Mysterious Island E-book
Author: Jules Verne
Genre: Children Stories, Enigma, Literature, Wonder
1870
THE MYSTERIOUS ISLAND
by Jules Verne
Electronically Enhanced Text (c) Copyright 1996, World Library(R)
PART I
DROPPED FROM THE CLOUDS
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CHAPTER I
The storm of 1865.- Voices in the air.- A balloon carried away
by a whirlwind.- Five passengers.- What happened in the car.
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"ARE we rising again?"
"No. On the contrary."
"Are we descending?"
"Worse than that, captain; we are falling!"
"For heaven's sake heave out the ballast!"
"There! the last sack is empty!"
"Does the balloon rise?"
"No!"
"I hear a noise like the dashing waves!"
"The sea is below the car! It cannot be more than five hundred
feet from us!"
"Overboard with every weight- everything!"
Such were the loud and startling words which resounded through the
air above the vast watery desert of the Pacific about four o'clock
in the evening of the 23d of March, 1865.
Few can possibly have forgotten the terrible storm from the
northeast in the middle of the equinox of that year. The tempest raged
without intermission from the 18th to the 26th of March. Its ravages
were terrible in America, Europe and Asia, covering a distance of
eighteen hundred miles, and extending obliquely to the equator from
the thirty-fifth north parallel to the fortieth south parallel.
Towns were overthrown, forests uprooted, coasts devastated by the
mountains of water which were precipitated on them, vessels cast on
the shore, which the published accounts numbered by hundreds, whole
districts leveled by waterspouts which destroyed everything they
passed over, several thousand people crushed on land or drowned at
sea; such were the traces of its fury, left by this devastating
tempest. It surpassed in disasters those which so frightfully
ravaged Havana and Guadaloupe, one on the 25th of October, 1810, the
other on the 26th of July, 1825.
But while so many catastrophes were taking place on land and sea,
a drama not less exciting was being enacted in the agitated air.
In fact, a balloon, as a ball might be carried on the summit of a
waterspout, had been taken into the circling movement of a column of
air and had traversed space at the rate of ninety miles an hour,
turning round and round as if seized by some aerial maelstrom.
Beneath the lower point of the balloon swung a car containing five
passengers, scarcely visible in the midst of the thick vapor mingled
with spray which hung over the surface of the ocean.
Whence, it may be asked, had come that plaything of the tempest?
From what part of the world did it rise? It surely could not have
started during the storm. But the storm had raged five days already,
and the first symptoms were manifest on the 18th. It cannot be doubted
that the balloon came from a great distance, for it could not have
traveled less than two thousand miles in twenty-four hours.
At any rate, the passengers, destitute of all marks for their
guidance, could not have possessed the means of reckoning the route
traversed since their departure. It was a remarkable fact that,
although in the very midst of the furious tempest, they did not suffer
from it. They were thrown about and whirled round and round without
feeling the rotation in the slightest degree, or being sensible that
they were removed from a horizontal position.
Their eyes could not pierce through the thick mist which had
gathered beneath the car. Dark vapor was all around them. Such was the
density of the atmosphere that they could not be certain whether it
was day or night. No reflection of light, no sound from inhabited
land, no roaring of the ocean could have reached them through the
obscurity, while suspended in those elevated zones. Their rapid
descent alone had informed them of the dangers which they ran from the
waves. However, the balloon, lightened of heavy articles, such as
ammunition, arms, and provisions, had risen into the higher layers
of the atmosphere, to a height of four thousand five hundred feet. The
voyagers, after having discovered that the sea extended beneath
them, and thinking the dangers above less dreadful than those below,
did not hesitate to throw overboard even their most useful articles,
while they endeavored to lose no more of that fluid, the life of their
enterprise, which sustained them above the abyss.
The night passed in the midst of alarms which would have been
death to less energetic souls. Again the day appeared and with it
the tempest began to moderate. From the beginning of that day, the
24th of March, it showed symptoms of abating. At dawn some of the
lighter clouds had risen into the more lofty regions of the air. In
a few hours the wind had changed from a hurricane to a fresh breeze,
that is to say, the rate of the transit of the atmospheric layers
was diminished by half. It was still what sailors call "a close-reefed
topsail breeze," but the commotion in the elements had not the less
considerably diminished.
Toward eleven o'clock the lower region of the air was sensibly
clearer. The atmosphere threw off that chilly dampness which is felt
after the passage of a great meteor. The storm did not seem to have
gone further to the west. It appeared to have exhausted itself.
Could it have passed away in electric sheets, as is sometimes the case
with regard to the typhoons of the Indian Ocean?
But at the same time it was also evident that the balloon was
again slowly descending with a regular movement. It appeared as if
it were, little by little, collapsing, and that its case was
lengthening and extending, passing from a spherical to an oval form.
Toward midday the balloon was hovering above the sea at a height of
only two thousand feet. It contained fifty thousand cubic feet of gas,
and, thanks to its capacity, it could maintain itself a long time in
the air, although it should reach a great altitude or might be
thrown into a horizontal position.
Perceiving their danger, the passengers cast away the last
articles which still weighed down the car, the few provisions they had
kept, everything, even to their pocket-knives, and one of them, having
hoisted himself on to the circles which united the cords of the net,
tried to secure more firmly the lower point of the balloon.
It was, however, evident to the voyagers that the gas was failing,
and that the balloon could no longer be sustained in the higher
regions. They must infallibly perish!
There was not a continent, nor even an island, visible beneath them.
The watery expanse did not present a single speck of land, not a solid
surface upon which their anchor could hold.
It was the open sea, whose waves were still dashing with
tremendous violence! It was the ocean without any visible limits, even
for those whose gaze, from their commanding position, extended over
a radius of forty miles. The vast liquid plain, lashed without mercy
by the storm, appeared as if covered with herds of furious chargers,
whose white and disheveled crests were streaming in the wind. No
land was in sight, not a solitary ship could be seen. It was necessary
at any cost to arrest their downward course, and to prevent the
balloon from being engulfed in the waves. The voyagers directed all
their energies to this urgent work. But, notwithstanding their
efforts, the balloon still fell; it was also suddenly overthrown,
following the direction of the wind- that is to say, from the
northeast to the southwest.
Frightful indeed was the situation of these unfortunate men. They
were evidently no longer masters of the machine. All their attempts
were useless. The case of the balloon collapsed more and more. The gas
escaped without any possibility of retaining it. Their descent was
visibly accelerated, and soon after midday the car hung within six
hundred feet of the ocean.
It was impossible to prevent the escaping gas, which rushed
through a large rent in the silk. By lightening the car of all
articles which it contained, the passengers had been able to prolong
their suspension in the air for a few hours. But the inevitable
catastrophe could only be retarded, and if land did not appear
before night, voyagers, car, and balloon must to a certainty vanish
beneath the waves.
They now resorted to the only remaining expedient. They were truly
dauntless men, who knew how to look death in the face. Not a single
murmur escaped from their lips. They were determined to struggle to
the last minute, to do anything to retard their fall. The car was only
a sort of willow basket, unable to float, and there was not the
slightest possibility of maintaining it on the surface of the sea.
Two more hours passed and the balloon was scarcely four hundred feet
above the water.
At that moment a loud voice, the voice of a man inaccessible to
fear, was heard. To this voice responded others not less determined.
"Is everything thrown out?"
"No, here are still two thousand dollars in gold."
A heavy bag immediately plunged into the sea.
"Does the balloon rise?"
"A little; but it will not be long before it falls again."
"What still remains to be thrown out?"
"Nothing."
"Yes! the car!"
"Let us catch hold of the net, and into the sea with the car!"
This was, in fact, the last and only mode of lightening the balloon.
The ropes which held the car were cut, and the balloon after its fall,
mounted two thousand feet. The five voyagers had hoisted themselves
into the net, and clung to the meshes.
The delicate sensibility of balloons is well known. It is sufficient
to throw out the lightest article to produce a difference in its
vertical position. The apparatus in the air is like a balance of
mathematical precision. It can be thus easily understood that when
it is lightened of any considerable weight its movement will be
impetuous and sudden. So it happened on this occasion. But after being
suspended for an instant aloft, the balloon began to redescend, the
gas escaping by the rent which it was impossible to repair. The men
had done all that men could do. No human efforts could save them
now. They must trust to the mercy of Him who rules the elements. At
four o'clock the balloon was only five hundred feet above the
surface of the water. A loud barking was heard. A dog accompanied
the voyagers, and was held close to his master in the meshes of the
net.
"Top has seen something," cried one of the men. Then immediately a
loud voice shouted:
"Land! land!"
The balloon, which the wind still drove toward the southwest, had
since daybreak gone a considerable distance, which might be reckoned
by hundreds of miles, and a tolerably high land had in fact appeared
in that direction. But this land was still thirty miles off. It
would not take less than an hour to get to it, and then there was
the chance of falling to leeward.
An hour! Might not the balloon before that be emptied of all the
fluid it yet retained?
Such was the terrible question! The voyagers could distinctly see
that solid spot which they must reach at any cost. They were
ignorant of what it was, whether an island or a continent, for they
did not know to what part of the world the hurricane had driven
them. But they must reach this land, whether inhabited or desolate,
whether hospitable or not.
It was evident that the balloon could no longer support itself.
Several times already had the crests of the enormous billows licked
the bottom of the net, making it still heavier, and the balloon only
half-rose, like a bird with a wounded wing. Half an hour later the
land was not more than a mile off, but the balloon, exhausted, flabby,
hanging in great folds, had gas in its upper part alone. The voyagers,
clinging to the net, were still too heavy for it, and soon,
half-plunged in the sea, they were beaten by the furious waves. The
balloon case bulged out again, and the wind, taking it, drove it along
like a vessel. Might it not possibly thus reach the land?
But, when only two fathoms off, terrible cries resounded from four
pairs of lungs at once. The balloon, which had appeared as if it would
never again rise, suddenly made an unexpected bound, after having been
struck by a tremendous sea. As if it had been at that instant relieved
of a new part of its weight, it mounted to a height of fifteen hundred
feet, and there it met a current of wind, which, instead of taking
it directly to the coast, carried it in a nearly parallel direction.
At last, two minutes later, it reapproached obliquely, and finally
fell on a sandy beach, out of the reach of the waves.
The voyagers, aiding each other, managed to disengage themselves
from the meshes of the net. The balloon, relieved from their weight,
was taken by the wind, and, like a wounded bird which revives for an
instant, disappeared into space.
But the car had contained five passengers, with a dog, and the
balloon only left four on the shore.
The missing person had evidently been swept off by the sea, which
had just struck the net, and it was owing to this circumstance that
the lightened balloon rose for the last time, and then soon after
reached the land. Scarcely had the four castaways set foot on firm
ground than they all, thinking of the absent one, simultaneously
exclaimed, "Perhaps he will try to swim to land! Let us save him!
let us save him!"
CHAPTER II
An incident in the war of secession.- The engineer Cyrus
Harding.- Gideon Spilett.- The negro Neb.- Pencroft the
sailor.- The night rendezvous.- Departure in the storm.
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THOSE whom the hurricane had just thrown on this coast were
neither aeronauts by profession nor amateurs. They were prisoners of
war whose boldness had induced them to escape in this extraordinary
manner.
