Bot-S: The Mysterious Island

Talking
while they worked, reading when the hands remained idle, the time passed
with profit to all.

It was real enjoyment to the settlers when in their room, well lighted
with candles, well warmed with coal, after a good dinner, elderberry
coffee smoking in the cups, the pipes giving forth an odoriferous smoke,
they could hear the storm howling without. Their comfort would have been
complete, if complete comfort could ever exist for those who are far
from their fellow-creatures, and without any means of communication with
them. They often talked of their country, of the friends whom they had
left, of the grandeur of the American Republic, whose influence could
not but increase; and Cyrus Harding, who had been much mixed up with the
affairs of the Union, greatly interested his auditors by his recitals,
his views, and his prognostics.

It chanced one day that Spilett was led to say--

“But now, my dear Cyrus, all this industrial and commercial movement
to which you predict a continual advance, does it not run the danger of
being sooner or later completely stopped?”

“Stopped! And by what?”

“By the want of coal, which may justly be called the most precious of
minerals.”

“Yes, the most precious indeed,” replied the engineer; “and it would
seem that nature wished to prove that it was so by making the diamond,
which is simply pure carbon crystallized.”

“You don’t mean to say, captain,” interrupted Pencroft, “that we burn
diamonds in our stoves in the shape of coal?”

“No, my friend,” replied Harding.

“However,” resumed Gideon Spilett, “you do not deny that some day the
coal will be entirely consumed?”

“Oh! the veins of coal are still considerable, and the hundred
thousand miners who annually extract from them a hundred millions of
hundredweights have not nearly exhausted them.”

“With the increasing consumption of coal,” replied Gideon Spilett, “it
can be foreseen that the hundred thousand workmen will soon become two
hundred thousand, and that the rate of extraction will be doubled.”

“Doubtless; but after the European mines, which will be soon worked more
thoroughly with new machines, the American and Australian mines will for
a long time yet provide for the consumption in trade.”

“For how long a time?” asked the reporter.

“For at least two hundred and fifty or three hundred years.”

“That is reassuring for us, but a bad look-out for our
great-grandchildren!” observed Pencroft.

“They will discover something else,” said Herbert.

“It is to be hoped so,” answered Spilett, “for without coal there would
be no machinery, and without machinery there would be no railways, no
steamers, no manufactories, nothing of that which is indispensable to
modern civilization!”

“But what will they find?” asked Pencroft. “Can you guess, captain?”

“Nearly, my friend.”

“And what will they burn instead of coal?”

“Water,” replied Harding.

“Water!” cried Pencroft, “water as fuel for steamers and engines! water
to heat water!”

“Yes, but water decomposed into its primitive elements,” replied Cyrus
Harding, “and decomposed doubtless, by electricity, which will then have
become a powerful and manageable force, for all great discoveries, by
some inexplicable laws, appear to agree and become complete at the same
time. Yes, my friends, I believe that water will one day be employed
as fuel, that hydrogen and oxygen which constitute it, used singly or
together, will furnish an inexhaustible source of heat and light, of
an intensity of which coal is not capable. Some day the coalrooms of
steamers and the tenders of locomotives will, instead of coal, be stored
with these two condensed gases, which will burn in the furnaces with
enormous calorific power. There is, therefore, nothing to fear. As long
as the earth is inhabited it will supply the wants of its inhabitants,
and there will be no want of either light or heat as long as the
productions of the vegetable, mineral or animal kingdoms do not fail us.
I believe, then, that when the deposits of coal are exhausted we shall
heat and warm ourselves with water. Water will be the coal of the
future.”

“I should like to see that,” observed the sailor.

“You were born too soon, Pencroft,” returned Neb, who only took part in
the discussion by these words.

However, it was not Neb’s speech which interrupted the conversation, but
Top’s barking, which broke out again with that strange intonation which
had before perplexed the engineer. At the same time Top began to run
round the mouth of the well, which opened at the extremity of the
interior passage.

“What can Top be barking in that way for?” asked Pencroft.

“And Jup be growling like that?” added Herbert.

In fact the orang, joining the dog, gave unequivocal signs of agitation,
and, singular to say, the two animals appeared more uneasy than angry.

“It is evident,” said Gideon Spilett, “that this well is in direct
communication with the sea, and that some marine animal comes from time
to time to breathe at the bottom.”

“That’s evident,” replied the sailor, “and there can be no other
explanation to give. Quiet there, Top!” added Pencroft, turning to the
dog, “and you, Jup, be off to your room!”

The ape and the dog were silent. Jup went off to bed, but Top remained
in the room, and continued to utter low growls at intervals during the
rest of the evening. There was no further talk on the subject, but the
incident, however, clouded the brow of the engineer.

During the remainder of the month of July there was alternate rain and
frost. The temperature was not so low as during the preceding winter,
and its maximum did not exceed eight degrees Fahrenheit. But although
this winter was less cold, it was more troubled by storms and squalls;
the sea besides often endangered the safety of the Chimneys. At times
it almost seemed as if an under-current raised these monstrous billows
which thundered against the wall of Granite House.

When the settlers, leaning from their windows, gazed on the huge watery
masses breaking beneath their eyes, they could not but admire the
magnificent spectacle of the ocean in its impotent fury. The waves
rebounded in dazzling foam, the beach entirely disapppearing under the
raging flood, and the cliff appearing to emerge from the sea itself, the
spray rising to a height of more than a hundred feet.

During these storms it was difficult and even dangerous to venture out,
owing to the frequently falling trees; however, the colonists never
allowed a week to pass without having paid a visit to the corral.
Happily, this enclosure, sheltered by the southeastern spur of Mount
Franklin, did not greatly suffer from the violence of the hurricanes,
which spared its trees, sheds, and palisades; but the poultry-yard on
Prospect Heights, being directly exposed to the gusts of wind from the
east, suffered considerable damage. The pigeon-house was twice unroofed
and the paling blown down. All this required to be remade more solidly
than before, for, as may be clearly seen, Lincoln Island was situated in
one of the most dangerous parts of the Pacific. It really appeared as if
it formed the central point of vast cyclones, which beat it perpetually
as the whip does the top, only here it was the top which was motionless
and the whip which moved. During the first week of the month of August
the weather became more moderate, and the atmosphere recovered the calm
which it appeared to have lost forever. With the calm the cold again
became intense, and the thermometer fell to eight degrees Fahrenheit,
below zero.

On the 3rd of August an excursion which had been talked of for several
days was made into the southeastern part of the island, towards Tadorn
Marsh. The hunters were tempted by the aquatic game which took up their
winter quarters there. Wild duck, snipe, teal and grebe abounded there,
and it was agreed that a day should be devoted to an expedition against
these birds.

Not only Gideon Spilett and Herbert, but Pencroft and Neb also took part
in this excursion. Cyrus Harding alone, alleging some work as an excuse,
did not join them, but remained at Granite House.

The hunters proceeded in the direction of Port Balloon, in order to
reach the marsh, after having promised to be back by the evening. Top
and Jup accompanied them. As soon as they had passed over the Mercy
Bridge, the engineer raised it and returned, intending to put into
execution a project for the performance of which he wished to be alone.

Now this project was to minutely explore the interior well, the mouth
of which was on a level with the passage of Granite House, and which
communicated with the sea, since it formerly supplied a way to the
waters of the lake.

Why did Top so often run round this opening? Why did he utter such
strange barks when a sort of uneasiness seemed to draw him towards this
well? Why did Jup join Top in a sort of common anxiety? Had this well
branches besides the communication with the sea? Did it spread towards
other parts of the island? This is what Cyrus Harding wished to know. He
had resolved, therefore, to attempt the exploration of the well during
the absence of his companions, and an opportunity for doing so had now
presented itself.

It was easy to descend to the bottom of the well by employing the rope
ladder which had not been used since the establishment of the lift. The
engineer drew the ladder to the hole, the diameter of which measured
nearly six feet, and allowed it to unroll itself after having securely
fastened its upper extremity. Then, having lighted a lantern, taken a
revolver, and placed a cutlass in his belt, he began the descent.

The sides were everywhere entire; but points of rock jutted out here and
there, and by means of these points it would have been quite possible
for an active creature to climb to the mouth of the well.

The engineer remarked this; but although he carefully examined these
points by the light of his lantern, he could find no impression, no
fracture which could give any reason to suppose that they had either
recently or at any former time been used as a staircase. Cyrus Harding
descended deeper, throwing the light of his lantern on all sides.

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.

The stranger, however, had seen nothing of his new dwelling, and he
had allowed the settlers to work there without him, while he occupied
himself on the plateau, wishing, doubtless, to put the finishing stroke
to his work. Indeed, thanks to him, all the ground was dug up and ready
to be sowed when the time came.

It was on the 20th of December that all the arrangements at the corral
were completed. The engineer announced to the stranger that his dwelling
was ready to receive him, and the latter replied that he would go and
sleep there that very evening.

On this evening the colonists were gathered in the diningroom of Granite
House. It was then eight o’clock, the hour at which their companion was
to leave them. Not wishing to trouble him by their presence, and thus
imposing on him the necessity of saying farewells which might perhaps be
painful to him, they had left him alone and ascended to Granite House.

Now, they had been talking in the room for a few minutes, when a light
knock was heard at the door. Almost immediately the stranger entered,
and without any preamble,--

“Gentlemen,” said he, “before I leave you, it is right that you should
know my history. I will tell it you.”

These simple words profoundly impressed Cyrus Harding and his
companions. The engineer rose.

“We ask you nothing, my friend,” said he; “it is your right to be
silent.”

“It is my duty to speak.”

“Sit down, then.”

“No, I will stand.”

“We are ready to hear you,” replied Harding.

The stranger remained standing in a corner of the room, a little in the
shade. He was bareheaded, his arms folded across his chest, and it
was in this posture that in a hoarse voice, speaking like some one
who obliges himself to speak, he gave the following recital, which his
auditors did not once interrupt:--

“On the 20th of December, 1854, a steam-yacht, belonging to a Scotch
nobleman, Lord Glenarvan, anchored off Cape Bernouilli, on the western
coast of Australia, in the thirty-seventh parallel. On board this yacht
were Lord Glenarvan and his wife, a major in the English army, a French
geographer, a young girl, and a young boy. These two last were the
children of Captain Grant, whose ship, the ‘Britannia,’ had been lost,
crew and cargo, a year before. The ‘Duncan’ was commanded by Captain
John Mangles, and manned by a crew of fifteen men.

“This is the reason the yacht at this time lay off the coast of
Australia. Six months before, a bottle, enclosing a document written in
English, German, and French, had been found in the Irish Sea, and picked
up by the ‘Duncan.’ This document stated in substance that there still
existed three survivors from the wreck of the ‘Britannia,’ that these
survivors were Captain Grant and two of his men, and that they had found
refuge on some land, of which the document gave the latitude, but of
which the longitude, effaced by the sea, was no longer legible.

“This latitude was 37deg 11’ south; therefore, the longitude being
unknown, if they followed the thirty-seventh parallel over continents
and seas, they would be certain to reach the spot inhabited by Captain
Grant and his two companions. The English Admiralty having hesitated to
undertake this search, Lord Glenarvan resolved to attempt everything to
find the captain. He communicated with Mary and Robert Grant, who joined
him. The ‘Duncan’ yacht was equipped for the distant voyage, in which
the nobleman’s family and the captain’s children wished to take part,
and the ‘Duncan,’ leaving Glasgow, proceeded towards the Atlantic,
passed through the Straits of Magellan, and ascended the Pacific as
far as Patagonia, where, according to a previous interpretation of the
document, they supposed that Captain Grant was a prisoner among the
Indians.

“The ‘Duncan’ disembarked her passengers on the western coast of
Patagonia, and sailed to pick them up again on the eastern coast at
Cape Corrientes. Lord Glenarvan traversed Patagonia, following the
thirty-seventh parallel, and having found no trace of the captain, he
re-embarked on the 13th of November, so as to pursue his search through
the Ocean.

“After having unsuccessfully visited the islands of Tristan d’Acunha and
Amsterdam, situated in her course, the ‘Duncan,’ as I have said, arrived
at Cape Bernouilli, on the Australian coast, on the 20th of December,
1854.

“It was Lord Glenarvan’s intention to traverse Australia as he had
traversed America, and he disembarked. A few miles from the coast was
established a farm, belonging to an Irishman, who offered hospitality to
the travelers. Lord Glenarvan made known to the Irishman the cause
which had brought him to these parts, and asked if he knew whether a
three-masted English vessel, the ‘Britannia,’ had been lost less than
two years before on the west coast of Australia.

“The Irishman had never heard of this wreck, but, to the great surprise
of the bystanders, one of his servants came forward and said,--

“‘My lord, praise and thank God! If Captain Grant is still living, he is
living on the Australian shores.’

“‘Who are you?’ asked Lord Glenarvan.

“‘A Scotchman like yourself, my lord,’ replied the man; ‘I am one of
Captain Grant’s crew--one of the castaways of the “Britannia.’”

“This man was called Ayrton. He was, in fact, the boatswain’s mate of
the ‘Britannia,’ as his papers showed. But, separated from Captain Grant
at the moment when the ship struck upon the rocks, he had till then
believed that the captain with all his crew had perished, and that he,
Ayrton, was the sole survivor of the ‘Britannia.’

“‘Only,’ he added, ‘it was not on the west coast, but on the east coast
of Australia that the vessel was lost, and if Captain Grant is still
living, as his document indicates, he is a prisoner among the natives,
and it is on the other coast that he must be looked for.’

“This man spoke in a frank voice and with a confident look; his words
could not be doubted. The Irishman, in whose service he had been for
more than a year, answered for his trustworthiness. Lord Glenarvan,
therefore, believed in the fidelity of this man and, by his advice,
resolved to cross Australia, following the thirty-seventh parallel. Lord
Glenarvan, his wife, the two children, the major, the Frenchman, Captain
Mangles, and a few sailors composed the little band under the command
of Ayrton, while the ‘Duncan,’ under charge of the mate, Tom Austin,
proceeded to Melbourne, there to await Lord Glenarvan’s instructions.

“They set out on the 23rd of December, 1854.

“It is time to say that Ayrton was a traitor. He was, indeed, the
boatswain’s mate of the ‘Britannia,’ but, after some dispute with his
captain, he endeavored to incite the crew to mutiny and seize the ship,
and Captain Grant had landed him, on the 8th of April, 1852, on the
west coast of Australia, and then sailed, leaving him there, as was only
just.

“Therefore this wretched man knew nothing of the wreck of the
‘Britannia’; he had just heard of it from Glenarvan’s account. Since his
abandonment, he had become, under the name of Ben Joyce, the leader of
the escaped convicts; and if he boldly maintained that the wreck had
taken place on the east coast, and led Lord Glenarvan to proceed in that
direction, it was that he hoped to separate him from his ship, seize the
‘Duncan,’ and make the yacht a pirate in the Pacific.”

Here the stranger stopped for a moment. His voice trembled, but he
continued,--

“The expedition set out and proceeded across Australia. It was
inevitably unfortunate, since Ayrton, or Ben Joyce, as he may be
called, guided it, sometimes preceded, sometimes followed by his band of
convicts, who had been told what they had to do.

“Meanwhile, the ‘Duncan’ had been sent to Melbourne for repairs. It was
necessary, then, to get Lord Glenarvan to order her to leave Melbourne
and go to the east coast of Australia, where it would be easy to seize
her. After having led the expedition near enough to the coast, in the
midst of vast forests with no resources, Ayrton obtained a letter, which
he was charged to carry to the mate of the ‘Duncan’--a letter which
ordered the yacht to repair immediately to the east coast, to Twofold
Bay, that is to say a few days’ journey from the place where the
expedition had stopped. It was there that Ayrton had agreed to meet his
accomplices, and two days after gaining possession of the letter, he
arrived at Melbourne.

“So far the villain had succeeded in his wicked design. He would be able
to take the ‘Duncan’ into Twofold Bay, where it would be easy for the
convicts to seize her, and her crew massacred, Ben Joyce would become
master of the seas. But it pleased God to prevent the accomplishment of
these terrible projects.

“Ayrton, arrived at Melbourne, delivered the letter to the mate, Tom
Austin, who read it and immediately set sail, but judge of Ayrton’s rage
and disappointment, when the next day he found that the mate was taking
the vessel, not to the east coast of Australia, to Twofold Bay, but to
the east coast of New Zealand. He wished to stop him, but Austin showed
him the letter!... And indeed, by a providential error of the French
geographer, who had written the letter, the east coast of New Zealand
was mentioned as the place of destination.

“All Ayrton’s plans were frustrated! He became outrageous. They put him
in irons. He was then taken to the coast of New Zealand, not knowing
what would become of his accomplices, or what would become of Lord
Glenarvan.

“The ‘Duncan’ cruised about on this coast until the 3rd of March. On
that day Ayrton heard the report of guns. The guns on the ‘Duncan’ were
being fired, and soon Lord Glenarvan and his companions came on board.

“This is what had happened.

“After a thousand hardships, a thousand dangers, Lord Glenarvan had
accomplished his journey, and arrived on the east coast of Australia, at
Twofold Bay. ‘No “Duncan!”’ He telegraphed to Melbourne. They answered,
“Duncan” sailed on the 18th instant. Destination unknown.’

“Lord Glenarvan could only arrive at one conclusion; that his honest
yacht had fallen into the hands of Ben Joyce, and had become a pirate
vessel!

“However, Lord Glenarvan would not give up. He was a bold and generous
man. He embarked in a merchant vessel, sailed to the west coast of New
Zealand, traversed it along the thirty-seventh parallel, without
finding any trace of Captain Grant; but on the other side, to his
great surprise, and by the will of Heaven, he found the ‘Duncan,’ under
command of the mate, who had been waiting for him for five weeks!

“This was on the 3rd of March, 1855. Lord Glenarvan was now on board the
‘Duncan,’ but Ayrton was there also. He appeared before the nobleman,
who wished to extract from him all that the villain knew about Captain
Grant. Ayrton refused to speak. Lord Glenarvan then told him, that at
the first port they put into, he would be delivered up to the English
authorities. Ayrton remained mute.

“The ‘Duncan’ continued her voyage along the thirty-seventh parallel.
In the meanwhile, Lady Glenarvan undertook to vanquish the resistance of
the ruffian.

“At last, her influence prevailed, and Ayrton, in exchange for what he
could tell, proposed that Lord Glenarvan should leave him on some island
in the Pacific, instead of giving him up to the English authorities.
Lord Glenarvan, resolving to do anything to obtain information about
Captain Grant, consented.

“Ayrton then related all his life, and it was certain that he knew
nothing from the day on which Captain Grant had landed him on the
Australian coast.

“Nevertheless, Lord Glenarvan kept the promise which he had given. The
‘Duncan’ continued her voyage and arrived at Tabor Island. It was there
that Ayrton was to be landed, and it was there also that, by a
veritable miracle, they found Captain Grant and two men, exactly on the
thirty-seventh parallel.

“The convict, then, went to take their place on this desert islet, and
at the moment he left the yacht these words were pronounced by Lord
Glenarvan:--

“‘Here, Ayrton, you will be far from any land, and without any possible
communication with your fellow-creatures. You cannot escape from this
islet on which the ‘Duncan’ leaves you. You will be alone, under the eye
of a God who reads the depths of the heart, but you will be neither
lost nor forgotten, as was Captain Grant. Unworthy as you are to be
remembered by men, men will remember you. I know where you are Ayrton,
and I know where to find you. I will never forget it!

“And the ‘Duncan,’ making sail, soon disappeared. This was 18th of
March, 1855.

     (The events which have just been briefly related are taken
     from a work which some of our readers have no doubt read,
     and which is entitled, “Captain Grant’s children.” They will
     remark on this occasion, as well as later, some discrepancy
     in the dates; but later again, they will understand why the
     real dates were not at first given.)

“Ayrton was alone, but he had no want of either ammunition, weapons,
tools, or seeds.

“At his, the convict’s disposal, was the house built by honest Captain
Grant. He had only to live and expiate in solitude the crimes which he
had committed.

“Gentlemen, he repented, he was ashamed of his crimes and was very
miserable! He said to himself, that if men came some day to take
him from that islet, he must be worthy to return among them! How he
suffered, that wretched man! How he labored to recover himself by work!
How he prayed to be reformed by prayer! For two years, three years, this
went on, but Ayrton, humbled by solitude, always looking for some ship
to appear on the horizon, asking himself if the time of expiation would
soon be complete, suffered as none other suffered! Oh! how dreadful was
this solitude, to a heart tormented by remorse!

“But doubtless Heaven had not sufficiently punished this unhappy man,
for he felt that he was gradually becoming a savage! He felt that
brutishness was gradually gaining on him!

“He could not say if it was after two or three years of solitude, but at
last he became the miserable creature you found!

“I have no need to tell you, gentlemen, that Ayrton, Ben Joyce, and I,
are the same.”

Cyrus Harding and his companions rose at the end of this account. It
is impossible to say how much they were moved! What misery, grief, and
despair lay revealed before them!

“Ayrton,” said Harding, rising, “you have been a great criminal, but
Heaven must certainly think that you have expiated your crimes! That
has been proved by your having been brought again among your
fellow-creatures. Ayrton, you are forgiven! And now you will be our
companion?”

Ayrton drew back.

“Here is my hand!” said the engineer.

Ayrton grasped the hand which Harding extended to him, and great tears
fell from his eyes.

“Will you live with us?” asked Cyrus Harding.

“Captain Harding, leave me some time longer,” replied Ayrton, “leave me
alone in the hut in the corral!”

“As you like, Ayrton,” answered Cyrus Harding. Ayrton was going to
withdraw, when the engineer addressed one more question to him:--

“One word more, my friend. Since it was your intention to live alone,
why did you throw into the sea the document which put us on your track?”

“A document?” repeated Ayrton, who did not appear to know what he meant.

“Yes, the document which we found enclosed in a bottle, giving us the
exact position of Tabor Island!”

Ayrton passed his hand over his brow, then after having thought, “I
never threw any document into the sea!” he answered.

“Never?” exclaimed Pencroft.

“Never!”

And Ayrton, bowing, reached the door and departed.



Chapter 18

“Poor man!” said Herbert, who had rushed to the door, but returned,
having seen Ayrton slide down the rope on the lift and disappear in the
darkness.

“He will come back,” said Cyrus Harding.

“Come, now, captain,” exclaimed Pencroft, “what does that mean? What!
wasn’t it Ayrton who threw that bottle into the sea? Who was it then?”

Certainly, if ever a question was necessary to be made, it was that one!

“It was he,” answered Neb, “only the unhappy man was half-mad.”

“Yes!” said Herbert, “and he was no longer conscious of what he was
doing.”

“It can only be explained in that way, my friends,” replied Harding
quickly, “and I understand now how Ayrton was able to point out exactly
the situation of Tabor Island, since the events which had preceded his
being left on the island had made it known to him.”

“However,” observed Pencroft, “if he was not yet a brute when he wrote
that document, and if he threw it into the sea seven or eight years ago,
how is it that the paper has not been injured by damp?”

“That proves,” answered Cyrus Harding, “that Ayrton was deprived of
intelligence at a more recent time than he thinks.”

“Of course it must be so,” replied Pencroft, “without that the fact
would be unaccountable.”

“Unaccountable indeed,” answered the engineer, who did not appear
desirous to prolong the conversation.

“But has Ayrton told the truth?” asked the sailor.

“Yes,” replied the reporter. “The story which he has told is true in
every point. I remember quite well the account in the newspapers of the
yacht expedition undertaken by Lord Glenarvan, and its result.”

“Ayrton has told the truth,” added Harding. “Do not doubt it, Pencroft,
for it was painful to him. People tell the truth when they accuse
themselves like that!”

The next day--the 21st of December--the colonists descended to the
beach, and having climbed the plateau they found nothing of Ayrton. He
had reached his house in the corral during the night and the settlers
judged it best not to agitate him by their presence. Time would
doubtless perform what sympathy had been unable to accomplish.

Herbert, Pencroft, and Neb resumed their ordinary occupations. On this
day the same work brought Harding and the reporter to the workshop at
the Chimneys.

“Do you know, my dear Cyrus,” said Gideon Spilett, “that the explanation
you gave yesterday on the subject of the bottle has not satisfied me at
all! How can it be supposed that the unfortunate man was able to write
that document and throw the bottle into the sea without having the
slightest recollection of it?”

“Nor was it he who threw it in, my dear Spilett.”

“You think then--”

“I think nothing, I know nothing!” interrupted Cyrus Harding. “I am
content to rank this incident among those which I have not been able to
explain to this day!”

“Indeed, Cyrus,” said Spilett, “these things are incredible! Your
rescue, the case stranded on the sand, Top’s adventure, and lastly this
bottle... Shall we never have the answer to these enigmas?”

“Yes!” replied the engineer quickly, “yes, even if I have to penetrate
into the bowels of this island!”

“Chance will perhaps give us the key to this mystery!”

“Chance! Spilett! I do not believe in chance, any more than I believe in
mysteries in this world. There is a reason for everything unaccountable
which has happened here, and that reason I shall discover. But in the
meantime we must work and observe.”

The month of January arrived. The year 1867 commenced. The summer
occupations were assiduously continued. During the days which followed,
Herbert and Spilett having gone in the direction of the corral,
ascertained that Ayrton had taken possession of the habitation which
had been prepared for him. He busied himself with the numerous flock
confided to his care, and spared his companions the trouble of coming
every two or three days to visit the corral. Nevertheless, in order not
to leave Ayrton in solitude for too long a time, the settlers often paid
him a visit.

It was not unimportant either, in consequence of some suspicions
entertained by the engineer and Gideon Spilett, that this part of
the island should be subject to a surveillance of some sort, and that
Ayrton, if any incident occurred unexpectedly, should not neglect to
inform the inhabitants of Granite House of it.

Nevertheless it might happen that something would occur which it would
be necessary to bring rapidly to the engineer’s knowledge. Independently
of facts bearing on the mystery of Lincoln Island, many others
might happen, which would call for the prompt interference of the
colonists,--such as the sighting of a vessel, a wreck on the western
coast, the possible arrival of pirates, etc.

Therefore Cyrus Harding resolved to put the corral in instantaneous
communication with Granite House.

It was on the 10th of January that he made known his project to his
companions.

“Why! how are you going to manage that, captain?” asked Pencroft. “Do
you by chance happen to think of establishing a telegraph?”

“Exactly so,” answered the engineer.

“Electric?” cried Herbert.

“Electric,” replied Cyrus Harding. “We have all the necessary materials
for making a battery, and the most difficult thing will be to stretch
the wires, but by means of a drawplate I think we shall manage it.”

“Well, after that,” returned the sailor, “I shall never despair of
seeing ourselves some day rolling along on a railway!”

They then set to work, beginning with the most difficult thing, for, if
they failed in that, it would be useless to manufacture the battery and
other accessories.

The iron of Lincoln Island, as has been said, was of excellent quality,
and consequently very fit for being drawn out. Harding commenced by
manufacturing a drawplate, that is to say, a plate of steel, pierced
with conical holes of different sizes, which would successively bring
the wire to the wished-for tenacity. This piece of steel, after having
been tempered, was fixed in as firm a way as possible in a solid
framework planted in the ground, only a few feet from the great fall,
the motive power of which the engineer intended to utilize. In fact as
the fulling-mill was there, although not then in use, its beam moved
with extreme power would serve to stretch out the wire by rolling it
round itself. It was a delicate operation, and required much care. The
iron, prepared previously in long thin rods, the ends of which were
sharpened with the file, having been introduced into the largest hole of
the drawplate, was drawn out by the beam which wound it round itself,
to a length of twenty-five or thirty feet, then unrolled, and the same
operation was performed successively through the holes of a less size.
Finally, the engineer obtained wires from forty to fifty feet long,
which could be easily fastened together and stretched over the distance
of five miles, which separated the corral from the bounds of Granite
House.

It did not take more than a few days to perform this work, and indeed
as soon as the machine had been commenced, Cyrus Harding left his
companions to follow the trade of wiredrawers, and occupied himself with
manufacturing his battery.

It was necessary to obtain a battery with a constant current. It is
known that the elements of modern batteries are generally composed of
retort coal, zinc, and copper. Copper was absolutely wanting to the
engineer, who, notwithstanding all his researches, had never been able
to find any trace of it in Lincoln Island, and was therefore obliged to
do without it. Retort coal, that is to say, the hard graphite which
is found in the retorts of gas manufactories, after the coal has
been dehydrogenized, could have been obtained, but it would have been
necessary to establish a special apparatus, involving great labor. As
to zinc, it may be remembered that the case found at Flotsam Point was
lined with this metal, which could not be better utilized than for this
purpose.

Cyrus Harding, after mature consideration, decided to manufacture a
very simple battery, resembling as nearly as possible that invented
by Becquerel in 1820, and in which zinc only is employed. The other
substances, azotic acid and potash, were all at his disposal.

The way in which the battery was composed was as follows, and the
results were to be attained by the reaction of acid and potash on each
other. A number of glass bottles were made and filled with azotic acid.
The engineer corked them by means of a stopper through which passed a
glass tube, bored at its lower extremity, and intended to be plunged
into the acid by means of a clay stopper secured by a rag. Into this
tube, through its upper extremity, he poured a solution of potash,
previously obtained by burning and reducing to ashes various plants,
and in this way the acid and potash could act on each other through the
clay.

Cyrus Harding then took two slips of zinc, one of which was plunged
into azotic acid, the other into a solution of potash. A current was
immediately produced, which was transmitted from the slip of zinc in the
bottle to that in the tube, and the two slips having been connected by a
metallic wire the slip in the tube became the positive pole, and that in
the bottle the negative pole of the apparatus. Each bottle, therefore,
produced as many currents as united would be sufficient to produce all
the phenomena of the electric telegraph. Such was the ingenious and very
simple apparatus constructed by Cyrus Harding, an apparatus which would
allow them to establish a telegraphic communication between Granite
House and the corral.

On the 6th of February was commenced the planting along the road to
the corral, of posts furnished with glass insulators, and intended to
support the wire. A few days after, the wire was extended, ready to
produce the electric current at a rate of twenty thousand miles a
second.

Two batteries had been manufactured, one for Granite House, the other
for the corral; for if it was necessary the corral should be able to
communicate with Granite House it might also be useful that Granite
House should be able to communicate with the corral.

