ARRANGING THE CHIMNEYS—THE IMPORTANT QUESTION OF FIRE—THE MATCH
BOX—SEARCH OVER THE SHORE—RETURN OF THE REPORTER AND NEB—ONE MATCH—THE
CRACKLING FIRE—THE FISH SUPPER—THE FIRST NIGHT ON LAND.
The first care of Pencroff, after the raft had been unloaded, was to
make the Chimneys habitable, by stopping up those passages traversed by
the draughts of air. Sand, stones, twisted branches, and mud,
hermetically sealed the galleries of the & open to the southerly winds,
and shut out its upper curve. One narrow, winding passage, opening on
the side; was arranged to carry out the smoke and to quicken the
draught of the fire. The Chimneys were thus divided into three or four
chambers, if these dark dens, which would hardly have contained a
beast, might be so called. But they were dry, and one could stand up in
them, or at least in the principal one, which was in the centre. The
floor was covered with sand, and, everything considered, they could
establish themselves in this place while waiting for one better.
While working, Herbert and Pencroff chatted together.
“Perhaps,” said the boy, “our companions will have found a better place
than ours.”
“It is possible.” answered the sailor, “but, until we know, don’t let
us stop. Better have two strings to one’s bow than none at all!”
“Oh,” repeated Herbert, “if they can only find Mr. Smith, and bring him
back with them, how thankful we will be!”
“Yes,” murmured Pencroff. “He was a good man.”
“Was!” said Herbert. “Do you think we shall not see him again?”
“Heaven forbid!” replied the sailor.
The work of division was rapidly accomplished, and Pencroff declared
himself satisfied. “Now,” said he, “our friends may return, and they
will find a good enough shelter.”
Nothing remained but to fix the fireplace and to prepare the meal,
which, in truth, was a task easy and simple enough. Large flat stones
were placed at the mouth of the first gallery to the left, where the
smoke passage had been made; and this chimney was made so narrow that
but little heat would escape up the flue, and the cavern would be
comfortably warmed. The stock of wood was piled up in one of the
chambers, and the sailor placed some logs and broken branches upon the
stones. He was occupied in arranging them when Herbert asked him if he
had some matches.
“Certainly,” replied Pencroff, “and moreover, fortunately; for without
matches or tinder we would indeed be in trouble.”
“Could not we always make fire as the savages do,” replied Herbert, “by
rubbing two bits of dry wood together?”
“Just try it, my boy, some time, and see if you do anything more than
put your arms out of joint.”
“Nevertheless, it is often done in the islands of the Pacific.”
“I don’t say that it is not,” replied Pencroff, “but the savages must
have a way of their own, or use a certain kind of wood, as more than
once I have wanted to get fire in that way and have never yet been able
to. For my part, I prefer matches; and, by the way, where are mine?”
Pencroff, who was an habitual smoker, felt in his vest for the box,
which he was never without, but, not finding it, he searched the
pockets of his trowsers, and to his profound amazement, it was not
there.
“This is an awkward business,” said he, looking at Herbert. “My box
must have fallen from my pocket, and I can’t find it. But you, Herbert,
have you nothing: no steel, not anything, with which we can make fire?”
“Not a thing, Pencroff.”
The sailor, followed by the boy, walked out, rubbing his forehead.
On the sand, among the rocks, by the bank of the river, both of them
searched with the utmost care, but without result. The box was of
copper, and had it been there, they must have seen it.
“Pencroff,” asked Herbert, “did not you throw it out of the basket?”
“I took good care not to,” said the sailor. “But when one has been
knocked around as we have been, so small a thing could easily have been
lost; even my pipe is gone. The confounded box; where can it be?”
“Well, the tide is out; let us run to the place where we landed,” said
Herbert.
It was little likely that they would find this box, which the sea would
have rolled among the pebbles at high water; nevertheless, it would do
no harm to search. They, therefore, went quickly to the place where
they had first landed, some 200 paces from the Chimneys. There, among
the pebbles, in the hollows of the rocks, they made minute search, but
in vain. If the box had fallen here it must have been carried out by
the waves. As the tide went down, the sailor peered into every crevice,
but without Success. It was a serious loss, and, for the time,
irreparable. Pencroff did not conceal his chagrin. He frowned, but did
not speak, and Herbert tried to console him by saying, that, most
probably, the matches would have been so wetted as to be useless.
“No, my boy,” answered the sailor. “They were in a tightly closing
metal box. But now, what are we to do?”