A hundred times they had almost perished. A hundred times they had
almost fallen from their torn balloon into the depths of the ocean.
But heaven had reserved them for a strange destiny, and after
having, on the 20th of March, escaped from Richmond, besieged by the
troops of General Ulysses S. Grant, they found themselves seven
thousand miles from the capital of Virginia, which was the principal
stronghold of the South during the terrible war of secession. Their
aerial voyage had lasted five days.
The curious circumstances which led to the escape of the prisoners
were as follows:
That same year, in the month of February, 1865, in one of the
coups-de-main by which General Grant attempted, though in vain, to
possess himself of Richmond, several of his officers fell into the
power of the enemy and were detained in the town. One of the most
distinguished was Captain Cyrus Harding. He was a native of
Massachusetts, a first-class engineer, to whom the government had
confided, during the war, the direction of the railways, which were so
important at that time. A true Northerner, thin, bony, lean, about
forty-five years of age; his close-cut hair and his beard, of which he
only kept a thick mustache, were already getting gray. He had one of
those finely developed heads which appear made to be struck on a
medal, piercing eyes, a serious mouth, the physiognomy of a clever man
of the military school. He was one of those engineers who began by
handling the hammer and pickax, like generals who first act as
common soldiers. Besides mental power, he also possessed great
manual dexterity. His muscles exhibited remarkable proofs of tenacity.
A man of action as well as a man of thought, all he did was without
effort to one of his vigorous and sanguine temperament. Learned,
clear-headed, and practical, he fulfilled in all emergencies those
three conditions which united ought to insure human success-
activity of mind and body, impetuous wishes, and powerful will. He
might have taken for his motto that of William of Orange in the
seventeenth century: "I can undertake and persevere even without
hope of success." Cyrus Harding was courage personified. He had been
in all the battles of that war. After having begun as a volunteer at
Illinois, under Ulysses Grant, he fought at Paducah, Belmont,
Pittsburg Landing, at the siege of Corinth, Port Gibson, Black
River, Chattanooga, Wilderness, Potomac, everywhere, and valiantly,
a soldier worthy of the general who said: "I never count my dead!" And
hundreds of times Captain Harding had almost been among those who were
not counted by the terrible Grant; but in these combats where he never
spared himself, fortune favored him till the moment when he was
wounded and taken prisoner on the field of battle near Richmond. At
the same time and on the same day another important personage fell
into the hands of the Southerners. This was no other than Gideon
Spilett, a reporter for the New York Herald, who had been ordered to
follow the changes of the war in the midst of the Northern armies.
Gideon Spilett was one of that race of indomitable English or
American chroniclers, like Stanley and others, who stop at nothing
to obtain exact information, and transmit it to their journal in the
shortest possible time. The newspapers of the Union, such as the New
York Herald, are formed of actual powers, and their reporters are
their representatives. Gideon Spilett ranked among the first of
those reporters: a man of great merit, energetic, prompt and ready for
anything, full of ideas, having traveled over the whole world, soldier
and artist, enthusiastic in council, resolute in action, caring
neither for trouble, fatigue, nor danger when in pursuit of
information, for himself first and then for his journal, a perfect
treasury of knowledge on all sorts of curious subjects, of the
unpublished, of the unknown, and of the impossible. He was one of
those intrepid observers who write under fire, "reporting" among
bullets, and to whom every danger is welcome.
He also had been in all the battles, in the first rank, revolver
in one hand, a notebook in the other; grapeshot never made his
pencil tremble. He did not fatigue the wires with incessant telegrams,
like those who speak when they have nothing to say, but each of his
notes, short, decisive, and clear, threw light on some important
point. Besides, he was not wanting in humor. It was he who, after
the affair of the Black River, determined at any cost to keep his
place at the wicket of the telegraph office, and after having
announced to his journal the result of the battle, telegraphed for two
hours the first chapter of the Bible. It cost the New York Herald
two thousand dollars, but the New York Herald published the first
intelligence.
Gideon Spilett was tall. He was rather more than forty years of age.
Light whiskers bordering on red surrounded his face. His eye was
steady, lively, rapid in its changes. It was the eye of a man
accustomed to take in at a glance all the details of a scene.
Well-built, he was inured to all climates, like a bar of steel
hardened in cold water.
For ten years Gideon Spilett had been the reporter of the New York
Herald, which he enriched by his letters and drawings, for he was as
skillful in the use of the pencil as of the pen. When he was
captured he was in the act of making a description and sketch of the
battle. The last words in his notebook were these:
"A Southern rifleman has just taken aim at me, but-"
The Southerner notwithstanding missed Gideon Spilett, who, with
his usual fortune, came out of this affair without a scratch.
Cyrus Harding and Gideon Spilett, who did not know each other except
by reputation, had both been carried to Richmond. The engineer's
wounds rapidly healed, and it was during his convalescence that he
made acquaintance with the reporter. The two men then learned to
appreciate each other. Soon their common aim had but one object,
that of escaping, joining Grant's army, and fighting together in the
ranks of the Federals.
The two Americans had from the first determined to seize every
chance; but although they were allowed to wander at liberty in the
town, Richmond was so strictly guarded that escape appeared
impossible. In the meanwhile Captain Harding was rejoined by a servant
who was devoted to him in life and in death. This intrepid fellow
was a negro born on the engineer's estate, of a slave father and
mother, but to whom Cyrus, who was an Abolitionist from conviction and
heart, had long since given his freedom. The once slave, though
free, would not leave his master. He would have died for him. He was a
man of about thirty, vigorous, active, clever, intelligent, gentle,
and calm, sometimes naive, always merry, obliging, and honest. His
name was Nebuchadnezzar, but he only answered to the familiar
abbreviation of Neb.
When Neb heard that his master had been made prisoner he left
Massachusetts without hesitating an instant, arrived before
Richmond, and by dint of stratagem and shrewdness, after having risked
his life twenty times over, managed to penetrate into the besieged
town. The pleasure of Harding on seeing his servant, and the joy of
Neb at finding his master, can scarcely be described.
But though Neb had been able to make his way into Richmond, it was
quite another thing to get out again, for the Northern prisoners
were very strictly watched. Some extraordinary opportunity was
needed to make the attempt with any chance of success, and this
opportunity not only did not present itself, but was very difficult to
find.
Meanwhile Grant continued his energetic operations. The victory of
Petersburg had been very dearly bought. His forces, united to those of
Butler, had as yet been unsuccessful before Richmond, and nothing gave
the prisoners any hope of a speedy deliverance.
The reporter, to whom his tedious captivity did not offer a single
incident worthy of note, could stand it no longer. His usually
active mind was occupied with one sole thought- how he might get out
of Richmond at any cost. Several times had he even made the attempt,
but was stopped by some insurmountable obstacle. However, the siege
continued; and if the prisoners were anxious to escape and join
Grant's army, certain of the besieged were no less anxious to join the
Southern forces. Among them was one Jonathan Forster, a determined
Southerner. The truth was, that if the prisoners of the
Secessionists could not leave the town, neither could Secessionists
themselves while the Northern army invested it. The governor of
Richmond for a long time had been unable to communicate with General
Lee, and he very much wished to make known to him the situation of the
town, so as to hasten the march of the army to their relief. This
Jonathan Forster accordingly conceived the idea of rising in a
balloon, so as to pass over the besieging lines, and in that way reach
the Secessionist camp.
The governor authorized the attempt. A balloon was manufactured
and placed at the disposal of Forster, who was to be accompanied by
five other persons. They were furnished with arms in case they might
have to defend themselves when they alighted, and provisions in the
event of their aerial voyage being prolonged.
The departure of the balloon was fixed for the 18th of March. It
should be effected during the night, with a northwest wind of moderate
force, and the aeronauts calculated that they would reach General
Lee's camp in a few hours.
But this northwest wind was not a simple breeze. From the 18th it
was evident that it was changing to a hurricane. The tempest soon
became such that Forster's departure was deferred, for it was
impossible to risk the balloon and those whom it carried in the
midst of the furious elements.
The balloon, inflated on the great square of Richmond, was ready
to depart on the first abatement of the wind, and, as may be supposed,
the impatience among the besieged to see the storm moderate was very
great.
The 18th, the 19th of March passed without any alteration in the
weather. There was even great difficulty in keeping the balloon
fastened to the ground, as the squalls dashed it furiously about.
The night of the 19th passed, but the next morning the storm blew
with redoubled force. The departure of the balloon was impossible.
On that day the engineer, Cyrus Harding was accosted in one of the
streets of Richmond by a person whom he did not in the least know.
This was a sailor named Pencroft, a man of about thirty-five or
forty years of age, strongly built, very sunburned, and possessed of a
pair of bright, sparkling eyes and a remarkably good physiognomy.
Pencroft was an American from the North, who had, sailed all the ocean
over, and who had gone through every possible and almost impossible
adventure that a being with two feet and no wings could encounter.
It is needless to say that he was a bold, dashing fellow, ready to
dare anything and was astonished at nothing. Pencroft at the beginning
of the year had gone to Richmond on business, with a young boy of
fifteen from New jersey, son of a former captain, an orphan, whom he
loved as if he had been his own child. Not having been able to leave
the town before the first operations of the siege, he found himself
shut up, to his great disgust; but, not accustomed to succumb to
difficulties, he resolved to escape by some means or other. He knew
the engineer officer by reputation; he knew with what impatience
that determined man chafed under his restraint. On this day he did
not, therefore, hesitate to accost him, saying, without
circumlocution: "Have you had enough of Richmond, captain?"
The engineer looked fixedly at the man who spoke, and who added,
in a low voice:
"Captain Harding, will you try to escape?"
"When?" asked the engineer quickly; and it was evident that this
question was uttered without consideration, for he had not yet
examined the stranger who addressed him. But after having with a
penetrating eye observed the open face of the sailor, he was convinced
that he had before him an honest man.
"Who are you?" he asked briefly.
Pencroft made himself known.
"Well," replied Harding, "and in what way do you propose to escape?"
"By that lazy balloon which is left there doing nothing, and which
looks to me as if it was waiting on purpose for us-"
There was no necessity for the sailor to finish his sentence. The
engineer understood him at once. He seized Pencroft by the arm, and
dragged him to his house. There the sailor developed his project,
which was indeed extremely simple. They risked nothing but their lives
in its execution. The hurricane was in all its violence, it is true,
but so clever and daring an engineer as Cyrus Harding knew perfectly
well how to manage a balloon. Had he himself been as well acquainted
with the art of sailing in the air as he was with the navigation of
a ship, Pencroft would not have hesitated to set out, of course taking
his young friend Herbert with him; for, accustomed to brave the
fiercest tempests of the ocean, he was not to be hindered on account
of the hurricane.
Captain Harding had listened to the sailor without saying a word,
but his eyes shone with satisfaction. Here was the long-sought-for
opportunity- he was not a man to let it pass. The plan was feasible,
though, it must be confessed, dangerous in the extreme. In the
night, in spite of their guards, they might approach the balloon, slip
into the car, and then cut the cords which held it. There was no doubt
that they might be killed; but, on the other hand, they might succeed,
and without this storm! Without this storm the balloon would have
started already, and the looked-for opportunity would not have then
presented itself.
