THE ENGINEER’S INVENTION—ISLAND OR CONTINENT?—DEPARTURE FOR THE
MOUNTAIN—THE FOREST—VOLCANIC SOIL—THE TRAGOPANS—THE MOUFFLONS —THE
FIRST PLATEAU—ENCAMPING FOR THE NIGHT—THE SUMMIT OF THE CONE
A few minutes afterwards, the three hunters were seated before a
sparkling fire. Beside them sat Cyrus Smith and the reporter. Pencroff
looked from one to the other without saying a word, his cabiai in his
hand.
“Yes, my good fellow,” said the reporter, “a fire, a real fire, that
will roast your game to a turn.”
“But who lighted it?” said the sailor.
“The sun.”
The sailor could not believe his eyes, and was too stupefied to
question the engineer.
“Had you a burning-glass, sir?” asked Herbert of Cyrus Smith.
“No, my boy,” said he, “but I made one.”
And he showed his extemporized lens. It was simply the two glasses,
from his own watch and the reporter’s, which he had taken out, filled
with water, and stuck together at the edges with a little clay. Thus he
had made a veritable burning-glass, and by concentrating the solar rays
on some dry moss had set it on fire.
The sailor examined the lens; then he looked at the engineer without
saying a word, but his face spoke for him. If Smith was not a magician
to him, he was certainly more than a man. At last his speech returned,
and he said:—
“Put that down, Mr. Spilett, put that down in your book!”
“I have it down,” said the reporter.
Then, with the help of Neb, the sailor arranged the spit, and dressed
the cabiai for roasting, like a suckling pig, before the sparkling
fire, by whose warmth, and by the restoration of the partitions, the
Chimneys had been rendered habitable.
The engineer and his companion had made good use of their day. Smith
had almost entirely recovered his strength, which he had tested by
climbing the plateau above. From thence his eye, accustomed to measure
heights and distances, had attentively examined the cone whose summit
he proposed to reach on the morrow. The mountain, situated about six
miles to the northwest, seemed to him to reach about 3,500 feet above
the level of the sea, so that an observer posted at its summit, could
command a horizon of fifty miles at least. He hoped, therefore, for an
easy solution of the urgent question, “Island or continent?”
They had a pleasant supper, and the meat of the cabiai was proclaimed
excellent; the sargassum and pistachio-nuts completed the repast. But
the engineer said little; he was planning for the next day. Once or
twice Pencroff talked of some project for the future, but Smith shook
his head.
“To-morrow,” he said, “we will know how we are situated, and we can act
accordingly.”
After supper, more armfuls of wood were thrown on the fire, and the
party lay down to sleep. The morning found them fresh and eager for the
expedition which was to settle their fate.
Everything was ready. Enough was left of the cabiai for twenty-four
hours’ provisions, and they hoped to replenish their stock on the way.
They charred a little linen for tinder, as the watch glasses had been
replaced, and flint abounded in this volcanic region.
At half-past 7 they left the Chimneys, each with a stout cudgel. By
Pencroff’s advice, they took the route of the previous day, which was
the shortest way to the mountain. They turned the southern angle, and
followed the left bank of the river, leaving it where it bent to the
southwest. They took the beaten path under the evergreens, and soon
reached the northern border of the forest. The soil, flat and swampy,
then dry and sandy, rose by a gradual slope towards the interior. Among
the trees appeared a few shy animals, which rapidly took flight before
Top. The engineer called his dog back; later, perhaps, they might hunt,
but now nothing could distract him from his great object. He observed
neither the character of the ground nor its products; he was going
straight for the top of the mountain.
At 10 o’clock they were clear of the forest, and they halted for a
while to observe the country. The mountain was composed of two cones.
The first was truncated about 2,500 feet up, and supported by fantastic
spurs, branching out like the talons of an immense claw, laid upon the
ground. Between these spurs were narrow valleys, thick set with trees,
whose topmost foliage was level with the flat summit of the first cone.
On the northeast side of the mountain, vegetation was more scanty, and
the ground was seamed here and there, apparently with currents of lava.
On the first cone lay a second, slightly rounded towards the summit. It
lay somewhat across the other, like a huge hat cocked over the ear. The
surface seemed utterly bare, with reddish rocks often protruding. The
object of the expedition was to reach the top of this cone, and their
best way was along the edge of the spurs.
