He saw nothing suspicious.

When the engineer had reached the last rounds he came upon the water,

which was then perfectly calm. Neither at its level nor in any other

part of the well, did any passage open, which could lead to the interior

of the cliff. The wall which Harding struck with the hilt of his cutlass

sounded solid. It was compact granite, through which no living being

could force a way. To arrive at the bottom of the well and then climb

up to its mouth it was necessary to pass through the channel under the

rocky subsoil of the beach, which placed it in communication with the

sea, and this was only possible for marine animals. As to the question

of knowing where this channel ended, at what point of the shore, and at

what depth beneath the water, it could not be answered.

Then Cyrus Harding, having ended his survey, re-ascended, drew up the

ladder, covered the mouth of the well, and returned thoughtfully to the

diningroom, saying to himself,--

“I have seen nothing, and yet there is something there!”

Chapter 12

In the evening the hunters returned, having enjoyed good sport, and

being literally loaded with game; indeed, they had as much as four men

could possibly carry. Top wore a necklace of teal and Jup wreaths of

snipe round his body.

“Here, master,” cried Neb; “here’s something to employ our time!

Preserved and made into pies we shall have a welcome store! But I must

have some one to help me. I count on you, Pencroft.”

“No, Neb,” replied the sailor; “I have the rigging of the vessel to

finish and to look after, and you will have to do without me.”

“And you, Mr. Herbert?”

“I must go to the corral to-morrow, Neb,” replied the lad.

“It will be you then, Mr. Spilett, who will help me?”

“To oblige you, Neb, I will,” replied the reporter; “but I warn you that

if you disclose your recipes to me, I shall publish them.”

“Whenever you like, Mr. Spilett,” replied Neb; “whenever you like.”

And so the next day Gideon Spilett became Neb’s assistant and was

installed in his culinary laboratory. The engineer had previously made

known to him the result of the exploration which he had made the day

before, and on this point the reporter shared Harding’s opinion, that

although he had found nothing, a secret still remained to be discovered!

The frost continued for another week, and the settlers did not leave

Granite House unless to look after the poultry-yard. The dwelling

was filled with appetizing odors, which were emitted from the learned

manipulation of Neb and the reporter. But all the results of the chase

were not made into preserved provisions; and as the game kept perfectly

in the intense cold, wild duck and other fowl were eaten fresh, and

declared superior to all other aquatic birds in the known world.

During this week, Pencroft, aided by Herbert, who handled the

sailmaker’s needle with much skill, worked with such energy that the

sails of the vessel were finished. There was no want of cordage. Thanks

to the rigging which had been discovered with the case of the balloon,

the ropes and cables from the net were all of good quality, and the

sailor turned them all to account. To the sails were attached strong

bolt ropes, and there still remained enough from which to make the

halyards, shrouds, and sheets, etc. The blocks were manufactured by

Cyrus Harding under Pencroft’s directions by means of the turning lathe.

It therefore happened that the rigging was entirely prepared before the

vessel was finished. Pencroft also manufactured a flag, that flag so

dear to every true American, containing the stars and stripes of their

glorious Union. The colors for it were supplied from certain plants

used in dyeing, and which were very abundant in the island; only to the

thirty-seven stars, representing the thirty-seven States of the Union,

which shine on the American flag, the sailor added a thirty-eighth, the

star of “the State of Lincoln,” for he considered his island as already

united to the great republic. “And,” said he, “it is so already in

heart, if not in deed!”

In the meantime, the flag was hoisted at the central window of Granite

House, and the settlers saluted it with three cheers.

The cold season was now almost at an end, and it appeared as if this

second winter was to pass without any unusual occurrence, when on the

night of the 11th of August, the plateau of Prospect Heights was menaced

with complete destruction.

After a busy day the colonists were sleeping soundly, when towards four

o’clock in the morning they were suddenly awakened by Top’s barking.

The dog was not this time barking near the mouth of the well, but at

the threshold of the door, at which he was scratching as if he wished to

burst it open. Jup was also uttering piercing cries.

“Hello, Top!” cried Neb, who was the first awake. But the dog continued

to bark more furiously than ever.

“What’s the matter now?” asked Harding.

And all dressing in haste rushed to the windows, which they opened.

Beneath their eyes was spread a sheet of snow which looked gray in the

dim light. The settlers could see nothing, but they heard a singular

yelping noise away in the darkness. It was evident that the beach had

been invaded by a number of animals which could not be seen.

“What are they?” cried Pencroft.

“Wolves, jaguars, or apes?” replied Neb.

“They have nearly reached the plateau,” said the reporter.

“And our poultry-yard,” exclaimed Herbert, “and our garden!”

“Where can they have crossed?” asked Pencroft.

“They must have crossed the bridge on the shore,” replied the engineer,

“which one of us must have forgotten to close.”

“True,” said Spilett, “I remember having left it open.”

“A fine job you have made of it, Mr. Spilett,” cried the sailor.

“What is done cannot be undone,” replied Cyrus Harding. “We must consult

what it will now be best to do.”

Such were the questions and answers which were rapidly exchanged between

Harding and his companions. It was certain that the bridge had been

crossed, that the shore had been invaded by animals, and that whatever

they might be they could by ascending the left bank of the Mercy reach

Prospect Heights. They must therefore be advanced against quickly and

fought with if necessary.

“But what are these beasts?” was asked a second time, as the yelpings

were again heard more loudly than before. These yelps made Herbert

start, and he remembered having heard them before during his first visit

to the sources of the Red Creek.

“They are colpeo foxes!” he exclaimed.

“Forward!” shouted the sailor.

And all arming themselves with hatchets, carbines, and revolvers, threw

themselves into the lift and soon set foot on the shore.

Colpeos are dangerous animals when in great numbers and irritated by

hunger, nevertheless the colonists did not hesitate to throw themselves

into the midst of the troop, and their first shots vividly lighting up

the darkness made their assailants draw back.

The chief thing was to hinder these plunderers from reaching the

plateau, for the garden and the poultry-yard would then have been at

their mercy, and immense, perhaps irreparable mischief, would inevitably

be the result, especially with regard to the corn-field. But as the

invasion of the plateau could only be made by the left bank of the

Mercy, it was sufficient to oppose the colpeos on the narrow bank

between the river and the cliff of granite.

This was plain to all, and, by Cyrus Harding’s orders, they reached the

spot indicated by him, while the colpeos rushed fiercely through

the gloom. Harding, Gideon Spilett, Herbert, Pencroft and Neb posted

themselves in impregnable line. Top, his formidable jaws open, preceded

the colonists, and he was followed by Jup, armed with a knotty cudgel,

which he brandished like a club.

The night was extremely dark, it was only by the flashes from the

revolvers as each person fired that they could see their assailants, who

were at least a hundred in number, and whose eyes were glowing like hot

coals.

“They must not pass!” shouted Pencroft.

“They shall not pass!” returned the engineer.

But if they did not pass it was not for want of having attempted it.

Those in the rear pushed on the foremost assailants, and it was an

incessant struggle with revolvers and hatchets. Several colpeos already

lay dead on the ground, but their number did not appear to diminish,

and it might have been supposed that reinforcements were continually

arriving over the bridge.

The colonists were soon obliged to fight at close quarters, not without

receiving some wounds, though happily very slight ones. Herbert had,

with a shot from his revolver, rescued Neb, on whose back a colpeo had

sprung like a tiger cat. Top fought with actual fury, flying at the

throats of the foxes and strangling them instantaneously. Jup wielded

his weapon valiantly, and it was in vain that they endeavored to keep

him in the rear. Endowed doubtless with sight which enabled him to

pierce the obscurity, he was always in the thick of the fight uttering

from time to time--a sharp hissing sound, which was with him the sign of

great rejoicing.

At one moment he advanced so far, that by the light from a revolver

he was seen surrounded by five or six large colpeos, with whom he was

coping with great coolness.

However, the struggle was ended at last, and victory was on the side

of the settlers, but not until they had fought for two long hours! The

first signs of the approach of day doubtless determined the retreat of

their assailants, who scampered away towards the North, passing over the

bridge, which Neb ran immediately to raise. When day had sufficiently

lighted up the field of battle, the settlers counted as many as fifty

dead bodies scattered about on the shore.

“And Jup!” cried Pencroft; “where is Jup?” Jup had disappeared. His

friend Neb called him, and for the first time Jup did not reply to his

friend’s call.

Everyone set out in search of Jup, trembling lest he should be found

among the slain; they cleared the place of the bodies which stained the

snow with their blood. Jup was found in the midst of a heap of colpeos

whose broken jaws and crushed bodies showed that they had to do with the

terrible club of the intrepid animal.

Poor Jup still held in his hand the stump of his broken cudgel, but

deprived of his weapon he had been overpowered by numbers, and his chest

was covered with severe wounds.

“He is living,” cried Neb, who was bending over him.

“And we will save him,” replied the sailor. “We will nurse him as if he

was one of ourselves.”

It appeared as if Jup understood, for he leaned his head on Pencroft’s

shoulder as if to thank him. The sailor was wounded himself, but his

wound was insignificant, as were those of his companions; for thanks to

their firearms they had been almost always able to keep their assailants

at a distance. It was therefore only the orang whose condition was

serious.

Jup, carried by Neb and Pencroft, was placed in the lift, and only a

slight moan now and then escaped his lips. He was gently drawn up to

Granite House. There he was laid on a mattress taken from one of the

beds, and his wounds were bathed with the greatest care. It did not

appear that any vital part had been reached, but Jup was very weak from

loss of blood, and a high fever soon set in after his wounds had been

dressed. He was laid down, strict diet was imposed, “just like a real

person,” as Neb said, and they made him swallow several cups of

a cooling drink, for which the ingredients were supplied from the

vegetable medicine chest of Granite House. Jup was at first restless,

but his breathing gradually became more regular, and he was left

sleeping quietly. From time to time Top, walking on tip-toe, as one

might say, came to visit his friend, and seemed to approve of all the

care that had been taken of him. One of Jup’s hands hung over the side

of his bed, and Top licked it with a sympathizing air.

They employed the day in interring the dead, who were dragged to the

forest of the Far West, and there buried deep.

This attack, which might have had such serious consequences, was a

lesson to the settlers, who from this time never went to bed until one

of their number had made sure that all the bridges were raised, and that

no invasion was possible.

However, Jup, after having given them serious anxiety for several

days, began to recover. His constitution brought him through, the fever

gradually subsided, and Gideon Spilett, who was a bit of a doctor,

pronounced him quite out of danger. On the 16th of August, Jup began to

eat. Neb made him nice little sweet dishes, which the invalid devoured

with great relish, for if he had a pet failing it was that of being

somewhat of a gourmand, and Neb had never done anything to cure him of

this fault.

“What would you have?” said he to Gideon Spilett, who sometimes

expostulated with him for spoiling the ape. “Poor Jup has no other

pleasure than that of the palate, and I am only too glad to be able to

reward his services in this way!”

