, and cooked food did not produce in him the
sentiment of disgust which he had shown on board the Good Luck.

Smith had taken advantage of a time when the man was asleep to cut the
hair and beard which had grown like a mane about his face, and had
given him such a savage aspect. He had also been clothed more decently,
and the result was that the Unknown appeared more like a human being,
and it seemed as if the expression of his eyes was softened. Certainly,
sometimes, when intelligence was visible, the expression of this man
had a sort of beauty.

Every day, Smith made a point of passing some hours in his company. He
worked beside him, and occupied himself in various ways to attract his
attention. It would suffice, if a single ray of light illuminated his
reason, if a single remembrance crossed his mind. Neither did the
engineer neglect to speak in a loud voice, so as to penetrate by both
sound and sight to the depths of this torpid intelligence. Sometimes
one or another of the party joined the engineer, and they usually
talked of such matters pertaining to the sea as would be likely to
interest the man. At times the Unknown gave a sort of vague attention
to what was said, and soon the colonists began to think that he partly
understood them. Again his expression would be dolorous, proving that
he suffered inwardly. Nevertheless, he did not speak, although they
thought, at times, from his actions, that words were about to pass his
lips.

The poor creature was very calm and sad. But was not the calmness only
on the surface, and the sadness the result of his confinement? They
could not yet say. Seeing only certain objects and in a limited space,
always with the colonists, to whom he had become accustomed, having no
desire to satisfy, better clothed and better fed, it was natural that
his physical nature should soften little by little; but was he imbued
with the new life, or, to use an expression justly applicable to the
case, was he only tamed, as an animal in the presence of its master?
This was the important question Smith was anxious to determine, and
meantime he did not wish to be too abrupt with his patient. For to him,
the unknown was but a sick person. Would he ever be a convalescent?

Therefore, the engineer watched him unceasingly. How he laid in wait
for his reason, so to speak, that he might lay hold of it.

The colonists followed with strong interest all the phases of this cure
undertaken by Smith. All aided him in it, and all, save perhaps the
incredulous Pencroff, came to share in his belief and hope.

The submission of the Unknown was entire, and it seemed as if he showed
for the engineer, whose influence over him was apparent, a sort of
attachment, and Smith resolved now to test it by transporting him to
another scene, to that ocean which he had been accustomed to look upon,
to the forest border, which would recall those woods where he had lived
such a life!”

“But,” said Spilett, “can we hope that once at liberty, he will not
escape?”

“We must make the experiment,” replied the engineer.

“All right,” said Pencroff. “You will see, when this fellow snuffs the
fresh air and sees the coast clear, if he don’t make his legs spin!”

“I don’t think it,” replied the engineer.

“We will try, any how,” said Spilett.

It was the 30th of October, and the Unknown had been a prisoner for
nine days. It was a beautiful, warm, sunshiny day. Smith and Pencroff
went to the room of the Unknown, whom they found at the window gazing
out at the sky.

“Come, my friend,” said the engineer to him.

The Unknown rose immediately. His eye was fixed on Smith, whom he
followed; and the sailor, little confident in the results of the
experiment, walked with him.

Having reached the door, they made him get into the elevator, at the
foot of which the rest of the party were waiting. The basket descended,
and in a few seconds all were standing together on the shore.

The colonists moved off a little distance from the Unknown, so as to
leave him quite at liberty. He made some steps forward towards the sea,
and his face lit up with pleasure, but he made no effort to escape. He
looked curiously at the little waves, which, broken by the islet, died
away on the shore.

“It is not, indeed, the ocean,” remarked Spilett, “and it is possible
that this does not give him the idea of escaping.”

“Yes,” replied Smith, “we must take him to the plateau on the edge of
the forest. There the experiment will be more conclusive.”

“There he cannot get away, since the bridges are all raised,” said Neb.

“Oh, he is not the man to be troubled by such a brook as Glycerine
Creek; he could leap it at a bound,” returned Pencroff.

“We will see presently,” said Smith, who kept his eye fixed on his
patient.

And thereupon all proceeded towards Prospect Plateau. Having reached
the place they encountered the outskirts of the forest, with its leaves
trembling in the wind, The Unknown seemed to drink in with eagerness
the perfume in the air, and a long sigh escaped from his breast.

The colonists stood some paces back, ready to seize him if he attempted
to escape.

The poor creature was upon the point of plunging in the creek that
separated him from the forest; he placed himself ready to spring—then
all at once he turned about, dropping his arms beside him, and tears
coursed down his cheeks.

“Ah!” cried Smith, “you will be a man again, since you weep!”




CHAPTER XXXVIII


A MYSTERY TO BE SOLVED—THE FIRST WORDS OF THE UNKNOWN—TWELVE YEARS ON
THE ISLAND—CONFESSIONS—DISAPPEARANCE—SMITH’S CONFIDENCE —BUILDING A
WIND-MILL—THE FIRST BREAD—AN ACT OF DEVOTION—HONEST HANDS.


Yes, the poor creature had wept. Some remembrance had flashed across
his spirit, and, as Smith had said, he would be made a man through his
tears.

The colonists left him for some time, withdrawing themselves, so that
he could feel perfectly at liberty; but he showed no inclination to
avail himself of this freedom, and Smith soon decided to take him back
to Granite House.

Two days after this occurrence, the Unknown showed a disposition to
enter little by little into the common life. It was evident that he
heard, that he understood, but it was equally evident that he
manifested a strange disinclination to speak to them. Pencroff,
listening at his room, heard these words escape him:—

“No! here! I! never!”

The sailor reported this to his companions, and Smith said:—

“There must be some sad mystery here.”

The Unknown had begun to do some little chores, and to work in the
garden. When he rested, which was frequent, he seemed entirely
self-absorbed; but, on the advice of the engineer, the others respected
the silence, which he seemed desirous of keeping. If one of the
colonists approached him he recoiled, sobbing as if overcome. Could it
be by remorse? or, was it, as Spilett once suggested:—

“If he does not speak I believe it is because he has something on his
mind too terrible to mention.”

Some days later the Unknown was working on the plantation, when, of a
sudden, he stopped and let his spade fall, and Smith, who was watching
him from a distance, saw that he was weeping again. An irresistible
pity drew the engineer to the poor fellow’s side; and, touching his arm
lightly,

“My friend,” said he.

The Unknown tried to look away, and when Smith sought to take his hand
he drew back quickly.

“My friend,” said Smith, with decision, “I wish you to look at me.”

The Unknown obeyed, raising his eyes and regarding the other as one
does who is under the influence of magnetism. At first he wished to
break away, then his whole expression changed; his eyes flashed, and,
unable longer to contain himself, he muttered some incoherent words.
Suddenly he crossed his arms, and in a hollow voice:—

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“Men shipwrecked as you have been,” replied the engineer, greatly
moved. “We have brought you here among your kindred.”

“My kindred! I have none!

“You are among friends—,”

“Friends! I! Friends!” cried the Unknown, hiding his face in his hands.
“Oh, no! never! Leave me! leave me!” and he rushed to the brink of the
plateau overlooking the sea, and stood there, motionless, for a long
time.

Smith had rejoined his companions and had related to them what had
happened.

“There certainly is a mystery in this man’s life,” said Spilett, “and
it seems as if his first human sensation was remorse.”

“I don’t understand what kind of a man we have brought back,” says the
sailor. “He has secrets—”

“Which we will respect,” answered the engineer, quickly. “If he has
committed some fault he has cruelly expiated it, and in our sight it is
absolved.”

For two hours the Unknown remained upon the shore, evidently under the
influence of remembrances which brought back to him all his past, a
past which, doubtless, was hateful enough, and the colonists, though
keeping watch upon him, respected his desire to be alone.

Suddenly he seemed to have taken a resolution, and he returned to the
engineer. His eyes were red with the traces of tears, and his face wore
an expression of deep humility. He seemed apprehensive, ashamed,
humiliated, and his looks were fixed on the ground.

“Sir,” said he, “are you and your companions English?”

“No,” replied Smith, “we are Americans.”

“Ah!” murmured the Unknown, “I am glad of that.”

“And what are you, my friend?” asked the engineer.

“English,” he responded, as if these few words had cost him a great
effort. He rushed to the shore, and traversed its length to the mouth
of the Mercy, in a state of extreme agitation.

Having, at one place, met Herbert, he stopped, and in a choking voice,
accosted him:—

“What month is it?”

“November,” replied the lad.

“And what year?”

“1866.”

“Twelve years! Twelve years!” he cried, and then turned quickly away.

Herbert related this incident to the others.

“The poor creature knew neither the month nor the year,” remarked
Spilett.

“And he had been twelve years on the island, when we found him.”

“Twelve years,” said Smith. “Twelve years of isolation, after a wicked
life, perhaps; that would indeed affect a man’s reason.”

“I cannot help thinking,” observed Pencroff, “that this man was not
wrecked on that island, but that he has been left there for some
crime.”

“You may be right, Pencroff,” replied the reporter, “and if that is the
case, it is not impossible that whoever left him there may return for
him some day.”

“And they would not find him,” said Herbert.

“But, then,” exclaimed Pencroff, “he would want to go back, and—”

“My friends,” interrupted Smith, “do not let us discuss this question
till we know what we are talking about. I believe that this unhappy man
has suffered, and that he has paid bitterly for his faults, whatever
they may have been, and that he is struggling with the need of opening
his heart to someone. Do not provoke him to speak; he will tell us of
his own accord some day, and when we have learned all, we will see what
course it will be necessary to follow. He alone can tell us if he has
more than the hope, the certainty of some day being restored to his
country, but I doubt it.”

“Why?” asked the reporter.

“Because, had he been sure of being delivered after a fixed time, he
would have awaited the hour of his deliverance, and not have thrown
that paper in the sea. No, it is more likely that be was condemned to
die upon this island, to never look upon his kind again.”

“But there still is something which I cannot understand,” said the
sailor.

“What is that?”

“Why, if this man had been left on Tabor Island twelve years ago, it
seems probable that he must have been in this savage condition for a
long time.”

“That is probable,” replied the engineer.

“And, therefore, it is a long time since he wrote that paper.”

“Doubtless—and yet that paper seemed to have been written recently—”

“Yes, and how account for the bottle taking so many years in coming
from Tabor Island here?”

“It is not absolutely impossible,” responded the reporter. “Could not
it have been in the neighborhood of the island for a long time?”

“And have remained floating? No,” answered the sailor, “for sooner or
later it would have been dashed to pieces on the rocks.”

“It would, indeed,” said Smith, thoughtfully.

“And, moreover,” continued the sailor, if the paper had been enclosed
in the bottle for a long time, it would have been injured by the
moisture, whereas, it was not damaged in the least.”

The sailor’s remark was just, and, moreover, this paper, recently
written, gave the situation of the island with an exactness which
implied a knowledge of hydrography, such as a simple sailor could not
have.

“There is, as I said before, something inexplicable in all this,” said
the engineer, “but do not let us urge our new companion to speak, When
he wishes it we will be ready to listen.”

For several days after this the Unknown neither spoke nor left the
plateau. He worked incessantly, digging in the garden apart from the
colonists, and at meal times, although he was often asked to join them,
he remained alone, eating but a few uncooked vegetables. At night,
instead of returning to his room in Granite House, he slept under the
trees, or hid himself, if the weather was bad, in some hollow of the
rocks. Thus he returned again to that manner of life in which he had
lived when he had no other shelter than the forests of Tabor Island,
and all endeavor to make him modify this life having proved fruitless,
the colonists waited patiently. But the moment came when, irresistibly
and as if involuntarily forced from him by his conscience, the terrible
avowals were made.

At dusk on the evening of the 10th of November, as the colonists were
seated in the arbor, the Unknown stood suddenly before them. His eyes
glowed, and his whole appearance wore again the savage aspect of former
days. He stood there, swayed by some terrible emotion, his teeth
chattering like those of a person in a fever. The colonists were
astounded. “What was the matter with him? Was the sight of his
fellow-creatures unendurable? Had he had enough of this honest life?
Was he homesick for his brutish life? One would have thought so,
hearing him give utterance to these incoherent phrases:-

“Why am I here? By what right did you drag me from my island? Is there
any bond between you and me? Do you know who I am—what I have done—why
I was there—alone? And who has told you that I was not abandoned—that I
was not condemned to die there? Do you know my past? Do you know
whether I have not robbed, murdered—if I am not a miserable—a wicked
being—fit to live like a wild beast—far from all—say—do you know?”

The colonists listened silently to the unhappy creature, from whom
these half avowals came in spite of himself. Smith, wishing to soothe
him, would have gone to him, but the Unknown drew back quickly.

“No! no!” he cried. “One word only—am I free?”.

“You are free,” replied the engineer.

“Then, good-bye!” he cried, rushing off.

Neb, Pencroff, and Herbert ran to the border of the wood, but they
returned alone.

“We must let him have his own way,” said the engineer.

“He will never come back,” exclaimed Pencroff.

“He will return,” replied the engineer.

And after that conversation many days passed, but Smith—was it a
presentiment—persisted in the fixed idea that the unhappy man would
return sooner or later.

“It is the last struggle of this rude nature, which is touched by
remorse, and which would be terrified by a new isolation.”

In the meantime, work of all kinds was continued, both on Prospect
Plateau and at the corral, where Smith proposed to make a farm. It is
needless to say that the seeds brought from Tabor Island had been
carefully sown. The plateau was a great kitchen-garden, well laid out
and enclosed, which kept the colonists always busy. As the plants
multiplied, it was necessary to increase the size of the beds, which
threatened to become fields, and to take the place of the grass land.
But as forage abounded in other parts of the island, there was no fear
of the onagers having to be placed on rations; and it was also better
to make Prospect Plateau, defended by its belt of creeks, a garden of
this kind, and to extend the fields, which required no protection,
beyond the belt.

On the 15th of November they made their third harvest. Here was a field
which had indeed increased in the eighteen months since the first grain
of corn had been sown. The second crop of 600,000 grains produced this
time 4,000 bushels or more than 500,000,000 grains. The colonists were,
therefore, rich in corn; as it was only necessary to sow a dozen
bushels each year in order to have a supply sufficient for the
nourishment of man and beast.

After harvesting they, gave up the last fortnight in the month to
bread-making. They had the grain but not the flour, and a mill was
therefore necessary. Smith could have used the other waterfall which
fell into the Mercy, but, after discussing the question, it was decided
to build a simple wind-mill on the summit of the plateau. Its
construction would be no more difficult than a water-mill, and they
would be sure of always having a breeze on this open elevation.

“Without counting,” said Pencroff, “the fine aspect a wind-mill will
give to the landscape.”

They began the work by selecting timber for the cage and machinery for
the mill. Some large sand-stones, which the colonists found to the
north of the lake, were readily made into mill-stones, and the
inexhaustible envelope of the balloon furnished the cloth necessary for
the sails.

Smith made his drawings, and the site for the mill was chosen a little
to the right of the poultry-yard, and close to the lake shore. The
whole cage rested upon a pivot, held in position by heavy timbers, in
such a manner that it could turn, with all the mechanism within it,
towards any quarter of the wind.

The work progressed rapidly. Neb and Herbert had become expert
carpenters, and had only to follow the plans furnished by the engineer,
so that in a very short time a sort of round watch-house, a regular
pepper-box, surmounted by a sharp roof, rose upon the site selected.
The four wings had been firmly fastened by iron tenons to the main
shaft, in such a manner as to make a certain angle with it. As for the
various parts of the interior mechanism—the two mill-stones, the runner
and the feeder; the hopper, a sort of huge square trough, large above
and small below, permitting the grains to fall upon the mill-stones;
the oscillating bucket, designed to regulate the passage of the grain;
and, finally, the bolter, which, by the operation of the sieve,
separated the bran from the flour—all these were easily made. And as
their tools were good, the work simple, and everybody took part in it,
the mill was finished by the 1st of December.

As usual, Pencroff was overjoyed by his work, and he was sure that the
machine was perfection.

“Now, with a good wind, we will merrily grind our corn.”

“Let it be a good wind, Pencroff, but not too strong,” said the
engineer.

“Bah! our mill will turn the faster.”

“It is not necessary to turn rapidly,” replied the engineer.
“Experience has demonstrated that the best results are obtained by a
mill whose wings make six times the number of turns in a minute that
the wind travels feet in a second. Thus, an ordinary wind, which
travels twenty-four feet in a second, will turn the wings of the mill
sixteen times in a minute, which is fast enough.”

“Already!” exclaimed Herbert, “there is a fine breeze from the
northeast, which will be just the thing!”

There was no reason to delay using the mill, and the colonists were
anxious to taste the bread of Lincoln Island; so this very morning two
or three bushels of corn were ground, and the next day, at breakfast, a
splendid loaf, rather heavy perhaps, which had been raised with the
barm of beer, was displayed upon the table of Granite House. Each
munched his portion with a pleasure perfectly inexpressible.

Meantime the Unknown had not come back again. Often Spilett and Herbert
had searched the forest in the neighborhood of Granite House without
finding any trace of him, and all began to be seriously alarmed at his
prolonged absence. Undoubtedly the former savage of Tabor Island would
not find it difficult to live in the forests of the Far West, which
were so rich in game; but was it not to be feared that he would resume
his former habits, and that his independence would revive in him his
brutish instincts? Smith alone, by a sort of presentiment, persisted in
saying that the fugitive would return.

“Yes, he will come back,” he repeated with a confidence in which his
companions could not share. “When this poor creature was on Tabor
Island, he knew he was alone, but here, he knows that his kindred await
him. Since he half-spoke of his past life, he will return to tell us
everything, and on that day he will be ours.”

The event proved the correctness of Cyrus Smith’s reasoning.

On the 3d of December, Herbert had gone to the southern shore of the
lake, to fish, and, since the dangerous animals never showed themselves
in this part of the island, he had gone unarmed.

Pencroff and Neb were working in the poultry-yard, while Smith and the
reporter were occupied at the Chimneys making soda, the supply of soap
being low.

Suddenly sharp cries of help were heard by Neb and Pencroff, who
summoned the others, and all rushed towards the lake.

But before them, the Unknown, whose presence in the neighborhood had
not been suspected, leapt over Glycerine Creek and bounded along the
opposite bank.

There, Herbert stood facing a powerful jaguar, like the one which had
been killed at Reptile End. Taken by surprise, he stood with his back
against a tree, and the animal, crouching on his haunches, was about to
spring upon him, when the Unknown, with no other arm than his knife,
threw himself on the brute, which turned upon its new adversary.

The struggle was short. This man, whose strength and agility was
prodigious, seized the jaguar by the throat in a vice-like grip, and,
not heeding the claws of the beast tearing his flesh, he thrust his
knife into its heart.

The jaguar fell, and the Unknown was about turning to go away, when the
colonists came up, and Herbert, catching hold of him, exclaimed:—

“No, no, you must not leave us!”

Smith walked towards the man, who frowned at his approach. The blood
was flowing from a wound in his shoulder, but he did not heed it.

“My friend,” said Smith, “we are in your debt. You have risked your
life to save our boy.”

“My life,” murmured the Unknown; “what is it worth? less than nothing.”

“You are wounded?”

“That does not matter.”

“Will you not shake hands with me?” asked Herbert.

But on the lad’s seeking to take his hand, the Unknown folded his arms,
his chest heaved, and he looked about as if he wished to escape; but,
making a violent effort at self-control, and in a gruff voice:—

“Who are you?” he asked, “and what are you going to do with me?”

It was their history that he thus asked for, for the first time.
Perhaps, if that was related, he would tell his own. So Smith, in a few
words, recounted all that had happened since their departure from
Richmond; how they had succeeded, and the resources now at their
disposal.

The Unknown listened with the utmost attention.

Then Smith told him who they all were, Spilett, Herbert, Pencroff, Neb,
himself, and he added that the greatest happiness that had come to them
since their arrival on Lincoln Island was on their return from the
islet, when they could count one more companion.

At these words the other colored up, and bowing his head, seemed
greatly agitated.

“And now that you know us,” asked Smith, “will you give us your hand?”

“No,” answered the Unknown in a hoarse voice; “no! You are honest men.
But I—”




CHAPTER XXXIX


ALWAYS APART—A BEQUEST OF THE UNKNOWN’S—THE FARM ESTABLISHED AT THE
CORRAL—TWELVE YEARS—THE BOATSWAIN’S MATE OF THE BRITANNIA —LEFT ON
TABOR ISLAND—THE HAND OF SMITH—THE MYSTERIOUS PAPER


These last events justified the presentiments of the colonists. There
was some terrible past in the life of this man, expiated, perhaps, in
the eyes of men, but which his conscience still held unabsolved. At any
rate, he felt remorse; he had repented, and his new friends would have
cordially grasped that hand, but he did not feel himself worthy to
offer it to honest men. Nevertheless, after the struggle with the
jaguar, he did not go back to the forest, but remained within the
bounds of Granite House.

What was the mystery of this life? Would he speak of it some day? The
colonists thought so, but they agreed that, under no circumstances,
would they ask him for his secret; and, in the meantime, to associate
with him as if they suspected nothing.

For some days everything went on as usual. Smith and Spilett worked
together, sometimes as chemists, sometimes as physicists, the reporter
never leaving the engineer, except to hunt with Herbert, as it was not
prudent to allow the young lad to traverse the forest alone. As to Neb
and Pencroff, the work in the stables and poultry-yard, or at the
corral, besides the chores about Granite House, kept them busy.

The Unknown worked apart from the others. He had gone back to his
former habit of taking no share in the meals, of sleeping under the
trees, of having nothing to do with his companions. It seemed, indeed,
as if the society of those who had saved him was intolerable.

“But why, then,” asked Pencroff, “did he seek succor from his
fellow-creatures; why did he throw this paper in the sea?”

“He will tell us everything,” was Smith’s invariable answer.

“But when?”

“Perhaps sooner than you think, Pencroff.”

And, indeed, on the 10th of December, a week after his return to
Granite House, the Unknown accosted the engineer and in a quiet humble
voice said:—

“Sir, I have a request to make.”

“Speak,” replied the engineer, “but, first, let me ask you a question?”

At these words the Unknown colored and drew back. Smith saw what was
passing in the mind of the culprit, who feared, doubtless, that the
engineer would question him upon his past.

Smith took him by the hand.

“Comrade,” said he, “we are not only companions, we are friends. I
wanted to say this to you first, now I will listen.”

The Unknown covered his eyes with his hand; a sort of tremor seized
him, and for some moments he was unable to articulate a word.

“Sir,” said he, at length, “I came to implore a favor from you.”

“What is it?”

“You have, four or five miles from here, at the foot of the mountain, a
corral for your animals. These require looking after. Will you permit
me to live over there with them?”

Smith regarded the unhappy man for some time, with deep commiseration.
Then:—

“My friend,” said he, “the corral has nothing but sheds, only fit for
the animals—”

“It will be good enough, for me, sir.”

“My friend,” replied Smith, “we will never thwart you in anything. If
you wish to live in the corral, you may; nevertheless, you will always
be welcome at Granite House. But since you desire to stay at the
corral, we will do what is necessary to make you comfortable.”

“Never mind about that, I will get along well enough.”

“My friend,” responded Smith, who persisted in the use of this cordial
title, “you must let us be the judges in that matter.”

The Unknown thanked the engineer and went away. And Smith, having told
his companions of the proposition that had been made, they decided to
build a log house at the corral, and to make it as comfortable as
possible.

The same day the colonists went, with the necessary tools, to the
place, and before the week was out the house was ready for its guest.
It was built twenty feet from the sheds, at a place where the herd of
moufflons, now numbering twenty-four animals, could be easily
overlooked. Some furniture, including a bed, table, bench,
clothes-press, and chest was made, and some arms, ammunition, and
tools, were carried there.

The Unknown, meanwhile, had not seen his new home, letting the
colonists work without him, while he remained at the plateau, wishing,
doubtless, to finish up his work there. And, indeed, by his exertion
the ground was completely tilled, and ready for the sowing when the
time should arrive.

On the 20th everything was prepared at the corral, aid the engineer
told the Unknown that his house was ready for him, to which the other
replied that he would sleep there that night.

The same evening, the colonists were all together in the great hall of
Granite House. It was 8 o’clock, the time of their companion’s
departure; and not wishing by their presence to impose on him the
leave-taking, which would, perhaps, have cost him an effort, they had
left him alone and gone up into Granite House.

They had been conversing together in the hall for some minutes, when
there was a light knock on the door, the Unknown entered, and without
further introduction:—

“Before I leave you, sirs,” said he, “it is well that you should know
my history. This is it.”

These simple words greatly affected Smith and companions. The engineer
started up.

“We ask to hear nothing, my friend,” he said. “It is your right to be
silent—”

“It is my duty to speak.”

“Then sit down.”

“I will stand where I am.”

“We are ready to hear what you have to say,” said Smith.

The Unknown stood in a shadowed corner of the hall, bare-headed, his
arms crossed on his breast. In this position, in a hoarse voice,
speaking as one who forces himself to speak, he made the following
recital, uninterrupted by any word from his auditors:—

“On the 20th of December, 1854, a steam pleasure-yacht, the Duncan,
belonging to a Scotch nobleman, Lord Glenarvan, cast anchor at Cape
Bernoulli, on the western coast of Australia, near the thirty-seventh
parallel. On board the yacht were Lord Glenarvan, his wife, a major in
the English army, a French geographer, a little boy, and a little girl.
These two last were the children of Captain Grant, of the ship
Britannia, which, with its cargo, had been lost the year before. The
Duncan was commanded by Captain John Mangles, and was manned by a crew
of fifteen men.

“This is the reason why the yacht was on the Australian coast at that
season:—

“Six months before, a bottle containing a paper written in English,
German, and French, had been picked up by the Duncan in the Irish Sea.
This paper said, in substance, that three persons still survived from
the wreck of the Britannia; that they were the captain and two of the
men; that they had found refuge on a land of which the latitude and
longitude was given, but the longitude, blotted by the sea water, was
no longer legible.

“The latitude was 37° 11’ south. Now, as the longitude was unknown, if
they followed the latitude across continents and seas, they were
certain to arrive at the land inhabited by Captain Grant and his
companions.

“The English Admiralty, having hesitated to undertake the search, Lord
Glenarvan had resolved to do everything in his power to recover the
captain. Mary and Robert Grant had been in correspondence with him, and
the yacht Duncan was made ready for a long voyage, in which the family
of Lord Glenarvan and the children of the captain intended to
participate. The Duncan, leaving Glasgow, crossed the Atlantic, passed
the Straits of Magellan, and proceeded up the Pacific to Patagonia,
where, according to the first theory suggested by the paper, they might
believe that Captain Grant was a prisoner to the natives.

“The Duncan left its passengers on the western coast of Patagonia, and
sailed for Cape Corrientes on the eastern coast, there to wait for
them.

“Lord Glenarvan crossed Patagonia, following the 37th parallel, and,
not having found any trace of the captain, he reembarked on the 13th of
November, in order to continue his search across the ocean.

“After having visited without success the islands of Tristan d’Acunha
and of Amsterdam, lying in the course, the Duncan, as I have stated,
arrived at Cape Bernouilli on the 20th of December, 1854.

“It was Lord Glenarvan’s intention to cross Australia, as he had
crossed Patagonia, and he disembarked. Some miles from the coast was a
farm belonging to an Irishman, who offered hospitality to the
travellers. Lord Glenarvan told the Irishman the object which had
brought him to that region, and asked if he had heard of an English
three-master, the Britannia, having been lost, within two years, on the
west coast of Australia.

“The Irishman had never heard of this disaster, but, to the great
surprise of everybody, one of his servants, intervening, said:—

“‘Heaven be praised, my lord. If Captain Grant is still alive he is in
Australia.’

“‘Who are you?’ demanded Lord Glenarvan.

“‘A Scotchman, like yourself, my lord,’ answered this man, ‘and one of
the companions of Captain Grant, one of the survivors of the
Britannia.’

“This man called himself Ayrton. He had been, in short, boatswain’s
mate of the Britannia, as his papers proved. But, separated from
Captain Grant at the moment when the ship went to pieces on the rocks,
he had believed until this moment that every one had perished but
himself.

“‘Only,’ he added, ‘it was not on the western but on the eastern coast
of Australia that the Britannia was lost; and if the Captain is still
living he is a prisoner to the natives, and he must be searched for
there.’

“This man said these things frankly and with a confident expression. No
one would have doubted what he said. The Irishman, in whose service he
had been for more than a year, spoke in his favor. Lord Glenarvan
believed in his loyalty, and, following his advice, he resolved to
cross Australia, following the 37th parallel. Lord Glenarvan, his wife,
the children, the major, the Frenchman, Captain Mangles and some
sailors formed the little party under the guidance of Ayrton, while the
Duncan, under the command of the mate, Tom Austin, went to Melbourne,
to await further instructions.

“They left on the 23d of December, 1861.

“It is time to say that this Ayrton was a traitor. He was, indeed, the
boatswain’s mate of the Britannia; but, after some dispute with his
captain, he had tried to excite the crew to mutiny and seize the ship,
and Captain Grant had put him ashore, the 8th of April, 1832, on the
west coast of Australia, and had gone off, leaving him there, which was
no more than right.

“Thus this wretch knew nothing of the shipwreck of the Britannia. He
had just learned it from Lord Glenarvan’s recital! Since his
abandonment, he had become, under the name of Ben Joyce, the leader of
some escaped convicts; and, if he impudently asserted the ship had been
lost on the east coast, if he urged Lord Glenarvan to go in that
direction, it was in the hope of separating him from his ship, of
seizing the Duncan, and of making this yacht a pirate of the Pacific.”

Here the Unknown stopped for a moment. His voice trembled, but he began
again in these words:—

“The expedition across Australia set out. It was naturally unfortunate,
since Ayrton, or Ben Joyce, whichever you wish, led it, sometimes
preceded, sometimes followed by the band of convicts, who had been
informed of the plot.

“Meanwhile, the Duncan had been taken to Melbourne to await
instructions. It was therefore necessary to persuade Lord Glenarvan to
order her to leave Melbourne and to proceed to the east coast of
Australia, where it would be easy to seize her. After having led the
expedition sufficiently near this coast, into the midst of vast
forests, where all resources were wanting, Ayrton obtained a letter
which he was ordered to deliver to the mate of the Duncan; a letter
which gave the order directing the yacht to proceed immediately to the
east coast, to Twofold Bay, a place some days journey from the spot
where the expedition had halted. It was at this place that Ayrton had
given the rendezvous to his accomplices.

“At the moment when this letter was to have been sent, the traitor was
unmasked and was obliged to flee. But this letter, giving him the
Duncan, must be had at any cost. Ayrton succeeded in getting hold of
it, and, in two days afterwards, he was in Melbourne.

“So far, the criminal had succeeded in his odious projects. He could
take the Duncan to this Twofold Bay, where it would be easy for the
convicts to seize her; and, her crew massacred, Ben Joyce would be
master of the sea. Heaven stopped him in the consummation of these dark
designs.

“Ayrton, having reached Melbourne, gave the letter to the mate, Tom
Austin, who made ready to execute the order; but one can judge of the
disappointment and the rage of Ayrton, when, the second day out, he
learned that the mate was taking the ship, not to Twofold Bay on the
east coast of Australia, but to the east coast of New Zealand. He
wished to oppose this, but the mate showed him his order. And, in
truth, by a providential error of the French geographer who had written
this letter, the eastern coast of New Zealand had been named as their
place of destination.

“All the plans of Ayrton had miscarried. He tried to mutiny. They put
him in irons; and he was taken to the coast of New Zealand, unaware of
what had become of his accomplices, or of Lord Glenarvan.

“The Duncan remained on this coast until the 3d of March. On that day,
Ayrton heard firing. It was a salute from the Duncan, and, very soon,
Lord Glenarvan and all his party came on board.

“This is what had happened:—

“After innumerable fatigues and dangers, Lord Glenarvan had been able
to accomplish his journey and arrived at Twofold Bay. The Duncan was
not there! He telegraphed to Melbourne, and received a reply:—’Duncan
sailed on the 18th. Destination unknown.’

“Lord Glenarvan could think of but one explanation, that was that the
good yacht had fallen into the hands of Ben Joyce, and had become a
pirate ship.

“Nevertheless, Lord Glenarvan did not wish to give up his undertaking.
He was an intrepid and a generous man. He embarked on a merchant
vessel, which took him to the west coast of New Zealand, and he crossed
the country, following the 37th parallel without finding any trace of
Captain Grant; but on the other coast, to his great surprise, and by
the bounty of Heaven, he found the Duncan, commanded by the mate, which
had been waiting for him for five weeks!

“It was the 3d of March, 1855. Lord Glenarvan was again on the Duncan,
but Ayrton was there also. He was brought before his lordship, who
wished to get from this bandit all that he knew concerning Captain
Grant. Ayrton refused to speak. Lord Glenarvan told him, then, that at
the first port, he would be given over to the English authorities.
Ayrton remained silent.

“The Duncan continued along the thirty-seventh parallel. Meanwhile,
Lady Glenarvan undertook to overcome the obstinacy of the bandit, and,
finally, her influence conquered him. Ayrton, in exchange for what he
would tell, proposed to Lord Glenarvan to leave him upon one of the
islands in the Pacific, instead of giving him up to the English
authorities. Lord Glenarvan, ready to do anything to gain information
concerning Captain Grant, consented.

“Then Ayrton told the history of his life, and declared that he knew
nothing about Captain Grant since the day when the latter had left him
on the Australian coast.

“Nevertheless, Lord Glenarvan kept the promise he had made. The Duncan,
continuing her route, arrived at Tabor Island. It was there that Ayrton
was to be left, and it was there, too, that, by a miracle, they found
Captain Grant and his two companions. The convict was put upon the
island in their stead, and when he left the yacht, Lord Glenarvan spoke
to him in these words:—

“‘Here, Ayrton, you will be far from any country, and without any
possible means of communicating with your fellow-men. You will not be
able to leave this island. You will be alone, under the eye of a God
who looks into the depths of our hearts, but you will neither be lost
nor neglected, like Captain Grant. Unworthy as you are of the
remembrance of men, you will be remembered. I know where you are,
Ayrton, and I know where to find you. I will never forget it.’

“And the Duncan, setting sail, soon disappeared.

“This was the 18th of March, 1855.

“Ayrton was alone; but he lacked neither ammunition nor arms nor seeds.
He, the convict, had at his disposal the house built by the honest
Captain Grant. He had only to live and to expiate in solitude the
crimes which he had committed.

“Sirs, he repented; he was ashamed of his crimes, and he was very
unhappy. He said to himself that, as some day men would come to seek
him on this islet, he must make himself worthy to go back with them.
How he suffered, the miserable man! How he labored to benefit himself
by labor! How he prayed to regenerate himself by prayer!

“For two years, for three years, it was thus. Ayrton, crushed by this
isolation, ever on the watch for a ship to appear upon the horizon of
his island, asking himself if the time of expiation was nearly ended,
suffered as one has rarely suffered. Oh! but solitude is hard, for a
soul gnawed by remorse!

“But, doubtless, Heaven found this unhappy wretch insufficiently
punished, for he fell, little by little, till he became a savage! He
felt, little by little, the brute nature taking possession of him. He
cannot say whether this was after two or four years of

abandonment, but at last he became the miserable being whom you found.

“I need not tell you, sirs, that Ayrton and Ben Joyce and I are one!”

Smith and his companions rose as this recital was finished. It is hard
to say how deeply they were affected! Such misery, such grief, and such
despair, had been shown to them!

“Ayrton,” said Smith, “you have been a great criminal, but Heaven has,
doubtless, witnessed the expiation of your crimes. This is proved, in
that you have been restored to your fellow-men. Ayrton, you are
pardoned! And now, will you be our companion?”

The man drew back.

“Here is my hand,” said the engineer.

Ayrton darted forward and seized it, great tears streaming from his
eyes.

“Do you desire to live with us?” asked Smith.

“Oh, Mr. Smith, let me have yet a little time,” he answered, “let me
remain alone in the house at the corral!”

“Do as you wish, Ayrton,” responded Smith.

The unhappy man was about retiring, when Smith asked him a last
question.

“One word more, my friend. Since it is your wish to live in solitude,
why did you throw that paper, which put us in the way of finding you,
into the sea?”

“A paper?” answered Ayrton, who seemed not to understand what was said.

“Yes, that paper, which we found enclosed in a bottle, and which gave
the exact situation of Tabor Island?”

The man put his hand to his forehead, and, after some reflection,
said:—

“I never threw any paper into the sea!”

“Never!” cried Pencroff.

“Never!”

And then, inclining his head, Ayrton left the room.




CHAPTER XL.


A TALK—SMITH AND SPILETT—THE ENGINEER’S IDEA—THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH—THE
WIRES—THE BATTER-THE ALPHABET—FINE WEATHER—THE PROSPERITY OF THE
COLONY—PHOTOGRAPHY—A SNOW EFFECT—TWO YEARS ON LINCOLN ISLAND.


“The poor man!” said Herbert, returning from the door, after having
watched Ayrton slide down the rope of the elevator and disappear in the
darkness.

“He will come back,” said Smith.

“What does it mean?” exclaimed Pencroff. “That he had not thrown this
bottle into the sea? Then who did it?”

Certainly, if there was a reasonable question this was.

“He did it,” replied Neb; “only the poor fellow was half out of his
senses at the time.”

“Yes,” said Herbert, “and he had no knowledge of what he was doing.”

“It can be explained in no other way, my friends,” responded Smith,
hurriedly, “and I understand, now, how Ayrton was able to give the
exact situation of the island, since the events prior to his
abandonment gave him that knowledge.”

“Nevertheless,” observed Pencroff, “he was not a brute when he wrote
that paper, and if it is seven or eight years since it was thrown into
the sea, how is it that the paper has not been injured by moisture?”

“It proves,” said Smith, “that Ayrton retained possession of his
faculties to a period much more recent than he imagines.”

“That must be it,” replied Pencroff, “for otherwise the thing would be
inexplicable.”

“Inexplicable, indeed,” answered the engineer, who seemed not to wish
to prolong this talk.

“Has Ayrton told the truth?” questioned the sailor.

“Yes,” answered the reporter, “the history he has related is true in
every particular. I remember, perfectly well, that the papers reported
Lord Glenarvan’s undertaking and its result.”

“Ayrton has told the truth,” added Smith, “without any doubt, Pencroff,
since it was trying enough for him to do so. A man does not lie when he
accuses himself in this way.”

The next day—the 21st—the colonists went down to the beach, and then
clambered up to the plateau, but they saw nothing of Ayrton. The man
had gone to his house the night before, and they judged it best not to
intrude upon him. Time would, doubtless, effect what sympathy would
fail to accomplish.

Herbert, Pencroff, and Neb resumed their accustomed occupations; and it
happened that their work brought Smith and Spilett together at the
Chimneys.

“Do you know, Cyrus, that your explanation of yesterday about the
bottle does not satisfy me at all? It is impossible to suppose that
this unhappy creature could have written that paper, and thrown the
bottle into the sea, without remembering anything about it!”

“Consequently, it is not he who threw it there, my dear Spilett!”

“Then you believe—”

“I believe nothing, I know nothing!” replied Smith, interrupting the
reporter. “I place this incident with those others which I have not
been able to explain!”

“In truth, Cyrus,” said Spilett, “these things are incredible. Your
rescue, the box thrown up on the beach, Top’s adventures, and now this
bottle. Will we never have an answer to these enigmas?”

“Yes,” answered the engineer, earnestly, “yes, when I shall have
penetrated the bowels of this island!”

“Chance will, perhaps, give us the key to this mystery.”

“Chance, Spilett! I do not believe in chance any more than I believe in
mystery in this world. There is a cause for everything, however
inexplicable, which has happened here, and I will discover it. But,
while waiting, let us watch and work.”

January arrived, and the year 1867 began. The works had been pushed
forward vigorously. One day Herbert and Spilett, passing the corral,
ascertained that Ayrton had taken possession of his abode. He occupied
himself with the large herd confided to his care, and thus saved his
companions the necessity of visiting it two or three times a week.
Nevertheless, in order not to leave Ayrton too much alone, they
frequently went there.