As to the receiver and manipulator, they were very simple. At the two
stations the wire was wound round a magnet, that is to say, round a
piece of soft iron surrounded with a wire. The communication was thus
established between the two poles; the current, starting from the
positive pole, traversed the wire, passed through the magnet which was
temporarily magnetized, and returned through the earth to the negative
pole. If the current was interrupted, the magnet immediately became
unmagnetized. It was sufficient to place a plate of soft iron before the
magnet, which, attracted during the passage of the current, would fall
back when the current was interrupted. This movement of the plate thus
obtained, Harding could easily fasten to it a needle arranged on a dial,
bearing the letters of the alphabet, and in this way communicate from
one station to the other.

All was completely arranged by the 12th of February. On this day,
Harding, having sent the current through the wire, asked if all
was going on well at the corral, and received in a few moments a
satisfactory reply from Ayrton. Pencroft was wild with joy, and every
morning and evening he sent a telegram to the corral, which always
received an answer.

This mode of communication presented two very real advantages: firstly,
because it enabled them to ascertain that Ayrton was at the corral; and
secondly, that he was thus not left completely isolated. Besides, Cyrus
Harding never allowed a week to pass without going to see him, and
Ayrton came from time to time to Granite House, where he always found a
cordial welcome.

The fine season passed away in the midst of the usual work. The
resources of the colony, particularly in vegetables and corn, increased
from day to day, and the plants brought from Tabor Island had succeeded
perfectly.

The plateau of Prospect Heights presented an encouraging aspect. The
fourth harvest had been admirable and it may be supposed that no one
thought of counting whether the four hundred thousand millions of grains
duly appeared in the crop. However, Pencroft had thought of doing so,
but Cyrus Harding having told him that even if he managed to count three
hundred grains a minute, or nine thousand an hour, it would take him
nearly five thousand five-hundred years to finish his task, the honest
sailor considered it best to give up the idea.

The weather was splendid, the temperature very warm in the day time, but
in the evening the sea-breezes tempered the heat of the atmosphere and
procured cool nights for the inhabitants of Granite House. There were,
however, a few storms, which, although they were not of long duration,
swept over Lincoln Island with extraordinary fury. The lightning blazed
and the thunder continued to roll for some hours.

At this period the little colony was extremely prosperous.

The tenants of the poultry-yard swarmed, and they lived on the surplus,
but it became necessary to reduce the population to a more moderate
number. The pigs had already produced young, and it may be understood
that their care for these animals absorbed a great part of Neb and
Pencroft’s time. The onagers, who had two pretty colts, were most often
mounted by Gideon Spilett and Herbert, who had become an excellent rider
under the reporter’s instruction, and they also harnessed them to the
cart either for carrying wood and coal to Granite House, or different
mineral productions required by the engineer.

Several expeditions were made about this time into the depths of the Far
West Forests. The explorers could venture there without having anything
to fear from the heat, for the sun’s rays scarcely penetrated through
the thick foliage spreading above their heads. They thus visited all the
left bank of the Mercy, along which ran the road from the corral to the
mouth of Falls River.

But in these excursions the settlers took care to be well armed, for
they met with savage wild boars, with which they often had a tussle.
They also, during this season, made fierce war against the jaguars.
Gideon Spilett had vowed a special hatred against them, and his pupil
Herbert seconded him well. Armed as they were, they no longer feared
to meet one of those beasts. Herbert’s courage was superb, and the
reporter’s sang-froid astonishing. Already twenty magnificent skins
ornamented the dining-room of Granite House, and if this continued, the
jaguar race would soon be extinct in the island, the object aimed at by
the hunters.

The engineer sometimes took part in the expeditions made to the unknown
parts of the island, which he surveyed with great attention. It was for
other traces than those of animals that he searched the thickets of the
vast forest, but nothing suspicious ever appeared. Neither Top nor Jup,
who accompanied him, ever betrayed by their behavior that there was
anything strange there, and yet more than once again the dog barked at
the mouth of the well, which the engineer had before explored without
result.

At this time Gideon Spilett, aided by Herbert, took several views of
the most picturesque parts of the island, by means of the photographic
apparatus found in the cases, and of which they had not as yet made any
use.

This apparatus, provided with a powerful object-glass, was very
complete. Substances necessary for the photographic reproduction,
collodion for preparing the glass plate, nitrate of silver to render it
sensitive, hyposulfate of soda to fix the prints obtained, chloride of
ammonium in which to soak the paper destined to give the positive proof,
acetate of soda and chloride of gold in which to immerse the paper,
nothing was wanting. Even the papers were there, all prepared,
and before laying in the printing-frame upon the negatives, it was
sufficient to soak them for a few minutes in the solution of nitrate of
silver.

The reporter and his assistant became in a short time very skilful
operators, and they obtained fine views of the country, such as the
island, taken from Prospect Heights with Mount Franklin in the distance,
the mouth of the Mercy, so picturesquely framed in high rocks, the glade
and the corral, with the spurs of the mountain in the background, the
curious development of Claw Cape, Flotsam Point, etc.

Nor did the photographers forget to take the portraits of all the
inhabitants of the island, leaving out no one.

“It multiplies us,” said Pencroft.

And the sailor was enchanted to see his own countenance, faithfully
reproduced, ornamenting the walls of Granite House, and he stopped
as willingly before this exhibition as he would have done before the
richest shop-windows in Broadway.

But it must be acknowledged that the most successful portrait was
incontestably that of Master Jup. Master Jup had sat with a gravity not
to be described, and his portrait was lifelike!

“He looks as if he was just going to grin!” exclaimed Pencroft.

And if Master Jup had not been satisfied, he would have been very
difficult to please; but he was quite contented and contemplated his own
countenance with a sentimental air which expressed some small amount of
conceit.

The summer heat ended with the month of March. The weather was sometimes
rainy, but still warm. The month of March, which corresponds to the
September of northern latitudes, was not so fine as might have been
hoped. Perhaps it announced an early and rigorous winter.

It might have been supposed one morning--the 21 st--that the first snow
had already made its appearance. In fact Herbert looking early from one
of the windows of Granite House, exclaimed,--

“Hallo! the islet is covered with snow!”

“Snow at this time?” answered the reporter, joining the boy.

Their companions were soon beside them, but could only ascertain one
thing, that not only the islet but all the beach below Granite House was
covered with one uniform sheet of white.

“It must be snow!” said Pencroft.

“Or rather it’s very like it!” replied Neb.

“But the thermometer marks fifty-eight degrees!” observed Gideon
Spilett.

Cyrus Harding gazed at the sheet of white without saying anything, for
he really did not know how to explain this phenomenon, at this time of
year and in such a temperature.

“By Jove!” exclaimed Pencroft, “all our plants will be frozen!”

And the sailor was about to descend, when he was preceded by the nimble
Jup, who slid down to the sand.

But the orang had not touched the ground, when the snowy sheet arose and
dispersed in the air in such innumerable flakes that the light of the
sun was obscured for some minutes.

“Birds!” cried Herbert.

They were indeed swarms of sea-birds, with dazzling white plumage.
They had perched by thousands on the islet and on the shore, and they
disappeared in the distance, leaving the colonists amazed as if they
had been present at some transformation scene, in which summer succeeded
winter at the touch of a fairy’s wand. Unfortunately the change had been
so sudden, that neither the reporter nor the lad had been able to bring
down one of these birds, of which they could not recognize the species.

A few days after came the 26th of March, the day on which, two years
before, the castaways from the air had been thrown upon Lincoln Island.



Chapter 19

Two years already! and for two years the colonists had had no
communication with their fellow-creatures! They were without news from
the civilized world, lost on this island, as completely as if they had
been on the most minute star of the celestial hemisphere!

What was now happening in their country? The picture of their native
land was always before their eyes, the land torn by civil war at the
time they left it, and which the Southern rebellion was perhaps still
staining with blood! It was a great sorrow to them, and they often
talked together of these things, without ever doubting however that
the cause of the North must triumph, for the honor of the American
Confederation.

During these two years not a vessel had passed in sight of the island;
or, at least, not a sail had been seen. It was evident that Lincoln
Island was out of the usual track, and also that it was unknown,--as was
besides proved by the maps,--for though there was no port, vessels might
have visited it for the purpose of renewing their store of water. But
the surrounding ocean was deserted as far as the eye could reach, and
the colonists must rely on themselves for regaining their native land.

However, one chance of rescue existed, and this chance was discussed
one day on the first week of April, when the colonists were gathered
together in the dining-room of Granite House.

They had been talking of America, of their native country, which they
had so little hope of ever seeing again.

“Decidedly we have only one way,” said Spilett, “one single way for
leaving Lincoln Island, and that is, to build a vessel large enough to
sail several hundred miles. It appears to me, that when one has built a
boat it is just as easy to build a ship!”

“And in which we might go to the Pomoutous,” added Herbert, “just as
easily as we went to Tabor Island.”

“I do not say no,” replied Pencroft, who had always the casting vote
in maritime questions; “I do not say no, although it is not exactly the
same thing to make a long as a short voyage! If our little craft had
been caught in any heavy gale of wind during the voyage to Tabor Island,
we should have known that land was at no great distance either way; but
twelve hundred miles is a pretty long way, and the nearest land is at
least that distance!”

“Would you not, in that case, Pencroft, attempt the adventure?” asked
the reporter.

“I will attempt anything that is desired, Mr. Spilett,” answered the
sailor, “and you know well that I am not a man to flinch!”

“Remember, besides, that we number another sailor amongst us now,”
 remarked Neb.

“Who is that?” asked Pencroft.

“Ayrton.”

“If he will consent to come,” said Pencroft.

“Nonsense!” returned the reporter; “do you think that if Lord
Glenarvan’s yacht had appeared at Tabor Island, while he was still
living there, Ayrton would have refused to depart?”

“You forget, my friends,” then said Cyrus Harding, “that Ayrton was not
in possession of his reason during the last years of his stay there. But
that is not the question. The point is to know if we may count among
our chances of being rescued, the return of the Scotch vessel. Now,
Lord Glenarvan promised Ayrton that he would return to take him off from
Tabor Island when he considered that his crimes were expiated, and I
believe that he will return.”

“Yes,” said the reporter, “and I will add that he will return soon, for
it is twelve years since Ayrton was abandoned.”

“Well!” answered Pencroft, “I agree with you that the nobleman will
return, and soon too. But where will he touch? At Tabor Island, and not
at Lincoln Island.”

“That is the more certain,” replied Herbert, “as Lincoln Island is not
even marked on the map.”

“Therefore, my friends,” said the engineer, “we ought to take the
necessary precautions for making our presence and that of Ayrton on
Lincoln Island known at Tabor Island.”

“Certainly,” answered the reporter, “and nothing is easier than to place
in the hut, which was Captain Grant’s and Ayrton’s dwelling, a notice
which Lord Glenarvan and his crew cannot help finding, giving the
position of our island.”

“It is a pity,” remarked the sailor, “that we forgot to take that
precaution on our first visit to Tabor Island.”

“And why should we have done it?” asked Herbert. “At that time we did
not know Ayrton’s history; we did not know that any one was likely to
come some day to fetch him, and when we did know his history, the season
was too advanced to allow us to return then to Tabor Island.”

“Yes,” replied Harding, “it was too late, and we must put off the voyage
until next spring.”

“But suppose the Scotch yacht comes before that,” said Pencroft.

“That is not probable,” replied the engineer, “for Lord Glenarvan would
not choose the winter season to venture into these seas. Either he has
already returned to Tabor Island, since Ayrton has been with us, that is
to say, during the last five months and has left again; or he will not
come till later, and it will be time enough in the first fine October
days to go to Tabor Island, and leave a notice there.”

“We must allow,” said Neb, “that it will be very unfortunate if the
‘Duncan’ has returned to these parts only a few months ago!”

“I hope that it is not so,” replied Cyrus Harding, “and that Heaven has
not deprived us of the best chance which remains to us.”

“I think,” observed the reporter, “that at any rate we shall know what
we have to depend on when we have been to Tabor Island, for if the yacht
has returned there, they will necessarily have left some traces of their
visit.”

“That is evident,” answered the engineer. “So then, my friends, since
we have this chance of returning to our country, we must wait patiently,
and if it is taken from us we shall see what will be best to do.”

“At any rate,” remarked Pencroft, “it is well understood that if we
do leave Lincoln Island, it will not be because we were uncomfortable
there!”

“No, Pencroft,” replied the engineer, “it will be because we are far
from all that a man holds dearest in the world, his family, his friends,
his native land!”

Matters being thus decided, the building of a vessel large enough to
sail either to the Archipelagoes in the north, or to New Zealand in
the west, was no longer talked of, and they busied themselves in their
accustomed occupations, with a view to wintering a third time in Granite
House.

However, it was agreed that before the stormy weather came on, their
little vessel should be employed in making a voyage round the island.
A complete survey of the coast had not yet been made, and the colonists
had but an imperfect idea of the shore to the west and north, from the
mouth of Falls River to the Mandible Capes, as well as of the narrow bay
between them, which opened like a shark’s jaws.

The plan of this excursion was proposed by Pencroft, and Cyrus Harding
fully acquiesced in it, for he himself wished to see this part of his
domain.

The weather was variable, but the barometer did not fluctuate by sudden
movements, and they could therefore count on tolerable weather. However,
during the first week of April, after a sudden barometrical fall, a
renewed rise was marked by a heavy gale of wind, lasting five or six
days; then the needle of the instrument remained stationary at a
height of twenty-nine inches and nine-tenths, and the weather appeared
propitious for an excursion.

The departure was fixed for the 16th of April, and the “Bonadventure,”
 anchored in Port Balloon, was provisioned for a voyage which might be of
some duration.

Cyrus Harding informed Ayrton of the projected expedition, and proposed
that he should take part in it, but Ayrton preferring to remain on
shore, it was decided that he should come to Granite House during the
absence of his companions. Master Jup was ordered to keep him company,
and made no remonstrance.

On the morning of the 16th of April all the colonists, including Top,
embarked. A fine breeze blew from the south-west, and the “Bonadventure”
 tacked on leaving Port Balloon so as to reach Reptile End. Of the ninety
miles which the perimeter of the island measured, twenty included the
south coast between the port and the promontory. The wind being right
ahead it was necessary to hug the shore.

It took the whole day to reach the promontory, for the vessel on leaving
port had only two hours of ebb tide and had therefore to make way for
six hours against the flood. It was nightfall before the promontory was
doubled.

The sailor then proposed to the engineer that they should continue
sailing slowly with two reefs in the sail. But Harding preferred to
anchor a few cable-lengths from the shore, so as to survey that part of
the coast during the day. It was agreed also that as they were anxious
for a minute exploration of the coast they should not sail during the
night, but would always, when the weather permitted it, be at anchor
near the shore.

The night was passed under the promontory, and the wind having fallen,
nothing disturbed the silence. The passengers, with the exception of the
sailor, scarcely slept as well on board the “Bonadventure” as they would
have done in their rooms at Granite House, but they did sleep however.
Pencroft set sail at break of day, and by going on the larboard tack
they could keep close to the shore.

The colonists knew this beautiful wooded coast, since they had already
explored it on foot, and yet it again excited their admiration. They
coasted along as close in as possible, so as to notice everything,
avoiding always the trunks of trees which floated here and there.
Several times also they anchored, and Gideon Spilett took photographs of
the superb scenery.

About noon the “Bonadventure” arrived at the mouth of Falls River.
Beyond, on the left bank, a few scattered trees appeared, and three
miles further even these dwindled into solitary groups among the western
spurs of the mountain, whose arid ridge sloped down to the shore.

What a contrast between the northern and southern part of the coast!
In proportion as one was woody and fertile so was the other rugged and
barren! It might have been designated as one of those iron coasts, as
they are called in some countries, and its wild confusion appeared to
indicate that a sudden crystallization had been produced in the yet
liquid basalt of some distant geological sea. These stupendous masses
would have terrified the settlers if they had been cast at first on
this part of the island! They had not been able to perceive the sinister
aspect of this shore from the summit of Mount Franklin, for they
overlooked it from too great a height, but viewed from the sea it
presented a wild appearance which could not perhaps be equaled in any
corner of the globe.

The “Bonadventure” sailed along this coast for the distance of half a
mile. It was easy to see that it was composed of blocks of all sizes,
from twenty to three hundred feet in height, and of all shapes, round
like towers, prismatic like steeples, pyramidal like obelisks, conical
like factory chimneys. An iceberg of the Polar seas could not have been
more capricious in its terrible sublimity! Here, bridges were thrown
from one rock to another; there, arches like those of a wave, into the
depths of which the eye could not penetrate; in one place, large vaulted
excavations presented a monumental aspect; in another, a crowd of
columns, spires, and arches, such as no Gothic cathedral ever
possessed. Every caprice of nature, still more varied than those of the
imagination, appeared on this grand coast, which extended over a length
of eight or nine miles.

Cyrus Harding and his companions gazed, with a feeling of surprise
bordering on stupefaction. But, although they remained silent, Top,
not being troubled with feelings of this sort, uttered barks which were
repeated by the thousand echoes of the basaltic cliff. The engineer
even observed that these barks had something strange in them, like those
which the dog had uttered at the mouth of the well in Granite House.

“Let us go close in,” said he.

And the “Bonadventure” sailed as near as possible to the rocky shore.
Perhaps some cave, which it would be advisable to explore, existed
there? But Harding saw nothing, not a cavern, not a cleft which could
serve as a retreat to any being whatever, for the foot of the cliff was
washed by the surf. Soon Top’s barks ceased, and the vessel continued
her course at a few cables-length from the coast.

In the northwest part of the island the shore became again flat and
sandy. A few trees here and there rose above a low, marshy ground, which
the colonists had already surveyed, and in violent contrast to the other
desert shore, life was again manifested by the presence of myriads of
water-fowl. That evening the “Bonadventure” anchored in a small bay
to the north of the island, near the land, such was the depth of water
there. The night passed quietly, for the breeze died away with the last
light of day, and only rose again with the first streaks of dawn.

As it was easy to land, the usual hunters of the colony, that is to say,
Herbert and Gideon Spilett, went for a ramble of two hours or so, and
returned with several strings of wild duck and snipe. Top had
done wonders, and not a bird had been lost, thanks to his zeal and
cleverness.

At eight o’clock in the morning the “Bonadventure” set sail, and ran
rapidly towards North Mandible Cape, for the wind was right astern and
freshening rapidly.

“However,” observed Pencroft, “I should not be surprised if a gale came
up from the west. Yesterday the sun set in a very red-looking horizon,
and now, this morning, those mares-tails don’t forbode anything good.”

These mares-tails are cirrus clouds, scattered in the zenith, their
height from the sea being less than five thousand feet. They look like
light pieces of cotton wool, and their presence usually announces some
sudden change in the weather.

“Well,” said Harding, “let us carry as much sail as possible, and run
for shelter into Shark Gulf. I think that the ‘Bonadventure’ will be
safe there.”

“Perfectly,” replied Pencroft, “and besides, the north coast is merely
sand, very uninteresting to look at.”

“I shall not be sorry,” resumed the engineer, “to pass not only to-night
but to-morrow in that bay, which is worth being carefully explored.”

“I think that we shall be obliged to do so, whether we like it or not,”
 answered Pencroft, “for the sky looks very threatening towards the west.
Dirty weather is coming on!”

“At any rate we have a favorable wind for reaching Cape Mandible,”
 observed the reporter.

“A very fine wind,” replied the sailor; “but we must tack to enter the
gulf, and I should like to see my way clear in these unknown quarters.”

“Quarters which appear to be filled with rocks,” added Herbert, “if we
judge by what we saw on the south coast of Shark Gulf.”

“Pencroft,” said Cyrus Harding, “do as you think best, we will leave it
to you.”

“Don’t make your mind uneasy, captain,” replied the sailor, “I shall not
expose myself needlessly! I would rather a knife were run into my ribs
than a sharp rock into those of my ‘Bonadventure!’”

That which Pencroft called ribs was the part of his vessel under water,
and he valued it more than his own skin.

“What o’clock is it?” asked Pencroft.

“Ten o’clock,” replied Gideon Spilett.

“And what distance is it to the Cape, captain?”

“About fifteen miles,” replied the engineer.

“That’s a matter of two hours and a half,” said the sailor, “and we
shall be off the Cape between twelve and one o’clock. Unluckily, the
tide will be turning at that moment, and will be ebbing out of the gulf.
I am afraid that it will be very difficult to get in, having both wind
and tide against us.”

“And the more so that it is a full moon to-day,” remarked Herbert, “and
these April tides are very strong.”

“Well, Pencroft,” asked Harding, “can you not anchor off the Cape?”

“Anchor near land, with bad weather coming on!” exclaimed the sailor.
“What are you thinking of, captain? We should run aground, of a
certainty!”

“What will you do then?”

“I shall try to keep in the offing until the flood, that is to say, till
about seven in the evening, and if there is still light enough I will
try to enter the gulf; if not, we must stand off and on during the
night, and we will enter to-morrow at sunrise.”

“As I told you, Pencroft, we will leave it to you,” answered Harding.

“Ah!” said Pencroft, “if there was only a lighthouse on the coast, it
would be much more convenient for sailors.”

“Yes,” replied Herbert, “and this time we shall have no obliging
engineer to light a fire to guide us into port!”

“Why, indeed, my dear Cyrus,” said Spilett, “we have never thanked you;
but frankly, without that fire we should never have been able--”

“A fire?” asked Harding, much astonished at the reporter’s words.

“We mean, captain,” answered Pencroft, “that on board the ‘Bonadventure’
we were very anxious during the few hours before our return, and we
should have passed to windward of the island, if it had not been for the
precaution you took of lighting a fire the night of the 19th of October,
on Prospect Heights.”

“Yes, yes! That was a lucky idea of mine!” replied the engineer.

“And this time,” continued the sailor, “unless the idea occurs to
Ayrton, there will be no one to do us that little service!”

“No! No one!” answered Cyrus Harding.

A few minutes after, finding himself alone in the bows of the vessel,
with the reporter, the engineer bent down and whispered,--

“If there is one thing certain in this world, Spilett, it is that I
never lighted any fire during the night of the 19th of October, neither
on Prospect Heights nor on any other part of the island!”



Chapter 20

Things happened as Pencroft had predicted, he being seldom mistaken in
his prognostications. The wind rose, and from a fresh breeze it soon
increased to a regular gale; that is to say, it acquired a speed of from
forty to forty-five miles an hour, before which a ship in the open sea
would have run under close-reefed topsails. Now, as it was nearly six
o’clock when the “Bonadventure” reached the gulf, and as at that
moment the tide turned, it was impossible to enter. They were therefore
compelled to stand off, for even if he had wished to do so, Pencroft
could not have gained the mouth of the Mercy. Hoisting the jib to the
mainmast by way of a storm-sail, he hove to, putting the head of the
vessel towards the land.

Fortunately, although the wind was strong the sea, being sheltered by
the land, did not run very high. They had then little to fear from
the waves, which always endanger small craft. The “Bonadventure” would
doubtlessly not have capsized, for she was well ballasted, but enormous
masses of water falling on the deck might injure her if her timbers
could not sustain them. Pencroft, as a good sailor, was prepared
for anything. Certainly, he had great confidence in his vessel, but
nevertheless he awaited the return of day with some anxiety.

During the night, Cyrus Harding and Gideon Spilett had no opportunity
for talking together, and yet the words pronounced in the reporter’s
ear by the engineer were well worth being discussed, together with the
mysterious influence which appeared to reign over Lincoln Island. Gideon
Spilett did not cease from pondering over this new and inexplicable
incident, the appearance of a fire on the coast of the island. The fire
had actually been seen! His companions, Herbert and Pencroft, had seen
it with him! The fire had served to signalize the position of the island
during that dark night, and they had not doubted that it was lighted by
the engineer’s hand; and here was Cyrus Harding expressly declaring that
he had never done anything of the sort! Spilett resolved to recur to
this incident as soon as the “Bonadventure” returned, and to urge Cyrus
Harding to acquaint their companions with these strange facts. Perhaps
it would be decided to make in common a complete investigation of every
part of Lincoln Island.

However that might be, on this evening no fire was lighted on these yet
unknown shores, which formed the entrance to the gulf, and the little
vessel stood off during the night.

When the first streaks of dawn appeared in the western horizon, the
wind, which had slightly fallen, shifted two points, and enabled
Pencroft to enter the narrow gulf with greater ease. Towards seven
o’clock in the morning, the “Bonadventure,” weathering the North
Mandible Cape, entered the strait and glided on to the waters, so
strangely enclosed in the frame of lava.

“Well,” said Pencroft, “this bay would make admirable roads, in which a
whole fleet could lie at their ease!”

“What is especially curious,” observed Harding, “is that the gulf
has been formed by two rivers of lava, thrown out by the volcano, and
accumulated by successive eruptions. The result is that the gulf is
completely sheltered on all sides, and I believe that even in the
stormiest weather, the sea here must be as calm as a lake.”

“No doubt,” returned the sailor, “since the wind has only that narrow
entrance between the two capes to get in by, and, besides, the north
cape protects that of the south in a way which would make the entrance
of gusts very difficult. I declare our ‘Bonadventure’ could stay here
from one end of the year to the other, without even dragging at her
anchor!”

“It is rather large for her!” observed the reporter.

“Well! Mr. Spilett,” replied the sailor, “I agree that it is too large
for the ‘Bonadventure,’ but if the fleets of the Union were in want of a
harbor in the Pacific, I don’t think they would ever find a better place
than this!”

“We are in the shark’s mouth,” remarked Neb, alluding to the form of the
gulf.

“Right into its mouth, my honest Neb!” replied Herbert, “but you are not
afraid that it will shut upon us, are you?”

“No, Mr. Herbert,” answered Neb, “and yet this gulf here doesn’t please
me much! It has a wicked look!”

“Hallo!” cried Pencroft, “here is Neb turning up his nose at my gulf,
just as I was thinking of presenting it to America!”

“But, at any rate, is the water deep enough?” asked the engineer, “for a
depth sufficient for the keel of the ‘Bonadventure’ would not be enough
for those of our iron-clads.”

“That is easily found out,” replied Pencroft.

And the sailor sounded with a long cord, which served him as a
lead-line, and to which was fastened a lump of iron. This cord measured
nearly fifty fathoms, and its entire length was unrolled without finding
any bottom.

“There,” exclaimed Pencroft, “our iron-clads can come here after all!
They would not run aground!”

“Indeed,” said Gideon Spilett, “this gulf is a regular abyss, but,
taking into consideration the volcanic origin of the island, it is not
astonishing that the sea should offer similar depressions.”

“One would say too,” observed Herbert, “that these cliffs were perfectly
perpendicular; and I believe that at their foot, even with a line five
or six times longer, Pencroft would not find bottom.”

“That is all very well,” then said the reporter, “but I must point out
to Pencroft that his harbor is wanting in one very important respect!”

“And what is that, Mr. Spilett?”

“An opening, a cutting of some sort, to give access to the interior of
the island. I do not see a spot on which we could land.” And, in
fact, the steep lava cliffs did not afford a single place suitable for
landing. They formed an insuperable barrier, recalling, but with more
wildness, the fiords of Norway. The “Bonadventure,” coasting as close
as possible along the cliffs, did not discover even a projection which
would allow the passengers to leave the deck.

Pencroft consoled himself by saying that with the help of a mine they
could soon open out the cliff when that was necessary, and then, as
there was evidently nothing to be done in the gulf, he steered his
vessel towards the strait and passed out at about two o’clock in the
afternoon.

“Ah!” said Neb, uttering a sigh of satisfaction.

One might really say that the honest Negro did not feel at his ease in
those enormous jaws.

The distance from Mandible Cape to the mouth of the Mercy was not more
than eight miles. The head of the “Bonadventure” was put towards Granite
House, and a fair wind filling her sails, she ran rapidly along the
coast.

To the enormous lava rocks succeeded soon those capricious sand dunes,
among which the engineer had been so singularly recovered, and which
seabirds frequented in thousands.

About four o’clock, Pencroft leaving the point of the islet on his
left, entered the channel which separated it from the coast, and at five
o’clock the anchor of the “Bonadventure” was buried in the sand at the
mouth of the Mercy.

The colonists had been absent three days from their dwelling. Ayrton
was waiting for them on the beach, and Jup came joyously to meet them,
giving vent to deep grunts of satisfaction.

A complete exploration of the coast of the island had now been made,
and no suspicious appearances had been observed. If any mysterious being
resided on it, it could only be under cover of the impenetrable forest
of the Serpentine Peninsula, to which the colonists had not yet directed
their investigations.

Gideon Spilett discussed these things with the engineer, and it was
agreed that they should direct the attention of their companions to the
strange character of certain incidents which had occurred on the island,
and of which the last was the most unaccountable.

However, Harding, returning to the fact of a fire having been kindled on
the shore by an unknown hand, could not refrain from repeating for the
twentieth time to the reporter,--

“But are you quite sure of having seen it? Was it not a partial eruption
of the volcano, or perhaps some meteor?”

“No, Cyrus,” answered the reporter, “it was certainly a fire lighted by
the hand of man. Besides; question Pencroft and Herbert. They saw it as
I saw it myself, and they will confirm my words.”

In consequence, therefore, a few days after, on the 25th of April, in
the evening, when the settlers were all collected on Prospect Heights,
Cyrus Harding began by saying,--

“My friends, I think it my duty to call your attention to certain
incidents which have occurred in the island, on the subject of which I
shall be happy to have your advice. These incidents are, so to speak,
supernatural--”

“Supernatural!” exclaimed the sailor, emitting a volume of smoke from
his mouth. “Can it be possible that our island is supernatural?”

“No, Pencroft, but mysterious, most certainly,” replied the engineer;
“unless you can explain that which Spilett and I have until now failed
to understand.”

“Speak away, captain,” answered the sailor.

“Well, have you understood,” then said the engineer, “how was it that
after falling into the sea, I was found a quarter of a mile into the
interior of the island, and that, without my having any consciousness of
my removal there?”

“Unless, being unconscious--” said Pencroft.

“That is not admissible,” replied the engineer. “But to continue. Have
you understood how Top was able to discover your retreat five miles from
the cave in which I was lying?”

“The dog’s instinct--” observed Herbert.

“Singular instinct!” returned the reporter, “since notwithstanding the
storm of rain and wind which was raging during that night, Top arrived
at the Chimneys, dry and without a speck of mud!”

“Let us continue,” resumed the engineer. “Have you understood how our
dog was so strangely thrown up out of the water of the lake, after his
struggle with the dugong?”