"I am not alone!" said Harding at last.
"How many people do you wish to bring with you?" asked the sailor.
"Two- my friend Spilett, and my servant Neb."
"That will be three," replied Pencroft; "and with Herbert and me,
five. But the balloon will hold six-"
"That will be enough- we will go," answered Harding in a firm voice.
This "we" included Spilett, for the reporter, as his friend well
knew, was not a man to draw back, and when the project was
communicated to him he approved of it unreservedly. What astonished
him was, that so simple an idea had not occurred to him before. As
to Neb, he followed his master wherever his master wished to go.
"This evening, then," said Pencroft, "we will all meet out there."
"This evening, at ten o'clock," replied Captain Harding, "and heaven
grant that the storm does not abate before our departure."
Pencroft took leave of the two friends, and returned to his
lodgings, where young Herbert Brown had remained. The courageous boy
knew of the sailor's plan, and it was not without anxiety that he
awaited the result of the proposal being made to the engineer. Thus
five determined persons were about to abandon themselves to the
mercy of the tempestuous elements!
No! the storm did not abate, and neither Jonathan Forster nor his
companion dreamed of confronting it in that frail car.
It would be a terrible journey. The engineer only feared one
thing; it was that the balloon, held to the ground and dashed about by
the wind, would be torn into shreds. For several hours he roamed round
the nearly deserted square, surveying the apparatus. Pencroft did
the same on his side, his hands in his pockets, yawning now and then
like a man who did not know how to kill the time, but really dreading,
like his friend, either the escape or destruction of the balloon.
Evening arrived. The night was dark in the extreme. Thick, mists
passed like clouds close to the ground. Rain fell mingled with snow.
It was very cold. A mist hung over Richmond. It seemed as if the
violent storm had produced a truce between the besiegers and the
besieged, and that the cannon were silenced by the louder
detonations of the storm. The streets of the town were deserted. It
had not even appeared necessary in that horrible weather to place a
guard in the square, in the midst of which plunged the balloon.
Everything favored the departure of the prisoners, but what might
possibly be the termination of the hazardous voyage they
contemplated in the midst of the furious elements?
"Dirty weather!" exclaimed Pencroft, fixing his hat firmly on his
head with a blow of his fist; "but pshaw, we shall succeed all the
same!"
At half-past nine Harding and his companions glided from different
directions into the square, which the gas-lamps, extinguished by the
wind, had left in total obscurity. Even the enormous balloon, almost
beaten to the ground, could not be seen. Independently of the sacks of
ballast, to which the cords of the net were fastened, the car was held
by a strong cable passed through a ring in the pavement. The five
prisoners met by the car. They had not been perceived, and such was
the darkness that they could not even see each other.
Without speaking a word Harding, Spilett, Neb, and Herbert took
their places in the car, while Pencroft by the engineer's order
detached successively the bags of ballast. It was the work of a few
minutes only, and the sailor rejoined his companions.
The balloon was then only held by the cable, and the engineer had
nothing to do but to give the word.
At that moment a dog sprang with a bound into the car. It was Top, a
favorite of the engineer. The faithful creature, having broken his
chain, had followed his master. He, however, fearing that its
additional weight might impede their ascent, wished to send away the
animal.
"One more will make but little difference, poor beast!" exclaimed
Pencroft, heaving out two bags of sand, and as he spoke letting go the
cable. The balloon, ascending in an oblique direction, disappeared,
after having dashed the car against two chimneys, which it threw
down as it swept by them.
Then, indeed, the full rage of the hurricane was exhibited to the
voyagers. During the night the engineer could not dream of descending,
and when day broke, even a glimpse of the earth below was
intercepted by fog.
Five days had passed, when a partial clearing allowed them to see
the wide extending ocean beneath their feet, now lashed into the
maddest fury by the gale.
Our readers will recollect what befell these five daring individuals
who set out on their hazardous expedition in the balloon on the 20th
of March. Five days afterward four of them were thrown on a desert
coast, seven thousand miles from their country! But one of their
number was missing, the man who was to be their guide, their leading
spirit, the engineer, Captain Harding! The instant they had
recovered their feet they all hurried to the beach in hopes of
rendering him assistance.
CHAPTER III
Five o'clock in the evening.- The missing one.- Neb's despair.-
Search toward the north.- The islet.- A dreadful night.- A fog in
the morning.- Neb swims.- Sight of land.- Fording the channel.
-
THE engineer, the meshes of the net having given way, had been
carried off by a wave. His dog also had disappeared. The faithful
animal had voluntarily leaped out to help his master. "Forward," cried
the reporter; and all four, Spilett, Herbert, Pencroft, and Neb,
forgetting their fatigue, began their search. Poor Neb shed bitter
tears, giving way to despair at the thoughts of having lost the only
being he loved on earth.
Only two minutes had passed from the time when Cyrus Harding
disappeared to the moment when his companions set foot on the
ground. They had hopes, therefore, of arriving in time to save him.
"Let us look for him!" cried Neb.
"Yes, Neb," replied Gideon Spilett, "and we will find him too!"
"Living, I trust!"
"Still living!"
"Can he swim?" asked Pencroft.
"Yes," replied Neb, "and besides, Top is there."
The sailor observing the heavy surf on the shore, shook his head.
The engineer had disappeared to the north of the shore, and nearly
half a mile from the place where the castaways had landed. The nearest
point of the beach he could reach was thus fully that distance off.
It was then nearly six o'clock. A thick fog made the night very
dark. The castaways proceeded toward the north of the land on which
chance had thrown them- an unknown region, the geographical
situation of which they could not even guess. They were walking upon a
sandy soil, mingled with stones, which appeared destitute of any
sort of vegetation. The ground, very unequal and rough, was in some
places perfectly riddled with holes, making walking extremely painful.
From these holes escaped every minute great birds of clumsy flight,
which flew in all directions. Others, more active, rose in flocks
and passed in clouds over their heads. The sailor thought he
recognized the gulls and cormorants whose shrill cries rose above
the roaring of the sea.
From time to time the castaways stopped and shouted, then listened
for some response from the ocean, for they thought that if the
engineer had landed, and they had been near to the place, they would
have heard the barking of the dog Top, even should Harding himself
have been unable to give any sign of existence. They stopped to
listen, but no sound arose above the roaring of the waves and the
dashing of the surf. The little band then continued their march
forward, searching into every hollow of the shore.
After walking for twenty minutes the four castaways were suddenly
brought to a standstill by the sight of foaming billows close to their
feet. The solid ground ended here. They found themselves at the
extremity of a sharp point on which the sea broke furiously.
"It is a promontory," said the sailor; "we must retrace our steps,
holding toward the right, and we shall thus gain the mainland."
"But if he is there," said Neb, pointing to the ocean, whose waves
shone of a snowy white in the darkness. "Well, let us call again," and
all uniting their voices, they gave a vigorous shout, but there came
no reply. They waited for a lull, then began again; still no reply.
The castaways accordingly returned, following the opposite side of
the promontory, over a soil equally sandy and rugged. However,
Pencroft observed that the shore was more equal, that the ground rose,
and he declared that it was joined by a long slope to a hill, whose
massive front he thought that he could see looming indistinctly
through the mist. The birds were less numerous on this part of the
shore; the sea was also less tumultuous, and they observed that the
agitation of the waves was diminished. The noise of the surf was
scarcely heard. This side of the promontory evidently formed a
semicircular bay, which the sharp point sheltered from the breakers of
the open sea. But to follow this direction was to go south, exactly
opposite to that part of the coast where Harding might have landed.
After a walk of a mile and a half, the shore presented no curve
which would permit them to return to the north.
This promontory, of which they had turned the point, must be
attached to the mainland. The castaways, although their strength was
nearly exhausted, still marched courageously forward, hoping every
moment to meet with a sudden angle which would set them in the first
direction. What was their disappointment, when, after trudging
nearly two miles, having reached an elevated point composed of
slippery rocks, they found themselves again stopped by the sea.
"We are on an islet," said Pencroft, "and we have surveyed it from
one extremity to the other."
The sailor was right; they had been thrown, not on a continent,
not even on an island, but an islet which was not more than two
miles in length, with even less breadth.
Was this barren spot, the desolate refuge of sea-birds, strewn
with stones and destitute of vegetation, attached to a more
important archipelago? It was impossible to say. When the voyagers
from their car saw the land through the mist, they had not been able
to reconnoiter it sufficiently. However, Pencroft, accustomed with his
sailor eyes to pierce through the gloom, was almost certain that he
could clearly distinguish in the west confused masses which
indicated an elevated coast. But they could not in the dark
determine whether it was a single island, or connected with others.
They could not leave it either, as the sea surrounded them: they
must therefore put off till the next day their search for the
engineer, from whom, alas! not a single cry had reached them to show
that he was still in existence.
"The silence of our friend proves nothing," said the reporter.
"Perhaps he has fainted or is wounded, and unable to reply directly,
so we will not despair."
The reporter then proposed to light a fire on a point of the
islet, which would serve as a signal to the engineer. But they
searched in vain for wood or dry brambles; nothing but sand and stones
were to be found. The grief of Neb and his companions, who were all
strongly attached to the intrepid Harding, can be better pictured than
described. It was too evident that they were powerless to help him.
They must wait with what patience they could for daylight. Either
the engineer had been able to save himself, and had already found a
refuge on some point of the coast, or he was lost forever! The long
and painful hours passed by. The cold by this time was very intense.
The castaways suffered cruelly, but they scarcely perceived it. They
did not think of taking a minute's rest. Forgetting everything but
their chief, hoping or wishing to hope on, they continued to walk up
and down on this sterile spot, always returning to its northern point,
where they found approach nearest to the scene of the catastrophe.
They listened, they called, and then uniting their voices, they
endeavored to raise even a louder shout than before, which would be
transmitted to a great distance. The wind had now fallen almost to a
calm, and the noise of the sea began also to subside. One of Neb's
shouts even appeared to produce an echo. Herbert directed Pencroft's
attention to it, adding: "That proves that there is a coast to the
west, at no great distance." The sailor nodded; besides, his eyes
could not deceive him. If he had discovered land, however indistinct
it might appear, land was sure to be there. But that distant echo
was the only response produced by Neb's shouts, while a heavy gloom
hung over all the part east of the island.
Meanwhile, the sky was clearing little by little. Toward midnight
the stars shone out, and if the engineer had been there with his
companions he would have remarked that these stars did not belong to
the northern hemisphere. The polar star was not visible, the
constellations were not those which they had been accustomed to see in
the United States; the Southern Cross glittered brightly in the sky.
The night passed away. Toward five o'clock in the morning of the
25th of March the sky began to lighten; the horizon still remained
dark, but with daybreak a thick mist rose from the sea, so that the
eye could scarcely penetrate beyond twenty feet or so from where
they stood. At length the fog gradually unrolled itself in great
heavily moving waves.