Ten days after taking to his bed, on the 21st of August, Master Jup

arose. His wounds were healed, and it was evident that he would not

be long in regaining his usual strength and agility. Like all

convalescents, he was tremendously hungry, and the reporter allowed him

to eat as much as he liked, for he trusted to that instinct, which

is too often wanting in reasoning beings, to keep the orang from any

excess. Neb was delighted to see his pupil’s appetite returning.

“Eat away, my Jup,” said he, “and don’t spare anything; you have shed

your blood for us, and it is the least I can do to make you strong

again!”

On the 25th of August Neb’s voice was heard calling to his companions.

“Captain, Mr. Spilett, Mr. Herbert, Pencroft, come! come!”

The colonists, who were together in the dining-room, rose at Neb’s call,

who was then in Jup’s room.

“What’s the matter?” asked the reporter.

“Look,” replied Neb, with a shout of laughter. And what did they see?

Master Jup smoking calmly and seriously, sitting crosslegged like a Turk

at the entrance to Granite House!

“My pipe,” cried Pencroft. “He has taken my pipe! Hello, my honest Jup,

I make you a present of it! Smoke away, old boy, smoke away!”

And Jup gravely puffed out clouds of smoke which seemed to give him

great satisfaction. Harding did not appear to be much astonished at this

incident, and he cited several examples of tame apes, to whom the use of

tobacco had become quite familiar.

But from this day Master Jup had a pipe of his own, the sailor’s

ex-pipe, which was hung in his room near his store of tobacco. He filled

it himself, lighted it with a glowing coal, and appeared to be

the happiest of quadrumana. It may readily be understood that this

similarity of tastes of Jup and Pencroft served to tighten the bonds of

friendship which already existed between the honest ape and the worthy

sailor.

“Perhaps he is really a man,” said Pencroft sometimes to Neb. “Should

you be surprised to hear him beginning to speak to us some day?”

“My word, no,” replied Neb. “What astonishes me is that he hasn’t spoken

to us before, for now he wants nothing but speech!”

“It would amuse me all the same,” resumed the sailor, “if some fine day

he said to me, ‘Suppose we change pipes, Pencroft.’”

“Yes,” replied Neb, “what a pity he was born dumb!”

With the month of September the winter ended, and the works were again

eagerly commenced. The building of the vessel advanced rapidly, she was

already completely decked over, and all the inside parts of the hull

were firmly united with ribs bent by means of steam, which answered all

the purposes of a mold.

As there was no want of wood, Pencroft proposed to the engineer to give

a double lining to the hull, to insure the strength of the vessel.

Harding, not knowing what the future might have in store for them,

approved the sailor’s idea of making the craft as strong as possible.

The interior and deck of the vessel was entirely finished towards the

15th of September. For calking the seams they made oakum of dry seaweed,

which was hammered in between the planks; then these seams were covered

with boiling tar, which was obtained in great abundance from the pines

in the forest.

The management of the vessel was very simple. She had from the first

been ballasted with heavy blocks of granite walled up, in a bed of lime,

twelve thousand pounds of which they stowed away.

A deck was placed over this ballast, and the interior was divided into

two cabins; two benches extended along them and served also as lockers.

The foot of the mast supported the partition which separated the two

cabins, which were reached by two hatchways let into the deck.

Pencroft had no trouble in finding a tree suitable for the mast. He

chose a straight young fir, with no knots, and which he had only to

square at the step, and round off at the top. The ironwork of the mast,

the rudder and the hull had been roughly but strongly forged at the

Chimneys. Lastly, yards, masts, boom, spars, oars, etc., were all

furnished by the first week in October, and it was agreed that a trial

trip should be taken round the island, so as to ascertain how the vessel

would behave at sea, and how far they might depend upon her.

During all this time the necessary works had not been neglected.

The corral was enlarged, for the flock of musmons and goats had been

increased by a number of young ones, who had to be housed and fed. The

colonists had paid visits also to the oyster bed, the warren, the coal

and iron mines, and to the till then unexplored districts of the Far

West forest, which abounded in game. Certain indigenous plants were

discovered, and those fit for immediate use contributed to vary the

vegetable stores of Granite House.

They were a species of ficoide, some similar to those of the Cape, with

eatable fleshy leaves, others bearing seeds containing a sort of flour.

On the 10th of October the vessel was launched. Pencroft was radiant

with joy, the operation was perfectly successful; the boat completely

rigged, having been pushed on rollers to the water’s edge, was floated

by the rising tide, amid the cheers of the colonists, particularly of

Pencroft, who showed no modesty on this occasion. Besides his importance

was to last beyond the finishing of the vessel, since, after having

built her, he was to command her. The grade of captain was bestowed upon

him with the approbation of all. To satisfy Captain Pencroft, it was now

necessary to give a name to the vessel, and, after many propositions had

been discussed, the votes were all in favor of the “Bonadventure.” As

soon as the “Bonadventure” had been lifted by the rising tide, it was

seen that she lay evenly in the water, and would be easily navigated.

However, the trial trip was to be made that very day, by an excursion

off the coast. The weather was fine, the breeze fresh, and the sea

smooth, especially towards the south coast, for the wind was blowing

from the northwest.

“All hands on board,” shouted Pencroft; but breakfast was first

necessary, and it was thought best to take provisions on board, in the

event of their excursion being prolonged until the evening.

Cyrus Harding was equally anxious to try the vessel, the model of which

had originated with him, although on the sailor’s advice he had altered

some parts of it, but he did not share Pencroft’s confidence in her,

and as the latter had not again spoken of the voyage to Tabor Island,

Harding hoped he had given it up. He would have indeed great reluctance

in letting two or three of his companions venture so far in so small a

boat, which was not of more than fifteen tons’ burden.

At half-past ten everybody was on board, even Top and Jup, and Herbert

weighed the anchor, which was fast in the sand near the mouth of the

Mercy. The sail was hoisted, the Lincolnian flag floated from the

masthead, and the “Bonadventure,” steered by Pencroft, stood out to sea.

The wind blowing out of Union Bay she ran before it, and thus showed her

owners, much to their satisfaction, that she possessed a remarkably fast

pair of heels, according to Pencroft’s mode of speaking. After having

doubled Flotsam Point and Claw Cape, the captain kept her close hauled,

so as to sail along the southern coast of the island, when it was found

she sailed admirably within five points of the wind. All hands were

enchanted, they had a good vessel, which, in case of need, would be

of great service to them, and with fine weather and a fresh breeze the

voyage promised to be charming.

Pencroft now stood off the shore, three or four miles across from Port

Balloon. The island then appeared in all its extent and under a new

aspect, with the varied panorama of its shore from Claw Cape to Reptile

End, the forests in which dark firs contrasted with the young foliage

of other trees and overlooked the whole, and Mount Franklin whose lofty

head was still whitened with snow.

“How beautiful it is!” cried Herbert.

“Yes, our island is beautiful and good,” replied Pencroft. “I love it as

I loved my poor mother. It received us poor and destitute, and now what

is wanting to us five fellows who fell on it from the sky?”

“Nothing,” replied Neb; “nothing, captain.”

And the two brave men gave three tremendous cheers in honor of their

island!

During all this time Gideon Spilett, leaning against the mast, sketched

the panorama which was developed before his eyes.

Cyrus Harding gazed on it in silence.

“Well, Captain Harding,” asked Pencroft, “what do you think of our

vessel?”

“She appears to behave well,” replied the engineer.

“Good! And do you think now that she could undertake a voyage of some

extent?”

“What voyage, Pencroft?”

“One to Tabor Island, for instance.”

“My friend,” replied Harding, “I think that in any pressing emergency

we need not hesitate to trust ourselves to the ‘Bonadventure’ even for

a longer voyage; but you know I should see you set off to Tabor Island

with great uneasiness, since nothing obliges you to go there.”

“One likes to know one’s neighbors,” returned the sailor, who was

obstinate in his idea. “Tabor Island is our neighbor, and the only one!

Politeness requires us to go at least to pay a visit.”

“By Jove,” said Spilett, “our friend Pencroft has become very particular

about the proprieties all at once!”

“I am not particular about anything at all,” retorted the sailor, who

was rather vexed by the engineer’s opposition, but who did not wish to

cause him anxiety.

“Consider, Pencroft,” resumed Harding, “you cannot go alone to Tabor

Island.”

“One companion will be enough for me.”

“Even so,” replied the engineer, “you will risk depriving the colony of

Lincoln Island of two settlers out of five.”

“Out of six,” answered Pencroft; “you forget Jup.”

“Out of seven,” added Neb; “Top is quite worth another.”

“There is no risk at all in it, captain,” replied Pencroft.

“That is possible, Pencroft; but I repeat it is to expose ourselves

uselessly.”

The obstinate sailor did not reply, and let the conversation drop, quite

determined to resume it again. But he did not suspect that an incident

would come to his aid and change into an act of humanity that which was

at first only a doubtful whim.

After standing off the shore the “Bonadventure” again approached it

in the direction of Port Balloon. It was important to ascertain the

channels between the sandbanks and reefs, that buoys might be laid down

since this little creek was to be the harbor.

They were not more than half a mile from the coast, and it was necessary

to tack to beat against the wind. The “Bonadventure” was then going at a

very moderate rate, as the breeze, partly intercepted by the high land,

scarcely swelled her sails, and the sea, smooth as glass, was only

rippled now and then by passing gusts.

Herbert had stationed himself in the bows that he might indicate the

course to be followed among the channels, when all at once he shouted,--

“Luff, Pencroft, luff!”

“What’s the matter,” replied the sailor; “a rock?”

“No--wait,” said Herbert; “I don’t quite see. Luff again--right--now.”

So saying, Herbert, leaning over the side, plunged his arm into the

water, and pulled it out, exclaiming,--

“A bottle!”

He held in his hand a corked bottle which he had just seized a few

cables’ length from the shore.

Cyrus Harding took the bottle. Without uttering a single word he drew

the cork, and took from it a damp paper, on which were written these

words:--

“Castaway.... Tabor island: 153deg W. long., 37deg 11’ S. lat.”

Chapter 13

“A castaway!” exclaimed Pencroft; “left on this Tabor Island not two

hundred miles from us! Ah, Captain Harding, you won’t now oppose my

going.”

“No, Pencroft,” replied Cyrus Harding; “and you shall set out as soon as

possible.”

“To-morrow?”

“To-morrow!”

The engineer still held in his hand the paper which he had taken from

the bottle. He contemplated it for some instants, then resumed,

“From this document, my friends, from the way in which it is worded,

we may conclude this: first, that the castaway on Tabor Island is a man

possessing a considerable knowledge of navigation, since he gives the

latitude and longitude of the island exactly as we ourselves found it,

and to a second of approximation; secondly, that he is either English or

American, as the document is written in the English language.”

“That is perfectly logical,” answered Spilett; “and the presence of this

castaway explains the arrival of the case on the shores of our island.