It was just as well—owing to certain suspicions shared by Smith and
Spilett—that this part of the island should be under a certain
supervision, and Ayrton, if anything happened, would not fail to let
the inhabitants of Granite House know of it.

Possibly, some sudden event might happen, which it would be important
to communicate to the engineer without delay. And, aside from whatever
might be connected with the mystery of the island, other things,
requiring the prompt intervention of the colonists, might occur, as,
for example, the discovering of a ship in the offing and in sight of
the west coast, a wreck on that shore, the possible arrival of pirates,
etc.

So Smith determined to place the corral in instant communication with
Granite House.

It was the 10th of January when he told his project to his companions.

“How are you going to do such a thing as that, Mr. Smith?” asked
Pencroff. “Maybe you propose to erect a telegraph!”

“That is precisely what I propose to do.”

“Electric?” exclaimed Herbert.

“Electric,” responded Smith. “We have everything necessary for making a
battery, and the most difficult part will be to make the wires, but I
think we can succeed.”

“Well, after this,” replied the sailor, “I expect some day to see us
riding along on a railway!”

They entered upon the work at once, beginning with the most difficult
part, that is to say, the manufacture of the wires, since, if that
failed, it would be useless to make the battery and other accessories.

The iron of Lincoln Island was, as we know, of excellent quality, and,
therefore, well adapted to the purpose. Smith began by making a steel
plate, pierced with conical holes of different sizes, which would bring
the wire to the desired size. This piece of steel, after having been
tempered “through and through,” was fixed firmly to a solid frame-work
sunk in the ground, only a few feet distant from the waterfall—the
motive power which the engineer intended to use.

And, indeed, there was the fulling-mill, not then in use, the main
shaft of which turned with great force, and would serve to draw out the
wire and roll it around itself.

The operation was delicate and required great care. The iron,
previously made into long and thin bars, with tapering ends, having
been introduced into the largest hole of the drawing-plate, was drawn
out by the main shaft of the mill, rolled out to a length of 25 or 30
feet, then unrolled, and pulled, in turn, through the smaller holes;
and at length, the engineer obtained wires 30 or 40 feet long, which it
was easy to join together and place along the five miles between the
corral and Granite House.

It took but a little while to get this work under way, and then, Smith,
making his companions the wire-drawers, busied himself in the
construction of his battery.

It was necessary to make a battery with a constant circuit. We know
that modern batteries are usually made of a certain kind of coke, zinc,
and copper. Copper the engineer was without, since, in spite of all his
efforts, he had been unable to find a trace of it on the island. The
coke, which is that hard deposit obtained from gas retorts could be
procured, but it would be necessary to arrange a special apparatus—a
difficult thing to do. As to the zinc, it will be remembered that the
box found on Jetsam Point, was lined with a sheet of that metal, which
could not be better utilized than at present.

Smith, after deep reflection, resolved to make a very simple battery,
something like that which Becquerel invented in 1820, in which zinc
alone is used. The other substances, nitric-acid and potash, he had at
hand.

The manner in which he made this battery, in which the current was
produced by the action of the acid and the potash on each other, was as
follows:—

A certain number of glass vessels were made and filled with
nitric-acid. They were corked with perforated corks, containing glass
tubes reaching into the acid, and stopped: with clay plugs, connected
with threads. Into these tubes the engineer poured a solution of
potash—obtained from burnt plants—and thus the acid and the potash
reacted on each other through the clay.

Then Smith plunged two plates of zinc, the one in the nitric acid, the
other in the solution, and thus produced a circuit between the tube and
jar, and as these plates had been connected by a bit of wire, the one
in the tube became the positive and the other the negative pole of the
apparatus. Each jar produced its currents, which, together, were
sufficient to cause all the phenomena of the electric telegraph.

On the 6th of February they began to erect the poles, furnished with
glass insulators, and some days later the wire was stretched, ready to
produce the electric current, which travels with the speed of 100,000
kilometres a second.

Two batteries had been made, one for Granite House, and the other for
the corral, as, if the corral had to communicate with Granite House, it
might, also, be needful for Granite House to communicate with the
corral.

As to the indicator and manipulator, they were very simple. At both
stations the wire was wrapped around an electro-magnet of soft iron.
Communication was established between the two poles; the current,
leaving the positive pole, traversed the wire, passed into the
electro-magnet, and returned under ground to the negative pole. The
current closed, the attraction of the electro-magnet ceased. It was,
therefore, sufficient to place a plate of soft iron before the
electro-magnet which, attracted while the current is passing, falls,
when it is interrupted. The movement of the plate thus obtained, Smith
easily fastened to it a needle, pointing to a dial, which bore the
letters of the alphabet upon its face.

Everything was finished by the 12th of February. On that day Smith,
having turned on the current, asked if everything was all right at the
corral, and received, in a few moments, a satisfactory reply from
Ayrton.

Pencroff was beside himself with delight, and every morning and evening
he sent a telegraph to the corral, which never remained unanswered.

This method of communication presented evident advantages, both in
informing the colonists of Ayrton’s presence at the corral, and in
preventing his complete isolation. Moreover, Smith never allowed a week
to pass without visiting him, and Ayrton came occasionally to Granite
House, where he always found a kind reception.

Continuing their accustomed work, the fine weather passed away, and the
resources of the colony, particularly in vegetables and cereals,
increased from day to day, and the plants brought from Tabor Island had
been perfectly acclimated. The plateau presented a most attractive
appearance. The fourth crop of corn had been excellent, and no one
undertook to count the 400,000,000,000 grains produced in the harvest;
although Pencroff had had some such idea, until Smith informed him
that, supposing he could count 300 grains a minute, or 18,000 an hour,
it would take him 5,500 years to accomplish his undertaking.

The weather was superb, though somewhat warm during the day; but, in
the evening, the sea-breeze sprung up, tempering the air and giving
refreshing nights to the inhabitants of Granite House. Still there were
some storms, which, although not long continued, fell upon Lincoln
Island with extraordinary violence. For several hours at a time the
lightning never ceased illuminating the heavens, and the thunder roared
without cessation.

This was a season of great prosperity to the little colony. The
denizens of the poultry-yard increased rapidly, and the colonists lived
on this increase, as it was necessary to keep the population within
certain limits. The pigs had littered, and Pencroff and Neb’s attention
to these animals absorbed a great part of their time. There were too
young onagers, and their parents were often ridden by Spilett and
Herbert, or hitched to the cart to drag wood or bring the minerals
which the engineer made use of.

Many explorations were made about this time into the depths of the Far
West. The explorers did not suffer from the heat, as the sun’s rays
could not penetrate the leafy roof above them. Thus, they visited all
that part to the left of the Mercy, bordering on the route from the
corral to the mouth of Fall River.

But during these excursions the colonists took care to be well armed,
as they often encountered exceedingly savage and ferocious wild boars.
They also waged war against the jaguars, for which animals Spilett had
a special hatred, and his pupil, Herbert, seconded him well. Armed as
they were, the hunters never shunned an encounter with these beasts,
and the courage of Herbert was superb, while the coolness of the
reporter was astonishing. Twenty magnificent skins already ornamented
the hall at Granite House, and at this rate the jaguars would soon be
exterminated.

Sometimes the engineer took part in explorations of the unknown
portions of the island, which he observed with minute attention. There
were other traces than those of animals which he sought for in the
thickest places in the forests, but not once did anything suspicions
appear. Top and Jup, who accompanied him, showed by their action that
there was nothing there, and yet the dog had growled more than once
again above that pit which the engineer had explored without result.

During this season Spilett, assisted by Herbert, took numerous views of
the most picturesque portions of the island, by means of the
photographic apparatus, which had not been used until now.

This apparatus, furnished with a powerful lens, was very complete. All
the substances necessary in photographic work were there; the nitrate
of silver, the hyposulphata of soda, the chloride of ammonium, the
acetate of soda, and the chloride of gold. Even the paper was there,
all prepared, so that all that was necessary, in order to use it, was
to steep it for a few moments in diluted nitrate of silver.

The reporter and his assistant soon became expert operators, and they
obtained fine views of the neighborhood, such as a comprehensive view
of the island taken from Prospect Plateau, with Mount Franklin on the
horizon, the mouth of the Mercy so picturesquely framed between its
high rocks, the glade and the corral, with the lower spurs of the
mountain in the background, the curious outline of Claw Cape, Jetsam
Point, etc. Neither did the photographers forget to take portraits of
all the inhabitants of the island, without exception.

“Its people,” as Pencroff expressed it.

And the sailor was charmed to see his likeness, faithfully reproduced,
ornamenting the walls of Granite House, and he stood before this
display as pleased as if he had been gazing in one of the richest
show-windows on Broadway.

It must be confessed, however, that the portrait, showing the finest
execution, was that of master Jup. Master Jup has posed with a gravity
impossible to describe, and his picture was a speaking likeness!

“One would say he was laughing!” exclaimed Pencroff.

And if Jup had not been satisfied, he must have been hard to please.
But there it was, and he contemplated his image with such a sentimental
air, that it was evident he was a little conceited.

The heat of the summer ended with March. The season was rainy, but the
air was still warm, and the month was not as pleasant as they had
expected. Perhaps it foreboded an early and a rigorous winter.

One morning, the 21st, Herbert had risen early, and, looking from the
window, exclaimed:—

“Hullo, the islet is covered with snow!”

“Snow at this season!” cried the reporter, joining the lad.

Their companions were soon beside them, and every one saw that not only
the islet, but that the entire beach below Granite House, was covered
with the white mantle.

“It is, indeed, snow,” said Pencroff.

“Or something very much like it,” replied Neb.

“But the thermometer stands at 58°,” said Spilett.

Smith looked at the white covering without speaking, for he was,
indeed, at a loss how to explain such a phenomenon in this season and
in this temperature.

“The deuce!” cried the sailor; “our crops will have been frost-bitten.”

And he was about descending when Jup sprang before him and slid down
the rope to the ground.

The orang had scarcely touched the earth before the immense body of
snow rose and scattered itself through the air in such innumerable
flocks as to darken all the heavens for a time.

“They are birds!” cried Herbert.

The effect had, indeed, been produced by myriads of sea-birds, with
plumage of brilliant whiteness. They had come from hundreds of miles
around on to the islet and the coast, and they now disappeared in the
horizon, leaving the colonists as amazed as if they had witnessed a
transformation scene, from winter to summer, in some fancy spectacle.
Unfortunately, the change had been so sudden that neither the reporter
nor the lad had had an opportunity of knocking over some of these
birds, whose species they did not recognize.

A few days later, and it was the 26th of March. Two years had passed
since the balloon had been thrown upon Lincoln Island.




CHAPTER XLI.


THOUGHTS OF HOME—CHANCES OF RETURN —PLAN TO EXPLORE THE COAST—THE
DEPARTURE OF THE 16TH OF APRIL—SERPENTINE PENINSULA SEEN FROM SEA—THE
BASALTIC CLIFFS OF THE WESTERN COAST—BAD WEATHER—NIGHT—A NEW INCIDENT.


Two years already! For two years the colonists had had no communication
with their fellows! They knew no more of what was happening in the
world, lost upon this island, than if they had been upon the most
distant asteroid of the solar system.

What was going on in their country? Their fatherland was always present
to their eyes, that land which, when they left it, was torn by civil
strife, which perhaps was still red with rebellious blood. It was a
great grief to them, this war, and they often talked about it, never
doubting, however, that the cause of the North would triumph for the
honor of the American confederation.

During these two years not a ship had been seen. It was evident that
Lincoln Island was out of the route of vessels; that it was unknown—the
maps proved this—was evident, because, although it had no harbor, yet
its streams would have drawn thither vessels desiring to renew their
supply of water. But the surrounding sea was always desert, and the
colonists could count on no outside help to bring them to their home.

Nevertheless, one chance of rescue existed, which was discussed one day
in the first week of April, when the colonists were gathered in the
hall of Granite House.

They had been talking of America and of the small hope of ever seeing
it again.

“Undoubtedly, there is but one way of leaving the island,” said
Spilett, “which is, to build a vessel large enough to make a voyage of
some hundreds of miles. It seems to me, that, when one can build a
shallop, they can readily build a ship.”

“And that they can as easily go to the Low Archipelago as to Tabor
Island,” added Herbert.

“I do not say we cannot,” replied Pencroff, who always had the most to
say on questions of a maritime nature; “I do not say we cannot,
although it is very different whether one goes far or near! If our
sloop had been threatened with bad weather when we went to Tabor
Island, we knew that a shelter was not far off in either direction; but
1,200 miles to travel is a long bit of road, and the nearest land is at
least that distance!”

“Do you mean, supposing the case to occur, Pencroff, that you would not
risk it?” questioned the reporter.

“I would undertake whatever you wished, sir,” replied the sailor, “and
you know I am not the man to draw back.”

“Remember, moreover, that we have another sailor with us, now,” said
Neb.

“Who do you mean,” asked Pencroff.

“Ayrton.”

“That is true,” responded Herbert.

“If he would join us,” remarked Pencroff.

“Why,” said the reporter, “do you think that if Lord Glenarvan’s yacht
had arrived at Tabor Island while Ayrton was living there, that he
would have refused to leave?”

“You forget, my friends,” said Smith, “that Ayrton was not himself
during the last few years there. But that is not the question. It is
important to know whether we can count on the return of this Scotch
vessel as among our chances for rescue. Now, Lord Glenarvan promised
Ayrton that he would return to Tabor Island, when he judged his crimes
sufficiently punished, and I believe that he will return.

“Yes,” said the reporter, “and, moreover, I think he will return soon,
as already Ayrton has been here twelve years!”

“I, also, think this lord will come back, and, probably, very soon. But
where will he come to? Not here, but to Tabor Island.”

“That is as sure as that Lincoln Island is not on the maps,” said
Herbert.

“Therefore, my friends,” replied Smith, “we must take the necessary
precautions to have Ayrton’s and our presence on Lincoln Island
advertised on Tabor Island.”

“Evidently,” said the reporter, “and nothing can be easier than to
place in Captain Grant’s cabin a notice, giving the situation of our
island.”

“It is, nevertheless, annoying,” rejoined the sailor, “that we forgot
to do that on our first voyage to the place.”

“Why should we have done so?” replied Herbert. “We knew nothing about
Ayrton at that time, and when we learned his history, the season was
too far advanced to allow of our going back there.”

“Yes,” answered Smith, “it was too late then, and we had to postpone
the voyage until spring.”

“But supposing the yacht comes in the meantime?” asked Pencroff.

“It is not likely,” replied the engineer, “as Lord Glenarvan would not
choose the winter season to adventure into these distant seas. Either
it has already been to the island, in the five months that Ayrton has
been with us, or it will come later, and it will be time enough, in the
first fine weather of October, to go to Tabor Island and leave a notice
there.”

“It would, indeed, be unfortunate,” said Neb, “if the Duncan has been
to and left these seas within a few months.”

“I hope that it is not so,” answered Smith, “and that Heaven has not
deprived us of this last remaining chance.”

“I think,” observed the reporter, “that, at least, we will know what
our chances are, when we have visited the island; for those Stockmen
would, necessarily, leave some trace of their visit, had they been
there.”

“Doubtless,” answered the engineer. “And, my friends, since we have
this chance of rescue, let us wait patiently, and if we find it has
been taken from us, we will see then what to do.”

“At any rate,” said Pencroff, “it is agreed that if we do leave the
inland by some way or another, it will not be on account of
ill-treatment!”

“No indeed, Pencroff,” replied the reporter, “it will be because we are
far from everything which a man loves in this world, his family, his
friends, his country!”

Everything having been thus arranged there was no longer any question
of building a ship, and the colonists occupied themselves in preparing
for their third winter in Granite House.

But they determined, before the bad weather set in, to make a voyage in
the sloop around the island. The exploration of the coast had never
been completed, and the colonists had only an imperfect idea of its
western and northern portions from the mouth of Fall River to the
Mandible Capes, and of the narrow bay between them.

Pencroff had proposed this excursion, and Smith had gladly agreed to
it, as he wished to see for himself all that part of his domain.

The weather was still unsettled, but the barometer made no rapid
changes, and they might expect fair days. So, in the first week of
April, after a very low barometer, its rise was followed by a strong
west wind, which lasted for five or six weeks; then the needle of the
instrument became stationary at a high figure, and everything seemed
propitious for the exploration.

The day of departure was set for the 16th, and the Good Luck, moored in
Balloon Harbor, was provisioned for a long cruise.

Smith told Ayrton of the excursion, and proposed to him to take part in
it; but as Ayrton preferred to remain on shore, it was decided that he
should come to Granite House while his companions were absent. Jup was
left to keep him company, and made no objection.

On the morning of the 16th all the colonists, including Top, went on
board the Good Luck. The breeze blew fresh from the south-west, so that
from Balloon Harbor they had to beat up against the wind in order to
make Reptile End. The distance between these two points, following the
coast, was twenty miles. As the wind was dead ahead, and they had had
on starting but two hours of the ebb, it took all day to reach the
promontory, and it was night before the point was doubled.

Pencroff proposed to the engineer that they should keep on slowly,
sailing under a double-reef, but Smith preferred mooring some cable
lengths from shore, in order to survey this part of the coast by
daylight.

And it was agreed that henceforth, as a minute exploration of the
island was to be made, they would not sail at night, but cast anchor
every evening at the most available point.

The wind fell as night approached, and the silence was unbroken. The
little party, excepting Pencroff, slept less comfortably than in their
beds at Granite House, but still they slept; and at daylight the next
morning the sailor raised anchor, and, with a free wind, skirted the
shore.

The colonists knew this magnificently wooded border, as they had
traversed it formerly, on foot; but its appearance excited renewed
admiration. They ran as close in as possible, and moderated their speed
in order to observe it carefully. Often, they would cast anchor that
Spilett might take photographic views of the superb scenery.

About noon the Good Luck arrived at the mouth of the Fall River. Above,
upon the right bank, the trees were less numerous, and three miles
further on they grew in mere isolated groups between the western spurs
of the mountain, whose arid declivities extended to the very edge of
the ocean.

How great was the contrast between the southern and the northern
portions of this coast! The one wooded and verdant, the other harsh and
savage! It was what they call in certain countries, an “iron-bound
coast,” and its tempestuous aspect seemed to indicate a sudden
crystallization of the boiling basalt in the geologic epochs. How
appalling would this hideous mass have been to the colonists if they
had chanced to have been thrown on this part of the island! When they
were on Mount Franklin, their position had been too elevated for them
to recognize the awfully forbidding aspect of this shore; but, viewed
from the sea, it presented an appearance, the like of which cannot be
seen, perhaps, in any portion of the globe.

The sloop passed for half a mile before this coast. It was composed of
blocks of all dimensions from twenty to thirty feet high, and of all
sorts of shapes, towers, steeples, pyramids, obelisks, and cones. The
ice-bergs of the polar seas could not have been thrown together in more
frightful confusion! Here, the rocks formed bridges, there, nave-like
arches, of indistinguishable depth; in one place, were excavations
resembling monumental vaults, in another a crowd of points outnumbering
the pinnacles of a Gothic cathedral. All the caprices of nature, more
varied than those of the imagination, were here displayed over a
distance of eight or nine miles.

Smith and companions gazed with a surprise approaching stupefaction.
But, though they rested mute, Top kept up an incessant barking, which
awoke a thousand echoes. The engineer noticed the same strangeness in
the dog’s action as he showed at the month of the well in Granite
House.

“Go alongside,” said Smith.

And the Good Luck ran in as close to the rocks as possible. Perhaps
there was some cavern here which it would be well to explore. But Smith
saw nothing, not even a hollow which could serve as a retreat for any
living thing, and the base of the rocks was washed by the surf of the
sea. After a time the dog stopped barking, and the sloop kept off again
at some cable lengths from the shore.

In the northwest portion of the island the shore became flat and sandy.
A few trees rose above the low and swampy ground, the home of myriads
of aquatic birds.

In the evening the sloop moored in a slight hollow of the shore, to the
north of the island. She was close into the bank, as the water here was
of great depth. The breeze died away with nightfall, and the night
passed without incident.

The next morning Spilett and Herbert went ashore for a couple of hours
and brought back many bunches of ducks and snipe, and by 8 o’clock the
Good Luck, with a fair, freshening breeze, was speeding on her way to
North Mandible Cape.

“I should not be surprised,” said Pencroff, “if we had a squall.
Yesterday the sun set red, and, this morning, the cats-tails foreboded
no good.”

These “cats-tails”—were slender cyrrhi, scattered high above, in the
zenith. These feathery messengers usually announce the near disturbance
of the elements.

“Very well, then,” said Smith, “crowd on all sail and make for Shark
Gulf. There, I think the sloop will be safe.”

“Perfectly,” replied the sailor, “and, moreover, the north coast is
nothing but uninteresting downs.”

“I shall not regret,” added the engineer, “passing, not only the night,
but also tomorrow in that bay, which deserves to be explored with
care.”

“I guess we’ll have to, whether we want to or no,” replied Pencroff,
“as it is beginning to be threatening in the west. See how dirty it
looks!”

“Any how, we have a good wind to make Mandible Cape,” observed the
reporter.

“First rate; but, we will have to tack to get into the gulf, and I
would rather have clear weather in those parts which I know nothing
about.”

“Parts which are sown with reefs,” added Herbert, “if I may judge from
what we have seen of the coast to the south of the gulf.”

“Pencroff,” said Smith, “do whatever you think best, we leave
everything to you.”

“Rest assured, sir,” responded the sailor, “I will not run any
unnecessary risk. I would rather have a knife in my vitals, than that
my Good Luck should run on a rock!”

“What time is it?” asked Pencroff.

“10 o’clock.”

“And how far is it to the cape?”

“About fifteen miles.”

“That will take two hours and a half. Unfortunately, the tide then will
be going down, and it will be a hard matter to enter the gulf with wind
and tide against us.”

“Moreover,” said Herbert, “it is full moon to-day, and these April
tides are very strong.”

“But, Pencroff,” asked Smith, “cannot you anchor at the cape?”

“Anchor close to land, with bad weather coming on!” cried the sailor.
“That would be to run ourselves ashore.”

“Then what will you do?”

“Keep off, if possible, until the tide turns, which will be about 1
o’clock, and if there is any daylight left try to enter the gulf; if
not, we will beat on and off until daylight.”

“I have said, Pencroff, that we will leave everything to your
judgment.”

“Ah,” said Pencroff, “if only there was a light-house on this coast it
would be easier for sailors.”

“Yes,” answered Herbert, “and this time we have no thoughtful engineer
to light a fire to guide us into harbor.”

“By the way, Cyrus,” said Spilett, “we have never thanked you for that;
but indeed, without that fire we would not have reached—”

“A fire?” demanded Smith, astounded by the words of the reporter.

“We wish to say, sir,” said Pencroff, “that we would have been in a bad
fix on board the Good Luck, when we were nearly back, and that we would
have passed to windward of the island unless you had taken the
precaution to light a fire, on the night of the 19th of October, upon
the plateau above Granite House.”

“Oh, yes, yes! It was a happy thought!” replied Smith.

“And now,” added Pencroff, “unless Ayrton thinks of it, there is not a
soul to do us this little service.”

“No—no one!” replied Smith.

And a moment or two later, being alone with Spilett, the engineer
whispered to him:—

“If there is anything sure in this world, Spilett, it is that I never
lit a fire on that night, either on the plateau or anywhere else!”




CHAPTER XLII.


NIGHT AT SEA—SHARK GULF—CONFIDENCES—PREPARATIONS FOR WINTER—EARLY
ADVENT OF BAD WEATHER—COLD—IN-DOOR WORK—SIX MONTHS LATER—A SPECK ON THE
PHOTOGRAPH—AN UNEXPECTED EVENT.


The sailor’s predictions were well founded. The breeze changed to a
strong blow such as would hare caused a ship in the open sea to have
lowered her topmasts and sailed under close reefs. The sloop was
opposite the gulf at 6 o’clock, but the tide was running out, so all
that Pencroff could do was to bend the jib down to the mainmast as a
stay-sail and lie to with the bows of the Good Luck pointing on shore.

Fortunately, although the wind was strong, the ocean, protected by the
coast, was not very rough, and there was no danger from heavy seas,
which would have tried the staunchness of the little craft. Pencroff,
although he had every confidence in his boat, waited anxiously for
daylight.

During the night Smith and Spilett had not another opportunity to talk
alone, although the whispered words of the engineer made the reporter
anxious to discuss with him again the mysterious influence which seemed
to pervade Lincoln Island. Spilett could not rid himself of the thought
of this new and inexplicable incident. He and his companions also had
certainly seen this light, and yet Smith declared that he knew nothing
about it.

He determined to return to this subject as soon as they returned home,
and to urge Smith to inform their companions of these strange events.
Perhaps, then, they would decide to make, altogether, a thorough search
into every part of the island.

Whatever it was, no light appeared upon these unknown shores during
this night, and at daylight the wind, which had moderated somewhat,
shifted a couple of points, and permitted Pencroff to enter the gulf
without difficulty. About 7 o’clock the Good Luck passed into these
waters enclosed in a grotesque frame of lava.

“Here,” said Pencroff, “is a fine roadstead, where fleets could ride at
ease.”

“It is curious,” remarked Smith, “that this gulf has been formed by two
successive streams of lava, completely enclosing its waters; and it is
probable that, in the worst weather, the sea here is perfectly calm.”

“It is a little too large for the Good Luck,” remarked the reporter.

“I admit that,” replied the sailor, “but if the navy of the United
States needed a shelter in the Pacific, I don’t think they could find a
better roadstead than this!”

“We are in the shark’s jaws,” said Neb, alluding to the form of the
gulf.

“We are, indeed,” replied Herbert; “but, Neb, you are not afraid that
they will close on us?”

“No, sir, not that; and yet I don’t like the looks of the place. It has
a wicked aspect.”

“So Neb begins running down my roadstead just as I was thinking to
offer it to the United States!” cried Pencroff.

“But are its waters deep enough?” asked the engineer.

“That is easily seen,” answered the sailor, taking the sounding line,
which measured fifty fathoms, and letting it down. It unrolled to the
end without touching bottom.

“There,” said Pencroff, “our iron-clads could come here without running
aground!”

“In truth,” said Smith, “this gulf is an abyss; but when we remember
the plutonic origin of the island, that is not extraordinary.”

“One might think,” said Herbert, “that these walls had been cut with an
instrument, and I believe that at their very base, even with a line six
times as long, we could not reach the bottom.”

“All this is very well,” said the reporter, “but I would suggest that
Pencroff’s roadstead lacks one important element.”

“What is that?”

“A cut, or pathway of some kind, by which one could go inland. I do not
see a place where there is even a foothold.”

And, indeed, these steep lava walls afforded no landing place on all
their circumference. The Good Luck, skirting within touching distance
of the lava, found no place where the passengers could disembark.

Pencroff consoled himself by saying that they could blow up the wall,
if they wanted to, and then, as there was certainly nothing to be done
here, he turned towards the narrow opening, which was passed at 2
o’clock.

Neb gave a long sigh of relief. It was evident that the brave negro had
not been comfortable in those enormous jaws!

The sloop was now headed for Granite House, eight miles distant, and,
with a fair wind, coasted along within a mile of the shore. The
enormous lava rocks were soon succeeded by the oddly-disposed downs,
among which the engineer had been so singularly discovered, and the
place was covered with sea-birds.

Towards 4 o’clock, Pencroff, leaving the islet to the left, entered the
channel separating it from the island, and an hour later cast anchor in
the Mercy.

The colonists had been absent three days. Ayrton was waiting for them
on the shore, and Jup came joyously to welcome them, grinning with
satisfaction.

The entire exploration of the coast had been made, and nothing
suspicious had been seen. So that if any mysterious being resided on
the island, it must be under cover of the impenetrable woods on
Serpentine Peninsula, which the colonists had not, as yet,
investigated.

Spilett talked the matter over with the engineer, and it was agreed
that they should call their comrades’ attention to these strange
events, the last one of which was the most inexplicable of all.

“Are you sure you saw it, Spilett?” asked Smith, for the twentieth
time. “Was it not a partial eruption of the volcano, or some meteor?”

“No, Cyrus, it wag certainly a fire lit by the hand of man. For that
matter, question Pencroff and Herbert. They saw it also, and they will
confirm my words.”

So, some evenings later, on the 26th of April, when all the colonists
were gathered together on Prospect Plateau, Smith began:—

“My friends, I want to call your attention to certain things which are
happening in our island, and to a subject on which I am anxious to have
your advice. These things are almost supernatural—”

“Supernatural!” exclaimed the sailor, puffing his pipe. “Can anything
be supernatural?”

“No, Pencroff, but certainly mysterious; unless, indeed, you can
explain what Spilett and I have been unable to account for up to this
time.”

“Let us hear it, Mr. Smith,” replied the sailor.

“Very well. Have you understood, then, how, after being thrown into the
sea, I was found a quarter of a mile inland, without my having been
conscious of getting there?”

“Possibly, having fainted,”—began the sailor.

“That is not admissible,” answered the engineer; “but, letting that go,
have you understood how Top discovered your retreat five miles from the
place where I lay?”

“The dog’s instinct,” replied Herbert.

“A singular instinct,” remarked the reporter, “since, in spite of the
storm that was raging, Top arrived at the Chimneys dry and clean!”

“Let that pass,” continued the engineer; “have you understood how our
dog was so strangely thrown up from the lake, after his struggle with
the dugong?”

“No! that I avow,” replied Pencroff, “and the wound in the dugong which
seemed to have been made by some sharp instrument, I don’t understand
that at all.”

“Let us pass on again,” replied Smith. “Have you understood, my
friends, how that leaden bullet was in the body of the peccary; how
that box was so fortunately thrown ashore, without any trace of a
shipwreck; how that bottle, enclosing the paper, was found so
opportunely; how our canoe, having broken its rope, floated down the
Mercy to us at the very moment when we needed it; how, after the
invasion of the monkeys, the ladder was let down from Granite House;
how, finally, the document, which Ayrton pretends not to have written,
came into our hands?”

Smith had thus enumerated, without forgetting one, the strange events
that had happened on the island. Herbert, Pencroff, and Neb looked at
each other, not knowing what to say, as this succession of events, thus
grouped together, gave them the greatest surprise.

“Upon my faith,” said Pencroff, at length, “you are right, Mr. Smith,
and it is hard to explain those things.”

“Very well, my friends,” continued the engineer, “one thing more is to
be added, not less incomprehensible than the others!”

“What is that?” demanded Herbert, eagerly.

“When you returned from Tabor Island, Pencroff, you say that you saw a
light on Lincoln Island?”

“Certainly I did.”

“And you are perfectly sure that you saw it?”

“As sure as that I see you.”

“And you, Herbert?”

“Why, Mr. Smith,” cried Herbert, “it shone like a star of the first
magnitude!”

“But was it not a star?” insisted the engineer.

“No,” replied Pencroff, “because the sky was covered with heavy clouds,
and, under any circumstances, a star would not have been so low on the
horizon. But Mr. Spilett saw it, and he can confirm what we say.”

“I would add,” said the reporter, “that it was as bright as an electric
light.”

“Yes, and it was certainly placed above Granite House!” exclaimed
Herbert.

“Very well, my friends,” replied Smith, “during all that night neither
Neb nor I lit any fire at all!”

“You did not!—” cried Pencroff, so overcome with astonishment that he
could not finish the sentence.

“We did not leave Granite House, and if any fire appeared upon the
coast, it was lit by another hand!”

The others were stupefied with amazement. Undoubtedly a mystery
existed! Some inexplicable influence, evidently favorable to the
colonists, but exciting their curiosity, made itself felt upon Lincoln
Island. Was there then some being hidden in its innermost retreats?
They wished to know this, cost what it might!

Smith also recalled to his companions the singular actions of Top and
Jup, about the mouth of the well, and he told them that he had explored
its depths without discovering anything. And the conversation ended by
a determination, on the part of the colonists, to make a thorough
search of the island as soon as the spring opened.

After this Pencroff became moody. This island, which he had looked upon
as his own, did not belong to him alone, but was shared by another, to
whom, whether he would or not, the sailor felt himself inferior. Neb
and he often discussed these inexplicable circumstances, and readily
concluded that Lincoln Island was subject to some supernatural
influence.

The bad weather began early, coming in with May; and the winter
occupations were undertaken without delay. The colonists were well
protected from the rigor of the season. They had plenty of felt
clothing, and the moufflons had furnished a quantity of wool for its
further manufacture.

Ayrton had been comfortably clothed, and when the bad weather began, he
had returned to Granite House; but he remained humble and sad, never
joining in the amusements of his companions.

The most of this third winter was passed by the colonists indoors at
Granite House. The storms were frequent and terrible, the sea broke
over the islet, and any ship driven upon the coast would have been lost
without any chance of rescue. Twice the Mercy rose to such a height
that the bridge and causeways were in danger of destruction. Often the
gusts of wind, mingled with snow and rain, damaged the fields and the
poultry-yard, and made constant repairs necessary.

In the midst of this season, some jaguars and quadrumanes came to the
very border of the plateau, and there was danger of the bolder of these
beasts making a descent on the fields and domestic animals of the
colonists. So that a constant watch had to be kept upon these dangerous
visitors, and this, together with the work indoors, kept the little
party in Granite House busy.

Thus the winter passed, with now and then a grand hunt in the frozen
marshes of Tadorn’s Fen. The damage done to the corral during the
winter was unimportant, and was soon repaired by Ayrton, who, in the
latter part of October, returned there to spend some days at work.

The winter had passed without any new incident. Top and Jup passed by
the well without giving any sign of anxiety, and it seemed as if the
series of supernatural events had been interrupted. Nevertheless, the
colonists were fixed in their determination to make a thorough
exploration of the most inaccessible parts of the island, when an event
of the gravest moment, which set aside all the plans of Smith and his
companions, happened.

It was the 28th of October. Spring was rapidly approaching, and the
young leaves were appearing on the trees on the edge of the forest.
Herbert, tempted by the beauty of the day, determined to take a
photograph of Union Bay, as it lay facing Prospect Plateau, between
Mandible and Claw Capes.

It was 3 o’clock, the horizon was perfectly clear, and the sea, just
stirred by the breeze, scintillated with light. The instrument had been
placed at one of the windows of Granite House, and the lad, having
secured his negative, took the glass into the dark room, where the
chemicals were kept, in order to fix it. Returning to the light, after
this operation, he saw a speck on the plate, just at the horizon, which
he was unable to wash out.

“It is a defect in the glass,” he thought.

And then he was seized by a curiosity to examine this speck by means of
a magnifying glass made from one of the lenses of the instrument.

Hardly had he given one look, when, uttering a cry of amazement, he ran
with the plate and the glass to Smith. The latter examined the speck,
and immediately seizing the spy-glass hurried to the window.

The engineer, sweeping the horizon with the glass, found the speck, and
spoke one word. “A ship!”

In truth, a ship was in sight of Lincoln Island.




PART III
THE SECRET OF THE ISLAND




CHAPTER XLIII.


LOST OR SAVED?—AYRTON RECALLED—IMPORTANT DISCUSSION—IT IS NOT THE
DUNCAN—SUSPICION AND PRECAUTION—APPROACH OF THE SHIP—A CANNON SHOT—THE
BRIG ANCHORS IN SIGHT OF THE ISLAND—NIGHT FALL.


Two years and a half ago, the castaways had been thrown on Lincoln
Island; and up to this time they had been cut off from their kind. Once
the reporter had attempted to establish communication with the
civilized world, by a letter tied to the neck of a bird; but this was
an expedient on whose success they could place no reliance. Ayrton,
indeed, under the circumstances which have been related, had joined the
little colony. And now, on the 17th of October, other men had appeared
within sight of the island, on that desert sea! There could be no doubt
of it; there was a ship, but would she sail away into the offing, or
put in shore? The question would soon be decided. Smith and Herbert
hastened to call the others into the great hall of Granite House, and
inform them of what had been observed. Pencroff seized the spy-glass
and swept the horizon till his gaze fell upon the point indicated.

“No doubt of it, she’s a ship!” said he in a tone of no great pleasure.

“Is she coming towards us?” asked Spilett.

“Impossible to say yet,” replied Pencroff, “for only her sails are
visible; her hull is below the horizon.

“What must we do?” said the boy.

“We must wait,” said Smith.

And for a time which seemed interminable, the colonists remained in
silence, moved alternately by fear and hope. They were not in the
situation of castaways upon a desert island, constantly struggling with
niggardly Nature for the barest means of living, and always longing to
got back to their fellow-men. Pencroff and Neb, especially, would have
quitted the island with great regret. They were made, in truth, for the
new life which they were living in a region civilized by their own
exertions! Still, this ship would bring them news of the Continent;
perhaps it was an American vessel; assuredly it carried men of their
own race, and their hearts beat high at the thought!

From time to time, Pencroff went to the window with the glass. From
thence he examined the ship carefully. She was still twenty miles to
the east, and they had no means of communication with her. Neither flag
nor fire would have been seen; nor would the report of a gun be heard.
Yet the island, with Mount Franklin towering high above it, must be
visible to the lookout men on the ship. But why should the vessel land
there? Was it not mere chance which brought it into that part of the
Pacific, out of the usual track, and when Tabor Island was the only
land indicated on the maps? But here a suggestion came from Herbert.

“May it not be the Duncan?” cried he.

The Duncan, as our readers will remember, was Lord Glenarvan’s yacht,
which had abandoned Ayrton on the islet, and was one day to come back
for him. Now the islet was not so far from Lincoln Island but that a
ship steering for one might pass within sight of the other. They were
only 150 miles distant in longitude, and 75 in latitude.

“We must warn Ayrton,” said Spilett, “and tell him to come at once.
Only he can tell us whether she is the Duncan.”

This was every one’s opinion, and the reporter, going to the telegraph
apparatus, which communicated with the corral, telegraphed. “Come at
once.” Soon the wire clicked, “I am coming.” Then the colonists turned
again to watch the ship.

“If it is the Duncan,” said Herbert, “Ayrton will readily recognize
her, since he was aboard her so long.”

“It will make him feel pretty queer!” said Pencroff.

“Yes,” replied Smith, “but Ayrton is now worthy to go on board again,
and may Heaven grant it to be indeed the Duncan! These are dangerous
seas for Malay pirates.”

“We will fight for our island,” said Herbert.

“Yes, my boy,” answered the engineer, smiling, “but it will be better
not to have to fight for her.”

“Let me say one thing,” said Spilett. “Our island is unknown to
navigators, and it is not down in the most recent maps. Now, is not
that a good reason for a ship which unexpectedly sighted it to try to
run in shore?”

“Certainly,” answered Pencroff.

“Yes,” said the engineer, “it would even be the duty of the captain to
report the discovery of any island not on the maps, and to do this he
must pay it a visit.”

“Well,” said Pencroff, “suppose this ship casts anchor within a few
cables’ length of our island, what shall we do?”

This downright question for a while remained unanswered. Then Smith,
after reflection, said in his usual calm tone:—

“What we must do, my friends, is this. We will open communication with
the ship, take passage on board of her, and leave our island, after
having taken possession of it in the name of the United States of
America.

Afterwards we will return with a band of permanent colonists, and endow
our Republic with a useful station on the Pacific!”

“Good!” said Pencroff, “that will be a pretty big present to our
country! We have really colonized it already. We have named every part
of the island; there is a natural port, a supply of fresh water, roads,
a line of telegraph, a wood yard, a foundry; we need only put the
island on the maps!”

“But suppose some one else should occupy it while we are gone?” said
Spilett.

“I would sooner stay here alone to guard it,” cried the sailor, “and,
believe me, they would not steal it from me, like a watch from a gaby’s
pocket!”

For the next hour, it was impossible to say whether or not the vessel
was making for the island. She had drawn nearer, but Pencroff could not
make out her course. Nevertheless, as the wind blew from the northeast,
it seemed probable that she was on the starboard tack. Besides, the
breeze blew straight for the landing, and the sea was so calm that she
would not hesitate to steer for the island, though the soundings were
not laid down in the charts.