It was unfortunate, however, that the castaways could distinguish
nothing around them. While the gaze of the reporter and Neb were
cast upon the ocean, the sailor and Herbert looked eagerly for the
coast in the west. But not a speck of land was visible. "Never
mind," said Pencroft, "though I do not see the land, I feel it... it
is there... there... as sure as the fact that we are no longer at
Richmond." But the fog was not long in rising. It was only a
fine-weather mist. A hot sun soon penetrated to the surface of the
island. About half-past six, three-quarters of an hour after
sunrise, the mist became more transparent. It grew thicker above,
but cleared away below. Soon the isle appeared as if it had
descended from a cloud, then the sea showed itself around them,
spreading far away toward the east, but bounded on the west by an
abrupt and precipitous coast.
Yes! the land was there. Their safety was at least provisionally
insured. The islet and the coast were separated by a channel about
half a mile in breadth, through which rushed an extremely rapid
current.
However, one of the castaways, following the impulse of his heart,
immediately cast himself into the current, without consulting his
companions, without saying a single word. It was Neb. He was in
haste to be on the other side, and to climb toward the north. It had
been impossible to hold him back. Pencroft called him in vain. The
reporter prepared to follow him, but Pencroft stopped him. "Do you
want to cross the channel?" he asked.
"Yes," replied Spilett.
"All right!" said the seaman; "wait a bit; Neb is well able to carry
help to his master. If we venture into the channel, we risk being
carried into the open sea by the current, which is running very
strong; but, if I'm not wrong, it is ebbing. See, the tide is going
down over the sand. Let us have patience, and at low water it is
possible we may find a fordable passage."
"You are right," replied the reporter, "we will not separate more
than we can help."
During this time Neb was struggling vigorously against the
current. He was crossing in an oblique direction. His black
shoulders could be seen emerging at each stroke. He was carried down
very quickly, but he also made way toward the shore. It took more than
half an hour to cross from the islet to the land, and he reached the
shore several hundred feet from the place which was opposite to the
point from which he had started.
Landing at the foot of a high wall of granite, he shook himself
vigorously; and then, setting off running, soon disappeared behind a
rocky point, which projected to nearly the height of the northern
extremity of the islet.
Neb's companions had watched his daring attempt with painful
anxiety, and when he was out of sight they fixed their attention on
the land where their hope of safety lay, while eating some shellfish
with which the sand was strewn. It was a wretched repast, but still it
was better than nothing. The opposite coast formed one vast bay,
terminating on the south by a very sharp point, which was destitute of
all vegetation, and was of a very wild aspect. This point abutted on
the shore in a grotesque outline of high granite rocks. Toward the
north, on the contrary, the bay widened, and a more rounded coast
appeared, trending from the southwest to the northeast, and
terminating in a slender cape. The distance between these two
extremities, which made a bow of the bay, was about eight miles.
Half a mile from the shore rose the islet, which somewhat resembled
the carcass of a gigantic whale. Its extreme breadth was not more than
a quarter of a mile.
Opposite the islet, the beach consisted first of sand, covered
with black stones, which were now appearing little by little above the
retreating tide. The second level was separated by a perpendicular
granite cliff, terminating at the top by an unequal edge at a height
of at least three hundred feet. It continued thus for a length of
three miles, ending suddenly on the right with a precipice which
looked as if cut by the hand of man. On the left, above the
promontory, this irregular and jagged cliff descended by a long
slope of conglomerate rocks till it mingled with the ground of the
southern point. On the upper plateau of the coast not a tree appeared.
It was a flat tableland like that above Cape Town at the Cape of
Good Hope, but of reduced proportions; at least so it appeared seen
from the islet. However, verdure was not wanting to the right beyond
the precipice. They could easily distinguish a confused mass of
great trees, which extended beyond the limit of their view. This
verdure relieved the eye, so long wearied by the continued ranges of
granite. Lastly, beyond and above the plateau, in a northwesterly
direction and at a distance of at least seven miles, glittered a white
summit which reflected the sun's rays. It was that of a lofty mountain
capped with snow.
The question could not at present be decided whether this land
formed an island or whether it belonged to a continent. But on
beholding the convulsed masses heaped up on the left, no geologist
would have hesitated to give them a volcanic origin, for they were
unquestionably the work of subterranean convulsions.
Gideon Spilett, Pencroft, and Herbert attentively examined this
land, on which they might perhaps have to live many long years; on
which indeed they might even die, should it be out of the usual
track of vessels, as was too likely to be the case.
"Well," asked Herbert, "what do you say, Pencroft?"
"There is some good and some bad, as in everything," replied the
sailor. "We shall see. But now the ebb is evidently making. In three
hours we will attempt the passage, and once on the other side we
will try to get out of this scrape, and I hope may find the
captain." Pencroft was not wrong in his anticipations. Three hours
later at low tide the greater part of the sand forming the bed of
the channel was uncovered. Between the islet and the coast there
only remained a narrow channel which would no doubt be easy to cross.
About ten o'clock, Gideon Spilett and his companions stripped
themselves of their clothes, which they placed in bundles on their
heads, and then ventured into the water, which was not more than
five feet deep. Herbert, for whom it was too deep, swam like a fish,
and got through capitally. All three arrived without difficulty on the
opposite shore. Quickly drying themselves in the sun, they put on
their clothes, which they had preserved from contact with the water,
and sat down to take counsel together what to do next.
CHAPTER IV
Lithodomes.- The river's mouth.- The chimneys.- Continued
researches.- The forest of evergreens.- Waiting for the ebb.-
On the heights.- The raft.- Return to the shore.
-
ALL at once the reporter sprang up, and telling the sailor that he
would rejoin them at that same place, he climbed the cliff in the
direction which the negro Neb had taken a few hours before. Anxiety
hastened his steps, for he longed to obtain news of his friend, and he
soon disappeared round an angle of the cliff. Herbert wished to
accompany him.
"Stop here, my boy," said the sailor; "we have to prepare an
encampment, and try and find rather better grub than these
shellfish. Our friends will want something when they come back.
There is work for everybody."
"I am ready," replied Herbert.
"All right," said the sailor; "that will do. We must set about it
regularly. We are tired, cold, and hungry; therefore we must have
shelter, fire, and food. There is wood in the forest, and eggs in
nests; we have only to find a house."
"Very well," returned Herbert, "I will look for a cave among the
rocks, and I shall be sure to discover some hole into which we can
creep."
"All right," said Pencroft; "go on, my boy."
They both walked to the foot of the enormous wall over the beach,
far from which the tide had now retreated; but instead of going toward
the north they went southward. Pencroft had remarked, several
hundred feet from the place at which they landed, a narrow cutting,
out of which he thought a river or stream might issue. Now, on the one
hand it was important to settle themselves in the neighborhood of a
good stream of water, and on the other it was possible that the
current had thrown Cyrus Harding on the shore there.
The cliff, as has been said, rose to a height of three hundred feet,
but the mass was unbroken throughout, and even at its base, scarcely
washed by the sea, it did not offer the smallest fissure which would
serve as a dwelling. It was a perpendicular wall of very hard granite,
which even the waves had not worn away. Toward the summit fluttered
myriads of seafowl, and especially those of the web-footed species,
with long, flat, pointed beaks- a clamorous tribe, bold in the
presence of man, who probably for the first time thus invaded their
domains. Pencroft recognized the skua and other gulls among them,
the voracious little sea-mew, which in great numbers nestled in the
crevices of the granite. A shot fired among this swarm would have
killed a great number, but to fire a shot a gun was needed, and
neither Pencroft nor Herbert had one; besides this, gulls and sea-mews
are scarcely eatable, and even their eggs have a detestable taste.
However, Herbert, who had gone forward a little more to the left, soon
came upon rocks covered with seaweed, which, some hours later, would
be hidden by the high tide. On these rocks, in the midst of slippery
wrack, abounded bivalve shellfish not to be despised by starving
people. Herbert called Pencroft, who ran up hastily.
"Why! here are mussels!" cried the sailor; "these will do instead of
eggs."
"They are not mussels," replied Herbert, who was attentively
examining the mollusks attached to the rocks; "they are lithodomes."
"Are they good to eat?" asked Pencroft.
"Perfectly so."
"Then let us eat some lithodomes."
The sailor could rely upon Herbert, the young boy was well up in
natural history, and always had had quite a passion for the science.
His father had encouraged him in it by letting him attend the lectures
of the best professors in Boston, who were very fond of the
intelligent, industrious lad. And this turn for natural history was
more than once in the course of time of great use, and he was not
mistaken in this instance. These lithodomes were oblong shells,
suspended in clusters and adhering very tightly to the rocks. They
belonged to that species of molluscous perforators, which excavate
holes in the hardest stones, their shell is rounded at both ends, a
feature which is not remarked in the common mussel.
Pencroft and Herbert made a good meal of the lithodomes, which
were then half-opened to the sun. They eat them as oysters, and as
they had a strong peppery taste, they were palatable without
condiments of any sort.
Their hunger was thus appeased for the time, but not their thirst,
which increased after eating these naturally spiced mollusks. They had
then to find fresh water, and it was not likely that it would be
wanting in such a capriciously uneven region. Pencroft and Herbert,
after having taken the precaution of collecting an ample supply of
lithodomes, with which they filled their pockets and handkerchiefs,
regained the foot of the cliff.
Two hundred paces further they arrived at the cutting, through
which, as Pencroft had guessed, ran a stream of water, whether fresh
or not was to be ascertained. At this place the wall appeared to
have been separated by some violent subterranean force. At its base
was hollowed out a little creek, the furthest part of which formed a
tolerably sharp angle. The watercourse at that part measured one
hundred feet in breadth, and its two banks on each side were
scarcely twenty feet high. The river became strong almost directly
between the two walls of granite, which began to sink above the mouth;
it then suddenly turned and disappeared beneath a wood of stunted
trees half a mile off.
"Here is the water, and yonder is the wood we require," said
Pencroft. "Well, Herbert, now we only want the house."
The water of the river was limpid. The sailor ascertained that at
this time- that is to say, at low tide, when the rising floods did not
reach it- it was sweet. This important point established, Herbert
looked for some cavity which would serve them as a retreat, but in
vain; everywhere the wall appeared smooth, plain, and perpendicular.
However, at the mouth of the watercourse and above the reach of
the high tide the convulsions of nature had formed, not a grotto,
but a pile of enormous rocks, such as are often met with in granite
countries and which bear the name of "Chimneys."
Pencroft and Herbert penetrated quite far in among the rocks, by
sandy passages in which light was not wanting, for it entered
through the openings which were left between the blocks, of which some
were only sustained by a miracle of equilibrium; but with the light
came also air- a regular corridor-gale- and with the wind the sharp
cold from the exterior. However, the sailor thought that by stopping
up some of the openings with a mixture of stones and sand, the
chimneys could be rendered habitable. Their geometrical plan
represented the typographic sign "&," which signifies "et cetera"
abridged, but by isolating the upper mouth of the sign, through
which the south and west winds blew so strongly, they could succeed in
making the lower part of use.
"Here's our work," said Pencroft, "and if we ever see Captain
Harding again he will know how to make something of this labyrinth."
"We shall see him again, Pencroft," cried Herbert, "and when he
returns he must find a tolerable dwelling here. It will be so, if we
can make a fireplace in the left passage and keep an opening for the
smoke."
"So we can, my boy," replied the sailor, "and these chimneys will
serve our turn. Let us set to work, but first come and get a store
of fuel. I think some branches will be very useful in stopping up
these openings, through which the wind shrieks like so many fiends."