There must have been a wreck, since there is a castaway. As to the

latter, whoever he may be, it is lucky for him that Pencroft thought of

building this boat and of trying her this very day, for a day later and

this bottle might have been broken on the rocks.”

“Indeed,” said Herbert, “it is a fortunate chance that the

‘Bonadventure’ passed exactly where the bottle was still floating!”

“Does not this appear strange to you?” asked Harding of Pencroft.

“It appears fortunate, that’s all,” answered the sailor. “Do you see

anything extraordinary in it, captain? The bottle must go somewhere, and

why not here as well as anywhere else?”

“Perhaps you are right, Pencroft,” replied the engineer; “and yet--”

“But,” observed Herbert, “there’s nothing to prove that this bottle has

been floating long in the sea.”

“Nothing,” replied Gideon Spilett, “and the document appears even to

have been recently written. What do you think about it, Cyrus?”

During this conversation Pencroft had not remained inactive. He had put

the vessel about, and the “Bonadventure,” all sails set, was running

rapidly towards Claw Cape.

Every one was thinking of the castaway on Tabor Island. Should they

be in time to save him? This was a great event in the life of the

colonists! They themselves were but castaways, but it was to be feared

that another might not have been so fortunate, and their duty was to go

to his succor.

Claw Cape was doubled, and about four o’clock the “Bonadventure” dropped

her anchor at the mouth of the Mercy.

That same evening the arrangements for the new expedition were made.

It appeared best that Pencroft and Herbert, who knew how to work the

vessel, should undertake the voyage alone. By setting out the next day,

the 10th of October, they would arrive on the 13th, for with the present

wind it would not take more than forty-eight hours to make this passage

of a hundred and fifty miles. One day in the island, three or four to

return, they might hope therefore that on the 17th they would again

reach Lincoln Island. The weather was fine, the barometer was rising,

the wind appeared settled, everything then was in favor of these brave

men whom an act of humanity was taking far from their island.

Thus it had been agreed that Cyrus Harding, Neb, and Gideon Spilett

should remain at Granite House, but an objection was raised, and

Spilett, who had not forgotten his business as reporter to the New York

Herald, having declared that he would go by swimming rather than lose

such an opportunity, he was admitted to take a part in the voyage.

The evening was occupied in transporting on board the “Bonadventure,”

articles of bedding, utensils, arms, ammunition, a compass, provisions

for a week; this being rapidly done, the colonists ascended to Granite

House.

The next day, at five o’clock in the morning, the farewells were said,

not without some emotion on both sides, and Pencroft setting sail made

towards Claw Cape, which had to be doubled in order to proceed to the

southwest.

The “Bonadventure” was already a quarter of a mile from the coast when

the passengers perceived on the heights of Granite House two men waving

their farewells; they were Cyrus Harding and Neb.

“Our friends,” exclaimed Spilett, “this is our first separation in

fifteen months.”

Pencroft, the reporter and Herbert waved in return, and Granite House

soon disappeared behind the high rocks of the Cape.

During the first part of the day the “Bonadventure” was still in sight

of the southern coast of Lincoln Island, which soon appeared just like

a green basket, with Mount Franklin rising from the center. The heights,

diminished by distance, did not present an appearance likely to tempt

vessels to touch there. Reptile End was passed in about an hour, though

at a distance of about ten miles.

At this distance it was no longer possible to distinguish anything of

the Western Coast, which stretched away to the ridges of Mount Franklin,

and three hours after the last of Lincoln Island sank below the horizon.

The “Bonadventure” behaved capitally. Bounding over the waves she

proceeded rapidly on her course. Pencroft had hoisted the foresail, and

steering by the compass followed a rectilinear direction. From time to

time Herbert relieved him at the helm, and the lad’s hand was so firm

that the sailor had not a point to find fault with.

Gideon Spilett chatted sometimes with one, sometimes with the other, if

wanted he lent a hand with the ropes, and Captain Pencroft was perfectly

satisfied with his crew.

In the evening the crescent moon, which would not be in its first

quarter until the 16th, appeared in the twilight and soon set again. The

night was dark but starry, and the next day again promised to be fine.

Pencroft prudently lowered the foresail, not wishing to be caught by

a sudden gust while carrying too much canvas; it was perhaps an

unnecessary precaution on such a calm night, but Pencroft was a prudent

sailor and cannot be blamed for it.

The reporter slept part of the night. Pencroft and Herbert took turns

for a spell of two hours each at the helm. The sailor trusted Herbert as

he would himself, and his confidence was justified by the coolness and

judgment of the lad. Pencroft gave him his directions as a commander to

his steersman, and Herbert never allowed the “Bonadventure” to swerve

even a point. The night passed quickly, as did the day of the 12th of

October. A south-easterly direction was strictly maintained. Unless the

“Bonadventure” fell in with some unknown current she would come exactly

within sight of Tabor Island.

As to the sea over which the vessel was then sailing, it was absolutely

deserted. Now and then a great albatross or frigate bird passed within

gunshot, and Gideon Spilett wondered if it was to one of them that he

had confided his last letter addressed to the New York Herald. These

birds were the only beings that appeared to frequent this part of the

ocean between Tabor and Lincoln Islands.

“And yet,” observed Herbert, “this is the time that whalers usually

proceed towards the southern part of the Pacific. Indeed I do not think

there could be a more deserted sea than this.”

“It is not quite so deserted as all that,” replied Pencroft.

“What do you mean?” asked the reporter.

“We are on it. Do you take our vessel for a wreck and us for porpoises?”

And Pencroft laughed at his joke.

By the evening, according to calculation, it was thought that the

“Bonadventure” had accomplished a distance of a hundred and twenty miles

since her departure from Lincoln Island, that is to say in thirty-six

hours, which would give her a speed of between three and four knots.

The breeze was very slight and might soon drop altogether.

However, it was hoped that the next morning by break of day, if the

calculation had been correct and the course true, they would sight Tabor

Island.

Neither Gideon Spilett, Herbert, nor Pencroft slept that night. In the

expectation of the next day they could not but feel some emotion.

There was so much uncertainty in their enterprise! Were they near Tabor

Island? Was the island still inhabited by the castaway to whose succor

they had come? Who was this man? Would not his presence disturb the

little colony till then so united? Besides, would he be content to

exchange his prison for another? All these questions, which would no

doubt be answered the next day, kept them in suspense, and at the dawn

of day they all fixed their gaze on the western horizon.

“Land!” shouted Pencroft at about six o’clock in the morning.

And it was impossible that Pencroft should be mistaken, it was

evident that land was there. Imagine the joy of the little crew of

the “Bonadventure.” In a few hours they would land on the beach of the

island!

The low coast of Tabor Island, scarcely emerging from the sea, was not

more than fifteen miles distant.

The head of the “Bonadventure,” which was a little to the south of the

island, was set directly towards it, and as the sun mounted in the east,

its rays fell upon one or two headlands.

“This is a much less important isle than Lincoln Island,” observed

Herbert, “and is probably due like ours to some submarine convulsion.”

At eleven o’clock the “Bonadventure” was not more than two miles off,

and Pencroft, while looking for a suitable place at which to land,

proceeded very cautiously through the unknown waters. The whole of the

island could now be surveyed, and on it could be seen groups of gum

and other large trees, of the same species as those growing on Lincoln

Island. But the astonishing thing was that no smoke arose to show that

the island was inhabited, no signal whatever appeared on the shore!

And yet the document was clear enough; there was a castaway, and this

castaway should have been on the watch.

In the meanwhile the “Bonadventure” entered the winding channels among

the reefs, and Pencroft observed every turn with extreme care. He had

put Herbert at the helm, posting himself in the bows, inspecting the

water, while he held the halliard in his hand, ready to lower the sail

at a moment’s notice. Gideon Spilett with his glass eagerly scanned the

shore, though without perceiving anything.

However, at about twelve o’clock the keel of the “Bonadventure” grated

on the bottom. The anchor was let go, the sails furled, and the crew of

the little vessel landed.

And there was no reason to doubt that this was Tabor Island, since

according to the most recent charts there was no island in this part of

the Pacific between New Zealand and the American Coast.

The vessel was securely moored, so that there should be no danger of

her being carried away by the receding tide; then Pencroft and his

companions, well armed, ascended the shore, so as to gain an elevation

of about two hundred and fifty or three hundred feet which rose at a

distance of half a mile.

“From the summit of that hill,” said Spilett, “we can no doubt obtain a

complete view of the island, which will greatly facilitate our search.”

“So as to do here,” replied Herbert, “that which Captain Harding did the

very first thing on Lincoln Island, by climbing Mount Franklin.”

“Exactly so,” answered the reporter, “and it is the best plan.”

While thus talking the explorers had advanced along a clearing

which terminated at the foot of the hill. Flocks of rock-pigeons and

sea-swallows, similar to those of Lincoln Island, fluttered around them.

Under the woods which skirted the glade on the left they could hear the

bushes rustling and see the grass waving, which indicated the presence

of timid animals, but still nothing to show that the island was

inhabited.

Arrived at the foot of the hill, Pencroft, Spilett, and Herbert climbed

it in a few minutes, and gazed anxiously round the horizon.

They were on an islet, which did not measure more than six miles in

circumference, its shape not much bordered by capes or promontories,

bays or creeks, being a lengthened oval. All around, the lonely sea

extended to the limits of the horizon. No land nor even a sail was in

sight.

This woody islet did not offer the varied aspects of Lincoln Island,

arid and wild in one part, but fertile and rich in the other. On the

contrary this was a uniform mass of verdure, out of which rose two or

three hills of no great height. Obliquely to the oval of the island ran

a stream through a wide meadow falling into the sea on the west by a

narrow mouth.

“The domain is limited,” said Herbert.

“Yes,” rejoined Pencroft: “It would have been too small for us.”

“And moreover,” said the reporter, “it appears to be uninhabited.”

“Indeed,” answered Herbert, “nothing here betrays the presence of man.”

“Let us go down,” said Pencroft, “and search.”

The sailor and his two companions returned to the shore, to the place

where they had left the “Bonadventure.”

They had decided to make the tour of the island on foot, before

exploring the interior; so that not a spot should escape their

investigations. The beach was easy to follow, and only in some places

was their way barred by large rocks, which, however, they easily passed

round. The explorers proceeded towards the south, disturbing numerous

flocks of sea-birds and herds of seals, which threw themselves into the

sea as soon as they saw the strangers at a distance.

“Those beasts yonder,” observed the reporter, “do not see men for the

first time. They fear them, therefore they must know them.”

An hour after their departure they arrived on the southern point of the

islet, terminated by a sharp cape, and proceeded towards the north along

the western coast, equally formed by sand and rocks, the background

bordered with thick woods.

There was not a trace of a habitation in any part, not the print of a

human foot on the shore of the island, which after four hours’ walking

had been gone completely round.