“We will certainly find means of procuring fire,” said Herbert. “Mr.
Smith or Mr. Spilett will not be as helpless as we are.”
“Yes, but in the meantime we are without it,” said Pencroff, “and our
companions will find but a very sorry meal on their return.”
“But,” said Herbert, hopefully, “it is not possible that they will have
neither tinder nor matches.”
“I doubt it,” answered the sailor, shaking his head. “In the first
place, neither Neb nor Mr. Smith smoke, and then I’m afraid Mr. Spilett
has more likely kept his notebook than his match-box.”
Herbert did not answer. This loss was evidently serious. Nevertheless,
the lad thought surely they could make a fire in some way or other, but
Pencroff, more experienced, although a man not easily discouraged, knew
differently. At any rate there was but one thing to do:—to wait until
the return of Neb and the reporter. It was necessary to give up the
repast of cooked eggs which they had wished to prepare, and a diet of
raw flesh did not seem to be, either for themselves or for the others,
an agreeable prospect.
Before returning to the Chimneys, the companions, in case they failed
of a fire, gathered a fresh lot of lithodomes, and then silently took
the road to their dwelling. Pencroff, his eyes fixed upon the ground,
still searched in every direction for the lost box. They followed again
up the left bank of the river, from its mouth to the angle where the
raft had been built. They returned to the upper plateau, and went in
every direction, searching in the tall grass on the edge of the forest,
but in vain. It was 5 o’clock when they returned again to the Chimneys,
and it is needless to say that the passages were searched in their
darkest recesses before all hope was given up.
Towards 6 o’clock, just as the sun was disappearing behind the high
land in the west, Herbert, who was walking back and forth upon the
shore, announced the return of Neb and of Gideon Spilett. They came
back alone, and the lad felt his heart sink. The sailor had not, then,
been wrong in his presentiments; they had been unable to find the
engineer.
The reporter, when he came up, seated himself upon a rock, without
speaking. Fainting from fatigue, half dead with hunger, he was unable
to utter a word. As to Neb, his reddened eyes showed how he had been
weeping, and the fresh tears which he was unable to restrain,
indicated, but too clearly, that he had lost all hope.
The reporter at length gave the history of their search. Neb and he had
followed the coast for more than eight miles, and, consequently, far
beyond the point where the balloon had made the plunge which was
followed by the disappearance of the engineer and Top. The shore was
deserted. Not a recently turned stone, not a trace upon the sand, not a
footprint, was upon all that part of the shore. It was evident that
nobody inhabited that portion of the island. The sea was as deserted as
the land; and it was there, at some hundreds of feet from shore, that
the engineer had found his grave.
At that moment Neb raised his head, and in a voice which showed how he
still struggled against despair, exclaimed:—
“No, he is not dead. It is impossible. It might happen to you or me,
but never to him. He is a man who can get out of anything!”
Then his strength failing him, he murmured, “But I am used up.”
Herbert ran to him and cried:—
“Neb, we will find him; God will give him back to us; but you, you must
be famishing; do eat something.”
And while speaking the lad offered the poor negro a handful of
shell-fish—a meagre and insufficient nourishment enough.
But Neb, though he had eaten nothing for hours, refused them. Poor
fellow! deprived of his master, he wished no longer to live.
As to Gideon Spilett, he devoured the mollusks, and then laid down upon
the sand at the foot of a rock. He was exhausted, but calm. Herbert,
approaching him, took his hand.
“Mr. Spilett,” said he, “we have discovered a shelter where you will be
more comfortable. The night is coming on; so come and rest there.
To-morrow we will see—”
The reporter rose, and, guided by the lad, proceeded towards the
Chimneys. As he did so, Pencroff came up to him, and in an off-hand way
asked him if, by chance, he had a match with him. The reporter stopped,
felt in his pockets, and finding none, said:—
“I had some, but I must have thrown them all away.”
Then the sailor called Neb and asked him the same question, receiving a
like answer.
“Curse it!” cried the sailor, unable to restrain the word.
The reporter heard it, and going to him said:—“Have you no matches?”
“Not one; and, of course, no fire.”
“Ah,” cried Neb, “if he was here, my master, he could soon make one.”
The four castaways stood still and looked anxiously at each other.
Herbert was the first to break the silence, by saying:—
“Mr. Spilett, you are a smoker, you always have matches about you;
perhaps you have not searched thoroughly. Look again; a single match
will be enough.”