“We are in a volcanic country,” said Cyrus Smith, as they began to
climb, little by little, up the side of the spurs, whose winding summit
would most readily bring them out upon the lower plateau. The ground
was strewn with traces of igneous convulsion. Here and there lay
blocks, debris of basalt, pumice-stone, and obsidian. In isolated
clumps rose some few of those conifers, which, some hundreds of feet
lower, in the narrow gorges, formed a gigantic thicket, impenetrable to
the sun. As they climbed these lower slopes, Herbert called attention
to the recent marks of huge paws and hoofs on the ground.
“These brutes will make a fight for their territory,” said Pencroff.
“Oh well,” said the reporter, who had hunted tigers in India and lions
in Africa, “we shall contrive to get rid of them. In the meanwhile, we
must be on our guard.”
While talking they were gradually ascending. The way was lengthened by
detours around the obstacles which could not be directly surmounted.
Sometimes, too, deep crevasses yawned across the ascent, and compelled
them to return upon their track for a long distance, before they could
find an available pathway. At noon, when the little company halted to
dine at the foot of a great clump of firs, at whose foot babbled a tiny
brook, they were still half way from the first plateau, and could
hardly reach it before nightfall. From this point the sea stretched
broad beneath their feet; but on the right their vision was arrested by
the sharp promontory of the southeast, which left them in doubt whether
there was land beyond. On the left they could see directly north for
several miles; but the northwest was concealed from them by the crest
of a fantastic spur, which formed a massive abutment to the central
cone. They could, therefore, make no approach as yet to the solving of
the great question.
At 1 o’clock, the ascent was again begun. The easiest route slanted
upwards towards the southwest, through the thick copse. There, under
the trees, were flying about a number of gallinaceæ of the pheasant
family. These were “tragopans,” adorned with a sort of fleshy wattles
hanging over their necks and with two little cylindrical horns behind
their eyes. Of these birds, which were about the size of a hen, the
female was invariably brown, while the male was resplendent in a coat
of red, with little spots of white. With a well-aimed stone Spilett
killed one of the tragopans, which the hungry Pencroff looked at with
longing eyes.
Leaving the copse, the climbers, by mounting on each other’s shoulders,
ascended for a hundred feet up a very steep hill, and reached a
terrace, almost bare of trees, whose soil was evidently volcanic. From
hence, their course was a zigzag towards the east, for the declivity
was so steep that they had to take every point of vantage. Neb and
Herbert led the way, then came Smith and the reporter; Pencroff was
last. The animals who lived among these heights, and whose traces were
not wanting, must have the sure foot and the supple spine of a chamois
or an izard. They saw some to whom Pencroff gave a name of his
own—“Sheep,” he cried.
They all had stopped fifty feet from half-a-dozen large animals, with
thick horns curved backwards and flattened at the end, and with woolly
fleece, hidden under long silky fawn-colored hair. They were not the
common sheep, but a species widely distributed through the mountainous
regions of the temperate zone. Their name, according to Herbert, was
_Moufflon_.
“Have they legs and chops?” asked the sailor.
“Yes,” replied Herbert.
“Then they’re sheep,” said Pencroff. The animals stood motionless and
astonished at their first sight of man. Then, seized with sudden fear,
they fled, leaping away among the rocks.
“Good-bye till next time,” cried Pencroff to them, in a tone so comical
that the others could not forbear laughing.
As the ascension continued, the traces of lava were more frequent, and
little sulphur springs intercepted their route. At some points sulphur
had been deposited in crystals, in the midst of the sand and whitish
cinders of feldspar which generally precede the eruption of lava. As
they neared the first plateau, formed by the truncation of the lower
cone, the ascent became very difficult. By 4 o’clock the last belt of
trees had been passed. Here and there stood a few dwarfed and distorted
pines, which had survived the attacks of the furious winds. Fortunately
for the engineer and his party, it was a pleasant, mild day; for a high
wind, at that altitude of 3,000 feet, would have interfered with them
sadly. The sky overhead was extremely bright and clear. A perfect calm
reigned around them. The sun was hidden by the upper mountain, which
cast its shadow, like a vast screen, westward to the edge of the sea. A
thin haze began to appear in the east, colored with all the rays of the
solar spectrum.