It was to say the least very extraordinary, and they were compelled to

believe that Tabor Island was not or was no longer inhabited. Perhaps,

after all the document was already several months or several years old,

and it was possible in this case, either that the castaway had been

enabled to return to his country, or that he had died of misery.

Pencroft, Spilett, and Herbert, forming more or less probable

conjectures, dined rapidly on board the “Bonadventure” so as to be

able to continue their excursion until nightfall. This was done at five

o’clock in the evening, at which hour they entered the wood.

Numerous animals fled at their approach, being principally, one might

say, only goats and pigs, which were obviously European species.

Doubtless some whaler had landed them on the island, where they had

rapidly increased. Herbert resolved to catch one or two living, and take

them back to Lincoln Island.

It was no longer doubtful that men at some period or other had visited

this islet, and this became still more evident when paths appeared

trodden through the forest, felled trees, and everywhere traces of the

hand of man; but the trees were becoming rotten, and had been felled

many years ago; the marks of the axe were velveted with moss, and the

grass grew long and thick on the paths, so that it was difficult to find

them.

“But,” observed Gideon Spilett, “this not only proves that men have

landed on the island, but also that they lived on it for some time. Now,

who were these men? How many of them remain?”

“The document,” said Herbert, “only spoke of one castaway.”

“Well, if he is still on the island,” replied Pencroft, “it is

impossible but that we shall find him.”

The exploration was continued. The sailor and his companions naturally

followed the route which cut diagonally across the island, and they were

thus obliged to follow the stream which flowed towards the sea.

If the animals of European origin, if works due to a human hand, showed

incontestably that men had already visited the island, several specimens

of the vegetable kingdom did not prove it less. In some places, in the

midst of clearings, it was evident that the soil had been planted with

culinary plants, at probably the same distant period.

What, then, was Herbert’s joy, when he recognized potatoes, chicory,

sorrel, carrots, cabbages, and turnips, of which it was sufficient to

collect the seed to enrich the soil of Lincoln Island.

“Capital, jolly!” exclaimed Pencroft. “That will suit Neb as well as us.

Even if we do not find the castaway, at least our voyage will not have

been useless, and God will have rewarded us.”

“Doubtless,” replied Gideon Spilett, “but to see the state in which we

find these plantations, it is to be feared that the island has not been

inhabited for some time.”

“Indeed,” answered Herbert, “an inhabitant, whoever he was, could not

have neglected such an important culture!”

“Yes,” said Pencroft, “the castaway has gone.”

“We must suppose so.”

“It must then be admitted that the document has already a distant date?”

“Evidently.”

“And that the bottle only arrived at Lincoln Island after having floated

in the sea a long time.”

“Why not?” returned Pencroft. “But night is coming on,” added he, “and I

think that it will be best to give up the search for the present.”

“Let us go on board, and to-morrow we will begin again,” said the

reporter.

This was the wisest course, and it was about to be followed when

Herbert, pointing to a confused mass among the trees, exclaimed,--

“A hut!”

All three immediately ran towards the dwelling. In the twilight it was

just possible to see that it was built of planks and covered with a

thick tarpaulin.

The half-closed door was pushed open by Pencroft, who entered with a

rapid step.

The hut was empty!

Chapter 14

Pencroft, Herbert, and Gideon Spilett remained silent in the midst of

the darkness.

Pencroft shouted loudly.

No reply was made.

The sailor then struck a light and set fire to a twig. This lighted for

a minute a small room, which appeared perfectly empty. At the back was

a rude fireplace, with a few cold cinders, supporting an armful of dry

wood. Pencroft threw the blazing twig on it, the wood crackled and gave

forth a bright light.

The sailor and his two companions then perceived a disordered bed, of

which the damp and yellow coverlets proved that it had not been used for

a long time. In the corner of the fireplace were two kettles, covered

with rust, and an overthrown pot. A cupboard, with a few moldy sailor’s

clothes; on the table a tin plate and a Bible, eaten away by damp; in a

corner a few tools, a spade, pickaxe, two fowling-pieces, one of which

was broken; on a plank, forming a shelf, stood a barrel of powder, still

untouched, a barrel of shot, and several boxes of caps, all thickly

covered with dust, accumulated, perhaps, by many long years.

“There is no one here,” said the reporter.

“No one,” replied Pencroft.

“It is a long time since this room has been inhabited,” observed

Herbert.

“Yes, a very long time!” answered the reporter.

“Mr. Spilett,” then said Pencroft, “instead of returning on board, I

think that it would be well to pass the night in this hut.”

“You are right, Pencroft,” answered Gideon Spilett, “and if its owner

returns, well! perhaps he will not be sorry to find the place taken

possession of.”

“He will not return,” said the sailor, shaking his head.

“You think that he has quitted the island?” asked the reporter.

“If he had quitted the island he would have taken away his weapons and

his tools,” replied Pencroft. “You know the value which castaways set

on such articles as these the last remains of a wreck. No! no!” repeated

the sailor, in a tone of conviction; “no, he has not left the island! If

he had escaped in a boat made by himself, he would still less have left

these indispensable and necessary articles. No! he is on the island!”

“Living?” asked Herbert.

“Living or dead. But if he is dead, I suppose he has not buried himself,

and so we shall at least find his remains!”

It was then agreed that the night should be passed in the deserted

dwelling, and a store of wood found in a corner was sufficient to warm

it. The door closed, Pencroft, Herbert and Spilett remained there,

seated on a bench, talking little but wondering much. They were in a

frame of mind to imagine anything or expect anything. They listened

eagerly for sounds outside. The door might have opened suddenly, and

a man presented himself to them without their being in the least

surprised, notwithstanding all that the hut revealed of abandonment,

and they had their hands ready to press the hands of this man, this

castaway, this unknown friend, for whom friends were waiting.

But no voice was heard, the door did not open. The hours thus passed

away.

How long the night appeared to the sailor and his companions! Herbert

alone slept for two hours, for at his age sleep is a necessity. They

were all three anxious to continue their exploration of the day before,

and to search the most secret recesses of the islet! The inferences

deduced by Pencroft were perfectly reasonable, and it was nearly certain

that, as the hut was deserted, and the tools, utensils, and weapons were

still there, the owner had succumbed. It was agreed, therefore, that

they should search for his remains, and give them at least Christian

burial.

Day dawned; Pencroft and his companions immediately proceeded to survey

the dwelling. It had certainly been built in a favorable situation,

at the back of a little hill, sheltered by five or six magnificent

gum-trees. Before its front and through the trees the axe had prepared

a wide clearing, which allowed the view to extend to the sea. Beyond a

lawn, surrounded by a wooden fence falling to pieces, was the shore, on

the left of which was the mouth of the stream.

The hut had been built of planks, and it was easy to see that these

planks had been obtained from the hull or deck of a ship. It was

probable that a disabled vessel had been cast on the coast of the

island, that one at least of the crew had been saved, and that by means

of the wreck this man, having tools at his disposal, had built the

dwelling.

And this became still more evident when Gideon Spilett, after having

walked around the hut, saw on a plank, probably one of those which

had formed the armor of the wrecked vessel, these letters already half

effaced:

BR--TAN--A

“Britannia,” exclaimed Pencroft, whom the reporter had called; “it is

a common name for ships, and I could not say if she was English or

American!”

“It matters very little, Pencroft!”

“Very little indeed,” answered the sailor, “and we will save the

survivor of her crew if he is still living, to whatever country he may

belong. But before beginning our search again let us go on board the

‘Bonadventure’.”

A sort of uneasiness had seized Pencroft upon the subject of his vessel.

Should the island be inhabited after all, and should some one have taken

possession of her? But he shrugged his shoulders at such an unreasonable

supposition. At any rate the sailor was not sorry to go to breakfast on

board. The road already trodden was not long, scarcely a mile. They set

out on their walk, gazing into the wood and thickets through which goats

and pigs fled in hundreds.

Twenty minutes after leaving the hut Pencroft and his companions reached

the western coast of the island, and saw the “Bonadventure” held fast by

her anchor, which was buried deep in the sand.

Pencroft could not restrain a sigh of satisfaction. After all this

vessel was his child, and it is the right of fathers to be often uneasy

when there is no occasion for it.

They returned on board, breakfasted, so that it should not be necessary

to dine until very late; then the repast being ended, the exploration

was continued and conducted with the most minute care. Indeed, it was

very probable that the only inhabitant of the island had perished. It

was therefore more for the traces of a dead than of a living man that

Pencroft and his companions searched. But their searches were vain, and

during the half of that day they sought to no purpose among the thickets

of trees which covered the islet. There was then scarcely any doubt

that, if the castaway was dead, no trace of his body now remained, but

that some wild beast had probably devoured it to the last bone.

“We will set off to-morrow at daybreak,” said Pencroft to his two

companions, as about two o’clock they were resting for a few minutes

under the shade of a clump of firs.

“I should think that we might without scruple take the utensils which

belonged to the castaway,” added Herbert.

“I think so, too,” returned Gideon Spilett, “and these arms and tools

will make up the stores of Granite House. The supply of powder and shot

is also most important.”

“Yes,” replied Pencroft, “but we must not forget to capture a couple or

two of those pigs, of which Lincoln Island is destitute.”

“Nor to gather those seeds,” added Herbert, “which will give us all the

vegetables of the Old and the New Worlds.”

“Then perhaps it would be best,” said the reporter, “to remain a day

longer on Tabor Island, so as to collect all that may be useful to us.”

“No, Mr. Spilett,” answered Pencroft, “I will ask you to set off

to-morrow at daybreak. The wind seems to me to be likely to shift to the

west, and after having had a fair wind for coming we shall have a fair

wind for going back.”

“Then do not let us lose time,” said Herbert, rising.

“We won’t waste time,” returned Pencroft. “You, Herbert, go and gather

the seeds, which you know better than we do. While you do that, Mr.

Spilett and I will go and have a pig hunt, and even without Top I hope

we shall manage to catch a few!”

Herbert accordingly took the path which led towards the cultivated part

of the islet, while the sailor and the reporter entered the forest.

Many specimens of the porcine race fled before them, and these animals,

which were singularly active, did not appear to be in a humor to allow

themselves to be approached.

However, after an hour’s chase, the hunters had just managed to get hold

of a couple lying in a thicket, when cries were heard resounding from

the north part of the island, With the cries were mingled terrible

yells, in which there was nothing human.

Pencroft and Gideon Spilett were at once on their feet, and the pigs

by this movement began to run away, at the moment when the sailor was

getting ready the rope to bind them.

“That’s Herbert’s voice,” said the reporter.

“Run!” exclaimed Pencroft.

And the sailor and Spilett immediately ran at full speed towards the

spot from whence the cries proceeded.

They did well to hasten, for at a turn of the path near a clearing they

saw the lad thrown on the ground and in the grasp of a savage being,

apparently a gigantic ape, who was about to do him some great harm.