Herbert and Pencroft left the chimneys, and, turning the angle, they
began to climb the left bank of the river. The current here was
quite rapid, and drifted down some dead wood. The rising tide- and
it could already be perceived- must drive it back with force to a
considerable distance. The sailor then thought that they could utilize
this ebb and flow for the transport of heavy objects.
After having walked for a quarter of an hour, the sailor and the boy
arrived at the angle which the river made in turning toward the
left. From this point its course was pursued through a forest of
magnificent trees. These trees still retained their verdure
notwithstanding the advanced season, for they belonged to the family
of "coniferae," which is spread over all the regions of the globe,
from northern climates to the tropics. The young naturalist recognized
especially the "doedara," which are very numerous in the Himalayan
zone and which spread round them a most agreeable odor. Between
these beautiful trees sprang up clusters of firs, whose opaque open
parasol boughs spread wide around. Among the long grass Pencroft
felt that his feet were crushing dry branches which crackled like
fireworks.
"Well, my boy," said he to Herbert, "if I don't know the name of
these trees, at any rate I reckon that we may call them 'burning
wood,' and just now that's the chief thing we want."
"Let us get a supply," replied Herbert, who immediately set to work.
The collection was easily made. It was not even necessary to lop the
trees, for enormous quantities of dead wood were lying at their
feet; but if fuel was not wanting, the means of transporting it was
not yet found. The wood, being very dry, would burn rapidly; it was
therefore necessary to carry to the Chimneys a considerable
quantity, and the loads of two men would not be sufficient. Herbert
remarked this.
"Well, my boy," replied the sailor, "there must be some way of
carrying this wood; there is always a way of doing everything. If we
had a cart or a boat it would be easy enough."
"But we have the river," said Herbert.
"Right," replied Pencroft; "the river will be to us like a road
which carries of itself, and rafts have not been invented for
nothing."
"Only," observed Herbert, "at this moment our road is going the
wrong way, for the tide is rising!"
"We shall be all right if we wait till it ebbs," replied the sailor,
"and then we will trust it to carry our fuel to the Chimneys. Let us
get the raft ready."
The sailor, followed by Herbert, directed his steps toward the
river. They both carried, each in proportion to his strength, a load
of wood bound in fagots. They found on the bank also a great
quantity of dead branches in the midst of grass, among which the
foot of man had probably never before trod. Pencroft began directly to
make his raft. In a kind of little bay, created by a point of the
shore which broke the current, the sailor and the lad placed some
good-sized pieces of wood, which they had fastened together with dry
creepers. A raft was thus formed, on which they stacked all they had
collected, sufficient, indeed, to have loaded at least twenty men.
In an hour the work was finished, and the raft, moored to the bank,
awaited the turning of the tide.
There were still several hours to be occupied, and with one
consent Pencroft and Herbert resolved to gain the upper plateau, so as
to have a more extended view of the surrounding country.
Exactly two hundred feet behind the angle formed by the river, the
wall, terminated by a fall of rocks, died away in a gentle slope to
the edge of the forest. It was a natural staircase. Herbert and the
sailor began their ascent; thanks to the vigor of their muscles they
reached the summit in a few minutes, and proceeded to the point
above the mouth of the river.
On attaining it, their first look was cast upon the ocean which
not long before they had traversed in such a terrible condition.
They observed with emotion all that part to the north of the coast
on which the catastrophe had taken place. It was there that Cyrus
Harding had disappeared. They looked to see if some portion of their
balloon, to which a man might possibly cling, yet existed. Nothing!
The sea was but one vast watery desert. As to the coast, it was
solitary also. Neither the reporter nor Neb could be anywhere seen.
But it was possible that at this time they were both too far away to
be perceived.
"Something tells me," cried Herbert, "that a man as energetic as
Captain Harding would not let himself be drowned like other people. He
must have reached some point of the shore; don't you think so,
Pencroft?"
The sailor shook his head sadly. He little expected ever to see
Cyrus Harding again, but wished to leave some hope to Herbert.
"Doubtless, doubtless," said he; "our engineer is a man who would
get out of a scrape to which any one else would yield."
In the meantime he examined the coast with great attention.
Stretched out before them was the sandy shore, bounded on the right of
the river's mouth by lines of breakers. The rocks which were visible
appeared like amphibious monsters reposing in the surf. Beyond the
reef the sea sparkled beneath the sun's rays. To the south a sharp
point closed the horizon, and it could not be seen if the land was
prolonged in that direction or if it ran southeast and southwest,
which would have made this coast a very long peninsula. At the
northern extremity of the bay the outline of the shore was continued
to a great distance in a wider curve. There the shore was low, flat,
without cliffs, and with great banks of sand, which the tide left
uncovered. Pencroft and Herbert then returned toward the west. Their
attention was first arrested by the snow-topped mountain which rose at
a distance of six or seven miles. From its first declivities to within
two miles of the coast were spread vast masses of wood, relieved by
large green patches, caused by the presence of evergreen trees.
Then, from the edge of this forest to the shore extended a plain,
scattered irregularly with groups of trees. Here and there on the left
sparkled through glades the waters of the little river; they could
trace its winding course back toward the spurs of the mountain,
among which it seemed to spring. At the point where the sailor had
left his raft of wood it began to run between the two high granite
walls; but if on the left of the bank the wall remained clear and
abrupt, on the right bank, on the contrary, it sank gradually, the
massive sides changed to isolated rocks, the rocks to stones, the
stones to shingle, running to the extremity of the point.
"Are we on an island?" murmured the sailor.
"At any rate, it seems to be big enough," replied the lad.
"An island, ever so big, is an island all the same," said Pencroft.
But this important question could not yet be answered. A more
perfect survey would be required to settle the point. As to the land
itself, island or continent, it appeared fertile, agreeable in its
aspect, and varied in its productions.
"This is satisfactory," observed Pencroft; "and in our misfortune we
must thank Providence for it."
"God be praised!" responded Herbert, whose pious heart was full of
gratitude to the Author of all things.
Pencroft and Herbert examined for some time the country on which
they had been cast; but it was difficult to guess after so hasty an
inspection what the future had in store for them.
They then returned, following the southern crest of the granite
platform, bordered by a long fringe of jagged rocks, of the most
whimsical shapes. Some hundreds of birds lived there, nestled in the
holes of the stones; Herbert, jumping over the rocks, startled a whole
flock of these winged creatures.
"Oh!" cried he, "those are not gulls nor sea-mews."
"What are they then?" asked Pencroft.
"Upon my word, one would say they were pigeons."
"Just so; but these are wild or rock-pigeons. I recognize them by
the double band of black on the wing, by the white tail, and by
their slate-colored plumage. But if the rock-pigeon is good to eat,
its eggs must be excellent, and we will soon see how many they may
have left in their nests!"
"We will not give them time to hatch, unless it is in the shape of
an omelet!" replied Pencroft merrily.
"But what will you make your omelet in?" replied Herbert; "in your
hat?"
"Well," replied the sailor, "I am not quite conjurer enough for
that; we must come down to eggs in the shell, my boy, and I will
undertake to dispatch the hardest."
Pencroft and Herbert attentively examined the cavities in the
granite, and they really found eggs in some of the hollows. A few
dozen being collected, were packed in the sailor's handkerchief, and
as the time when the tide would be full was approaching, Pencroft
and Herbert began to redescend toward the watercourse. When they
arrived there it was an hour after midday. The tide had already
turned. They must now avail themselves of the ebb to take the wood
to the mouth. Pencroft did not intend to let the raft go away in the
current without guidance, neither did he mean to embark on it
himself to steer it. But a sailor is never at a loss when there is a
question of cables or ropes, and Pencroft rapidly twisted a cord, a
few fathoms long, made of dry creepers. This vegetable cable was
fastened to the after part of the raft, and the sailor held it in
his hand while Herbert, pushing off the raft with a long pole, kept it
in the current. This succeeded capitally. The enormous load of wood
drifted down with the current. The bank was very equal; there was no
fear that the raft would run aground, and before two o'clock they
arrived at the river's mouth, a few paces from the Chimneys.
CHAPTER V
Arranging the Chimneys.- How to procure fire.- A box of matches.-
Search on the shore.- Return of the reporter and Neb.- A single
match.- A roaring fire.- The first supper and night on shore.
-
PENCROFT'S first care, after unloading the raft, was to render the
cave habitable by stopping up all the holes which made it draughty.
Sand, stones, twisted branches, wet clay, closed up the galleries open
to the south winds. One narrow and winding opening at the side was
kept, to lead out the smoke and to make the fire draw. The cave was
thus divided into three or four rooms, if such dark dens with which
a donkey would scarcely have been contented deserved the name. But
they were dry, and there was space to stand upright, at least in the
principal room, which occupied the center. The floor was covered
with fine sand, and taking all in all they were well pleased with it
for want of a better.
"Perhaps," said Herbert, while he and Pencroft were working, "our
companions have found a superior place to ours."
"Very likely," replied the seaman; "but, as we don't know, we must
work all the same. Better to have two strings to one's bow than no
string at all!"
"Oh!" exclaimed Herbert, "how jolly it will be if they were to
find Captain Harding and were to bring him back with them!"
"Yes, indeed," said Pencroft, "that was a man of the right sort."
"Was!" exclaimed Herbert, "do you despair of ever seeing him again?"
"God forbid!" replied the sailor. Their work was soon done, and
Pencroft declared himself very well satisfied.
"Now," said he, "our friends can come back when they like. They will
find a good enough shelter."
They now had only to make a fireplace and to prepare the supper-
an easy task. Large flat stones were placed on the ground at the
opening of the narrow passage which had been kept. This, if the
smoke did not take the heat out with it, would be enough to maintain
an equal temperature inside. Their wood was stowed away in one of
the rooms, and the sailor laid in the fireplace some logs and
brush-wood. The seaman was busy with this, when Herbert asked him if
he had any matches.
"Certainly," replied Pencroft, "and I may say happily for without
matches or tinder we should be in fix."
"Still we might get fire as the savages do," replied Herbert, "by
rubbing two bits of dry stick one against the other."
"All right; try, my boy, and let's see if you can do anything
besides exercising your arms."
"Well, it's a very simple proceeding, and much used in the islands
of the Pacific."
"I don't deny it," replied Pencroft, "but the savages must know
how to do it or employ a peculiar kind of wood, for more than once I
have tried to get fire in that way, but I could never manage it. I
must say I prefer matches. By the bye, where are my matches?"
Pencroft searched in his waistcoat pocket for the box, which was
always there, for he was a confirmed smoker. He could not find it;
he rummaged the pockets of his trousers, but, to his horror, he
could nowhere discover the box.
"Here's a go!" said he, looking at Herbert. "The box must have
fallen out of my pocket and got lost! Surely, Herbert, you must have
something- a tinder-box- anything that can possibly make fire."
"No, I haven't, Pencroft."
The sailor rushed out, followed by the boy. On the sand, among the
rocks, near the river's bank, they both searched carefully, but in
vain. The box was of copper, and therefore would have been easily
seen.
"Pencroft," asked Herbert, "didn't you throw it out of the car?"