There were only 500 feet between the explorers and the plateau where
they meant to encamp for the night, but these 500 were increased to
2,000 and more by the tortuous route. The ground, so to speak, gave way
under their feet. The angle of ascent was often so obtuse that they
slipped upon the smooth-worn lava. Little by little the evening set in,
and it was almost night when the party, tired out by a seven hours’
climb, arrived at the top of the first cone.
Now they must pitch their camp, and think of supper and sleep. The
upper terrace of the mountain rose upon a base of rocks, amid which
they could soon find a shelter. Firewood was not plenty, yet the moss
and dry thistles, so abundant on the plateau, would serve their turn.
The sailor built up a fireplace with huge stones, while Neb and Herbert
went after the combustibles. They soon came back with a load of
thistles; and with flint and steel, the charred linen for tinder, and
Neb to blow the fire, a bright blaze was soon sparkling behind the
rocks. It was for warmth only, for they kept the pheasant for the next
day, and supped off the rest of the cabiai and a few dozen
pistachio-nuts.
It was only half-past 6 when the meal was ended. Cyrus Smith resolved
to explore, in, the semi-obscurity, the great circular pediment which
upheld the topmost cone of the mountain. Before taking rest, he was
anxious to know whether the base of the cone could be passed, in case
its flanks should prove too steep for ascent. So, regardless of
fatigue, he left Pencroff and Neb to make the sleeping arrangements,
and Spilett to note down the incidents of the day, and taking Herbert
with him, began to walk around the base of the plateau towards the
north.
The night was beautiful and still; and not yet very dark. They walked
together in silence. Sometimes the plateau was wide and easy, sometimes
so encumbered with rubbish that the two could not walk abreast.
Finally, after twenty minutes tramp, they were brought to a halt. From
this point the slant of the two cones was equal. To walk around the
mountain upon an acclivity whose angle was nearly seventy-five degrees
was impossible.
But though they had to give up their flank movement, the chance of a
direct ascent was suddenly offered to them. Before them opened an
immense chasm in the solid rock. It was the mouth of the upper crater,
the gullet, so to speak, through which, when the volcano was active,
the eruption took place. Inside, hardened lava and scoriæ formed a sort
of natural staircase with enormous steps, by which they might possibly
reach the summit. Smith saw the opportunity at a glance, and followed
by the boy, he walked unhesitatingly into the huge crevasse, in the
midst of the gathering darkness.
There were yet 1,000 feet to climb. Could they scale the interior wall
of the crater? They would try, at all events. Fortunately, the long and
sinuous declivities described a winding staircase, and greatly helped
their ascent. The crater was evidently exhausted. Not a puff of smoke,
not a glimmer of fire, escaped; not a sound or motion in the dark
abyss, reaching down, perhaps, to the centre of the globe. The air
within retained no taint of sulphur. The volcano was not only quiet,
but extinct.
Evidently the attempt was to succeed. Gradually, as the two mounted the
inner walls, they saw the crater grow larger over their heads. The
light from the outer sky visibly increased. At each step, so to speak,
which they made, new stars entered the field of their vision: The
magnificent constellations of the southern sky shone resplendent. In
the zenith glittered the splendid Antares of the Scorpion, and not far
off that Beta of the Centaur, which is believed to be the nearest star
to our terrestrial globe. Then, as the crater opened, appeared
Fomalhaut of the Fish, the Triangle, and at last, almost at the
Antarctic pole, the glowing Southern Cross.
It was nearly 8 o’clock when they set foot on the summit of the cone.
The darkness was by this time complete, and they could hardly see a
couple of miles around them. Was the land an island, or the eastern
extremity of a continent? They could not yet discover. Towards the west
a band of cloud, clearly defined against the horizon, deepened the
obscurity, and confounded sea with sky.
But at one point of the horizon suddenly appeared a vague light, which
slowly sank as the clouds mounted to the zenith. It was the slender
crescent of the moon, just about to disappear. But the line of the
horizon was now cloudless, and as the moon touched it, the engineer
could see her face mirrored for an instant on a liquid surface. He
seized the boy’s hand—
“An island!” said he, as the lunar crescent disappeared behind the
waves.