To rush on this monster, throw him on the ground in his turn, snatch

Herbert from him, then bind him securely, was the work of a minute for

Pencroft and Gideon Spilett. The sailor was of Herculean strength, the

reporter also very powerful, and in spite of the monster’s resistance he

was firmly tied so that he could not even move.

“You are not hurt, Herbert?” asked Spilett.

“No, no!”

“Oh, if this ape had wounded him!” exclaimed Pencroft.

“But he is not an ape,” answered Herbert.

At these words Pencroft and Gideon Spilett looked at the singular being

who lay on the ground. Indeed it was not an ape; it was a human being,

a man. But what a man! A savage in all the horrible acceptation of the

word, and so much the more frightful that he seemed fallen to the lowest

degree of brutishness!

Shaggy hair, untrimmed beard descending to the chest, the body almost

naked except a rag round the waist, wild eyes, enormous hands with

immensely long nails, skin the color of mahogany, feet as hard as if

made of horn, such was the miserable creature who yet had a claim to be

called a man. But it might justly be asked if there were yet a soul in

this body, or if the brute instinct alone survived in it!

“Are you quite sure that this is a man, or that he has ever been one?”

said Pencroft to the reporter.

“Alas! there is no doubt about it,” replied Spilett.

“Then this must be the castaway?” asked Herbert.

“Yes,” replied Gideon Spilett, “but the unfortunate man has no longer

anything human about him!”

The reporter spoke the truth. It was evident that if the castaway had

ever been a civilized being, solitude had made him a savage, or worse,

perhaps a regular man of the woods. Hoarse sounds issued from his throat

between his teeth, which were sharp as the teeth of a wild beast made to

tear raw flesh.

Memory must have deserted him long before, and for a long time also he

had forgotten how to use his gun and tools, and he no longer knew how to

make a fire! It could be seen that he was active and powerful, but the

physical qualities had been developed in him to the injury of the moral

qualities. Gideon Spilett spoke to him. He did not appear to understand

or even to hear. And yet on looking into his eyes, the reporter thought

he could see that all reason was not extinguished in him. However, the

prisoner did not struggle, nor even attempt to break his bonds. Was he

overwhelmed by the presence of men whose fellow he had once been? Had he

found in some corner of his brain a fleeting remembrance which recalled

him to humanity? If free, would he attempt to fly, or would he remain?

They could not tell, but they did not make the experiment; and after

gazing attentively at the miserable creature,--

“Whoever he may be,” remarked Gideon Spilett, “whoever he may have

been, and whatever he may become, it is our duty to take him with us to

Lincoln Island.”

“Yes, yes!” replied Herbert, “and perhaps with care we may arouse in him

some gleam of intelligence.”

“The soul does not die,” said the reporter, “and it would be a great

satisfaction to rescue one of God’s creatures from brutishness.”

Pencroft shook his head doubtfully.

“We must try at any rate,” returned the reporter; “humanity commands

us.”

It was indeed their duty as Christians and civilized beings. All three

felt this, and they well knew that Cyrus Harding would approve of their

acting thus.

“Shall we leave him bound?” asked the sailor.

“Perhaps he would walk if his feet were unfastened,” said Herbert.

“Let us try,” replied Pencroft.

The cords which shackled the prisoner’s feet were cut off, but his arms

remained securely fastened. He got up by himself and did not manifest

any desire to run away. His hard eyes darted a piercing glance at the

three men, who walked near him, but nothing denoted that he recollected

being their fellow, or at least having been so. A continual hissing

sound issued from his lips, his aspect was wild, but he did not attempt

to resist.

By the reporter’s advice the unfortunate man was taken to the hut.

Perhaps the sight of the things that belonged to him would make some

impression on him! Perhaps a spark would be sufficient to revive his

obscured intellect, to rekindle his dulled soul. The dwelling was

not far off. In a few minutes they arrived there, but the prisoner

remembered nothing, and it appeared that he had lost consciousness of

everything.

What could they think of the degree of brutishness into which this

miserable being had fallen, unless that his imprisonment on the islet

dated from a very distant period and after having arrived there a

rational being solitude had reduced him to this condition.

The reporter then thought that perhaps the sight of fire would have

some effect on him, and in a moment one of those beautiful flames, that

attract even animals, blazed up on the hearth. The sight of the flame

seemed at first to fix the attention of the unhappy object, but soon

he turned away and the look of intelligence faded. Evidently there was

nothing to be done, for the time at least, but to take him on board

the “Bonadventure.” This was done, and he remained there in Pencroft’s

charge.

Herbert and Spilett returned to finish their work; and some hours after

they came back to the shore, carrying the utensils and guns, a store of

vegetables, of seeds, some game, and two couple of pigs.

All was embarked, and the “Bonadventure” was ready to weigh anchor and

sail with the morning tide.

The prisoner had been placed in the fore-cabin, where he remained quiet,

silent, apparently deaf and dumb.

Pencroft offered him something to eat, but he pushed away the cooked

meat that was presented to him and which doubtless did not suit him. But

on the sailor showing him one of the ducks which Herbert had killed, he

pounced on it like a wild beast, and devoured it greedily.

“You think that he will recover his senses?” asked Pencroft. “It is

not impossible that our care will have an effect upon him, for it is

solitude that has made him what he is, and from this time forward he

will be no longer alone.”

“The poor man must no doubt have been in this state for a long time,”

said Herbert.

“Perhaps,” answered Gideon Spilett.

“About what age is he?” asked the lad.

“It is difficult to say,” replied the reporter, “for it is impossible to

see his features under the thick beard which covers his face, but he is

no longer young, and I suppose he might be about fifty.”

“Have you noticed, Mr. Spilett, how deeply sunk his eyes are?” asked

Herbert.

“Yes, Herbert, but I must add that they are more human than one could

expect from his appearance.”

“However, we shall see,” replied Pencroft, “and I am anxious to know

what opinion Captain Harding will have of our savage. We went to look

for a human creature, and we are bringing back a monster! After all, we

did what we could.”

The night passed, and whether the prisoner slept or not could not be

known, but at any rate, although he had been unbound, he did not

move. He was like a wild animal, which appears stunned at first by its

capture, and becomes wild again afterwards.

At daybreak the next morning, the 15th of October, the change of weather

predicted by Pencroft occurred. The wind having shifted to the northwest

favored the return of the “Bonadventure,” but at the same time it

freshened, which might render navigation more difficult.

At five o’clock in the morning the anchor was weighed. Pencroft took a

reef in the mainsail, and steered towards the north-east, so as to sail

straight for Lincoln Island.

The first day of the voyage was not marked by any incident. The prisoner

remained quiet in the fore-cabin, and as he had been a sailor it

appeared that the motion of the vessel might produce on him a salutary

reaction. Did some recollection of his former calling return to him?

However that might be, he remained tranquil, astonished rather than

depressed.

The next day the wind increased, blowing more from the north,

consequently in a less favorable direction for the “Bonadventure.”

Pencroft was soon obliged to sail close-hauled, and without saying

anything about it he began to be uneasy at the state of the sea, which

frequently broke over the bows. Certainly, if the wind did not moderate,

it would take a longer time to reach Lincoln Island than it had taken to

make Tabor Island.

Indeed, on the morning of the 17th, the “Bonadventure” had been

forty-eight hours at sea, and nothing showed that she was near the

island. It was impossible, besides, to estimate the distance traversed,

or to trust to the reckoning for the direction, as the speed had been

very irregular.

Twenty-four hours after there was yet no land in sight. The wind was

right ahead and the sea very heavy. The sails were close-reefed, and

they tacked frequently. On the 18th, a wave swept completely over the

“Bonadventure”; and if the crew had not taken the precaution of lashing

themselves to the deck, they would have been carried away.

On this occasion Pencroft and his companions, who were occupied with

loosing themselves, received unexpected aid from the prisoner, who

emerged from the hatchway as if his sailor’s instinct had suddenly

returned, broke a piece out of the bulwarks with a spar so as to let

the water which filled the deck escape. Then the vessel being clear, he

descended to his cabin without having uttered a word. Pencroft, Gideon

Spilett, and Herbert, greatly astonished, let him proceed.

Their situation was truly serious, and the sailor had reason to fear

that he was lost on the wide sea without any possibility of recovering

his course.

The night was dark and cold. However, about eleven o’clock, the wind

fell, the sea went down, and the speed of the vessel, as she labored

less, greatly increased.

Neither Pencroft, Spilett, nor Herbert thought of taking an hour’s

sleep. They kept a sharp look-out, for either Lincoln Island could not

be far distant and would be sighted at daybreak, or the “Bonadventure,”

carried away by currents, had drifted so much that it would be

impossible to rectify her course. Pencroft, uneasy to the last degree,

yet did not despair, for he had a gallant heart, and grasping the tiller

he anxiously endeavored to pierce the darkness which surrounded them.

About two o’clock in the morning he started forward,--

“A light! a light!” he shouted.

Indeed, a bright light appeared twenty miles to the northeast. Lincoln

Island was there, and this fire, evidently lighted by Cyrus Harding,

showed them the course to be followed. Pencroft, who was bearing too

much to the north, altered his course and steered towards the fire,

which burned brightly above the horizon like a star of the first

magnitude.

Chapter 15

The next day, the 20th of October, at seven o’clock in the morning,

after a voyage of four days, the “Bonadventure” gently glided up to the

beach at the mouth of the Mercy.

Cyrus Harding and Neb, who had become very uneasy at the bad weather and

the prolonged absence of their companions, had climbed at daybreak to

the plateau of Prospect Heights, and they had at last caught sight of

the vessel which had been so long in returning.

“God be praised! there they are!” exclaimed Cyrus Harding.

As to Neb in his joy, he began to dance, to twirl round, clapping his

hands and shouting, “Oh! my master!” A more touching pantomime than the

finest discourse.

The engineer’s first idea, on counting the people on the deck of the

“Bonadventure,” was that Pencroft had not found the castaway of Tabor

Island, or at any rate that the unfortunate man had refused to leave his

island and change one prison for another.

Indeed Pencroft, Gideon Spilett, and Herbert were alone on the deck of

the “Bonadventure.”

The moment the vessel touched, the engineer and Neb were waiting on

the beach, and before the passengers had time to leap on to the sand,

Harding said: “We have been very uneasy at your delay, my friends! Did

you meet with any accident?”

“No,” replied Gideon Spilett; “on the contrary, everything went

wonderfully well. We will tell you all about it.”

“However,” returned the engineer, “your search has been unsuccessful,

since you are only three, just as you went!”

“Excuse me, captain,” replied the sailor, “we are four.”

“You have found the castaway?”

“Yes.”

“And you have brought him?”

“Yes.”

“Living?”

“Yes.”

“Where is he? Who is he?”

“He is,” replied the reporter, “or rather he was a man! There, Cyrus,

that is all we can tell you!”

The engineer was then informed of all that had passed during the voyage,

and under what conditions the search had been conducted; how the only

dwelling in the island had long been abandoned; how at last a castaway

had been captured, who appeared no longer to belong to the human

species.