About 4 o’clock, an hour after he had been telegraphed for, Ayrton
arrived. He entered the great hall, saying, “Here I am, gentlemen.”

Smith shook hands with him, and drawing him to the window, “Ayrton,”
said he, “we sent for you for a weighty reason. A ship is within sight
of the island.”

For a moment Ayrton looked pale, and his eyes were troubled. Then he
stooped down and gazed around the horizon.

“Take this spy-glass,” said Spilett, “and look well, Ayrton, for it may
be the Duncan come to take you home.”

“The Duncan!” murmured Ayrton. “Already!”

The last word escaped him involuntarily and he buried his face in his
hands. Did not twelve years’ abandonment on a desert island seem to him
a sufficient expiation?

“No,” said he, “no, it cannot be the Duncan.”

“Look, Ayrton,” said the engineer, “for we must know beforehand with
whom we have to deal.”

Ayrton took the glass and levelled it in the direction indicated. For
some minutes he observed the horizon in silence. Then he said:—

“Yes, it is a ship, but I do not think it is the Duncan.

“Why not?” asked Spilett.

“Because the Duncan is a steam-yacht, and I see no trace of smoke about
this vessel.”

“Perhaps she is only under sail,” observed Pencroff. “The wind is
behind her, and she may want to save her coal, being go far from land.”

“You may be right, Mr. Pencroff,” said Ayrton. “But, let her come in
shore, and we shall soon know what to make of her.”

So saying, he sat down in a corner and remained silent, taking no part
in the noisy discussion about the unknown ship. No more work was done.
Spilett and Pencroff were extremely nervous; they walked up and down,
changing place every minute. Herbert’s feeling was one of curiosity.
Neb alone remained calm; his master was his country. The engineer was
absorbed in his thoughts, and was inclined to believe the ship rather
an enemy than a friend. By the help of the glass they could make out
that she was a brig, and not one of those Malay proas, used by the
pirates of the Pacific. Pencroff, after a careful look, affirmed that
the ship was square-rigged, and was running obliquely to the coast, on
the starboard tack, under mainsail, topsail, and top-gallant sail set.

Just then the ship changed her tack, and drove straight towards the
island. She was a good sailer, and rapidly neared the coast. Ayrton
took the glass to try to ascertain whether or not she was the Duncan.
The Scotch yacht, too, was square-rigged. The question therefore was
whether a smokestack could be seen between the two masts of the
approaching vessel. She was now only ten miles off, and the horizon was
clear. Ayrton looked for a moment, and then dropped his glass.

“It is not the Duncan,” said he.

Pencroff sighted the brig again, and made out that she was from 300 to
400 tons burden, and admirably built for sailing. To what nation she
belonged no one could tell.

“And yet,” added the sailor, “there’s a flag floating at her peak, but
I can’t make out her colors.”

“In half an hour we will know for certain,” answered the reporter.
“Besides, it is evident that their captain means to run in shore, and
to-day, or to-morrow at latest, we shall make her acquaintance.”

“No matter, “said Pencroff, “we ought to know with whom we have to
deal, and I shall be glad to make out those colors.”

And he kept the glass steadily at his eye. The daylight began to fail,
and the sea-wind dropped with it. The brig’s flag wrapped itself around
the tackle, and could hardly be seen.

“It is not the American flag,” said Pencroff, at intervals, “nor the
English, whose red would be very conspicuous, nor the French, nor
German colors, nor the white flag of Russia, nor the yellow flag of
Spain. It seems to be of one solid color. Let us see; what would most
likely be found in these waters? The Chilian—no, that flag is
tri-colored; the Brazilian is green; the Japanese is black and yellow;
while this—”

Just then a breeze struck the flag. Ayrton took the glass and raised it
to his eyes.

“Black!” cried he, in a hollow voice.

They had suspected the vessel with good reason. The piratical ensign
was fluttering at the peak!

A dozen ideas rushed across the minds of the colonists; but there was
no doubt as to the meaning of the flag. It was the ensign of the
spoilers of the sea; the ensign which the Duncan would have carried, if
the convicts had succeeded in their criminal design. There was no time
to be lost in discussion.

“My friends,” said Smith, “this vessel, perhaps, is only taking
observations of the coast of our island, and will send no boats on
shore. We must do all we can to hide our presence here. The mill on
Prospect Plateau is too conspicuous. Let Ayrton and Neb go at once and
take down its fans. “We must cover, the windows of Granite House under
thicker branches. Let the fires be put out, and nothing be left to
betray the existence of man!”

“And our sloop?” said Herbert.

“Oh,” said Pencroff, “she is safe in port in Balloon Harbor, and I defy
the rascals to find her there!”

The engineer’s orders were instantly carried out. Neb and Ayrton went
up to the plateau and concealed every trace of human habitation.
Meanwhile their companions went to Jacamar Woods and brought back a
great quantity of branches and climbing plants, which could not, from a
distance, be distinguished from a natural foliation, and would hide
well enough the windows in the rock. At the same time their arms and
munitions were piled ready at hand, in case of a sudden attack. When
all these precautions had been taken Smith turned to his comrades—

“My friends,” said he, in a voice full of emotion, “if these wretches
try to get possession of the island we will defend it, will we not?”

“Yes, Cyrus,” answered the reporter, “and, if need be, we will die in
its defense.”

And they shook hands upon it. Ayrton alone remained seated in his
corner. Perhaps he who had been a convict himself once, still deemed
himself unworthy! Smith understood what was passing in his mind, and,
stepping towards him, asked

“And what will you do, Ayrton?”

“My duty,” replied Ayrton. Then he went to the window, and his eager
gaze sought to penetrate the foliage. It was then half-past 7 o’clock.
The sun had set behind Granite House twenty minutes before, and the
eastern horizon was darkening. The brig was nearing Union Bay. She was
now about eight miles away, and just abreast of Prospect Plateau, for
having tacked off Claw Cape, she had been carried in by the rising
tide. In fact she was already in the bay, for a straight line drawn
from Claw Cape to Mandible Cape would have passed to the other side of
her.

Was the brig going to run into the bay? And if so, would she anchor
there? Perhaps they would be satisfied with taking an observation. They
could do nothing but wait. Smith was profoundly anxious. Had the
pirates been on the island before, since they hoisted their colors on
approaching it? Might they not have effected a descent once before, and
might not some accomplice be now concealed in the unexplored part of
the island. They were determined to resist to the last extremity. All
depended on the arms and the number of the pirates.

Night had come. The new moon had set a few moments after the sun.
Profound darkness enveloped land and sea. Thick masses of clouds were
spread over the sky. The wind had entirely died away. Nothing could be
seen of the vessel, for all her lights were hidden—they could tell
nothing of her whereabouts.

“Who knows?” said Pencroff. “Perhaps the confounded ship will be off by
morning.”

His speech was answered by a brilliant flash from the offing, and the
sound of a gun. The ship was there, and she had artillery. Six seconds
had elapsed between the flash and the report; the brig, therefore, was
about a mile and a-quarter from the shore. Just then, they heard the
noise of chain-cables grinding across the hawse-holes. The vessel was
coming to anchor in sight of Granite House!




CHAPTER XLIV.


DISCUSSIONS—PRESENTIMENTS—AYRTON’S PROPOSAL—IT IS ACCEPTED—AYRTON AND
PENCROFF ON SAFETY ISLET—NORFOLK CONVICTS—THEIR PROJECTS—HEROIC ATTEMPT
OF AYRTON—HIS RETURN—SIX AGAINST FIFTY.


There was no longer room for doubt as to the pirate’s intentions. They
had cast anchor at a short distance from the island, and evidently
intended to land on the morrow.

Brave as they were, the colonists felt the necessity of prudence.
Perhaps their presence could yet be concealed in case the pirates were
contented with landing on the coast without going up into the interior.
The latter, in fact, might have nothing else in view than a supply of
fresh water, and the bridge, a mile and a half up stream, might well
escape their eye.

The colonists knew now that the pirate ship carried heavy artillery,
against which they had nothing but a few shot-guns.

“Still,” said Smith, “our situation is impregnable. The enemy cannot
discover the opening in the weir, so thickly is it covered with reeds
and grass, and consequently cannot penetrate into Granite House.”

“But our plantations, our poultry-yard, our corral,—in short
everything,” cried Pencroff, stamping his foot. “They can destroy
everything in a few hours.”

“Everything, Pencroff!” answered Smith, “and we have no means of
preventing them?”

“Are there many of them?” said the reporter. “That’s the question. If
there are only a dozen, we can stop them, but forty, or fifty, or
more—”

“Mr. Smith,” said Ayrton, coming up to the engineer, “will you grant me
one request!”

“What, my friend?”

“To go to the ship, and ascertain how strongly she is manned.”

“But, Ayrton,” said the engineer, hesitating, “your life will be in
danger.”

“And why not, sir?”

“That is more than your duty.”

“I must do more than my duty,” replied Ayrton.

“You mean to go to the ship in the canoe?” asked Spilett.

“No, sir. I will swim to her. A man can slip in where a boat could not
pass.”

“Do you know that the brig is a mile and a half from the coast?” said
Herbert.”

“I am a good swimmer, sir.”

“I repeat to you that you are risking your life,” resumed the engineer.

“No matter,” answered Ayrton—”Mr. Smith, I ask it as a favor. It may
raise me in my own estimation.”

“Go, Ayrton,” said the engineer, who knew how deeply a refusal would
affect the ex-convict, now become an honest man.

“I will go with you,” said Pencroff.

“You distrust me!” said Ayrton, quickly. Then, he added, more humbly,
“and it is just.”

“No, no!” cried Smith, eagerly, “Pencroff has no such feeling. You have
misunderstood him.”

“Just so,” answered the sailor; “I am proposing to Ayrton to accompany
him only as far as the islet. One of these rascals may possibly have
gone on shore there, and if so, it will take two men to prevent him
from giving the alarm. I will wait for Ayrton on the islet.”

Everything thus arranged, Ayrton got ready for departure. His project
was bold but not impracticable, thanks to the dark night. Once having
reached the ship, Ayrton, by clinging to the chains of the shrouds,
might ascertain the number and perhaps the designs of the convicts.
They walked down upon the beach. Ayrton stripped himself and rubbed
himself with grease, the better to endure the chill of the water; for
he might have to be in it several hours. Meanwhile Pencroff and Neb had
gone after the canoe, fastened on the bank of the Mercy some hundreds
of paces further up. When they came back, Ayrton was ready to start.

They threw a wrap over his shoulders, and shook hands with him all
round. Then he got into the boat with Pencroff, and pushed off into the
darkness. It was now half-past 10, and their companions went back to
wait for them at the Chimneys.

The channel was crossed without difficulty, and the canoe reached the
opposite bank of the islet. They moved cautiously, lest pirates should
have landed there. But the island was deserted. The two walked rapidly
over it, frightening the birds from their nests in the rocks. Having
reached the further side, Ayrton cast himself unhesitatingly into the
sea, and swam noiselessly towards the ship’s lights, which now were
streaming across the water. Pencroff hid himself among the rocks, to
await his companion’s return.

Meanwhile, Ayrton swam strongly towards the ship, slipping through the
water. His head only appeared above the surface; his eyes were fixed on
the dark hull of the brig, whose lights were reflected in the water. He
thought only of his errand, and nothing of the danger he encountered,
not only from the pirates but from the sharks which infested these
waters. The current was in his favor, and the shore was soon far
behind.

Half an hour afterwards, Ayrton, without having been perceived by any
one, dived under the ship, and clung with one hand to the bowsprit.
Then he drew breath, and, raising himself by the chains, climbed to the
end of the cut-water. There some sailors’ clothes hung drying. He found
an easy position, and listened.

They were not asleep on board of the brig. They were talking, singing,
and laughing. These words, intermingled with oaths, came to Ayrton’s
ears;—

“What a famous find our brig was!”

“The Speedy is a fast sailor. She deserves her name.”

“All the Norfolk shipping may do their best to take her.”

“Hurrah for her commander. Hurrah for Bob Harvey!”

Our readers will understand what emotion was excited in Ayrton by this
name, when they learn that Bob Harvey was one of his old companions in
Australia, who had followed out his criminal projects by getting
possession, off Norfolk Island, of this brig, charged with arms,
ammunition, utensils, and tools of all kinds, destined for one of the
Sandwich Islands. All his band had gotten on board, and, adding piracy
to their other crimes, the wretches scoured the Pacific, destroying
ships and massacring their crews. They were drinking deep and talking
loudly over their exploits, and Ayrton gathered the following facts:—

The crew were composed entirely of English convicts, escaped from
Norfolk Island. In 29° 2’ south latitude, and 165° 42’ east longitude,
to the east of Australia, is a little island about six leagues in
circumference, with Mount Pitt rising in the midst, 1,100 feet above
the level of the sea. It is Norfolk Island, the seat of an
establishment where are crowded together the most dangerous of the
transported English convicts. There are 500 of them; they undergo a
rigid discipline, with severe punishment for disobedience, and are
guarded by 150 soldiers and 150 civil servants, under the authority of
a Governor. A worse set of villains cannot be imagined. Sometimes,
though rarely, in spite of the extreme precautions of their jailors,
some of them contrive to escape by seizing a ship, and become the pest
of the Polynesian archipelagos. Thus had done Harvey and his
companions. Thus had Ayrton formerly wished to do. Harvey had seized
the Speedy, which was anchored within sight of Norfolk Island, had
massacred the crew, and for a year had made the brig the terror of the
Pacific.

The convicts were most of them gathered on the poop, in the after part
of the ship; but a few were lying on deck, talking in loud voices. The
conversation went on amid noise and drunkenness. Ayrton gathered that
chance only had brought them within sight of Lincoln Island. Harvey had
never set foot there; but, as Smith had foreseen, coming upon an island
not in the maps, he had determined to go on shore, and, if the land
suited him, to make it the Speedy’s headquarters. The black flag and
the cannon-shot were a mere freak of the pirates, to imitate a
ship-of-war running up her colors.

The colonists were in very serious danger. The island, with its easy
water supply, its little harbor, its varied resources so well turned to
account by the colonists, its secret recesses of Granite House—all
these would be just what the convicts wanted. In their hands the island
would become an excellent place of refuge, and the fact of its being
unknown would add to their security. Of course the colonists would
instantly be put to death. They could not even escape to the interior,
for the convicts would make the island their headquarters, and if they
went on an expedition would leave some of the crew behind. It would be
a struggle for life and death with these wretches, every one of whom
must be destroyed before the colonists would be safe. Those were
Ayrton’s thoughts, and he knew that Smith would agree with him. But was
a successful resistance possible? Everything depended on the calibre of
the brig’s guns and the number of her men. These were facts which
Ayrton must know at any cost.

An hour after he had reached the brig the noise began to subside, and
most of the convicts lay plunged in a drunken sleep. Ayrton determined
to risk himself on the ship’s deck, which the extinguished lanterns
left in profound darkness. He got in the chains by the cut-water, and
by means of the bowsprit climbed to the brig’s forecastle. Creeping
quietly through the sleeping crew, who lay stretched here and there on
the deck, he walked completely around the vessel and ascertained that
the Speedy carried four guns, from eight to ten-pounders. He discovered
also that the guns were breech-loading, of modern make, easily worked,
and capable of doing great damage.

There were about ten men lying on deck, but it might be that others
were asleep in the hold. Moreover, Ayrton had gathered from the
conversation that there were some fifty on board; rather an overmatch
for the six colonists. But, at least, the latter would not be
surprised; thanks to Ayrton’s devotion, they would know their
adversaries force, and would make their dispositions accordingly.
Nothing remained for Ayrton but to go back to his comrades with the
information he had gathered, and he began walking towards the
forecastle to let himself down into the sea.

And now to this man, who wished to do more than his duty, there came a
heroic thought, the thought of sacrificing his life for the safety of
his comrades. Smith could not of course resist fifty well-armed
marauders, who would either overcome him or starve him out. Ayrton
pictured to himself his preservers who had made a man of him, and an
honest man, to whom he owed everything, pitilessly murdered, their
labors brought to nothing, their island changed to a den of pirates. He
said to himself that he, Ayrton, was the first cause of these
disasters, since his old companion, Harvey, had only carried out
Ayrton’s projects; and a feeling of horror came over him. Then came the
irresistible desire to blow up the brig, with all on board. He would
perish in the explosion, but he would have done his duty.

He did not hesitate! It was easy to reach the powder magazine, which is
always in the after part of the ship. Powder must be plenty on board
such a vessel, and a spark would bring destruction.

Ayrton lowered himself carefully between-decks, where he found many of
the pirates lying about, overcome rather by drunkenness than sleep. A
ship’s lantern, was lighted at the foot of the mainmast, from which
hung a rack full of all sorts of firearms. Ayrton took from the rack a
revolver, and made sure that it was loaded and capped. It was all that
he needed to accomplish the work of destruction. Then he glided back to
the poop, where the powder magazine would be.

Between decks it was dark, and he could hardly step without knocking
against some half-asleep convict, and meeting with an oath or a blow.
More than once he had to stop short, but at length he reached the
partition separating the after-compartment, and found the door of the
magazine. This he had to force, and it was a difficult matter to
accomplish without noise, as he had to break a padlock. But at last,
under his vigorous hand, the padlock fell apart and the door opened.

Just then a hand was laid upon his shoulder.

“What are you doing there?” said a harsh voice, and a tall form rose
from the shadow and turned the light of a lantern fall on Ayrton’s
face.

Ayrton turned around sharply. By a quick flash from the lantern, he saw
his old accomplice, Harvey; but the latter, believing Ayrton, as he
did, to be dead, failed to recognize him.

“What are you doing there?” said Harvey, seizing Ayrton by the strap of
his trousers. Ayrton made no answer but a vigorous push, and sprang
forward to the magazine. One shot into those tons of powder, and all
would have been over!

“Help, lads!” cried Harvey.

Two or three pirates, roused by his voice, threw themselves upon
Ayrton, and strove to drag him to the ground. He rid himself of them
with two shots from his revolver; but received in so doing, a wound
from a knife in the fleshy part of the shoulder. He saw in a moment
that his project was no longer feasible. Harvey had shut the door of
the magazine, and a dozen pirates were half-awake. He most save himself
for the sake of his comrades.

Four barrels were left. He discharged two of them right and left, one
at Harvey, though without effect; and then, profiting by his enemies’
momentary recoil, rushed towards the ladder which led to the deck of
the brig. As he passed the lantern he knocked it down with a blow from
the butt-end of his pistol, and left everything in darkness.

Two or three pirates, awakened by the noise, were coming down the
ladder at that moment. A fifth shot stretched one at the foot of the
steps, and the others got out of the way, not understanding what was
going on. In two bounds Ayrton was on the brig’s deck, and three
seconds afterwards, after discharging his last shot at a pirate who
tried to seize him by the neck, he made his way down the netting and
leaped into the sea. He had not swam six fathoms before the bullets
began to whistle around him like hail.

What were the feelings of Pencroff, hidden behind a rock on the islet,
and of his comrades in the Chimneys, when they heard these shots from
the brig! They rushed out upon the shore, and, with their guns at their
shoulders, stood ready to meet any attack. For them no doubt remained.
They believed that Ayrton had been killed, and the pirates were about
to make a descent on the island. Thus half an hour passed away. They
suffered torments of anxiety. They could not go to the assistance of
Ayrton or Pencroff, for the boat had been taken, and the high tide
forbade them crossing the channel.

Finally, at half-past 12, a boat with two men came along shore. It was
Ayrton, with a slight wound in his shoulder, and Pencroff. Their
friends received them with open arms.

Then all took refuge at the Chimneys. There Ayrton told them all that
happened, including his plan to blow up the brig.

Every one grasped the man’s hand, but the situation was desperate. The
pirates knew that Lincoln Island was inhabited, and would come down
upon it in force. They would respect nothing. If the colonists fell
into their hands they had no mercy to hope for!

“We can die like men,” said the reporter.

“Let us go in and keep watch,” said the engineer.

“Do you think there is any chance, Mr. Smith?” said the sailor.

“Yes, Pencroff.”

“How! Six against fifty!”

“Yes, six—and one other—”

“Who?” asked Pencroff.

Smith did not answer, but he looked upwards




CHAPTER XLV.


THE MIST RISES—THE ENGINEER’S DISPOSITION OF FORCES—THREE POSTS—AYRTON
AND PENCROFF—THE FIRST ATTACK —TWO OTHER BOAT LOADS—ON THE ISLET—SIX
CONVICTS ON SHORE—THE BRIG WEIGHS ANCHOR—THE SPEEDY’S
PROJECTILES—DESPERATE SITUATION—UNEXPECTED DENOUEMENT.


The night passed without incident. The colonists were still at the
Chimneys, keeping a constant lookout. The pirates made no attempt at
landing. Since the last shots fired at Ayrton, not a sound betrayed the
presence of the brig in the bay. They might have supposed she had
weighed anchor and gone off in the night.

But it was not so, and when daylight began to appear the colonists
could see her dark hulk dim through the morning mists.

“Listen, my friends,” then said the engineer. “These are the
dispositions it seems to me best to make before the mist dispels, which
conceals us from view. We must make these convicts believe that the
inhabitants of the island are numerous and well able to resist them.
Let us divide ourselves into three groups, one posted at the Chimneys,
one at the mouth of the Mercy, and the third upon the islet, to hinder,
or at least, retard, every attempt to land. We have two carbines and
four guns, so that each of us will be armed; and as we have plenty of
powder and ball, we will not spare our shots. We have nothing to fear
from the guns, nor even from the cannon of the brig. What can they
effect against these rocks? And as we shall not shoot from the windows
of Granite House, the pirates will never think of turning their guns
upon it. What we have to fear is a hand-to-hand fight with an enemy
greatly superior in numbers. We must try to prevent their landing
without showing ourselves. So don’t spare your ammunition. Shoot fast,
and shoot straight. Each of us has eight or ten enemies to kill, and
must kill them.”

Smith had precisely defined the situation, in a voice as quiet as if he
were directing some ordinary work. His companions acted upon his
proposal without a word. Each hastened to take his place before the
mist should be entirely dissipated.

Neb and Pencroff went back to Granite House and brought back thence
abundance of ammunition. Spilett and Ayrton, both excellent shots, were
armed with the two carbines, which would carry nearly a mile. The four
shot-guns were divided between Smith, Neb, Pencroff, and Herbert. The
posts were thus filled:—Smith and Herbert remained in ambush at the
Chimneys, commanding a large radius of the shore in front of Granite
House. Spilett and Neb hid themselves among the rocks at the mouth of
the Mercy (the bridge and causeways over which had been removed), so as
to oppose the passage of any boat or even any landing on the opposite
side. As to Ayrton and Pencroff, they pushed the canoe into the water,
and got ready to push across the channel, to occupy two different
points on the islet, so that the firing, coming from four different
points, might convince the pirates that the island was both well manned
and vigorously defended.

In case a landing should be effected in spite of their opposition, or
should they be in danger of being cut off by a boat from the brig,
Pencroff and Ayrton could return with the canoe to the shore of the
island, and hasten to the threatened point.

Before going to their posts, the colonists shook hands all round.
Pencroff concealed his emotion as he embraced “his boy” Herbert, and
they parted. A few minutes afterwards each was at his post. None of
them could have been seen, for the brig itself was barely visible
through the mist. It was half-past 6 in the morning. Soon the mist rose
gradually; the ocean was covered with ripples, and, a breeze rising,
the sky was soon clear. The Speedy appeared, anchored by two cables,
her head to the north, and her larboard quarter to the island. As Smith
had calculated, she was not more than a mile and a quarter from the
shore. The ominous black flag floated at the peak. The engineer could
see with his glass that the four guns of the ship had been trained on
the island, ready to be fired at the first signal; but so far there was
no sound. Full thirty pirates could be seen coming and going on the
deck. Some were on the poop; two on the transoms of the main topmast
were examining the island with spy-glasses. In fact, Harvey and his
crew must have been exceedingly puzzled by the adventure of the night,
and especially by Ayrton’s attempt upon the powder magazine. But they
could not doubt that the island before them was inhabited by a colony
ready to defend it. Yet no one could be seen either on the shore or the
high ground.

For an hour and a half there was no sign of attack from the brig.
Evidently Harvey was hesitating. But about 8 o’clock there was a
movement on board. They were hauling at the tackle, and a boat was
being let down into the sea. Seven men jumped into it, their guns in
their hands. One was at the tiller, four at the oars, and the two
others squatting in the bow, ready to shoot, examined the island. No
doubt their intention was to make a reconnoissance, and not to land, or
they would have come in greater number.

The pirates, perched on the rigging of the topmast, had evidently
perceived that an islet concealed the shore, lying about half a mile
away. The boat was apparently not running for the channel, but was
making for the islet, as the most prudent beginning of the
reconnoissance. Pencroff and Ayrton, lying hidden among the rocks, saw
it coming down upon them, and even waiting for it to get within good
reach.

It came on with extreme caution. The oars fell at considerable
intervals. One of the convicts seated in front had a sounding-line in
his hand, with which he was feeling for the increased depth of water
caused by the current of the Mercy. This indicated Harvey’s intention
of bringing his brig as near shore as possible. About thirty pirates
were scattered among the shrouds watching the boat and noting certain
sea-marks which would enable them to land without danger. The boat was
but two cables’ length from the islet when it stopped. The helmsman,
standing erect, was trying to find the best place to land. In a moment
burst forth a double flash and report. The helmsman and the man with
the line fell over into the boat. Ayrton and Pencroff had done their
work. Almost at once came a puff of smoke from the brig, and a cannon
ball struck the rock, at whose foot the two lay sheltered, making it
fly into shivers; but the marksmen remained unhurt.

With horrible imprecations the boat resumed its course. The helmsman
was replaced by one of his comrades, and the crew bent to their oars,
eager to get beyond reach of bullets. Instead of turning back, they
pulled for the southern extremity of the islet, evidently with the
intention of coming up on the other side and putting Pencroff and
Ayrton between two fires. A quarter of an hour passed thus without a
sound. The defenders of the islet, though they understood the object of
the flanking movement, did not leave their post. They feared the cannon
of the Speedy, and counted upon their comrades in ambush.

Twenty minutes after the first shots, the boat was less than two
cables’ length off the Mercy. The tide was running up stream with its
customary swiftness, due to the narrowness of the river, and the
convicts had to row hard to keep themselves in the middle of the
channel. But as they were passing within easy range of the river’s
mouth, two reports were heard, and two of the crew fell back into the
boat. Neb and Spilett had not missed their shot. The brig opened fire
upon their hiding place, which was indicated by the puff of smoke; but
with no result beyond shivering a few rocks.

The boat now contained only three men fit for action. Getting into the
current, it shot up the channel like an arrow, passed Smith and
Herbert, who feared to waste a shot upon it, and turned the northern
point of the islet, whence the two remaining oarsmen pulled across to
the brig.

So far the colonists could not complain. Their adversaries had lost the
first point in the game. Four pirates had been grievously wounded,
perhaps killed, while they were without a scratch. Moreover, from the
skilful disposition of their little force, it had no doubt given the
impression of a much greater number.

A half hour elapsed before the boat, which was rowing against the
current, could reach the Speedy. The wounded were lifted on deck, amid
howls of rage. A dozen furious convicts manned the boat; another was
lowered into the sea, and eight more jumped into it; and while the
former rowed straight for the islet, the latter steered around its
southern point, heading for the Mercy.

Pencroff and Ayrton were in a perilous situation. They waited till the
first boat was within easy range, sent two balls into her, to the great
discomfort of the crew; then they took to their heels, running the
gauntlet of a dozen shots, reached their canoe on the other side of the
islet, crossed the channel just as the second boat load of pirates
rounded the southern point, and hastened to hide themselves at the
Chimneys. They had hardly rejoined Smith and Herbert, when the islet
was surrounded and thoroughly searched by the pirates.

Almost at the same moment shots were heard from the mouth of the Mercy.
As the second boat approached them, Spilett and Neb disposed of two of
the crew; and the boat itself was irresistibly hurried upon the rocks
at the mouth of the river. The six survivors, holding their guns above
their heads to keep them from contact with the water, succeeded in
getting on shore on the right bank of the river; and, finding
themselves exposed to the fire of a hidden enemy, made off towards
Jetsam Point, and were soon out of range.

On the islet, therefore, there were twelve convicts, of whom some no
doubt were wounded, but who had a boat at their service. Six more had
landed on the island itself, but Granite House was safe from them, for
they could rot get across the river, the bridges over which were
raised.

“What do you think of the situation, Mr. Smith?” said Pencroff.

“I think,” said the engineer, “that unless these rascals are very
stupid, the battle will soon take a new form.”

“They will never get across the channel,” said Pencroff. “Ayrton and
Mr. Spilett have guns that will carry a mile!”

“No doubt,” said Herbert, “but of what avail are two carbines against
the brig’s cannon?”

“The brig is not in the channel yet,” replied Pencroff.

“And suppose she comes there?” said Smith.

“She will risk foundering and utter destruction.”

“Still it is possible,” said Ayrton. “The convicts may profit by the
high tide to run into the channel, taking the risk of running aground;
and then, under their heavy guns, our position will become untenable.”

“By Jove!” said the sailor, “the beggars are weighing anchor.”

It was but too true. The Speedy began to heave her anchor, and showed
her intention of approaching the islet.

Meanwhile, the pirates on the islet had collected on the brink of the
channel. They knew that the colonists were out of reach of their
shot-guns, but forgot that their enemies, might carry weapons of longer
range. Suddenly, the carbines of Ayrton and Spilett rang out together,
carrying news to the convicts, which must have been very disagreeable,
for two of them fell flat on their faces. There was a general scamper.
The other ten, leaving their wounded or dying comrades, rushed to the
other side of the islet, sprang into the boat which had brought them
over, and rowed rapidly off.

“Eight off!” cried Pencroff, exultingly.

But a more serious danger was at hand. The Speedy had raised her
anchor, and was steadily nearing the shore. From their two posts at the
Mercy and the Chimneys, the colonists watched her movements without
stirring a finger, but not without lively apprehension. Their situation
would be most critical, exposed as they would be at short range to the
brig’s cannon, without power to reply by an effective fire. How then
could they prevent the pirates from landing?

Smith felt that in a few minutes he must make up his mind what to do.
Should they shut themselves up in Granite House, and stand a siege
there? But their enemies would thus become masters of the island, and
starve them out at leisure. One chance was still left; perhaps Harvey
would not risk his ship in the channel. If he kept outside his shots
would be fired from a distance of half a mile, and would do little
execution.

“Bob Harvey is too good a sailor,” repeated Pencroff, “to risk his ship
in the channel. He knows that he would certainly lose her if the sea
turned rough! And what would become of him without his ship?”

But the brig came nearer and nearer, and was evidently heading for the
lower extremity of the islet. The breeze was faint, the current slack,
and Harvey could manœuvre in safety. The route followed by the boats
had enabled him to ascertain where the mouth of the river was, and he
was making for it with the greatest audacity. He intended to bring his
broadside to bear on the Chimneys, and to riddle them with shell and
cannon balls. The Speedy soon reached the extremity of the islet,
easily turning it, and, with a favoring wind, was soon off the Mercy.

“The villains are here!” cried Pencroff. As he spoke, Neb and Spilett
rejoined their comrades. They could do nothing against the ship, and it
was better that the colonists should be together when the decisive
action was about to take place. Neither of the two were injured, though
a shower of balls had been poured upon them as they ran from rock to
rock.

“You are not wounded, lad?” said the engineer.

“No, only a few contusions from the ricochet of a ball. But that cursed
brig is in the channel!”

“We must take refuge in Granite House,” said Smith, “while we have
time, and before the convicts can see us. Once inside, we can act as
the occasion demands.”

“Let us start at once, then,” said the reporter.

There was not a moment to lose. Two or three detonations, and the thud
of balls on the rocks apprised them that the Speedy was near at hand.

To jump into the elevator, to hoist themselves to the door of Granite
House, where Top and Jup had been shut up since the day before, and to
rush into the great hall, was the work of a moment. Through the leaves
they saw the Speedy, environed with smoke, moving up the channel. They
had not left a moment too soon, for balls were crashing everywhere
through the hiding places they had quitted. The rocks were splintered
to pieces.

Still they hoped that Granite House would escape notice behind its
leafy covering, when suddenly a ball passed through the doorway and
penetrated into the corridor.

“The devil! we are discovered!” cried Pencroff.

But perhaps the colonists had not been seen, and Harvey had only
suspected that something lay behind the leafy screen of the rock. And
soon another ball, tearing apart the foliage, exposed the opening in
the granite.

The situation of the colonists was now desperate. They could make no
answer to the fire, under which the rock was crashing around them.
Nothing remained but to take refuge in the upper corridor of Granite
House, giving up their abode to devastation, when a hollow sound was
heard, followed by dreadful shrieks!

Smith and his comrades rushed to the window.

The brig, lifted on the summit of a sort of waterspout, had just split
in half; and in less than ten seconds she went to the bottom with her
wicked crew!!




CHAPTER XLVI.


THE COLONISTS ON THE BEACH—AYRTON AND PENCROFF AS SALVORS—TALK AT
BREAKFAST—PENCROFF’S REASONING—EXPLORATION OF THE BRIG’S HULL IN
DETAIL—THE MAGAZINE UNINJURED—NEW RICHES—A DISCOVERY—A PIECE OF A
BROKEN CYLINDER.


“They have blown up!” cried Herbert.

“Yes, blown up as if Ayrton had fired the magazine,” answered Pencroff,
jumping into the elevator with Neb and the boy,

“But what has happened?” said Spilett, still stupefied at the
unexpected issue.

“Ah, this time we shall find out—” said the engineer,

“What shall we find out?”

“All in time; the chief thing is that the pirates have been disposed
of.”

And they rejoined the rest of the party on beach. Not a sign of the
brig could be seen, not even the masts. After having been upheaved by
the water-spout, it had fallen back upon its side, and had sunk in this
position, doubtless owing to some enormous leak.’ As the channel here
was only twenty feet deep, the masts of the brig would certainly
reappear at low tide.

Some waifs were floating on the surface of the sea. There was a whole
float, made up of masts and spare yards, chicken coops with the fowls
still living, casks and barrels, which little by little rose to the
surface, having escaped by the traps; but no debris was adrift, no
flooring of the deck, no plankage of the hull; and the sudden sinking
of the Speedy seemed still more inexplicable.

However, the two masts, which had been broken some feet above the
“partner,” after having snapped their stays and shrouds, soon rose to
the surface of the channel, with their sails attached, some of them
furled and some unfurled. But they could not wait for low tide to carry
away all their riches, and Ayrton and Pencroff jumped into the canoe,
for the purpose of lashing these waifs either to the shore of the
island or of the islet. But just as they were about to start, they were
stopped by a word from Spilett.

“And the six convicts who landed on the right bank of the Mercy,” said
he.

In fact, it was as well to remember the six men who had landed at
Jetsam Point, when their boat was wrecked off the rocks. They looked in
that direction, but the fugitives were not to be seen. Very likely,
when they saw the brig go down, they had taken flight into the interior
of the island.

“We will see after them later,” said Smith. “They may still be
dangerous, for they are armed; but with six to six, we have an even
chance. Now we have more urgent work on hand.”

Ayrton and Pencroff jumped into the canoe and pulled vigorously out to
the wreck. The sea was quiet now and very high, for the moon was only
two days old. It would be a full hour before the hull of the brig would
appear above the water of the channel.

Ayrton and Pencroff had time enough to lash together the masts and
spars by means of ropes, whose other end was carried along the shore to
Granite House, where the united efforts of the colonists succeeded in
hauling them in. Then the canoe picked up the chicken coops, barrels,
and casks which were floating in the water, and brought them to the
Chimneys.

A few dead bodies were also floating on the surface. Among them Ayrton
recognized that of Bob Harvey, and pointed it out to his companion,
saying with emotion:—

“That’s what I was, Pencroff.”

“But what you are no longer, my worthy fellow,” replied the sailor.

It was a curious thing that so few bodies could be seen floating on the
surface. They could count only five or six, which the current was
already carrying out to sea. Very likely the convicts, taken by
surprise, had not had time to escape, and the ship having sunk on its
side, the greater part of the crew were left entangled under the
nettings. So the ebb which was carrying the bodies of these wretches
out to sea would spare the colonists the unpleasant task of burying
them on the island.

For two hours Smith and his companions were wholly occupied with
hauling the spars up on the sands, and in unfurling the sails, which
were entirely uninjured, and spreading them out to dry. The work was so
absorbing that they talked but little; but they had time for thought.
What a fortune was the possession of the brig, or rather of the brig’s
contents! A ship is a miniature world, and the colonists could add to
their stock a host of useful articles. It was a repetition, on a large
scale, of the chest found on Jetsam Point.

“Moreover,” thought Pencroff, “why should it be impossible to get this
brig afloat? If she has only one leak, a leak can be stopped up, and a
ship of 300 or 400 tons is a real ship compared to our Good Luck! We
would go where we pleased in her. We must look into this matter. It is
well worth the trouble.”

In fact, if the brig could be repaired, their chance of getting home
again would be very much greater. But in order to decide this important
question, they must wait until the tide was at its lowest, so that the
brig’s hull could be examined in every part.

After their prizes had been secured upon the beach, Smith and his
companions, who were nearly famished, allowed themselves a few minutes
for breakfast. Fortunately the kitchen was not far off, and Neb could
cook them a good breakfast in a jiffy. They took this meal at the
Chimneys, and one can well suppose that they talked of nothing during
the repast but the miraculous deliverance of the colony.

“Miraculous is the word,” repeated Pencroff, “for we must own that
these blackguards were blown up just in time! Granite House was
becoming rather uncomfortable.”

“Can you imagine, Pencroff, how it happened that the brig blew up?”
asked the reporter.

“Certainly, Mr. Spilett; nothing is more simple,” replied Pencroff. “A
pirate is not under the same discipline as a ship-of-war. Convicts
don’t make sailors. The brig’s magazine must have been open, since she
cannonaded us incessantly, and one awkward fellow might have blown up
the ship.”

“Mr. Smith,” said Herbert, “what astonishes me is that this explosion
did not produce more effect. The detonation was not loud, and the ship
is very little broken up. She seems rather to have sunk than to have
blown up.”

“That astonishes you, does it, my boy?” asked the engineer.

“Yes, sir.”

“And it astonishes me too, Herbert,” replied the engineer; “but when we
examine the hull of the brig, we shall find some explanation of this
mystery.”

“Why, Mr. Smith,” said Pencroff, “you don’t mean to say that the Speedy
has just sunk like a ship which strikes upon a rock?”

“Why not,” asked Neb, “if there are rocks in the channel?”

“Good, Neb,” said Pencroff. “You did not look at the right minute. An
instant before she went down I saw the brig rise on an enormous wave,
and fall back over to larboard. Now, if she had struck a rock, she’d
have gone straight to the bottom like an honest ship.”

“And that’s just what she is not,” said Neb.

“Well, we’ll soon find out, Pencroff,” said the engineer.

“We will find out,” added the sailor, “but I’ll bet my head there are
no rocks in the channel. But do you really think, Mr. Smith, that there
is anything wonderful in this event?”

Smith did not answer.

“At all events,” said Spilett, “whether shock or explosion, you must
own, Pencroff, that it came in good time.”

“Yes! yes!” replied the sailor, “but that is not the question. I ask
Mr. Smith if he sees anything supernatural in this affair?”

“I give no opinion, Pencroff,” said the engineer; a reply which was not
satisfactory to Pencroff, who believed in the explosion theory, and was
reluctant to give it up. He refused to believe that in the channel
which he had crossed so often at low tide, and whose bottom was covered
with sand as fine as that of the beach, there existed an unknown reef.

At about half-past 1, the colonists got into the canoe, and pulled out
to the stranded brig. It was a pity that her two boats had not been
saved; but one, they knew, had gone to pieces at the mouth of the
Mercy, and was absolutely useless, and the other had gone down with the
brig, and had never reappeared.