"I knew better than that," replied the sailor: "but such a small
article could easily disappear in the tumbling about we have gone
through. I would rather even have lost my pipe. Confound the box!
Where can it be?"
"Look here, the tide is going down," said Herbert; "Let's run to the
place where we landed."
It was scarcely probable that they would find the box, which the
waves had rolled about among the pebbles at high tide, but it was as
well to try. Herbert and Pencroft walked rapidly to the point where
they had landed the day before, about two hundred feet from the
cave. They hunted there among the shingle, in the clefts of the rocks,
but found nothing. If the box had fallen at this place it must have
been swept away by the waves. As the sea went down, they searched
every little crevice with no result. It was a grave loss in their
circumstances, and for the time irreparable. Pencroft could not hide
his vexation; he looked very anxious, but said not a word. Herbert
tried to console him by observing that if they had found the matches
they would very likely have been wetted by the sea and useless.
"No, my boy," replied the sailor; "they were in a copper box which
shut very tightly. And now what are we to do?"
"We shall certainly find some way of making a fire," said Herbert.
"Captain Harding or Mr. Spilett will not be without them."
"Yes," replied Pencroft; "but in the meantime we are without fire,
and our companions will find but a sorry repast on their return."
"But," said Herbert quickly, "do you think it possible that they
have no tinder or matches?"
"I doubt it," replied the sailor, shaking his head, "for neither Neb
nor Captain Harding smokes, and I believe that Mr. Spilett would
rather keep his notebook than his match-box."
Herbert did not reply. The loss of the box was certainly to be
regretted, but the boy was still sure of procuring fire in some way or
other. Pencroft, more experienced, did not think so, although he was
not a man to trouble himself about a small or great grievance. At
any rate, there was only one thing to be done- to wait the return of
Neb and the reporter; but they must give up the feast of hard eggs
which they had meant to prepare, and a meal of raw flesh was not an
agreeable prospect either for themselves or for the others.
Before returning to the cave the sailor and Herbert, in the event of
a fire being positively unattainable, collected some more shellfish,
and then silently retraced their steps to their dwelling.
Pencroft, his eyes fixed on the ground, still looked for his box. He
even climbed up the left bank of the river from its mouth to the angle
where the raft had been moored. He returned to the plateau, went
over it in every direction, searched among the high grass on the
border of the forest, all in vain.
It was five in the evening when he and Herbert re-entered the
cave. It is useless to say that the darkest corners of the passages
were ransacked before they were obliged to give it up in despair.
Toward six o'clock, when the sun was disappearing behind the high
lands of the west, Herbert, who was walking up and down on the strand,
signalized the return of Neb and Spilett.
They were returning alone! The boy's heart sank; the sailor had
not been deceived in his forebodings; the engineer, Cyrus Harding, had
not been found!
The reporter, on his arrival, sat down on a rock without saying
anything. Exhausted with fatigue, dying of hunger, be had not strength
to utter a word.
As to Neb, his red eyes showed how he had cried, and the tears which
he could not restrain told too plainly that he had lost all hope.
The reporter recounted all that they had done in their attempt to
recover Cyrus Harding. He and Neb had surveyed the coast for a
distance of eight miles, and consequently much beyond the place
where the balloon had fallen the last time but one, a fall which was
followed by the disappearance of the engineer and the dog Top. The
shore was solitary; not a vestige of a mark. Not even a pebble
recently displaced; not a trace on the sand; not a human footstep on
all that part of the beach. It was clear that that portion of the
shore had never been visited by a human being. The sea was as deserted
as the land, and it was there, a few hundred feet from the coast, that
the engineer must have found a tomb.
As Spilett ended his account, Neb jumped up, exclaiming in a voice
which showed how hope struggled within him. "No! he is not dead! he
cannot be dead! It might happen to any one else, but never to him!
He could get out of anything!" Then, his strength forsaking him,
"Oh! I can do no more," he murmured.
"Neb," said Herbert, running to him, "we will find him! God will
give him back to us! But in the meantime you are hungry, and you
must eat something."
So saying, he offered the poor negro a few handfuls of shellfish,
which was indeed wretched and insufficient food. Neb had not eaten
anything for several hours, but he refused them. He could not, would
not live without his master.
As to Gideon Spilett, he devoured the shellfish, then he laid
himself down on the sand at the foot of the rock. He was very weak,
but calm. Herbert went up to him, and taking his hand, "Sir," said he,
"we have found a shelter which will be better than lying here. Night
is advancing. Come and rest. To-morrow we will search further."
The reporter got up, and, guided by the boy, went toward the cave.
On the way Pencroft asked him in the most natural tone if by chance he
happened to have a match or two.
The reporter stopped, felt in his pockets, but finding nothing,
said: "I had some, but I must have thrown them away."
The seaman then put the same question to Neb and received the same
answer.
"Confound it!" exclaimed the sailor.
The reporter heard him, and seizing his arm, "Have you no
matches?" he asked.
"Not one, and no fire in consequence!"
"Ah!" cried Neb, "if my master was here he would know what to do!"
The four castaways remained motionless, looking uneasily at each
other. Herbert was the first to break the silence by saying, "Mr.
Spilett, you are a smoker and always have matches about you; perhaps
you haven't looked well, try again, a single match will be enough!"
The reporter hunted again in the pockets of his trousers, waistcoat,
and greatcoat, and at last, to Pencroft's great joy, not less to his
extreme surprise, he felt a tiny piece of wood entangled in the lining
of his waistcoat. He seized it with his fingers through the stuff, but
he could not get it out. If this was a match, and a single one, it was
of great importance not to rub off the phosphorus.
"Will you let me try?" said the boy, and very cleverly, without
breaking it, he managed to draw out the wretched yet precious little
bit of wood which was of such great importance to these poor men. It
was unused.
"Hurrah!" cried Pencroft; "it is as good as having a whole cargo!"
He took the match, and, followed by his companions, entered the cave.
This small piece of wood, of which so many in an inhabited country
are wasted with indifference and are of no value, must here be used
with the greatest caution.
The sailor first made sure that it was quite dry; that done, "We
must have some paper," he said.
"Here," replied Spilett, after some hesitation tearing a leaf out of
his notebook.
Pencroft took the piece of paper which the reporter held out to him,
and knelt down before the fireplace. Some handfuls of grass, leaves
and dry moss were placed under the fagots and disposed in such a way
that the air could easily circulate, and the dry wood would rapidly
catch fire.
Pencroft then twisted the piece of paper into the shape of a cone,
as smokers do in a high wind, and poked it in among the moss. Taking a
small stone, he wiped it carefully, and with a beating heart,
holding his breath, he gently rubbed the match. The first attempt
did not produce any effect. Pencroft had not struck hard enough,
fearing to rub off the phosphorus.
"No, I can't do it," said he, "my hand trembles, the match has
missed fire; I cannot, I will not!" and rising, he told Herbert to
take his place.
Certainly the boy had never in all his life been so nervous.
Prometheus going to steal the fire from heaven could not have been
more anxious. He did not hesitate, however, but struck the match
directly.
A little spluttering was heard and a tiny blue flame sprang up,
making a choking smoke. Herbert quietly turned the match so as to
augment the flame, and then slipped it into the paper cone, which in a
few seconds too caught fire, and then the moss.
A minute later the dry wood crackled, and a cheerful flame, assisted
by the vigorous blowing of the sailor, sprang up in the midst of the
darkness.
"At last!" cried Pencroft, getting up; "I was never so nervous
before in all my life!"
The flat stones made a capital fireplace. The smoke went quite
easily out at the narrow passage, the chimney drew, and an agreeable
warmth was not long in being felt.
They must now take great care not to let the fire go out, and always
to keep some embers alight. It only needed care and attention, as they
had plenty of wood, and could renew their store at any time.
Pencroft's first thought was to use the fire by preparing a more
nourishing supper than a dish of shellfish. Two dozen eggs were
brought by Herbert. The reporter, leaning up in a corner, watched
these preparations without saying anything. A threefold thought
weighed on his mind. Was Cyrus still alive? If he was alive, where was
he? If he had survived his fall, how was it that he had not found some
means of making known his existence? As to Neb, he was roaming about
the shore. He was like a body without a soul.
Pencroft knew fifty ways of cooking eggs, but this time he had no
choice, and was obliged to content himself with roasting them under
the hot cinders. In a few minutes the cooking was done, and the seaman
invited the reporter to take his share of the supper. Such was the
first repast of the castaways on this unknown coast. The hard eggs
were excellent, and as eggs contain everything indispensable to
man's nourishment, these poor people thought themselves well off,
and were much strengthened by them. Oh! if only one of them had not
been missing at this meal! If the five prisoners who escaped from
Richmond had been all there, under the piled-up rocks, before this
clear, crackling fire on the dry sand, what thanksgivings must they
have rendered to heaven! But the most ingenious, the most learned,
he who was their unquestioned chief, Cyrus Harding, was, alas!
missing, and his body had not even obtained a burial-place.
Thus passed the 25th of March. Night had come on. Outside could be
heard the howling of the wind and the monotonous sound of the surf
breaking on the shore. The waves rolled the shingle backward and
forward with a deafening noise.
The reporter retired into a dark corner after having shortly noted
down the occurrences of the day; the first appearance of this new
land, the loss of their leader, the exploration of the coast, the
incident of the matches, etc.; and then, overcome by fatigue, he
managed to forget his sorrow in sleep. Herbert went to sleep directly.
As to the sailor, he passed the night with one eye on the fire, on
which he did not spare fuel. But one of the castaways did not sleep in
the cave. The inconsolable, despairing Neb, notwithstanding all his
companions could say to induce him to take some rest, wandered all
night long on the shore, calling on his master.
CHAPTER VI
The inventory of the castaways.- Nothing.- Burned linen.- An
expedition to the forest.- Flight of the jacamar.- Traces
of deer.- Couroucous.- Grouse.- A curious fishing-line.
-
THE inventory of the articles possessed by these castaways from
the clouds, thrown upon a coast which appeared to be uninhabited,
was soon made out. They had nothing save the clothes which they were
wearing at the time of the catastrophe. We must mention, however, a
notebook and a watch which Gideon Spilett had kept, doubtless by
inadvertence, not a weapon, not a tool, not even a pocket-knife; for
while in the car they had thrown out everything to lighten the
balloon. The imaginary heroes of Daniel DeFoe or of Wyss, as well as
Selkirk and Raynal shipwrecked on Juan Fernandez and on the
archipelago of the Aucklands, were never in such absolute destitution.
Either they had abundant resources from their stranded vessels, in
grain, cattle, tools, ammunition, or else some things were thrown up
on the coast which supplied them with all the first necessaries of
life. But here, not any instrument whatever, not a utensil. From
nothing they must supply themselves with everything.
And yet, if Cyrus Harding had been with them, if the engineer
could have brought his practical science, his inventive mind to bear
on their situation, perhaps all hope would not have been lost. Alas!
they must hope no longer again to see Cyrus Harding. The castaways
could expect nothing but from themselves and from that Providence
which never abandons those whose faith is sincere.
But ought they to establish themselves on this part of the coast,
without trying to know to what continent it belonged, if it was
inhabited, or if they were on the shore of a desert island?