“And that’s just the point,” added Pencroft, “I don’t know if we have

done right to bring him here.”

“Certainly you have, Pencroft,” replied the engineer quickly.

“But the wretched creature has no sense!”

“That is possible at present,” replied Cyrus Harding, “but only a few

months ago the wretched creature was a man like you and me. And who

knows what will become of the survivor of us after a long solitude on

this island? It is a great misfortune to be alone, my friends; and it

must be believed that solitude can quickly destroy reason, since you

have found this poor creature in such a state!”

“But, captain,” asked Herbert, “what leads you to think that the

brutishness of the unfortunate man began only a few months back?”

“Because the document we found had been recently written,” answered the

engineer, “and the castaway alone can have written it.”

“Always supposing,” observed Gideon Spilett, “that it had not been

written by a companion of this man, since dead.”

“That is impossible, my dear Spilett.”

“Why so?” asked the reporter.

“Because the document would then have spoken of two castaways,” replied

Harding, “and it mentioned only one.”

Herbert then in a few words related the incidents of the voyage, and

dwelt on the curious fact of the sort of passing gleam in the prisoner’s

mind, when for an instant in the height of the storm he had become a

sailor.

“Well, Herbert,” replied the engineer, “you are right to attach great

importance to this fact. The unfortunate man cannot be incurable, and

despair has made him what he is; but here he will find his fellow-men,

and since there is still a soul in him, this soul we shall save!”

The castaway of Tabor Island, to the great pity of the engineer and

the great astonishment of Neb, was then brought from the cabin which he

occupied in the fore part of the “Bonadventure”; when once on land he

manifested a wish to run away.

But Cyrus Harding approaching, placed his hand on his shoulder with a

gesture full of authority, and looked at him with infinite tenderness.

Immediately the unhappy man, submitting to a superior will, gradually

became calm, his eyes fell, his head bent, and he made no more

resistance.

“Poor fellow!” murmured the engineer.

Cyrus Harding had attentively observed him. To judge by his appearance

this miserable being had no longer anything human about him, and

yet Harding, as had the reporter already, observed in his look an

indefinable trace of intelligence.

It was decided that the castaway, or rather the stranger as he was

thenceforth termed by his companions, should live in one of the rooms

of Granite House, from which, however, he could not escape. He was led

there without difficulty, and with careful attention, it might, perhaps,

be hoped that some day he would be a companion to the settlers in

Lincoln Island.

Cyrus Harding, during breakfast, which Neb had hastened to prepare,

as the reporter, Herbert, and Pencroft were dying of hunger, heard in

detail all the incidents which had marked the voyage of exploration to

the islet. He agreed with his friends on this point, that the stranger

must be either English or American, the name Britannia leading them

to suppose this, and, besides, through the bushy beard, and under

the shaggy, matted hair, the engineer thought he could recognize the

characteristic features of the Anglo-Saxon.

“But, by the bye,” said Gideon Spilett, addressing Herbert, “you never

told us how you met this savage, and we know nothing, except that you

would have been strangled, if we had not happened to come up in time to

help you!”

“Upon my word,” answered Herbert, “it is rather difficult to say how it

happened. I was, I think, occupied in collecting my plants, when I heard

a noise like an avalanche falling from a very tall tree. I scarcely

had time to look round. This unfortunate man, who was without doubt

concealed in a tree, rushed upon me in less time than I take to tell you

about it, and unless Mr. Spilett and Pencroft--”

“My boy!” said Cyrus Harding, “you ran a great danger, but, perhaps,

without that, the poor creature would have still hidden himself from

your search, and we should not have had a new companion.”

“You hope, then, Cyrus, to succeed in reforming the man?” asked the

reporter.

“Yes,” replied the engineer.

Breakfast over, Harding and his companions left Granite House and

returned to the beach. They there occupied themselves in unloading the

“Bonadventure,” and the engineer, having examined the arms and tools,

saw nothing which could help them to establish the identity of the

stranger.

The capture of pigs, made on the islet, was looked upon as being very

profitable to Lincoln Island, and the animals were led to the sty, where

they soon became at home.

The two barrels, containing the powder and shot, as well as the box

of caps, were very welcome. It was agreed to establish a small

powder-magazine, either outside Granite House or in the Upper Cavern,

where there would be no fear of explosion. However, the use of pyroxyle

was to be continued, for this substance giving excellent results, there

was no reason for substituting ordinary powder.

When the unloading of the vessel was finished,--

“Captain,” said Pencroft, “I think it would be prudent to put our

‘Bonadventure’ in a safe place.”

“Is she not safe at the mouth of the Mercy?” asked Cyrus Harding.

“No, captain,” replied the sailor. “Half of the time she is stranded on

the sand, and that works her. She is a famous craft, you see, and she

behaved admirably during the squall which struck us on our return.”

“Could she not float in the river?”

“No doubt, captain, she could; but there is no shelter there, and in the

east winds, I think that the ‘Bonadventure’ would suffer much from the

surf.”

“Well, where would you put her, Pencroft?”

“In Port Balloon,” replied the sailor. “That little creek, shut in by

rocks, seems to me to be just the harbor we want.”

“Is it not rather far?”

“Pooh! it is not more than three miles from Granite House, and we have a

fine straight road to take us there!”

“Do it then, Pencroft, and take your ‘Bonadventure’ there,” replied

the engineer, “and yet I would rather have her under our more immediate

protection. When we have time, we must make a little harbor for her.”

“Famous!” exclaimed Pencroft. “A harbor with a lighthouse, a pier, and

dock! Ah! really with you, captain, everything becomes easy.”

“Yes, my brave Pencroft,” answered the engineer, “but on condition,

however, that you help me, for you do as much as three men in all our

work.”

Herbert and the sailor then re-embarked on board the “Bonadventure,”

the anchor was weighed, the sail hoisted, and the wind drove her rapidly

towards Claw Cape. Two hours after, she was reposing on the tranquil

waters of Port Balloon.

During the first days passed by the stranger in Granite House, had he

already given them reason to think that his savage nature was becoming

tamed? Did a brighter light burn in the depths of that obscured mind? In

short, was the soul returning to the body?

Yes, to a certainty, and to such a degree, that Cyrus Harding and the

reporter wondered if the reason of the unfortunate man had ever been

totally extinguished. At first, accustomed to the open air, to the

unrestrained liberty which he had enjoyed on Tabor Island, the stranger

manifested a sullen fury, and it was feared that he might throw

himself onto the beach, out of one of the windows of Granite House.

But gradually he became calmer, and more freedom was allowed to his

movements.

They had reason to hope, and to hope much. Already, forgetting his

carnivorous instincts, the stranger accepted a less bestial nourishment

than that on which he fed on the islet, and cooked meat did not produce

in him the same sentiment of repulsion which he had showed on board

the “Bonadventure.” Cyrus Harding had profited by a moment when he was

sleeping, to cut his hair and matted beard, which formed a sort of

mane and gave him such a savage aspect. He had also been clothed more

suitably, after having got rid of the rag which covered him. The result

was that, thanks to these attentions, the stranger resumed a more

human appearance, and it even seemed as if his eyes had become milder.

Certainly, when formerly lighted up by intelligence, this man’s face

must have had a sort of beauty.

Every day, Harding imposed on himself the task of passing some hours

in his company. He came and worked near him, and occupied himself in

different things, so as to fix his attention. A spark, indeed, would be

sufficient to reillumine that soul, a recollection crossing that brain

to recall reason. That had been seen, during the storm, on board the

“Bonadventure!” The engineer did not neglect either to speak aloud, so

as to penetrate at the same time by the organs of hearing and sight the

depths of that torpid intelligence. Sometimes one of his companions,

sometimes another, sometimes all joined him. They spoke most often of

things belonging to the navy, which must interest a sailor.

At times, the stranger gave some slight attention to what was said,

and the settlers were soon convinced that he partly understood them.

Sometimes the expression of his countenance was deeply sorrowful, a

proof that he suffered mentally, for his face could not be mistaken;

but he did not speak, although at different times, however, they almost

thought that words were about to issue from his lips. At all events, the

poor creature was quite quiet and sad!

But was not his calm only apparent? Was not his sadness only the result

of his seclusion? Nothing could yet be ascertained. Seeing only certain

objects and in a limited space, always in contact with the colonists,

to whom he would soon become accustomed, having no desires to satisfy,

better fed, better clothed, it was natural that his physical nature

should gradually improve; but was he penetrated with the sense of a new

life? or rather, to employ a word which would be exactly applicable

to him, was he not becoming tamed, like an animal in company with his

master? This was an important question, which Cyrus Harding was anxious

to answer, and yet he did not wish to treat his invalid roughly! Would

he ever be a convalescent?

How the engineer observed him every moment! How he was on the watch for

his soul, if one may use the expression! How he was ready to grasp it!

The settlers followed with real sympathy all the phases of the cure

undertaken by Harding. They aided him also in this work of humanity, and

all, except perhaps the incredulous Pencroft, soon shared both his hope

and his faith.

The calm of the stranger was deep, as has been said, and he even showed

a sort of attachment for the engineer, whose influence he evidently

felt. Cyrus Harding resolved then to try him, by transporting him

to another scene, from that ocean which formerly his eyes had been

accustomed to contemplate, to the border of the forest, which might

perhaps recall those where so many years of his life had been passed!

“But,” said Gideon Spilett, “can we hope that he will not escape, if

once set at liberty?”

“The experiment must be tried,” replied the engineer.

“Well!” said Pencroft. “When that fellow is outside, and feels the fresh

air, he will be off as fast as his legs can carry him!”

“I do not think so,” returned Harding.

“Let us try,” said Spilett.

“We will try,” replied the engineer.

This was on the 30th of October, and consequently the castaway of Tabor

Island had been a prisoner in Granite House for nine days. It was

warm, and a bright sun darted its rays on the island. Cyrus Harding and

Pencroft went to the room occupied by the stranger, who was found lying

near the window and gazing at the sky.

“Come, my friend,” said the engineer to him.

The stranger rose immediately. His eyes were fixed on Cyrus Harding, and

he followed him, while the sailor marched behind them, little confident

as to the result of the experiment.

Arrived at the door, Harding and Pencroft made him take his place in

the lift, while Neb, Herbert, and Gideon Spilett waited for them before

Granite House. The lift descended, and in a few moments all were united

on the beach.

The settlers went a short distance from the stranger, so as to leave him

at liberty.

He then made a few steps toward the sea, and his look brightened with

extreme animation, but he did not make the slightest attempt to escape.

He was gazing at the little waves which, broken by the islet, rippled on

the sand.

“This is only the sea,” observed Gideon Spilett, “and possibly it does

not inspire him with any wish to escape!”

“Yes,” replied Harding, “we must take him to the plateau, on the border

of the forest. There the experiment will be more conclusive.”

“Besides, he could not run away,” said Neb, “since the bridge is

raised.”