Just then the hull of the Speedy began to show itself above the water.
The brig had turned almost upside down, for after having broken its
masts under the weight of its ballast, displaced by the fall, it lay
with its keel in the air. The colonists rowed all around the hull, and
as the tide fell, they perceived, if not the cause of the catastrophe,
at least the effect produced. In the fore part of the brig, on both
sides of the hull, seven or eight feet before the beginning of the
stem, the sides were fearfully shattered for at least twenty feet.
There yawned two large leaks which it would have been impossible to
stop. Not only had the copper sheathing and the planking disappeared,
no doubt ground to powder, but there was not a trace of the timbers,
the iron bolts, and the treenails which fastened them. The false-keel
had been torn off with surprising violence, and the keel itself, torn
from the carlines in several places, was broken its whole length.

“The deuce!” cried Pencroff, “here’s a ship which will be hard to set
afloat.”

“Hard! It will be impossible,” said Ayrton.

“At all events,” said Spilett, “the explosion, if there has been an
explosion, has produced the most remarkable effects. It has smashed the
lower part of the hull, instead of blowing up the deck and the
topsides. These great leaks seem rather to have been made by striking a
reef than by the explosion of a magazine.”

“There’s not a reef in the channel,” answered the sailor. “I will admit
anything but striking a reef.”

“Let us try to get into the hold,” said the engineer. “Perhaps that
will help us to discover the cause of the disaster.”

This was the best course to take, and would moreover enable them to
make an inventory of the treasures contained in the brig, and to get
them ready for transportation to the island. Access to the hold was now
easy; the tide continued to fall, and the lower deck, which, as the
brig lay, was now uppermost, could easily be reached. The ballast,
composed of heavy pigs of cast iron, had staved it in several places.
They heard the roaring of the sea, as it rushed through the fissures of
the hull.

Smith and his companions, axe in hand, walked along the shattered deck.
All kinds of chests encumbered it, and as they had not been long under
water, perhaps their contents had not been damaged.

They set to work at once to put this cargo in safety. The tide would
not return for some hours, and these hours were utilized to the utmost
at the opening into the hull. Ayrton and Pencroff had seized upon
tackle which served to hoist the barrels and chests. The canoe received
them, and took them ashore at once. They took everything
indiscriminately, and left the sorting of their prizes to the future.

In any case, the colonists, to their extreme satisfaction, had made
sure that the brig possessed a varied cargo, an assortment of all kinds
of articles, utensils, manufactured products, and tools, such as ships
are loaded with for the coasting trade of Polynesia. They would
probably find there a little of everything, which was precisely what
they needed on Lincoln Island.

Nevertheless, Smith noticed, in silent astonishment, that not only the
hull of the brig had suffered frightfully from whatever shock it was
which caused the catastrophe, but the machinery was destroyed,
especially in the fore part. Partitions and stanchions were torn down
as if some enormous shell had burst inside of the brig. The colonists,
by piling on one side the boxes which littered their path, could easily
go from stem to stern. They were not heavy bales which would have been
difficult to handle, but mere packages thrown about in utter confusion.

The colonists soon reached that part of the stern where the poop
formerly stood. It was here Ayrton told them they must search for the
powder magazine. Smith, believing that this had not exploded, thought
they might save some barrels, and that the powder, which is usually in
metal cases, had not been damaged by the water. In fact, this was just
what had happened. They found, among a quantity of projectiles, at
least twenty barrels, which were lined with copper, and which they
pulled out with great care. Pencroff was now convinced by his own eyes
that the destruction of the Speedy could not have been caused by an
explosion. The part of the hull in which the powder magazine was
situated was precisely the part which had suffered the least.

“It may be so,” replied the obstinate sailor, “but as to a rock, there
is not one in the channel.” Then he added:—”I know nothing about it,
even Mr. Smith does not know. No one knows, or ever will.”

Several hours passed in these researches, and the tide was beginning to
rise. They had to stop their work of salvage, but there was no fear
that the wreck would be washed out to sea, for it was as solidly
imbedded as if it had been anchored to the bottom. They could wait with
impunity for the turn of the tide to commence operations. As to the
ship itself, it was of no use; but they must hasten to save the debris
of the hull, which would not take long to disappear in the shifting
sands of the channel.

It was 5 o’clock in the afternoon. The day had been a hard one, and
they sat down to their dinner with great appetite; but afterwards,
notwithstanding their fatigue, they could not resist the desire of
examining some of the chests. Most of them contained ready-made
clothes, which, as may be imagined, were very welcome. There was enough
to clothe a whole colony, linen of every description, boots of all
sizes.

“Now we are too rich,” cried Pencroff. “What shall we do with all these
things?”

Every moment the sailor uttered exclamations of joy, as he came upon
barrels of molasses and rum, hogsheads of tobacco, muskets and
side-arms, bales of cotton, agricultural implements, carpenters’ and
smiths’ tools, and packages of seeds of every kind, uninjured by their
short sojourn in the water. Two years before, how these things would
have come in season! But even now that the industrious colonists were
so well supplied, these riches would be put to use.

There was plenty of storage room in Granite House, but time failed them
now to put everything in safety. They must not forget that six
survivors of the Speedy’s crew were now on the island, scoundrels of
the deepest dye, against whom they must be on their guard.

Although the bridge over the Mercy and the culverts had been raised,
the convicts would make little account of a river or a brook; and,
urged by despair, these rascals would be formidable. Later, the
colonists could decide what course to take with regard to them; in the
meantime, the chests and packages piled up near the Chimneys must be
watched over, and to this they devoted themselves during the night.

The night passed, however, without any attack from the convicts. Master
Jup and Top, of the Granite House guard, would have been quick to give
notice.

The three days which followed, the 19th, 20th, and 21st of October,
were employed in carrying on shore everything of value either in the
cargo or in the rigging. At low tide they cleaned out the hold, and at
high tide, stowed away their prizes. A great part of the copper
sheathing could be wrenched from the hull, which every day sank deeper;
but before the sands had swallowed up the heavy articles which had sunk
to the bottom, Ayrton and Pencroff dived and brought up the chains and
anchors of the brig, the iron ballast, and as many as four cannon,
which could be eased along upon empty barrels and brought to land; so
that the arsenal of the colony gained as much from the wreck as the
kitchens and store-rooms. Pencroff, always enthusiastic in his
projects, talked already about constructing a battery which should
command the channel and the mouth of the river. With four cannon, he
would guarantee to prevent any fleet, however powerful, from coming
within gunshot of the island.

Meanwhile, after nothing of the brig had been left but a useless shell,
the bad weather came to finish its destruction. Smith had intended to
blow it up, so as to collect the debris on shore, but a strong
northeast wind and a high sea saved his powder for him. On the night of
the 23d, the hull was thoroughly broken up, and part of the wreck
stranded on the beach. As to the ship’s papers, it is needless to say,
although they carefully rummaged the closet in the poop, Smith found no
trace of them. The pirates had evidently destroyed all that concerned
either the captain or the owner of the Speedy, and as the name of its
port was not painted on the stern, there was nothing to betray its
nationality. However, from the shape of the bow, Ayrton and Pencroff
believed the brig to be of English construction.

A week after the ship went down, not a trace of her was to be seen even
at low tide. The wreck had gone to pieces, and Granite House had been
enriched with almost all its contents. But the mystery of its strange
destruction would never have been cleared up, if Neb, rambling along
the beach, had not come upon a piece of a thick iron cylinder, which
bore traces of an explosion. It was twisted and torn at the edge, as if
it had been submitted to the action of an explosive substance. Neb took
it to his master, who was busy with his companions in the workshop at
the Chimneys. Smith examined it carefully, and then turned to Pencroff.

“Do you still maintain, my friend,” said he, “that the Speedy did not
perish by a collision?”

“Yes, Mr. Smith,” replied the sailor, “you know as well as I that there
are no rocks in the channel.”

“But suppose it struck against this piece of iron?” said the engineer,
showing the broken cylinder.

“What, that pipe stem!” said Pencroff, incredulously.

“Do you remember, my friends,” continued Smith, “that before foundering
the brig was lifted up by a sort of waterspout?”

“Yes, Mr. Smith,” said Herbert.

“Well, this was the cause of the waterspout,” said Smith, holding up
the broken tube.

“That?” answered Pencroff.

“Yes; this cylinder is all that is left of a torpedo!”

“A torpedo!” cried they all.

“And who put a torpedo there?” asked Pencroff, unwilling to give up.

“That I cannot tell you,” said Smith, “but there it was, and you
witnessed its tremendous effects!”




CHAPTER XLVII


THE ENGINEER’S THEORY—PENCROFF’S MAGNIFICENT SUPPOSITIONS—A BATTERY IN
THE AIR—FOUR PROJECTILES—THE SURVIVING CONVICTS—AYRTON
HESITATES—SMITH’S GENEROSITY AND PENCROFF’S DISSATISFACTION.


Thus, then, everything was explained by the submarine action of this
torpedo. Smith had had some experience during the civil war of these
terrible engines of destruction, and was not likely to be mistaken.
This cylinder, charged with nitro-glycerine, had been the cause of the
column of water rising in the air, of the sinking of the brig, and of
the shattered condition of her hull. Everything was accounted for,
except the presence of this torpedo in the waters of the channel!

“My friends,” resumed Smith, “we can no longer doubt the existence of
some mysterious being, perhaps a castaway like ourselves, inhabiting
our island. I say this that Ayrton may be informed of all the strange
events which have happened for two years. Who our unknown benefactor
may be, I cannot say, nor why he should hide himself after rendering us
so many services; but his services are not the less real, and such as
only a man could render who wielded some prodigious power. Ayrton is
his debtor as well; as he saved me from drowning after the fall of the
balloon, so he wrote the document, set the bottle afloat in the
channel, and gave us information of our comrade’s condition. He
stranded on Jetsam Point that chest, full of all that we needed; he
lighted that fire on the heights of the island which showed you where
to land; he fired that ball which we found in the body of the peccary;
he immersed in the channel that torpedo which destroyed the brig; in
short, he has done all those inexplicable things of which we could find
no explanation. Whatever he is, then, whether a castaway or an exile,
we should be ungrateful not to feel how much we owe him. Some day, I
hope, we shall discharge our debt.”

“We may add,” replied Spilett, “that this unknown friend has a way of
doing things which seems supernatural. If he did all these wonderful
things, he possesses a power which makes him master of the elements.”

“Yes,” said Smith, “there is a mystery here, but if we discover the man
we shall discover the mystery also. The question is this:—Shall we
respect the incognito of this generous being, or should we try to find
him? What do you think?”

“Master,” said Neb, “I have an idea that we may hunt for him as long as
we please, but that we shall only find him when he chooses to make
himself known.”

“There’s something in that, Neb,” said Pencroff.

“I agree with you, Neb,” said Spilett; “but that is no reason for not
making the attempt. Whether we find this mysterious being or not, we
shall have fulfilled our duty towards him.”

“And what is your opinion, my boy?” said the engineer, turning to
Herbert.

“Ah,” cried Herbert, his eye brightening; “I want to thank him, the man
who saved you first and now has saved us all.”

“It wouldn’t be unpleasant for any of us, my boy,” returned Pencroff.
“I am not curious, but I would give one of my eyes to see him face to
face.”

“And you, Ayrton?” asked the engineer.

“Mr. Smith,” replied Ayrton, “I can give no advice. Whatever you do
will be right, and whenever you want my help in your search, I am
ready.”

“Thanks, Ayrton,” said Smith, “but I want a more direct answer. You are
our comrade, who has offered his life more than once to save ours, and
we will take no important step without consulting you.”

“I think, Mr. Smith,” replied Ayrton, “that we ought to do everything
to discover our unknown benefactor. He may be sick or suffering. I owe
him a debt of gratitude which I can never forget, for he brought you to
save me. I will never forget him!”

“It is settled,” said Smith. “We will begin our search as soon as
possible. We will leave no part of the island unexplored. We will pry
into its most secret recesses, and may our unknown friend pardon our
zeal!”

For several days the colonists were actively at work haymaking and
harvesting. Before starting upon their exploring tour, they wanted to
finish all their important labors. Now, too, was the time for gathering
the vegetable products of Tabor Island. Everything had to be stored;
and, happily, there was plenty of room in Granite House for all the
riches of the island. There all was ranged in order, safe from man or
beast. No dampness was to be feared in the midst of this solid mass of
granite. Many of the natural excavations in the upper corridor were
enlarged by the pick, or blown out by mining, and Granite House thus
became a receptacle for all the goods of the colony.

The brig’s guns were pretty pieces of cast-steel, which, at Pencroff’s
instance, were hoisted, by means of tackle and cranes, to the very
entrance of Granite House; embrasures were constructed between the
windows, and soon they could be seen stretching their shining nozzles
through the granite wall. From this height these fire-breathing gentry
had the range of all Union Bay. It was a little Gibraltar, to whose
fire every ship off the islet would inevitably be exposed.

“Mr. Smith,” said Pencroff one day—it was the 8th of November—“now that
we have mounted our guns, we ought to try their range.”

“For what purpose?”

“Well, we ought to know how far we can send a ball.”

“Try, then, Pencroff,” answered the engineer; “but don’t use our
powder, whose stock I do not want to diminish; use pyroxyline, whose
supply will never fail.”

“Can these cannon support the explosive force of pyroxyline?” asked the
reporter, who was as eager as Pencroff to try their new artillery.

“I think so. Besides,” added the engineer, “we will be careful.”

Smith had good reason to think that these cannon were well made. They
were of cast steel, and breech-loaders, they could evidently bear a
heavy charge, and consequently would have a long range, on account of
the tremendous initial velocity.

“Now,” said Smith, “the initial velocity being a question of the amount
of powder in the charge, everything depends upon the resisting power of
the metal; and steel is undeniably the best metal in this respect; so
that I have great hope of our battery.”

The four cannon were in perfect condition. Ever since they had been
taken out of the water, Pencroff had made it his business to give them
a polish. How many hours had been spent in rubbing them, oiling them,
and cleaning the separate parts! By this time they shone as if they had
been on board of a United States frigate.

That very day, in the presence of all the colony, including Jup and
Top, the new guns were successively tried. They were charged with
pyroxyline, which, as we have said, has an explosive force fourfold
that of gunpowder; the projectile was cylindro-conical in shape.
Pencroff, holding the fuse, stood ready to touch them off.

Upon a word from Smith, the shot was fired. The ball, directed seaward,
passed over the islet and was lost in the offing, at a distance which
could not be computed.

The second cannon was trained upon the rocks terminating Jetsam Point,
and the projectile, striking a sharp boulder nearly three miles from
Granite House, made it fly into shivers. Herbert had aimed and fired
the shot, and was quite proud of his success. But Pencroff was prouder
of it even than he. Such a feather in his boy’s cap!

The third projectile, aimed at the downs which formed the upper coast
of Union Bay, struck the sand about four miles away, then ricocheted
into the water. The fourth piece was charged heavily to test its
extreme range, and every one got out of the way for fear it would
burst; then the fuse was touched off by means of a long string. There
was a deafening report, but the gun stood the charge, and the
colonists, rushing to the windows, could see the projectile graze the
rocks of Mandible Cape, nearly five miles from Granite House, and
disappear in Shark Gulf.

“Well, Mr. Smith,” said Pencroff, who had cheered at every shot, “what
do you say to our battery? I should like to see a pirate land now!”

“Better have them stay away, Pencroff,” answered the engineer.

“Speaking of that,” said the sailor, “what are we going to do with the
six rascals who are prowling about the island? Shall we let them roam
about unmolested? They are wild beasts, and I think we should treat
them as such. What do you think about it, Ayrton?” added Pencroff,
turning towards his companion.

Ayrton hesitated for a moment, while Smith regretted the abrupt
question, and was sincerely touched when Ayrton answered humbly:—

“I was one of these wild beasts once, Mr. Pencroff, and I am not worthy
to give counsel.”

And, with bent head, he walked slowly away. Pencroff understood him.

“Stupid ass that I am!” cried he. “Poor Ayrton! and yet he has as good
a right to speak as any of us. I would rather have bitten off my tongue
than have given him pain! But, to go back to the subject, I think these
wretches have no claim to mercy, and that we should rid the island of
them.”

“And before we hunt them down, Pencroff, shall we not wait for some
fresh act of hostility?”

“Haven’t they done enough already?” said the sailor, who could not
understand these refinements.

“They may repent,” said Smith.

“They repent!” cried the sailor, shrugging his shoulders.

“Think of Ayrton, Pencroff!” said Herbert, taking his hand. “He has
become an honest man.”

Pencroff looked at his companions In stupefaction. He could not admit
the possibility of making terms with the accomplices of Harvey, the
murderers of the Speedy’s crew.

“Be it so!” he said. “You want to be magnanimous to these rascals. May
we never repent of it!”

“What danger do we run if we are on our guard?” said Herbert.

“H’m!” said the reporter, doubtfully. “There are six of them, well
armed. If each of them sighted one of us from behind a tree—”

“Why haven’t they tried it already?” said Herbert. “Evidently it was
not their cue.”

“Very well, then,” said the sailor, who was stubborn in his opinion,
“we will let these worthy fellows attend to their innocent occupations
without troubling our heads about them.”

“Pencroff,” said the engineer, “you have often shown respect for my
opinions. Will you trust me once again?”

“I will do whatever you say, Mr. Smith,” said the sailor, nowise
convinced.

“Well, let us wait, and not be the first to attack.”

This was the final decision, with Pencroff in the minority. They would
give the pirates a chance, which their own interest might induce them
to seize upon, to come to terms. So much, humanity required of them.
But they would have to be constantly on their guard, and the situation
was a very serious one. They had silenced Pencroff, but, perhaps, after
all, his advice would prove sound.




CHAPTER XLVIII.


THE PROJECTED EXPEDITION—AYRTON AT THE CORRAL—VISIT TO PORT
BALLOON—PENCROFF’S REMARKS—DESPATCH SENT TO THE CORRAL—NO ANSWER FROM
AYRTON—SETTING OUT NEXT DAY—WHY THE WIRE DID NOT ACT—A DETONATION.


Meanwhile the thing uppermost in the colonists’ thought was to achieve
the complete exploration of the island which had been decided upon, an
exploration which now would have two objects: —First, to discover the
mysterious being whose existence was no longer a matter of doubt; and,
at the same time to find out what had become of the pirates, what
hiding place they had chosen, what sort of life they were leading, and
what was to be feared from them.

Smith would have set off at once, but as the expedition would take
several days, it seemed better to load the wagon with all the
necessaries for camping out. Now at this time one of the onagers,
wounded in the leg, could not bear harness; it must have several days’
rest, and they thought it would make little difference if they delayed
the departure a week, that is, till November 20. November in this
latitude corresponds to the May of the Northern Hemisphere, and the
weather was fine. They were now at the longest days in the year, so
that everything was favorable to the projected expedition, which, if it
did not attain its principal object, might be fruitful in discoveries,
especially of the products of the soil; for Smith intended to explore
those thick forests of the Far West, which stretched to the end of
Serpentine Peninsula.

During the nine days which would precede their setting out, it was
agreed that they should finish work on Prospect Plateau. But Ayrton had
to go back to the corral to take care of their domesticated animals. It
was settled that he should stay there two days, and leave the beasts
with plenty of fodder. Just as he was setting out, Smith asked him if
he would like to have one of them with him, as the island was no longer
secure. Ayrton replied that it would be useless, as he could do
everything by himself, and that there was no danger to fear. If
anything happened at or near the corral, he would instantly acquaint
the colonists of it by a telegram sent to Granite House.

So Ayrton drove off in the twilight, about 9 o’clock, behind one
onager, and two hours afterwards the electric wire gave notice that he
had found everything in order at the corral.

During these two days Smith was busy at a project which would finally
secure Granite House from a surprise. The point was to hide completely
the upper orifice of the former weir, which had been already blocked up
with stones, and half hidden under grass and plants, at the southern
angle of Lake Grant. Nothing could be easier, since by raising the
level of the lake two or three feet, the hole would be entirely under
water.

Now to raise the level, they had only to make a dam across the two
trenches by which Glycerine Creek and Waterfall Creek were fed. The
colonists were incited to the task, and the two dams, which were only
seven or eight feet long, by three feet high, were rapidly erected of
closely cemented stones. When the work had been done, no one could have
suspected the existence of the subterranean conduit. The little stream
which served to feed the reservoir at Granite House, and to work the
elevator, had been suffered to flow in its channel, so that water might
never be wanting. The elevator once raised, they might defy attack.

This work had been quickly finished, and Pencroff, Spilett, and Herbert
found time for an expedition to Port Balloon. The sailor was anxious to
know whether the little inlet up which the Good Luck was moored had
been visited by the convicts.

“These gentry got to land on the southern shore,” he observed, “and if
they followed the line of the coast they may have discovered the little
harbor, in which case I wouldn’t give half a dollar for our Good Luck.”

So off the three went in the afternoon of November 10. They were well
armed, and as Pencroff slipped two bullets into each barrel of his gun,
he had a look which presaged no good to whoever came too near, “beast
or man,” as he said. Neb went with them to the elbow of the Mercy, and
lifted the bridge after them. It was agreed that they should give
notice of their return by firing a shot, when Neb would come back to
put down the bridge.

The little band walked straight for the south coast. The distance was
only three miles and a half, but they took two hours to walk it. They
searched on both sides of the way, both the forest and Tadorn’s Fens;
but they found no trace of the fugitives. Arriving at Port Balloon,
they saw with great satisfaction that the Good Luck was quietly moored
in the narrow inlet, which was so well hidden by the rocks that it
could be seen neither from sea nor shore, but only from directly above
or below.

“After all,” said Pencroff, “the rascals haven’t been here. The vipers
like tall grass better, and we shall find them in the Far-West.”

“And it’s a fortunate thing,” added Herbert, “for if they had found the
Good Luck, they would have made use of her in getting away, and we
could never have gone back to Tabor Island.”

“Yes,” replied the reporter, “it will be important to put a paper there
stating the situation of Lincoln Island, Ayrton’s new residence, in
case the Scotch yacht should come after him.”

“Well, here is our Good Luck, Mr. Spilett,” said the sailor, “ready to
start with her crew at the first signal!”

Talking thus, they got on board and walked about the deck. On a sudden
the sailor, after examining the bit around which the cable of the
anchor was wound, cried,

“Hallo! this is a bad business!”

“What’s the matter, Pencroff?” asked the reporter.

“The matter is that that knot was never tied by me——”

And Pencroff pointed to a rope which made the cable fast to the bit, so
as to prevent its tripping.

“How, never tied by you?” asked Spilett.

“No, I can swear to it. I never tie a knot like that.”

“You are mistaken, Pencroff.”

“No, I’m not mistaken,” insisted the sailor. “That knot of mine is
second nature with me.”

“Then have the convicts been on board?” asked Herbert.

“I don’t know,” said Pencroff, “but somebody has certainly raised and
dropped this anchor!”

The sailor was so positive that neither Spilett nor Herbert could
contest his assertion. It was evident that the beat had shifted place
more or less since Pencroff had brought it back to Balloon Harbor. As
for the sailor, he had no doubt that the anchor had been pulled up and
cast again. Now, why had these manœuvres taken place unless the boat
had been used on some expedition?

“Then why did we not see the Good Luck pass the offing?” said the
reporter, who wanted to raise every possible objection.

“But, Mr. Spilett,” answered the sailor, “they could have set out in
the night with a good wind, and in two hours have been out of sight of
the island.”

“Agreed,” said Spilett, but I still ask with what object the convicts
used the Good Luck, and why, after using her, they brought her back to
port?”

“Well, Mr. Spilett,” said the sailor, “we will have to include that
among our mysterious incidents, and think no more of it. One thing is
certain, the Good Luck was there, and is here! If the convicts take it
a second time, it may never find its way back again.”

“Then, Pencroff,” said Herbert, “perhaps we had better take the Good
Luck back and anchor her in front of Granite House.”

“I can hardly say,” answered the sailor, “but I think not. The mouth of
the Mercy is a bad place for a ship; the sea is very heavy there.”

“But by hauling it over the sand to the foot of the Chimneys——”

“Well, perhaps,” answered Pencroff. “In any case, as we have to leave
Granite House for a long expedition, I believe the Good Luck will be
safer here during oar absence, and he will do well to leave her here
until the island is rid of these rascals.”

“That is my opinion, too,” said the reporter. At least in case of bad
weather, she will not be exposed as she would be at the mouth of the
Mercy.”

“But if the convicts should pay her another visit?” said Herbert.

“Well, my boy,” said Pencroff, “if they do not find the boat here they
will search until they do find her; and in our absence there is nothing
to prevent their carrying her off from the front of Granite House. I
agree with Mr. Spilett that we had better leave her at Balloon Harbor;
but if we have not rid the island of these wretches by the time we come
back it will be more prudent to take our ship back to Granite House,
until we have nothing more to fear from our enemies.”

“All right,” said Spilett. “Let us go back now.”

When they returned to Granite House, they told Smith what had happened,
and the latter approved their present and future plans. He even
promised Pencroff he would examine that part of the channel situated
between the island and the coast, so as to see if it would be possible
to make an artificial harbor by means of a dam. In this way the Good
Luck would be always within reach, in sight of the colonists, and
locked up if necessary.

On the same evening they sent a telegram to Ayrton, asking him to bring
back from the corral a couple of goats, which Neb wished to acclimatize
on the plateau. Strange to say, Ayrton did not acknowledge the receipt
of this despatch, as was his custom to do. This surprised the engineer,
but he concluded that Ayrton was not at the corral at the moment, and
perhaps had started on his way back to Granite House. In fact, two days
had elapsed since his departure; and it had been agreed that on the
evening of the 10th or the morning of the 11th, at latest, he would
return.

The colonists were now waiting to see Ayrton on Prospect Plateau. Neb
and Herbert both looked after the approach by way of the bridge, so as
to let it down when their companion should appear, but when 6 o’clock
in the evening came, and there was no sign of Ayrton, they agreed to
send another despatch, asking for an immediate answer.

The wire at Granite House remained silent.

The uneasiness of the colonists was now extreme. What had happened?
“Was Ayrton not at the corral? or, if there, had he not power over his
own movements? Ought they to go in search of him on this dark night?

They discussed the point. Some were for going, and others for waiting.

“But,” said Herbert, “perhaps some accident has happened to the wires
which prevents their working.”

“That may be,” said the reporter.

“Let us wait until to-morrow,” said Smith. “It is just possible that
either Ayrton has not received our despatch, or we have missed his.”

They waited, as may be imagined, with much anxiety. At daylight on the
11th of November, Smith sent a message across the wires, but received
no answer. Again, with the same result.

“Let us set off at once for the corral,” said he.

“Aid will armed,” added Pencroff.

It was agreed that Granite House must not be deserted, so Neb was left
behind to take charge. After accompanying his companions to Glycerine
Creek, he put up the bridge again, and hid behind a tree, to wait
either for their return or for that of Ayrton. In case the pirates
should appear, and should attempt to force the passage, he would try to
defend it with his gun; and in the last resort he would take refuge in
Granite House, where, the elevator once drawn up, he would be in
perfect safety. The others were to go direct to the corral, and failing
to find Ayrton there, were to scour the neighboring woods.

At 6 o’clock in the morning the engineer and his three companions had
crossed Glycerine Creek, and Neb posted himself behind a low cliff,
crowned by some large dragon trees on the left side of the brook. The
colonists, after leaving Prospect Plateau, took the direct route to the
corral. They carried their guns on their shoulders, ready to fire at
the first sign of hostility. The two rifles and the two guns had been
carefully loaded.

On either side of the path was a dense thicket, which might easily hide
enemies, who, as they were armed, would be indeed formidable. The
colonists walked on rapidly without a word. Top preceded them,
sometimes keeping to the path, and sometimes making a detour into the
wood, but not appearing to suspect anything unusual; and they might
depend upon it that the faithful dog would not be taken by surprise,
and would bark at the slightest appearance of danger.

Along this same path Smith and his companions followed the telegraphic
wires which connected the corral with Granite House. For the first two
miles they did not notice any solution of continuity. The posts were in
good condition, the insulators uninjured, and the wire evenly
stretched. From this point the engineer noticed that the tension was
less complete, and at last, arriving at post No. 74, Herbert, who was
ahead of the others, cried, “The wire is broken!”

His companions hastened forward and arrived at the spot where the boy
had stopped. There the overturned post was lying across the path. They
had discovered the break, and it was evident that the dispatches from
Granite House could not have been received at the corral.

“It can’t be the wind that has overturned this post,” said Pencroff.

“No,” answered the reporter, “there are marks of footsteps on the
ground; it has been uprooted by the hand of man.”

“Besides, the wire is broken,” added Herbert, showing the two ends of
the wire which had been violently torn asunder.

“Is the break a fresh one?” asked Smith.

“Yes,” said Herbert, “it was certainly made a very short time ago.”

“To the corral! to the corral!” cried the sailor.

The colonists were then midway between Granite House and the corral,
and had still two miles and a half to go. They started on a run.

In fact, they might well fear that something had happened at the
corral. Ayrton doubtless might have sent a telegram which had not
arrived. It was not this which alarmed his companions, but a
circumstance more remarkable. Ayrton, who had promised to come back the
evening before, had not reappeared! The communication, between Granite
House and the corral had been out with a sinister design.

They hurried on, their hearts beating quick with fear for their
comrade, to whom they were sincerely attached; Were they to find him
struck down by the hand of those he had formerly led?

Soon they reached the place where the road lay along by the little
brook flowing from Red Creek, which watered the meadows of the corral.
They had moderated their pace, so as not to be out of breath at the
moment when a deadly struggle might occur. Their guns were uncocked,
but loaded. Each of them watched one side of the woods. Top kept up an
ill-omened growling.

At last the fenced enclosure appeared behind the trees. They saw no
signs of devastation. The door was closed as usual; a profound silence
reigned at the corral. Neither the accustomed bleatings of the sheep
nor the voice of Ayrton was to be heard.

“Let us go in,” said Smith, and the engineer advanced, while his
companions, keeping guard twenty feet in the rear, stood ready to fire.

Smith raised the inner latch, and began to push back the door, when Top
barked loudly. There was a report from behind the fence, followed by a
cry of pain, and Herbert, pierced by a bullet, fell to the ground!




CHAPTER XLIX


THE REPORTER AND PENCROFF IN THE CORRAL—MOVING HERBERT—DESPAIR OF THE
SAILOR—CONSULTATION OF THE ENGINEER AND THE REPORTER—MODE OF
TREATMENT—A GLIMMER OF HOPE—HOW TO WARN NEB—A FAITHFUL MESSENGER—NEB’S
REPLY.


At Herbert’s cry, Pencroff, dropping his gun, sprang towards him.

“They have killed him!” cried he. “My boy—they have killed him.”

Smith and Spilett rushed forward. The reporter put his ear to the boy’s
heart to see if it were still beating.

“He’s alive,” said he, “but he must be taken—”

“To Granite House? Impossible!” said the engineer.

“To the corral, then,” cried Pencroff.

“One moment,” said Smith, and he rushed to the left around the fence.
There he found himself face to face with a convict, who fired at him
and sent a ball through his cap. An instant later, before he had time
to fire again, he fell, struck to the heart by Smith’s poniard, a surer
weapon even than his gun.

While this was going on, the reporter and Pencroff hoisted themselves
up to the angle of the fence, strode over the top, jumped into the
enclosure, made their way into the empty house, and laid Herbert gently
down on Ayrton’s bed.

A few minutes afterwards Smith was at his side. At the sight of
Herbert, pale and unconscious, the grief of the sailor was intense. He
sobbed and cried bitterly; neither the engineer nor the reporter could
calm him. Themselves over whelmed with emotion, they could hardly
speak.

They did all in their power to save the poor boy’s life. Spilett, in
his life of varied experience, had acquired some knowledge of medicine.
He knew a little of everything; and had had several opportunities of
learning the surgery of gunshot wounds. With Smith’s assistance, he
hastened to apply the remedies which Herbert’s condition demanded.

The boy lay in a complete stupor, caused either by the hemorrhage or by
concussion of the brain. He was very pale, and his pulse beat only at
long intervals, as if every moment about to stop. This, taken in
conjunction with his utter loss of consciousness, was a grave symptom.
They stripped his chest, and, staunching the blood by means of
handkerchiefs, kept bathing the wounds in cold water.

The ball had entered between the third and fourth rib, and there they
found the wound. Smith and Spilett turned the poor boy over. At this he
uttered a moan so faint that they feared it was his last breath. There
was another wound on his back, for the bullet had gone clean through.

“Thank Heaven!” said the reporter, “the ball is not in his body; we
shall not have to extract it.”

“But the heart?” asked Smith.

“The heart has not been touched, or he would be dead.”

“Dead!” cried Pencroff, with a groan. He had only heard the reporter’s
last word.

“No, Pencroff,” answered Smith. “No he is not dead; his pulse still
beats; he has even uttered a groan. For his sake, now, you must be
calm. We have need of all our self-possession; you must not be the
means of our losing it, my friend.”

Pencroff was silent, but large tears rolled down his cheeks.

Meanwhile, Spilett tried to recall to memory the proper treatment of
the case before him. There seemed no doubt that the ball had entered in
front and gone out by the back; but what injuries had it done by the
way? Had it reached any vital spot? This was a question which even a
professional surgeon could not have answered at once.

There was something, however, which Spilett knew must be done, and that
was to keep down the inflammation, and to fight against the fever which
ensues upon a wound. The wound must be dressed without delay. It was
not necessary to bring on a fresh flow of blood by the use of tepid
water and compresses, for Herbert was already too weak. The wounds,
therefore, were bathed with cold water.

Herbert was placed upon his left side and held in that position.

“He must not be moved,” said Spilett; “he is in the position most
favorable to an easy suppuration, and absolute repose is necessary.”

“Cannot we take him to Granite House?” asked Pencroff.

“No, Pencroff,” said the reporter.

Spilett was examining the boy’s wounds again with close attention.
Herbert was so frightfully pale that he became alarmed.

“Cyrus,” said he, “I am no doctor. I am in a terrible strait; you must
help me with your advice and assistance.”

“Calm yourself, my friend,” answered the engineer, pressing his hand.
“Try to judge coolly. Think only of saving Herbert.”

Spilett’s self-possession, which in a moment of discouragement his keen
sense of responsibility had caused him to lose, returned again at these
words. He seated himself upon the bed; Smith remained standing,
Pencroff had torn up his shirt and began mechanically to make lint.

Spilett explained that the first thing to do was to check the
hemorrhage, but not to close the wounds or bring on immediate
cicatrization—for there had been internal perforation, and they must
not let the suppurated matter collect within. It was decided therefore
to dress the two wounds, but not to press them together. The colonists
possessed a most powerful agent for quelling inflamation, and one which
nature supplies in the greatest abundance; to-wit, cold water, which is
now used by all doctors. It has, moreover, the advantage of allowing
the wound perfect rest, and dispensing with the frequent dressing,
which by exposing the wound to the air in the early stages, is so often
attended with lamentable results.

Thus did Smith and Spilett reason, with clear, native good sense, and
acted as the best surgeon would have done. The wounds were bandaged
with linen and constantly soaked with fresh water. The sailor had
lighted a fire in the chimney, and the house fortunately contained all
the necessaries of life. They had maple-sugar and the medicinal plants
which the boy had gathered on the shores of Lake Grant. From these they
made a refreshing drink for the sick boy. His fever was very high, and
he lay all that day and night without a sign of consciousness. His life
was hanging on a thread.

On the next day, November 12, they began to have some hopes of his
recovery. His consciousness returned, he opened his eyes and recognized
them all. He even said two or three words, and wanted to know what had
happened. Spilett told him, and begged him to keep perfectly quiet;
that his life was not in danger, and his wounds would heal in a few
days. Herbert suffered very little, for the inflammation was
successfully kept down by the plentiful use of cold water. A regular
suppuration had set in, the fever did not increase, and they began to
hope that this terrible accident would not end in a worse catastrophe.

Pencroff took heart again; he was the best of nurses, like a Sister of
Charity, or a tender mother watching over her child. Herbert had fallen
into another stupor, but this time the sleep appeared more natural.

“Tell me again that you have hope, Mr. Spilett,” said Pencroff; “tell
me again that you will save my boy!”

“We shall save him,” said the reporter. “The wound is a serious one,
and perhaps the ball has touched the lung; but a wound in that organ is
not mortal.”

“May God grant it!” answered the sailor.

As may be imagined, the care of Herbert had occupied all their time and
thoughts for the first twenty-four hours at the corral. They had not
considered the urgent danger of a return of the convicts, nor taken any
precautions for the future. But on this day while Pencroff was watching
over the invalid, Smith and the reporter took counsel together as to
their plans.

They first searched the corral. There was no trace of Ayrton, and it
seemed probable that he had resisted his former companions, and fallen
by their hands. The corral had not been pillaged, and as its gates had
remained shut, the domestic animals had not been able to wander away
into the woods. They could see no traces of the pirates either in the
dwelling or the palisade. The only thing gone was the stock of
ammunition.

“The poor fellow was taken by surprise,” said Smith, “and as he was a
man to show fight, no doubt they made an end of him.”

“Yes,” replied the reporter, “and then, no doubt, they took possession
here, where they found everything in great plenty, and took to flight
only when they saw us coming.”

“We must beat the woods,” said the engineer, and rid the island of
these wretches. But we will have to wait some time in the corral, till
the day comes when we can safely carry Herbert to Granite House.”

“But Neb?” asked the reporter.

“Neb’s safe enough.”

“Suppose he becomes anxious and risks coming here?”

“He must not come,” said Smith sharply. “He would be murdered on the
way!”

“It’s very likely he will try.”

“Ah! if the telegraph was only in working order, we could warn him! But
now it’s impossible. We can’t leave Pencroff and Herbert here alone.
Well, I’ll go by myself to Granite House!”

“No, no, Cyrus,” said the reporter, “you must not expose yourself.
These wretches are watching the corral from their ambush, and there
would be two mishaps instead of one!”

“But Neb has been without news of us for twenty-four hours,” repeated
the engineer. “He will want to come.”

While he reflected, his gaze fell upon Top, who, by running to and fro,
seemed to say, “Have you forgotten me?”

“Top!” cried Smith.

The dog sprang up at this master’s call.

“Yes, Top shall go!” cried the reporter, who understood in a flash. Top
will make his way where we could not pass, will take our message and
bring us back an answer.”

“Quick!” said Smith, “quick!”

Spilett tore out a page of his note-book and wrote these lines:—

“Herbert wounded. We are at the corral. Be on your guard. Do not leave
Granite House. Have the convicts shown themselves near you? Answer by
Top!”

This laconic note was folded and tied in a conspicuous way to Top’s
collar.

“Top, my dog,” said the engineer, caressing the animal, “Neb, Top, Neb!
Away! away!”

Top sprang high at the words. He understood what was wanted, and the
road was familiar to him. The engineer went to the door of the corral
and opened one of the leaves.

“Neb, Top, Neb!” he cried again, pointing towards Granite House.

Top rushed out and disappeared almost instantly.

“He’ll get there!” said the reporter.

“Yes, and come back, the faithful brute!”

“What time is it?” asked Spilett.

“Ten o’clock.”

“In an hour he may be here. We will watch for him.

The door of the corral was closed again. The engineer and the reporter
re-entered the house. Herbert lay in a profound sleep. Pencroff kept
his compresses constantly wet with cold water. Spilett, seeing that
just then there was nothing else to do, set to work to prepare some
food, all the time keeping his eye on that part of the inclosure which
backed up against the spur, from which an attack might be made.

The colonists awaited Top’s return with much anxiety. A little before
11 o’clock Smith andSpilett stood with their carbines behind the door,
ready to open it at the dog’s first bark. They knew that if Top got
safely to Granite House, Neb would send him back at once.

They had waited about ten minutes, when they heard a loud report,
followed instantly by continuous barking. The engineer opened the door,
and, seeing smoke still curling up among the trees a hundred paces off,
he fired in that direction. Just then Top bounded into the corral,
whose door was quickly shut.

“Top, Top!” cried the engineer, caressing the dog’s large, noble head.
A note was fastened to his collar, containing these words in Neb’s
sprawling handwriting:——

“No pirates near Granite House. I will not stir. Poor Mr. Herbert!”