“No! I confess, not at all,” replied Pencroft, “and the wound which the
dugong had in its side, a wound which seemed to have been made with a
sharp instrument; that can’t be understood, either.”

“Let us continue again,” said Harding. “Have you understood, my friends,
how that bullet got into the body of the young peccary; how that case
happened to be so fortunately stranded, without there being any trace
of a wreck; how that bottle containing the document presented itself
so opportunely, during our first sea-excursion; how our canoe, having
broken its moorings, floated down the current of the Mercy and rejoined
us at the very moment we needed it; how after the ape invasion the
ladder was so obligingly thrown down from Granite House; and lastly, how
the document, which Ayrton asserts was never written by him, fell into
our hands?”

As Cyrus Harding thus enumerated, without forgetting one, the singular
incidents which had occurred in the island, Herbert, Neb, and Pencroft
stared at each other, not knowing what to reply, for this succession of
incidents, grouped thus for the first time, could not but excite their
surprise to the highest degree.

“‘Pon my word,” said Pencroft at last, “you are right, captain, and it
is difficult to explain all these things!”

“Well, my friends,” resumed the engineer, “a last fact has just been
added to these, and it is no less incomprehensible than the others!”

“What is it, captain?” asked Herbert quickly.

“When you were returning from Tabor Island, Pencroft,” continued the
engineer, “you said that a fire appeared on Lincoln Island?”

“Certainly,” answered the sailor.

“And you are quite certain of having seen this fire?”

“As sure as I see you now.”

“You also, Herbert?”

“Why, captain,” cried Herbert, “that fire was blazing like a star of the
first magnitude!”

“But was it not a star?” urged the engineer.

“No,” replied Pencroft, “for the sky was covered with thick clouds, and
at any rate a star would not have been so low on the horizon. But Mr.
Spilett saw it as well as we, and he will confirm our words.”

“I will add,” said the reporter, “that the fire was very bright, and
that it shot up like a sheet of lightning.”

“Yes, yes! exactly,” added Herbert, “and it was certainly placed on the
heights of Granite House.”

“Well, my friends,” replied Cyrus Harding, “during the night of the 19th
of October, neither Neb nor I lighted any fire on the coast.”

“You did not!” exclaimed Pencroft, in the height of his astonishment,
not being able to finish his sentence.

“We did not leave Granite House,” answered Cyrus Harding, “and if a fire
appeared on the coast, it was lighted by another hand than ours!”

Pencroft, Herbert, and Neb were stupefied. No illusion could be
possible, and a fire had actually met their eyes during the night of the
19th of October. Yes! they had to acknowledge it, a mystery existed! An
inexplicable influence, evidently favorable to the colonists, but very
irritating to their curiosity, was executed always in the nick of time
on Lincoln Island. Could there be some being hidden in its profoundest
recesses? It was necessary at any cost to ascertain this.

Harding also reminded his companions of the singular behavior of Top and
Jup when they prowled round the mouth of the well, which placed Granite
House in communication with the sea, and he told them that he had
explored the well, without discovering anything suspicious. The final
resolve taken, in consequence of this conversation, by all the members
of the colony, was that as soon as the fine season returned they would
thoroughly search the whole of the island.

But from that day Pencroft appeared to be anxious. He felt as if the
island which he had made his own personal property belonged to him
entirely no longer, and that he shared it with another master, to
whom, willing or not, he felt subject. Neb and he often talked of those
unaccountable things, and both, their natures inclining them to the
marvelous, were not far from believing that Lincoln Island was under the
dominion of some supernatural power.

In the meanwhile, the bad weather came with the month of May, the
November of the northern zones. It appeared that the winter would
be severe and forward. The preparations for the winter season were
therefore commenced without delay.

Nevertheless, the colonists were well prepared to meet the winter,
however hard it might be. They had plenty of felt clothing, and the
musmons, very numerous by this time, had furnished an abundance of wool
necessary for the manufacture of this warm material.

It is unnecessary to say that Ayrton had been provided with this
comfortable clothing. Cyrus Harding proposed that he should come to
spend the bad season with them in Granite House, where he would be
better lodged than at the corral, and Ayrton promised to do so, as soon
as the last work at the corral was finished. He did this towards the
middle of April. From that time Ayrton shared the common life, and made
himself useful on all occasions; but still humble and sad, he never took
part in the pleasures of his companions.

For the greater part of this, the third winter which the settlers passed
in Lincoln Island, they were confined to Granite House. There were many
violent storms and frightful tempests, which appeared to shake the rocks
to their very foundations. Immense waves threatened to overwhelm the
island, and certainly any vessel anchored near the shore would have
been dashed to pieces. Twice, during one of these hurricanes, the Mercy
swelled to such a degree as to give reason to fear that the bridges
would be swept away, and it was necessary to strengthen those on the
shore, which disappeared under the foaming waters, when the sea beat
against the beach.

It may well be supposed that such storms, comparable to water-spouts in
which were mingled rain and snow, would cause great havoc on the
plateau of Prospect Heights. The mill and the poultry-yard particularly
suffered. The colonists were often obliged to make immediate repairs,
without which the safety of the birds would have been seriously
threatened.

During the worst weather, several jaguars and troops of quadrumana
ventured to the edge of the plateau, and it was always to be feared that
the most active and audacious would, urged by hunger, manage to cross
the stream, which besides, when frozen, offered them an easy passage.
Plantations and domestic animals would then have been infallibly
destroyed, without a constant watch, and it was often necessary to
make use of the guns to keep those dangerous visitors at a respectful
distance. Occupation was not wanting to the colonists, for without
reckoning their out-door cares, they had always a thousand plans for the
fitting up of Granite House.

They had also some fine sporting excursions, which were made during the
frost in the vast Tadorn Marsh. Gideon Spilett and Herbert, aided by
Jup and Top, did not miss a shot in the midst of myriads of wild-duck,
snipe, teal, and others. The access to these hunting-grounds was easy;
besides, whether they reached them by the road to Port Balloon, after
having passed the Mercy Bridge, or by turning the rocks from Flotsam
Point, the hunters were never distant from Granite House more than two
or three miles.

Thus passed the four winter months, which were really rigorous, that is
to say, June, July, August, and September. But, in short, Granite House
did not suffer much from the inclemency of the weather, and it was
the same with the corral, which, less exposed than the plateau, and
sheltered partly by Mount Franklin, only received the remains of the
hurricanes, already broken by the forests and the high rocks of the
shore. The damages there were consequently of small importance, and the
activity and skill of Ayrton promptly repaired them, when some time in
October he returned to pass a few days in the corral.

During this winter, no fresh inexplicable incident occurred. Nothing
strange happened, although Pencroft and Neb were on the watch for the
most insignificant facts to which they attached any mysterious cause.
Top and Jup themselves no longer growled round the well or gave any
signs of uneasiness. It appeared, therefore, as if the series of
supernatural incidents was interrupted, although they often talked of
them during the evenings in Granite House, and they remained thoroughly
resolved that the island should be searched, even in those parts the
most difficult to explore. But an event of the highest importance, and
of which the consequences might be terrible, momentarily diverted from
their projects Cyrus Harding and his companions.

It was the month of October. The fine season was swiftly returning.
Nature was reviving; and among the evergreen foliage of the coniferae
which formed the border of the wood, already appeared the young leaves
of the banksias, deodars, and other trees.

It may be remembered that Gideon Spilett and Herbert had, at different
times, taken photographic views of Lincoln Island.

Now, on the 17th of this month of October, towards three o’clock in
the afternoon, Herbert, enticed by the charms of the sky, thought of
reproducing Union Bay, which was opposite to Prospect Heights, from Cape
Mandible to Claw Cape.

The horizon was beautifully clear, and the sea, undulating under a soft
breeze, was as calm as the waters of a lake, sparkling here and there
under the sun’s rays.

The apparatus had been placed at one of the windows of the dining-room
at Granite House, and consequently overlooked the shore and the bay.
Herbert proceeded as he was accustomed to do, and the negative obtained,
he went away to fix it by means of the chemicals deposited in a dark
nook of Granite House.

Returning to the bright light, and examining it well, Herbert perceived
on his negative an almost imperceptible little spot on the sea horizon.
He endeavored to make it disappear by reiterated washing, but could not
accomplish it.

“It is a flaw in the glass,” he thought.

And then he had the curiosity to examine this flaw with a strong
magnifier which he unscrewed from one of the telescopes.

But he had scarcely looked at it, when he uttered a cry, and the glass
almost fell from his hands.

Immediately running to the room in which Cyrus Harding then was, he
extended the negative and magnifier towards the engineer, pointing out
the little spot.

Harding examined it; then seizing his telescope he rushed to the window.

The telescope, after having slowly swept the horizon, at last stopped on
the looked-for spot, and Cyrus Harding, lowering it, pronounced one word
only,--

“A vessel!”

And in fact a vessel was in sight, off Lincoln Island!





PART 3

THE SECRET OF THE ISLAND



Chapter 1

It was now two years and a half since the castaways from the balloon had
been thrown on Lincoln Island, and during that period there had been no
communication between them and their fellow-creatures. Once the reporter
had attempted to communicate with the inhabited world by confiding to
a bird a letter which contained the secret of their situation, but that
was a chance on which it was impossible to reckon seriously. Ayrton,
alone, under the circumstances which have been related, had come to
join the little colony. Now, suddenly, on this day, the 17th of October,
other men had unexpectedly appeared in sight of the island, on that
deserted sea!

There could be no doubt about it! A vessel was there! But would she
pass on, or would she put into port? In a few hours the colonists would
definitely know what to expect.

Cyrus Harding and Herbert having immediately called Gideon Spilett,
Pencroft, and Neb into the dining-room of Granite House, told them
what had happened. Pencroft, seizing the telescope, rapidly swept the
horizon, and stopping on the indicated point, that is to say, on
that which had made the almost imperceptible spot on the photographic
negative,--

“I’m blessed but it is really a vessel!” he exclaimed, in a voice which
did not express any great amount of satisfaction.

“Is she coming here?” asked Gideon Spilett.

“Impossible to say anything yet,” answered Pencroft, “for her rigging
alone is above the horizon, and not a bit of her hull can be seen.”

“What is to be done?” asked the lad.

“Wait,” replied Harding.

And for a considerable time the settlers remained silent, given up to
all the thoughts, and the emotions, all the fears, all the hopes, which
were aroused by this incident--the most important which had occurred
since their arrival in Lincoln Island. Certainly, the colonists were not
in the situation of castaways abandoned on a sterile islet, constantly
contending against a cruel nature for their miserable existence, and
incessantly tormented by the longing to return to inhabited countries.
Pencroft and Neb, especially, who felt themselves at once so happy and
so rich, would not have left their island without regret. They were
accustomed, besides, to this new life in the midst of the domain which
their intelligence had as it were civilized. But at any rate this ship
brought news from the world, perhaps even from their native land. It was
bringing fellow-creatures to them, and it may be conceived how deeply
their hearts were moved at the sight!

From time to time Pencroft took the glass and rested himself at the
window. From thence he very attentively examined the vessel, which was
at a distance of twenty miles to the east. The colonists had as yet,
therefore, no means of signalizing their presence. A flag would not have
been perceived; a gun would not have been heard; a fire would not have
been visible. However, it was certain that the island, overtopped by
Mount Franklin, could not escape the notice of the vessel’s lookout. But
why was the ship coming there? Was it simple chance which brought it to
that part of the Pacific, where the maps mentioned no land except Tabor
Island, which itself was out of the route usually followed by vessels
from the Polynesian Archipelagoes, from New Zealand, and from the
American coast? To this question, which each one asked himself, a reply
was suddenly made by Herbert.

“Can it be the ‘Duncan’?” he cried.

The “Duncan,” as has been said, was Lord Glenarvan’s yacht, which had
left Ayrton on the islet, and which was to return there someday to fetch
him. Now, the islet was not so far distant from Lincoln Island, but
that a vessel, standing for the one, could pass in sight of the other. A
hundred and fifty miles only separated them in longitude, and seventy in
latitude.

“We must tell Ayrton,” said Gideon Spilett, “and send for him
immediately. He alone can say if it is the ‘Duncan.’”

This was the opinion of all, and the reporter, going to the telegraphic
apparatus which placed the corral in communication with Granite House,
sent this telegram:--“Come with all possible speed.”

In a few minutes the bell sounded.

“I am coming,” replied Ayrton.

Then the settlers continued to watch the vessel.

“If it is the ‘Duncan,’” said Herbert, “Ayrton will recognize her
without difficulty, since he sailed on board her for some time.”

“And if he recognizes her,” added Pencroft, “it will agitate him
exceedingly!”

“Yes,” answered Cyrus Harding; “but now Ayrton is worthy to return on
board the ‘Duncan,’ and pray Heaven that it is indeed Lord Glenarvan’s
yacht, for I should be suspicious of any other vessel. These are
ill-famed seas, and I have always feared a visit from Malay pirates to
our island.”

“We could defend it,’, cried Herbert.

“No doubt, my boy,” answered the engineer smiling, “but it would be
better not to have to defend it.”

“A useless observation,” said Spilett. “Lincoln Island is unknown to
navigators, since it is not marked even on the most recent maps. Do
you think, Cyrus, that that is a sufficient motive for a ship, finding
herself unexpectedly in sight of new land, to try and visit rather than
avoid it?”

“Certainly,” replied Pencroft.

“I think so too,” added the engineer. “It may even be said that it is
the duty of a captain to come and survey any land or island not yet
known, and Lincoln Island is in this position.”

“Well,” said Pencroft, “suppose this vessel comes and anchors there a
few cables-lengths from our island, what shall we do?”

This sudden question remained at first without any reply. But Cyrus
Harding, after some moments’ thought, replied in the calm tone which was
usual to him,--

“What we shall do, my friends? What we ought to do is this:--we will
communicate with the ship, we will take our passage on board her, and we
will leave our island, after having taken possession of it in the name
of the United States. Then we will return with any who may wish to
follow us to colonize it definitely, and endow the American Republic
with a useful station in this part of the Pacific Ocean!”

“Hurrah!” exclaimed Pencroft, “and that will be no small present
which we shall make to our country! The colonization is already almost
finished; names are given to every part of the island; there is
a natural port, fresh water, roads, a telegraph, a dockyard, and
manufactories; and there will be nothing to be done but to inscribe
Lincoln Island on the maps!”

“But if anyone seizes it in our absence?” observed Gideon Spilett.

“Hang it!” cried the sailor. “I would rather remain all alone to guard
it: and trust to Pencroft, they shouldn’t steal it from him, like a
watch from the pocket of a swell!”

For an hour it was impossible to say with any certainty whether the
vessel was or was not standing towards Lincoln Island. She was
nearer, but in what direction was she sailing? This Pencroft could not
determine. However, as the wind was blowing from the northeast, in all
probability the vessel was sailing on the starboard tack. Besides, the
wind was favorable for bringing her towards the island, and, the sea
being calm, she would not be afraid to approach although the shallows
were not marked on the chart.

Towards four o’clock--an hour after he had been sent for--Ayrton arrived
at Granite House. He entered the dining-room saying,--

“At your service, gentlemen.”

Cyrus Harding gave him his hand, as was his custom to do, and, leading
him to the window,--

“Ayrton,” said he, “we have begged you to come here for an important
reason. A ship is in sight of the island.”

Ayrton at first paled slightly, and for a moment his eyes became dim;
then, leaning out the window, he surveyed the horizon, but could see
nothing.

“Take this telescope,” said Spilett, “and look carefully, Ayrton, for
it is possible that this ship may be the ‘Duncan’ come to these seas for
the purpose of taking you home again.”

“The ‘Duncan!’” murmured Ayrton. “Already?” This last word escaped
Ayrton’s lips as if involuntarily, and his head drooped upon his hands.

Did not twelve years’ solitude on a desert island appear to him a
sufficient expiation? Did not the penitent yet feel himself pardoned,
either in his own eyes or in the eyes of others?

“No,” said he, “no! it cannot be the ‘Duncan’!”

“Look, Ayrton,” then said the engineer, “for it is necessary that we
should know beforehand what to expect.”

Ayrton took the glass and pointed it in the direction indicated. During
some minutes he examined the horizon without moving, without uttering a
word. Then,--

“It is indeed a vessel,” said he, “but I do not think she is the
‘Duncan.’”

“Why do you not think so?” asked Gideon Spilett.

“Because the ‘Duncan’ is a steam-yacht, and I cannot perceive any trace
of smoke either above or near that vessel.”

“Perhaps she is simply sailing,” observed Pencroft. “The wind is
favorable for the direction which she appears to be taking, and she may
be anxious to economize her coal, being so far from land.”

“It is possible that you may be right, Mr. Pencroft,” answered Ayrton,
“and that the vessel has extinguished her fires. We must wait until she
is nearer, and then we shall soon know what to expect.”

So saying, Ayrton sat down in a corner of the room and remained silent.
The colonists again discussed the strange ship, but Ayrton took no
part in the conversation. All were in such a mood that they found it
impossible to continue their work. Gideon Spilett and Pencroft were
particularly nervous, going, coming, not able to remain still in one
place. Herbert felt more curiosity. Neb alone maintained his usual
calm manner. Was not his country that where his master was? As to the
engineer, he remained plunged in deep thought, and in his heart feared
rather than desired the arrival of the ship. In the meanwhile, the
vessel was a little nearer the island. With the aid of the glass, it was
ascertained that she was a brig, and not one of those Malay proas, which
are generally used by the pirates of the Pacific. It was, therefore,
reasonable to believe that the engineer’s apprehensions would not be
justified, and that the presence of this vessel in the vicinity of the
island was fraught with no danger.

Pencroft, after a minute examination, was able positively to affirm that
the vessel was rigged as a brig, and that she was standing obliquely
towards the coast, on the starboard tack, under her topsails and
top-gallant-sails. This was confirmed by Ayrton. But by continuing in
this direction she must soon disappear behind Claw Cape, as the wind
was from the southwest, and to watch her it would be then necessary
to ascend the height of Washington Bay, near Port Balloon--a provoking
circumstance, for it was already five o’clock in the evening, and the
twilight would soon make any observation extremely difficult.

“What shall we do when night comes on?” asked Gideon Spilett. “Shall we
light a fire, so as to signal our presence on the coast?”

This was a serious question, and yet, although the engineer still
retained some of his presentiments, it was answered in the affirmative.
During the night the ship might disappear and leave for ever, and, this
ship gone, would another ever return to the waters of Lincoln Island?
Who could foresee what the future would then have in store for the
colonists?

“Yes,” said the reporter, “we ought to make known to that vessel,
whoever she may be, that the island is inhabited. To neglect the
opportunity which is offered to us might be to create everlasting
regrets.”

It was therefore decided that Neb and Pencroft should go to Port
Balloon, and that there, at nightfall, they should light an immense
fire, the blaze of which would necessarily attract the attention of the
brig.

But at the moment when Neb and the sailor were preparing to leave
Granite House, the vessel suddenly altered her course, and stood
directly for Union Bay. The brig was a good sailer, for she approached
rapidly. Neb and Pencroft put off their departure, therefore, and the
glass was put into Ayrton’s hands, that he might ascertain for certain
whether the ship was or was not the “Duncan.” The Scotch yacht was also
rigged as a brig. The question was, whether a chimney could be discerned
between the two masts of the vessel, which was now at a distance of only
five miles.

The horizon was still very clear. The examination was easy, and Ayrton
soon let the glass fall again, saying--

“It is not the ‘Duncan’! It could not be!”

Pencroft again brought the brig within the range of the telescope, and
could see that she was of between three and four hundred tons burden,
wonderfully narrow, well-masted, admirably built, and must be a very
rapid sailer. But to what nation did she belong? That was difficult to
say.

“And yet,” added the sailor, “a flag is floating from her peak, but I
cannot distinguish the colors of it.”

“In half an hour we shall be certain about that,” answered the reporter.
“Besides, it is very evident that the intention of the captain of this
ship is to land, and, consequently, if not today, to-morrow at the
latest, we shall make his acquaintance.”

“Never mind!” said Pencroft. “It is best to know whom we have to deal
with, and I shall not be sorry to recognize that fellow’s colors!”

And, while thus speaking, the sailor never left the glass. The day began
to fade, and with the day the breeze fell also. The brig’s ensign hung
in folds, and it became more and more difficult to observe it.

“It is not the American flag,” said Pencroft from time to time, “nor the
English, the red of which could be easily seen, nor the French or German
colors, nor the white flag of Russia, nor the yellow of Spain. One would
say it was all one color. Let’s see: in these seas, what do we generally
meet with? The Chilean flag?--but that is tri-color. Brazilian?--it is
green. Japanese?--it is yellow and black, while this--”

At that moment the breeze blew out the unknown flag. Ayrton seizing the
telescope which the sailor had put down, put it to his eye, and in a
hoarse voice,--

“The black flag!” he exclaimed.

And indeed the somber bunting was floating from the mast of the brig,
and they had now good reason for considering her to be a suspicious
vessel!

Had the engineer, then, been right in his presentiments? Was this a
pirate vessel? Did she scour the Pacific, competing with the Malay proas
which still infest it? For what had she come to look at the shores of
Lincoln Island? Was it to them an unknown island, ready to become
a magazine for stolen cargoes? Had she come to find on the coast a
sheltered port for the winter months? Was the settlers’ honest domain
destined to be transformed into an infamous refuge--the headquarters of
the piracy of the Pacific?

All these ideas instinctively presented themselves to the colonists’
imaginations. There was no doubt, besides, of the signification which
must be attached to the color of the hoisted flag. It was that of
pirates! It was that which the “Duncan” would have carried, had the
convicts succeeded in their criminal design! No time was lost before
discussing it.

“My friends,” said Cyrus Harding, “perhaps this vessel only wishes to
survey the coast of the island. Perhaps her crew will not land. There is
a chance of it. However that may be, we ought to do everything we can to
hide our presence here. The windmill on Prospect Heights is too easily
seen. Let Ayrton and Neb go and take down the sails. We must also
conceal the windows of Granite House with thick branches. All the fires
must be extinguished, so that nothing may betray the presence of men on
the island.”

“And our vessel?” said Herbert.

“Oh,” answered Pencroft, “she is sheltered in Port Balloon, and I defy
any of those rascals there to find her!”

The engineer’s orders were immediately executed. Neb and Ayrton
ascended the plateau, and took the necessary precautions to conceal
any indication of a settlement. While they were thus occupied, their
companions went to the border of Jacamar Wood, and brought back a large
quantity of branches and creepers, which would at some distance appear
as natural foliage, and thus disguise the windows in the granite cliff.
At the same time, the ammunition and guns were placed ready so as to be
at hand in case of an unexpected attack.

When all these precautions had been taken,--

“My friends,” said Harding, and his voice betrayed some emotion, “if the
wretches endeavor to seize Lincoln Island, we shall defend it--shall we
not?”

“Yes, Cyrus,” replied the reporter, “and if necessary we will die to
defend it!”

The engineer extended his hand to his companions, who pressed it warmly.
Ayrton remained in his corner, not joining the colonists. Perhaps he,
the former convict, still felt himself unworthy to do so!

Cyrus Harding understood what was passing in Ayrton’s mind, and going to
him--

“And you, Ayrton,” he asked, “what will you do?”

“My duty,” answered Ayrton.

He then took up his station near the window and gazed through the
foliage.

It was now half-past seven. The sun had disappeared twenty minutes ago
behind Granite House. Consequently the Eastern horizon was becoming
obscured. In the meanwhile the brig continued to advance towards Union
Bay. She was now not more than two miles off, and exactly opposite the
plateau of Prospect Heights, for after having tacked off Claw Cape, she
had drifted towards the north in the current of the rising tide. One
might have said that at this distance she had already entered the vast
bay, for a straight line drawn from Claw Cape to Cape Mandible would
have rested on her starboard quarter.

Was the brig about to penetrate far into the bay? That was the first
question. When once in the bay, would she anchor there? That was the
second. Would she not content herself with only surveying the coast, and
stand out to sea again without landing her crew? They would know this in
an hour. The colonists could do nothing but wait.

Cyrus Harding had not seen the suspected vessel hoist the black flag
without deep anxiety. Was it not a direct menace against the work which
he and his companions had till now conducted so successfully? Had these
pirates--for the sailors of the brig could be nothing else--already
visited the island, since on approaching it they had hoisted their
colors. Had they formerly invaded it, so that certain unaccountable
peculiarities might be explained in this way? Did there exist in the as
yet unexplored parts some accomplice ready to enter into communication
with them?

To all these questions which he mentally asked himself, Harding knew not
what to reply; but he felt that the safety of the colony could not but
be seriously threatened by the arrival of the brig.

However, he and his companions were determined to fight to the last
gasp. It would have been very important to know if the pirates
were numerous and better armed than the colonists. But how was this
information to be obtained?

Night fell. The new moon had disappeared. Profound darkness enveloped
the island and the sea. No light could pierce through the heavy piles
of clouds on the horizon. The wind had died away completely with the
twilight. Not a leaf rustled on the trees, not a ripple murmured on
the shore. Nothing could be seen of the ship, all her lights being
extinguished, and if she was still in sight of the island, her
whereabouts could not be discovered.

“Well! who knows?” said Pencroft. “Perhaps that cursed craft will stand
off during the night, and we shall see nothing of her at daybreak.”

As if in reply to the sailor’s observation, a bright light flashed in
the darkness, and a cannon-shot was heard.

The vessel was still there and had guns on board.

Six seconds elapsed between the flash and the report.

Therefore the brig was about a mile and a quarter from the coast.

At the same time, the chains were heard rattling through the
hawse-holes.

The vessel had just anchored in sight of Granite House!



Chapter 2

There was no longer any doubt as to the pirates’ intentions. They had
dropped anchor at a short distance from the island, and it was evident
that the next day by means of their boats they purposed to land on the
beach!

Cyrus Harding and his companions were ready to act, but, determined
though they were, they must not forget to be prudent. Perhaps their
presence might still be concealed in the event of the pirates contenting
themselves with landing on the shore without examining the interior of
the island. It might be, indeed, that their only intention was to obtain
fresh water from the Mercy, and it was not impossible that the bridge,
thrown across a mile and a half from the mouth, and the manufactory at
the Chimneys might escape their notice.

But why was that flag hoisted at the brig’s peak? What was that shot
fired for? Pure bravado doubtless, unless it was a sign of the act of
taking possession. Harding knew now that the vessel was well armed. And
what had the colonists of Lincoln Island to reply to the pirates’ guns?
A few muskets only.

“However,” observed Cyrus Harding, “here we are in an impregnable
position. The enemy cannot discover the mouth of the outlet, now that it
is hidden under reeds and grass, and consequently it would be impossible
for them to penetrate into Granite House.”

“But our plantations, our poultry-yard, our corral, all, everything!”
 exclaimed Pencroft, stamping his foot. “They may spoil everything,
destroy everything in a few hours!”

“Everything, Pencroft,” answered Harding, “and we have no means of
preventing them.”

“Are they numerous? that is the question,” said the reporter. “If they
are not more than a dozen, we shall be able to stop them, but forty,
fifty, more perhaps!”

“Captain Harding,” then said Ayrton, advancing towards the engineer,
“will you give me leave?”

“For what, my friend?”

“To go to that vessel to find out the strength of her crew.”

“But Ayrton--” answered the engineer, hesitating, “you will risk your
life--”

“Why not, sir?”

“That is more than your duty.”

“I have more than my duty to do,” replied Ayrton.

“Will you go to the ship in the boat?” asked Gideon Spilett.

“No, sir, but I will swim. A boat would be seen where a man may glide
between wind and water.”

“Do you know that the brig is a mile and a quarter from the shore?” said
Herbert.

“I am a good swimmer, Mr. Herbert.”

“I tell you it is risking your life,” said the engineer.

“That is no matter,” answered Ayrton. “Captain Harding, I ask this as a
favor. Perhaps it will be a means of raising me in my own eyes!”

“Go, Ayrton,” replied the engineer, who felt sure that a refusal would
have deeply wounded the former convict, now become an honest man.

“I will accompany you,” said Pencroft.

“You mistrust me!” said Ayrton quickly.

Then more humbly,--

“Alas!”

“No! no!” exclaimed Harding with animation, “no, Ayrton, Pencroft does
not mistrust you. You interpret his words wrongly.”

“Indeed,” returned the sailor, “I only propose to accompany Ayrton as
far as the islet. It may be, although it is scarcely possible, that one
of these villains has landed, and in that case two men will not be too
many to hinder him from giving the alarm. I will wait for Ayrton on the
islet, and he shall go alone to the vessel, since he has proposed to do
so.” These things agreed to, Ayrton made preparations for his departure.
His plan was bold, but it might succeed, thanks to the darkness of the
night. Once arrived at the vessel’s side, Ayrton, holding on to the main
chains, might reconnoiter the number and perhaps overhear the intentions
of the pirates.

Ayrton and Pencroft, followed by their companions, descended to the
beach. Ayrton undressed and rubbed himself with grease, so as to suffer
less from the temperature of the water, which was still cold. He might,
indeed, be obliged to remain in it for several hours.

Pencroft and Neb, during this time, had gone to fetch the boat, moored
a few hundred feet higher up, on the bank of the Mercy, and by the time
they returned, Ayrton was ready to start. A coat was thrown over his
shoulders, and the settlers all came round him to press his hand.

Ayrton then shoved off with Pencroft in the boat.

It was half-past ten in the evening when the two adventurers disappeared
in the darkness. Their companions returned to wait at the Chimneys.

The channel was easily traversed, and the boat touched the opposite
shore of the islet. This was not done without precaution, for fear lest
the pirates might be roaming about there. But after a careful survey,
it was evident that the islet was deserted. Ayrton then, followed by
Pencroft, crossed it with a rapid step, scaring the birds nestled in the
holes of the rocks; then, without hesitating, he plunged into the sea,
and swam noiselessly in the direction of the ship, in which a few lights
had recently appeared, showing her exact situation. As to Pencroft,
he crouched down in a cleft of the rock, and awaited the return of his
companion.

In the meanwhile, Ayrton, swimming with a vigorous stroke, glided
through the sheet of water without producing the slightest ripple. His
head just emerged above it and his eyes were fixed on the dark hull of
the brig, from which the lights were reflected in the water. He thought
only of the duty which he had promised to accomplish, and nothing of the
danger which he ran, not only on board the ship, but in the sea, often
frequented by sharks. The current bore him along and he rapidly receded
from the shore.