“Oh!” said Pencroft, “that isn’t a man to be troubled by a stream like

Creek Glycerine! He could cross it directly, at a single bound!”

“We shall soon see,” Harding contented himself with replying, his eyes

not quitting those of his patient.

The latter was then led towards the mouth of the Mercy, and all climbing

the left bank of the river, reached Prospect Heights.

Arrived at the spot on which grew the first beautiful trees of the

forest, their foliage slightly agitated by the breeze, the stranger

appeared greedily to drink in the penetrating odor which filled the

atmosphere, and a long sigh escaped from his chest.

The settlers kept behind him, ready to seize him if he made any movement

to escape!

And, indeed, the poor creature was on the point of springing into the

creek which separated him from the forest, and his legs were bent for an

instant as if for a spring, but almost immediately he stepped back, half

sank down, and a large tear fell from his eyes.

“Ah!” exclaimed Cyrus Harding, “you have become a man again, for you can

weep!”

Chapter 16

Yes! the unfortunate man had wept! Some recollection doubtless had

flashed across his brain, and to use Cyrus Harding’s expression, by

those tears he was once more a man.

The colonists left him for some time on the plateau, and withdrew

themselves to a short distance, so that he might feel himself free; but

he did not think of profiting by this liberty, and Harding soon brought

him back to Granite House. Two days after this occurrence, the stranger

appeared to wish gradually to mingle with their common life. He

evidently heard and understood, but no less evidently was he strangely

determined not to speak to the colonists; for one evening, Pencroft,

listening at the door of his room, heard these words escape from his

lips:--

“No! here! I! never!”

The sailor reported these words to his companions.

“There is some painful mystery there!” said Harding.

The stranger had begun to use the laboring tools, and he worked in the

garden. When he stopped in his work, as was often the case, he remained

retired within himself, but on the engineer’s recommendation, they

respected the reserve which he apparently wished to keep. If one of the

settlers approached him, he drew back, and his chest heaved with sobs,

as if overburdened!

Was it remorse that overwhelmed him thus? They were compelled to believe

so, and Gideon Spilett could not help one day making this observation,--

“If he does not speak it is because he has, I fear, things too serious

to be told!”

They must be patient and wait.

A few days later, on the 3rd of November, the stranger, working on the

plateau, had stopped, letting his spade drop to the ground, and Harding,

who was observing him from a little distance, saw that tears were again

flowing from his eyes. A sort of irresistible pity led him towards the

unfortunate man, and he touched his arm lightly.

“My friend!” said he.

The stranger tried to avoid his look, and Cyrus Harding having

endeavored to take his hand, he drew back quickly.

“My friend,” said Harding in a firmer voice, “look at me, I wish it!”

The stranger looked at the engineer, and seemed to be under his power,

as a subject under the influence of a mesmerist. He wished to run away.

But then his countenance suddenly underwent a transformation. His eyes

flashed. Words struggled to escape from his lips. He could no longer

contain himself! At last he folded his arms; then, in a hollow

voice,--“Who are you?” he asked Cyrus Harding.

“Castaways, like you,” replied the engineer, whose emotion was deep. “We

have brought you here, among your fellow-men.”

“My fellow-men!.... I have none!”

“You are in the midst of friends.”

“Friends!--for me! friends!” exclaimed the stranger, hiding his face in

his hands. “No--never--leave me! leave me!”

Then he rushed to the side of the plateau which overlooked the sea, and

remained there a long time motionless.

Harding rejoined his companions and related to them what had just

happened.

“Yes! there is some mystery in that man’s life,” said Gideon Spilett,

“and it appears as if he had only re-entered society by the path of

remorse.”

“I don’t know what sort of a man we have brought here,” said the sailor.

“He has secrets--”

“Which we will respect,” interrupted Cyrus Harding quickly. “If he has

committed any crime, he has most fearfully expiated it, and in our eyes

he is absolved.”

For two hours the stranger remained alone on the shore, evidently under

the influence of recollections which recalled all his past life--a

melancholy life doubtless--and the colonists, without losing sight of

him, did not attempt to disturb his solitude. However, after two hours,

appearing to have formed a resolution, he came to find Cyrus Harding.

His eyes were red with the tears he had shed, but he wept no longer.

His countenance expressed deep humility. He appeared anxious, timorous,

ashamed, and his eyes were constantly fixed on the ground.

“Sir,” said he to Harding, “your companions and you, are you English?”

“No,” answered the engineer, “we are Americans.”

“Ah!” said the stranger, and he murmured, “I prefer that!”

“And you, my friend?” asked the engineer.

“English,” replied he hastily.

And as if these few words had been difficult to say, he retreated to the

beach, where he walked up and down between the cascade and the mouth of

the Mercy, in a state of extreme agitation.

Then, passing one moment close to Herbert, he stopped and in a stifled

voice,--

“What month?” he asked.

“December,” replied Herbert.

“What year?”

“1866.”

“Twelve years! twelve years!” he exclaimed.

Then he left him abruptly.

Herbert reported to the colonists the questions and answers which had

been made.

“This unfortunate man,” observed Gideon Spilett, “was no longer

acquainted with either months or years!”

“Yes!” added Herbert, “and he had been twelve years already on the islet

when we found him there!”

“Twelve years!” rejoined Harding. “Ah! twelve years of solitude, after a

wicked life, perhaps, may well impair a man’s reason!”

“I am induced to think,” said Pencroft, “that this man was not wrecked

on Tabor Island, but that in consequence of some crime he was left

there.”

“You must be right, Pencroft,” replied the reporter, “and if it is so

it is not impossible that those who left him on the island may return to

fetch him some day!”

“And they will no longer find him,” said Herbert.

“But then,” added Pencroft, “they must return, and--”

“My friends,” said Cyrus Harding, “do not let us discuss this question

until we know more about it. I believe that the unhappy man has

suffered, that he has severely expiated his faults, whatever they may

have been, and that the wish to unburden himself stifles him. Do not let

us press him to tell us his history! He will tell it to us doubtless,

and when we know it, we shall see what course it will be best to follow.

He alone besides can tell us, if he has more than a hope, a certainty,

of returning some day to his country, but I doubt it!”

“And why?” asked the reporter.

“Because that, in the event of his being sure of being delivered at a

certain time, he would have waited the hour of his deliverance and would

not have thrown this document into the sea. No, it is more probable that

he was condemned to die on that islet, and that he never expected to see

his fellow-creatures again!”

“But,” observed the sailor, “there is one thing which I cannot explain.”

“What is it?”

“If this man had been left for twelve years on Tabor Island, one may

well suppose that he had been several years already in the wild state in

which we found him!”

“That is probable,” replied Cyrus Harding.

“It must then be many years since he wrote that document!”

“No doubt,” and yet the document appears to have been recently written!

“Besides, how do you know that the bottle which enclosed the document

may not have taken several years to come from Tabor Island to Lincoln

Island?”

“That is not absolutely impossible,” replied the reporter.

“Might it not have been a long time already on the coast of the island?”

“No,” answered Pencroft, “for it was still floating. We could not even

suppose that after it had stayed for any length of time on the shore, it

would have been swept off by the sea, for the south coast is all rocks,

and it would certainly have been smashed to pieces there!”

“That is true,” rejoined Cyrus Harding thoughtfully.

“And then,” continued the sailor, “if the document was several years

old, if it had been shut up in that bottle for several years, it would

have been injured by damp. Now, there is nothing of the kind, and it was

found in a perfect state of preservation.”

The sailor’s reasoning was very just, and pointed out an

incomprehensible fact, for the document appeared to have been recently

written, when the colonists found it in the bottle. Moreover, it gave

the latitude and longitude of Tabor Island correctly, which implied that

its author had a more complete knowledge of hydrography than could be

expected of a common sailor.

“There is in this, again, something unaccountable,” said the engineer,

“but we will not urge our companion to speak. When he likes, my

friends, then we shall be ready to hear him!”

During the following days the stranger did not speak a word, and did not

once leave the precincts of the plateau. He worked away, without losing

a moment, without taking a minute’s rest, but always in a retired place.

At meal times he never came to Granite House, although invited several

times to do so, but contented himself with eating a few raw vegetables.

At nightfall he did not return to the room assigned to him, but remained

under some clump of trees, or when the weather was bad crouched in some

cleft of the rocks. Thus he lived in the same manner as when he had no

other shelter than the forests of Tabor Island, and as all persuasion

to induce him to improve his life was in vain, the colonists

waited patiently. And the time was near, when, as it seemed, almost

involuntarily urged by his conscience, a terrible confession escaped

him.

On the 10th of November, about eight o’clock in the evening, as night

was coming on, the stranger appeared unexpectedly before the settlers,

who were assembled under the veranda. His eyes burned strangely, and he

had quite resumed the wild aspect of his worst days.

Cyrus Harding and his companions were astounded on seeing that, overcome

by some terrible emotion, his teeth chattered like those of a person

in a fever. What was the matter with him? Was the sight of his

fellow-creatures insupportable to him? Was he weary of this return to a

civilized mode of existence? Was he pining for his former savage

life? It appeared so, as soon he was heard to express himself in these

incoherent sentences:--

“Why am I here?.... By what right have you dragged me from my islet?....

Do you think there could be any tie between you and me?.... Do you know

who I am--what I have done--why I was there--alone? And who told

you that I was not abandoned there--that I was not condemned to die

there?.... Do you know my past?.... How do you know that I have not

stolen, murdered--that I am not a wretch--an accursed being--only fit to

live like a wild beast, far from all--speak--do you know it?”

The colonists listened without interrupting the miserable creature, from

whom these broken confessions escaped, as it were, in spite of himself.

Harding wishing to calm him, approached him, but he hastily drew back.

“No! no!” he exclaimed; “one word only--am I free?”

“You are free,” answered the engineer.

“Farewell, then!” he cried, and fled like a madman.

Neb, Pencroft, and Herbert ran also towards the edge of the wood--but

they returned alone.

“We must let him alone!” said Cyrus Harding.

“He will never come back!” exclaimed Pencroft.

“He will come back,” replied the engineer.

Many days passed; but Harding--was it a sort of

presentiment?--persisted in the fixed idea that sooner or later the

unhappy man would return.

“It is the last revolt of his wild nature,” said he, “which remorse has

touched, and which renewed solitude will terrify.”

In the meanwhile, works of all sorts were continued, as well on Prospect

Heights as at the corral, where Harding intended to build a farm. It is

unnecessary to say that the seeds collected by Herbert on Tabor

Island had been carefully sown. The plateau thus formed one immense

kitchen-garden, well laid out and carefully tended, so that the arms of

the settlers were never in want of work. There was always something to

be done. As the esculents increased in number, it became necessary to

enlarge the simple beds, which threatened to grow into regular fields

and replace the meadows. But grass abounded in other parts of the

island, and there was no fear of the onagers being obliged to go on

short allowance. It was well worth while, besides, to turn Prospect

Heights into a kitchen-garden, defended by its deep belt of creeks, and

to remove them to the meadows, which had no need of protection against

the depredations of quadrumana and quadrapeds.