It was an important question, and should be solved with the shortest
possible delay. From its answer they would know what measures to take.
However, according to Pencroft's advice, it appeared best to wait a
few days before commencing an exploration. They must, in fact, prepare
some provisions and procure more strengthening food than eggs and
mollusks. The explorers, before undertaking new fatigues, must first
of all recruit their strength.
The Chimneys offered a retreat sufficient for the present. The
fire was lighted, and it was easy to preserve some embers. There
were plenty of shellfish and eggs among the rocks and on the beach. It
would be easy to kill a few of the pigeons, which were flying by
hundreds about the summit of the plateau, either with sticks or
stones. Perhaps the trees of the neighboring forest would supply
them with eatable fruit. Lastly, the sweet water was there.
It was accordingly settled that for a few days they would remain
at the Chimneys so as to prepare themselves for an expedition,
either along the shore or into the interior of the country. This
plan suited Neb particularly. As obstinate in his ideas as in his
presentiments, he was in no haste to abandon this part of the coast,
the scene of the catastrophe. He did not, he would not believe in
the loss of Cyrus Harding. No, it did not seem to him possible that
such a man had died in this vulgar fashion, carried away by a wave,
drowned in the floods a few hundred feet from the shore. As long as
the waves had not cast up the body of the engineer, as long as he,
Neb, had not seen with his eyes, touched with his hands the corpse
of his master, he would not believe in his death. And this idea rooted
itself deeper than ever in his determined heart. An illusion
perhaps, but still an illusion to be respected, and one which the
sailor did not wish to destroy. As for him, he hoped no longer, but
there was no use in arguing with Neb. He was like the dog who will not
leave the place where his master is buried, and his grief was such
that most probably he would not survive him.
This same morning, the 26th of March, at daybreak, Neb had set out
on the shore in a northerly direction, and he had returned to the spot
where the sea, no doubt, had closed over the unfortunate Harding.
That day's breakfast was composed solely of pigeon's eggs and
lithodomes. Herbert had found some salt deposited by evaporation in
the hollows of the rocks, and this mineral was very welcome.
The repast ended, Pencroft asked the reporter if he wished to
accompany Herbert and himself to the forest, where they were going
to try to hunt. But on consideration it was thought necessary that
some one should remain to keep up the fire, and to be at hand in the
highly improbable event of Neb requiring aid. The reporter accordingly
remained behind.
"To the chase, Herbert," said the sailor. "We shall find
ammunition on our way, and cut our weapons in the forest." But at
the moment of starting Herbert observed that since they had no
tinder it would perhaps be prudent to replace it by another substance.
"What?" asked Pencroft.
"Burned linen," replied the boy. "That could in case of need serve
for tinder."
The sailor thought it very sensible advice. Only it had the
inconvenience of necessitating the sacrifice of a piece of
handkerchief. Notwithstanding, the thing was well worth while
trying, and a part of Pencroft's large checked handkerchief was soon
reduced to the state of a half-burned rag. This inflammable material
was placed in the central chamber at the bottom of a little cavity
in the rock, sheltered from all wind and damp.
It was nine o'clock in the morning. The weather was threatening
and the breeze blew from the southeast. Herbert and Pencroft turned
the angle of the Chimneys, not without having cast a look at the smoke
which, just at that place, curled round a point of rock; they ascended
the left bank of the river.
Arrived at the forest, Pencroft broke from the first tree two
stout branches, which he transformed into clubs, the ends of which
Herbert rubbed smooth on a rock. Oh! what would they not have given
for a knife!
The two hunters now advanced among the long grass, following the
bank. From the turning which directed its course to the southwest, the
river narrowed gradually and the channel lay between high banks,
over which the trees formed a double arch. Pencroft, lest they
should lose themselves, resolved to follow the course of the stream,
which would always lead them back to the point from which they
started. But the bank was not without some obstacles; here, the
flexible branches of the trees bent level with the current; there,
creepers and thorns which they had to break down with their sticks.
Herbert often glided among the broken stumps with the agility of a
young cat, and disappeared in the underwood. But Pencroft called him
back directly, begging him not to wander away. Meanwhile the sailor
attentively observed the disposition and nature of the surrounding
country. On the left bank, the ground, which was flat and marshy, rose
imperceptibly toward the interior. It looked there like a network of
liquid threads which doubtless reached the river by some underground
drain. Sometimes a stream ran through the underwood, which they
crossed without difficulty. The opposite shore appeared to be more
uneven, and the valley, of which the river occupied the bottom, was
more clearly visible. The hill, covered with trees disposed in
terraces, intercepted the view. On the right bank walking would have
been difficult, for the declivities fell suddenly, and the trees
bending over the water were only sustained by the strength of their
roots.
It is needless to add that this forest, as well as the coast already
surveyed, was destitute of any sign of human life. Pencroft only saw
traces of quadrupeds, fresh footprints of animals, of which he could
not recognize the species. In all probability, and such was also
Herbert's opinion, some had been left by formidable wild beasts
which doubtless would give them some trouble; but nowhere did they
observe the mark of an ax on the trees, nor the ashes of a fire, nor
the impression of a human foot. On this they might probably
congratulate themselves, for on any land in the middle of the
Pacific the presence of man was perhaps more to be feared than
desired. Herbert and Pencroft, speaking little, for the difficulties
of the way were great, advanced very slowly, and after walking for
an hour they had scarcely gone more than a mile. As yet the hunt had
not been successful. However, some birds sang and fluttered in the
foliage, and appeared very timid, as if man had inspired them with
an instinctive fear. Among others, Herbert described, in a marshy part
of the forest, a bird with a long pointed beak, closely resembling the
kingfisher, but its plumage was not fine, though of a metallic
brilliancy.
"That must be a jacamar," said Herbert, trying to get nearer.
"This will be a good opportunity to taste jacamar," replied the
sailor, "if that fellow is in a humor to be roasted."
Just then a stone cleverly thrown by the boy struck the creature
on the wing, but the blow did not disable it, and the jacamar ran
off and disappeared in an instant.
"How clumsy I am!" cried Herbert.
"No, no, my boy!" replied the sailor. "The blow was well aimed; many
a one would have missed it altogether. Come, don't be vexed with
yourself. We shall catch it another day."
As the hunters advanced, the trees were found to be more
scattered, many being magnificent, but none bore eatable fruit.
Pencroft searched in vain for some of those precious palm trees
which are employed in so many ways in domestic life, and which have
been found as far as the fortieth parallel in the northern hemisphere,
and to the thirty-fifth only in the southern hemisphere. But this
forest was only composed of coniferae, such as deodaras, already
recognized by Herbert, the Douglas pine, similar to those which grow
on the northwest coast of America, and splendid firs, measuring a
hundred and fifty feet in height.
At this moment a flock of birds, of a small size and pretty plumage,
with long, glancing tails, dispersed themselves among the branches,
strewing their feathers, which covered the ground as with fine down.
Herbert picked up a few of these feathers, and after having examined
them, "These are couroucous," said he.
"I should prefer a moor-cock or guinea-fowl," replied Pencroft,
"still, if they are good to eat-"
"They are good to eat, and also their flesh is very delicate,"
replied Herbert. "Besides, if I don't mistake, it is easy to
approach and kill them with a stick."
The sailor and the lad, creeping among the grass, arrived at the
foot of a tree, whose lower branches were covered with little birds.
The couroucous were waiting the passage of insects which served for
their nourishment. Their feather feet could be seen clasping the
slender twigs which supported them.
The hunters then rose, and using their sticks like scythes, they
mowed down whole rows of these couroucous, who never thought of flying
away, and stupidly allowed themselves to be knocked off. A hundred
were already heaped on the ground before the others made up their
minds to fly.
"Well," said Pencroft, "here is game which is quite within the reach
of hunters like us. We have only to put out our hands and take it!"
The sailor having strung the couroucous like larks on flexible
twigs, they then continued their exploration. The stream here made a
bend toward the south, but this detour was probably not prolonged, for
the river must have its source in the mountain, and be supplied by the
melting of the snow which covered the sides of the central cone.
The particular object of their expedition was, as has been said,
to procure the greatest possible quantity of game for the
inhabitants of the Chimneys. It must be acknowledged that as yet
this object had not been attained. So the sailor actively pursued
his researches, though he exclaimed, when some animal which he had not
even time to recognize fled into the long grass, "If only we had had
the dog Top!" But Top had disappeared at the same time as his
master, and had probably perished with him.
Toward three o'clock new flocks of birds were seen through certain
trees, at whose aromatic berries they were pecking, those of the
juniper-tree among others. Suddenly a loud trumpet call resounded
through the forest. This strange and sonorous call was produced by the
ruffled grouse or the "tetra," of the United States. They soon saw
several couples, whose plumage was rich chestnut brown mottled with
dark brown, and tail of the same color. Herbert recognized the males
by the two wing-like appendages raised on the neck. Pencroft
determined to get hold of at least one of these gallinaceae, which
were as large as a fowl, and whose flesh is better than that of a
pullet. But it was difficult, for they would not allow themselves to
be approached. After several fruitless attempts, which resulted in
nothing but scaring the tetras, the sailor said to the lad:
"Decidedly, since we can't kill them on the wing, we must try to
take them with a line."
"Like a fish?" cried Herbert, much surprised at the proposal.
"Like a fish" replied the sailor quite seriously. Pencroft had found
among the grass half a dozen tetras' nests, each having three or
four eggs. He took great care not to touch these nests, to which their
proprietors would not fail to return. It was around these that he
meant to stretch his lines, not snares, but real fishing-lines. He
took Herbert to some distance from the nests, and there prepared his
singular apparatus with all the care which a disciple of Izaak
Walton could have used. Herbert watched the work with great
interest, though rather doubting its success. The lines were made of
fine creepers, fastened one to the other, of the length of fifteen
or twenty feet. Thick, strong thorns, the points bent back, which were
supplied from a dwarf acacia bush, were fastened to the ends of the
creepers by way of hooks. Large red worms, which were crawling on
the ground, furnished bait.
This done, Pencroft, passing among the grass and concealing
himself skillfully, placed the end of his lines armed with hooks
near the tetras' nests; then he returned, took the other ends, and hid
with Herbert behind a large tree. There they both waited patiently;
though, it must be said that Herbert did not reckon much on the
success of the inventive Pencroft.
A whole half-hour passed, but then, as the sailor had surmised,
several couple of tetras returned to their nests. They walked along,
pecking the ground, and not suspecting in any way the presence of
the hunters, who, besides, had taken care to place themselves to
leeward of the gallinaceae.
The lad felt at this moment highly interested. He held his breath,
and Pencroft, his eyes staring, his mouth open, his lips advanced,
as if about to taste a piece of tetra, scarcely breathed.
Meanwhile the birds walked about among the hooks, without taking any
notice of them. Pencroft then gave little tugs which moved the bait as
if the worms had been still alive.
The sailor undoubtedly felt much greater anxiety than does the
fisherman, for he does not see his prey coming through the water.
The jerks attracted the attention of the gallinaceae, and they
attacked the hooks with their beaks. Three voracious tetras
swallowed at the same moment bait and hook. Suddenly with a smart
jerk, Pencroft "struck" his line, and a flapping of wings showed
that the birds were taken. "Hurrah!" he cried, rushing toward the
game, of which he made himself master in an instant.