Half an hour afterwards, Ayrton, without having been either seen or
heard, arrived at the ship and caught hold of the main-chains. He took
breath, then, hoisting himself up, he managed to reach the extremity of
the cutwater. There were drying several pairs of sailors’ trousers. He
put on a pair. Then settling himself firmly, he listened. They were not
sleeping on board the brig. On the contrary, they were talking, singing,
laughing. And these were the sentences, accompanied with oaths, which
principally struck Ayrton:--

“Our brig is a famous acquisition.”

“She sails well, and merits her name of the ‘Speedy.’”

“She would show all the navy of Norfolk a clean pair of heels.”

“Hurrah for her captain!”

“Hurrah for Bob Harvey!”

What Ayrton felt when he overheard this fragment of conversation may be
understood when it is known that in this Bob Harvey he recognized one
of his old Australian companions, a daring sailor, who had continued his
criminal career. Bob Harvey had seized, on the shores of Norfolk Island
this brig, which was loaded with arms, ammunition, utensils, and tools
of all sorts, destined for one of the Sandwich Islands. All his gang had
gone on board, and pirates after having been convicts, these wretches,
more ferocious than the Malays themselves, scoured the Pacific,
destroying vessels, and massacring their crews.

The convicts spoke loudly, they recounted their deeds, drinking deeply
at the same time, and this is what Ayrton gathered. The actual crew
of the “Speedy” was composed solely of English prisoners, escaped from
Norfolk Island.

Here it may be well to explain what this island was. In 29deg 2’ south
latitude, and 165deg 42’ east longitude, to the east of Australia, is
found a little island, six miles in circumference, overlooked by Mount
Pitt, which rises to a height of 1,100 feet above the level of the sea.
This is Norfolk Island, once the seat of an establishment in which were
lodged the most intractable convicts from the English penitentiaries.
They numbered 500, under an iron discipline, threatened with terrible
punishments, and were guarded by 150 soldiers, and 150 employed
under the orders of the governor. It would be difficult to imagine
a collection of greater ruffians. Sometimes,--although very
rarely,--notwithstanding the extreme surveillance of which they were
the object, many managed to escape, and seizing vessels which they
surprised, they infested the Polynesian Archipelagoes.

Thus had Bob Harvey and his companions done. Thus had Ayrton formerly
wished to do. Bob Harvey had seized the brig “Speedy,” anchored in sight
of Norfolk Island; the crew had been massacred; and for a year this ship
had scoured the Pacific, under the command of Harvey, now a pirate, and
well known to Ayrton!

The convicts were, for the most part, assembled under the poop; but a
few, stretched on the deck, were talking loudly.

The conversation still continued amid shouts and libations. Ayrton
learned that chance alone had brought the “Speedy” in sight of Lincoln
Island; Bob Harvey had never yet set foot on it; but, as Cyrus Harding
had conjectured, finding this unknown land in his course, its position
being marked on no chart, he had formed the project of visiting it, and,
if he found it suitable, of making it the brig’s headquarters.

As to the black flag hoisted at the “Speedy’s” peak, and the gun which
had been fired, in imitation of men-of-war when they lower their
colors, it was pure piratical bravado. It was in no way a signal, and no
communication yet existed between the convicts and Lincoln Island.

The settlers’ domain was now menaced with terrible danger. Evidently
the island, with its water, its harbor, its resources of all kinds so
increased in value by the colonists, and the concealment afforded by
Granite House, could not but be convenient for the convicts; in their
hands it would become an excellent place of refuge, and, being unknown,
it would assure them, for a long time perhaps, impunity and security.
Evidently, also, the lives of the settlers would not be respected, and
Bob Harvey and his accomplices’ first care would be to massacre them
without mercy. Harding and his companions had, therefore, not even the
choice of flying and hiding themselves in the island, since the convicts
intended to reside there, and since, in the event of the “Speedy”
 departing on an expedition, it was probable that some of the crew would
remain on shore, so as to settle themselves there. Therefore, it
would be necessary to fight, to destroy every one of these scoundrels,
unworthy of pity, and against whom any means would be right. So thought
Ayrton, and he well knew that Cyrus Harding would be of his way of
thinking.

But was resistance and, in the last place, victory possible? That would
depend on the equipment of the brig, and the number of men which she
carried.

This Ayrton resolved to learn at any cost, and as an hour after his
arrival the vociferations had begun to die away, and as a large number
of the convicts were already buried in a drunken sleep, Ayrton did not
hesitate to venture onto the “Speedy’s” deck, which the extinguished
lanterns now left in total darkness. He hoisted himself onto the
cutwater, and by the bowsprit arrived at the forecastle. Then, gliding
among the convicts stretched here and there, he made the round of the
ship, and found that the “Speedy” carried four guns, which would throw
shot of from eight to ten pounds in weight. He found also, on touching
them that these guns were breech-loaders. They were therefore, of modern
make, easily used, and of terrible effect.

As to the men lying on the deck, they were about ten in number, but
it was to be supposed that more were sleeping down below. Besides, by
listening to them, Ayrton had understood that there were fifty on
board. That was a large number for the six settlers of Lincoln Island to
contend with! But now, thanks to Ayrton’s devotion, Cyrus Harding would
not be surprised, he would know the strength of his adversaries, and
would make his arrangements accordingly.

There was nothing more for Ayrton to do but to return, and render to his
companions an account of the mission with which he had charged himself,
and he prepared to regain the bows of the brig, so that he might let
himself down into the water. But to this man, whose wish was, as he had
said, to do more than his duty, there came an heroic thought. This was
to sacrifice his own life, but save the island and the colonists. Cyrus
Harding evidently could not resist fifty ruffians, all well armed, who,
either by penetrating by main force into Granite House, or by starving
out the besieged, could obtain from them what they wanted. And then he
thought of his preservers--those who had made him again a man, and an
honest mm, those to whom he owed all--murdered without pity, their works
destroyed, their island turned into a pirates’ den! He said to himself
that he, Ayrton, was the principal cause of so many disasters, since his
old companion, Bob Harvey, had but realized his own plans, and a
feeling of horror took possession of him. Then he was seized with an
irresistible desire to blow up the brig and with her, all whom she had
on board. He would perish in the explosion, but he would have done his
duty.

Ayrton did not hesitate. To reach the powder-room, which is always
situated in the after-part of a vessel, was easy. There would be no want
of powder in a vessel which followed such a trade, and a spark would be
enough to destroy it in an instant.

Ayrton stole carefully along the between-decks, strewn with numerous
sleepers, overcome more by drunkenness than sleep. A lantern was lighted
at the foot of the mainmast, round which was hung a gun-rack, furnished
with weapons of all sorts.

Ayrton took a revolver from the rack, and assured himself that it was
loaded and primed. Nothing more was needed to accomplish the work of
destruction. He then glided towards the stern, so as to arrive under the
brig’s poop at the powder-magazine.

It was difficult to proceed along the dimly lighted deck without
stumbling over some half-sleeping convict, who retorted by oaths and
kicks. Ayrton was, therefore, more than once obliged to halt. But at
last he arrived at the partition dividing the aftercabin, and found the
door opening into the magazine itself.

Ayrton, compelled to force it open, set to work. It was a difficult
operation to perform without noise, for he had to break a padlock. But
under his vigorous hand, the padlock broke, and the door was open.

At that moment a hand was laid on Ayrton’s shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” asked a tall man, in a harsh voice, who,
standing in the shadow, quickly threw the light of a lantern in Ayrton’s
face.

Ayrton drew back. In the rapid flash of the lantern, he had recognized
his former accomplice, Bob Harvey, who could not have known him, as he
must have thought Ayrton long since dead.

“What are you doing here?” again said Bob Harvey, seizing Ayrton by the
waistband.

But Ayrton, without replying, wrenched himself from his grasp and
attempted to rush into the magazine. A shot fired into the midst of the
powder-casks, and all would be over!

“Help, lads!” shouted Bob Harvey.

At his shout two or three pirates awoke, jumped up, and, rushing on
Ayrton, endeavored to throw him down. He soon extricated himself from
their grasp. He fired his revolver, and two of the convicts fell, but
a blow from a knife which he could not ward off made a gash in his
shoulder.

Ayrton perceived that he could no longer hope to carry out his project.
Bob Harvey had reclosed the door of the powder-magazine, and a movement
on the deck indicated a general awakening of the pirates. Ayrton must
reserve himself to fight at the side of Cyrus Harding. There was nothing
for him but flight!

But was flight still possible? It was doubtful, yet Ayrton resolved to
dare everything in order to rejoin his companions.

Four barrels of the revolver were still undischarged. Two were
fired--one, aimed at Bob Harvey, did not wound him, or at any rate
only slightly, and Ayrton, profiting by the momentary retreat of his
adversaries, rushed towards the companion-ladder to gain the deck.
Passing before the lantern, he smashed it with a blow from the butt of
his revolver. A profound darkness ensued, which favored his flight. Two
or three pirates, awakened by the noise, were descending the ladder at
the same moment.

A fifth shot from Ayrton laid one low, and the others drew back, not
understanding what was going on. Ayrton was on deck in two bounds, and
three seconds later, having discharged his last barrel in the face of
a pirate who was about to seize him by the throat, he leaped over the
bulwarks into the sea.

Ayrton had not made six strokes before shots were splashing around him
like hail.

What were Pencroft’s feelings, sheltered under a rock on the islet! What
were those of Harding, the reporter, Herbert, and Neb, crouched in the
Chimneys, when they heard the reports on board the brig! They rushed out
on to the beach, and, their guns shouldered, they stood ready to repel
any attack.

They had no doubt about it themselves! Ayrton, surprised by the pirates,
had been murdered, and, perhaps, the wretches would profit by the night
to make a descent on the island!

Half an hour was passed in terrible anxiety. The firing had ceased, and
yet neither Ayrton nor Pencroft had reappeared. Was the islet invaded?
Ought they not to fly to the help of Ayrton and Pencroft? But how? The
tide being high at that time, rendered the channel impassable. The boat
was not there! We may imagine the horrible anxiety which took possession
of Harding and his companions!

At last, towards half-past twelve, a boat, carrying two men, touched the
beach. It was Ayrton, slightly wounded in the shoulder, and Pencroft,
safe and sound, whom their friends received with open arms.

All immediately took refuge in the Chimneys. There Ayrton recounted all
that had passed, even to his plan for blowing up the brig, which he had
attempted to put into execution.

All hands were extended to Ayrton, who did not conceal from them that
their situation was serious. The pirates had been alarmed. They knew
that Lincoln Island was inhabited. They would land upon it in numbers
and well armed. They would respect nothing. Should the settlers fall
into their hands, they must expect no mercy!

“Well, we shall know how to die!” said the reporter.

“Let us go in and watch,” answered the engineer.

“Have we any chance of escape, captain?” asked the sailor.

“Yes, Pencroft.”

“Hum! six against fifty!”

“Yes! six! without counting--”

“Who?” asked Pencroft.

Cyrus did not reply, but pointed upwards.



Chapter 3

The night passed without incident. The colonists were on the qui vive,
and did not leave their post at the Chimneys. The pirates, on their
side, did not appear to have made any attempt to land. Since the last
shots fired at Ayrton not a report, not even a sound, had betrayed the
presence of the brig in the neighborhood of the island. It might have
been fancied that she had weighed anchor, thinking that she had to deal
with her match, and had left the coast.

But it was no such thing, and when day began to dawn the settlers could
see a confused mass through the morning mist. It was the “Speedy.”

“These, my friends,” said the engineer, “are the arrangements which
appear to me best to make before the fog completely clears away. It
hides us from the eyes of the pirates, and we can act without attracting
their attention. The most important thing is, that the convicts
should believe that the inhabitants of the island are numerous, and
consequently capable of resisting them. I therefore propose that we
divide into three parties. The first of which shall be posted at the
Chimneys, the second at the mouth of the Mercy. As to the third, I think
it would be best to place it on the islet, so as to prevent, or at all
events delay, any attempt at landing. We have the use of two rifles and
four muskets. Each of us will be armed, and, as we are amply provided
with powder and shot, we need not spare our fire. We have nothing to
fear from the muskets nor even from the guns of the brig. What can they
do against these rocks? And, as we shall not fire from the windows of
Granite House, the pirates will not think of causing irreparable damage
by throwing shell against it. What is to be feared is, the necessity of
meeting hand-to-hand, since the convicts have numbers on their side. We
must therefore try to prevent them from landing, but without discovering
ourselves. Therefore, do not economize the ammunition. Fire often, but
with a sure aim. We have each eight or ten enemies to kill, and they
must be killed!”

Cyrus Harding had clearly represented their situation, although he spoke
in the calmest voice, as if it was a question of directing a piece
of work and not ordering a battle. His companions approved these
arrangements without even uttering a word. There was nothing more to be
done but for each to take his place before the fog should be completely
dissipated. Neb and Pencroft immediately ascended to Granite House and
brought back a sufficient quantity of ammunition. Gideon Spilett and
Ayrton, both very good marksmen, were armed with the two rifles,
which carried nearly a mile. The four other muskets were divided among
Harding, Neb, Pencroft, and Herbert.

The posts were arranged in the following manner:--

Cyrus Harding and Herbert remained in ambush at the Chimneys, thus
commanding the shore to the foot of Granite House.

Gideon Spilett and Neb crouched among the rocks at the mouth of the
Mercy, from which the drawbridges had been raised, so as to prevent any
one from crossing in a boat or landing on the opposite shore.

As to Ayrton and Pencroft, they shoved off in the boat, and prepared to
cross the channel and to take up two separate stations on the islet.
In this way, shots being fired from four different points at once,
the convicts would be led to believe that the island was both largely
peopled and strongly defended.

In the event of a landing being effected without their having been able
to prevent it, and also if they saw that they were on the point of being
cut off by the brig’s boat, Ayrton and Pencroft were to return in their
boat to the shore and proceed towards the threatened spot.

Before starting to occupy their posts, the colonists for the last time
wrung each other’s hands.

Pencroft succeeded in controlling himself sufficiently to suppress his
emotion when he embraced Herbert, his boy! and then they separated.

In a few moments Harding and Herbert on one side, the reporter and Neb
on the other, had disappeared behind the rocks, and five minutes later
Ayrton and Pencroft, having without difficulty crossed the channel,
disembarked on the islet and concealed themselves in the clefts of its
eastern shore.

None of them could have been seen, for they themselves could scarcely
distinguish the brig in the fog.

It was half-past six in the morning.

Soon the fog began to clear away, and the topmasts of the brig issued
from the vapor. For some minutes great masses rolled over the surface of
the sea, then a breeze sprang up, which rapidly dispelled the mist.

The “Speedy” now appeared in full view, with a spring on her cable, her
head to the north, presenting her larboard side to the island. Just as
Harding had calculated, she was not more than a mile and a quarter from
the coast.

The sinister black flag floated from the peak.

The engineer, with his telescope, could see that the four guns on board
were pointed at the island. They were evidently ready to fire at a
moment’s notice.

In the meanwhile the “Speedy” remained silent. About thirty pirates
could be seen moving on the deck. A few more on the poop; two others
posted in the shrouds, and armed with spyglasses, were attentively
surveying the island.

Certainly, Bob Harvey and his crew would not be able easily to give an
account of what had happened during the night on board the brig. Had
this half-naked man, who had forced the door of the powder-magazine, and
with whom they had struggled, who had six times discharged his revolver
at them, who had killed one and wounded two others, escaped their shot?
Had he been able to swim to shore? Whence did he come? What had been his
object? Had his design really been to blow up the brig, as Bob Harvey
had thought? All this must be confused enough to the convicts’ minds.
But what they could no longer doubt was that the unknown island before
which the “Speedy” had cast anchor was inhabited, and that there was,
perhaps, a numerous colony ready to defend it. And yet no one was to be
seen, neither on the shore, nor on the heights. The beach appeared to be
absolutely deserted. At any rate, there was no trace of dwellings. Had
the inhabitants fled into the interior? Thus probably the pirate captain
reasoned, and doubtless, like a prudent man, he wished to reconnoiter
the locality before he allowed his men to venture there.

During an hour and a half, no indication of attack or landing could be
observed on board the brig. Evidently Bob Harvey was hesitating. Even
with his strongest telescopes he could not have perceived one of the
settlers crouched among the rocks. It was not even probable that his
attention had been awakened by the screen of green branches and creepers
hiding the windows of Granite House, and showing rather conspicuously on
the bare rock. Indeed, how could he imagine that a dwelling was hollowed
out, at that height, in the solid granite? From Claw Cape to the
Mandible Capes, in all the extent of Union Bay, there was nothing to
lead him to suppose that the island was or could be inhabited.

At eight o’clock, however, the colonists observed a movement on board
the “Speedy.” A boat was lowered, and seven men jumped into her. They
were armed with muskets; one took the yoke-lines, four others the oars,
and the two others, kneeling in the bows, ready to fire, reconnoitered
the island. Their object was no doubt to make an examination but not to
land, for in the latter case they would have come in larger numbers. The
pirates from their look-out could have seen that the coast was sheltered
by an islet, separated from it by a channel half a mile in width.
However, it was soon evident to Cyrus Harding, on observing the
direction followed by the boat, that they would not attempt to penetrate
into the channel, but would land on the islet.

Pencroft and Ayrton, each hidden in a narrow cleft of the rock, saw them
coming directly towards them, and waited till they were within range.

The boat advanced with extreme caution. The oars only dipped into the
water at long intervals. It could now be seen that one of the convicts
held a lead-line in his hand, and that he wished to fathom the depth of
the channel hollowed out by the current of the Mercy. This showed that
it was Bob Harvey’s intention to bring his brig as near as possible
to the coast. About thirty pirates, scattered in the rigging, followed
every movement of the boat, and took the bearings of certain landmarks
which would allow them to approach without danger. The boat was not more
than two cables-lengths off the islet when she stopped. The man at the
tiller stood up and looked for the best place at which to land.

At that moment two shots were heard. Smoke curled up from among the
rocks of the islet. The man at the helm and the man with the lead-line
fell backwards into the boat. Ayrton’s and Pencroft’s balls had struck
them both at the same moment.

Almost immediately a louder report was heard, a cloud of smoke issued
from the brig’s side, and a ball, striking the summit of the rock which
sheltered Ayrton and Pencroft, made it fly in splinters, but the two
marksmen remained unhurt.

Horrible imprecations burst from the boat, which immediately continued
its way. The man who had been at the tiller was replaced by one of his
comrades, and the oars were rapidly plunged into the water. However,
instead of returning on board as might have been expected, the boat
coasted along the islet, so as to round its southern point. The pirates
pulled vigorously at their oars that they might get out of range of the
bullets.

They advanced to within five cables-lengths of that part of the
shore terminated by Flotsam Point, and after having rounded it in a
semicircular line, still protected by the brig’s guns, they proceeded
towards the mouth of the Mercy.

Their evident intention was to penetrate into the channel, and cut off
the colonists posted on the islet, in such a way, that whatever their
number might be, being placed between the fire from the boat and the
fire from the brig, they would find themselves in a very disadvantageous
position.

A quarter of an hour passed while the boat advanced in this direction.
Absolute silence, perfect calm reigned in the air and on the water.

Pencroft and Ayrton, although they knew they ran the risk of being
cut off, had not left their post, both that they did not wish to show
themselves as yet to their assailants, and expose themselves to the
“Speedy’s” guns, and that they relied on Neb and Gideon Spilett,
watching at the mouth of the river, and on Cyrus Harding and Herbert, in
ambush among the rocks at the Chimneys.

Twenty minutes after the first shots were fired, the boat was less than
two cables-lengths off the Mercy. As the tide was beginning to rise with
its accustomed violence, caused by the narrowness of the straits, the
pirates were drawn towards the river, and it was only by dint of hard
rowing that they were able to keep in the middle of the channel. But, as
they were passing within good range of the mouth of the Mercy, two balls
saluted them, and two more of their number were laid in the bottom of
the boat. Neb and Spilett had not missed their aim.

The brig immediately sent a second ball on the post betrayed by the
smoke, but without any other result than that of splintering the rock.

The boat now contained only three able men. Carried on by the current,
it shot through the channel with the rapidity of an arrow, passed before
Harding and Herbert, who, not thinking it within range, withheld their
fire, then, rounding the northern point of the islet with the two
remaining oars, they pulled towards the brig.

Hitherto the settlers had nothing to complain of. Their adversaries
had certainly had the worst of it. The latter already counted four men
seriously wounded if not dead; they, on the contrary, unwounded, had not
missed a shot. If the pirates continued to attack them in this way, if
they renewed their attempt to land by means of a boat, they could be
destroyed one by one.

It was now seen how advantageous the engineer’s arrangements had
been. The pirates would think that they had to deal with numerous and
well-armed adversaries, whom they could not easily get the better of.

Half an hour passed before the boat, having to pull against the current,
could get alongside the “Speedy.” Frightful cries were heard when they
returned on board with the wounded, and two or three guns were fired
with no results.

But now about a dozen other convicts, maddened with rage, and possibly
by the effect of the evening’s potations, threw themselves into the
boat. A second boat was also lowered, in which eight men took their
places, and while the first pulled straight for the islet, to dislodge
the colonists from thence the second maneuvered so as to force the
entrance of the Mercy.

The situation was evidently becoming very dangerous for Pencroft and
Ayrton, and they saw that they must regain the mainland.

However, they waited till the first boat was within range, when two
well-directed balls threw its crew into disorder. Then, Pencroft and
Ayrton, abandoning their posts, under fire from the dozen muskets, ran
across the islet at full speed, jumped into their boat, crossed the
channel at the moment the second boat reached the southern end, and ran
to hide themselves in the Chimneys.

They had scarcely rejoined Cyrus Harding and Herbert, before the islet
was overrun with pirates in every direction. Almost at the same moment,
fresh reports resounded from the Mercy station, to which the second boat
was rapidly approaching. Two, out of the eight men who manned her,
were mortally wounded by Gideon Spilett and Neb, and the boat herself,
carried irresistibly onto the reefs, was stove in at the mouth of the
Mercy. But the six survivors, holding their muskets above their heads to
preserve them from contact with the water, managed to land on the right
bank of the river. Then, finding they were exposed to the fire of the
ambush there, they fled in the direction of Flotsam Point, out of range
of the balls.

The actual situation was this: on the islet were a dozen convicts,
of whom some were no doubt wounded, but who had still a boat at their
disposal; on the island were six, but who could not by any possibility
reach Granite House, as they could not cross the river, all the bridges
being raised.

“Hallo,” exclaimed Pencroft as he rushed into the Chimneys, “hallo,
captain! What do you think of it, now?”

“I think,” answered the engineer, “that the combat will now take a new
form, for it cannot be supposed that the convicts will be so foolish as
to remain in a position so unfavorable for them!”

“They won’t cross the channel,” said the sailor. “Ayrton and Mr.
Spilett’s rifles are there to prevent them. You know that they carry
more than a mile!”

“No doubt,” replied Herbert; “but what can two rifles do against the
brig’s guns?”

“Well, the brig isn’t in the channel yet, I fancy!” said Pencroft.

“But suppose she does come there?” said Harding.

“That’s impossible, for she would risk running aground and being lost!”

“It is possible,” said Ayrton. “The convicts might profit by the high
tide to enter the channel, with the risk of grounding at low tide, it
is true; but then, under the fire from her guns, our posts would be no
longer tenable.”

“Confound them!” exclaimed Pencroft, “it really seems as if the
blackguards were preparing to weigh anchor.”

“Perhaps we shall be obliged to take refuge in Granite House!” observed
Herbert.

“We must wait!” answered Cyrus Harding.

“But Mr. Spilett and Neb?” said Pencroft.

“They will know when it is best to rejoin us. Be ready, Ayrton. It is
yours and Spilett’s rifles which must speak now.”

It was only too true. The “Speedy” was beginning to weigh her anchor,
and her intention was evidently to approach the islet. The tide would
be rising for an hour and a half, and the ebb current being already
weakened, it would be easy for the brig to advance. But as to entering
the channel, Pencroft, contrary to Ayrton’s opinion, could not believe
that she would dare to attempt it.

In the meanwhile, the pirates who occupied the islet had gradually
advanced to the opposite shore, and were now only separated from the
mainland by the channel.

Being armed with muskets alone, they could do no harm to the settlers,
in ambush at the Chimneys and the mouth of the Mercy; but, not knowing
the latter to be supplied with long-range rifles, they on their side did
not believe themselves to be exposed. Quite uncovered, therefore, they
surveyed the islet, and examined the shore.

Their illusion was of short duration. Ayrton’s and Gideon Spilett’s
rifles then spoke, and no doubt imparted some very disagreeable
intelligence to two of the convicts, for they fell backwards.

Then there was a general helter-skelter. The ten others, not even
stopping to pick up their dead or wounded companions, fled to the other
side of the islet, tumbled into the boat which had brought them, and
pulled away with all their strength.

“Eight less!” exclaimed Pencroft. “Really, one would have thought that
Mr. Spilett and Ayrton had given the word to fire together!”

“Gentlemen,” said Ayrton, as he reloaded his gun, “this is becoming more
serious. The brig is making sail!”

“The anchor is weighed!” exclaimed Pencroft.

“Yes, and she is already moving.”

In fact, they could distinctly hear the creaking of the windlass. The
“Speedy” was at first held by her anchor; then, when that had been
raised, she began to drift towards the shore. The wind was blowing
from the sea; the jib and the foretopsail were hoisted, and the vessel
gradually approached the island.

From the two posts of the Mercy and the Chimneys they watched her
without giving a sign of life, but not without some emotion. What
could be more terrible for the colonists than to be exposed, at a short
distance, to the brig’s guns, without being able to reply with any
effect? How could they then prevent the pirates from landing?

Cyrus Harding felt this strongly, and he asked himself what it would
be possible to do. Before long, he would be called upon for his
determination. But what was it to be? To shut themselves up in Granite
House, to be besieged there, to remain there for weeks, for months even,
since they had an abundance of provisions? So far good! But after that?
The pirates would not the less be masters of the island, which they
would ravage at their pleasure, and in time, they would end by having
their revenge on the prisoners in Granite House.

However, one chance yet remained; it was that Bob Harvey, after all,
would not venture his ship into the channel, and that he would keep
outside the islet. He would be still separated from the coast by half a
mile, and at that distance his shot could not be very destructive.

“Never!” repeated Pencroft, “Bob Harvey will never, if he is a good
seaman, enter that channel! He knows well that it would risk the brig,
if the sea got up ever so little! And what would become of him without
his vessel?”

In the meanwhile the brig approached the islet, and it could be seen
that she was endeavoring to make the lower end. The breeze was light,
and as the current had then lost much of its force, Bob Harvey had
absolute command over his vessel.

The route previously followed by the boats had allowed her to
reconnoiter the channel, and she boldly entered it.

The pirate’s design was now only too evident; he wished to bring her
broadside to bear on the Chimneys and from there to reply with shell and
ball to the shot which had till then decimated her crew.

Soon the “Speedy” reached the point of the islet; she rounded it with
ease; the mainsail was braced up, and the brig hugging the wind, stood
across the mouth of the Mercy.

“The scoundrels! they are coming!” said Pencroft.

At that moment, Cyrus Harding, Ayrton, the sailor, and Herbert, were
rejoined by Neb and Gideon Spilett.

The reporter and his companion had judged it best to abandon the post at
the Mercy, from which they could do nothing against the ship, and they
had acted wisely. It was better that the colonists should be together at
the moment when they were about to engage in a decisive action. Gideon
Spilett and Neb had arrived by dodging behind the rocks, though not
without attracting a shower of bullets, which had not, however, reached
them.

“Spilett! Neb!” cried the engineer. “You are not wounded?”

“No,” answered the reporter, “a few bruises only from the ricochet! But
that cursed brig has entered the channel!”

“Yes,” replied Pencroft, “and in ten minutes she will have anchored
before Granite House!”

“Have you formed any plan, Cyrus?” asked the reporter.

“We must take refuge in Granite House while there is still time, and the
convicts cannot see us.”

“That is, my opinion, too,” replied Gideon Spilett, “but once shut up--”

“We must be guided by circumstances,” said the engineer.

“Let us be off, then, and make haste!” said the reporter.

“Would you not wish, captain, that Ayrton and I should remain here?”
 asked the sailor.

“What would be the use of that, Pencroft?” replied Harding. “No. We will
not separate!”

There was not a moment to be lost. The colonists left the Chimneys. A
bend of the cliff prevented them from being seen by those in the brig,
but two or three reports, and the crash of bullets on the rock, told
them that the “Speedy” was at no great distance.

To spring into the lift, hoist themselves up to the door of Granite
House, where Top and Jup had been shut up since the evening before, to
rush into the large room, was the work of a minute only.

It was quite time, for the settlers, through the branches, could see the
“Speedy,” surrounded with smoke, gliding up the channel. The firing was
incessant, and shot from the four guns struck blindly, both on the Mercy
post, although it was not occupied, and on the Chimneys. The rocks were
splintered, and cheers accompanied each discharge. However, they
were hoping that Granite House would be spared, thanks to Harding’s
precaution of concealing the windows when a shot, piercing the door,
penetrated into the passage.

“We are discovered!” exclaimed Pencroft.

The colonists had not, perhaps, been seen, but it was certain that Bob
Harvey had thought proper to send a ball through the suspected foliage
which concealed that part of the cliff. Soon he redoubled his attack,
when another ball having torn away the leafy screen, disclosed a gaping
aperture in the granite.

The colonists’ situation was desperate. Their retreat was discovered.
They could not oppose any obstacle to these missiles, nor protect the
stone, which flew in splinters around them. There was nothing to be
done but to take refuge in the upper passage of Granite House, and leave
their dwelling to be devastated, when a deep roar was heard, followed by
frightful cries!

Cyrus Harding and his companions rushed to one of the windows--

The brig, irresistibly raised on a sort of water-spout, had just split
in two, and in less than ten seconds she was swallowed up with all her
criminal crew!



Chapter 4

“She has blown up!” cried Herbert.

“Yes! blown up, just as if Ayrton had set fire to the powder!” returned
Pencroft, throwing himself into the lift together with Neb and the lad.

“But what has happened?” asked Gideon Spilett, quite stunned by this
unexpected catastrophe.

“Oh! this time, we shall know--” answered the engineer quickly.

“What shall we know?--”

“Later! later! Come, Spilett. The main point is that these pirates have
been exterminated!”

And Cyrus Harding, hurrying away the reporter and Ayrton, joined
Pencroft, Neb, and Herbert on the beach.