On the 15th of November, the third harvest was gathered in. How

wonderfully had the field increased in extent, since eighteen months

ago, when the first grain of wheat was sown! The second crop of six

hundred thousand grains produced this time four thousand bushels, or

five hundred millions of grains!

The colony was rich in corn, for ten bushels alone were sufficient for

sowing every year to produce an ample crop for the food both of men and

beasts. The harvest was completed, and the last fortnight of the month

of November was devoted to the work of converting it into food for man.

In fact, they had corn, but not flour, and the establishment of a mill

was necessary. Cyrus Harding could have utilized the second fall which

flowed into the Mercy to establish his motive power, the first

being already occupied with moving the felting mill, but, after some

consultation, it was decided that a simple windmill should be built on

Prospect Heights. The building of this presented no more difficulty than

the building of the former, and it was moreover certain that there would

be no want of wind on the plateau, exposed as it was to the sea breezes.

“Not to mention,” said Pencroft, “that the windmill will be more lively

and will have a good effect in the landscape!”

They set to work by choosing timber for the frame and machinery of the

mill. Some large stones, found at the north of the lake, could be easily

transformed into millstones, and as to the sails, the inexhaustible case

of the balloon furnished the necessary material.

Cyrus Harding made his model, and the site of the mill was chosen a

little to the right of the poultry-yard, near the shore of the lake. The

frame was to rest on a pivot supported with strong timbers, so that it

could turn with all the machinery it contained according as the wind

required it. The work advanced rapidly. Neb and Pencroft had become

very skilful carpenters, and had nothing to do but to copy the models

provided by the engineer.

Soon a sort of cylindrical box, in shape like a pepper-pot, with a

pointed roof, rose on the spot chosen. The four frames which formed the

sails had been firmly fixed in the center beam, so as to form a certain

angle with it, and secured with iron clamps. As to the different

parts of the internal mechanism, the box destined to contain the two

millstones, the fixed stone and the moving stone, the hopper, a sort of

large square trough, wide at the top, narrow at the bottom, which would

allow the grain to fall on the stones, the oscillating spout intended to

regulate the passing of the grain, and lastly the bolting machine, which

by the operation of sifting, separates the bran from the flour,

were made without difficulty. The tools were good, and the work not

difficult, for in reality, the machinery of a mill is very simple. This

was only a question of time.

Every one had worked at the construction of the mill, and on the 1st

of December it was finished. As usual, Pencroft was delighted with his

work, and had no doubt that the apparatus was perfect.

“Now for a good wind,” said he, “and we shall grind our first harvest

splendidly!”

“A good wind, certainly,” answered the engineer, “but not too much,

Pencroft.”

“Pooh! our mill would only go the faster!”

“There is no need for it to go so very fast,” replied Cyrus Harding. “It

is known by experience that the greatest quantity of work is performed

by a mill when the number of turns made by the sails in a minute is six

times the number of feet traversed by the wind in a second. A moderate

breeze, which passes over twenty-four feet to the second, will give

sixteen turns to the sails during a minute, and there is no need of

more.”

“Exactly!” cried Herbert, “a fine breeze is blowing from the northeast,

which will soon do our business for us.”

There was no reason for delaying the inauguration of the mill, for the

settlers were eager to taste the first piece of bread in Lincoln Island.

On this morning two or three bushels of wheat were ground, and the next

day at breakfast a magnificent loaf, a little heavy perhaps, although

raised with yeast, appeared on the table at Granite House. Every one

munched away at it with a pleasure which may be easily understood.

In the meanwhile, the stranger had not reappeared. Several times Gideon

Spilett and Herbert searched the forest in the neighborhood of Granite

House, without meeting or finding any trace of him. They became

seriously uneasy at this prolonged absence. Certainly, the former

savage of Tabor island could not be perplexed how to live in the forest,

abounding in game, but was it not to be feared that he had resumed his

habits, and that this freedom would revive in him his wild instincts?

However, Harding, by a sort of presentiment, doubtless, always persisted

in saying that the fugitive would return.

“Yes, he will return!” he repeated with a confidence which his

companions could not share. “When this unfortunate man was on Tabor

Island, he knew himself to be alone! Here, he knows that fellow-men are

awaiting him! Since he has partially spoken of his past life, the poor

penitent will return to tell the whole, and from that day he will belong

to us!”

The event justified Cyrus Harding’s predictions. On the 3rd of December,

Herbert had left the plateau to go and fish on the southern bank of the

lake. He was unarmed, and till then had never taken any precautions for

defense, as dangerous animals had not shown themselves on that part of

the island.

Meanwhile, Pencroft and Neb were working in the poultry-yard, while

Harding and the reporter were occupied at the Chimneys in making soda,

the store of soap being exhausted.

Suddenly cries resounded,--

“Help! help!”

Cyrus Harding and the reporter, being at too great a distance, had not

been able to hear the shouts. Pencroft and Neb, leaving the poultry-yard

in all haste, rushed towards the lake.

But before then, the stranger, whose presence at this place no one had

suspected, crossed Creek Glycerine, which separated the plateau from the

forest, and bounded up the opposite bank.

Herbert was there face to face with a fierce jaguar, similar to the

one which had been killed on Reptile End. Suddenly surprised, he was

standing with his back against a tree, while the animal gathering itself

together was about to spring.

But the stranger, with no other weapon than a knife, rushed on the

formidable animal, who turned to meet this new adversary.

The struggle was short. The stranger possessed immense strength and

activity. He seized the jaguar’s throat with one powerful hand, holding

it as in a vise, without heeding the beast’s claws which tore his flesh,

and with the other he plunged his knife into its heart.

The jaguar fell. The stranger kicked away the body, and was about to

fly at the moment when the settlers arrived on the field of battle, but

Herbert, clinging to him, cried,--

“No, no! you shall not go!”

Harding advanced towards the stranger, who frowned when he saw him

approaching. The blood flowed from his shoulder under his torn shirt,

but he took no notice of it.

“My friend,” said Cyrus Harding, “we have just contracted a debt of

gratitude to you. To save our boy you have risked your life!”

“My life!” murmured the stranger. “What is that worth? Less than

nothing!”

“You are wounded?”

“It is no matter.”

“Will you give me your hand?”

And as Herbert endeavored to seize the hand which had just saved him,

the stranger folded his arms, his chest heaved, his look darkened, and

he appeared to wish to escape, but making a violent effort over himself,

and in an abrupt tone,--

“Who are you?” he asked, “and what do you claim to be to me?”

It was the colonists’ history which he thus demanded, and for the first

time. Perhaps this history recounted, he would tell his own.

In a few words Harding related all that had happened since their

departure from Richmond; how they had managed, and what resources they

now had at their disposal.

The stranger listened with extreme attention.

Then the engineer told who they all were, Gideon Spilett, Herbert,

Pencroft, Neb, himself, and, he added, that the greatest happiness they

had felt since their arrival in Lincoln Island was on the return of the

vessel from Tabor Island, when they had been able to include among them

a new companion.

At these words the stranger’s face flushed, his head sunk on his breast,

and confusion was depicted on his countenance.

“And now that you know us,” added Cyrus Harding, “will you give us your

hand?”

“No,” replied the stranger in a hoarse voice; “no! You are honest men!

And I--”

Chapter 17

These last words justified the colonists’ presentiment. There had been

some mournful past, perhaps expiated in the sight of men, but from which

his conscience had not yet absolved him. At any rate the guilty man felt

remorse, he repented, and his new friends would have cordially pressed

the hand which they sought; but he did not feel himself worthy to extend

it to honest men! However, after the scene with the jaguar, he did not

return to the forest, and from that day did not go beyond the enclosure

of Granite House.

What was the mystery of his life? Would the stranger one day speak of

it? Time alone could show. At any rate, it was agreed that his secret

should never be asked from him, and that they would live with him as if

they suspected nothing.

For some days their life continued as before. Cyrus Harding and Gideon

Spilett worked together, sometimes chemists, sometimes experimentalists.

The reporter never left the engineer except to hunt with Herbert, for

it would not have been prudent to allow the lad to ramble alone in the

forest; and it was very necessary to be on their guard. As to Neb

and Pencroft, one day at the stables and poultry-yard, another at the

corral, without reckoning work in Granite House, they were never in want

of employment.

The stranger worked alone, and he had resumed his usual life, never

appearing at meals, sleeping under the trees in the plateau, never

mingling with his companions. It really seemed as if the society of

those who had saved him was insupportable to him!

“But then,” observed Pencroft, “why did he entreat the help of his

fellow-creatures? Why did he throw that paper into the sea?”

“He will tell us why,” invariably replied Cyrus Harding.

“When?”

“Perhaps sooner than you think, Pencroft.”

And, indeed, the day of confession was near.

On the 10th of December, a week after his return to Granite House,

Harding saw the stranger approaching, who, in a calm voice and humble

tone, said to him: “Sir, I have a request to make of you.”

“Speak,” answered the engineer, “but first let me ask you a question.”

At these words the stranger reddened, and was on the point of

withdrawing. Cyrus Harding understood what was passing in the mind of

the guilty man, who doubtless feared that the engineer would interrogate

him on his past life.

Harding held him back.

“Comrade,” said he, “we are not only your companions but your friends. I

wish you to believe that, and now I will listen to you.”

The stranger pressed his hand over his eyes. He was seized with a

sort of trembling, and remained a few moments without being able to

articulate a word.

“Sir,” said he at last, “I have come to beg you to grant me a favor.”

“What is it?”

“You have, four or five miles from here, a corral for your domesticated

animals. These animals need to be taken care of. Will you allow me to

live there with them?”

Cyrus Harding gazed at the unfortunate man for a few moments with a

feeling of deep commiseration; then,--

“My friend,” said he, “the corral has only stables hardly fit for

animals.”

“It will be good enough for me, sir.”

“My friend,” answered Harding, “we will not constrain you in anything.

You wish to live at the corral, so be it. You will, however, be always

welcome at Granite House. But since you wish to live at the corral

we will make the necessary arrangements for your being comfortably

established there.”

“Never mind that, I shall do very well.”

“My friend,” answered Harding, who always intentionally made use of this

cordial appellation, “you must let us judge what it will be best to do

in this respect.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied the stranger as he withdrew.

The engineer then made known to his companions the proposal which had

been made to him, and it was agreed that they should build a wooden

house at the corral, which they would make as comfortable as possible.

That very day the colonists repaired to the corral with the necessary

tools, and a week had not passed before the house was ready to receive

its tenant. It was built about twenty feet from the sheds, and from

there it was easy to overlook the flock of sheep, which then numbered

more than eighty. Some furniture, a bed, table, bench, cupboard, and

chest were manufactured, and a gun, ammunition, and tools were carried

to the corral.