CHAPTER L.


THE CONVICTS IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD OF THE CORRAL—PROVISIONAL
OCCUPATION—CONTINUATION OF HERBERT’S TREATMENT—PENCROFF’S
JUBILATION—REVIEW OF THE PAST—FUTURE PROSPECTS—SMITH’S IDEAS.


So, then, the convicts were close by, watching the corral, and waiting
to kill the colonists one after another. They must be attacked like
wild beasts, but with the greatest precaution, for the wretches had the
advantage of position, seeing and not being seen, able to make a sudden
attack, yet not themselves to be surprised.

So Smith made his arrangements to live at the corral, which was fully
provisioned. Ayrton’s house was furnished with all the necessaries of
life, and the convicts, frightened away by the colonists’ arrival, had
not had time to pillage. It was most likely, as Spilett suggested, that
the course of events had been this:—The convicts had followed the
southern coast, and after getting over into Serpentine Peninsula, and
being in no humor to risk themselves in the woods of the Far West, they
had reached the month of Fall River. Then, walking up the right bank of
the stream, they had come to the spur of Mount Franklin; here was their
most natural place of refuge. And they had soon discovered the corral.
They had probably installed themselves there, had been surprised by
Ayrton, had overcome the unfortunate man, and—the rest was easily
divined!

Meanwhile the convicts, reduced to five, but well armed, were prowling
in the woods, and to pursue them was to be exposed to their fire
without the power either of avoiding or of anticipating them.

“There is nothing else to do but wait,” repeated Smith. “When Herbert
is well again, we will beat the island, and have a shot at these
rascals; while at the same time——”

“We search for our mysterious protector,” added Spilett, finishing the
sentence. “Ah! we must confess, dear Cyrus, that, for once, his
protection has failed us.”

“We don’t know about that,” answered the engineer.

“What do you mean?” asked the reporter.

“We are not at the end of our troubles, my dear Spilett, and his
powerful interference may still be exercised. But now we must think of
Herbert.”

Several days passed, and the poor boy’s condition was happily no worse;
and to gain time was a great thing. The cold water, always kept at the
proper temperature, had absolutely prevented the inflammation of the
wounds. Nay, it seemed to the reporter that this water, which contained
a little sulphur, due to the neighborhood of the volcano, had a direct
tendency towards cicatrization. The suppuration was much less copious,
and, thanks to excellent nursing, Herbert had returned to
consciousness, and his fever had abated. He was, moreover, strictly
dieted, and, of course, was very weak; but he had plenty of broths and
gruels, and absolute rest was doing him great good.

Smith, Spilett, and Pencroff had become very skilful in tending him.
All the linen in the house had been sacrificed. The wounded parts,
covered with lint and compresses, were subjected to just enough
pressure to cicatrize them without bringing on a reaction of
inflammation. The reporter dressed the wounds with the greatest care,
repeating to his companions the medical axiom that good dressing is as
rare as a good operation.

At the end of ten days, by the 22d of November, Herbert was decidedly
better. He had begun to take some nourishment. The color came back to
his cheeks, and he smiled at his nurse. He talked a little, in spite of
Pencroff, who chattered away all the time to keep the boy from saying a
word, and told the most remarkable stories. Herbert inquired about
Ayrton, and was surprised not to see him at the bedside; but the
sailor, who would not distress his patient, answered merely that Ayrton
had gone to be with Neb at Granite House in case the convicts attacked
it. “Nice fellows they are,” said he. “To think that Mr. Smith wanted
to appeal to their feelings! I’ll send them my compliments in a good
heavy bullet!”

“And nobody has seen them?” asked Herbert.

“No, my boy,” answered the sailor, “but we will find them, and when you
are well we shall see whether these cowards, who strike from behind,
will dare to meet us face to face.”

“I am still very weak, dear Pencroff.”

“Oh! your strength will come back little by little. What’s a ball
through the chest? Nothing to speak of. I have seen several of them,
and feel no worse for it.”

In fine, things were growing better, and it no unlucky complication
occurred, Herbert’s cure might be regarded as certain. But what would
have been the colonists’ situation if the ball had remained in his
body, if his arm or leg had had to be amputated? They could not think
of it without a shudder.

It seemed to Smith that he and his companions, until now so fortunate,
had entered upon an ill-omened time. For the two and a half years which
had elapsed since their escape from Richmond they had succeeded in
everything. But now luck seemed to be turning against them. Ayrton,
doubtless, was dead, and Herbert severely wounded; and that strange but
powerful intervention, which had done them such mighty services, seemed
now to be withdrawn. Had the mysterious being abandoned the island, or
himself been overcome?

They could give no answer to these questions; but though they talked
together about them, they were not men to despair. They looked the
situation in the face; they analyzed the chances; they prepared
themselves for every contingency; they stood firm and undaunted before
the future; and if adversity should continue to oppress them, she would
find them men prepared to do their utmost.




CHAPTER LI.


NO NEWS OF NEB—A PROPOSAL FROM PENCROFF AND SPILETT—THE REPORTER’S
SORTIES—A FRAGMENT OF CLOTH—A MESSAGE—HURRIED DEPARTURE—ARRIVAL AT
PROSPECT PLATEAU.


Herbert’s convalescence progressed steadily. Only one thing was left to
wish for, to wit, that he would get well enough to be taken to Granite
House. However well arranged and provisioned might be the dwelling in
the corral, there was nothing like the solid comfort of their abode in
the rock. Besides, they were not safe here, and, in spite of their
watchfulness, they were always in dread of a shot from the woods.
Whereas there in the midst of that unassailable and inaccessible mass
of rock there would be nothing to fear. They waited, therefore, with
impatience for the moment when Herbert could be carried, without danger
to his wound, across the difficult route through Jacamar Woods.

Though without news of Neb, they had no fear for him. The brave negro,
occupying a position of such strength, would not let himself be
surprised. Top had not been sent back to him, for it seemed useless to
expose the faithful dog to some shot which might deprive the colonists
of their most useful helper. The engineer regretted to see his forces
divided, and thus to play into the hands of the pirates. Since Ayrton’s
disappearance, they were only four against five, for Herbert could not
be counted. The poor boy knew and lamented the danger of which he was
the cause.

One day, November 29, when he was asleep, they discussed their plans of
action against the convicts.

“My friends,” said the reporter, after they had talked over the
impossibility of communicating with Neb, “I agree with you that to risk
ourselves on the path leading from the corral would be a useless
exposure. But why should we not beat the woods for these wretches?”

“That’s what I was thinking,” replied Pencroff. “We’re not afraid of a
bullet, and for my part, if Mr. Smith approves, I am ready to take to
the woods. Surely one man is as good as another!”

“But is he as good as five?” asked the engineer.

“I will go with Pencroff,’ answered the reporter, “and the two of us,
well armed, and Top with us—”

“My dear Spilett, and you, Pencroff, let us discuss the matter coolly.
If the convicts were in hiding in some place known to us, from which we
could drive them by an attack, it would be a different affair. But have
we not every reason to fear that they will get the first shot?”

“Well, sir,” cried Pencroff, “a bullet doesn’t always hit its mark!”

“That which pierced Herbert did not go astray,” answered the engineer.
“Besides, remember that if you both leave the corral, I shall be left
alone to defend it. Can you answer that the convicts will not see you
go off, that they will not wait till you are deep in the woods, and
then make their attack in your absence upon a man and a sick boy?”

There was nothing to say in answer to this reasoning, which went home
to the minds of all.

“If only Ayrton was yet one of the party!” said Spilett. “Poor fellow!
his return to a life with his kind was not for long!”

“If he is dead!” added Pencroff, in a peculiar tone.

“Have you any hope that those rascals have spared him, Pencroff?” asked
Spilett.

“Yes, if their interest led them to do so.”

“What! do you suppose that Ayrton, among his former companions in
guilt, would forget all he owed to us—”

“Nobody can tell,” answered the sailor, with some hesitation.

“Pencroff,” said Smith, laying his hand on the sailor’s arm, “that was
an unworthy thought. I will guarantee Ayrton’s fidelity!”

“And I too,” added the reporter, decidedly.

“Yes, yes, Mr. Smith, I am wrong,” answered Pencroff. “But really I am
a little out of my mind. This imprisonment in the corral is driving me
to distraction.”

“Be patient, Pencroff,” answered the engineer. “How soon, my dear
Spilett, do you suppose Herbert can be carried to Granite House?”

“That is hard to say, Cyrus,” answered the reporter, “for a little
imprudence might be fatal. But if he goes on as well as he is doing now
for another week, why then we will see.”

At that season the spring was two months advanced. The weather was
good, and the heat began to be oppressive. The woods were in fall leaf,
and it was almost time to reap the accustomed harvest. It can easily be
understood how this siege in the corral upset the plans of the
colonists.

Once or twice the reporter risked himself outside, and walked around
the palisade. Top was with him, and his carbine was loaded.

He met no one and saw nothing suspicious. Top would have warned him of
any danger, and so long as the dog did not bark, there was nothing to
fear.

But on his second sortie, on the 27th of November, Spilett, who had
ventured into the woods for a quarter of a mile to the south of the
mountain, noticed that Top smelt something. The dog’s motions were no
longer careless; he ran to and fro, ferreting about in the grass and
thistles, as if his keen nose had put him on the track of an enemy.

Spilett followed the dog, encouraging and exciting him by his voice;
his eye on the alert, his carbine on his shoulder, and availing himself
of the shelter of the trees. It was not likely that Top had recognized
the presence of a man, for in that case he would have announced it by a
half-stifled but angry bark. Since not even a growl was to be heard,
the danger was evidently neither near nor approaching.

About five minutes had passed in this way, Top ferreting about and the
reporter cautiously following him, when the dog suddenly rushed towards
a thicket and tore from it a strip of cloth. It was a piece from a
garment, dirty and torn. Spilett went back with it to the corral. There
the colonists examined it and recognized it as a piece of Ayrton’s
waistcoat, which was made of the felt prepared only in the workshop at
Granite House.

“You see, Pencroff,” observed Smith, “Ayrton resisted manfully, and the
convicts dragged him off in spite of his efforts. Do you still doubt
his good faith?”

“No, Mr. Smith,” replied the sailor; “I have long ago given up that
momentary suspicion. But I think we may draw one conclusion from this
fact.”

“What is that?”

“That Ayrton was not killed at the corral. They must have dragged him
out alive, and perhaps he is still alive.”

“It may be so,” said the engineer, thoughtfully.

The most impatient of them all to get back to Granite House was
Herbert. He knew how necessary it was for them all to be there, and
felt that it was he who was keeping them at the corral. The one thought
which had taken possession of his mind was to leave the corral, and to
leave it as soon as possible. He believed that he could bear the
journey to Granite House. He was sure that his strength would come back
to him sooner in his own room, with the sight and the smell of the sea.

It was now November 29. The colonists were talking together in
Herbert’s room, about 7 o’clock in the morning, when they heard Top
barking loudly. They seized their guns, always loaded and cocked, and
went out of the house.

Top ran to the bottom of the palisade, jumping and barking with joy.

“Some one is coming!”

“Yes.”

“And not an enemy.”

“Neb, perhaps?”

“Or Ayrton?”

These words had scarcely been exchanged between the engineer and his
comrade, when something leaped the palisade and fell on the ground
inside. It was Jup. Master Jup himself, who was frantically welcomed by
Top.

“Neb has sent him!” said the reporter.

“Then he must have some note on him,” said the engineer.

Pencroff rushed to the orang. Neb could not have chosen a better
messenger, who could get through obstacles which none of the others
could have surmounted. Smith was right. Around Jup’s neck was hung a
little bag, and in it was a note in Neb’s handwriting. The dismay of
the colonists may be imagined when they read these words:—

“FRIDAY, 6 A. M.”—The convicts are on the plateau. NEB.”

They looked at each other without saying a word, then walked back to
the house. What was there to do? The convicts on Prospect Plateau meant
disaster, devastation and ruin! Herbert knew at once from their faces
that the situation had become grave, and when he saw Jup, he had no
more doubt that misfortune was threatening Granite House.

“Mr. Smith,” said he, “I want to go. I can bear the journey. I want to
start.”

Spilett came up to Herbert and looked at him intently.

“Let us start then,” said he.

The question of Herbert’s transportation was quickly decided. A litter
would be the most comfortable way of travelling, but it would
necessitate two porters; that is, two guns would be subtracted from
their means of defense. On the other hand, by placing the mattresses on
which Herbert lay in the wagon, so as to deaden the motion, and by
walking carefully they could escape jolting him, and would leave their
arms free.

The wagon was brought out and the onagga harnessed to it; Smith and the
reporter lifted the mattresses with Herbert on them, and laid them in
the bottom of the wagon between the rails. The weather was fine, and
the sun shone brightly between the trees.

“Are the arms ready?” asked Smith.

They were. The engineer and Pencroff, each armed with a
double-barrelled gun, and Spilett with his carbine, stood ready to set
out.

“How do you feel, Herbert?” asked the engineer.

“Don’t be troubled, Mr. Smith,” answered the boy, “I shall not die on
the way.”

They could see that the poor fellow was making a tremendous effort. The
engineer felt a grievous pang. He hesitated to give the signal for
departure. But to stay would have thrown Herbert into despair.

“Let us start,” said Smith.

The corral door was opened. Jup and Top, who knew how to be quiet on
emergency, rushed on ahead. The wagon went out, the gate was shut, and
the onagga, under Pencroff’s guidance, walked on with a slow pace.

It was necessary, on account of the wagon, to keep to the direct road
from the corral to Granite House, although it was known to the
convicts. Smith and Spilett walked on either side of the chariot, ready
to meet any attack. Still it was not likely that the convicts had yet
abandoned Prospect Plateau. Neb’s note had evidently been sent as soon
as they made their appearance. Now this note was dated at 6 o’clock in
the morning, and the active orang, who was accustomed to the way, would
have got over the five miles from Granite House in three-quarters of an
hour. Probably they would have no danger to fear till they approached
Granite House.

But they kept on the alert. Top and Jup, the latter armed with his
stick, sometimes in front, and sometimes beating the woods on either
side, gave no signal of approaching danger. The wagon moved on slowly,
and an hour after leaving the corral, they had passed over four of the
five miles without any incident.

They drew near the plateau another mile, and they saw the causeway over
Glycerine Creek. At last, through an opening in the wood, they saw the
horizon of the sea. But the wagon went on slowly, and none of its
defenders could leave it for a moment. Just then Pencroff stopped the
wagon and cried, fiercely,

“Ah, the wretches!”

And he pointed to a thick smoke which curled up from the mill, the
stables, and the buildings of the poultry-yard. In the midst of this
smoke a man was running about. It was Neb.

His companions uttered a cry. He heard them and rushed to meet them.

The convicts had abandoned the plateau half an hour before, after
having done all the mischief they could.

“And Mr. Herbert?” cried Neb.

Spilett went back to the wagon. Herbert had fainted.




CHAPTER LII.


HERBERT CARRIED TO GRANITE HOUSE—NEB RELATES WHAT HAD HAPPENED—VISIT OF
SMITH TO THE PLATEAU—RUIN AND DEVASTATION—THE COLONISTS HELPLESS—WILLOW
BARK—A MORTAL FEVER—TOP BARKS AGAIN.


The convicts, the dangers threatening Granite House, the ruin on the
plateau, none of these were thought of, in the present condition of
Herbert. It was impossible to say whether the transportation had
occasioned some internal rupture, but his companions were almost
hopeless.

The wagon had been taken to the bend of the river, and there the
mattress, on which lay the unconscious lad, was placed on a litter of
branches, and within a few minutes Herbert was lying on his bed in
Granite House. He smiled for a moment on finding himself again in his
chamber, and a few words escaped feebly from his lips. Spilett looked
at his wounds, fearing that they might have opened, but the cicatrices
were unbroken. What, then, was the cause of this prostration, or why
had his condition grown worse?

Soon the lad fell into a feverish sleep, and the reporter and Pencroff
watched beside him.

Meantime, Smith told Neb of all that had happened at the corral, and
Neb told his master of what had passed at the plateau.

It was not until the previous night that the convicts had shown
themselves beyond the edge of the forest, near Glycerine Creek. Neb,
keeping watch near the poultry-yard, had not hesitated to fire at one
of them who was crossing the bridge; but he could not say with what
result. At least, it did not disperse the band, and Neb had but just
time to climb up into Granite House, where he, at least, would be safe.

But what was the next thing to do? How prevent the threatened
devastation to the plateau? How could he inform his master? And,
moreover, in what situation were the occupants of the corral?

Smith and his companions had gone away on the 11th inst., and here it
was the 29th. In that time all the information that Neb had received
was the disastrous news brought by Top. Ayrton gone, Herbert badly
wounded, the engineer, the reporter, and the sailor imprisoned in the
corral.

The poor negro asked himself what was to be done. Personally, he had
nothing to fear, as the convicts could not get into Granite House. But
the works, the fields, all the improvements, were at the mercy of the
pirates. Was it not best to let Smith know of the threatened danger?

Then Neb thought of employing Jup on this errand. He knew the
intelligence of the orang. Jup knew the word “corral.” It was not yet
daylight. The agile brute could slip through the woods unperceived. So
the negro wrote a note, which he fastened round Jup’s neck, and taking
the monkey to the door and unrolling a long cord, he repeated the
words:—

“Jup! Jup! To the corral! the corral!”

The animal understood him, and, seizing the cord, slid down to the
ground, and disappeared in the darkness.

“You did well, Neb, although In not forewarning us perhaps you would
have done better!” said Smith, thinking of Herbert, and how the
carrying him back had been attended with such serious results.

Neb finished his recital. The convicts had not shown themselves upon
the beach, doubtless fearing the inhabitants of Granite House, whose
number they did not know. But the plateau was open and unprotected by
Granite House. Here, therefore, they gave loose reins to their instinct
of depredation and destruction, and they had left but half-an-hour
before the colonists returned.

Neb had rushed from his retreat, and at the risk of being shot, he had
climbed to the plateau and had tried to put out the fire which was
destroying the inclosure to the poultry-yard. Ho was engaged in this
work when the others returned.

Thus the presence of the convicts was a constant menace to the
colonists, heretofore so happy, and they might expect the most
disastrous results from them.

Smith, accompanied by Neb, went to see for himself, the extent of the
injury done. He walked along by the Mercy and up the left bank without
seeing any trace of the convicts. It was likely that the latter had
either witnessed the return of the colonists, and had gone back to the
corral, now undefended, or that they had gone back to their camp to
await an occasion to renew the attack.

At present, however, all attempts to rid the island of these pests were
subject to the condition of Herbert.

The engineer and Neb reached the place. It was a scene of desolation.
Fields trampled; the harvest scattered; the stables and other buildings
burned; the frightened animals roaming at large over the plateau. The
fowls, which had sought refuge on the lake, were returning to their
accustomed place on its banks. Everything here would have to be done
over again.

The succeeding days were the saddest which the colonists had passed on
the island. Herbert became more and more feeble. He was in a sort of
stupor, and symptoms of delirium began to manifest themselves. Cooling
draughts were all the remedies at the disposition of the colonists.
Meantime, the fever became intermittent, and it was necessary to check,
it before it developed greater strength.

“To do this,” said Spilett, “we must have a febrifuge.”

“And we have neither cinchonia nor quinine,” answered the engineer.

“No, but we can make a substitute from the bark of the willow trees at
the lake.”

“Let us try it immediately,” replied Smith.

Indeed, willow bark has been partly considered succedaneous to
cinchonia, but since they had no means of extracting the salicin, the
bark must be used in its natural state.

Smith, therefore, cut some pieces of bark from a species of black
willow, and, reducing them to powder, this powder was given to Herbert
the same evening.

The night passed without incident. Herbert was somewhat delirious, but
the fever did not manifest itself. Pencroff became more hopeful, but
Spilett, who knew that the fever was intermittent, looked forward to
the next day with anxiety.

They noticed that during the apyrexy, Herbert seemed completely
prostrated, his head heavy, and subject to dizziness. Another alarming
symptom was a congestion of the liver, and soon a more marked delirium
manifested itself.

Spilett was overwhelmed by this new complication. He drew the engineer
aside and said to him:——

“It is a pernicious fever!”

“A pernicious fever!” cried Smith. “You must be mistaken, Spilett. A
pernicious fever never declares itself spontaneously; it must have a
germ.”

“I am not mistaken,” replied the reporter. “Herbert may have caught the
germ in the marshes. He has already had one attack; if another follows,
and we cannot prevent a third—he is lost!”

“But the willow bark?——”

“Is insufficient. And a third attack of pernicious fever, when one
cannot break it by means of quinine, is always mortal!”

Happily Pencroff had not heard this conversation. It would have driven
him wild.

Towards noon of the 7th, the second attack manifested itself. The
crisis was terrible. Herbert felt that he was lost! He stretched out
his arms towards Smith, towards Spilett, towards Pencroff! He did not
want to die! The scene was heartrending, and it became necessary to
take Pencroff away.

The attack lasted five hours. It was plain that the lad could not
support a third. The night was full of torture. In his delirium,
Herbert wrestled with the convicts; he called Ayrton; he supplicated
that mysterious being, that protector, who had disappeared but whose
image haunted him—then he fell into a profound prostration, and
Spilett, more than once, thought the poor boy was dead!

The next day passed with only a continuation of the lad’s feebleness.
His emaciated hands clutched the bed clothing. They continued giving
him doses of the willow powder, but the reporter anticipated no result
from it.

“If,” said he, “before to-morrow morning we cannot give him a more
powerful febrifuge than this, Herbert will die!”

The night came—doubtless the last night for this brave lad, so good, so
clever, whom all loved as their own child! The sole remedy against this
pernicious fever, the sole specific which could vanquish it, was not to
be found on Lincoln Island!

During the night Herbert became frightfully delirious. He recognized no
one. It was not even probable that he would live till morning. His
strength was exhausted. Towards 3 o’clock he uttered a frightful cry.
He was seized by a terrible convulsion. Neb, who was beside him,
rushed, frightened, into the adjoining chamber, where his companions
were watching.

At the same moment Top gave one of his strange barks.

All returned to the chamber and gathered round the dying lad, who
struggled to throw himself from the bed. Spilett, who held his arms,
felt his pulse slowly rising.

Five o’clock came. The sun’s rays shone into the chambers of Granite
House. A beautiful day, the last on earth for poor Herbert, dawned over
Lincoln Island.

A sunbeam crept on to the table beside the bed.

Suddenly Pencroff, uttering an exclamation, pointed to something on
that table.

It was a small oblong box, bearing these words:——

_Sulphate of quinine._




CHAPTER LIII.


AN INEXPLICABLE MYSTERY—HERBERT’S CONVALESCENCE—THE UNEXPLORED PARTS OF
THE ISLAND—PREPARATIONS FOR DEPARTURE—THE FIRST DAY—NIGHT—SECOND
DAY—THE KAURIS—CASSOWARIES—FOOTPRINTS IN THE SAND—ARRIVAL AT REPTILE
END.


Spilett took the box and opened it. It contained a white powder, which
he tasted. Its extreme bitterness was unmistakable. It was indeed that
precious alkaloid, the true anti-periodic.

It was necessary to administer it to Herbert without delay. How it came
there could be discussed later.

Spilett called for some coffee, and Neb brought a lukewarm infusion, in
which the reporter placed eighteen grains of quinine and gave the
mixture to Herbert to drink.

There was still time, as the third attack of the fever had not yet
manifested itself. And, indeed, it did not return. Moreover, every one
became hopeful. The mysterious influence was again about them, and that
too in a moment when they had despaired of its aid.

After a few hours, Herbert rested more quietly, and the colonists could
talk of the incident. The intervention of this unknown being was more
evident than ever, but how had he succeeded in getting in to Granite
House during the night? It was perfectly inexplicable, and, indeed, the
movements of this “genius of the island” were as mysterious as the
genius himself.

The quinine was administered to Herbert every three hours, and the next
day the lad was certainly better. It is true he was not out of danger,
since these fevers are often followed by dangerous relapses; but, then,
here was the specific, and, doubtless, not far off, the one who had
brought it. In two days more Herbert became convalescent. He was still
feeble, but there had been no relapse, and he cheerfully submitted to
the rigorous diet imposed upon, him. He was so anxious to get well.

Pencroff was beside himself with joy. After the critical period had
been safely passed he seized the reporter in his arms, and called him
nothing but Doctor Spilett.

But the true physician was still to be found.

““We will find him!” said the sailor.

The year 1867, during which the colonists had been so hardly beset,
came to an end, and the new year began with superb weather. A fine
warmth, a tropical temperature, moderated by the sea breeze. Herbert’s
bed was drawn close to the window, where he could inhale long draughts
of the salt, salubrious air. His appetite began to return, and what
tempting savory morsels Neb prepared for him!

“It made one wish to be ill,” said Pencroff.

During this time the convicts had not shown themselves, neither was
there any news of Ayrton. The engineer and Herbert still hoped to get
him back, but the others thought that the unhappy man had succumbed. In
a month’s time, when the lad should have regained his strength, the
important search would be undertaken, and all these questions set at
rest.

During January the work on the plateau consisted simply in collecting
the grain and vegetables undestroyed in the work of devastation, and
planting some for a late crop during the next season. Smith preferred
to wait till the island was rid of the convicts before he repaired the
damage to the mill, poultry-yard, and stable.

In the latter part of the month Herbert began to take some exercise. He
was eighteen years old, his constitution was splendid, and from this
moment the improvement in his condition was visible daily.

By the end of the month he walked on the shore and over the plateau,
and strengthened himself with sea-baths. Smith felt that the day for
the exploration could be set, and the 15th of February was chosen. The
nights at this season were very clear, and would, therefore, be
advantageous to the search.

The necessary preparations were begun. These were important, as the
colonists had determined not to return to Granite House until their
double end had been obtained—to destroy the convicts and find Ayrton,
if he was still alive; and to discover the being who presided so
efficiently over the destinies of the colony.

The colonists were familiar with all the eastern coast of the island
between Claw Cape and the Mandibles; with Tadorn’s Fens; the
neighborhood of Lake Grant; the portion of Jacamar Wood lying between
the road to the corral and the Mercy; the courses of the Mercy and Red
Creek, and those spurs of Mount Franklin where the corral was located.

They had partially explored the long sweep of Washington Bay from Claw
Cape to Reptile End; the wooded and marshy shore of the west coast, and
the interminable downs which extended to the half-open mouth of Shark
Gulf.

But they were unacquainted with the vast woods of Serpentine Peninsula;
all the right bank of the Mercy; the left bank of Fall River, and the
confused mass of ravines and ridges which covered three-fourths of the
base of Mount Franklin on the west, north, and east, and where,
doubtless, there existed deep recesses. Therefore, many thousands of
acres had not yet been explored.

It was decided that the expedition should cross the Forest of the Far
West, in such a manner as to go over all that part situated on the
right of the Mercy. Perhaps it would have been better to have gone at
once to the corral, where it was probable the convicts had either
pillaged the place or installed themselves there. But either the
pillage was a work accomplished or the convicts had purposed to
entrench themselves there, and it would always be time to dislodge
them.

So the first plan was decided upon, and it was resolved to cut a road
through these woods, placing Granite House in communication with the
end of the peninsula, a distance of sixteen or seventeen miles.

The wagon was in perfect order. The onagers, well rested, were in
excellent condition for a long pull. Victuals, camp utensils, and the
portable stove, were loaded into the wagon, together with a careful
selection of arms and ammunition.

No one was left in Granite House; even Top and Jup took part in the
expedition. The inaccessible dwelling could take care of itself.

Sunday, the day before the departure, was observed as a day of rest and
prayer, and on the morning of the 15th Smith took the measures
necessary to defend Granite House from invasion. The ladders were
carried to the Chimneys and buried there, the basket of the elevator
was removed, and nothing left of the apparatus. Pencroff, who remained
behind in Granite House, saw to this latter, and then slid down to the
ground by means of a double cord which, dropped to the ground, severed
the last connection between the entrance and the shore.

The weather was superb.

“It is going to be a warm day,” said the reporter, joyfully.

“But, Doctor Spilett,” said Pencroff, “our road is under the trees, and
we will never see the sun!”

“Forward!” said the engineer.

The wagon was ready on the bank. The reporter insisted on Herbert
taking a seat in it, at least for the first few hours. Neb walked by
the onagers. Smith, the reporter, and the sailor went on ahead. Top
bounded off into the grass; Jup took a seat beside Herbert, and the
little party started.

The wagon went up the left bank of the Mercy, across the bridge, and
there, leaving the route to Balloon Harbor to the left, the explorers
began to make a way through the forest.

For the first two miles, the trees grew sufficiently apart to permit
the wagon to proceed easily, without any other obstacle than here and
there a stump or some bushes to arrest their progress. The thick
foliage made a cool shadow over the ground. Birds and beasts were
plenty, and reminded the colonists of their early excursions on the
island.

“Nevertheless,” remarked Smith, “I notice that the animals are more
timid than formerly. These woods have been recently traversed by the
convicts, and we shall certainly find their traces.”

And, indeed, in many places, they saw where a party of men had passed,
or built a fire, but in no one place was there a definite camp.

The engineer had charged his companions to abstain from hunting, so as
not to make the convicts aware of their presence by the sound of
firearms.

In the afternoon, some six miles from Granite House, the advance became
very difficult, and they had to pass certain thickets, into which Top
and Jup were sent as skirmishers.

The halt for the night was made, nine miles from Granite House, on the
bank of a small affluent to the Mercy, of whose existence they had been
unaware. They had good appetites, and all made a hearty supper, after
which the camp was carefully organized, in order to guard against a
surprise from the convicts. Two of the colonists kept guard together in
watches of two hours, but Herbert, in spite of his wishes, was not
allowed to do duty.

The night passed without incident. The silence was unbroken save by the
growling of jaguars and the chattering of monkeys, which seemed
particularly to annoy Jup.

The next day, they were unable to accomplish more than six miles. Like
true “frontiersmen,” the colonists avoided the large trees and cut down
only the smaller ones, so that their road was a winding one.

During the day Herbert discovered some specimens of the tree ferns,
with vase-shaped leaves, and the algarobabeau (St. John’s bread), which
the onagers eat greedily. Splendid kauris, disposed in groups, rose to
a height of two hundred feet, their cylindrical trunks surmounted by a
crown of verdure.

As to fauna, they discovered no new specimens, but they saw, without
being able to approach them, a couple of large birds, such as are
common in Australia, a sort of cassowary, called emus, which were five
feet high, of brown plumage, and belonged to the order of runners. Top
tried his best to catch them, but they outran him easily, so great was
their speed.

The colonists again found traces of the convicts. Near a
recently-extinguished fire they found footprints, which they examined
with great attention. By measuring these tracks they were able to
determine the presence of five men. The five convicts had evidently
camped here; but—and they made minute search—they could not discover a
sixth track, which would have been that of Ayrton.

“Ayrton is not with them!” said Herbert.

“No,” replied Pencroff, “the wretches have shot him.” But they must
have a den, to which we can track them.”

“No,” replied the reporter. “It is more likely that they intend to camp
about in places, after this manner, until they become masters of the
island.”

“Masters of the island!” cried the sailor. “Masters of the island,
indeed” he repeated in a horrified voice. Then he added:——

“The ball in my gun is the one which wounded Herbert and it will do its
errand!”

But this just reprisal would not restore Ayrton to life, and the only
conclusion to be drawn, from the footprints was that they would never
see him again!

That evening the camp was made fourteen miles front Granite House, and
Smith estimated that it was still five miles to Reptile End.

The next day this point was reached, and the full length of the forest
had been traversed; but nothing indicated the retreat of the convicts,
nor the asylum of the mysterious unknown.




CHAPTER LIV.


EXPLORATION OF REPTILE END—CAMP AT THE MOUTH OF FALL RIVER—BY THE
CORRAL—THE RECONNOISSANCE—THE RETURN—FORWARD—AN OPEN DOOR—A LIGHT IN
THE WINDOW—BY MOONLIGHT.


The next day, the 18th, was devoted to an exploration of the wooded
shore lying between Reptile End and Fall River. The colonists were
searching through the heart of the forest, whose width, bounded by the
shores of the promontory, was from three to four miles. The trees, by
their size and foliage, bore witness to the richness of the soil, more
productive here than in any other portion of the island. It seemed as
if a portion of the virgin forests of America or Central Africa had
been transported here. It seemed, also, as if these superb trees found
beneath the soil, moist on its surface, but heated below by volcanic
fires, a warmth not belonging to a temperate climate. The principal
trees, both in number and size, were the kauris and eucalypti.

But the object of the colonists was not to admire these magnificent
vegetables. They knew already that, in this respect, their island
merited a first place in the Canaries, called, formerly, the Fortunate
Isles. But, alas! their island no longer belonged to them alone; others
had taken possession, wretches whom it was necessary to destroy to the
last man.

On the west coast they found no further traces of any kind.

“This does not astonish me,” said Smith. “The convicts landed near
Jetsam Point, and, after having crossed Tadorn’s Fens, they buried
themselves in the forests of the Far West. They took nearly the same
route which we have followed. That explains the traces we have seen in
the woods. Arrived upon the shore, the convicts saw very clearly that
it offered no convenient shelter, and it was then, on going towards the
north, that they discovered the corral—”

“Where they may have returned,” said Pencroff.

“I do not think so,” answered the engineer, “as they would judge that
our searches would be in that direction. The corral is only a
provisional and not a permanent retreat for them.”

“I think so, too,” said the reporter, “and, further, that they have
sought a hiding place among the spurs of Mount Franklin.”

“Then let us push on to the corral!” cried Pencroff. “An end must be
put to this thing, and we are only losing time here.”

“No, my friend,” replied the engineer.

“You forget that we are interested in determining whether the forests
of the Far West do not shelter some habitation. Our exploration has a
double end, Pencroff; to punish crime and to make a discovery.”

“That is all very well, sir,” replied the sailor, “but I have an idea
that we will not discover our friend unless he chooses!”

Pencroff had expressed the opinion of the others as well as his own. It
was, indeed, probable that the retreat of the unknown being was no less
mysterious than his personality.

This evening the wagon halted at the mouth of Fall River. The
encampment was made in the usual way, with the customary precautions.
Herbert had recovered his former strength by this march in the fresh
salt air, and his place was no longer on the wagon, but at the head of
the line.

On the 19th, the colonists left the shore and followed up the left bank
of Fall River. The route was already partially cleared, owing to the
previous excursions made from the corral to the west coast. They
reached a place six miles from Mount Franklin.

The engineer’s project was to observe with great care all the valley
through which flowed the river, and to work cautiously up to the
corral. If they should find it occupied, they were to secure it by main
force, but if it should be empty, it was to be used as the point from
which the explorations of Mount Franklin would be made.

The road was through a narrow valley, separating two of the most
prominent spurs of Mount Franklin. The trees grew closely together on
the banks of the river, but were more scattered on the upper slopes.
The ground was very much broken, affording excellent opportunities for
an ambush, so that it was necessary to advance with great caution. Top
and Jup went ahead, exploring the thickets on either hand, but nothing
indicated either the presence or nearness of the convicts, or that
these banks had been recently visited.

About 5 o’clock the wagon halted 600 paces from the enclosure, hidden
by a curtain of tall trees.

It was necessary to reconnoitre the place, in order to find out whether
it was occupied, but to do this in the day-time was to run the risk of
being shot; nevertheless Spilett wanted to make the experiment at once,
and Pencroff, out of all patience, wanted to go with him. But Smith
would not permit it.

“No, my friends,” said he, “wait until nightfall. I will not allow one
of you to expose yourselves in the daylight.”

“But, sir,”—urged the sailor, but little disposed to obey.

“Pray do not go, Pencroff,” said the engineer.

“All right,” said the sailor. But he gave vent to his anger by calling
the convicts everything bad that he could think of.

The colonists remained about the wagon, keeping a sharp lookout in the
adjoining parts of the forest.

Three hours passed in this manner. The wind fell, and absolute silence
reigned over everything. The slightest sound—the snapping of a twig, a
step on the dry leaves—could easily have been heard. But all was quiet.
Top rested with his head between his paws, giving no sign of
inquietude.

By 8 o’clock the evening was far enough advanced for the reconnoissance
to be undertaken, and Spilett and Pencroff set off alone. Top and Jup
remained behind with the others, as it was necessary that no bark or
cry should give the alarm.

“Do not do anything imprudently,” urged Smith. “Remember, you are not
to take possession of the corral, but only to find out whether it is
occupied or not.”

“All right,” answered Pencroff.

The two set out, advancing with the greatest caution. Under the trees,
the darkness was such as to render objects, thirty or forty paces
distant, invisible. Five minutes after having left the wagon they
reached the edge of the opening, at the end of which rose the fence of
the enclosure. Here they halted. Some little light still illuminated
the glade. Thirty paces distant was the gate of the corral, which
seemed to be closed. These thirty paces which it was necessary to cross
constituted, to use a ballistic expression, the dangerous zone, as a
shot from the palisade would certainly have killed any one venturing
himself within this space,

Spilett and the sailor were not men to shirk danger, but they knew that
any imprudence of theirs would injure their companions as well as
themselves. If they were killed what would become of the others?

Nevertheless, Pencroff was so excited in finding himself again close to
the corral that he would have hurried forward had not the strong hand
of Spilett detained him. “In a few minutes it will be dark,” whispered
the reporter.

Pencroff grasped his gun nervously, and waited unwillingly.

Very soon the last rays of light disappeared. Mount Franklin loomed
darkly against the western sky, and the night fell with the rapidity
peculiar to these low latitudes. Now was the time.

The reporter and Pencroff, ever since their arrival on the edge of the
wood, had watched the corral. It seemed to be completely deserted. The
upper edge of the palisade was in somewhat stronger relief than the
surrounding shades, and nothing broke its outlines. Nevertheless, if
the convicts were there, they must have posted one of their number as a
guard.

Spilett took the hand of his companion, and crept cautiously forward to
the gate of the corral. Pencroff tried to push it open, but it was, as
they had supposed, fastened. But the sailor discovered that the outer
bars were not in place. They, therefore, concluded that the convicts
were within, and had fastened the gate so that it could only be broken
open.

They listened. No sound broke the silence. The animals were doubtless
sleeping in their sheds. Should they scale the fence? It was contrary
to Smith’s instructions. They might be successful or they might fail.
And, if there was now a chance of surprising the convicts, should they
risk that chance in this way?

The reporter thought not. He decided that it would be better to wait
until they were all together before making the attempt. Two things were
certain, that they could reach the fence unseen, and that the place
seemed unguarded.

Pencroff, probably, agreed to this, for he returned with the reporter
to the wood, and a few minutes later Smith was informed of the
situation.

“Well,” said he after reflecting for a moment, “I don’t think that the
convicts are here.”

“We will find out when we have climbed in.” cried Pencroff.

“To the corral, my friends.”

“Shall we leave the wagon in the wood?” cried Neb.

“No,” said Smith, “it may serve as a defense in case of need.”

The wagon issued from the wood and rolled noiselessly over the ground.
The darkness and the silence were profound. The colonists kept their
guns in readiness to fire. Jup kept behind, at Pencroff’s order, and
Neb held Top.

Soon the dangerous zone was crossed, and the wagon was drawn up beside
the fence. Neb stood at the head of the onagers to keep them quiet, and
the others went to the gate to determine if it was barricaded on the
inside.

One of its doors was open!

“What did you tell us?” exclaimed the engineer, turning to the sailor
and Spilett.

They were stupefied with amazement.

“Upon my soul,” cried the sailor, “It was shut a minute ago!”

The colonists hesitated. The convicts must have been in the corral when
Pencroff and the reporter had made their reconnoissance; for the gate
could only have been opened by them. Were they still there?

At this moment, Herbert, who had ventured some steps within the
inclosure, rushed back and seized Smith’s hand.

“What have you seen?” asked the engineer.

“A light!”

“In the house?”

“Yes, sir.”

All went forward and saw a feeble ray of light trembling through the
windows of the building.

Smith determined what to do at once.

“It is a fortunate chance, finding the convicts shut up in this house
not expecting anything! They are ours! Come on!”