Nothing could be seen of the brig, not even her masts. After having been
raised by the water-spout, she had fallen on her side, and had sunk in
that position, doubtless in consequence of some enormous leak. But as
in that place the channel was not more than twenty feet in depth, it
was certain that the sides of the submerged brig would reappear at low
water.

A few things from the wreck floated on the surface of the water, a raft
could be seen consisting of spare spars, coops of poultry with their
occupants still living, boxes and barrels, which gradually came to the
surface, after having escaped through the hatchways, but no pieces of
the wreck appeared, neither planks from the deck, nor timber from the
hull,--which rendered the sudden disappearance of the “Speedy” perfectly
inexplicable.

However, the two masts, which had been broken and escaped from the
shrouds and stays came up, and with their sails, some furled and the
others spread. But it was not necessary to wait for the tide to bring
up these riches, and Ayrton and Pencroft jumped into the boat with the
intention of towing the pieces of wreck either to the beach or to the
islet. But just as they were shoving off, an observation from Gideon
Spilett arrested them.

“What about those six convicts who disembarked on the right bank of the
Mercy?” said he.

In fact, it would not do to forget that the six men whose boat had gone
to pieces on the rocks had landed at Flotsam Point.

They looked in that direction. None of the fugitives were visible. It
was probable that, having seen their vessel engulfed in the channel,
they had fled into the interior of the island.

“We will deal with them later,” said Harding. “As they are armed, they
will still be dangerous; but as it is six against six, the chances are
equal. To the most pressing business first.”

Ayrton and Pencroft pulled vigorously towards the wreck.

The sea was calm and the tide very high, as there had been a new moon
but two days before. A whole hour at least would elapse before the hull
of the brig could emerge from the water of the channel.

Ayrton and Pencroft were able to fasten the masts and spars by means of
ropes, the ends of which were carried to the beach. There, by the united
efforts of the settlers the pieces of wreck were hauled up. Then the
boat picked up all that was floating, coops, barrels, and boxes, which
were immediately carried to the Chimneys.

Several bodies floated also. Among them, Ayrton recognized that of
Bob Harvey, which he pointed out to his companion, saying with some
emotion,--

“That is what I have been, Pencroft.”

“But what you are no longer, brave Ayrton!” returned the sailor warmly.

It was singular enough that so few bodies floated. Only five or six were
counted, which were already being carried by the current towards the
open sea. Very probably the convicts had not had time to escape, and
the ship lying over on her side, the greater number of them had remained
below. Now the current, by carrying the bodies of these miserable men
out to sea, would spare the colonists the sad task of burying them in
some corner of their island.

For two hours, Cyrus Harding and his companions were solely occupied
in hauling up the spars on to the sand, and then in spreading the sails
which were perfectly uninjured, to dry. They spoke little, for they were
absorbed in their work, but what thoughts occupied their minds!

The possession of this brig, or rather all that she contained, was
a perfect mine of wealth. In fact, a ship is like a little world in
miniature, and the stores of the colony would be increased by a large
number of useful articles. It would be, on a large scale, equivalent to
the chest found at Flotsam Point.

“And besides,” thought Pencroft, “why should it be impossible to refloat
the brig? If she has only a leak, that may be stopped up; a vessel from
three to four hundred tons, why she is a regular ship compared to our
‘Bonadventure’! And we could go a long distance in her! We could go
anywhere we liked! Captain Harding, Ayrton and I must examine her! She
would be well worth the trouble!”

In fact, if the brig was still fit to navigate, the colonists’ chances
of returning to their native land were singularly increased. But, to
decide this important question, it was necessary to wait until the tide
was quite low, so that every part of the brig’s hull might be examined.

When their treasures had been safely conveyed on shore, Harding and his
companions agreed to devote some minutes to breakfast. They were almost
famished; fortunately, the larder was not far off, and Neb was noted
for being an expeditious cook. They breakfasted, therefore, near the
Chimneys, and during their repast, as may be supposed, nothing was
talked of but the event which had so miraculously saved the colony.

“Miraculous is the word,” repeated Pencroft, “for it must be
acknowledged that those rascals blew up just at the right moment!
Granite House was beginning to be uncomfortable as a habitation!”

“And can you guess, Pencroft,” asked the reporter, “how it happened, or
what can have occasioned the explosion?”

“Oh! Mr. Spilett, nothing is more simple,” answered Pencroft. “A convict
vessel is not disciplined like a man-of-war! Convicts are not sailors.
Of course the powder-magazine was open, and as they were firing
incessantly, some careless or clumsy fellow just blew up the vessel!”

“Captain Harding,” said Herbert, “what astonishes me is that the
explosion has not produced more effect. The report was not loud, and
besides there are so few planks and timbers torn out. It seems as if the
ship had rather foundered than blown up.”

“Does that astonish you, my boy?” asked the engineer.

“Yes, captain.”

“And it astonishes me also, Herbert,” replied he, “but when we visit the
hull of the brig, we shall no doubt find the explanation of the matter.”

“Why, captain,” said Pencroft, “you don’t suppose that the ‘Speedy’
simply foundered like a ship which has struck on a rock?”

“Why not,” observed Neb, “if there are rocks in the channel?”

“Nonsense, Neb,” answered Pencroft, “you did not look at the right
moment. An instant before she sank, the brig, as I saw perfectly well,
rose on an enormous wave, and fell back on her larboard side. Now, if
she had only struck, she would have sunk quietly and gone to the bottom
like an honest vessel.”

“It was just because she was not an honest vessel!” returned Neb.

“Well, we shall soon see, Pencroft,” said the engineer.

“We shall soon see,” rejoined the sailor, “but I would wager my
head there are no rocks in the channel. Look here, captain, to speak
candidly, do you mean to say that there is anything marvelous in the
occurrence?”

Cyrus Harding did not answer.

“At any rate,” said Gideon Spilett, “whether rock or explosion, you will
agree, Pencroft, that it occurred just in the nick of time!”

“Yes! yes!” replied the sailor, “but that is not the question. I ask
Captain Harding if he sees anything supernatural in all this.”

“I cannot say, Pencroft,” said the engineer. “That is all the answer I
can make.”

A reply which did not satisfy Pencroft at all. He stuck to “an
explosion,” and did not wish to give it up. He would never consent
to admit that in that channel, with its fine sandy bed, just like
the beach, which he had often crossed at low water, there could be an
unknown rock.

And besides, at the time the brig foundered, it was high water, that is
to say, there was enough water to carry the vessel clear over any rocks
which would not be uncovered at low tide. Therefore, there could not
have been a collision. Therefore, the vessel had not struck. So she had
blown up.

And it must be confessed that the sailor’s arguments were reasonable.

Towards half-past one, the colonists embarked in the boat to visit the
wreck. It was to be regretted that the brig’s two boats had not been
saved; but one, as has been said, had gone to pieces at the mouth of the
Mercy, and was absolutely useless; the other had disappeared when the
brig went down, and had not again been seen, having doubtless been
crushed.

The hull of the “Speedy” was just beginning to issue from the water.
The brig was lying right over on her side, for her masts being broken,
pressed down by the weight of the ballast displaced by the shock, the
keel was visible along her whole length. She had been regularly turned
over by the inexplicable but frightful submarine action, which had been
at the same time manifested by an enormous water-spout.

The settlers rowed round the hull, and in proportion as the tide went
down, they could ascertain, if not the cause which had occasioned the
catastrophe, at least the effect produced.

Towards the bows, on both sides of the keel, seven or eight feet from
the beginning of the stem, the sides of the brig were frightfully torn.
Over a length of at least twenty feet there opened two large leaks,
which would be impossible to stop up. Not only had the copper sheathing
and the planks disappeared, reduced, no doubt, to powder, but also the
ribs, the iron bolts, and treenails which united them. From the entire
length of the hull to the stern the false keel had been separated with
an unaccountable violence, and the keel itself, torn from the carline in
several places, was split in all its length.

“I’ve a notion!” exclaimed Pencroft, “that this vessel will be difficult
to get afloat again.”

“It will be impossible,” said Ayrton.

“At any rate,” observed Gideon Spilett to the sailor, “the explosion,
if there has been one, has produced singular effects! It has split the
lower part of the hull, instead of blowing up the deck and topsides!
These great rents appear rather to have been made by a rock than by the
explosion of a powder-magazine.”

“There is not a rock in the channel!” answered the sailor. “I will admit
anything you like, except the rock.”

“Let us try to penetrate into the interior of the brig,” said the
engineer; “perhaps we shall then know what to think of the cause of her
destruction.”

This was the best thing to be done, and it was agreed, besides, to
take an inventory of all the treasures on board, and to arrange their
preservation.

Access to the interior of the brig was now easy. The tide was still
going down and the deck was practicable. The ballast, composed of heavy
masses of iron, had broken through in several places. The noise of the
sea could be heard as it rushed out at the holes in the hull.

Cyrus Harding and his companions, hatchets in hand, advanced along the
shattered deck. Cases of all sorts encumbered it, and, as they had
been but a very short time in the water, their contents were perhaps
uninjured.

They then busied themselves in placing all this cargo in safety. The
water would not return for several hours, and these hours must be
employed in the most profitable way. Ayrton and Pencroft had, at the
entrance made in the hull, discovered tackle, which would serve to hoist
up the barrels and chests. The boat received them and transported them
to the shore. They took the articles as they came, intending to sort
them afterwards.

At any rate, the settlers saw at once, with extreme satisfaction, that
the brig possessed a very varied cargo--an assortment of all sorts of
articles, utensils, manufactured goods, and tools--such as the ships
which make the great coasting-trade of Polynesia are usually laden with.
It was probable that they would find a little of everything, and they
agreed that it was exactly what was necessary for the colony of Lincoln
Island.

However--and Cyrus Harding observed it in silent astonishment--not only,
as has been said, had the hull of the brig enormously suffered from the
shock, whatever it was, that had occasioned the catastrophe, but the
interior arrangements had been destroyed, especially towards the bows.
Partitions and stanchions were smashed, as if some tremendous shell had
burst in the interior of the brig. The colonists could easily go fore
and aft, after having removed the cases as they were extricated. They
were not heavy bales, which would have been difficult to remove,
but simple packages, of which the stowage, besides, was no longer
recognizable.

The colonists then reached the stern of the brig--the part formerly
surmounted by the poop. It was there that, following Ayrton’s
directions, they must look for the powder-magazine. Cyrus Harding
thought that it had not exploded; that it was possible some barrels
might be saved, and that the powder, which is usually enclosed in metal
coverings might not have suffered from contact with the water.

This, in fact, was just what had happened. They extricated from among
a large number of shot twenty barrels, the insides of which were lined
with copper. Pencroft was convinced by the evidence of his own eyes that
the destruction of the “Speedy” could not be attributed to an explosion.
That part of the hull in which the magazine was situated was, moreover,
that which had suffered least.

“It may be so,” said the obstinate sailor; “but as to a rock, there is
not one in the channel!”

“Then, how did it happen?” asked Herbert.

“I don’t know,” answered Pencroft, “Captain Harding doesn’t know, and
nobody knows or ever will know!”

Several hours had passed during these researches, and the tide began to
flow. Work must be suspended for the present. There was no fear of the
brig being carried away by the sea, for she was already fixed as firmly
as if moored by her anchors.

They could, therefore, without inconvenience, wait until the next day to
resume operations; but, as to the vessel itself, she was doomed, and it
would be best to hasten to save the remains of her hull, as she would
not be long in disappearing in the quicksands of the channel.

It was now five o’clock in the evening. It had been a hard day’s work
for the men. They ate with good appetite, and notwithstanding their
fatigue, they could not resist, after dinner, their desire of inspecting
the cases which composed the cargo of the “Speedy.”

Most of them contained clothes, which, as may be believed, was well
received. There were enough to clothe a whole colony--linen for every
one’s use, shoes for every one’s feet.

“We are too rich!” exclaimed Pencroft, “But what are we going to do with
all this?”

And every moment burst forth the hurrahs of the delighted sailor when he
caught sight of the barrels of gunpowder, firearms and sidearms,
balls of cotton, implements of husbandry, carpenter’s, joiner’s, and
blacksmith’s tools, and boxes of all kinds of seeds, not in the least
injured by their short sojourn in the water. Ah, two years before,
how these things would have been prized! And now, even though the
industrious colonists had provided themselves with tools, these
treasures would find their use.

There was no want of space in the store-rooms of Granite House, but that
daytime would not allow them to stow away the whole. It would not do
also to forget that the six survivors of the “Speedy’s” crew had landed
on the island, for they were in all probability scoundrels of the
deepest dye, and it was necessary that the colonists should be on their
guard against them. Although the bridges over the Mercy were raised,
the convicts would not be stopped by a river or a stream and, rendered
desperate, these wretches would be capable of anything.

They would see later what plan it would be best to follow; but in the
meantime it was necessary to mount guard over cases and packages heaped
up near the Chimneys, and thus the settlers employed themselves in turn
during the night.

The morning came, however, without the convicts having attempted any
attack. Master Jup and Top, on guard at the foot of Granite House, would
have quickly given the alarm. The three following days--the 19th, 20th,
and 21st of October--were employed in saving everything of value, or of
any use whatever, either from the cargo or rigging of the brig. At low
tide they overhauled the hold--at high tide they stowed away the rescued
articles. A great part of the copper sheathing had been torn from the
hull, which every day sank lower. But before the sand had swallowed the
heavy things which had fallen through the bottom, Ayrton and Pencroft,
diving to the bed of the channel, recovered the chains and anchors of
the brig, the iron of her ballast, and even four guns, which, floated by
means of empty casks, were brought to shore.

It may be seen that the arsenal of the colony had gained by the
wreck, as well as the storerooms of Granite House. Pencroft, always
enthusiastic in his projects, already spoke of constructing a battery
to command the channel and the mouth of the river. With four guns,
he engaged to prevent any fleet, “however powerful it might be,” from
venturing into the waters of Lincoln Island!

In the meantime, when nothing remained of the brig but a useless hulk,
bad weather came on, which soon finished her. Cyrus Harding had intended
to blow her up, so as to collect the remains on the shore, but a strong
gale from the northeast and a heavy sea compelled him to economize his
powder.

In fact, on the night of the 23rd, the hull entirely broke up, and some
of the wreck was cast up on the beach.

As to the papers on board, it is useless to say that, although he
carefully searched the lockers of the poop, Harding did not discover
any trace of them. The pirates had evidently destroyed everything that
concerned either the captain or the owners of the “Speedy,” and, as the
name of her port was not painted on her counter, there was nothing which
would tell them her nationality. However, by the shape of her boats
Ayrton and Pencroft believed that the brig was of English build.

A week after the castrophe--or, rather, after the fortunate, though
inexplicable, event to which the colony owed its preservation--nothing
more could be seen of the vessel, even at low tide. The wreck had
disappeared, and Granite House was enriched by nearly all it had
contained.

However, the mystery which enveloped its strange destruction would
doubtless never have been cleared away if, on the 30th of November, Neb,
strolling on the beach, had not found a piece of a thick iron cylinder,
bearing traces of explosion. The edges of this cylinder were twisted and
broken, as if they had been subjected to the action of some explosive
substance.

Neb brought this piece of metal to his master, who was then occupied
with his companions in the workshop of the Chimneys.

Cyrus Harding examined the cylinder attentively, then, turning to
Pencroft,--

“You persist, my friend,” said he, “in maintaining that the ‘Speedy’ was
not lost in consequence of a collision?”

“Yes, captain,” answered the sailor. “You know as well as I do that
there are no rocks in the channel.”

“But suppose she had run against this piece of iron?” said the engineer,
showing the broken cylinder.

“What, that bit of pipe!” exclaimed Pencroft in a tone of perfect
incredulity.

“My friends,” resumed Harding, “you remember that before she foundered
the brig rose on the summit of a regular waterspout?”

“Yes, captain,” replied Herbert.

“Well, would you like to know what occasioned that waterspout? It was
this,” said the engineer, holding up the broken tube.

“That?” returned Pencroft.

“Yes! This cylinder is all that remains of a torpedo!”

“A torpedo!” exclaimed the engineer’s companions.

“And who put the torpedo there?” demanded Pencroft, who did not like to
yield.

“All that I can tell you is, that it was not I,” answered Cyrus Harding;
“but it was there, and you have been able to judge of its incomparable
power!”



Chapter 5

So, then, all was explained by the submarine explosion of this torpedo.
Cyrus Harding could not be mistaken, as, during the war of the Union,
he had had occasion to try these terrible engines of destruction. It
was under the action of this cylinder, charged with some explosive
substance, nitro-glycerine, picrate, or some other material of the same
nature, that the water of the channel had been raised like a dome, the
bottom of the brig crushed in, and she had sunk instantly, the damage
done to her hull being so considerable that it was impossible to refloat
her. The “Speedy” had not been able to withstand a torpedo that would
have destroyed an ironclad as easily as a fishing-boat!

Yes! all was explained, everything--except the presence of the torpedo
in the waters of the channel!

“My friends, then,” said Cyrus Harding, “we can no longer be in doubt
as to the presence of a mysterious being, a castaway like us, perhaps,
abandoned on our island, and I say this in order that Ayrton may be
acquainted with all the strange events which have occurred during these
two years. Who this beneficent stranger is, whose intervention has, so
fortunately for us, been manifested on many occasions, I cannot imagine.
What his object can be in acting thus, in concealing himself after
rendering us so many services, I cannot understand: But his services are
not the less real, and are of such a nature that only a man possessed of
prodigious power, could render them. Ayrton is indebted to him as much
as we are, for, if it was the stranger who saved me from the waves after
the fall from the balloon, evidently it was he who wrote the document,
who placed the bottle in the channel, and who has made known to us the
situation of our companion. I will add that it was he who guided that
chest, provided with everything we wanted, and stranded it on Flotsam
Point; that it was he who lighted that fire on the heights of the
island, which permitted you to land; that it was he who fired that
bullet found in the body of the peccary; that it was he who plunged that
torpedo into the channel, which destroyed the brig; in a word, that all
those inexplicable events, for which we could not assign a reason, are
due to this mysterious being. Therefore, whoever he may be, whether
shipwrecked, or exiled on our island, we shall be ungrateful, if we
think ourselves freed from gratitude towards him. We have contracted a
debt, and I hope that we shall one day pay it.”

“You are right in speaking thus, my dear Cyrus,” replied Gideon Spilett.
“Yes, there is an almost all-powerful being, hidden in some part of the
island, and whose influence has been singularly useful to our colony.
I will add that the unknown appears to possess means of action which
border on the supernatural, if in the events of practical life the
supernatural were recognizable. Is it he who is in secret communication
with us by the well in Granite House, and has he thus a knowledge of all
our plans? Was it he who threw us that bottle, when the vessel made her
first cruise? Was it he who threw Top out of the lake, and killed the
dugong? Was it he, who as everything leads us to believe, saved you from
the waves, and that under circumstances in which any one else would not
have been able to act? If it was he, he possesses a power which renders
him master of the elements.”

The reporter’s reasoning was just, and every one felt it to be so.

“Yes,” rejoined Cyrus Harding, “if the intervention of a human being is
not more questionable for us, I agree that he has at his disposal means
of action beyond those possessed by humanity. There is a mystery still,
but if we discover the man, the mystery will be discovered also. The
question, then, is, ought we to respect the incognito of this generous
being, or ought we to do everything to find him out? What is your
opinion on the matter?”

“My opinion,” said Pencroft, “is that, whoever he may be, he is a brave
man, and he has my esteem!”

“Be it so,” answered Harding, “but that is not an answer, Pencroft.”

“Master,” then said Neb, “my idea is, that we may search as long as we
like for this gentleman whom you are talking about, but that we shall
not discover him till he pleases.”

“That’s not bad, what you say, Neb,” observed Pencroft.

“I am of Neb’s opinion,” said Gideon Spilett, “but that is no reason for
not attempting the adventure. Whether we find this mysterious being or
not, we shall at least have fulfilled our duty towards him.”

“And you, my boy, give us your opinion,” said the engineer, turning to
Herbert.

“Oh,” cried Herbert, his countenance full of animation, “how I should
like to thank him, he who saved you first, and who has now saved us!”

“Of course, my boy,” replied Pencroft, “so would I and all of us. I am
not inquisitive, but I would give one of my eyes to see this individual
face to face! It seems to me that he must be handsome, tall, strong,
with a splendid beard, radiant hair, and that he must be seated on
clouds, a great ball in his hands!”

“But, Pencroft,” answered Spilett, “you are describing a picture of the
Creator.”

“Possibly, Mr. Spilett,” replied the sailor, “but that is how I imagine
him!”

“And you, Ayrton?” asked the engineer.

“Captain Harding,” replied Ayrton, “I can give you no better advice in
this matter. Whatever you do will be best; when you wish me to join you
in your researches, I am ready to follow you.

“I thank you, Ayrton,” answered Cyrus Harding, “but I should like a more
direct answer to the question I put to you. You are our companion; you
have already endangered your life several times for us, and you, as
well as the rest, ought to be consulted in the matter of any important
decision. Speak, therefore.”

“Captain Harding,” replied Ayrton, “I think that we ought to do
everything to discover this unknown benefactor. Perhaps he is alone.
Perhaps he is suffering. Perhaps he has a life to be renewed. I, too,
as you said, have a debt of gratitude to pay him. It was he, it could be
only he who must have come to Tabor Island, who found there the wretch
you knew, and who made known to you that there was an unfortunate man
there to be saved. Therefore it is, thanks to him, that I have become a
man again. No, I will never forget him!”

“That is settled, then,” said Cyrus Harding. “We will begin our
researches as soon as possible. We will not leave a corner of the island
unexplored. We will search into its most secret recesses, and will
hope that our unknown friend will pardon us in consideration of our
intentions!”

For several days the colonists were actively employed in haymaking and
the harvest. Before putting their project of exploring the yet unknown
parts of the island into execution, they wished to get all possible work
finished. It was also the time for collecting the various vegetables
from the Tabor Island plants. All was stowed away, and happily there was
no want of room in Granite House, in which they might have housed all
the treasures of the island. The products of the colony were there,
methodically arranged, and in a safe place, as may be believed,
sheltered as much from animals as from man.

There was no fear of damp in the middle of that thick mass of granite.
Many natural excavations situated in the upper passage were enlarged
either by pick-axe or mine, and Granite House thus became a general
warehouse, containing all the provisions, arms, tools, and spare
utensils--in a word, all the stores of the colony.

As to the guns obtained from the brig, they were pretty pieces of
ordnance, which, at Pencroft’s entreaty, were hoisted by means of tackle
and pulleys, right up into Granite House; embrasures were made between
the windows, and the shining muzzles of the guns could soon be seen
through the granite cliff. From this height they commanded all Union
Bay. It was like a little Gibraltar, and any vessel anchored off the
islet would inevitably be exposed to the fire of this aerial battery.

“Captain,” said Pencroft one day, it was the 8th of November, “now that
our fortifications are finished, it would be a good thing if we tried
the range of our guns.”

“Do you think that is useful?” asked the engineer.

“It is more than useful, it is necessary! Without that how are we to
know to what distance we can send one of those pretty shot with which we
are provided?”

“Try them, Pencroft,” replied the engineer. “However, I think that in
making the experiment, we ought to employ, not the ordinary powder,
the supply of which, I think, should remain untouched, but the pyroxyle
which will never fail us.”

“Can the cannon support the shock of the pyroxyle?” asked the reporter,
who was not less anxious than Pencroft to try the artillery of Granite
House.

“I believe so. However,” added the engineer, “we will be prudent.” The
engineer was right in thinking that the guns were of excellent make.
Made of forged steel, and breech-loaders, they ought consequently to be
able to bear a considerable charge, and also have an enormous range.
In fact, as regards practical effect, the transit described by the ball
ought to be as extended as possible, and this tension could only be
obtained under the condition that the projectile should be impelled with
a very great initial velocity.

“Now,” said Harding to his companions, “the initial velocity is in
proportion to the quantity of powder used. In the fabrication of
these pieces, everything depends on employing a metal with the highest
possible power of resistance, and steel is incontestably that metal of
all others which resists the best. I have, therefore, reason to believe
that our guns will bear without risk the expansion of the pyroxyle gas,
and will give excellent results.”

“We shall be a great deal more certain of that when we have tried them!”
 answered Pencroft.

It is unnecessary to say that the four cannons were in perfect order.
Since they had been taken from the water, the sailor had bestowed great
care upon them. How many hours he had spent, in rubbing, greasing, and
polishing them, and in cleaning the mechanism! And now the pieces were
as brilliant as if they had been on board a frigate of the United States
Navy.

On this day, therefore, in presence of all the members of the colony,
including Master Jup and Top, the four cannon were successively tried.
They were charged with pyroxyle, taking into consideration its explosive
power, which, as has been said, is four times that of ordinary powder:
the projectile to be fired was cylindroconic.

Pencroft, holding the end of the quick-match, stood ready to fire.

At Harding’s signal, he fired. The shot, passing over the islet,
fell into the sea at a distance which could not be calculated with
exactitude.

The second gun was pointed at the rocks at the end of Flotsam Point, and
the shot striking a sharp rock nearly three miles from Granite House,
made it fly into splinters. It was Herbert who had pointed this gun and
fired it, and very proud he was of his first shot. Pencroft only was
prouder than he! Such a shot, the honor of which belonged to his dear
boy.

The third shot, aimed this time at the downs forming the upper side
of Union Bay, struck the sand at a distance of four miles, then having
ricocheted: was lost in the sea in a cloud of spray.

For the fourth piece Cyrus Harding slightly increased the charge, so
as to try its extreme range. Then, all standing aside for fear of its
bursting, the match was lighted by means of a long cord.

A tremendous report was heard, but the piece had held good, and the
colonists rushing to the windows, saw the shot graze the rocks of
Mandible Cape, nearly five miles from Granite House, and disappear in
Shark Gulf.

“Well, captain,” exclaimed Pencroft, whose cheers might have rivaled the
reports themselves, “what do you say of our battery? All the pirates in
the Pacific have only to present themselves before Granite House! Not
one can land there now without our permission!”

“Believe me, Pencroft,” replied the engineer, “it would be better not to
have to make the experiment.”

“Well,” said the sailor, “what ought to be done with regard to those
six villains who are roaming about the island? Are we to leave them
to overrun our forests, our fields, our plantations? These pirates are
regular jaguars, and it seems to me we ought not to hesitate to treat
them as such! What do you think, Ayrton?” added Pencroft, turning to his
companion.

Ayrton hesitated at first to reply, and Cyrus Harding regretted that
Pencroft had so thoughtlessly put this question. And he was much moved
when Ayrton replied in a humble tone,--

“I have been one of those jaguars, Mr. Pencroft. I have no right to
speak.”

And with a slow step he walked away.

Pencroft understood.

“What a brute I am!” he exclaimed. “Poor Ayrton! He has as much right to
speak here as any one!”

“Yes,” said Gideon Spilett, “but his reserve does him honor, and it is
right to respect the feeling which he has about his sad past.”

“Certainly, Mr. Spilett,” answered the sailor, “and there is no fear of
my doing so again. I would rather bite my tongue off than cause Ayrton
any pain! But to return to the question. It seems to me that these
ruffians have no right to any pity, and that we ought to rid the island
of them as soon as possible.”

“Is that your opinion, Pencroft?” asked the engineer.

“Quite my opinion.”

“And before hunting them mercilessly, you would not wait until they had
committed some fresh act of hostility against us?”

“Isn’t what they have done already enough?” asked Pencroft, who did not
understand these scruples.

“They may adopt other sentiments!” said Harding, “and perhaps repent.”

“They repent!” exclaimed the sailor, shrugging his shoulders.

“Pencroft, think of Ayrton!” said Herbert, taking the sailor’s hand. “He
became an honest man again!”

Pencroft looked at his companions one after the other. He had never
thought of his proposal being met with any objection. His rough nature
could not allow that they ought to come to terms with the rascals who
had landed on the island with Bob Harvey’s accomplices, the murderers of
the crew of the “Speedy,” and he looked upon them as wild beasts which
ought to be destroyed without delay and without remorse.

“Come!” said be. “Everybody is against me! You wish to be generous to
those villains! Very well; I hope we mayn’t repent it!”

“What danger shall we run,” said Herbert, “if we take care to be always
on our guard?”

“Hum!” observed the reporter, who had not given any decided opinion.
“They are six and well armed. If they each lay hid in a corner, and each
fired at one of us, they would soon be masters of the colony!”

“Why have they not done so?” said Herbert. “No doubt because it was not
their interest to do it. Besides, we are six also.”

“Well, well!” replied Pencroft, whom no reasoning could have convinced.
“Let us leave these good people to do what they like, and don’t think
anything more about them!”

“Come, Pencroft,” said Neb, “don’t make yourself out so bad as all that!
Suppose one of these unfortunate men were here before you, within good
range of your guns, you would not fire.”

“I would fire on him as I would on a mad dog, Neb,” replied Pencroft
coldly.

“Pencroft,” said the engineer, “you have always shown much deference to
my advice; will you, in this matter, yield to me?”

“I will do as you please, Captain Harding,” answered the sailor, who was
not at all convinced.

“Very well, wait, and we will not attack them unless we are attacked
first.”

Thus their behavior towards the pirates was agreed upon, although
Pencroft augured nothing good from it. They were not to attack them, but
were to be on their guard. After all, the island was large and fertile.
If any sentiment of honesty yet remained in the bottom of their hearts,
these wretches might perhaps be reclaimed. Was it not their interest in
the situation in which they found themselves to begin a new life? At
any rate, for humanity’s sake alone, it would be right to wait. The
colonists would no longer as before, be able to go and come without
fear. Hitherto they had only wild beasts to guard against, and now six
convicts of the worst description, perhaps, were roaming over their
island. It was serious, certainly, and to less brave men, it would have
been security lost! No matter! At present, the colonists had reason on
their side against Pencroft. Would they be right in the future? That
remained to be seen.



Chapter 6

However, the chief business of the colonists was to make that complete
exploration of the island which had been decided upon, and which would
have two objects: to discover the mysterious being whose existence was
now indisputable, and at the same time to find out what had become of
the pirates, what retreat they had chosen, what sort of life they were
leading, and what was to be feared from them. Cyrus Harding wished
to set out without delay; but as the expedition would be of some days
duration, it appeared best to load the cart with different materials and
tools in order to facilitate the organization of the encampments. One
of the onagers, however, having hurt its leg, could not be harnessed
at present, and a few days’ rest was necessary. The departure was,
therefore, put off for a week, until the 20th of November. The month
of November in this latitude corresponds to the month of May in the
northern zones. It was, therefore, the fine season. The sun was entering
the tropic of Capricorn, and gave the longest days in the year. The time
was, therefore, very favorable for the projected expedition, which,
if it did not accomplish its principal object, would at any rate be
fruitful in discoveries, especially of natural productions, since
Harding proposed to explore those dense forests of the Far West, which
stretched to the extremity of the Serpentine Peninsula.