The reporter rummaged the pockets of his trowsers, his vest, and coat,
and to the great joy of Pencroff, as well as to his own surprise, felt
a little sliver of wood caught in the lining of his vest. He could feel
it from the outside, but his fingers were unable to disengage it. If
this should prove a match, and only one, it was extremely necessary not
to rub off the phosphorus.
“Let me try,” said the lad. And very adroitly, without breaking it, he
drew out this little bit of wood, this precious trifle, which to these
poor men was of such great importance. It was uninjured.
“One match!” cried Pencroff.” “Why, it is as good as if we had a whole
ship-load!”
He took it, and, followed by his companions, regained the Chimneys.
This tiny bit of wood, which in civilised lands is wasted with
indifference, as valueless, it was necessary here to use with the
utmost care. The sailor, having assured himself that it was dry, said:—
“We must have some paper.”
“Here is some,” answered Spilett, who, after a little hesitation, had
torn a leaf from his note-book.
Pencroff took the bit of paper and knelt down before the fire-place,
where some handfuls of grass, leaves, and dry moss had been placed
under the faggots in such a way that the air could freely circulate and
make the dry wood readily ignite. Then Pencroff shaping the paper into
a cone, as pipe-smokers do in the wind, placed it among the moss.
Taking, then, a slightly rough stone and wiping it carefully, with
beating heart and suspended breath, he gave the match a little rub. The
first stroke produced no effect, as Pencroff fearing to break off the
phosphorus had not rubbed hard enough.
“Ho, I won’t be able to do it,” said he; “my hand shakes—the match will
miss—I can’t do it—I don’t want to try!” And, rising, he besought
Herbert to undertake it.
Certainly, the boy had never in his life been so affected. His heart
beat furiously. Prometheus, about to steal the fire from heaven, could
not have been more excited.
Nevertheless he did not hesitate, but rubbed the stone with a quick
stroke. A little sputtering was heard, and a light blue flame sprung
out and produced a pungent smoke. Herbert gently turned the match, so
as to feed the flame, and then slid it under the paper cone. In a few
seconds the paper took fire, and then the moss kindled. An instant
later, the dry wood crackled, and a joyous blaze, fanned by the breath
of the sailor, shone out from the darkness.
“At length,” cried Pencroff, rising, “I never was so excited in my
life!”
It was evident that the fire did well in the fireplace of flat stones.
The smoke readily ascended through its passage; the chimney drew, and
an agreeable warmth quickly made itself felt. As to the fire, it would
be necessary to take care that it should not go out, and always to keep
some embers among the cinders. But it was only a matter of care and
attention as the wood was plenty, and the supply could always be
renewed in good time.
Pencroff began at once to utilize the fire by preparing something more
nourishing than a dish of lithodomes. Two dozen eggs were brought by
Herbert, and the reporter, seated in a corner, watched these
proceedings without speaking. A triple thought held possession of his
mind. Did Cyrus still live? If alive, where was he? If he had survived
his plunge, why was it he had found no means of making his existence
known? As to Neb, he roamed the sand like one distracted.
Pencroff, who knew fifty-two ways of cooking eggs, had no choice at
this time. He contented himself with placing them in the hot cinders
and letting them cook slowly. In a few minutes the operation was
finished, and the sailor invited the reporter to take part in the
supper. This was the first meal of the castaways upon this unknown
coast. The hard eggs were excellent, and as the egg contains all the
elements necessary for man’s nourishment, these poor men found them
sufficient, and felt their strength reviving.
Unfortunately, one was absent from this repast. If the five prisoners
who had escaped from Richmond had all been there, under those piled-up
rocks, before that bright and crackling fire upon that dry sand, their
happiness would have been complete. But the most ingenious, as well as
the most learned—he who was undoubtedly their chief, Cyrus Smith—alas!
was missing, and his body had not even obtained burial.
Thus passed the 25th of March. The night was come. Outside they heard
the whistling of the wind, the monotonous thud of the surf, and the
grinding of the pebbles on the beach.
The reporter had retired to a dark corner, after having briefly noted
the events of the day—the first sight of this new land, the loss of the
engineer, the exploration of the shore, the incidents of the matches,
etc.; and, overcome by fatigue, he was enabled to find some rest in
sleep.
Herbert fell asleep at once. The sailor, dozing, with one eye open,
passed the night by the fire, on which he kept heaping fuel.
One only of the castaways did not rest in the Chimneys. It was the
inconsolable, the despairing Neb, who, during the whole night, and in
spite of his companions’ efforts to make him take some rest, wandered
upon the sands calling his master.