Herbert clapped his hands. It was the first time that he had ever
seen birds taken with a line, but the sailor modestly confessed that
it was not his first attempt, and that besides he could not claim
the merit of invention.
"And at any rate," added he, "situated as we are, we must hope to
hit upon many other contrivances."
The tetras were fastened by their claws, and Pencroft, delighted
at not having to appear before their companions with empty hands,
and observing that the day had begun to decline, judged it best to
return to their dwelling.
The direction was indicated by the river, whose course they had only
to follow, and, toward six o'clock, tired enough with their excursion,
Herbert and Pencroft arrived at the Chimneys.
CHAPTER VII
Neb has not yet returned.- The reporter's reflections.-
Supper.- A threatening night.- The tempest is frightful.- They
rush out into the night.- Struggle against the wind and rain.-
Eight miles from the first encampment.
-
GIDEON SPILETT was standing motionless on the shore, his arms
crossed, gazing over the sea, the horizon of which was lost toward the
east in a thick black cloud which was spreading rapidly toward the
zenith. The wind was already strong, and increased with the decline of
day. The whole sky was of a threatening aspect, and the first symptoms
of a violent storm were clearly visible.
Herbert entered the Chimneys, and Pencroft went toward the reporter.
The latter, deeply absorbed, did not see him approach.
"We are going to have a dirty night, Mr. Spilett." said the
sailor. "Petrels delight in wind and rain."
The reporter, turning at the moment, saw Pencroft, and his first
words were:
"At what distance from the coast would you say the car was when
the waves carried off our companion?"
The sailor had not expected this question. He reflected an instant
and replied.
"Two cables' length at the most."
"But what is a cable's length?" asked Gideon Spilett.
"About a hundred and twenty fathoms, or six hundred feet."
"Then," said the reporter, "Cyrus Harding must have disappeared
twelve hundred feet at the most from the shore."
"About that," replied Pencroft.
"And his dog also?"
"Also."
"What astonishes me," rejoined the reporter, "while admitting that
our companion has perished, is that Top has also met his death, and
that neither the body of the dog nor of his master has been cast on
the shore!"
"It is not astonishing, with such a heavy sea," replied the
sailor. "Besides, it is possible that currents have carried them
further down the coast."
"Then, it is your opinion that our friend has perished in the
waves?" again asked the reporter.
"That is my opinion."
"My own opinion," said Gideon Spilett, "with due deference to your
experience, Pencroft, is that in the double fact of the absolute
disappearance of Cyrus and Top, living or dead, there is something
unaccountable and unlikely."
"I wish I could think like you, Mr. Spilett," replied Pencroft;
"unhappily, my mind is made up on this point."
Having said this, the sailor returned to the Chimneys. A good fire
crackled on the hearth. Herbert had just thrown on an armful of dry
wood, and the flame cast a bright light into the darkest parts of
the passage.
Pencroft immediately began to prepare the dinner. It appeared best
to introduce something solid into the bill of fare, for all needed
to get up their strength. The strings of couroucous were kept for
the next day, but they plucked a couple of tetras, which were soon
spitted on a stick, and roasting before a blazing fire.
At seven in the evening Neb had not returned. The prolonged
absence of the negro made Pencroft very uneasy. It was to be feared
that he had met with an accident on this unknown land, or that the
unhappy fellow had been driven to some act of despair. But Herbert
drew very different conclusions from this absence. According to him,
Neb's delay was caused by some new circumstance which had induced
him to prolong his search. Also, everything new must be to the
advantage of Cyrus Harding. Why had Neb not returned unless hope still
detained him? Perhaps he had found some mark, a footstep, a trace
which had put him in the right path. Perhaps he was at this moment
on a certain track. Perhaps even he was near his master.
Thus the lad reasoned, thus he spoke. His companions let him talk.
The reporter alone approved with a gesture. But what Pencroft
thought most probable was, that Neb had pushed his researches on the
shore further than the day before, and that he had not as yet had time
to return.
Herbert, however, agitated by vague presentiments, several times
manifested an intention to go to meet Neb. But Pencroft assured him
that that would be a useless course, that in the darkness and
deplorable weather he could not find any traces of Neb, and that it
would be much better to wait. If Neb had not made his appearance by
the next day, Pencroft would not hesitate to join him in his search.
Gideon Spilett approved of the sailor's opinion that it was best not
to divide, and Herbert was obliged to give up his projects; but two
large tears fell from his eyes.
The reporter could not refrain from embracing the generous boy.
Bad weather now set in. A furious gale from the southeast passed
over the coast. The sea roared as it beat over the reef. Heavy rain
was dashed up by the storm into particles like dust. Ragged masses
of vapor drove along the beach, on which the tormented shingles
sounded as if poured out in cartloads, while the sand raised by the
wind added as it were mineral dust to that which was liquid, and
rendered the united attack insupportable. Between the river's mouth
and the end of the cliff eddies of wind whirled, and gusts from this
maelstrom lashed the water which ran through the narrow valley. The
smoke from the fireplace was also driven back through the opening,
filling the passages and rendering them uninhabitable.
Therefore, as the tetras were cooked, Pencroft let the fire die
away, and only preserved a few embers buried under the ashes.
At eight o'clock Neb had not appeared, but there was no doubt that
the frightful weather alone hindered his return, and that he must have
taken refuge in some cave, to await the end of the storm or at least
the return of day. As to going to meet him, or attempting to find him,
it was impossible.
The game constituted the only dish at supper; the meat was
excellent, and Pencroft and Herbert, whose long excursion had rendered
them very hungry, devoured it with infinite satisfaction.
Their meal concluded, each retired to the corner in which he had
rested the preceding night, and Herbert was not long in going to sleep
near the sailor, who had stretched himself beside the fireplace.
Outside, as the night advanced, the tempest also increased in
strength, until it was equal to that which had carried the prisoners
from Richmond to this land in the Pacific. The tempests which are
frequent during the seasons of the equinox, and which are so
prolific in catastrophes, are above all terrible over this immense
ocean, which opposes no obstacle to their fury. No description can
give an idea of the terrific violence of the gale as it beat upon
the unprotected coast.
Happily the pile of rocks which formed the Chimneys was solid. It
was composed of enormous blocks of granite, a few of which, insecurely
balanced, seemed to tremble on their foundations, and Pencroft could
feel rapid quiverings under his head as it rested on the rock. But
he repeated to himself, and rightly, that there was nothing to fear,
and that their retreat would not give way. However, he heard the noise
of stones, torn from the summit of the plateau by the wind, falling
down on to the beach. A few even rolled on to the upper part of the
Chimneys, or flew off in fragments when they were projected
perpendicularly. Twice the sailor rose and intrenched himself at the
opening of the passage, so as to take a look in safety at the outside.
But there was nothing to be feared from these showers, which were
not considerable, and he returned to his couch before the fireplace,
where the embers glowed beneath the ashes.
Notwithstanding the fury of the hurricane, the uproar of the
tempest, the thunder, and the tumult, Herbert slept profoundly.
Sleep at last took possession of Pencroft, whom on sea faring life had
habituated to anything. Gideon Spilett alone was kept awake by
anxiety. He reproached himself with not having accompanied Neb. It was
evident that he had not abandoned all hope. The presentiments which
had troubled Herbert did not ceased to agitate him also. His
thoughts were concentrated on Neb. Why had not Neb returned? He tossed
about on his sandy couch, scarcely giving a thought to the struggle of
the elements. Now and then, his eyes, heavy with fatigue, closed for
an instant, but some sudden thought reopened them almost immediately.
Meanwhile the night advanced, and it was perhaps two hours from
morning, when Pencroft, then sound asleep, was vigorously shaken.
"What's the matter?" he cried, rousing himself, and collecting his
ideas with the promptitude usual to seamen.
The reporter was leaning over him, and saying:
"Listen, Pencroft, listen!"
The sailor strained his ears, but could hear no noises beyond
those caused by the storm.
"It is the wind," said he.
"No," replied Gideon Spilett, listen again, "I thought I heard-"
"What?"
"The barking of a dog!"
"A dog!" cried Pencroft, springing up.
"Yes- barking!"
"It's not possible!" replied the sailor. "And besides how, in the
roaring of the storm-"
"Stop- listen!" said the reporter.
Pencroft listened more attentively, and really thought he heard,
during a lull, distant barking.
"Well!" said the reporter, pressing the sailor's hand.
"Yes- yes!" replied Pencroft.
"It is Top! It is Top!" cried Herbert, who had just awoke; and all
three rushed toward the opening of the Chimneys. They had great
difficulty in getting out. The wind drove them back. But at last
they succeeded, and could only remain standing by leaning against
the rocks. They looked about, but could not speak. The darkness was
intense. The sea, the sky, the land were all mingled in one black
mass. Not a speck of light was visible.
The reporter and his companions remained thus for a few minutes,
overwhelmed by the wind, drenched by the rain, blinded by the sand.
Then, in a pause of the tumult, they again heard the barking, which
they found must be at some distance.
It could only be Top! But was he alone or accompanied? He was most
probably alone, for, if Neb had been with him, he would have made
his way more directly to the Chimneys. The sailor squeezed the
reporter's hand, for he could not make himself heard, in a way which
signified "Wait!" then re-entered the passage.
An instant after he issued with a lighted fagot, which he threw into
the darkness, whistling shrilly.
It appeared as if this signal had been waited for; the barking
immediately came nearer, and soon a dog bounded into the passage.
Pencroft, Herbert, and Spilett entered after him.
An armful of dry wood was thrown on the embers. The passage was
lighted up with a bright flame.
"It is Top," cried Herbert.
It was indeed Top, a magnificent Anglo-Norman, who derived from
these two races crossed the swiftness of foot and the acuteness of
smell which are the pre-eminent qualities of coursing dogs. It was the
dog of the engineer Cyrus Harding. But he was alone! Neither Neb nor
his master accompanied him!
How was it that his instinct had guided him straight to the
Chimneys, which he did not know? It appeared inexplicable, above
all, in the midst of this black night and in such a tempest. But
what was still more inexplicable was, that Top was neither tired,
nor exhausted, nor even soiled with mud or sand! Herbert had drawn him
toward him, and was patting his head, the dog rubbing 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. "Let us set off. Top will guide
us."
Pencroft did not make any objection. He felt that Top's arrival
contradicted his conjectures. "Come along then," said he.
Pencroft carefully covered the embers on the hearth. He placed a few
pieces of wood among them, so as to keep in the fire until their
return. Then, preceded by the dog, who seemed to invite them by
short barks to come with him, and followed by the reporter and the
boy, he dashed out, after having put up in his handkerchief the
remains of the supper.
The storm was then in all its violence, and perhaps at its height.
Not a single ray of light from the moon pierced through the clouds. To
follow a straight course was difficult. It was best to rely on Top's
instinct. They did so. The reporter and Herbert walked behind the dog,
and the sailor brought up the rear. It was impossible to exchange a
word. The rain was not very heavy, but the wind was terrific.
However, one circumstance favored the seaman and his two companions.
The wind, being southeast, conseq |
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