During the nine days which preceded their departure, it was agreed that
the work on Prospect Heights should be finished off.

Moreover, it was necessary for Ayrton to return to the corral, where the
domesticated animals required his care. It was decided that he should
spend two days there, and return to Granite House after having liberally
supplied the stables.

As he was about to start, Harding asked him if he would not like one
of them to accompany him, observing that the island was less safe than
formerly. Ayrton replied that this was unnecessary, as he was enough
for the work, and that besides he apprehended no danger. If anything
occurred at the corral, or in the neighborhood, he could instantly warn
the colonists by sending a telegram to Granite House.

Ayrton departed at dawn on the 9th, taking the cart drawn by one onager,
and two hours after, the electric wire announced that he had found all
in order at the corral.

During these two days Harding busied himself in executing a project
which would completely guard Granite House against any surprise. It was
necessary to completely conceal the opening of the old outlet, which
was already walled up and partly hidden under grass and plants, at the
southern angle of Lake Grant. Nothing was easier, since if the level
of the lake was raised two or three feet, the opening would be quite
beneath it. Now, to raise this level they had only to establish a dam at
the two openings made by the lake, and by which were fed Creek Glycerine
and Falls River.

The colonists worked with a will, and the two dams which besides did not
exceed eight feet in width by three in height, were rapidly erected by
means of well-cemented blocks of stone.

This work finished, it would have been impossible to guess that at that
part of the lake, there existed a subterranean passage through which the
overflow of the lake formerly escaped.

Of course the little stream which fed the reservoir of Granite House and
worked the lift, had been carefully preserved, and the water could not
fail. The lift once raised, this sure and comfortable retreat would be
safe from any surprise.

This work had been so quickly done, that Pencroft, Gideon Spilett, and
Herbert found time to make an expedition to Port Balloon, The sailor was
very anxious to know if the little creek in which the “Bonadventure” was
moored, had been visited by the convicts.

“These gentlemen,” he observed, “landed on the south coast, and if they
followed the shore, it is to be feared that they may have discovered the
little harbor, and in that case, I wouldn’t give half-a-dollar for our
‘Bonadventure.’”

Pencroft’s apprehensions were not without foundation, and a visit
to Port Balloon appeared to be very desirable. The sailor and his
companions set off on the 10th of November, after dinner, well armed.
Pencroft, ostentatiously slipping two bullets into each barrel of his
rifle, shook his head in a way which betokened nothing good to any one
who approached too near him, whether “man or beast,” as he said. Gideon
Spilett and Herbert also took their guns, and about three o’clock all
three left Granite House.

Neb accompanied them to the turn of the Mercy, and after they had
crossed, he raised the bridge. It was agreed that a gunshot should
announce the colonists’ return, and that at the signal Neb should return
and reestablish the communication between the two banks of the river.

The little band advanced directly along the road which led to the
southern coast of the island. This was only a distance of three miles
and a half, but Gideon Spilett and his companions took two hours to
traverse it. They examined all the border of the road, the thick forest,
as well as Tabor Marsh. They found no trace of the fugitives who, no
doubt, not having yet discovered the number of the colonists, or the
means of defense which they had at their disposal, had gained the less
accessible parts of the island.

Arrived at Port Balloon, Pencroft saw with extreme satisfaction that
the “Bonadventure” was tranquilly floating in the narrow creek. However,
Port Balloon was so well hidden among high rocks, that it could scarcely
be discovered either from the land or the sea.

“Come,” said Pencroft, “the blackguards have not been there yet. Long
grass suits reptiles best, and evidently we shall find them in the Far
West.”

“And it’s very lucky, for if they had found the ‘Bonadventure’,” added
Herbert, “they would have gone off in her, and we should have been
prevented from returning to Tabor Island.”

“Indeed,” remarked the reporter, “it will be important to take a
document there which will make known the situation of Lincoln Island,
and Ayrton’s new residence, in case the Scotch yacht returns to fetch
him.”

“Well, the ‘Bonadventure’ is always there, Mr. Spilett,” answered the
sailor. “She and her crew are ready to start at a moment’s notice!”

“I think, Pencroft, that that is a thing to be done after our
exploration of the island is finished. It is possible after all that the
stranger, if we manage to find him, may know as much about Tabor Island
as about Lincoln Island. Do not forget that he is certainly the author
of the document, and he may, perhaps, know how far we may count on the
return of the yacht!”

“But!” exclaimed Pencroft, “who in the world can he be? The fellow knows
us and we know nothing about him! If he is a simple castaway, why should
he conceal himself! We are honest men, I suppose, and the society of
honest men isn’t unpleasant to any one. Did he come here voluntarily?
Can he leave the island if he likes? Is he here still? Will he remain
any longer?”

Chatting thus, Pencroft, Gideon Spilett, and Herbert got on board and
looked about the deck of the “Bonadventure.” All at once, the sailor
having examined the bitts to which the cable of the anchor was
secured,--

“Hallo,” he cried, “this is queer!”

“What is the matter, Pencroft?” asked the reporter.

“The matter is, that it was not I who made this knot!”

And Pencroft showed a rope which fastened the cable to the bitt itself.

“What, it was not you?” asked Gideon Spilett.

“No! I can swear to it. This is a reef knot, and I always make a running
bowline.”

“You must be mistaken, Pencroft.”

“I am not mistaken!” declared the sailor. “My hand does it so naturally,
and one’s hand is never mistaken!”

“Then can the convicts have been on board?” asked Herbert.

“I know nothing about that,” answered Pencroft, “but what is certain,
is that some one has weighed the ‘Bonadventure’s’ anchor and dropped it
again! And look here, here is another proof! The cable of the anchor has
been run out, and its service is no longer at the hawse-hole. I repeat
that some one has been using our vessel!”

“But if the convicts had used her, they would have pillaged her, or
rather gone off with her.”

“Gone off! where to--to Tabor Island?” replied Pencroft. “Do you think,
they would risk themselves in a boat of such small tonnage?”

“We must, besides, be sure that they know of the islet,” rejoined the
reporter.

“However that may be,” said the sailor, “as sure as my name is
Bonadventure Pencroft, of the Vineyard, our ‘Bonadventure’ has sailed
without us!”

The sailor was positive that neither Gideon Spilett nor Herbert could
dispute his statement. It was evident that the vessel had been moved,
more or less, since Pencroft had brought her to Port Balloon. As to the
sailor, he had not the slightest doubt that the anchor had been raised
and then dropped again. Now, what was the use of these two maneuvers,
unless the vessel had been employed in some expedition?

“But how was it we did not see the ‘Bonadventure’ pass in the sight of
the island?” observed the reporter, who was anxious to bring forward
every possible objection.

“Why, Mr. Spilett,” replied the sailor, “they would only have to start
in the night with a good breeze, and they would be out of sight of the
island in two hours.”

“Well,” resumed Gideon Spilett, “I ask again, what object could the
convicts have had in using the ‘Bonadventure,’ and why, after they had
made use of her, should they have brought her back to port?”

“Why, Mr. Spilett,” replied the sailor, “we must put that among the
unaccountable things, and not think anything more about it. The chief
thing is that the ‘Bonadventure’ was there, and she is there now. Only,
unfortunately, if the convicts take her a second time, we shall very
likely not find her again in her place!”

“Then, Pencroft,” said Herbert, “would it not be wisest to bring the
‘Bonadventure’ off to Granite House?”

“Yes and no,” answered Pencroft, “or rather no. The mouth of the Mercy
is a bad place for a vessel, and the sea is heavy there.”

“But by hauling her up on the sand, to the foot of the Chimneys?”

“Perhaps yes,” replied Pencroft. “At any rate, since we must leave
Granite House for a long expedition, I think the ‘Bonadventure’ will be
safer here during our absence, and we shall do best to leave her here
until the island is rid of these blackguards.”

“That is exactly my opinion,” said the reporter. “At any rate in the
event of bad weather, she will not be exposed here as she would be at
the mouth of the Mercy.”

“But suppose the convicts pay her another visit,” said Herbert.

“Well, my boy,” replied Pencroft, “not finding her here, they would not
be long in finding her on the sands of Granite House, and, during our
absence, nothing could hinder them from seizing her! I agree, therefore,
with Mr. Spilett, that she must be left in Port Balloon. But, if on our
return we have not rid the island of those rascals, it will be prudent
to bring our boat to Granite House, until the time when we need not fear
any unpleasant visits.”

“That’s settled. Let us be off,” said the reporter.

Pencroft, Herbert, and Gideon Spilett, on their return to Granite House,
told the engineer all that had passed, and the latter approved of their
arrangements both for the present and the future. He also promised the
sailor that he would study that part of the channel situated between the
islet and the coast, so as to ascertain if it would not be possible
to make an artificial harbor there by means of dams. In this way, the
“Bonadventure” would be always within reach, under the eyes of the
colonists, and if necessary, under lock and key.

That evening a telegram was sent to Ayrton, requesting him to bring from
the corral a couple of goats, which Neb wished to acclimatize to the
plateau. Singularly enough, Ayrton did not acknowledge the receipt of
the despatch, as he was accustomed to do. This could not but astonish
the engineer. But it might be that Ayrton was not at that moment in the
corral, or even that he was on his way back to Granite House. In fact,
two days had already passed since his departure, and it had been decided
that on the evening of the 10th or at the latest the morning of the
11th, he should return. The colonists waited, therefore, for Ayrton to
appear on Prospect Heights. Neb and Herbert even watched at the bridge
so as to be ready to lower it the moment their companion presented
himself.

But up to ten in the evening, there were no signs of Ayrton. It was,
therefore, judged best to send a fresh despatch, requiring an immediate
reply.

The bell of the telegraph at Granite House remained mute.

The colonists’ uneasiness was great. What had happened? Was Ayrton no
longer at the corral, or if he was still there, had he no longer control
over his movements? Could they go to the corral in this dark night?

They consulted. Some wished to go, the others to remain.

“But,” said Herbert, “perhaps some accident has happened to the
telegraphic apparatus, so that it works no longer?”

“That may be,” said the reporter.

“Wait till to-morrow,” replied Cyrus Harding. “It is possible, indeed,
that Ayrton has not received our despatch, or even that we have not
received his.”

They waited, of course not without some anxiety.

At dawn of day, the 11th of November, Harding again sent the electric
current along the wire and received no reply.

He tried again: the same result.

“Off to the corral,” said he.

“And well armed!” added Pencroft.

It was immediately decided that Granite House should not be left alone
and that Neb should remain there. After having accompanied his friends
to Creek Glycerine, he raised the bridge; and waiting behind a tree he
watched for the return of either his companions or Ayrton.

In the event of the pirates presenting themselves and attempting to
force the passage, he was to endeavor to stop them by firing on them,
and as a last resource he was to take refuge in Granite House, where,
the lift once raised, he would be in safety.

Cyrus Harding, Gideon Spilett, Herbert, and Pencroft were to repair
to the corral, and if they did not find Ayrton, search the neighboring
woods.

At six o’clock in the morning, the engineer and his three companions
had passed Creek Glycerine, and Neb posted himself behind a small mound
crowned by several dragon trees, on the left bank of the stream.

The colonists, after leaving the plateau of Prospect Heights,
immediately took the road to the corral. They shouldered their guns,
ready to fire on the slightest hostile demonstration. The two rifles and
the two guns had been loaded with ball.

The wood was thick on each side of the road and might easily have
concealed the convicts, who owing to their weapons would have been
really formidable.

The colonists walked rapidly and in silence. Top preceded them,
sometimes running on the road, sometimes taking a ramble into the wood,
but always quiet and not appearing to fear anything unusual. And
they could be sure that the faithful dog would not allow them to be
surprised, but would bark at the least appearance of danger.

Cyrus Harding and his companions followed beside the road the wire which
connected the corral with Granite House. After walking for nearly two
miles, they had not as yet discovered any explanation of the difficulty.
The posts were in good order, the wire regularly extended. However, at
that moment the engineer observed that the wire appeared to be slack,
and on arriving at post No. 74, Herbert, who was in advance stopped,
exclaiming,--

“The wire is broken!”

His companions hurried forward and arrived at the spot where the lad
was standing. The post was rooted up and lying across the path. The
unexpected explanation of the difficulty was here, and it was evident
that the despatches from Granite House had not been received at the
corral, nor those from the corral at Granite House.

“It wasn’t the wind that blew down this post,” observed Pencroft.

“No,” replied Gideon Spilett. “The earth has been dug up round its foot,
and it has been torn up by the hand of man.”

“Besides, the wire is broken,” added Herbert, showing that the wire had
been snapped.

“Is the fracture recent?” asked Harding.

“Yes,” answered Herbert, “it has certainly been done quite lately.”

“To the corral! to the corral!” exclaimed the sailor.

The colonists were now half way between Granite House and the corral,
having still two miles and a half to go. They pressed forward with
redoubled speed.

Indeed, it was to be feared that some serious accident had occurred in
the corral. No doubt, Ayrton might have sent a telegram which had not
arrived, but this was not the reason why his companions were so uneasy,
for, a more unaccountable circumstance, Ayrton, who had promised to
return the evening before, had not reappeared. In short, it was not
without a motive that all communication had been stopped between the
corral and Granite House, and who but the convicts could have any
interest in interrupting this communication?

The settlers hastened on, their hearts oppressed with anxiety. They were
sincerely attached to their new companion. Were they to find him struck
down by the hands of those of whom he was formerly the leader?

Soon they arrived at the place where the road led along the side of the
little stream which flowed from the Red Creek and watered the meadows
of the corral. They then moderated their pace so that they should not
be out of breath at the moment when a struggle might be necessary. Their
guns were in their hands ready cocked. The forest was watched on every
side. Top uttered sullen groans which were rather ominous.

At last the palisade appeared through the trees. No trace of any damage
could be seen. The gate was shut as usual. Deep silence reigned in the
corral. Neither the accustomed bleating of the sheep nor Ayrton’s voice
could be heard.

“Let us enter,” said Cyrus Harding.

And the engineer advanced, while his companions, keeping watch about
twenty paces behind him, were ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

Harding raised the inner latch of the gate and was about to push it
back, when Top barked loudly. A report sounded and was responded to by a
cry of pain.

Herbert, struck by a bullet, lay stretched on the ground.



Chapter 7


At Herbert’s cry, Pencroft, letting his gun fall, rushed towards him.

“They have killed him!” he cried. “My boy! They have killed him!”

Cyrus Harding and Gideon Spilett ran to Herbert.

The reporter listened to ascertain if the poor lad’s heart was still
beating.

“He lives,” said he, “but he must be carried--”

“To Granite House? that is impossible!” replied the engineer.

“Into the corral, then!” said Pencroft.

“In a moment,” said Harding.

And he ran round the left corner of the palisade. There he found a
convict, who aiming at him, sent a ball through his hat. In a few
seconds, before he had even time to fire his second barrel, he fell,
struck to the heart by Harding’s dagger, more sure even than his gun.

During this time, Gideon Spilett and the sailor hoisted themselves over
the palisade, leaped into the enclosure, threw down the props which
supported the inner door, ran into the empty house, and soon, poor
Herbert was lying on Ayrton’s bed. In a few moments, Harding was by his
side.

On seeing Herbert senseless, the sailor’s grief was terrible.

He sobbed, he cried, he tried to beat his head against the wall.

Neither the engineer nor the reporter could calm him. They themselves
were choked with emotion. They could not speak.

However, they knew that it depended on them to rescue from death the
poor boy who was suffering beneath their eyes. Gideon Spilett had not
passed through the many incidents by which his life had been checkered
without acquiring some slight knowledge of medicine. He knew a little
of everything, and several times he had been obliged to attend to wounds
produced either by a sword-bayonet or shot. Assisted by Cyrus Harding,
he proceeded to render the aid Herbert required.

The reporter was immediately struck by the complete stupor in which
Herbert lay, a stupor owing either to the hemorrhage, or to the shock,
the ball having struck a bone with sufficient force to produce a violent
concussion.

Herbert was deadly pale, and his pulse so feeble that Spilett only felt
it beat at long intervals, as if it was on the point of stopping.

These symptoms were very serious.

Herbert’s chest was laid bare, and the blood having been stanched with
handkerchiefs, it was bathed with cold water.

The contusion, or rather the contused wound appeared,--an oval below the
chest between the third and fourth ribs. It was there that Herbert had
been hit by the bullet.

Cyrus Harding and Gideon Spilett then turned the poor boy over; as they
did so, he uttered a moan so feeble that they almost thought it was his
last sigh.

Herberts back was covered with blood from another contused wound, by
which the ball had immediately escaped.

“God be praised!” said the reporter, “the ball is not in the body, and
we shall not have to extract it.”

“But the heart?” asked Harding.

“The heart has not been touched; if it had been, Herbert would be dead!”

“Dead!” exclaimed Pencroft, with a groan.

The sailor had only heard the last words uttered by the reporter.

“No, Pencroft,” replied Cyrus Harding, “no! He is not dead. His pulse
still beats. He has even uttered a moan. But for your boy’s sake, calm
yourself. We have need of all our self-possession.”

“Do not make us lose it, my friend.”

Pencroft was silent, but a reaction set in, and great tears rolled down
his cheeks.

In the meanwhile, Gideon Spilett endeavored to collect his ideas, and
proceed methodically. After his examination he had no doubt that the
ball, entering in front, between the seventh and eighth ribs, had issued
behind between the third and fourth. But what mischief had the ball
committed in its passage? What important organs had been reached? A
professional surgeon would have had difficulty in determining this at
once, and still more so the reporter.

However, he knew one thing, this was that he would have to prevent the
inflammatory strangulation of the injured parts, then to contend with
the local inflammation and fever which would result from the wound,
perhaps mortal! Now, what styptics, what antiphlogistics ought to be
employed? By what means could inflammation be prevented?

At any rate, the most important thing was that the two wounds should
be dressed without delay. It did not appear necessary to Gideon Spilett
that a fresh flow of blood should be caused by bathing them in tepid
water, and compressing their lips. The hemorrhage had been very
abundant, and Herbert was already too much enfeebled by the loss of
blood.

The reporter, therefore, thought it best to simply bathe the two wounds
with cold water.

Herbert was placed on his left side, and was maintained in that
position.

“He must not be moved.” said Gideon Spilett. “He is in the most
favorable position for the wounds in his back and chest to suppurate
easily, and absolute rest is necessary.”

“What! can’t we carry him to Granite House?” asked Pencroft.

“No, Pencroft,” replied the reporter.

“I’ll pay the villains off!” cried the sailor, shaking his fist in a
menacing manner.

“Pencroft!” said Cyrus Harding.

Gideon Spilett had resumed his examination of the wounded boy. Herbert
was still so frightfully pale, that the reporter felt anxious.

“Cyrus,” said he, “I am not a surgeon. I am in terrible perplexity. You
must aid me with your advice, your experience!”

“Take courage, my friend,” answered the engineer, pressing the
reporter’s hand. “Judge coolly. Think only of this: Herbert must be
saved!”

These words restored to Gideon Spilett that self-possession which he had
lost in a moment of discouragement on feeling his great responsibility.
He seated himself close to the bed. Cyrus Harding stood near. Pencroft
had torn up his shirt, and was mechanically making lint.

Spilett then explained to Cyrus Harding that he thought he ought first
of all to stop the hemorrhage, but not close the two wounds, or cause
their immediate cicatrization, for there had been internal perforation,
and the suppuration must not be allowed to accumulate in the chest.

Harding approved entirely, and it was decided that the two wounds should
be dressed without attempting to close them by immediate coaptation.

And now did the colonists possess an efficacious agent to act against
the inflammation which might occur?

Yes. They had one, for nature had generously lavished it. They had cold
water, that is to say, the most powerful sedative that can be employed
against inflammation of wounds, the most efficacious therapeutic agent
in grave cases, and the one which is now adopted by all physicians.
Cold water has, moreover, the advantage of leaving the wound in absolute
rest, and preserving it from all premature dressing, a considerable
advantage, since it has been found by experience that contact with the
air is dangerous during the first days.

Gideon Spilett and Cyrus Harding reasoned thus with their simple good
sense, and they acted as the best surgeon would have done. Compresses
of linen were applied to poor Herbert’s two wounds, and were kept
constantly wet with cold water.

The sailor had at first lighted a fire in the hut, which was not wanting
in things necessary for life. Maple sugar, medicinal plants, the same
which the lad had gathered on the banks of Lake Grant, enabled them to
make some refreshing drinks, which they gave him without his taking any
notice of it. His fever was extremely high, and all that day and night
passed without his becoming conscious.

Herbert’s life hung on a thread, and this thread might break at any
moment. The next day, the 12th of November, the hopes of Harding and his
companions slightly revived. Herbert had come out of his long stupor.
He opened his eyes, he recognized Cyrus Harding, the reporter, and
Pencroft. He uttered two or three words. He did not know what had
happened. They told him, and Spilett begged him to remain perfectly
still, telling him that his life was not in danger, and that his wounds
would heal in a few days. However, Herbert scarcely suffered at all,
and the cold water with which they were constantly bathed, prevented any
inflammation of the wounds. The suppuration was established in a regular
way, the fever did not increase, and it might now be hoped that this
terrible wound would not involve any catastrophe. Pencroft felt the
swelling of his heart gradually subside. He was like a sister of mercy,
like a mother by the bed of her child.

Herbert dozed again, but his sleep appeared more natural.

“Tell me again that you hope, Mr. Spilett,” said Pencroft. “Tell me
again that you will save Herbert!”

“Yes, we will save him!” replied the reporter. “The wound is serious,
and, perhaps, even the ball has traversed the lungs, but the perforation
of this organ is not fatal.”

“God bless you!” answered Pencroft.

As may be believed, during the four-and-twenty hours they had been in
the corral, the colonists had no other thought than that of nursing
Herbert. They did not think either of the danger which threatened them
should the convicts return, or of the precautions to be taken for the
future.

But on this day, while Pencroft watched by the sick-bed, Cyrus Harding
and the reporter consulted as to what it would be best to do.

First of all they examined the corral. There was not a trace of Ayrton.
Had the unhappy man been dragged away by his former accomplices? Had he
resisted, and been overcome in the struggle? This last supposition was
only too probable. Gideon Spilett, at the moment he scaled the palisade,
had clearly seen some one of the convicts running along the southern
spur of Mount Franklin, towards whom Top had sprung. It was one of those
whose object had been so completely defeated by the rocks at the mouth
of the Mercy. Besides, the one killed by Harding, and whose body was
found outside the enclosure, of course belonged to Bob Harvey’s crew.

As to the corral, it had not suffered any damage. The gates were closed,
and the animals had not been able to disperse in the forest. Nor could
they see traces of any struggle, any devastation, either in the hut,
or in the palisade. The ammunition only, with which Ayrton had been
supplied, had disappeared with him.

“The unhappy man has been surprised,” said Harding, “and as he was a man
to defend himself, he must have been overpowered.”

“Yes, that is to be feared!” said the reporter. “Then, doubtless, the
convicts installed themselves in the corral where they found plenty of
everything, and only fled when they saw us coming. It is very evident,
too, that at this moment Ayrton, whether living or dead, is not here!”

“We shall have to beat the forest,” said the engineer, “and rid the
island of these wretches. Pencroft’s presentiments were not mistaken,
when he wished to hunt them as wild beasts. That would have spared us
all these misfortunes!”

“Yes,” answered the reporter, “but now we have the right to be
merciless!”

“At any rate,” said the engineer, “we are obliged to wait some time,
and to remain at the corral until we can carry Herbert without danger to
Granite House.”

“But Neb?” asked the reporter.

“Neb is in safety.”

“But if, uneasy at our absence, he would venture to come?”

“He must not come!” returned Cyrus Harding quickly. “He would be
murdered on the road!”

“It is very probable, however, that he will attempt to rejoin us!”

“Ah, if the telegraph still acted, he might be warned! But that is
impossible now! As to leaving Pencroft and Herbert here alone, we could
not do it! Well, I will go alone to Granite House.”

“No, no! Cyrus,” answered the reporter, “you must not expose yourself!
Your courage would be of no avail. The villains are evidently watching
the corral, they are hidden in the thick woods which surround it, and if
you go we shall soon have to regret two misfortunes instead of one!”

“But Neb?” repeated the engineer. “It is now four-and-twenty hours since
he has had any news of us! He will be sure to come!”

“And as he will be less on his guard than we should be ourselves,” added
Spilett, “he will be killed!”

“Is there really no way of warning him?”

While the engineer thought, his eyes fell on Top, who, going backwards
and forwards seemed to say,--

“Am not I here?”

“Top!” exclaimed Cyrus Harding.

The animal sprang at his master’s call.

“Yes, Top will go,” said the reporter, who had understood the engineer.

“Top can go where we cannot! He will carry to Granite House the news of
the corral, and he will bring back to us that from Granite House!”

“Quick!” said Harding. “Quick!”

Spilett rapidly tore a leaf from his note-book, and wrote these words:--

“Herbert wounded. We are at the corral. Be on your guard. Do not leave
Granite House. Have the convicts appeared in the neighborhood? Reply by
Top.”

This laconic note contained all that Neb ought to know, and at the same
time asked all that the colonists wished to know. It was folded and
fastened to Top’s collar in a conspicuous position.

“Top, my dog,” said the engineer, caressing the animal, “Neb, Top! Neb!
Go, go!”

Top bounded at these words. He understood, he knew what was expected of
him. The road to the corral was familiar to him. In less than an hour he
could clear it, and it might be hoped that where neither Cyrus Harding
nor the reporter could have ventured without danger, Top, running among
the grass or in the wood, would pass unperceived.

The engineer went to the gate of the corral and opened it.

“Neb, Top! Neb!” repeated the engineer, again pointing in the direction
of Granite House.

Top sprang forwards, then almost immediately disappeared.

“He will get there!” said the reporter.

“Yes, and he will come back, the faithful animal!”

“What o’clock is it?” asked Gideon Spilett.

“Ten.”

“In an hour he may be here. We will watch for his return.”

The gate of the corral was closed. The engineer and the reporter
re-entered the house. Herbert was still in a sleep. Pencroft kept the
compresses always wet. Spilett, seeing there was nothing he could do
at that moment, busied himself in preparing some nourishment, while
attentively watching that part of the enclosure against the hill, at
which an attack might be expected.

The settlers awaited Top’s return with much anxiety. A little before
eleven o’clock, Cyrus Harding and the reporter, rifle in hand, were
behind the gate, ready to open it at the first bark of their dog.

They did not doubt that if Top had arrived safely at Granite House, Neb
would have sent him back immediately.

They had both been there for about ten minutes, when a report was heard,
followed by repeated barks.

The engineer opened the gate, and seeing smoke a hundred feet off in the
wood, he fired in that direction.

Almost immediately Top bounded into the corral, and the gate was quickly
shut.

“Top, Top!” exclaimed the engineer, taking the dog’s great honest head
between his hands.

A note was fastened to his neck, and Cyrus Harding read these words,
traced in Neb’s large writing:--“No pirates in the neighborhood of
Granite House. I will not stir. Poor Mr. Herbert!”



Chapter 8

So the convicts were still there, watching the corral, and determined to
kill the settlers one after the other. There was nothing to be done but
to treat them as wild beasts. But great precautions must be taken, for
just now the wretches had the advantage on their side, seeing, and not
being seen, being able to surprise by the suddenness of their attack,
yet not to be surprised themselves. Harding made arrangements,
therefore, for living in the corral, of which the provisions would last
for a tolerable length of time. Ayrton’s house had been provided with
all that was necessary for existence, and the convicts, scared by
the arrival of the settlers, had not had time to pillage it. It was
probable, as Gideon Spilett observed, that things had occurred as
follows:

The six convicts, disembarking on the island, had followed the southern
shore, and after having traversed the double shore of the Serpentine
Peninsula, not being inclined to venture into the Far West woods, they
had reached the mouth of Falls River. From this point, by following the
right bank of the watercourse, they would arrive at the spurs of Mount
Franklin, among which they would naturally seek a retreat, and they
could not have been long in discovering the corral, then uninhabited.
There they had regularly installed themselves, awaiting the moment
to put their abominable schemes into execution. Ayrton’s arrival had
surprised them, but they had managed to overpower the unfortunate man,
and--the rest may be easily imagined!

Now, the convicts,--reduced to five, it is true, but well armed,--were
roaming the woods, and to venture there was to expose themselves to
their attacks, which could be neither guarded against nor prevented.

“Wait! There is nothing else to be done!” repeated Cyrus Harding. “When
Herbert is cured, we can organize a general battle of the island, and
have satisfaction of these convicts. That will be the object of our
grand expedition at the same time--”

“As the search for our mysterious protector,” added Gideon Spilett,
finishing the engineer’s sentence. “And it must be acknowledged, my dear
Cyrus, that this time his protection was wanting at the very moment when
it was most necessary to us!”

“Who knows?” replied the engineer.

“What do you mean?” asked the reporter.

“That we are not at the end of our trouble yet, my dear Spilett,
and that his powerful intervention may have another opportunity of
exercising itself. But that is not the question now. Herbert’s life
before everything.”

This was the colonists’ saddest thought. Several days passed, and the
poor boy’s state was happily no worse. Cold water, always kept at a
suitable temperature, had completely prevented the inflammation of the
wounds. It even seemed to the reporter that this water, being slightly
sulphurous,--which was explained by the neighborhood of the volcano,
had a more direct action on the healing. The suppuration was much
less abundant, and thanks to the incessant care by which he was
surrounded!--Herbert returned to life, and his fever abated. He was
besides subjected to a severe diet, and consequently his weakness was
and would be extreme; but there was no want of refreshing drinks, and
absolute rest was of the greatest benefit to him. Cyrus Harding, Gideon
Spilett, and Pencroft had become very skilful in dressing the lad’s
wounds. All the linen in the house had been sacrificed. Herbert’s
wounds, covered with compresses and lint, were pressed neither too much
nor too little, so as to cause their cicatrization without effecting any
inflammatory reaction. The reporter used extreme care in the dressing,
knowing well the importance of it, and repeating to his companions that
which most surgeons willingly admit, that it is perhaps rarer to see a
dressing well done than an operation well performed.