The wagon was left under charge of Top and Jup, and the colonists
glided into the enclosure. In a few moments they were before the closed
door of the house.

Smith, making a sign to his companions not to move, approached the
window. He looked into the one room which formed the lower story of the
building. On the table was a lighted lantern, Near by was Ayrton’s bed.
On it was the body of a man.

Suddenly, Smith uttered a stiffled exclamation.

“Ayrton!” he cried.

And, at once, the door was rather forced than opened, and all rushed
into the chamber.

Ayrton seemed to be sleeping. His face showed marks of long and cruel
suffering. His wrists and ankles were much bruised.

Smith leaned over him.

“Ayrton!” cried the engineer, seizing in his arms this man found so
unexpectedly.

Ayrton opened his eyes, and looked first at Smith, then at the others.

“You! Is it you?” he cried.

“Ayrton! Ayrton!” repeated the engineer.

“Where am I?”

“In the corral.”

“Am I alone?”

“Yes.”

“Then they will come here!” cried Ayrton. “Look out for yourselves!
Defend yourselves!” and he fell back, fainting.

“Spilett,” said the engineer, “We may be attacked at any minute. Bring
the wagon inside the enclosure, and bar the gate, and then come back
here.”

Pencroff, Neb, and the reporter hastened to execute the orders of the
engineer. There was not an instant to be lost. Perhaps the wagon was
already in the hands of the convicts!

In a moment the reporter and his companions had gained the gate of the
enclosure, behind which they heard Top growling.

The engineer, leaving Ayrton for a moment, left the house, and held his
gun in readiness to fire. Herbert was beside him. Both scrutinized the
outline of the mountain spur overlooking the corral. If the convicts
were hidden in that place they could pick off the colonists one after
the other.

Just then the moon appeared in the east above the black curtain of the
forest, throwing a flood of light over the interior of the corral, and
bringing into relief the trees, the little water-course, and the grassy
carpet. Towards the mountain, the house and a part of the palisade
shone white; opposite it, towards the gate, the fence was in shadow.

A black mass soon showed itself. It was the wagon entering within the
circle of light, and Smith could hear the sound of the gate closing and
being solidly barricaded by his companions.

But at that moment Top, by a violent effort, broke his fastening, and,
barking furiously, rushed to the extremity of the corral to the right
of the house.

“Look out, my friends, be ready!” cried Smith.

The colonists waited, with their guns at the shoulder. Top continued to
bark, and Jup, running towards the dog, uttered sharp cries.

The colonists, following him, came to the border of the little brook,
overshadowed by large trees.

And there, in the full moonlight, what did they see?

Five corpses lay extended upon the bank!

They were the bodies of the convicts, who, four months before, had
landed upon Lincoln Island.




CHAPTER LV.


AYRTON’S RECITAL—PLANS OF HIS OLD COMRADES—TAKING POSSESSION OF THE
CORRAL—THE RULES OF THE ISLAND—THE GOOD LUCK—RESEARCHES ABOUT MOUNT
FRANKLIN—THE UPPER VALLEYS —SUBTERRANEAN RUMBLINGS—PENCROFF’S ANSWER—AT
THE BOTTOM OF THE CRATER-THE RETURN


How had it happened? Who had killed the convicts? Ayrton? No, since the
moment before he had feared their return!

But Ayrton was now in a slumber from which it was impossible to arouse
him. After he had spoken these few words, he had fallen back upon his
bed, seized by a sudden torpor.

The colonists, terribly excited, preyed upon by a thousand confused
thoughts, remained all night in the house. The next morning Ayrton
awoke from his sleep, and his companions demonstrated to him their joy
at finding him safe and sound after all these months of separation.

Then Ayrton related in a few words all that had happened.

The day after his return to the corral, the 10th of November, just at
nightfall, he had been surprised by the convicts, who had climbed over
the fence. He was tied and gagged and taken to a dark cavern at the
foot of Mount Franklin, where the convicts had a retreat.

His death had been resolved upon, and he was to be killed the following
day, when one of the convicts recognized him and called him by the name
he had borne in Australia. These wretches, who would have massacred
Ayrton, respected Ben Joyce.

From this moment Ayrton was subjected to the importunities of his old
comrades. They wished to gain him over to them, and they counted upon
him to take Granite House, to enter that inaccessible dwelling, and to
become masters of the island, after having killed the colonists.

Ayrton resisted. The former convict, repentant and pardoned, would
rather die than betray his companions.

For four months, fastened, gagged, watched, he had remained in this
cavern.

Meanwhile the convicts lived upon the stock in the corral, but did not
inhabit the place.

On the 11th of November, two of these bandits, inopportunely surprised
by the arrival of the colonists, fired on Herbert, and one of them
returned boasting of having killed one of the inhabitants. His
companion, as we know, had fallen at Smith’s hand.

One can judge of Ayrton’s despair, when he heard of Herbert’s death! It
left but four of the colonists, almost at the mercy of the convicts!

Following this event, and during all the time that the colonists,
detained by Herbert’s illness, remained at the corral, the pirates did
not leave their cave; indeed, after having pillaged Prospect Plateau,
they did not deem it prudent to leave it.

The bad treatment of Ayrton was redoubled. His hands and feet still
bore the red marks of the lines with which he remained bound, day and
night. Each moment he expected to be killed.

This was the third week in February. The convicts, awaiting a favorable
opportunity, rarely left their retreat, and then only to a point in the
interior or on the west coast. Ayrton had no news of his friends, and
no hopes of seeing them again.

Finally, the poor unfortunate, enfeebled by bad treatment, fell in a
profound prostration in which he neither saw nor heard anything. From
this moment, he could not say what had happened.

“But, Mr. Smith,” he added, “since I was imprisoned in this cavern, how
is it that I am here?”

“How is that the convicts are lying there, dead, in the middle of the
corral?” answered the engineer.

“Dead!” cried Ayrton, half rising, notwithstanding his feebleness. His
companions assisted him to get up, and all went to the little brook.

It was broad daylight. There on the shore, in the position in which
they had met their deaths, lay the five convicts.

Ayrton was astounded. The others looked on without speaking. Then, at a
sign from Smith, Neb and Pencroff examined the bodies. Not a wound was
visible upon them. Only after minute search, Pencroff perceived on the
forehead of one, on the breast of another, on this one’s back, and on
the shoulder of a fourth, a small red mark, a hardly visible bruise,
made by some unknown instrument.

“There is where they have been hit!” said Smith.

“But with what sort of a weapon?” cried the reporter.

“A destructive weapon enough, though unknown to us!”

“And who has destroyed them?” asked Pencroff.

“The ruler of the island,” answered Smith, “he who has brought you
here, Ayrton, whose influence is again manifesting itself, who does for
us what we are unable to do for ourselves, and who then hides from us.”

“Let us search for him!” cried Pencroff.

“Yes, we will search,” replied Smith; “but the being who accomplishes
such prodigies will not be found until it pleases him to call us to
him!”

This invisible protection, which nullified their own actions, both
annoyed and affected the engineer. The relative inferiority in which it
placed him wounded his pride. A generosity which so studiously eluded
all mark of recognition denoted a sort of disdain for those benefited,
which, in a measure, detracted from the value of the gift.

“Let us search,” he repeated, “and Heaven grant that some day we be
permitted to prove to this haughty protector that he is not dealing
with ingrates! What would I not give to be able, in our turn, to repay
him, and to render him, even at the risk of our lives, some signal
service!”

From this time, this search was the single endeavor of the inhabitants
of Lincoln Island. All tried to discover the answer to this enigma, an
answer which involved the name of a man endowed with an inexplicable,
an almost superhuman power.

In a short time, the colonists entered the house again, and their
efforts soon restored Ayrton to himself. Neb and Pencroff carried away
the bodies of the convicts and buried them in the wood. Then, Ayrton
was informed by the engineer of all that had happened during his
imprisonment.

“And now,” said Smith, finishing his recital, “we have one thing more
to do. Half of our task is accomplished; but if the convicts are no
longer to be feared, we did not restore ourselves to the mastership of
the island!”

“Very well,” replied Spilett, “let us search all the mazes of Mount
Franklin. Let us leave no cavity, no hole unexplored! Ah! if ever a
reporter found himself in the presence of an exciting mystery. I am in
that position!”

“And we will not return to Granite House,” said Herbert, “until we have
found our benefactor.”

“Yes,” said Smith, “we will do everything that is possible for human
beings to do—but, I repeat it, we will not find him till he wills it.”

“Shall we stay here at the corral?” asked Pencroff.

“Yes,” replied the engineer, “let us remain here. Provisions are
abundant, and we are in the centre of our circle of investigation, and,
moreover, if it is necessary, the wagon can go quickly to Granite
House.”

“All right,” said Pencroff. “Only one thing.”

“What is that?”

“Why, the fine weather is here, and we must not forget that we have a
voyage to make.”

“A voyage?” asked Spilett.

“Yes, to Tabor Island. We most put up a notice, indicating our island,
in case the Scotch yacht returns. Who knows that it is not already too
late?”

“But, Pencroff,” asked Ayrton, “how do you propose to make this
voyage?”

“Why, on the Good Luck!”

“The Good Luck!” cried Ayrton. “It’s gone!”

“Gone!” shouted Pencroff, springing to his feet.

“Yes. The convicts discovered where the sloop lay, and, a week ago,
they put out to sea in her, and—”

“And?” said Pencroff, his heart trembling.

“And, not having Harvey to manage her, they ran her upon the rocks, and
she broke all to pieces!”

“Oh! the wretches! the pirates! the devils!” exclaimed the sailor.

“Pencroff,” said Herbert, taking his hand, “we will build another, a
larger Good Luck. We have all the iron, all the rigging of the brig at
our disposal!”

“But, do you realize,” answered Pencroff, “that it will take at least
five or six months to build a vessel of thirty or forty tons.”

“We will take our time,” replied the reporter, “and we will give up our
voyage to Tabor Island for this year.”

“We must make the best of it, Pencroff,” said the engineer, “and I hope
that this delay will not be prejudicial to us.”

“My poor Good Luck! my poor boat!” exclaimed the sailor, half
broken-hearted at the loss of what was so dear to him.

The destruction of the sloop was a thing much to be regretted, and it
was agreed that this loss must be repaired as soon as the search was
ended.

This search was begun the same day, the 19th of February, and lasted
throughout the week. The base of the mountain was composed of a perfect
labyrinth of ravines and gorges, and it was here that the explorations
must be made. No other part of the island was so well suited to hide an
inhabitant who wished to remain concealed. But so great was the
intricacy of these places that Smith explored them by a settled system.

In the first place, the colonists visited the valley opening to the
south of the volcano, in which Fall River rose. Here was where Ayrton
showed them the cavern of the convicts. This place was in exactly the
same condition as Ayrton had left it. They found here a quantity of
food and ammunition left there as a reserve by the convicts.

All this beautiful wooded valley was explored with great care, and
then, the south-western spur having been turned, the colonists searched
a narrow gorge where the trees were less numerous. Here the stones took
the place of grass, and the wild goats and moufflons bounded among the
rocks. The arid part of the island began at this part. They saw already
that, of the numerous valleys ramifying from the base of Mount
Franklin, three only, bounded on the west by Fall River and on the east
by Red Creek, were as rich and fertile as the valley of the corral.
These two brooks, which developed into rivers as they progressed,
received the whole of the mountain’s southern water-shed and fertilized
that portion of it. As to the Mercy it was more directly fed by
abundant springs, hidden in Jacamar Wood.

Now any one of these three valleys would have answered for the retreat
of some recluse, who would have found there all the necessaries of
life. But the colonists had explored each of them without detecting the
presence of man. Was it then at the bottom of these arid gorges, in the
midst of heaps of rocks, in the rugged ravines to the north, between
the streams of lava, that they would find this retreat and its
occupant?

The northern part of Mount Franklin had at its base two large, arid
valleys strewn with lava, sown with huge rocks, sprinkled with pieces
of obsidian and labradorite. This part required long and difficult
exploration. Here were a thousand cavities, not very comfortable,
perhaps, but completely hidden and difficult of access. The colonists
visited sombre tunnels, made in the plutonic epoch, still blackened by
the fires of other days, which plunged into the heart of the mountain.
They searched these dark galleries by the light of torches, peering
into their least excavations and sounding their lowest depths. But
everywhere was silence, obscurity. It did not seem as if any human
being had ever trodden these antique corridors or an arm displaced one
of these stones.

Nevertheless, if these places were absolutely deserted, if the
obscurity was complete, Smith was forced to notice that absolute
silence did not reign there.

Having arrived at the bottom of one of those sombre cavities, which
extended several hundred feet into the interior of the mountain, he was
surprised to hear deep muttering sounds which were intensified by the
sonority of the rocks.

Spilett, who was with him, also heard these distant murmurs, which
indicated an awakening of the subterranean fires.

Several times they listened, and they came to the conclusion that some
chemical reaction was going on in the bowels of the earth.

“The volcano is not entirely extinct,” said the reporter.

“It is possible that, since our exploration of the crater, something
has happened in its lower regions. All volcanoes, even those which are
said to be extinct, can, evidently, become active again.”

“But if Mount Franklin is preparing for another eruption, is not
Lincoln Island in danger?”

“I don’t think so,” answered the engineer, “The crater, that is to say,
the safety-valve, exists, and the overflow of vapors and lavas will
escape, as heretofore, by its accustomed outlet.”

“Unless the lavas make a new passage towards the fertile parts of the
island.”

“Why, my dear Spilett, should they not follow their natural course?”

“Well, volcanoes are capricious.”

“Notice,” said Smith, “that all the slope of the mountain favors the
flow of eruptive matter towards the valleys which we are traversing at
present. It would take an earthquake to so change the centre of gravity
of the mountain as to modify this slope.”

“But an earthquake is always possible under these conditions.”

“True,” replied the engineer, “especially when the subterranean forces
are awakening, and the bowels of the earth, after a long repose, chance
to be obstructed. You are right, my dear Spilett, an eruption would be
a serious thing for us, and it would be better if this volcano has not
the desire to wake up; but we can do nothing. Nevertheless, in any
case, I do not think Prospect Plateau could be seriously menaced.
Between it and the lake there is quite a depression in the land, and
even if the lavas took the road to the lake, they would be distributed
over the downs and the parts adjoining Shark Gulf.”

“We have not yet seen any smoke from the summit, indicating a near
eruption,” said Spilett.

“No,” answered the engineer, “not the least vapor has escaped from the
crater. It was but yesterday that I observed its upper part. But it is
possible that rocks, cinders, and hardened lavas have accumulated in
the lower part of its chimney, and, for the moment, this safety-valve
is overloaded. But, at the first serious effort, all obstacles will
disappear, and you may be sure, my dear Spilett, that neither the
island, which is the boiler, nor the volcano, which is the valve, will
burst under the pressure. Nevertheless, I repeat, it is better to wish
for no eruption.”

“And yet we are not mistaken,” replied the reporter. “We plainly hear
ominous rumblings in the depths of the volcano!”

“No,” replied the engineer, after listening again with the utmost
attention, “that is not to be mistaken. Something is going on there the
importance of which cannot be estimated nor what the result will be.”

Smith and Spilett, on rejoining their companions, told them of these
things.

“All right!” cried Pencroff. “This volcano wants to take care of us!
But let it try! It will find its master!”

“Who’s that?” asked the negro.

“Our genius, Neb, our good genius, who will put a gag in the mouth of
the crater if it attempts to open it.”

The confidence of the sailor in the guardian of the island was
absolute, and, indeed, the occult power which had so far been
manifested seemed limitless; but, thus far this being had escaped all
the efforts the colonists had made to discover him.

From the 19th to the 25th of February, the investigations were
conducted in the western portion of Lincoln Island, where the most
secret recesses were searched. They even sounded each rocky wall, as
one knocks against the walls of a suspected house. The engineer went so
far as to take the exact measure of the mountain, and he pushed his
search to the last strata sustaining it. It was explored to the summit
of the truncated cone which rose above the first rocky level, and from
there to the upper edge of the enormous cap at the bottom of which
opened the crater.

They did more; they visited the gulf, still extinct, but in whose
depths the rumblings were distinctly heard. Nevertheless, not a smoke,
not a vapor, no heat in the wall, indicated a near eruption. But
neither there, nor in any other part of Mount Franklin, did the
colonists find the traces of him whom they sought.

Their investigations were then directed over all the tract of downs.
They carefully examined the high lava walls of Shark Gulf from base to
summit, although it was very difficult to reach the water level. No
one! Nothing!

These two words summed up in brief the result of all the useless
fatigues Smith and his companions had been at, and they were a trifle
annoyed at their ill success.

But it was necessary now to think of returning, as these researches
could not be pursued indefinitely. The colonists were convinced that
this mysterious being did not reside upon the surface of the island,
and strange thoughts floated through their over-excited imaginations;
Neb and Pencroff, particularly, went beyond the strange into the region
of the supernatural. The 25th of February, the colonists returned to
Granite House, and by means of the double cord, shot by an arrow to the
door-landing, communication was established with their domain.

One month later, they celebrated the third anniversary of their arrival
on Lincoln Island.




CHAPTER LVI.


AFTER THREE YEARS—THE QUESTION OF A NEW SHIP—ITS
DETERMINATION—PROSPERITY OF THE COLONY—THE SHIPYARD—THE COLD
WEATHER—PENCROFF RESIGNED—WASHING—MOUNT FRANKLIN.


Three years had passed since the prisoners had fled from Richmond, and
in all that time their conversation and their thoughts had been of the
fatherland.

They had no doubt that the war was ended, and that the North had
triumphed. But how? At what cost? What friends had fallen in the
struggle? They often talked of these things, although they had no
knowledge when they would be able to see that country again. To return,
if only for a few days; to renew their intercourse with civilization;
to establish a communication between their island and the mother
country, and then to spend the greater part of their lives in this
colony which they had founded and which would then be raised to a
metropolis, was this a dream which could not be realized?

There were but two ways of realizing it: either a ship would some day
show itself in the neighborhood of Lincoln Island, or the colonists
must themselves build a vessel staunch enough to carry them to the
nearest land.

“Unless our genius furnishes us with the means of returning home,” said
Pencroff.

And, indeed, if Neb and Pencroff had been told that a 300-ton ship was
waiting for them in Shark Gulf or Balloon Harbor, they would not have
manifested any surprise. In their present condition they expected every
thing.

But Smith, less confident, urged them to keep to realities, and to
build the vessel, whose need was urgent, since a paper should be placed
on Tabor Island as soon as possible, in order to indicate the new abode
of Ayrton.

The Good Luck was gone. It would take at least six mouths to build
another vessel, and, as winter was approaching, the voyage could not be
made before the next spring.

“We have time to prepare ourself for the fine weather,” said the
engineer, talking of these things with Pencroff. “I think, therefore,
since we have to build our own ship, it will be better to make her
dimensions greater than before. The arrival of the

Scotch yacht is uncertain. It may even have happened that it has come
and gone. What do you think? Would it not be better to build a vessel,
that, in case of need, could carry us to the archipelagoes or New
Zealand?”

“I think, sir, that you are as able to build a large vessel as a small
one. Neither wood nor tools are wanting. It is only a question of
time.”

“And how long would it take to build a ship of 250 or 300 tons?”

“Seven or eight months at least. But we must not forget that winter is
at hand, and that the timber will be difficult to work during the
severe cold. So, allowing for some weeks’ delay, you can be happy if
you have your ship by next November.”

“Very well, that will be just the season to undertake a voyage of some
length, be it to Tabor Island of further.”

“All right, Mr. Smith, make your plans. The workmen are ready, and I
guess that Ayrton will lend a helping hand.”

The engineer’s project met the approval of the colonists, and indeed it
was the best thing to do. It is true that it was a great undertaking,
but they had that confidence in themselves, which is one of the
elements of success.

While Smith was busy preparing the plans of the vessel, the others
occupied themselves in felling the trees and preparing the timber. The
forests of the Far West furnished the best oak and elm, which were
carried over the new road through the forest to the Chimneys, where the
ship-yard was established.

It was important that the timber should be cut soon, as it was
necessary to have it seasoning for some time. Therefore the workmen
worked vigorously during April, which was not an inclement month, save
for some violent wind storms. Jup helped them by his adroitness, either
in climbing to the top of a tree to fasten a rope, or by carrying loads
on his strong shoulders.

The timber was piled under a huge shed to await its use; and,
meanwhile, the work in the fields was pushed forward, so that soon all
traces of the devastation caused by the pirates had disappeared. The
mill was rebuilt, and a new inclosure for the poultry yard. This had to
be much larger than the former, as the number of its occupants had
increased largely. The stables contained five onagas, four of them well
broken, and one little colt. A plough had been added to the stock of
the colony, and the onagas were employed in tillage as if they were
Yorkshire or Kentucky cattle. All the colonists did their share, and
there were no idle hands. And thus, with good health and spirits, they
formed a thousand projects for the future.

Ayrton, of course, partook of the common existence, and spoke no longer
of returning to the corral. Nevertheless, he was always quiet and
uncommunicative, and shared more in the work than the pleasure of his
companions. He was a strong workman, vigorous, adroit, intelligent, and
he could not fail to see that he was esteemed and loved by the others.
But the corral was not abandoned. Every other day some one went there
and brought back the supply of milk for the colony, and these occasions
were also hunting excursions. So that, Herbert and Spilett, with Top in
advance, oftenest made the journey, and all kinds of game abounded in
the kitchen of Granite House. The products of the warren and the
oyster-bed, some turtles, a haul of excellent salmon, the vegetables
from the plateau, the natural fruits of the forest, were riches upon
riches, and Neb, the chief cook, found it difficult to store them all
away.

The telegraph had been repaired, and was used whenever one of the party
remained over night at the corral. But the island was secure now from
any aggression—at least from men.

Nevertheless, what had happened once might happen again, and a descent
of pirates was always to be feared. And it was possible that
accomplices of Harvey, still in Norfolk, might be privy to his projects
and seek to imitate them. Every day the colonists searched the horizon
visible from Granite House with the glass, and whenever they were at
the corral they examined the west coast. Nothing appeared, but they
were always on the alert.

One evening the engineer told his companions of a project to fortify
the corral. It seemed prudent to heighten the palisade, and to flank it
with a sort of block house, in which the colonists could defend
themselves against a host of enemies. Granite House, owing to its
position, was impregnable, and the corral would always be the objective
point of pirates.

About the 15th of May the keel of the new vessel was laid, and the stem
and stern posts raised. This keel was of oak, 110 feet long, and the
breadth of beam was 25 feet. But, with the exception of putting up a
couple of the frame pieces, this was all that could be done before the
bad weather and the cold set in.

During the latter part of the month the weather was very inclement.
Pencroff and Ayrton worked as long as they were able, but severely cold
weather following the rain made the wood impossible to handle, and by
the 10th of June the work was given up entirely, and the colonists were
often obliged to keep in-doors.

This confinement was hard for all of them, but especially so for
Spilett.

“I’ll tell you what, Neb,” he said, “I will give you everything I own
if you will get me a newspaper! All that I want to make me happy is to
know what is going on in the world!”

Neb laughed.

“Faith!” said he, “I am busy enough with my daily work.”

And, indeed, occupation was not wanting. The colony was at the summit
of prosperity. The accident to the brig had been a new source of
riches. Without counting a complete outfit of sails, which would answer
for the new ship, utensils and tools of all sorts, ammunition,
clothing, and instruments filled the store-rooms of Granite House.
There was no longer a necessity to manufacture cloth in the felting
mill. Linen, also, was plenty, and they took great care of it. From the
chloride of sodium Smith had easily extracted soda and chlorine. The
soda was easily transformed into carbonate of soda, and the chlorine
was employed for various domestic purposes, but especially for cleaning
the linen. Moreover, they made but four washings a year, as was the
custom in old times, and Pencroff and Spilett, while waiting for the
postman to bring the paper, made famous washermen!

Thus passed June, July, and August; very rigorous months, in which the
thermometer measured but 8° Fahrenheit. But a good fire burned in the
chimney of Granite House, and the superfluity of wood from the
ship-yard enabled them to economize the coal, which required a longer
carriage.

All, men and beasts, enjoyed good health. Jup, it is true, shivered a
little with the cold, and they had to make him a good wadded wrapper.
What servant he was! Adroit, zealous, indefatigable, not indiscreet,
not talkative. He was, indeed, a model for his biped brethren in the
New and the Old World!

“But, after all,” said Pencroff “when one has four hands, they cannot
help doing their work well!”

During the seven months that had passed since the exploration of the
mountain nothing had been seen or heard of the genius of the island.
Although, it is true, that nothing had happened to the colonists
requiring his assistance.

Smith noticed, too, that the growling of the dog and the anxiety of the
orang had ceased during this time. These two friends no longer ran to
the orifice of the well nor acted in that strange way which had
attracted the attention of the engineer. But did this prove that
everything had happened that was going to happen? That they were never
to find an answer to the enigma? Could it be affirmed that no new
conjunction of circumstances would make this mysterious personage
appear again? Who knows what the future may bring forth?

On the 7th of September, Smith, looking towards Mount Franklin, saw a
smoke rising and curling above the crater.




CHAPTER LVII.


THE AWAKENING OF THE VOLCANO—THE FINE WEATHER—RESUMPTION OF WORK—THE
EVENING OF THE 15TH OF OCTOBER—A TELEGRAPH—A DEMAND—AN ANSWER—DEPARTURE
FOR THE CORRAL—THE NOTICE—THE EXTRA WIRE—THE BASALT WALL—AT HIGH
TIDE—AT LOW TIDE—THE CAVERN—A DAZZLING LIGHT.


The colonists, called by Smith, had left their work, and gazed in
silence at the summit of Mount Franklin.

The volcano had certainly awakened, and its vapors had penetrated the
mineral matter of the crater, but no one could say whether the
subterranean fires would bring on a violent eruption.

But, even supposing an eruption, it was not likely that Lincoln Island
would suffer in every part. The discharges of volcanic matter are not
always disastrous. That the island had already been subjected to an
eruption was evident from the currents of lava spread over the western
slope of the mountain. Moreover, the shape of the crater was such as to
vomit matter in the direction away from the fertile parts of the
island.

Nevertheless, what had been was no proof of what would be. Often the
old craters of volcanoes close and new ones open. An earthquake
phenomenon, often accompanying volcanic action, may do this by changing
the interior arrangement of the mountain and opening new passages for
the incandescent lavas.

Smith explained these things to his companions, and without
exaggerating the situation, showed them just what might happen.

After all, they could do nothing. Granite House did not seem to be
menaced, unless by a severe earthquake. But all feared for the corral,
if any new crater opened in the mountain.

From this time the vapor poured from the cone without cessation, and,
indeed, increased in density and volume, although no flame penetrated
its thick folds. The phenomenon was confined, as yet, to the lower part
of the central chimney.

Meanwhile, with good weather, the work out of doors had been resumed.
They hastened the construction of the ship, and Smith established a
saw-mill at the waterfall, which cut the timber much more rapidly.

Towards the end of September the frame of the ship, which was to be
schooner-rigged, was so far completed that its shape could be
recognized. The schooner, sheer forward and wide aft, was well adapted
for a long voyage, in case of necessity, but the planking, lining, and
decking still demanded a long time before they could be finished.
Fortunately, the iron-work of the brig had been saved after the
explosion, and Pencroff and Ayrton had obtained a great quantity of
copper nails from the broken timber, which economized the labor for the
smiths; nevertheless the carpenters had much to accomplish.

Often, however, after the day’s work was ended, the colonists sat late
into the night, conversing together of the future and what might happen
in a voyage in the schooner to the nearest land. But in discussing
these projects they always planned to return to Lincoln Island. Never
would they abandon this colony, established with so much difficulty,
but so successfully, and which would receive a new development through
communication with America.

Pencroff and Neb, indeed, hoped to end their days here.

“Herbert,” asked the sailor, “you would never abandon Lincoln Island?”

“Never, Pencroff, especially if you made up your mind to remain.”

“Then, it’s agreed, my boy. I shall expect you! You will bring your
wife and children here, and I will make a jolly playmate for the
babies!”

“Agreed,” answered Herbert, laughing and blushing at the same time.

“And you, Mr. Smith,” continued the sailor, enthusiastically, “you will
always remain governor of the island! And, by the way, how many
inhabitants can the island support? Ten thousand, at the very least!”

They chatted in this way, letting Pencroff indulge in his whims, and
one thing leading to another, the reporter finished by founding the
_New Lincoln Herald_!

Thus it is with the spirit of man. The need of doing something
permanent, something which will survive him, is the sign of his
superiority over everything here below. It is that which has
established and justifies his domination over the whole world.

After all, who knows if Jup and Top had not their dream of the future?

Ayrton, silent, said to himself that he wanted to see Lord Glenarvan,
and show him the change in himself.

One evening, the 15th of October, the conversation was prolonged longer
than usual. It was 9 o’clock, and already, long, ill-concealed yawns
showed that it was bed-time. Pencroff was about starting in that
direction, when, suddenly, the electric bell in the hall rang.

Every one was present, so none of their party could be at the corral.

Smith rose. His companions looked as if they had not heard aright.

“What does he want?” cried Neb. “Is it the devil that’s ringing?”

No one replied.

“It is stormy weather,” said Herbert; “perhaps the electric
influence——”

Herbert did not finish the sentence. The engineer, towards whom all
were looking, shook his head.

“Wait a minute,” said Spilett. “If it is a signal, it will be
repeated.”

“But what do you think it is?” asked Neb.

“Perhaps it——”

The sailor’s words were interrupted by another ring.

Smith went to the apparatus, and, turning on the current, telegraphed
to the corral:——

“What do you want?”

A few minutes later the needle, moving over the lettered card, gave
this answer to the inmates of Granite House:—

“Come to the corral as quickly as possible.”

“At last!” cried Smith.

Yes! At last! The mystery was about to be solved! Before the strong
interest in what was at the corral, all fatigue and need of repose
vanished. Without saying a word, in a few minutes they were out of
Granite House and following the shore. Only Top and Jup remained
behind.

The night was dark. The moon, new this day, had set with the sun. Heavy
clouds obscured the stars, but now and then heat-lightning, the
reflection of a distant storm, illuminated the horizon.

But, great as the darkness was, it could not hinder persons as familiar
with the route as were the colonists. All were very much excited, and
walked rapidly. There could be no doubt that they were going to find
the answer to the engineer, the name of that mysterious being, who was
so generous in his influence, so powerful to accomplish! It could not
be doubted that this unknown had been familiar with the least detail of
their daily lives, that he overheard all that was said in Granite
House.

Each one, lost in his reflections, hurried onward. The darkness under
the trees was such that the route was invisible. There was no sound in
the forest. Not a breath of wind moved the leaves.

This silence during the first quarter of an hour was uninterrupted,
save by Pencroff, who said:——

“We should have brought a lantern.”

And by the engineer’s answer:——

“We will find one at the corral.”

Smith and his companions had left Granite House at twelve minutes past
9. In thirty-five minutes they had traversed three of the five miles
between the mouth of the Mercy and the corral.

Just then, brilliant flashes of lightning threw the foliage into strong
relief. The storm was evidently about to burst upon them. The flashes
became more frequent and intense. Heavy thunder rolled through the
heavens. The air was stifling.

The colonists rushed on, as if impelled by some irresistible force.

At a quarter past 9, a sudden flash showed them the outline of the
palisade; and scarcely had they passed the gateway when there came a
terrible clap of thunder. In a moment the corral was crossed, and Smith
stood before the house. It was possible that the unknown being was
here, since it was from this place that the telegraph had come.
Nevertheless, there was no light in the window.

The engineer knocked at the door, but without response.

He opened it, and the colonists entered the room, which was in utter
darkness.

A light was struck by Neb, and in a moment the lantern was lit, and its
light directed into every corner of the chamber.

No one was there, and everything remained undisturbed.

“Are we victims to a delusion?” murmured Smith.

No! that was impossible! The telegraph had certainly said:——

“Come to the corral quickly as possible.”

He went to the table on which the apparatus was arranged. Everything
was in place and in order.

“Who was here last?” asked the engineer.

“I, sir,” answered Ayrton.

“And that was——”

“Four days ago.”

“Ah! here is something!” exclaimed Herbert, pointing to a paper lying
on the table.

On the paper were these words, written in English:——

“Follow the new wire.”

“Come on!” cried Smith, who comprehended in a moment that the dispatch
had not been sent from the corral, but from the mysterious abode which
the new wire united directly with Granite House.

Neb took the lantern and all left the corral.

Then the storm broke forth with extreme violence. Flashes of lightning
and peals of thunder followed in rapid succession. The island was the
centre of the storm. By the flashes of lightning they could see the
summit of Mount Franklin enshrouded in smoke.

There were no telegraph poles inside the corral, but the engineer,
having passed the gate, ran to the nearest post, and saw there a new
wire fastened to the insulator, and reaching to the ground.

“Here it is!” he cried.

The wire lay along the ground, and was covered with some insulating
substance, like the submarine cables. By its direction it seemed as if
it went towards the west, across the woods, and the southern spurs of
the mountain.

“Let us follow it,” said Smith.

And sometimes by the light of the lantern, sometimes by the
illumination of the heavens, the colonists followed the way indicated
by the thread.

They crossed in the first place, the spur of the mountain between the
valley of the corral and that of Fall River, which stream was crossed
in its narrowest part. The wire, sometimes hanging on the lower
branches of the trees, sometimes trailing along the ground, was a sure
guide.

The engineer had thought that, perhaps, the wire would end at the
bottom of the valley, and that the unknown retreat was there.

But not so. It extended over the southwestern spur and descended to the
arid plateau which ended that fantastic wall of basalt. Every now and
then one or other of the party stooped and took the direction of the
wire. There could be no doubt that it ran directly to the sea. There,
doubtless, in some profound chasm in the igneous rocks, was the
dwelling so vainly sought for until now.

At a few minutes before 10, the colonists arrived upon the high coast
overhanging the ocean. Here the wire wound among the rocks, following a
steep slope down a narrow ravine.

The colonists followed it, at the risk of bringing down upon themselves
a shower of rocks or of being precipitated into the sea. The descent
was extremely perilous, but they thought not of the danger; they were
attracted to this mysterious place as the needle is drawn to the
magnet.

At length, the wire making a sudden turn, touched the shore rocks,
which were beaten by the sea. The colonists had reached the base of the
granite wall.

Here there was a narrow projection running parallel and horizontal to
the sea. The thread led along this point, and the colonists followed.
They had not proceeded more than a hundred paces, when this projection,
by a south inclination, sloped down into the water.

The engineer seized the wire and saw that it led down into the sea.

His companions stood, stupefied, beside him.

Then a cry of disappointment, almost of despair, escaped them! Must
they throw themselves into the water and search some submarine cavern?
In their present state of excitement, they would not have hesitated to
have done it.

An observation made by the engineer stopped them. He led his companions
to the shelter of a pile of rocks and said:——

“Let as wait here. The tide is up. At low water the road will be open.”

“But how do you think—” began Pencroff.

“He would not have called us, unless the means of reaching him had been
provided.”

Smith had spoken with an air of conviction, and, moreover, his
observation was logical. It was, indeed, quite possible that an opening
existed at low water which was covered at present.

It was necessary to wait some hours. The colonists rested in silence
under their shelter. The rain began to fall in torrents. The echoes
repeated the roaring of the thunder in sonorous reverberations.

At midnight the engineer took the lantern and went down to the water’s
edge. It was still two hours before low tide.

Smith had not been mistaken. The entrance to a vast excavation began to
be visible, and the wire, turning at a right angle, entered this
yawning mouth.

Smith returned to his companions and said:——

“In an hour the opening will be accessible.”

“Then there is one,” said Pencroff.

“Do you doubt it?” replied Smith.

“But it will be half full of water,” said Herbert.

“Either it will be perfectly dry,” answered the engineer, “in which
case we will walk, or it will not be dry, and some means of transport
will be furnished us.”

An hour passed. All went down through the rain to the sea. In these
hours the tide had fallen fifteen feet. The top of the mouth of the
opening rose eight feet above the water, like the arch of a bridge.

Looking in, the engineer saw a black object floating on the surface. He
drew it toward him. It was a canoe made of sheet-iron bolted together.
It was tied to a projecting rock inside the cavern wall. A pair of oars
were under the seats.

“Get in,” said Smith.

The colonists entered the boat, Neb and Ayrton took the oars, Pencroff
the tiller, and Smith, in the bows holding the lantern, lit the way.

The vault, at first very low, rose suddenly; but the darkness was too
great for them to recognize the size of this cavern, its heighth and
depth. An imposing silence reigned throughout this granite chamber. No
sound, not even the pealing of the thunder penetrated its massive
walls.

In certain parts of the world there are immense caves, a sort of
natural crypts which date back to the geologic epoch. Some are invaded
by the sea; others contain large lakes within their walls. Such is
Fingal’s Cave, in the Island of Staffa; such are the caves of Morgat on
the Bay of Douarnenez in Brittany; the caves of Bonifacio, in Corsica;
those of Lyse-Fjord, in Norway; such is that immense cavern, the
Mammoth Cave of Kentucky, which is 500 feet high and more than twenty
miles long!

As to this cavern which the colonists were exploring, did it not reach
to the very centre of the island? For a quarter of an hour the canoe
advanced under the directions of the engineer. At a certain moment he
said:——

“Go over to the right.”

The canoe, taking this direction, brought up beside the wall. The
engineer wished to observe whether the wire continued along this side.

It was there fastened to the rock.

“Forward!” said Smith.

The canoe kept on a quarter of an hour longer, and it must have been
half a mile from the entrance, when Smith’s voice was heard again.

“Halt!” he exclaimed.

The canoe stopped, and the colonists saw a brilliant light illuminating
the enormous crypt, so profoundly hidden in the bowels of the earth.

They were now enabled to examine this cavern of whose existence they
had had no suspicion.

A vault, supported on basaltic shafts, which might all have been cast
in the same mould, rose to a height of 100 feet. Fantastic arches
sprung at irregular intervals from these columns, which Nature had
placed here by thousands. They rose to a height of forty or fifty feet,
and the water, in despite of the tumult without, quietly lapped their
base. The light noticed by the engineer seized upon each prismatic
point and tipped it with fire; penetrated, so to speak, the walls as if
they had been diaphanous, and changed into sparkling jewels the least
projections of the cavern.

Following a phenomenon of reflection, the water reproduced these
different lights upon its surface, so that the canoe seemed to float
between two sparkling zones.

They had not yet thought of the nature of irradiation projected by the
luminous centre whose rays, straight and clear, were broken on all the
angles and mouldings of the crypt. The white color of this light
betrayed its origin. It was electric. It was the sun of this cavern.

On a sign from Smith, the oars fell again into the water, and the canoe
proceeded towards the luminous fire, which was half a cable’s length
distant.

In this place, the sheet of water measured some 300 feet across, and an
enormous basaltic wall, closing all that side, was visible beyond the
luminous centre. The cavern had become much enlarged, and the sea here
formed a little lake. But the vault, the side walls, and those of the
apsis, all the prisms, cylinders, cones, were bathed in the electric
fluid.

In the centre of the lake a long fusiform object floated on the surface
of the water, silent, motionless. The light escaped from its sides as
from two ovens heated to a white heat. This machine, looking like the
body of an enormous cetacea, was 250 feet long, and rose ten to twelve
feet above the water.

The canoe approached softly. In the bows stood Smith. He was greatly
excited. Suddenly he seized the arm of the reporter.

“It is he! It can be no other than he.” he cried. “He!——”

Then he fell back upon the seat murmuring a name which Spilett alone
heard.

Doubtless the reporter knew this name, for it affected him strangely,
and he answered in a hoarse voice:——

“He! a man outlawed!”

“The same!” said Smith.

Under the engineer’s direction the canoe approached this singular
floating machine, and came up to it on its left side, from which
escaped a gleam of light through a thick glass.

Smith and his companions stepped on to the platform. An open hatchway
was there, down which all descended.

At the bottom of the ladder appeared the waist of the vessel lit up by
electric light. At the end of the waist was a door, which Smith pushed
open.