In ten days, on the 22nd of November, Herbert was considerably better.
He had begun to take some nourishment.

The color was returning to his cheeks, and his bright eyes smiled at
his nurses. He talked a little, notwithstanding Pencroft’s efforts, who
talked incessantly to prevent him from beginning to speak, and told him
the most improbable stories. Herbert had questioned him on the subject
of Ayrton, whom he was astonished not to see near him, thinking that
he was at the corral. But the sailor, not wishing to distress Herbert,
contented himself by replying that Ayrton had rejoined Neb, so as to
defend Granite House.

“Humph!” said Pencroft, “these pirates! they are gentlemen who have
no right to any consideration! And the captain wanted to win them by
kindness! I’ll send them some kindness, but in the shape of a good
bullet!”

“And have they not been seen again?” asked Herbert.

“No, my boy,” answered the sailor, “but we shall find them, and when
you are cured we shall see if the cowards who strike us from behind will
dare to meet us face to face!”

“I am still very weak, my poor Pencroft!”

“Well! your strength will return gradually! What’s a ball through the
chest? Nothing but a joke! I’ve seen many, and I don’t think much of
them!”

At last things appeared to be going on well, and if no complication
occurred, Herbert’s recovery might be regarded as certain. But what
would have been the condition of the colonists if his state had been
aggravated,--if, for example, the ball had remained in his body, if his
arm or his leg had had to be amputated?

“No,” said Spilett more than once, “I have never thought of such a
contingency without shuddering!”

“And yet, if it had been necessary to operate,” said Harding one day to
him, “you would not have hesitated?”

“No, Cyrus!” said Gideon Spilett, “but thank God that we have been
spared this complication!”

As in so many other conjectures, the colonists had appealed to the logic
of that simple good sense of which they had made use so often, and once
more, thanks to their general knowledge, it had succeeded! But might not
a time come when all their science would be at fault? They were alone
on the island. Now, men in all states of society are necessary to each
other. Cyrus Harding knew this well, and sometimes he asked if some
circumstance might not occur which they would be powerless to surmount.
It appeared to him besides, that he and his companions, till then so
fortunate, had entered into an unlucky period. During the two years and
a half which had elapsed since their escape from Richmond, it might
be said that they had had everything their own way. The island had
abundantly supplied them with minerals, vegetables, animals, and as
Nature had constantly loaded them, their science had known how to take
advantage of what she offered them.

The wellbeing of the colony was therefore complete. Moreover, in certain
occurrences an inexplicable influence had come to their aid!... But all
that could only be for a time.

In short, Cyrus Harding believed that fortune had turned against them.

In fact, the convicts’ ship had appeared in the waters of the island,
and if the pirates had been, so to speak, miraculously destroyed, six of
them, at least, had escaped the catastrophe. They had disembarked on the
island, and it was almost impossible to get at the five who survived.
Ayrton had no doubt been murdered by these wretches, who possessed
firearms, and at the first use that they had made of them, Herbert had
fallen, wounded almost mortally. Were these the first blows aimed by
adverse fortune at the colonists? This was often asked by Harding. This
was often repeated by the reporter; and it appeared to him also that the
intervention, so strange, yet so efficacious, which till then had served
them so well, had now failed them. Had this mysterious being, whatever
he was, whose existence could not be denied, abandoned the island? Had
he in his turn succumbed?

No reply was possible to these questions. But it must not be imagined
that because Harding and his companions spoke of these things, they were
men to despair. Far from that. They looked their situation in the face,
they analyzed the chances, they prepared themselves for any event, they
stood firm and straight before the future, and if adversity was at last
to strike them, it would find in them men prepared to struggle against
it.



Chapter 9

The convalescence of the young invalid was regularly progressing. One
thing only was now to be desired, that his state would allow him to be
brought to Granite House. However well built and supplied the corral
house was, it could not be so comfortable as the healthy granite
dwelling. Besides, it did not offer the same security, and its tenants,
notwithstanding their watchfulness, were here always in fear of some
shot from the convicts. There, on the contrary, in the middle of that
impregnable and inaccessible cliff, they would have nothing to fear, and
any attack on their persons would certainly fail. They therefore waited
impatiently for the moment when Herbert might be moved without danger
from his wound, and they were determined to make this move, although the
communication through Jacamar Wood was very difficult.

They had no news from Neb, but were not uneasy on that account. The
courageous Negro, well entrenched in the depths of Granite House, would
not allow himself to be surprised. Top had not been sent again to him,
as it appeared useless to expose the faithful dog to some shot which
might deprive the settlers of their most useful auxiliary.

They waited, therefore, although they were anxious to be reunited at
Granite House. It pained the engineer to see his forces divided, for it
gave great advantage to the pirates. Since Ayrton’s disappearance they
were only four against five, for Herbert could not yet be counted, and
this was not the least care of the brave boy, who well understood the
trouble of which he was the cause.

The question of knowing how, in their condition, they were to act
against the pirates, was thoroughly discussed on the 29th of November
by Cyrus Harding, Gideon Spilett, and Pencroft, at a moment when Herbert
was asleep and could not hear them.

“My friends,” said the reporter, after they had talked of Neb and of the
impossibility of communicating with him, “I think,--like you, that to
venture on the road to the corral would be to risk receiving a gunshot
without being able to return it. But do you not think that the best
thing to be done now is to openly give chase to these wretches?”

“That is just what I was thinking,” answered Pencroft. “I believe we’re
not fellows to be afraid of a bullet, and as for me, if Captain Harding
approves, I’m ready to dash into the forest! Why, hang it, one man is
equal to another!”

“But is he equal to five?” asked the engineer.

“I will join Pencroft,” said the reporter, “and both of us, well-armed
and accompanied by Top--”

“My dear Spilett, and you, Pencroft,” answered Harding, “let us reason
coolly. If the convicts were hid in one spot of the island, if we knew
that spot, and had only to dislodge them, I would undertake a direct
attack; but is there not occasion to fear, on the contrary, that they
are sure to fire the first shot?”

“Well, captain,” cried Pencroft, “a bullet does not always reach its
mark.”

“That which struck Herbert did not miss, Pencroft,” replied the
engineer. “Besides, observe that if both of you left the corral I should
remain here alone to defend it. Do you imagine that the convicts will
not see you leave it, that they will not allow you to enter the forest,
and that they will not attack it during your absence, knowing that there
is no one here but a wounded boy and a man?”

“You are right, captain,” replied Pencroft, his chest swelling with
sullen anger. “You are right; they will do all they can to retake the
corral, which they know to be well stored; and alone you could not hold
it against them.”

“Oh, if we were only at Granite House!”

“If we were at Granite House,” answered the engineer, “the case would be
very different. There I should not be afraid to leave Herbert with one,
while the other three went to search the forests of the island. But we
are at the corral, and it is best to stay here until we can leave it
together.”

Cyrus Harding’s reasoning was unanswerable, and his companions
understood it well.

“If only Ayrton was still one of us!” said Gideon Spilett. “Poor fellow!
his return to social life will have been but of short duration.”

“If he is dead,” added Pencroft, in a peculiar tone.

“Do you hope, then, Pencroft, that the villains have spared him?” asked
Gideon Spilett.

“Yes, if they had any interest in doing so.”

“What! you suppose that Ayrton finding his old companions, forgetting
all that he owes us--”

“Who knows?” answered the sailor, who did not hazard this shameful
supposition without hesitating.

“Pencroft,” said Harding, taking the sailor’s arm, “that is a wicked
idea of yours, and you will distress me much if you persist in speaking
thus. I will answer for Ayrton’s fidelity.”

“And I also,” added the reporter quickly.

“Yes, yes, captain, I was wrong,” replied Pencroft; “it was a wicked
idea indeed that I had, and nothing justifies it. But what can I do? I’m
not in my senses. This imprisonment in the corral wearies me horribly,
and I have never felt so excited as I do now.

“Be patient, Pencroft,” replied the engineer. “How long will it be, my
dear Spilett, before you think Herbert may be carried to Granite House?”

“That is difficult to say, Cyrus,” answered the reporter, “for any
imprudence might involve terrible consequences. But his convalescence
is progressing, and if he continues to gain strength, in eight days from
now--well, we shall see.”

Eight days! That would put off the return to Granite House until the
first days of December. At this time two months of spring had already
passed. The weather was fine, and the heat began to be great. The
forests of the island were in full leaf, and the time was approaching
when the usual crops ought to be gathered. The return to the plateau of
Prospect Heights would, therefore, be followed by extensive agricultural
labors, interrupted only by the projected expedition through the island.

It can, therefore, be well understood how injurious this seclusion in
the corral must have been to the colonists.

But if they were compelled to bow before necessity, they did not do so
without impatience.

Once or twice the reporter ventured out into the road and made the
tour of the palisade. Top accompanied him, and Gideon Spilett, his gun
cocked, was ready for any emergency.

He met with no misadventure and found no suspicious traces. His dog
would have warned him of any danger, and, as Top did not bark, it might
be concluded that there was nothing to fear at the moment at least, and
that the convicts were occupied in another part of the island.

However, on his second sortie, on the 27th of November, Gideon Spilett,
who had ventured a quarter of a mile into the woods, towards the south
of the mountain, remarked that Top scented something. The dog had no
longer his unconcerned manner; he went backwards and forwards, ferreting
among the grass and bushes as if his smell had revealed some suspicious
object to him.

Gideon Spilett followed Top, encouraged him, excited him by his voice,
while keeping a sharp look-out, his gun ready to fire, and sheltering
himself behind the trees. It was not probable that Top scented the
presence of man, for in that case, he would have announced it by
half-uttered, sullen, angry barks. Now, as he did not growl, it was
because danger was neither near nor approaching.

Nearly five minutes passed thus, Top rummaging, the reporter following
him prudently when, all at once, the dog rushed towards a thick bush,
and drew out a rag.

It was a piece of cloth, stained and torn, which Spilett immediately
brought back to the corral. There it was examined by the colonists,
who found that it was a fragment of Ayrton’s waistcoat, a piece of that
felt, manufactured solely by the Granite House factory.

“You see, Pencroft,” observed Harding, “there has been resistance on the
part of the unfortunate Ayrton. The convicts have dragged him away in
spite of himself! Do you still doubt his honesty?”

“No, captain,” answered the sailor, “and I repented of my suspicion a
long time ago! But it seems to me that something may be learned from the
incident.”

“What is that?” asked the reporter.

“It is that Ayrton was not killed at the corral! That they dragged him
away living, since he has resisted. Therefore, perhaps, he is still
living!”

“Perhaps, indeed,” replied the engineer, who remained thoughtful.

This was a hope, to which Ayrton’s companions could still hold. Indeed,
they had before believed that, surprised in the corral, Ayrton had
fallen by a bullet, as Herbert had fallen. But if the convicts had not
killed him at first, if they had brought him living to another part of
the island, might it not be admitted that he was still their prisoner?
Perhaps, even, one of them had found in Ayrton his old Australian
companion Ben Joyce, the chief of the escaped convicts. And who knows
but that they had conceived the impossible hope of bringing back Ayrton
to themselves? He would have been very useful to them, if they had been
able to make him turn traitor!

This incident was, therefore, favorably interpreted at the corral, and
it no longer appeared impossible that they should find Ayrton again.
On his side, if he was only a prisoner, Ayrton would no doubt do all
he could to escape from the hands of the villains, and this would be a
powerful aid to the settlers!

“At any rate,” observed Gideon Spilett, “if happily Ayrton did manage to
escape, he would go directly to Granite House, for he could not know
of the attempted assassination of which Herbert has been a victim, and
consequently would never think of our being imprisoned in the corral.”

“Oh! I wish that he was there, at Granite House!” cried Pencroft, “and
that we were there, too! For, although the rascals can do nothing to our
house, they may plunder the plateau, our plantations, our poultry-yard!”

Pencroft had become a thorough farmer, heartily attached to his crops.
But it must be said that Herbert was more anxious than any to return
to Granite House, for he knew how much the presence of the settlers
was needed there. And it was he who was keeping them at the corral!
Therefore, one idea occupied his mind--to leave the corral, and when!
He believed he could bear removal to Granite House. He was sure his
strength would return more quickly in his room, with the air and sight
of the sea!

Several times he pressed Gideon Spilett, but the latter, fearing, with
good reason, that Herbert’s wounds, half healed, might reopen on the
way, did not give the order to start.

However, something occurred which compelled Cyrus Harding and his
two friends to yield to the lad’s wish, and God alone knew that this
determination might cause them grief and remorse.

It was the 29th of November, seven o’clock in the evening. The three
settlers were talking in Herbert’s room, when they heard Top utter quick
barks.

Harding, Pencroft, and Spilett seized their guns and ran out of the
house. Top, at the foot of the palisade, was jumping, barking, but it
was with pleasure, not anger.

“Some one is coming.”

“Yes.”

“It is not an enemy!”

“Neb, perhaps?”

“Or Ayrton?”

These words had hardly been exchanged between the engineer and his two
companions when a body leaped over the palisade and fell on the ground
inside the corral.

It was Jup, Master Jup in person, to whom Top immediately gave a most
cordial reception.

“Jup!” exclaimed Pencroft.


“Neb has sent him to us,” said the reporter.

“Then,” replied the engineer, “he must have some note on him.”

Pencroft rushed up to the orang. Certainly if Neb had any important
matter to communicate to his master he could not employ a more sure or
more rapid messenger, who could pass where neither the colonists could,
nor even Top himself.

Cyrus Harding was not mistaken. At Jup’s neck hung a small bag, and in
this bag was found a little note traced by Neb’s hand.

The despair of Harding and his companions may be imagined when they read
these words:--


“Friday, six o’clock in the morning.

“Plateau invaded by convicts.

                             “Neb.”


They gazed at each other without uttering a word, then they re-entered
the house. What were they to do? The convicts on Prospect Heights! that
was disaster, devastation, ruin.

Herbert, on seeing the engineer, the reporter, and Pencroft re-enter,
guessed that their situation was aggravated, and when he saw Jup, he no
longer doubted that some misfortune menaced Granite House.

“Captain Harding,” said he, “I must go; I can bear the journey. I must
go.”

Gideon Spilett approached Herbert; then, having looked at him,--

“Let us go, then!” said he.

The question was quickly decided whether Herbert should be carried on a
litter or in the cart which had brought Ayrton to the corral. The motion
of the litter would have been more easy for the wounded lad, but it
would have necessitated two bearers, that is to say, there would have
been two guns less for defense if an attack was made on the road. Would
they not, on the contrary, by employing the cart leave every arm free?
Was it impossible to place the mattress on which Herbert was lying in
it, and to advance with so much care that any jolt should be avoided? It
could be done.

The cart was brought. Pencroft harnessed the onager. Cyrus Harding and
the reporter raised Herbert’s mattress and placed it on the bottom of
the cart. The weather was fine. The sun’s bright rays glanced through
the trees.

“Are the guns ready?” asked Cyrus Harding.

They were. The engineer and Pencroft, each armed with a double-barreled
gun, and Gideon Spilett carrying his rifle, had nothing to do but start.

“Are you comfortable, Herbert?” asked the engineer.

“Ah, captain,” replied the lad, “don’t be uneasy, I shall not die on the
road!”

While speaking thus, it could be seen that the poor boy had called up
all his energy, and by the energy of a powerful will had collected his
failing strength.

The engineer felt his heart sink painfully. He still hesitated to
give the signal for departure; but that would have driven Herbert to
despair--killed him perhaps.

“Forward!” said Harding.

The gate of the corral was opened. Jup and Top, who knew when to be
silent, ran in advance. The cart came out, the gate was reclosed, and
the onager, led by Pencroft, advanced at a slow pace.

Certainly, it would have been safer to have taken a different road than
that which led straight from the corral to Granite House, but the cart
would have met with great difficulties in moving under the trees. It was
necessary, therefore, to follow this way, although it was well known to
the convicts.

Cyrus Harding and Gideon Spilett walked one on each side of the cart,
ready to answer to any attack. However, it was not probable that the
convicts would have yet left the plateau of Prospect Heights.

Neb’s note had evidently been written and sent as soon as the convicts
had shown themselves there. Now, this note was dated six o’clock in
the morning, and the active orang, accustomed to come frequently to the
corral, had taken scarcely three quarters of an hour to cross the five
miles which separated it from Granite House. They would, therefore, be
safe at that time, and if there was any occasion for firing, it would
probably not be until they were in the neighborhood of Granite House.
However, the colonists kept a strict watch. Top and Jup, the latter
armed with his club, sometimes in front, sometimes beating the wood at
the sides of the road, signalized no danger.

The cart advanced slowly under Pencroft’s guidance. It had left the
corral at half-past seven. An hour after, four out of the five miles
had been cleared, without any incident having occurred. The road was
as deserted as all that part of the Jacamar Wood which lay between the
Mercy and the lake. There was no occasion for any warning. The wood
appeared as deserted as on the day when the colonists first landed on
the island.

They approached the plateau. Another mile and they would see the bridge
over Creek Glycerine. Cyrus Harding expected to find it in its place;
supposing that the convicts would have crossed it, and that, after
having passed one of the streams which enclosed the plateau, they
would have taken the precaution to lower it again, so as to keep open a
retreat.

At length an opening in the trees allowed the sea-horizon to be seen.
But the cart continued its progress, for not one of its defenders
thought of abandoning it.

At that moment Pencroft stopped the onager, and in a hoarse voice,--

“Oh! the villains!” he exclaimed.

And he pointed to a thick smoke rising from the mill, the sheds, and the
buildings at the poultry-yard.

A man was moving about in the midst of the smoke. It was Neb.

His companions uttered a shout. He heard, and ran to meet them.

The convicts had left the plateau nearly half-an-hour before, having
devastated it!

“And Mr. Herbert?” asked Neb.

Gideon Spilett returned to the cart.

Herbert had lost consciousness!



Chapter 10

Of the convicts, the dangers which menaced Granite House, the ruins
with which the plateau was covered, the colonists thought no longer.
Herbert’s critical state outweighed all other considerations. Would the
removal prove fatal to him by causing some internal injury? The reporter
could not affirm it, but he and his companions almost despaired of
the result. The cart was brought to the bend of the river. There some
branches, disposed as a liner, received the mattress on which lay the
unconscious Herbert. Ten minutes after, Cyrus Harding, Spilett, and
Pencroft were at the foot of the cliff, leaving Neb to take the cart
on to the plateau of Prospect Heights. The lift was put in motion, and
Herbert was soon stretched on his bed in Granite House.

What cares were lavished on him to bring him back to life! He smiled for
a moment on finding himself in his room, but could scarcely even murmur
a few words, so great was his weakness. Gideon Spilett examined his
wounds. He feared to find them reopened, having been imperfectly healed.
There was nothing of the sort. From whence, then, came this prostration?
why was Herbert so much worse? The lad then fell into a kind of feverish
sleep, and the reporter and Pencroft remained near the bed. During this
time, Harding told Neb all that had happened at the corral, and Neb
recounted to his master the events of which the plateau had just been
the theater.

It was only during the preceding night that the convicts had appeared on
the edge of the forest, at the approaches to Creek Glycerine. Neb, who
was watching near the poultry-yard, had not hesitated to fire at one of
the pirates, who was about to cross the stream; but in the darkness he
could not tell whether the man had been hit or not. At any rate, it was
not enough to frighten away the band, and Neb had only just time to get
up to Granite House, where at least he was in safety.

But what was he to do there? How prevent the devastations with which the
convicts threatened the plateau? Had Neb any means by which to warn
his master? And, besides, in what situation were the inhabitants of the
corral themselves? Cyrus Harding and his companions had left on the 11th
of November, and it was now the 29th. It was, therefore, nineteen days
since Neb had had other news than that brought by Top--disastrous news:
Ayrton disappeared, Herbert severely wounded, the engineer, reporter,
and sailor, as it were, imprisoned in the corral!

What was he to do? asked poor Neb. Personally he had nothing to
fear, for the convicts could not reach him in Granite House. But the
buildings, the plantations, all their arrangements at the mercy of the
pirates! Would it not be best to let Cyrus Harding judge of what he
ought to do, and to warn him, at least, of the danger which threatened
him?

Neb then thought of employing Jup, and confiding a note to him. He knew
the orang’s great intelligence, which had been often put to the proof.
Jup understood the word corral, which had been frequently pronounced
before him, and it may be remembered, too, that he had often driven
the cart thither in company with Pencroft. Day had not yet dawned. The
active orang would know how to pass unperceived through the woods, of
which the convicts, besides, would think he was a native.

Neb did not hesitate. He wrote the note, he tied it to Jup’s neck, he
brought the ape to the door of Granite House, from which he let down a
long cord to the ground; then, several times he repeated these words,--

“Jup Jup! corral, corral!”

The creature understood, seized the cord, glided rapidly down the beach,
and disappeared in the darkness without the convicts’ attention having
been in the least excited.

“You did well, Neb,” said Harding, “but perhaps in not warning us you
would have done still better!”

And, in speaking thus, Cyrus Harding thought of Herbert, whose recovery
the removal had so seriously checked.

Neb ended his account. The convicts had not appeared at all on the
beach. Not knowing the number of the island’s inhabitants, they might
suppose that Granite House was defended by a large party. They must have
remembered that during the attack by the brig numerous shot had been
fired both from the lower and upper rocks, and no doubt they did not
wish to expose themselves. But the plateau of Prospect Heights was
open to them, and not covered by the fire of Granite House. They gave
themselves up, therefore, to their instinct of destruction,--plundering,
burning, devastating everything,--and only retiring half an hour before
the arrival of the colonists, whom they believed still confined in the
corral.

On their retreat, Neb hurried out. He climbed the plateau at the risk
of being perceived and fired at, tried to extinguish the fire which was
consuming the buildings of the poultry-yard, and had struggled, though
in vain, against it until the cart appeared at the edge of the wood.

Such had been these serious events. The presence of the convicts
constituted a permanent source of danger to the settlers in Lincoln
Island, until then so happy, and who might now expect still greater
misfortunes.

Spilett remained in Granite House with Herbert and Pencroft, while
Cyrus Harding, accompanied by Neb, proceeded to judge for himself of the
extent of the disaster.

It was fortunate that the convicts had not advanced to the foot of
Granite House. The workshop at the Chimneys would in that case not
have escaped destruction. But after all, this evil would have been more
easily reparable than the ruins accumulated on the plateau of Prospect
Heights. Harding and Neb proceeded towards the Mercy, and ascended its
left bank without meeting with any trace of the convicts; nor on the
other side of the river, in the depths of the wood, could they perceive
any suspicious indications.

Besides, it might be supposed that in all probability either the
convicts knew of the return of the settlers to Granite House, by having
seen them pass on the road from the corral, or, after the devastation of
the plateau, they had penetrated into Jacamar Wood, following the course
of the Mercy, and were thus ignorant of their return.

In the former case, they must have returned towards the corral, now
without defenders, and which contained valuable stores.

In the latter, they must have regained their encampment, and would wait
on opportunity to recommence the attack.

It was, therefore, possible to prevent them, but any enterprise to clear
the island was now rendered difficult by reason of Herbert’s condition.
Indeed, their whole force would have been barely sufficient to cope with
the convicts, and just now no one could leave Granite House.

The engineer and Neb arrived on the plateau. Desolation reigned
everywhere. The fields had been trampled over; the ears of wheat, which
were nearly full-grown, lay on the ground. The other plantations had not
suffered less.

The kitchen-garden was destroyed. Happily, Granite House possessed a
store of seed which would enable them to repair these misfortunes.

As to the wall and buildings of the poultry-yard and the onagers stable,
the fire had destroyed all. A few terrified creatures roamed over the
plateau. The birds, which during the fire had taken refuge on the waters
of the lake, had already returned to their accustomed spot, and were
dabbling on the banks. Everything would have to be reconstructed.

Cyrus Harding’s face, which was paler than usual, expressed an internal
anger which he commanded with difficulty, but he did not utter a word.
Once more he looked at his devastated fields, and at the smoke which
still rose from the ruins, then he returned to Granite House.

The following days were the saddest of any that the colonists had passed
on the island! Herbert’s weakness visibly increased. It appeared that
a more serious malady, the consequence of the profound physiological
disturbance he had gone through, threatened to declare itself, and
Gideon Spilett feared such an aggravation of his condition that he would
be powerless to fight against it!

In fact, Herbert remained in an almost continuous state of drowsiness,
and symptoms of delirium began to manifest themselves. Refreshing drinks
were the only remedies at the colonists’ disposal. The fever was not
as yet very high, but it soon appeared that it would probably recur at
regular intervals. Gideon Spilett first recognized this on the 6th of
December.

The poor boy, whose fingers, nose, and ears had become extremely
pale, was at first seized with slight shiverings, horripilations, and
tremblings. His pulse was weak and irregular, his skin dry, his thirst
intense. To this soon succeeded a hot fit; his face became flushed; his
skin reddened; his pulse quick; then a profuse perspiration broke out
after which the fever seemed to diminish. The attack had lasted nearly
five hours.

Gideon Spilett had not left Herbert, who, it was only too certain, was
now seized by an intermittent fever, and this fever must be cured at any
cost before it should assume a more serious aspect.

“And in order to cure it,” said Spilett to Cyrus Harding, “we need a
febrifuge.”

“A febrifuge--” answered the engineer. “We have neither Peruvian bark,
nor sulphate of quinine.”

“No,” said Gideon Spilett, “but there are willows on the border of
the lake, and the bark of the willow might, perhaps, prove to be a
substitute for quinine.”

“Let us try it without losing a moment,” replied Cyrus Harding.

The bark of the willow has, indeed, been justly considered as a
succedaneum for Peruvian bark, as has also that of the horse-chestnut
tree, the leaf of the holly, the snake-root, etc. It was evidently
necessary to make trial of this substance, although not so valuable as
Peruvian bark, and to employ it in its natural state, since they had no
means for extracting its essence.

Cyrus Harding went himself to cut from the trunk of a species of black
willow, a few pieces of bark; he brought them back to Granite House, and
reduced them to a powder, which was administered that same evening to
Herbert.

The night passed without any important change. Herbert was somewhat
delirious, but the fever did not reappear in the night, and did not
return either during the following day.

Pencroft again began to hope. Gideon Spilett said nothing. It might be
that the fever was not quotidian, but tertian, and that it would return
next day. Therefore, he awaited the next day with the greatest anxiety.

It might have been remarked besides that during this period Herbert
remained utterly prostrate, his head weak and giddy. Another symptom
alarmed the reporter to the highest degree. Herbert’s liver became
congested, and soon a more intense delirium showed that his brain was
also affected.

Gideon Spilett was overwhelmed by this new complication. He took the
engineer aside.

“It is a malignant fever,” said he.

“A malignant fever!” cried Harding. “You are mistaken, Spilett. A
malignant fever does not declare itself spontaneously; its germ must
previously have existed.”

“I am not mistaken,” replied the reporter. “Herbert no doubt contracted
the germ of this fever in the marshes of the island. He has already had
one attack; should a second come on and should we not be able to prevent
a third, he is lost.”

“But the willow bark?”

“That is insufficient,” answered the reporter, “and the third attack of
a malignant fever, which is not arrested by means of quinine, is always
fatal.”

Fortunately, Pencroft heard nothing of this conversation or he would
have gone mad.

It may be imagined what anxiety the engineer and the reporter suffered
during the day of the 7th of December and the following night.

Towards the middle of the day the second attack came on. The crisis was
terrible. Herbert felt himself sinking. He stretched his arms towards
Cyrus Harding, towards Spilett, towards Pencroft. He was so young to
die! The scene was heart-rending. They were obliged to send Pencroft
away.

The fit lasted five hours. It was evident that Herbert could not survive
a third.

The night was frightful. In his delirium Herbert uttered words which
went to the hearts of his companions. He struggled with the convicts,
he called to Ayrton, he poured forth entreaties to that mysterious
being,--that powerful unknown protector,--whose image was stamped upon
his mind; then he again fell into a deep exhaustion which completely
prostrated him. Several times Gideon Spilett thought that the poor boy
was dead.

The next day, the 8th of December, was but a succession of the fainting
fits. Herbert’s thin hands clutched the sheets. They had administered
further doses of pounded bark, but the reporter expected no result from
it.

“If before tomorrow morning we have not given him a more energetic
febrifuge,” said the reporter, “Herbert will be dead.”

Night arrived--the last night, it was too much to be feared, of the
good, brave, intelligent boy, so far in advance of his years, and who
was loved by all as their own child. The only remedy which existed
against this terrible malignant fever, the only specific which could
overcome it, was not to be found in Lincoln Island.

During the night of the 8th of December, Herbert was seized by a more
violent delirium. His liver was fearfully congested, his brain affected,
and already it was impossible for him to recognize any one.

Would he live until the next day, until that third attack which
must infallibly carry him off? It was not probable. His strength was
exhausted, and in the intervals of fever he lay as one dead.

Towards three o’clock in the morning Herbert uttered a piercing cry.
He seemed to be torn by a supreme convulsion. Neb, who was near him,
terrified, ran into the next room where his companions were watching.

Top, at that moment, barked in a strange manner.

All rushed in immediately and managed to restrain the dying boy, who was
endeavoring to throw himself out of his bed, while Spilett, taking his
arm, felt his pulse gradually quicken.

It was five in the morning. The rays of the rising sun began to shine in
at the windows of Granite House. It promised to be a fine day, and this
day was to be poor Herbert’s last!

A ray glanced on the table placed near the bed.

Suddenly Pencroft, uttering a cry, pointed to the table.

On it lay a little oblong box, of which the cover bore these
words:--“SULPHATE OF QUININE.”



Chapter 11

Gideon Spilett took the box and opened it. It contained nearly two
hundred grains of a white powder, a few particles of which he carried to
his lips. The extreme bitterness of the substance precluded all doubt;
it was certainly the precious extract of quinine, that pre-eminent
antifebrile.

This powder must be administered to Herbert without delay. How it came
there might be discussed later.

“Some coffee!” said Spilett.

In a few moments Neb brought a cup of the warm infusion. Gideon Spilett
threw into it about eighteen grains of quinine, and they succeeded in
making Herbert drink the mixture.

There was still time, for the third attack of the malignant fever had
not yet shown itself. How they longed to be able to add that it would
not return!

Besides, it must be remarked, the hopes of all had now revived. The
mysterious influence had been again exerted, and in a critical moment,
when they had despaired of it.