A richly ornamented library, flooded with light, was rapidly crossed by
the colonists. Beyond, a large door, also closed, was pushed open by
the engineer.

A vast saloon, a sort of museum, in which were arranged all the
treasures of the mineral world, works of art, marvels of industry,
appeared before the eyes of the colonists, who seemed to be transported
to the land of dreams.

Extended upon a rich divan they saw a man, who seemed unaware of their
presence.

Then Smith raised his voice, and, to the extreme surprise of his
companions, pronounced these words:——

“Captain Nemo, you have called us. Here we are.’




CHAPTER LVIII.


CAPTAIN NEMO—HIS FIRST WORDS—HISTORY OF A HERO OF LIBERTY—HATRED OF THE
INVADERS—HIS COMPANIONS—THE LIFE UNDER WATER—ALONE—THE LAST REFUGE OF
THE NAUTILUS—THE MYSTERIOUS GENIUS OF THE ISLAND.


At these words the man arose, and the light shone full upon his face: a
magnificent head, with abundance of hair thrown back from a high
forehead, a white beard, and an expression of haughtiness.

This man stood, resting one hand upon the divan, from which he had
risen. One could see that a slow disease had broken him down, but his
voice was still powerful, when he said in English, and in a tone of
extreme surprise:——

“I have no name, sir!”

“I know you!” answered Smith.

Captain Nemo looked at the engineer as if he would have annihilated
him. Then, falling back upon the cushions, he murmured:——

“After all, what does it matter; I am dying!”

Smith approached Captain Nemo, and Spilett took his hand, which was hot
with fever. The others stood respectfully in a corner of the superb
saloon, which was flooded with light.

Captain Nemo withdrew his hand, and signed to Smith and the reporter to
be seated.

All looked at him with lively emotion. Here was the being whom they had
called the “genius of the island,” the being whose intervention had
been so efficacious, the benefactor to whom they owed so much. Before
their eyes, here where Pencroff and Neb had expected to find some
godlike creature, was only a man-a dying man!

But how did Smith know Captain Nemo? Why had the latter sprung up on
hearing that name pronounced?

The Captain had taken his seat upon the divan, and, leaning upon his
arm, he regarded the engineer, who was seated near him.

“You know the name I bore?” he asked.

“I know it as well as I know the name of this admirable submarine
apparatus.”

“The Nautilus,” said the Captain, with a half smile.

“The Nautilus.”

“But do you know-do you know, who I am?”

“I do.”

“For thirty years I have had no communication with the inhabited world,
for thirty years have I lived in the depths of the sea, the only place
where I have found freedom! Who, now, has betrayed my secret?”

“A man who never pledged you his word, Captain Nemo, one who,
therefore, cannot be accused of betraying you.”

“The Frenchman whom chance threw in my way?”

“The same.”

“Then this man and his companions did not perish in the maelstrom into
which the Nautilus had been drawn?”

“They did not, and there has appeared under the title of _Twenty
Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_, a work which contains your history.”

“The history of but a few months of my life, sir,” answered the
Captain, quickly.

“True,” replied Smith, “but a few months of that strange life sufficed
to make you known—”

“As a great criminal, doubtless,” said Captain Nemo, smiling
disdainfully. “Yes, a revolutionist, a scourge to humanity.”

The engineer did not answer.

“Well, sir?”

“I am unable to judge Captain Nemo,” said Smith, “at least in what
concerns his past life. I, like the world at large, am ignorant of the
motives for this strange existence, and I am unable to judge of the
effects without knowing the causes, but what I do know is that a
beneficent hand has been constantly extended to us since our arrival
here, that we owe everything to a being good, generous, and powerful,
and that this being, powerful, generous, and good, is you, Captain
Nemo!”

“It is I,” answered the captain, quietly.

The engineer and the reporter had risen, the others had drawn near, and
the gratitude which swelled their hearts would have sought expression
in words and gesture, when Captain Nemo signed to them to be silent,
and in a voice more moved, doubtless, than he wished:—

“When you have heard me,” he said. And then, in a few short, clear
sentences, he told them the history of his life.

The history was brief. Nevertheless, it took all his remaining strength
to finish it. It was evident that he struggled against an extreme
feebleness. Many times Smith urged him to take some rest, but he shook
his head, like one who knew that for him there would be no to-morrow,
and when the reporter offered his services—

“They are useless,” he answered, “my hours are numbered.”

Captain Nemo was an Indian prince, the Prince Dakkar, the son of the
rajah of the then independent territory of Bundelkund, and nephew of
the hero of India, Tippo Saib. His father sent him, when ten years old,
to Europe, where he received a complete education; and it was the
secret intention of the rajah to have his son able some day to engage
in equal combat with those whom he considered as the oppressors of his
country.

From ten years of age until he was thirty, the Prince Dakkar, with
superior endowments, of high heart and courage, instructed himself in
everything; pushing his investigations in science, literature, and art
to the uttermost limits.

He travelled over all Europe. His birth and fortune made his company
much sought after, but the seductions of the world possessed no charm
for him. Young and handsome, he remained serious, gloomy, with an
insatiable thirst for knowledge, with implacable anger fixed in his
heart.

He hated. He hated the only country where he had never wished to set
foot, the only nation whose advances he had refused: he hated England
more and more as he admired her. This Indian summed up in his own
person all the fierce hatred of the vanquished against the victor. The
invader is always unable to find grace with the invaded. The son of one
of those sovereigns whose submission to the United Kingdom was only
nominal, the prince of the family of Tippo-Saib, educated in ideas of
reclamation and vengeance, with a deep-seated love for his poetic
country weighed down with the chains of England, wished never to place
his foot on that land, to him accursed, that land to which India owed
her subjection.

The Prince Dakkar became an artist, with a lively appreciation of the
marvels of art; a savant familiar with the sciences; a statesman
educated in European courts. In the eyes of a superficial observer, he
passed, perhaps, for one of those cosmopolites, curious after
knowledge, but disdaining to use it; for one of those opulent
travellers, high-spirited and platonic, who go all over the world and
are of no one country.

It was not so. This artist, this savant, this man was Indian to the
heart, Indian in his desire for vengeance, Indian in the hope which he
cherished of being able some day to re-establish the rights of his
country, of driving on the stranger, of making it independent.

He returned to Bundelkund in the year 1849. He married a noble Indian
woman whose heart bled as his did at the woes of their country. He had
two children whom he loved. But domestic happiness could not make him
forget the servitude of India. He waited for an opportunity. At length
it came.

The English yoke was pressed, perhaps, too heavily upon the Indian
people. The Prince Dakkar became the mouthpiece of the malcontents. He
instilled into their spirits all the hatred he felt against the
strangers. He went over not only the independent portions of the Indian
peninsula, but into those regions directly submitted to the English
control. He recalled to them the grand days of Tippo-Saib, who died
heroically at Seringapatam for the defense of his country.

In 1857 the Sepoy mutiny broke forth. Prince Dakkar was its soul. He
organized that immense uprising. He placed his talents and his wealth
at the service of that cause. He gave himself; he fought in the first
rank; he risked his life as the humblest of those heroes who had risen
to free their country; he was wounded ten times in twenty battles, and
was unable to find death when the last soldiers of independence fell
before the English guns.

Never had British rule in India been in such danger; and, had the
Sepoys received the assistance from without which they had hoped for,
Asia would not to-day, perhaps, be under the dominion of the United
Kingdom.

At that time the name of Prince Dakkar was there illustrious. He never
hid himself, and he fought openly. A price was put upon his head, and
although he was not delivered up by any traitor, his father, mother,
wife, and children suffered for him before he knew of the dangers which
they ran on his account.

Once again right fell before might. Civilization never goes backwards,
and her laws are like those of necessity. The Sepoys were vanquished,
and the country of the ancient rajahs fell again under the strict rule
of England.

Prince Dakkar, unable to die, returned again to his mountains in
Bundelkund. There, thenceforward alone, he conceived an immense disgust
against all who bore the name of man—a hatred and a horror of the
civilized world—and wishing to fly from it, he collected the wreck of
his fortune, gathered together twenty of his most faithful companions,
and one day disappeared.

Where did Prince Dakkar seek for that independence which was refused
him upon the inhabited earth? Under the waters, in the depths of the
seas, where no one could follow him.

From a man of war he became a man of science. On a desert island of the
Pacific he established his workshops, and there he constructed a
submarine ship after plans of his own. By means which will some day be
known, he utilized electricity, that incommensurable force, for all the
necessities of his apparatus as a motor, for lighting and for heat. The
sea, with its infinite treasures, its myriads of fishes, its harvests
of varech and sargassum, its enormous mammifers, and not only all that
nature held, but all that man had lost, amply sufficed for the needs of
the Prince and his equipage;—and thus he accomplished his heart’s
desire, to have no further communication with the earth. He named his
submarine ship the Nautilus, he called himself Captain Nemo, and he
disappeared under the seas.

During many years, the Captain visited all the oceans, from one pole to
the other. Pariah of the earth, he reaped the treasures of the unknown
worlds. The millions lost in Vigo Bay, in 1702, by the Spanish
galleons, furnished him with an inexhaustible mine of wealth, which he
gave, anonymously, to people fighting for their independence.

For years he had had no communication with his kindred, when, during
the night of the 6th of November, 1866, three men were thrown upon his
deck. They were a French professor, his servant, and a Canadian
fisherman. These men had been thrown overboard by the shock of the
collision between the Nautilus and the United States frigate Abraham
Lincoln, which had given it chase.

Captain Nemo learned from the Professor that the Nautilus, sometimes
taken for a gigantic mammifer of the cetacean family, sometimes for a
submarine apparatus containing a gang of pirates, was hunted in every
sea.

Captain Nemo could have thrown these three men, whom chance had thrown
across his mysterious life, into the ocean. He did not do it, he kept
them prisoners, and, during seven months, they were able to perceive
all the marvels of a voyage of 20,000 leagues under the sea.

One day, the 22nd of June, 1867, these three men, who knew nothing of
Captain Nemo’s past life, seized the boat belonging to the Nautilus and
attempted to escape. But just then the Nautilus was upon the coast of
Norway in the eddy of the Maelstrom, and the Captain believed that the
fugitives, caught in its terrible vortex, had been swallowed up in the
gulf. He was unaware that the Frenchman and his companions had been
miraculously thrown upon the coast, that the fishermen of the Loffodin
Islands had rescued them, and that the Professor, on his return to
France, had published a book in which seven months of this strange and
adventurous navigation was narrated.

For a long time Captain Nemo continued this mode of life, traversing
the sea. One by one his companions died and found their rest in the
coral cemetery at the bottom of the Pacific, and in time Captain Nemo
was the last survivor of those who had sought refuge in the depths of
the oceans.

He was then sixty years old. As he was alone, it was necessary to take
his Nautilus to one of those submarine ports which served him in former
days as a harbor.

One of these ports was under Lincoln Island, and was the present asylum
of the Nautilus. For six years the Captain had remained there awaiting
that death which would reunite him with his companions, when chance
made him witness to the fall of the balloon which carried the
prisoners. Clothed in his impermeable jacket, he was walking under the
water, some cables’ lengths from the shore of the islet, when the
engineer was thrown into the sea. A good impulse moved Captain Nemo—and
he saved Cyrus Smith.

On the arrival of these five castaways he wished to go from them, but
his port of refuge was closed. Some volcanic action had raised up the
basalt so that the Nautilus could not cross the entrance to the crypt,
although there was still sufficient water for a boat of light draught.

Captain Nemo, therefore, remained and watched these men, thrown without
resources upon a desert island, but he did not wish to be seen. Little
by little, as he saw their honest, energetic lives, how they were bound
together in fraternal amity, he interested himself in their efforts. In
spite of himself, he found out all the secrets of their existence.
Clothed in his impermeable jacket, he could easily reach the bottom of
the well in Granite House, and climbing by the projections of the rock
to its mouth, he heard the colonists talk of their past and discuss
their present and future. He learned from them of the struggle of
America against itself, for the abolition of slavery. Yes! these men
were worthy to reconcile Captain Nemo with that humanity which they
represented so honestly on the island.

Captain Nemo had saved Smith. It was he who had led the dog to the
Chimneys, who threw Top out of the water, who stranded the box of
useful articles on Jetsam Point, who brought the canoe down the Mercy,
who threw the cord from Granite House, when it was attacked by the
monkeys, who made known the presence of Ayrton on Tabor Island by means
of the paper inclosed in the bottle, who blew up the brig by means of a
torpedo, who saved Herbert from certain death by bringing the quinine,
who, finally, killed the convicts by those electric balls which he
employed in his submarine hunting excursions. Thus was explained all
those seemingly supernatural incidents, which, all of them, attested
the generosity and the power of the Captain.

Nevertheless, this intense misanthrope thirsted to do good. He had some
useful advice to give to his proteges, and moreover, feeling the
approach of death, he had summoned, as we have seen, the colonists from
Granite House, by means of the wire which reached from the corral to
the Nautilus. Perhaps he would not have done it, had he thought that
Smith knew enough of his history to call him by his name of Nemo.

The Captain finished the recital of his life, and then Smith spoke. He
recalled all the instances of the salutary influences exercised over
the colonists, and then, in the name of his companions, and in his own,
he thanked this generous being for all that he had done.

But Captain Nemo had never dreamed of asking any return for his
services. One last thought agitated his spirit, and, before taking the
hand which the engineer held out to him, he said:—

“Now, sir, you know my life, judge of it!”

In speaking thus, the Captain evidently alluded to an incident of a
serious nature which had been witnessed by the three strangers on the
Nautilus—an incident which the French professor had necessarily
recounted in his book, an incident whose very recital was terrible.

In brief, some days before the flight of the professor and his
companions, the Nautilus, pursued by a frigate in the North Atlantic,
had rushed upon her like a battering-ram, and sunk her without mercy.

Smith, understanding this allusion, made no answer.

“It was an English frigate, sir!” cried Captain Nemo, becoming for the
moment Prince Dakkar, “an English frigate, you understand! She attacked
me! I was shut in, in a narrow and shallow bay; I had to pass out,
and—I passed!”

Then, speaking with more calmness:—

“I had right and justice on my side,” he added. “I did good when I
could, and evil when I must. All justice is not in forgiveness.”

Some moments of silence followed this response, and Captain Nemo asked
again:—

“What do you think of me?”

Smith took the hand of the Captain, and answered him in a grave voice:—

“Captain, your mistake has been in believing that you could bring back
the old order of things, and you have struggled against necessary
progress. It was one of those errors which some of us admire, others
blame, but of which God alone can judge, and which the human mind
exonerates. We can disagree with one who misleads himself in an
intention which he believes laudable, and at the same time esteem him.
Your error is of a kind which does not preclude admiration, and your
name has nothing to fear from the judgment of history. She loves heroic
follies, though she condemns the results which follow.”

The breast of Captain Nemo heaved; he raised his hand towards heaven.

“Was I wrong, or was I right?” he murmured.

Smith continued:—

“All great actions return to God, from whom they came! Captain Nemo,
the worthy men here, whom you have succored, will always weep for you!”

Herbert approached him. He knelt down and took the hand of the captain,
and kissed it.

A tear glistened in the eye of the dying man.

“My child,” he said, “bless you!”




CHAPTER LIX.


THE LAST HOURS OF CAPTAIN NEMO—HIS DYING WISHES—A SOUVENIR FOR HIS
FRIENDS—HIS TOMB—SOME COUNSEL TO THE COLONISTS—THE SUPREME MOMENT—AT
THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA.


It was morning, though no ray of daylight penetrated the vault. The
sea, at this moment high, covered the outlet. But the artificial light
escaping in long rays from the sides of the Nautilus, had not
diminished, and the sheet of water around the vessel glowed
resplendent.

Captain Nemo, overcome by an extreme fatigue, fell back upon the divan.
They did not dream of transporting him to Granite House, as he had
shown a wish to remain among the priceless treasures of the Nautilus,
awaiting that death which could not be long in coming.

Smith and Spilett observed with great attention his prostration. They
saw that he was slowly sinking. His strength, formerly so great, was
almost gone, and his body was but a frail envelope for the spirit about
escaping. All life was concentrated at the heart and brain.

The engineer and the reporter consulted together in low tones. Could
they do anything for the dying man? Could they, if not save him, at
least prolong his life for a few days? He himself had said that there
was no remedy, and he awaited death calmly and without fear.

“We can do nothing,” said Spilett.

“What is he dying of?” asked Pencroff.

“Of exhaustion,” answered the reporter.

“Supposing we take him out into the open air, into the sunlight,
perhaps he would revive?”

“No, Pencroff,” responded the engineer, “there is nothing to do.
Moreover, Captain Nemo would not be willing to leave here. He has lived
on the Nautilus for thirty years, and on the Nautilus he wishes to
die.”

Doubtless Captain Nemo heard Smith’s words, for, raising himself up a
little, and speaking in a feeble but intelligible voice, he said:—

“You are right. I wish to die here. And I have a request to make.”

Smith and his companions had gathered round the divan, and they
arranged the cushions so that the dying man was more comfortably
placed.

They saw that his gaze was fixed upon the marvels of the saloon, lit up
by the rays of electric light sifting through the arabesques of the
luminous ceiling. He looked upon the pictures, those _chefs d’œuvre_ of
Italian, Flemish, French, and Spanish masters, which hung on the
tapestried walls, upon the marbles and bronzes, upon the magnificent
organ at the opposite end of the saloon, upon the glasses arranged
around a central vase in which were disposed the rarest products of the
seas, marine plants, zoophytes, chaplets of pearls of an inappreciable
value, and at length his attention was fixed upon this device, the
device of the Nautilus inscribed upon the front of this museum:—

MOBILIS IN MOBILI.


It seemed as if he wished to caress with his regard, one last time,
those _chefs d’oeuvre_ of art and nature which had been ever visible to
him in the years of his sojourn in the depths of the sea!

Smith respected Captain Nemo’s silence. He waited for him to speak.

After some moments, during which passed before him, doubtless, his
whole life, Cap-Nemo turned to the colonists and said:—

“You wish to do me a favor?”

“Captain, we would give our lives to prolong yours!”

“Well, then, promise me that you will execute my last wishes, and I
will be repaid for all that I have done for you.”

“We promise,” answered Smith, speaking for his companions and himself.

“To-morrow,” said the Captain, “to-morrow I will be dead.”

He made a sign to Herbert, who was about to protest.

“To-morrow I will be dead, and I wish for no other tomb than the
Nautilus. It is my coffin! All my friends rest at the bottom of the
sea, and I wish to rest there also.”

A profound silence followed the words of Captain Nemo.

“Attend to what I say,” he continued. “The Nautilus is imprisoned in
this grotto. But if she cannot leave this prison, she can at least sink
herself in the abyss, which will cover her and guard my mortal
remains.”

The colonists listened religiously to the words of the dying man.

“To-morrow, after I am dead, Mr. Smith,” continued the Captain, “you
and your companions will leave the Nautilus, all of whose riches are to
disappear with me. One single remembrance of Prince Dakkar, whose
history you now know, will remain to you. That coffer, there, encloses
diamonds worth many millions, most of them souvenirs of the time when,
a husband and father, I almost believed in happiness, and a collection
of pearls gathered by my friends and myself from the bottom of the sea.
With this treasure, you will be able, some time, to accomplish good. In
your hands and those of your companions, Mr. Smith, wealth will not be
dangerous. I shall be ever present with you in your works.”

After some moments of rest, necessitated by his extreme feebleness,
Captain Nemo continued as follows:—

“To-morrow, you will take this coffer, you will leave this saloon, and
close the door; then you will ascend to the platform of the Nautilus
and you will bolt down the hatchway.”

“We will do it, sir,” replied Smith.

“Very well. You will then embark in the boat which brought you here.
But, before abandoning the Nautilus, go to the stern, and there, open
two large cocks which you will find at the water-line. The water will
penetrate and the Nautilus will sink beneath the waves and rest upon
the bottom of the abyss.”

Then, upon a gesture from Smith, the Captain added:—

“Fear nothing! you will only be burying the dead!”

Neither Smith nor his companions could say a word to Captain Nemo.
These were his last wishes, and they had nothing else to do but obey
them.

“I have your promise?” asked Captain Nemo.

“You have it, sir,” answered the engineer.

The Captain made a sign thanking them, and then motioned to be left
alone for a few hours. Spilett insisted on remaining with him, in case
of an emergency, but the other refused, saying:—

“I will live till morning, sir.”

All left the salon, passing through the library, the dining-room, and
reached the forward part of the vessel, where the electric apparatus,
furnishing heat, light, and motive power to the Nautilus was placed.

The Nautilus was a _chef-d’oeuvre_ containing _chefs-d’oeuvre_, which
filled the engineer with amazement.

The colonists mounted the platform, which rose seven or eight feet
above the water. Then they saw a thick lenticular glass closing up a
sort of bull’s-eye, through which penetrated a ray of light. Behind
this bull’s-eye was the wheel-house, where the steersman stood when
directing the Nautilus under the sea, by means of the electric light.

Smith and his companions stood here in silence, impressed by what they
saw, and what they had heard, and their hearts bled to think that he,
their protector, whose arm had been so often raised to aid them, would
soon be counted among the dead.

Whatever would be the judgment of posterity upon this, so to say,
extra-human existence, Prince Dakkar would always remain one of those
strange characters who cannot be forgotten.

“What a man!” said Pencroff. “Is it credible that he has lived so at
the bottom of the ocean! And to think that he has not found rest even
there!”

“The Nautilus,” observed Ayrton, “would, perhaps, have served us to
leave Lincoln Island and gain some inhabited country.”

“A thousand devils!” cried Pencroff. “You couldn’t get me to steer such
a craft. To sail over the seas is all very well, but under the
seas,—no, sir!”

“I think, Pencroff,” said the reporter, “that it would be easy to
manage a submarine apparatus like the Nautilus, and that we would soon
get accustomed to it. No storms, no boarding to fear. At some little
distance under the waves the waters are as calm as those of a lake.”

“That’s likely enough,” answered the sailor, “but give me a stiff
breeze and a well rigged ship. A ship is made to go on the water and
not under it.”

“My friends,” said the engineer, “it is useless, at least as far as the
Nautilus is concerned, to discuss this question of submarine vessels.
The Nautilus is not ours, and we have no right to dispose of it. It
could not, moreover, serve us under any circumstances. Aside from the
fact that it cannot get out of this cavern, Captain Nemo wishes it to
be engulfed with him after his death. His wish is law, and we will obey
it.”

Smith and his companions, after talking for a while longer, descended
into the interior of the Nautilus. There they ate some food and
returned to the salon.

Captain Nemo had recovered from his prostration, and his eyes had
regained their brilliancy. They saw a smile upon his lips.

The colonists approached him. “Sirs,” said the Captain, “you are brave
men, and good and honest. You have given yourselves up to the common
cause. I have often watched you. I have loved you. I do love you!—Give
me your hand, Mr. Smith.”

Smith gave his hand to the Captain, who pressed it affectionately.

“That is well!” he murmured. Then he added:—

“But I have said enough about myself. I wish to speak of yourselves and
of Lincoln Island, on which you have found refuge. You want to leave
it?”.

“To come back again!” said Pencroff eagerly.

“To return?—Oh! yes, Pencroff,” answered the Captain, smiling, “I know
how much you love this island. It has been improved by your care, and
it is, indeed, yours.”

“Our project, Captain,” added Smith, “would be to make it over to the
United States, and to establish a station, which would be well situated
here in this part of the Pacific.”

“You think of your country,” replied the Captain. “You work for her
prosperity, for her glory. You are right. The Fatherland! It is there
we wish to return! It is there we wish to die! And I, I die far from
everything that I have loved!”

“Have you no last wish to have executed,” asked the engineer earnestly,
“no souvenir to send to those friends you left in the mountains of
India?”

“No, Mr. Smith, I have no friends! I am the last of my race—and I die
long after those whom I have known.—But to return to yourselves.
Solitude, isolation are sorrowful things, beyond human endurance. I die
from having believed that man could live alone!—You wish to leave
Lincoln Island and to return to your country. I know that these
wretches have destroyed your boat-”

“We are building a ship,” said Spilett, “a ship large enough to take us
to the nearest country; but if sooner or later we leave the island, we
will come back again. Too many associations attach us to the place, for
us ever to forget it.”

“Here we met Captain Nemo,” said Smith.

“Here only will we find the perfect remembrance of you!” added
Herbert.”

“It is here that I will rest in an eternal sleep, if—” answered the
Captain.

He hesitated, and, instead of finishing his sentence, said:—

“Mr. Smith, I wish to speak with you,—with you alone.”

The companions of the engineer retired, and Smith remained for some
time alone with Captain Nemo. He soon called back his friends, but said
nothing to them of the secrets which the dying prince had confided to
him.

Spilett observed the Captain with extreme attention. He was evidently
living by the strength of his will, which could not long hold out
against his physical weakness.

The day ended without any change manifesting itself. The colonists did
not leave the Nautilus. Night came, although unseen in this crypt.

Captain Nemo did not suffer pain, but sunk slowly. His noble face, pale
by the approach of death, was perfectly calm. Now and then he spoke,
incoherently, of events in his strange existence.—All saw that life was
retreating. His feet and hands were already cold.

Once or twice, he spoke a word to the colonists who were about him, and
he looked upon them with that smile which remained when he was no more.

At last, just after midnight, Captain Nemo made a supreme effort, and
crossed his arms upon his breast, as if he wished to die in that
attitude.

Towards 1 o’clock all the life that was left was concentrated in his
expression. One last spark burned in that eye which had formerly
flashed fire! Then, murmuring these words, “God and Fatherland,” he
expired quietly.

Smith, stooping down, closed the eyes of him who had been Prince
Dakkar, who was no more even Captain Nemo.

Herbert and Pencroff wept. Ayrton wiped away a furtive tear. Neb was on
his knees near the reporter, who was immobile as a statue.

Smith raising his hand above the head of the dead man:—

“May God receive his soul!” he said, and then, turning towards his
friends, he added:—

“Let us pray for him whom we have lost!”


Some hours later, the colonists, in fulfillment of their promise,
carried out the last wishes of the dead.

They left the Nautilus, taking with them the sole souvenir of their
benefactor, the coffer containing a hundred fortunes.

The marvellous salon, still flooded with light, was carefully closed.
The cover to the hatchway was bolted down in such a manner that not a
drop of water could penetrate to the inner chambers of the Nautilus.
Then the colonists entered the boat, which was moored beside the
submarine ship.

The boat was taken to the stern. There, at the water-line, they opened
the two large cocks which communicated with the reservoirs designed to
immerse the apparatus.

The cocks were opened, the reservoirs filled, and the Nautilus, sinking
slowly, disappeared beneath the sea.

But the colonists were able still to follow her coarse through the
lower depths. Her strong light lit up the transparent waters, as the
crypt became darkened. Then at length the vast effusion of electric
effulgence was effaced, and the Nautilus, the tomb of Captain Nemo,
rested upon the bottom of the sea.




CHAPTER LX.


THE REFLECTIONS OF THE COLONISTS—RENEWAL OF WORK—THE 1ST OF JANUARY,
1869—A SMOKE FROM THE VOLCANO—SYMPTOMS OF AN ERUPTION AYRTON AND SMITH
AT THE CORRAL—EXPLORATION OF THE CRYPT DAKKAR —WHAT CAPTAIN NEMO HAD
SAID TO THE ENGINEER.


In the early morning the colonists reached the entrance of the cavern,
which they called Crypt Dakkar, in remembrance of Captain Nemo. The
tide was low, and they easily passed under the archway, whose piers
were washed by the waves.

The iron boat could remain in this place without danger from the sea;
but as additional precaution they drew it up on a little beach on one
side of the crypt.

The storm had ceased during the night. The last mutterings of the
thunder were dying away in the west. It was not raining, although the
sky was still clouded. In short, this month of October, the beginning
of the southern spring, did not come in good fashion, and the wind had
a tendency to shift from one point of the compass to another, so that
it was impossible to say what the weather would be.

Smith and his companions, on leaving Crypt Dakkar, went towards the
corral. On the way Neb and Herbert took care to take up the wire which
had been stretched by Captain Nemo, as it might be useful in the
future.

While walking the colonists spoke but little. The incidents of this
night had made a vivid impression upon them. This unknown, whose
influence had protected them so well, this man whom they imagined a
genii, Captain Nemo, was no more. His Nautilus and himself were buried
in the depths of the abyss. It seemed to each one of them that they
were more isolated than before. They were, so to speak, accustomed to
count upon this powerful intervention which to-day was wanting, and
Spilett, and even Smith, did not escape this feeling. So, without
speaking, they followed the road to the corral.

By 9 o’clock the colonists were in Granite House again.

It had been agreed that the construction of the ship should be pushed
forward as rapidly as possible, and Smith gave the work more of his
time and care than ever before. They did not know what the future might
bring forth, and it would be a guarantee of safety for them to have a
strong vessel, able to stand rough weather, and large enough to carry
them, if need be, a long distance. If, when it was finished, the
colonists decided not to leave the island they could at least make the
voyage to Tabor Island and leave a notice there. This was an
indispensable precaution in case the Scotch yacht returned to these
seas, and it must on no account be neglected.

The work was undertaken at once. All worked at it without ceasing,
except to prosecute other necessary work. It was important to have the
new ship finished in five months, if they wished to make the voyage to
Tabor Island before the equinoxial storms would render it
impracticable. All the sails of the Speedy had been saved, so that they
need not trouble themselves about making rigging.

The year ended in the midst of this work. At the end of two months and
a half the ribs had been put in place and the planking began, so that
they were able to see that Smith’s plans were excellent. Pencroff
worked with ardor, and always grumbled when any of the others left off
work to go hunting. It was, nevertheless, necessary to lay in a stock
of provisions for the approaching winter. But that made no difference.
The honest sailor was unhappy unless every one was at work in the
ship-yard. At these times he grumbled and did—he was so put out—the
work of half a dozen men.

All this summer season was bad. The heat was overpowering, and the
atmosphere, charged with electricity, discharged itself in violent
storms. It was seldom that the distant muttering of the thunder was
unheard. It was like a dull, but permanent murmur, such as is produced
in the equatorial regions of the globe.

On the 1st of January, 1869, a terrific storm burst over the island,
and the lightning struck in many places. Tall trees were shattered, and
among them was one of the enormous micocouliers which shaded the
poultry-yard. Had this meteoric storm any relation to the phenomena
which were occurring In the bowels of the earth? Was there a sort of
connection between the disturbances in the air and those in the
interior of the globe. Smith believed it to be so, since the
development of these storms was marked by a recrudescence of the
volcanic symptoms.

On the 3d of January, Herbert, who had gone at daybreak to Prospect
Plateau to saddle one of the onagers, saw an immense black cloud
rolling out from the summit of the volcano.

Herbert hastened to inform the others, who came at once to look at the
mountain.

“Ah!” said Pencroff, “it is not vapor this time! It seems to me that
the giant is not content to breathe, he must smoke!”

The image employed by the sailor expressed with exactness the change
which had taken place at the mouth of the volcano. For three months the
crater had been emitting vapors more or less intense, but there had
been no ebullition of mineral matters. This time, instead of vapors, a
thick column of smoke rose, like an immense mushroom, above the summit
of the mountain.

“The chimney is on fire!” said Spilett.

“And we cannot put it out!” answered Herbert.

“It would be well to sweep the volcanoes,” said Neb, in good earnest.

“All right, Neb,” said Pencroff, laughing. “Will you undertake the
job?”

Smith looked attentively at the thick smoke, and at the same time he
listened as if he expected to detect some distant rumbling. Then,
turning towards his companions, who were at some little distance, he
said:—

“In truth, my friends, it cannot be denied that an important change has
taken place. The volcanic matters are not only in a state of
ebullition, they have taken fire, and, without doubt, we are threatened
with an eruption!”

“Very well, sir; we will witness this eruption,” cried Pencroff, “and
we will applaud it if it is a success! I don’t think that anything over
there need worry us!”

“No, Pencroff,” answered Smith, “for the old course of the lava is
open, and, thanks to its position, the crater has heretofore discharged
towards the north. Nevertheless—”

“Nevertheless, since there is nothing to be gained by an eruption, it
would be better not to have it,” said the reporter.

“Who knows?” replied the sailor. “There may be some useful and precious
matter in the volcano, which it will be good enough to throw up, which
will be advantageous for us!”

Smith shook his head, as a man who anticipated nothing good from this
phenomenon. He did not think so lightly of the consequences of an
eruption. If the lava, on account of the position of the crater, did
not menace the wooded and cultivated portions of the island, other
complications might arise. Eruptions are often accompanied by
earthquakes, and an island formed, like Lincoln Island, of such
different materials: basalt on one side, granite on another, lavas to
the north, a mixed soil inland, material which, therefore, could not be
solidly bound together, ran the risk of being torn asunder. If,
therefore, the outpouring of volcanic substances did not threaten
serious results, any movement in the framework upholding the island
might be followed by the gravest consequences.

“It seems to me,” said Ayrton, who was kneeling down, with his ear to
the ground, “it seems to me that I hear a noise, like the rattling of a
wagon, loaded with iron bars.”

The colonists listened carefully, and were convinced that Ayrton was
not mistaken. With the rumbling mingled subterranean roaring, making a
sort of “rinfordzando,” which died away slowly, as if from some violent
cleavage in the interior of the globe. But no detonation was heard, and
it was fair to conclude that the smoke and vapor found a free passage
through the central chimney, and, if the escape-pipe was sufficiently
large, no explosion need be feared.

“Come,” said Pencroff at length, “shall we not go back to work? Let
Mount Franklin smoke, brawl, moan, and vomit fire and flames as much as
it chooses, but that is no excuse for us to quit work! Come, Ayrton,
Neb, all of you, we want all hands to-day! I want our new Good Luck—we
will keep the name, will we not?—to be moored in Balloon Harbor before
two months are passed! So there is not an hour to be lost!”

All the colonists went down to the shipyard and worked steadily all day
without giving too much thought to the volcano, which could not be seen
from the beach before Granite House. But once or twice heavy shadows
obscured the sunlight, and, as the was day perfectly clear, it was
evident that thick clouds of smoke were passing between the sun’s disc
and the island. Smith and Spilett noticed these sombre voyagers, and
talked of the progress that the volcanic phenomenon was making, but
they did not cease work. It was, moreover, of great importance, in
every sense, that the ship should be finished with as little delay as
possible. In the presence of events which might happen, the security of
the colonists would be better assured. Who could say but that this ship
might not, some day, be their sole refuge?

That evening, after supper, Smith, Spilett, and Herbert climbed to the
plateau. It was already dark, and they would be able to distinguish
whether flames or incandescent matter was mingled with the smoke and
vapor of the volcano.

“The crater is on fire!” cried Herbert, who, more active than his
companions, had reached the plateau the first.

Mount Franklin, six miles distant, appeared like a gigantic torch, with
fuliginous flames twisting about its summit. So much smoke, such
quantities of scoriæ and cinders, perhaps, were mingled with the
flames, that their light did not glare upon the shades of night. But a
sort of dull yellow glow spread over the island, making dimly visible
the higher masses of forest. Enormous clouds obscured the heavens,
between which glittered a few stars.

“The progress is rapid,” said the engineer.

“It is not astonishing,” answered the reporter. “The volcano has been
awake for some time already. You remember, Cyrus, that the first vapors
appeared about the time we were searching the mountain for the retreat
of Captain Nemo. That was, if I am not mistaken, about the 15th of
October.

“Yes” replied Herbert, “two months and a half ago.”

“The subterranean fires have been brooding for ten weeks,” continued
Spilett, “and it is not astonishing that they develop now with this
violence.”

“Do not you feel certain vibrations in the ground?” asked Smith.

“I think so,” replied Spilett, “but an earthquake—”

“I did not say that we were menaced by an earthquake,” said Smith, “and
Heaven preserve us from one! No. These vibrations are due to the
effervesence of the central fire. The crust of the earth is nothing
more than the covering of a boiler, and you know how the covering of a
boiler, under pressure, vibrates like a sonorous plate. That is what is
happening at this moment.”

“What magnificent flames!” cried Herbert, as a sheaf of fire shot up,
unobscured by the vapors, from the crater. From its midst luminous
fragments and bright scintillations were thrown in every direction.
Some of them pierced the dome of smoke, leaving behind them a perfect
cloud of incandescent dust. This outpouring was accompanied by rapid
detonations like the discharge of a battery of mitrailleuses.

Smith, the reporter, and the lad, after having passed an hour on
Prospect Plateau, returned to Granite House. The engineer was pensive,
and so much preoccupied that Spilett asked him if he anticipated any
near danger.

“Yes and no,” responded Smith.

“But the worst that could happen,” said the reporter, “would be an
earthquake, which would overthrow the island. And I don’t think that is
to be feared, since the vapors and lava have a free passage of escape.”

“I do not fear an earthquake,” answered Smith, “of the ordinary kind,
such as are brought about by the expansion of subterranean vapors. But
other causes may bring about great disaster.”

“For example?”

“I do not know exactly—I must see—I must visit the mountain. In a few
days I shall have made up my mind.”

Spilett asked no further questions, and soon, notwithstanding the
increased violence of the volcano, the inhabitants of Granite House
slept soundly.

Three days passed, the 4th 5th, and 6th of January, during which they
worked on the ship, and, without explaining himself further, the
engineer hastened the work as much as possible. Mount Franklin was
covered with a sinister cloud, and with the flames vomited forth
incandescent rocks, some of which fell back into the crater. This made
Pencroff, who wished to look upon the phenomenon from an amusing side,
say—

“Look! The giant plays at cup and ball! He is a juggler.”

And, indeed, the matters vomited forth fell back into the abyss, and it
seemed as if the lavas, swollen by the interior pressure, had not yet
risen to the mouth of the crater. At least, the fracture on the
northeast, which was partly visible, did not pour forth any torrent on
the western side of the mountain.

Meanwhile, however pressing the ship-building, other cares required the
attention of the colonists in different parts of the island. First of
all, they must go to the corral, where the moufflons and goats were
enclosed, and renew the provisions for these animals. It was,
therefore, agreed that Ayrton should go there the next day, and, as it
was customary for but one to do this work, the others were surprised to
hear the engineer say to Ayrton:——

“As you are going to the corral to-morrow, I will go with you.”

“Oh! Mr. Smith!” cried the sailor, “our time is very limited, and, if
you go off in this way, we lose just that much help!”

“We will return the next day,” answered Smith, “but I must go to the
corral—I wish to see about this eruption.”

“Eruption! Eruption!” answered Pencroff, with a dissatisfied air. “What
is there important about this eruption? It don’t bother me!”

Notwithstanding the sailor’s protest, the exploration was decided upon
for the next day. Herbert wanted to go with Smith, but he did not wish
to annoy Pencroff by absenting himself. So, early the next morning,
Smith and Ayrton started off with the wagon and onagers.

Over the forest hung huge clouds constantly supplied from Mount
Franklin with fuliginous matter. They were evidently composed of
heterogeneous substances. It was not altogether the smoke from the
volcano that made them so heavy and opaque. Scoriæ in a state of
powder, pulverized puzzolan and grey cinder as fine as the finest
fecula, were held in suspension in their thick folds. These cinders
remain in air, sometimes, for months at a time. After the eruption of
1783, in Iceland, for more than a year the atmosphere was so charged
with volcanic powder that the sun’s rays were scarcely visible.

Usually, however, these pulverized matters fall to the earth at once,
and it was so in this instance. Smith and Ayrton had hardly reached the
corral, when a sort of black cloud, like fine gunpowder, fell, and
instantly modified the whole aspect of the ground. Trees, fields,
everything was covered with a coating several fingers deep. But, most
fortunately, the wind was from the northeast, and the greater part of
the cloud was carried off to sea.

“That is very curious,” said Ayrton.

“It is very serious,” answered Smith. This puzzolan, this pulverized
pumice stone, all this mineral dust in short, shows how deep-seated is
the commotion in the volcano.

“But there is nothing to be done.”

“Nothing, but to observe the progress of the phenomenon. Employ
yourself, Ayrton, at the corral, and meanwhile I will go up to the
sources of Red Creek and examine the state of the mountain on its
western side. Then——”

“Then, sir?”

“Then we will make a visit to Crypt Dakkar—I wish to see—Well, I will
come back for you in a couple of hours.”

Ayrton went into the corral, and while waiting for the return of the
engineer occupied himself with the moufflons and goats, which showed a
certain uneasiness before these first symptoms of an eruption.

Meantime Smith had ventured to climb the eastern spurs of the mountain,
and he arrived at the place where his companions had discovered the
sulphur spring on their first exploration.

How everything was changed! Instead of a single column of smoke, he
counted thirteen escaping from the ground as if thrust upward by a
piston. It was evident that the crust of earth was subjected in this
place to a frightful pressure. The atmosphere was saturated with gases
and aqueous vapors. Smith felt the volcanic tufa, the pulverulent
cinders hardened by time, trembling beneath him, but he did not yet see
any traces of fresh lava.

It was the same with the western slope of the mountain. Smoke and
flames escaped from the crater; a hail of scoriæ fell upon the soil;
but no lava flowed from the gullet of the crater, which was another
proof that the volcanic matter had not attained the upper orifice of
the central chimney.

“And I would be better satisfied if they had!” said Smith to himself.
“At least I would be certain that the lavas had taken their accustomed
route. Who knows if they may not burst forth from some new mouth? But
that is not the danger! Captain Nemo has well foreseen it! No! the
danger is not there!”

Smith went forward as far as the enormous causeway, whose prolongation
enframed Shark Gulf. Here he was able to examine the ancient lava
marks. There could be no doubt that the last eruption had been at a far
distant epoch.

Then he returned, listening to the subterranean rumblings, which
sounded like continuous thunder, and by 9 o’clock he was at the corral.

Ayrton was waiting for him.

“The animals are attended to, sir,” said he.

“All right, Ayrton.”

“They seem to be restless, Mr. Smith.”

“Yes, it is their instinct, which does not mislead them.”

“When you are ready—”

“Take a lantern and tinder, Ayrton, and let us go.”

Ayrton did as he was told. The onagers had been unharnessed and placed
in the corral, and Smith, leading, took the route to the coast.

They walked over a soil covered with the pulverulent matter which had
fallen from the clouds. No animal appeared. Even the birds had flown
away. Sometimes a breeze passed laden with cinders, and the two
colonists, caught in the cloud, were unable to see. They had to place
handkerchiefs over their eyes and nostrils or they would have been
blinded and suffocated.

Under these circumstances they could not march rapidly. The air was
heavy, as if all the oxygen had been burned out of it, making it unfit
to breathe. Every now and then they had to stop, and it was after 10
o’clock when the engineer and his companion reached the summit of the
enormous heap of basaltic and porphyrytic rocks which formed the
northwest coast of the island.

They began to go down this abrupt descent, following the detestable
road, which, during that stormy night had led them to Crypt Dakkar. By
daylight this descent was less perilous, and, moreover, the covering of
cinders gave a firmer foothold to the slippery rocks.

The projection was soon attained, and, as the tide was low, Smith and
Ayrton found the opening to the crypt without any difficulty.

“Is the boat there?” asked the engineer.

“Yes, sir,” answered Ayrton, drawing the boat towards him.

“Let us get in, then, Ayrton,” said the engineer.

The two embarked in the boat. Ayrton lit the lantern, and, placing it
in the bow of the boat, took the oars, and Smith, taking the tiller,
steered into the darkness.

The Nautilus was no longer here to illuminate this sombre cavern.
Perhaps the electric irradiation still shone under the waters, but no
light came from the abyss where Captain Nemo reposed.

The light of the lantern was barely sufficient to permit the engineer
to advance, following the right hand wall of the crypt. A sepulchral
silence reigned in this portion of the vault, but soon Smith heard
distinctly the mutterings which came from the interior of the earth.

“It is the volcano,” he said.

Soon, with this noise, the chemical combinations betrayed themselves by
a strong odor, and sulphurous vapors choked the engineer and his
companion.

“It is as Captain Nemo feared,” murmured Smith, growing pale. “We must
go on to the end.”

Twenty-five minutes after having left the opening the two reached the
terminal wall and stopped.

Smith standing on the seat, moved the lantern about over this wall,
which separated the crypt from the central chimney of the volcano. How
thick was it? Whether 100 feet or but 10 could not be determined. But
the subterranean noises were too plainly heard for it to be very thick.

The engineer, after having explored the wall along a horizontal line,
fixed the lantern to the end of an oar and went over it again at a
greater height.

There, through scarcely visible cracks, came a pungent smoke, which
infected the air of the cavern. The wall was striped with these
fractures, and some of the larger ones came to within a few feet of the
water.

At first, Smith rested thoughtful. Then he murmured these words:—

“Yes! Captain Nemo was right! There is the danger, and it is terrible!”

Ayrton said nothing, but, on a sign from the engineer, he took up the
oars, and, a half hour later, he and Smith came out of Crypt Dakkar.




CHAPTER LXI


SMITH’S RECITAL—HASTENING THE WORK—A LAST VISIT TO THE CORRAL—THE
COMBAT BETWEEN THE FIRE AND THE WATER—THE ASPECT OF THE ISLAND—THEY
DECIDE TO LAUNCH THE SHIP—THE NIGHT OF THE 8TH OF MARCH.


The next morning, the 8th of January, after a day and night passed at
the corral, Smith and Ayrton returned to Granite House.

Then the engineer assembled his companions, and told them that Lincoln
Island was in fearful danger—a danger which no human power could
prevent.

“My friends,” said he,—and his voice betrayed great emotion,—“Lincoln
Island is doomed to destruction sooner or later; the cause is in itself
and there is no means of removing it!”

The colonists looked at each other. They did not understand him.

“Explain yourself, Cyrus,” said Spilett.

“I will, or rather I will give you the explanation which Captain Nemo
gave me, when I was alone with him.”

“Captain Nemo!” cried the colonists.

“Yes; it was the last service he rendered us before he died.”

“The last service!” cried Pencroff. “The last service! You think,
because he is dead, that he will help us no more!”

“What did he say?” asked the reporter.

“This, my friends,” answered the engineer. “Lincoln Island is not like
the other islands of the Pacific, and a particular event, made known to
me by Captain Nemo, will cause, sooner or later, the destruction of its
submarine framework.”

“Destruction of Lincoln Island! What an idea!” cried Pencroff, who, in
spite of his respect for Smith, could not help shrugging his shoulders.

“Listen to me, Pencroff,” continued the engineer. “This is what Captain
Nemo ascertained and what I verified yesterday In Crypt Dakkar. The
crypt extends under the island as far as the volcano, and is only
separated from the central chimney by the wall. Now this wall is seamed
with fractures and cracks, through which the sulphurous gas is already
escaping.”

“Well?” asked Pencroff, wrinkling his forehead.

“Well, I have ascertained that these fractures are widening under the
pressure from within, that the basalt wall la gradually bursting open,
and that, sooner or later, it will give a passage to the waters of the
sea.”

“That’s all right!” exclaimed Pencroff, trying still to make light of
the subject. “That’s all right! The sea will put out the volcano, and
that will be the end of it.”

“Yes, that will be the end of it!” answered Smith. “On the day that the
sea rushes through the wall and penetrates by the central chimney to
the bowels of the island, where the eruptive matter is boiling, on that
day, Pencroff, Lincoln Island will go up, as Sicily would go up, if the
Mediterranean was emptied into Aetna!”

The colonists made no reply. They understood the threatened danger.

It was no longer doubtful that the island was menaced by a frightful
explosion. That it would last only as long as the wall to Crypt Dakkar
remained intact. This was not a question of months, nor of weeks, bat
of days, of hours, perhaps!

The first sensation the colonists experienced was one of profound
sorrow. They did not think of the peril which menaced them directly,
but of the destruction of that land which had given them asylum, of
that island which they had cultivated, which they loved, which they
wished to render so prosperous some day! All their labor uselessly
employed, all their work lost!

Pencroff did not attempt to hide the tears which rolled down his
cheeks.

They talked for some little time longer. The chances which they might
count upon were discussed; but, in conclusion, they realized that not
an hour was to be lost; that the ship must be completed as soon as
possible, as, now, it was the only chance of safety left, to the
inhabitants of Lincoln Island!

All hands were required. Where was the use, now, of sowing, or
harvesting, of hunting or increasing the reserve at Granite House? The
present contents of the magazine were sufficient to provision the ship
for as long a voyage as she could make! What was necessary was that
these should be at

the disposal of the colonists before the accomplishment of the
inevitable catastrophe.

The work was undertaken with feverish eagerness. By the 23d of January
the ship was half planked. Up to this time there had been no change in
the volcano. It was always the vapors, the smoke mixed with flames and
pierced by incandescent stones, which escaped from the crater. But
during the night of the 23d the upper cone, which formed the cap of the
volcano, was lifted off by the pressure of the lava, which had reached
the level of the lower cone. A terrible noise was heard. The colonists,
believing that the island was going to pieces, rushed out of Granite
House.

It was 2 o’clock in the morning. The heavens were on fire. The upper
cone—a mass a thousand feet high, and weighing thousands of millions of
pounds—had been thrown upon the island, making the earth tremble.
Happily, this cone leaned to the north, and it fell upon the plain of
sand and tufa which lay between the volcano and the sea. The crater, by
this means greatly widened, threw towards the sky a light so intense,
that, by the simple effect of reverberation, the atmosphere seemed to
be incandescent. At the same time a torrent of lava swelled up over
this new summit, falling in long streams, like water escaping from an
overflowing vase, and a thousand fiery serpents writhed upon the talus
of the volcano.

“The corral! The corral!” cried Ayrton.

It was, indeed, towards the corral that the lava took their way,
following the slope of the new crater, and, consequently, the fertile
parts of the island. The sources of Red Creek, and Jacamar Wood were
threatened with immediate destruction.

At the cry of Ayrton, the colonists had rushed towards the stable of
the onagers, and harnessed the animals. All had but one thought. To fly
to the corral and let loose the beasts confined there.

Before 3 o’clock they were there. Frightful cries indicated the terror
of the moufflons and goats. Already a torrent of incandescent matter,
of liquified minerals, fell over the mountain spur upon the plain,
destroying that side of the palisade. The gate was hastily opened by
Ayrton, and the animals, wild with terror, escaped in every direction.

An hour later the boiling lava filled the corral, volatilizing the
water of the little brook which traversed it, firing the house, which
burned like a bit of stubble, devouring to the last stake the
surrounding palisade. Nothing was left of the corral.

The colonists wanted to struggle against this invasion; they had tried
it, but foolishly and uselessly: man is helpless before these grand
cataclysms.

The morning of the 24th arrived. Smith and his companions, before
returning to Granite House, wished to observe the definite direction
which this inundation of lava would take. The general slope of the
ground from Mount Franklin was towards the east coast, and it was to be
feared that, notwithstanding the thick Jacamar Woods, the torrent would
extend to Prospect Plateau.

“The lake will protect us,” said Spilett.

“I hope so,” answered Smith. But that was all he said.

The colonists would have liked to have advanced as far as the place on
which the upper cone of Mount Franklin abutted, but their passage was
barred by the lavas, which followed, on the one hand, the valley of Red
Creek, and, on the other, the course of Fall River, vaporizing these
two streams in their passage. There was no possible way of crossing
this stream; it was necessary, on the contrary, to fly before it. The
flattened volcano was no longer recognizable. A sort of smooth slab
terminated it, replacing the old crater. Two outlets, broken in the
south and east sides, poured forth unceasing streams of lava, which
formed two distinct currents. Above the new crater, a cloud of smoke
and cinders mixed with the vapors of the sky, and hung over the island.
Peals of thunder mingled with the rumbling of the mountain. Burning
rocks were thrown up thousands of feet, bursting in the sky and
scattering like grape-shot. The heavens answered with lightning-flashes
the eruption of the volcano.

By 7 o’clock the colonists were no longer able to keep their position
on the edge of Jacamar Wood. Not only did the projectiles begin to fall
about them, but the lavas, overflowing the bed of Red Creek, threatened
to cut off the road from the corral. The first ranks of trees took
fire, and their sap, vaporized, made them explode like fire-crackers;
while others, less humid, remained intact in the midst of the
inundation.

The colonists started back. The torrent, owing to the slope of the
land, gained eastward rapidly, and as the lower layers of lava
hardened, others, boiling, covered them.

Meantime the principal current in the Red Creek Valley became more and
more threatening. All that part of the forest was surrounded, and
enormous clouds of smoke rolled above the trees, whose roots were
already in the lava.

The colonists stopped at the lake shore, half a mile from the mouth of
Red Creek. A question of life or death was about to be decided for
them. Smith, accustomed to think and reason in the presence of danger,
and aware that he was speaking to men who could face the truth,
whatever it might be, said to them:—

“Either the lake will arrest this current, and a part of the island
will be preserved from complete devastation, or the current will invade
the forests of the Far West, and not a tree, not a plant will be left
upon the face of the ground. We will have, upon these rocks stripped of
life, the prospect of a death which the explosion of the island may
anticipate!

“Then,” cried Pencroff, crossing his arms and stamping his foot on the
ground, “it is useless to work on the ship! Isn’t that so?”

“Pencroff,” answered Smith, “it is necessary to do one’s duty to the
end.”

At this moment, the flood of lava, after having eaten its way through
the splendid trees of the forest, neared the lake. There was a certain
depression in the ground, which, if it had been larger, might, perhaps,
suffice to hold the torrent.

“Let us try!” cried Smith.

The idea of the engineer was instantly understood by all. It was
necessary to dam, so to speak, this torrent and force it into the lake.

The colonists ran to the shipyard and brought back from there shovels,
picks, and hatchets, and by means of earthworks and hewn trees they
succeeded, in a few hours, in raising a barrier three feet high and
some hundreds of feet long. It seemed to them, when they had finished,
that they had not worked more than a few minutes!

It was time. The liquified matter already reached the extremity of the
barrier. The flood spread like a swollen river seeking to overflow its
banks and threatening to break down the only obstacle which could
prevent its devastating all the Far West. But the barrier was
sufficient to withstand it, and, after one terrible moment of
hesitation, it precipitated itself into Lake Grant by a fall twenty
feet high.

The colonists, breathless, without a word, without a gesture, looked
upon this struggle of the elements.

What a sight was this, the combat between fire and water! What pen can
describe this scene of marvellous horror; what pencil can portray it?
The water hissed and steamed at the contact of the boiling lavas. The
steam was thrown, whirling, to an immeasurable height in the air, as if
the valves of an immense boiler had been suddenly opened. But, great as
was the mass of water contained in the lake, it must, finally, be
absorbed, since it was not renewed, while the torrent, fed from an
inexhaustible source, was ceaselessly pouring in fresh floods of
incandescent matter.

The first lavas which fell into the lake solidified at once, and
accumulated in such a manner as soon to emerge above the surface. Over
these slid other lavas, which in their turn became stone, forming a
breakwater, which threatened to fill up the lake, which could not
overflow, as its surplus water was carried off in steam. Hissings and
shrivellings filled the air with a stunning noise, and the steam,
carried off by the wind, fell to the ground in rain. The jetty spread,
and where formerly had been peaceable waters appeared an enormous heap
of smoking rocks, as if some upheaval of the ground had raised these
thousands of reefs. If one can imagine these waters tossed about by a
storm, and then suddenly solidified by cold, he will have the
appearance of the lake three hours after the irresistible torrent had
poured into it.

This time the water had been overcome by the fire.

Nevertheless, it was a fortunate thing for the colonists that the lavas
had been turned into the lake. It gave them some days’ respite.
Prospect Plateau, Granite House, and the ship-yard were safe for the
moment. In these few days they must plank and caulk the vessel, launch
it, and take refuge upon it, rigging it after it was on the sea. With
the fear of the explosion menacing the destruction of the island, it
was no longer safe to remain on land. Granite House, so safe a retreat
up to this time, might, at any moment, fall!

During the next six days, the colonists worked on the ship with all
their might. Sleeping but little, the light of the flames from the
volcano permitted them to work by night as well as by day. The eruption
continued without cessation, but, perhaps, less abundantly. A fortunate
circumstance, since Lake Grant was nearly full; and if fresh lavas had
slid over the surface of the former layers, they would inevitably have
spread over Prospect Plateau and from there to the shore.

But while this part of the island was partially protected it was
otherwise with the west coast.

The second current of lava, following the valley of Fall River, met
with no obstacle. The ground on either side of the bank was low, and
the incandescent liquid was spread through the forest of the Far West.
At this season of the year the trees were dried by the warmth of the
summer and took fire instantly, and the high interlacing branches
hastened the progress of the conflagration. It seemed as if the current
of flame traversed the surface of the forest more swiftly than the
current of lavas its depths.

The beasts and birds of the woods sought refuge on the shore of the
Mercy and in the marshes of Tadorn’s Fens. But the colonists were too
busy to pay any attention to these animals. They had, moreover,
abandoned Granite House; they had not even sought refuge in the
Chimneys, but they camped in a tent near the mouth of the Mercy.

Every day Smith and Spilett climbed up to Prospect Plateau. Sometimes
Herbert went with them, but Pencroff never. The sailor did not wish to
look upon the island in its present condition of devastation.

It was, indeed, a desolate spectacle. All its wooded part was now
denuded. One single group of green trees remained on the extremity of
Serpentine Peninsula. Here and there appeared some blackened stumps.
The site of the forests was more desolate than Tadorn’s Fens. The
invasion of the lavas had been complete. Where formerly had been a
pleasant verdure, was now nothing but a waste covered with volcanic
tufa. The valleys of Fall River and Red Creek contained no water, and
if Lake Grant had been completely filled up, the colonists would have
had no means to slack their thirst. But fortunately its southern
extremity had been spared, and formed a sort of pool, which held all
the fresh water remaining on the island. To the northwest the spurs of
the mountain, in jagged outline, looked like a gigantic claw grasping
the ground. What a doleful spectacle! What a frightful aspect! How
grevious for the colonists, who, from a domain, fertile, wooded,

traversed by water-courses, enriched by harvests, found themselves, in
an instant, reduced to a devastated rock, upon which, without their
stores, they would not have had the means of living.

“It is heart-breaking!” said the reporter.

“Yes, Spilett,” answered the engineer. And pray heaven that we are
given time to finish the ship, which is now our sole refuge!”

“Does it not seem to you, Cyrus, that the volcano is subsiding? It
still vomits lava, but, I think, less freely!”

“It matters little,” answered Smith. “The fire is still fierce in the
bowels of the mountain, and the sea may rush in there at any moment. We
are like persons on a ship devoured by a fire which they cannot
control, who know that sooner or later the flames will reach the powder
magazine. Come, Spilett, come, we have not an hour to lose!”

For eight days longer, that is to say until the 8th of February, the
lavas continued to flow, but the eruption confined itself to the limits
described. Smith feared more than anything else an overflow of the
lavas on to the beach, in which case the ship-yard would be destroyed.
But about this time the colonists felt vibrations in the ground which
gave them the greatest uneasiness.

The 20th of February arrived. A month longer was necessary to fit the
ship for sea. Would the island last that long? It was Smith’s intention
to launch her as soon as her hull should be sufficiently caulked. The
deck, lining, arranging the interior, and the rigging could be done
afterwards, but the important thing was to secure a refuge off the
island. Perhaps it would be better to take the vessel round to Balloon
Harbor, the point farthest from the eruptive centre, as, at the mouth
of the Mercy, between the islet and the granite wall, she ran the risk
of being crushed, in case of a breaking up of the island. Therefore,
all the efforts of the workmen were directed to completing the hull.

On the 3d of March they were able to calculate that the ship could be
launched in twelve days.

Hope returned to the hearts of these colonists, who had been so sorely
tried during this fourth year of their sojourn on Lincoln Island! Even
Pencroff was roused from the taciturnity into which he had been plunged
by the ruin and devastation of his domain. He thought of nothing else
but the ship, on which he concentrated all his hopes.

“We will finish her!” he said to the engineer, “we will finish her, Mr.
Smith, and it is high time, for you see how far advanced the season is,
and it will soon be the equinox. Well, if it is necessary, we will
winter at Tabor Island! But Tabor Island after Lincoln Island! Alas!
how unlucky I am! To think that I should live to see such a thing as
this!”

“Let us make haste!” was the invariable answer of the engineer.

And every one worked unceasingly.

“Master,” asked Neb, some days later, “if Captain Nemo had been alive,
do you think this would have happened?”

“Yes, Neb,” answered the engineer.

“I don’t think so!” whispered Pencroff to the negro.

“Nor I!” replied Neb.

During the first week in March Mount Franklin became again threatening.
Thousands of threads of glass, made by the fluid lavas, fell like rain
to the ground. The crater gave forth fresh torrents of lava that flowed
down every side of the volcano. These torrents flowed over the surface
of hardened lava, and destroyed the last vestiges of the trees which
had survived the first eruption. The current, this time following the
southwest shore of Lake Grant, flowed along Glycerine Creek and invaded
Prospect Plateau. This last calamity was a terrible blow to the
colonists; of the mill, the poultry-yard, the stables, nothing
remained. The frightened inhabitants of these places fled in every
direction. Top and Jup gave signs of the utmost terror, and their
instinct warned them of an impending disaster. A large number of
animals had perished in the first eruption, and those which survived
had found their only refuge in Tadorn’s Fens, and on Prospect Plateau.
But this last retreat was now closed from them, and the torrent of lava
having reached the edge of the granite wall, began to fall over on to
the shore in cataracts of fire. The sublime horror of this spectacle
passes all description. At night it looked like a Niagara of molten
matter, with its incandescent spray rising on high and its boiling
masses below!

The colonists were driven to their last refuge, and, although the upper
seams were uncaulked, they resolved to launch their ship into the sea!

Pencroff and Ayrton made the preparations for this event, which was to
take place on the morning of the next day, the 9th of March.

But, during that night, an enormous column of steam escaped from the
crater, rising in the midst of terrific detonations to a height of more
than 3,000 feet. The wall of Crypt Dakkar had given way under the
pressure of the gas, and the sea, pouring

through the central chimney into the burning gulf, was turned into
steam!

The crater was not a sufficient vent for this vapor!

An explosion, which could have been heard a hundred miles away, shook
the very heavens! Fragments of the mountain fell into the Pacific, and,
in a few minutes, the ocean covered the place where Lincoln Island had
been!




CHAPTER LXII.


AN ISOLATED ROCK IN THE PACIFIC—THE LAST REFUGE OF THE COLONISTS—THE
PROSPECT OF DEATH—UNEXPECTED SUCCOR—HOW AND WHY IT CAME—THE LAST GOOD
ACTION—AN ISLAND ON TERRA FIRMA-THE TOMB OF CAPTAIN NEMO.


An isolated rock, thirty feet long, fifteen feet wide, rising ten feet
above the surface of the water, this was the sole solid point which had
not vanished beneath the waves of the Pacific.

It was all that remained of Granite House! The wall had been thrown
over, then broken to pieces, and some of the rocks of the great hall
had been so heaped together as to form this culminating point. All else
had disappeared in the surrounding abyss: the lower cone of Mount
Franklin, torn to pieces by the explosion; the lava jaws of Shark Gulf;
Prospect Plateau, Safety Islet, the granite of Balloon Harbor; the
basalt of Crypt Dakkar; Serpentine Peninsula—had been precipitated into
the eruptive centre! All that remained of Lincoln Island was this rock,
the refuge of the six colonists and their dog Top.

All the animals had perished in the catastrophe. The birds as well as
the beasts, all were crashed or drowned, and poor Jup, alas! had been
swallowed up in some crevasse in the ground!

Smith, Spilett, Herbert, Pencroff, Neb, and Ayrton had survived,
because, being gathered together in their tent, they had been thrown
into the sea, at the moment when the debris of the island rained down
upon the water.

When they came again to the surface they saw nothing but this rock,
half a cable length away, to which they swam.

They had been here nine days! Some provisions, brought from the
magazine of Granite House before the catastrophe, a little soft water
left by the rain in the crevice of the rock—this was all that the
unfortunates possessed. Their last hope, their ship, had been broken to
pieces. They had no means of leaving this reef. No fire, nor anything
with which to make it. They were doomed to perish!

This day, the 18th of March, there remained a supply of food, which,
with the strictest care, could last but forty-eight hours longer. All
their knowledge, all their skill, could avail them nothing now. They
were entirely at God’s mercy.

Smith was calm, Spilett somewhat nervous, and Pencroff, ready to throw
himself into the sea. Herbert never left the engineer; and gazed upon
him, as if demanding the succor which he could not give. Neb and Ayrton
were resigned after their manner.

“Oh, misery! misery!” repeated Pencroff. “If we had but a walnut-shell
to take us to Tabor Island! But nothing; not a thing!”

“And Captain Nemo is dead!” said Neb.

During the five days which followed, Smith and his companions ate just
enough of the supply of food to keep them from famishing. Their
feebleness was extreme. Herbert and Neb began to show signs of
delirium.

In this situation had they a shadow of hope? No! What was their sole
chance? That a ship would pass in sight of the rock? They knew, by
experience, that ships never visited this part of the Pacific. Could
they count, then, by a coincidence which would be truly providential,
upon the Scotch yacht coming just at this time to search for Ayrton at
Tabor Island? It was not probable. And, moreover, supposing that it
came, since the colonists had placed no notice there indicating the
place where Ayrton was to be found, the captain of the yacht, after a
fruitless search of the island, would proceed at once to regain the
lower latitudes.

No! they could entertain no hope of being saved, and a horrible death,
a death by hunger and thirst, awaited them upon this rock!

Already they lay stretched out, inanimate, unconscious of what was
going on around them. Only, Ayrton, by a supreme effort, raised his
head, and cast a despairing look over this desert sea!

But, behold! on this morning of the 24th of March, Ayrton extended his
arms towards some point in space; he rose up, first to his knees, then
stood upright; he waved his hand—

A ship was in sight of the island! This ship did not sail these seas at
hap-hazard. The reef was the point towards which she directed her
course, crowding on all steam, and the unfortunates would have seen her
many hours before, had they had the strength to scan the horizon!

“The Duncan!” murmured Ayrton, and then he fell senseless upon the
rock.


When Smith and his companions regained consciousness, thanks to the
care lavished upon them, they found themselves in the cabin of a
steamer, unaware of the manner in which they had escaped death.

A word from Ayrton was sufficient to enlighten them.

“It is the Duncan,” he murmured.

“The Duncan!” answered Smith. And then, raising his arms to heaven, he
exclaimed:—

“Oh, all powerful Providence! thou hast wished that we should be
saved!”

It was, indeed, the Duncan, Lord Glenarvan’s yacht, at this time
commanded by Robert, the son of Captain Grant, who had been sent to
Tabor Island to search for Ayrton and bring him home after twelve years
of expatriation!

The colonists were saved, they were already on the homeward route!

“Captain Robert,” asked Smith, “what suggested to you the idea, after
leaving Tabor Island, where you were unable to find Ayrton, to come in
this direction?”

“It was to search, not only for Ayrton, Mr. Smith, but for you and your
companions!”

“My companions and myself?”

“Doubtless! On Lincoln Island!”

“Lincoln Island!” cried the others, greatly astonished.

“How did you know of Lincoln Island?” asked Smith. “It is not on the
maps.”

“I knew of it by the notice which you left on Tabor Island,” answered
Grant.

“The notice?” cried Spilett.

“Certainly, and here it is,” replied the other, handing him a paper
indicating the exact position of the Lincoln Island, “the actual
residence of Ayrton and of five American colonists.”

“Captain Nemo!” said Smith, after having read the notice, and
recognized that it was in the same handwriting as the paper found at
the corral.

“Ah!” said Pencroff, “it was he who took our Good Luck, he who ventured
alone to Tabor Island!”

“To place this notice there!” answered Herbert.

“Then I was right when I said,” cried the sailor, “that he would do us
a last service even after his death!”

“My friends,” said Smith, in a voice moved by emotion, “may the God of
sinners receive the soul of Captain Nemo; he was our savior!”

The colonists, uncovering as Smith spake thus, murmured the name of the
captain.

Then Ayrton, approaching the engineer, said to him, simply:—

“What shall be done with the coffer?”

Ayrton had saved this coffer at the risk of his life, at the moment
when the island was engulfed. He now faithfully returned it to the
engineer.

“Ayrton! Ayrton!” exclaimed Smith, greatly affected.

Then addressing Grant:—

“Captain,” he said, “where you left a criminal, you have found a man
whom expiation has made honest, and to whom I am proud to give my
hand!”

Thereupon Grant was informed of all the strange history of Captain Nemo
and the colonists of Lincoln Island. And then, the bearings of this
remaining reef having been taken, Captain Grant gave the order to go
about.

Fifteen days later the colonists landed in America, which they found at
peace after the terrible war which had ended in the triumph of justice
and right. Of the wealth contained in the coffer, the greater part was
employed in the purchase of a vast tract of land in Iowa. One single
pearl, the most beautiful of all, was taken from the treasure and sent
to Lady Glenarvan in the name of the castaways, who had been rescued by
the Duncan.

To this domain the colonists invited to labor—that is, to fortune and
to happiness—all those whom they had counted on receiving at Lincoln
Island. Here they founded a great colony, to which they gave the name
of the island which had disappeared in the depths of the Pacific. They
found here a river which they called the Mercy, a mountain to which
they gave the name of Franklin, a little lake which they called Lake
Grant, and forests which became the forests of the Far West. It was
like an island on terra-firma.

Here, under the skillful hand of the engineer and his companions,
everything prospered. Not one of the former colonists was missing, for
they had agreed always to live together, Neb wherever his master was,
Ayrton always ready to sacrifice himself, Pencroff a better farmer than
he had been a sailor, Herbert who finished his studies under Smith’s
direction, Spilett who founded the New Lincoln _Herald_, which was the
best edited journal in the whole world.

Here Smith and his companions often received visits from Lord and Lady
Glenarvan, from Captain John Mangles and his wife, sister to Robert
Grant, from Robert Grant himself, from Major MacNabbs, from all those
who had been mixed up in the double history of Captain Grant and
Captain Nemo.

Here, finally, all were happy, united in the present as they had been
in the past; but never did they forget that island upon which they had
arrived poor and naked, that island which, for four years, had sufficed
for all their needs, and of which all that remained was a morsel of
granite, beaten by the waves of the Pacific, the tomb of him who was
Captain Nemo!

THE END.

GLOSSARY.

AGOUTI. A genus of rodent animals, the size of a rabbit, but more like
the squirrel in appearance, with the exception of the tail, which is a
short, bare stump. When at rest, they sit upon their haunches, holding
their food between their fore-paws.

ALBATROSS. A genus of large, web-footed, acquatic birds, possessing
prodigious powers of flight. Its wings, when extended, sometimes
measure 15 feet.

ALGAROBA BEANS. The seeds of the algaroba or carob tree. These seeds
were formerly used by jewellers as weights, and the sweetish honey in
the seed-pod is supposed by some to be the wild honey upon which St.
John lived in the wilderness. Animals, especially horses, are fond of
the bean.

AI. The three-toed sloth. The only animal which can neither walk nor
stand. It is herbivorous, and lives in trees, moving suspended from a
branch by its long and powerful arms.

ANTHROPOMORPHI. Animals resembling human beings in form.

APYREXY. The intermission of a fever.

ARADS. An order of plants of which dragon-root, or jack-in-the-pulpit
is a familiar example. Portland sago is made from the corms of some of
these plants.

ARGALL. A species of moufflon or wild sheep.

AZOTH. The old name for nitrogen.

BALEEN. The substance called whale-bone.

BALLISTIC. Relating to engines for throwing missiles; such as the
ancient ballista.

BANKSIA. A genus of plants remarkable for the beauty of their flowers
and their evergreen foliage. They are sometimes called honey-suckle
trees.

BUSTARD. A kind of wild turkey inhabiting the open plains of Europe,
Asia and Africa.

CABIAI. The largest known rodent. _Hystricidæ_. from its aquatic habits
it is sometimes called a water-hog.

CARAPACE. A thick, solid shell covering some reptiles, as the turtle.

CASAURINÆ. Tropical plants, so named on account of the resemblance
their leaves bear to the drooping feathers of the cassowary. For this
reason they are sometimes called cassowary trees.

CASSOWARY. A large, long-legged bird of the ostrich family, famous for
its speed in running.

CATACLYSM. An inundation or deluge.

CELLULOSE. Called also celluline. A substance which constitutes the
cellular tissue of all plants.

CEMENTATION. The process of changing the properties of bodies by
heating them in contact with the powder of other substances.

CETACEA. The name of the genus of marine animals which includes whales,
dolphins, etc.

CINCHONIA. A vegetable alkali found in the cinchona,—a genus of trees
found in Peru,—the bark of which is much used as a febrifugal, and is
known as Peruvian Bark. Cinchonia is not much used in medicine.

COCKATOO. A genus of birds of the parrot family, distinguished from all
other parrots by a crest of feathers on the head, which the bird can
raise or depress at pleasure.

CONIFERS. _Coniferæ_. An order of cone-bearing plants, including
fir-trees, pines, cedars, junipers, etc.

CO-ORDINATES. A system of lines and angles by which the position of any
point may be determined with reference to a fixed point.

CORM. The solid, underground stem of a plant, like the bulb of a tulip;
differing, however, from a bulb in being solid.

COUROUCOUS. Birds of the warbler family, which, excepting the humming
bird family, contains the smallest birds in the world. The Nightingale,
Wood wren and Golden-crests are familiar examples.

CURASSOW. A gallinaceous bird, about the size of turkeys, and capable
of domestication.

CYCAS. A genus of trees intermediate between the palms and the ferns,
cultivated in China, and valued for its pith, which furnishes a kind of
sago.

DEODAR. The Himalayan cedar. A genus of trees belonging to the order
_Pinaccæ_; the same order as the cedars of Lebanon, celebrated for its
beauty, its longevity, its magnitude, and the durability of its timber.

DUGONG. An herbivorous mammal having an elongated body, with flippers
near the head, and terminated by a crescent-shaped tail. It drags
itself along the shore and browses on the herbage that grows along the
banks of the rivers which it frequents.

ECHIDNA. A genus of ovoviparous mammals, which have the general form of
the ant-eater, but the body is covered with spines like a porcupine;
hence they are sometimes called porcupine ant-eaters.

EMUE. A species of cassowary found principally in Australia, and
sometimes called Australian cassowary.

EUCALYPTUS. A genus of plants of the myrtle family, which grow to a
prodigious height. Its leaves exude a substance resembling manna, which
falls to the ground in pieces as large as nuts. The trees are sometimes
called gum trees.

FEBRIFUGE. A medicine to drive away or allay fever.

FECULA. A term applied to the substance obtained from plants; also
called starch or farina.

FULGURITE. A vitrified sand-tube made by the action of lightning.

FULIGINOUS. Resembling smoke; smokey.

FUSIFORM. Spindle-shaped.

GARGOYLE. A projecting water-spout, often grotesquely carved, attached
to old gothic buildings.

HYDROGRAPHY. As opposed to orography; the water system of a country.

IZARD. The chamois of the Pyrenees.

JACAMAR. A genus of climbing birds, closely allied to the kingfishers,
that live in forests, feed on insects, and build in low bushes. Their
plumage has a carious metallic lustre.

JETSAM. Goods coming to land which have been thrown overboard from a
ship in distress.

KAOLINE. The Chinese name for a kind of porcelain clay.

GLOSSARY.

KOULAS. See Ai.

LARDIZABALACEÆ. An order of twining shrubs, some of which furnish our
greenhouses with pretty evergreen climbers.

LENTICULAR. Having the form of a double convex lens.

LIANA. A name used to designate the climbing, twining plants which
abound in tropical forests, often growing to an immense size, and
forming a perfect network of branches, impenetrable without the aid of
a hatchet. They are comparatively rare in our climate, but honeysuckles
may be mentioned as familiar examples.

LILIACKÆ. Plants of the order of amaryllids, growing to an enormous
size. They are commonly known as the giant Lily. The stem is leafy, 15
or 20 feet high, and bears at the top a cluster of superb large crimson
blossoms.

LITHODOMI. Molluscous animals which form holes in the solid rocks, in
which they lodge themselves. One species (_Lithodomus Lithophagus_) is
esteemed as an article of food, and is known by the name of the
_sea-date shell_.

LORIES. Birds belonging to the parrot family, remarkable for their soft
beaks.

MACAUCO. A genus of four-handed animals, resembling the monkey tribe.

MACRODACTYLS. Long-toed wading birds.

MAGOT. A small species of ape, sometimes called the Barbary ape.

MALACOLOGIST. One who treats of mollusks.

MANNIFERS. A name synonymous with mammals; meaning animals which suckle
their young.

MANATEE. A marine animal closely related to the dugong. It Is sometimes
called lamantine or sea-cow.

MARGARINE. A fatty solid matter obtained from oil.

MOUFFLON. _Caprovis Mussimon_. Resembling the mountain sheep of
Arizona. It is the size of a deer; covered with hair which assumes a
woolly character in winter.

OLEINE. The fluid portion of fats and oils.

ONAGER. Another name for the wild ass.

OROGRAPHY. As opposed to hydrography; the description of the mountain
system of a country.

PALMIPEDS. Web-footed fowl.

PECCARY. An animal resembling a hog, sometimes called Mexican hog, or
_tajacu_.

PELLICAN. A largo aquatic bird, having a long, straight and very strong
bill. It lives upon fish, which It carries for some time in a pouch or
bag attached to the lover mandible.

PIROGUE. A canoe, usually formed of a hollowed tree.

POLYPORUS. A genus of fungi, allied to mushrooms, toad-stools,
sap-balls, etc.; used in Germany to make the tinder called Amadon.

PTEROPODA. A class of mollusks which live In the open sea, and have a
pair of flippers or wings, by which they pass rapidly through the
water.

PULP. The common name for marine animals of the genus octopus, such as
the cuttle-fish. They have eight feet or arms around the head, with
which they swim, creep, and seize their prey. It is the _Pieuvre_ of
Victor Hugo.

PUZZOLAN. Fine volcanic ashes, which harden under water, forming a kind
of cement.

PYROXYLINE. Called also gun-cotton. It burns In the open air with a
flash, though without smoke or report; but It is violently explosive
when fired in a confined space.

QUADRUMANA. Animals having four hands, as apes, baboons, etc.

QUININE. The most important of the vegetable alkaloids found In the
cinchona (see CINCHONIA). It is one of the most valuable antiperiodics
and febrifuges known.

RECRUDESENCE. The state of becoming sore again.

RINFORDZANDO. A musical sign denoting an Increase of sound. Usually
expressed by the abbreviation _rf_.

RUMINANT. An animal that chews the cud.

SAGOIN. A species of sapajo. The squirrel monkey; so called on account
of its hairy tail.

SALICIN. A white and very bitter substance, obtained from the bark of
the willow and other trees.

SAPAJOS. The proper name for tailed monkeys, as distinguishing them
from apes, baboons and gorillas, which are tailless.

SEXTANT. An Instrument for measuring angles by reflection.

SPHENISCUS. Penguins; a sub-family of auks. Oceanic birds remarkable
for their short legs, very short wings—which are useful only In
swimming; and their upright position when at rest.

STEARINE. The most abundant of the solid constituents of fats and oils.
Also a popular name for stearic acid, used in candles.

SUCCEDANEOUS. Supplying the place of something else.

TALUS. A sloping heap of fragments accumulated at the foot of a steep
rock, from the face of which they have been broken off by the action of
the weather.

TETRA. _Tetraonieda_, or grouse. The bird here described resembles the
pinated grouse, or prairie-chicken.

TINAMONS. A family of birds belonging to the order _gallinæ_. They are
about the size of quail.

TOURACO-LORIES. Climbing birds of the parrot family.

TRAGOPANS. A large species of pheasant.

TUFA. A name given to volcanic dust, cemented by the Infiltration of
water into a porous rock.

[Illustration: Lincoln Island]

END OF TRANSLATION OF THE MYSTERIOUS ISLAND