In a few hours Herbert was much calmer. The colonists could now discuss
this incident. The intervention of the stranger was more evident than
ever. But how had he been able to penetrate during the night into
Granite House? It was inexplicable, and, in truth, the proceedings of
the genius of the island were not less mysterious than was that genius
himself. During this day the sulphate of quinine was administered to
Herbert every three hours.

The next day some improvement in Herbert’s condition was apparent.
Certainly, he was not out of danger, intermittent fevers being subject
to frequent and dangerous relapses, but the most assiduous care was
bestowed on him. And besides, the specific was at hand; nor, doubtless,
was he who had brought it far distant! And the hearts of all were
animated by returning hope.

This hope was not disappointed. Ten days after, on the 20th of December,
Herbert’s convalescence commenced.

He was still weak, and strict diet had been imposed upon him, but no
access of fever supervened. And then, the poor boy submitted with such
docility to all the prescriptions ordered him! He longed so to get well!

Pencroft was as a man who has been drawn up from the bottom of an abyss.
Fits of joy approaching delirium seized him. When the time for the third
attack had passed by, he nearly suffocated the reporter in his embrace.
Since then, he always called him Dr. Spilett.

The real doctor, however, remained undiscovered.

“We will find him!” repeated the sailor.

Certainly, this man, whoever he was, might expect a somewhat too
energetic embrace from the worthy Pencroft!

The month of December ended, and with it the year 1867, during which
the colonists of Lincoln Island had of late been so severely tried.
They commenced the year 1868 with magnificent weather, great heat, and
a tropical temperature, delightfully cooled by the sea-breeze. Herbert’s
recovery progressed, and from his bed, placed near one of the windows of
Granite House, he could inhale the fresh air, charged with ozone, which
could not fail to restore his health. His appetite returned, and what
numberless delicate, savory little dishes Neb prepared for him!

“It is enough to make one wish to have a fever oneself!” said Pencroft.

During all this time, the convicts did not once appear in the vicinity
of Granite House. There was no news of Ayrton, and though the engineer
and Herbert still had some hopes of finding him again, their companions
did not doubt but that the unfortunate man had perished. However, this
uncertainty could not last, and when once the lad should have recovered,
the expedition, the result of which must be so important, would be
undertaken. But they would have to wait a month, perhaps, for all
the strength of the colony must be put into requisition to obtain
satisfaction from the convicts.

However, Herbert’s convalescence progressed rapidly. The congestion of
the liver had disappeared, and his wounds might be considered completely
healed.

During the month of January, important work was done on the plateau
of Prospect Heights; but it consisted solely in saving as much as was
possible from the devastated crops, either of corn or vegetables. The
grain and the plants were gathered, so as to provide a new harvest for
the approaching half-season. With regard to rebuilding the poultry-yard,
wall, or stables, Cyrus Harding preferred to wait. While he and his
companions were in pursuit of the convicts, the latter might very
probably pay another visit to the plateau, and it would be useless to
give them an opportunity of recommencing their work of destruction. When
the island should be cleared of these miscreants, they would set about
rebuilding. The young convalescent began to get up in the second week of
January, at first for one hour a day, then two, then three. His strength
visibly returned, so vigorous was his constitution. He was now eighteen
years of age. He was tall, and promised to become a man of noble and
commanding presence. From this time his recovery, while still requiring
care,--and Dr. Spilett was very strict,--made rapid progress. Towards
the end of the month, Herbert was already walking about on Prospect
Heights, and the beach.

He derived, from several sea-baths, which he took in company with
Pencroft and Neb, the greatest possible benefit. Cyrus Harding thought
he might now settle the day for their departure, for which the 15th of
February was fixed. The nights, very clear at this time of year, would
be favorable to the researches they intended to make all over the
island.

The necessary preparations for this exploration were now commenced, and
were important, for the colonists had sworn not to return to Granite
House until their twofold object had been achieved; on the one hand, to
exterminate the convicts, and rescue Ayrton, if he was still living; on
the other, to discover who it was that presided so effectually over the
fortunes of the colony.

Of Lincoln Island, the settlers knew thoroughly all the eastern coast
from Claw Cape to the Mandible Capes, the extensive Tadorn Marsh, the
neighborhood of Lake Grant, Jacamar Wood, between the road to the corral
and the Mercy, the courses of the Mercy and Red Creek, and lastly, the
spurs of Mount Franklin, among which the corral had been established.

They had explored, though only in an imperfect manner, the vast shore
of Washington Bay from Claw Cape to Reptile End, the woody and marshy
border of the west coast, and the interminable downs, ending at the open
mouth of Shark Gulf. But they had in no way surveyed the woods which
covered the Serpentine Peninsula, all to the right of the Mercy, the
left bank of Falls River, and the wilderness of spurs and valleys which
supported three quarters of the base of Mount Franklin, to the east, the
north, and the west, and where doubtless many secret retreats existed.
Consequently, many millions of acres of the island had still escaped
their investigations.

It was, therefore, decided that the expedition should be carried through
the Far West, so as to include all that region situated on the right of
the Mercy.

It might, perhaps, be better worth while to go direct to the corral,
where it might be supposed that the convicts had again taken refuge,
either to pillage or to establish themselves there. But either the
devastation of the corral would have been an accomplished fact by
this time, and it would be too late to prevent it, or it had been the
convicts’ interest to entrench themselves there, and there would be
still time to go and turn them out on their return.

Therefore, after some discussion, the first plan was adhered to, and the
settlers resolved to proceed through the wood to Reptile End. They would
make their way with their hatchets, and thus lay the first draft of a
road which would place Granite House in communication with the end of
the peninsula for a length of from sixteen to seventeen miles.

The cart was in good condition. The onagers, well rested, could go a
long journey. Provisions, camp effects, a portable stove, and various
utensils were packed in the cart, as also weapons and ammunition,
carefully chosen from the now complete arsenal of Granite House. But it
was necessary to remember that the convicts were, perhaps, roaming about
the woods, and that in the midst of these thick forests a shot might
quickly be fired and received. It was therefore resolved that the little
band of settlers should remain together and not separate under any
pretext whatever.

It was also decided that no one should remain at Granite House. Top
and Jup themselves were to accompany the expedition; the inaccessible
dwelling needed no guard. The 14th of February, eve of the departure,
was consecrated entirely to repose, and--thanksgiving addressed by the
colonists to the Creator. A place in the cart was reserved for Herbert,
who, though thoroughly convalescent, was still a little weak. The next
morning, at daybreak, Cyrus Harding took the necessary measures to
protect Granite House from any invasion. The ladders, which were
formerly used for the ascent, were brought to the Chimneys and buried
deep in the sand, so that they might be available on the return of the
colonists, for the machinery of the lift had been taken to pieces, and
nothing of the apparatus remained. Pencroft stayed the last in Granite
House in order to finish this work, and he then lowered himself down
by means of a double rope held below, and which, when once hauled down,
left no communication between the upper landing and the beach.

The weather was magnificent.

“We shall have a warm day of it,” said the reporter, laughing.

“Pooh! Dr. Spilett,” answered Pencroft, “we shall walk under the shade
of the trees and shan’t even see the sun!”

“Forward!” said the engineer.

The cart was waiting on the beach before the Chimneys. The reporter
made Herbert take his place in it during the first hours at least of the
journey, and the lad was obliged to submit to his doctor’s orders.

Neb placed himself at the onagers’ heads. Cyrus Harding, the reporter,
and the sailor, walked in front. Top bounded joyfully along. Herbert
offered a seat in his vehicle to Jup, who accepted it without ceremony.
The moment for departure had arrived, and the little band set out.

The cart first turned the angle of the mouth of the Mercy, then, having
ascended the left bank for a mile, crossed the bridge, at the other side
of which commenced the road to Port Balloon, and there the explorers,
leaving this road on their left, entered the cover of the immense woods
which formed the region of the Far West.

For the first two miles the widely scattered trees allowed the cart to
pass with ease; from time to time it became necessary to cut away a few
creepers and bushes, but no serious obstacle impeded the progress of the
colonists.

The thick foliage of the trees threw a grateful shade on the ground.
Deodars, Douglas firs, casuarinas, banksias, gum-trees, dragon-trees,
and other well-known species, succeeded each other far as the eye could
reach. The feathered tribes of the island were all represented--grouse,
jacamars, pheasants, lories, as well as the chattering cockatoos,
parrots, and paroquets. Agouties, kangaroos, and capybaras fled swiftly
at their approach; and all this reminded the settlers of the first
excursions they had made on their arrival at the island.

“Nevertheless,” observed Cyrus Harding, “I notice that these creatures,
both birds and quadrupeds, are more timid than formerly. These woods
have, therefore, been recently traversed by the convicts, and we shall
certainly find some traces of them.”

And, in fact, in several places they could distinguish traces, more or
less recent, of the passage of a band of men--here branches broken off
the trees, perhaps to mark out the way; there the ashes of a fire, and
footprints in clayey spots; but nothing which appeared to belong to a
settled encampment.

The engineer had recommended his companions to refrain from hunting. The
reports of the firearms might give the alarm to the convicts, who
were, perhaps, roaming through the forest. Moreover, the hunters would
necessarily ramble some distance from the cart, which it was dangerous
to leave unguarded.

In the afterpart of the day, when about six miles from Granite House,
their progress became much more difficult. In order to make their way
through some thickets, they were obliged to cut down trees. Before
entering such places Harding was careful to send in Top and Jup, who
faithfully accomplished their commission, and when the dog and orang
returned without giving any warning, there was evidently nothing to
fear, either from convicts or wild beasts, two varieties of the animal
kingdom, whose ferocious instincts placed them on the same level. On the
evening of the first day the colonists encamped about nine miles from
Granite House, on the border of a little stream falling into the Mercy,
and of the existence of which they had till then been ignorant; it
evidently, however, belonged to the hydiographical system to which the
soil owed its astonishing fertility. The settlers made a hearty meal,
for their appetites were sharpened, and measures were then taken that
the night might be passed in safety. If the engineer had had only to
deal with wild beasts, jaguars or others, he would have simply lighted
fires all around his camp, which would have sufficed for its defense;
but the convicts would be rather attracted than terrified by the flames,
and it was, therefore, better to be surrounded by the profound darkness
of night.

The watch was, however, carefully organized. Two of the settlers were
to watch together, and every two hours it was agreed that they should
be relieved by their comrades. And so, notwithstanding his wish to the
contrary, Herbert was exempted from guard. Pencroft and Gideon Spilett
in one party, the engineer and Neb in another, mounted guard in turns
over the camp.

The night, however, was but of few hours. The darkness was due rather to
the thickness of the foliage than to the disappearance of the sun.
The silence was scarcely disturbed by the howling of jaguars and the
chattering of the monkeys, the latter appearing to particularly irritate
Master Jup. The night passed without incident, and on the next day, the
15th of February, the journey through the forest, tedious rather than
difficult, was continued. This day they could not accomplish more than
six miles, for every moment they were obliged to cut a road with their
hatchets.

Like true settlers, the colonists spared the largest and most beautiful
trees, which would besides have cost immense labor to fell, and the
small ones only were sacrificed, but the result was that the road took a
very winding direction, and lengthened itself by numerous detours.

During the day Herbert discovered several new specimens not before met
with in the island, such as the tree-fern, with its leaves spread out
like the waters of a fountain, locust-trees, on the long pods of
which the onagers browsed greedily, and which supplied a sweet pulp
of excellent flavor. There, too, the colonists again found groups of
magnificent kauries, their cylindrical trunks, crowded with a cone
of verdure, rising to a height of two hundred feet. These were the
tree-kings of New Zealand, as celebrated as the cedars of Lebanon.

As to the fauna, there was no addition to those species already known to
the hunters. Nevertheless, they saw, though unable to get near them, a
couple of those large birds peculiar to Australia, a sort of cassowary,
called emu, five feet in height, and with brown plumage, which belong
to the tribe of waders. Top darted after them as fast as his four legs
could carry him, but the emus distanced him with ease, so prodigious was
their speed.

As to the traces left by the convicts, a few more were discovered. Some
footprints found near an apparently recently extinguished fire were
attentively examined by the settlers. By measuring them one after the
other, according to their length and breadth, the marks of five men’s
feet were easily distinguished. The five convicts had evidently
camped on this spot; but,--and this was the object of so minute an
examination,--a sixth footprint could not be discovered, which in that
case would have been that of Ayrton.

“Ayrton was not with them!” said Herbert.

“No,” answered Pencroft, “and if he was not with them, it was because
the wretches had already murdered him! but then these rascals have not a
den to which they may be tracked like tigers!”

“No,” replied the reporter, “it is more probable that they wander at
random, and it is their interest to rove about until the time when they
will be masters of the island!”

“The masters of the island!” exclaimed the sailor; “the masters of the
island!...” he repeated, and his voice was choked, as if his throat was
seized in an iron grasp. Then in a calmer tone, “Do you know, Captain
Harding,” said he, “what the ball is which I have rammed into my gun?”

“No, Pencroft!”

“It is the ball that went through Herbert’s chest, and I promise you it
won’t miss its mark!”

But this just retaliation would not bring Ayrton back to life, and from
the examination of the footprints left in the ground, they must, alas!
conclude that all hopes of ever seeing him again must be abandoned.

That evening they encamped fourteen miles from Granite House, and Cyrus
Harding calculated that they could not be more than five miles from
Reptile Point.

And indeed, the next day the extremity of the peninsula was reached, and
the whole length of the forest had been traversed; but there was nothing
to indicate the retreat in which the convicts had taken refuge, nor
that, no less secret, which sheltered the mysterious unknown.



Chapter 12

The next day, the 18th of February, was devoted to the exploration
of all that wooded region forming the shore from Reptile End to Falls
River. The colonists were able to search this forest thoroughly, for, as
it was comprised between the two shores of the Serpentine Peninsula, it
was only from three to four miles in breadth. The trees, both by their
height and their thick foliage, bore witness to the vegetative power of
the soil, more astonishing here than in any other part of the island.
One might have said that a corner from the virgin forests of America or
Africa had been transported into this temperate zone. This led them to
conclude that the superb vegetation found a heat in this soil, damp in
its upper layer, but warmed in the interior by volcanic fires, which
could not belong to a temperate climate. The most frequently occurring
trees were knaries and eucalypti of gigantic dimensions.

But the colonists’ object was not simply to admire the magnificent
vegetation. They knew already that in this respect Lincoln Island would
have been worthy to take the first rank in the Canary group, to which
the first name given was that of the Happy Isles. Now, alas! their
island no longer belonged to them entirely; others had taken possession
of it, miscreants polluted its shores, and they must be destroyed to the
last man.

No traces were found on the western coast, although they were carefully
sought for. No more footprints, no more broken branches, no more
deserted camps.

“This does not surprise me,” said Cyrus Harding to his companions.
“The convicts first landed on the island in the neighborhood of Flotsam
Point, and they immediately plunged into the Far West forests, after
crossing Tadorn Marsh. They then followed almost the same route that we
took on leaving Granite House. This explains the traces we found in the
wood. But, arriving on the shore, the convicts saw at once that they
would discover no suitable retreat there, and it was then that, going
northwards again, they came upon the corral.”

“Where they have perhaps returned,” said Pencroft.

“I do not think so,” answered the engineer, “for they would naturally
suppose that our researches would be in that direction. The corral is
only a storehouse to them, and not a definitive encampment.”

“I am of Cyrus’ opinion,” said the reporter, “and I think that it is
among the spurs of Mount Franklin that the convicts will have made their
lair.”

“Then, captain, straight to the corral!” cried Pencroft. “We must finish
them off, and till now we have only lost time!”

“No, my friend,” replied the engineer; “you forget that we have a reason
for wishing to know if the forests of the Far West do not contain some
habitation. Our exploration has a double object, Pencroft. If, on the
one hand, we have to chastise crime, we have, on the other, an act of
gratitude to perform.”

“That was well said, captain,” replied the sailor, “but, all the same,
it is my opinion that we shall not find the gentleman until he pleases.”

And truly Pencroft only expressed the opinion of all. It was probable
that the stranger’s retreat was not less mysterious than was he himself.

That evening the cart halted at the mouth of Falls River. The camp was
organized as usual, and the customary precautions were taken for the
night. Herbert, become again the healthy and vigorous lad he was before
his illness, derived great benefit from this life in the open air,
between the sea breezes and the vivifying air from the forests. His
place was no longer in the cart, but at the head of the troop.

The next day, the 19th of February, the colonists, leaving the shore,
where, beyond the mouth, basalts of every shape were so picturesquely
piled up, ascended the river by its left bank. The road had been already
partly cleared in their former excursions made from the corral to the
west coast. The settlers were now about six miles from Mount Franklin.

The engineer’s plan was this:--To minutely survey the valley forming
the bed of the river, and to cautiously approach the neighborhood of the
corral; if the corral was occupied, to seize it by force; if it was not,
to entrench themselves there and make it the center of the operations
which had for their object the exploration of Mount Franklin.

This plan was unanimously approved by the colonists, for they were
impatient to regain entire possession of their island.

They made their way then along the narrow valley separating two of the
largest spurs of Mount Franklin. The trees, crowded on the river’s bank,
became rare on the upper slopes of the mountain. The ground was hilly
and rough, very suitable for ambushes, and over which they did not
venture without extreme precaution. Top and Jup skirmished on the
flanks, springing right and left through the thick brushwood, and
emulating each other in intelligence and activity. But nothing showed
that the banks of the stream had been recently frequented--nothing
announced either the presence or the proximity of the convicts. Towards
five in the evening the cart stopped nearly 600 feet from the palisade.
A semicircular screen of trees still hid it.

It was necessary to reconnoiter the corral, in order to ascertain if it
was occupied. To go there openly, in broad daylight, when the convicts
were probably in ambush, would be to expose themselves, as poor Herbert
had done, to the firearms of the ruffians. It was better, then, to wait
until night came on.

However, Gideon Spilett wished without further delay to reconnoiter the
approaches to the corral, and Pencroft, who was quite out of patience,
volunteered to accompany him.

“No, my friends,” said the engineer, “wait till night. I will not allow
one of you to expose himself in open day.”

“But, captain--” answered the sailor, little disposed to obey.

“I beg of you, Pencroft,” said the engineer.

“Very well!” replied the sailor, who vented his anger in another way, by
bestowing on the convicts the worst names in his maritime vocabulary.

The colonists remained, therefore, near the cart, and carefully watched
the neighboring parts of the forest.

Three hours passed thus. The wind had fallen, and absolute silence
reigned under the great trees. The snapping of the smallest twig, a
footstep on the dry leaves, the gliding of a body among the grass, would
have been heard without difficulty. All was quiet. Besides, Top, lying
on the grass, his head stretched out on his paws, gave no sign of
uneasiness. At eight o’clock the day appeared far enough advanced for
the reconnaissance to be made under favorable conditions. Gideon Spilett
declared himself ready to set out accompanied by Pencroft. Cyrus Harding
consented. Top and Jup were to remain with the engineer, Herbert, and
Neb, for a bark or a cry at a wrong moment would give the alarm.

“Do not be imprudent,” said Harding to the reporter and Pencroft, “you
have not to gain possession of the corral, but only to find out whether
it is occupied or not.”

“All right,” answered Pencroft.

And the two departed.

Under the trees, thanks to the thickness of their foliage, the obscurity
rendered any object invisible beyond a radius of from thirty to forty
feet. The reporter and Pencroft, halting at any suspicious sound,
advanced with great caution.

They walked a little distance apart from each other so as to offer a
less mark for a shot. And, to tell the truth, they expected every moment
to hear a report. Five minutes after leaving the cart, Gideon Spilett
and Pencroft arrived at the edge of the wood before the clearing beyond
which rose the palisade.

They stopped. A few straggling beams still fell on the field clear of
trees. Thirty feet distant was the gate of the corral, which appeared
to be closed. This thirty feet, which it was necessary to cross from
the wood to the palisade, constituted the dangerous zone, to borrow
a ballistic term: in fact, one or more bullets fired from behind the
palisade might knock over any one who ventured on to this zone. Gideon
Spilett and the sailor were not men to draw back, but they knew that
any imprudence on their part, of which they would be the first victims,
would fall afterwards on their companions. If they themselves were
killed, what would become of Harding, Neb, and Herbert?

But Pencroft, excited at feeling himself so near the corral where he
supposed the convicts had taken refuge, was about to press forward, when
the reporter held him back with a grasp of iron.

“In a few minutes it will be quite dark,” whispered Spilett in the
sailor’s ear, “then will be the time to act.”

Pencroft, convulsively clasping the butt-end of his gun, restrained his
energies, and waited, swearing to himself.

Soon the last of the twilight faded away. Darkness, which seemed as if
it issued from the dense forest, covered the clearing. Mount Franklin
rose like an enormous screen before the western horizon, and night
spread rapidly over all, as it does in regions of low latitudes. Now was
the time.

The reporter and Pencroft, since posting themselves on the edge of the
wood, had not once lost sight of the palisade. The corral appeared to
be absolutely deserted. The top of the palisade formed a line, a
little darker than the surrounding shadow, and nothing disturbed its
distinctness. Nevertheless, if the convicts were there, they must have
posted one of their number to guard against any surprise.

Spilett grasped his companion’s hand, and both crept towards the corral,
their guns ready to fire.

They reached the gate without the darkness being illuminated by a single
ray of light.

Pencroft tried to push open the gate, which, as the reporter and he had
supposed, was closed. However, the sailor was able to ascertain that the
outer bars had not been put up. It might, then, be concluded that the
convicts were there in the corral, and that very probably they had
fastened the gate in such a way that it could not be forced open.

Gideon Spilett and Pencroft listened.

Not a sound could be heard inside the palisade. The musmons and the
goats, sleeping no doubt in their huts, in no way disturbed the calm of
night.

The reporter and the sailor hearing nothing, asked themselves whether
they had not better scale the palisades and penetrate into the corral.
This would have been contrary to Cyrus Harding’s instructions.

It is true that the enterprise might succeed, but it might also fail.
Now, if the convicts were suspecting nothing, if they knew nothing of
the expedition against them, if, lastly, there now existed a chance
of surprising them, ought this chance to be lost by inconsiderately
attempting to cross the palisades?

This was not the reporter’s opinion. He thought it better to wait until
all the settlers were collected together before attempting to penetrate
into the corral. One thing was certain, that it was possible to reach
the palisade without being seen, and also that it did not appear to be
guarded. This point settled, there was nothing to be done but to return
to the cart, where they would consult.

Pencroft probably agreed with this decision, for he followed the
reporter without making any objection when the latter turned back to the
wood.

In a few minutes the engineer was made acquainted with the state of
affairs.

“Well,” said he, after a little thought, “I now have reason to believe
that the convicts are not in the corral.”

“We shall soon know,” said Pencroft, “when we have scaled the palisade.”

“To the corral, my friends!” said Cyrus Harding.

“Shall we leave the cart in the wood?” asked Neb.

“No,” replied the engineer, “it is our wagon of ammunition and
provisions, and, if necessary, it would serve as an entrenchment.”

“Forward, then!” said Gideon Spilett.

The cart emerged from the wood and began to roll noiselessly towards the
palisade. The darkness was now profound, the silence as complete as
when Pencroft and the reporter crept over the ground. The thick grass
completely muffled their footsteps. The colonists held themselves ready
to fire. Jup, at Pencroft’s orders, kept behind. Neb led Top in a leash,
to prevent him from bounding forward.

The clearing soon came in sight. It was deserted. Without hesitating,
the little band moved towards the palisade. In a short space of time the
dangerous zone was passed. Neb remained at the onagers’ heads to hold
them. The engineer, the reporter, Herbert, and Pencroft, proceeded to
the door, in order to ascertain if it was barricaded inside. It was
open!

“What do you say now?” asked the engineer, turning to the sailor and
Spilett.

Both were stupefied.

“I can swear,” said Pencroft, “that this gate was shut just now!”

The colonists now hesitated. Were the convicts in the corral when
Pencroft and the reporter made their reconnaissance? It could not be
doubted, as the gate then closed could only have been opened by them.
Were they still there, or had one of their number just gone out?

All these questions presented themselves simultaneously to the minds of
the colonists, but how could they be answered?

At that moment, Herbert, who had advanced a few steps into the
enclosure, drew back hurriedly, and seized Harding’s hand.

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

“A light!”

“In the house?”

“Yes!”

All five advanced and indeed, through the window fronting them, they saw
glimmering a feeble light. Cyrus Harding made up his mind rapidly. “It
is our only chance,” said he to his companions, “of finding the convicts
collected in this house, suspecting nothing! They are in our power!
Forward!” The colonists crossed through the enclosure, holding their
guns ready in their hands. The cart had been left outside under the
charge of Jup and Top, who had been prudently tied to it.

Cyrus Harding, Pencroft, and Gideon Spilett on one side, Herbert and Neb
on the other, going along by the palisade, surveyed the absolutely dark
and deserted corral.

In a few moments they were near the closed door of the house.

Harding signed to his companions not to stir, and approached the window,
then feebly lighted by the inner light.

He gazed into the apartment.

On the table burned a lantern. Near the table was the bed formerly used
by Ayrton.

On the bed lay the body of a man.

Suddenly Cyrus Harding drew back, and in a hoarse voice,--“Ayrton!” he
exclaimed.

Immediately the door was forced rather than opened, and the colonists
rushed into the room.

Ayrton appeared to be asleep. His countenance showed that he had long
and cruelly suffered. On his wrists and ankles could be seen great
bruises.

Harding bent over him.

“Ayrton!” cried the engineer, seizing the arm of the man whom he had
just found again under such unexpected circumstances.

At this exclamation Ayrton opened his eyes, and, gazing at Harding, then
at the others,--

“You!” he cried, “you?”

“Ayrton! Ayrton!” repeated Harding.

“Where am I?”

“In the house in the corral!”

“Alone?”

“Yes!”

“But they will come back!” cried Ayrton. “Defend yourselves! defend
yourselves!”

And he fell back exhausted.

“Spilett,” exclaimed the engineer, “we may be attacked at any moment.
Bring the cart into the corral. Then, barricade the door, and all come
back here.”

Pencroft, Neb, and the reporter hastened to execute the engineer’s
orders. There was not a moment to be lost. Perhaps even now the cart was
in the hands of the convicts!

In a moment the reporter and his two companions had crossed the corral
and reached the gate of the palisade behind which Top was heard growling
sullenly.

The engineer, leaving Ayrton for an instant, came out ready to fire.
Herbert was at his side. Both surveyed the crest of the spur overlooking
the corral. If the convicts were lying in ambush there, they might knock
the settlers over one after the other.

At that moment the moon appeared in the east, above the black curtain of
the forest, and a white sheet of light spread over the interior of the
enclosure. The corral, with its clumps of trees, the little stream which
watered it, its wide carpet of grass, was suddenly illuminated. From
the side of the mountain, the house and a part of the palisade stood
out white in the moonlight. On the opposite side towards the door, the
enclosure remained dark. A black mass soon appeared. This was the cart
entering the circle of light, and Cyrus Harding could hear the noise
made by the door, as his companions shut it and fastened the interior
bars.

But, at that moment, Top, breaking loose, began to bark furiously and
rush to the back of the corral, to the right of the house.

“Be ready to fire, my friends!” cried Harding.

The colonists raised their pieces and waited the moment to fire.

Top still barked, and Jup, running towards the dog, uttered shrill
cries.

The colonists followed him, and reached the borders of the little
stream, shaded by large trees. And there, in the bright moonlight, what
did they see? Five corpses, stretched on the bank!

They were those of the convicts who, four months previously, had landed
on Lincoln Island!



Chapter 13

How had it happened? who had killed the convicts? Was it Ayrton? No, for
a moment before he was dreading their return.

But Ayrton was now in a profound stupor, from which it was no longer
possible to rouse him. After uttering those few words he had again
become unconscious, and had fallen back motionless on the bed.

The colonists, a prey to a thousand confused thoughts, under the
influence of violent excitement, waited all night, without leaving
Ayrton’s house, or returning to the spot where lay the bodies of the
convicts. It was very probable that Ayrton would not be able to throw
any light on the circumstances under which the bodies had been found,
since he himself was not aware that he was in the corral. But at any
rate he would be in a position to give an account of what had taken
place before this terrible execution. The next day Ayrton awoke from his
torpor, and his companions cordially manifested all the joy they felt,
on seeing him again, almost safe and sound, after a hundred and four
days separation.

Ayrton then in a few words recounted what had happened, or, at least, as
much as he knew.

The day after his arrival at the corral, on the 10th of last November,
at nightfall, he was surprised by the convicts, who had scaled the
palisade. They bound and gagged him; then he was led to a dark cavern,
at the foot of Mount Franklin, where the convicts had taken refuge.

His death had been decided upon, and the next day the convicts were
about to kill him, when one of them recognized him and called him by
the name which he bore in Australia. The wretches had no scruples as to
murdering Ayrton! They spared Ben Joyce!

But from that moment Ayrton was exposed to the importunities of his
former accomplices. They wished him to join them again, and relied upon
his aid to enable them to gain possession of Granite House, to penetrate
into that hitherto inaccessible dwelling, and to become masters of the
island, after murdering the colonists!

Ayrton remained firm. The once convict, now repentant and pardoned,
would rather die than betray his companions. Ayrton--bound, gagged, and
closely watched--lived in this cave for four months.

Nevertheless the convicts had discovered the corral a short time after
their arrival in the island, and since then they had subsisted on
Ayrton’s stores, but did not live at the corral.

On the 11th of November, two of the villains, surprised by the
colonists’ arrival, fired at Herbert, and one of them returned, boasting
of having killed one of the inhabitants of the island; but he returned
alone. His companion, as is known, fell by Cyrus Harding’s dagger.

Ayrton’s anxiety and despair may be imagined when he learned the news of
Herbert’s death. The settlers were now only four, and, as it seemed,
at the mercy of the convicts. After this event, and during all the
time that the colonists, detained by Herbert’s illness, remained in the
corral, the pirates did not leave their cavern, and even after they had
pillaged the plateau of Prospect Heights, they did not think it prudent
to abandon it.

The ill-treatment inflicted on Ayrton was now redoubled. His hands and
feet still bore the bloody marks of the cords which bound him day and
night. Every moment he expected to be put to death, nor did it appear
possible that he could escape.

Matters remained thus until the third week of February. The convicts,
still watching for a favorable opportunity, rarely quitted their
retreat, and only made a few hunting excursions, either to the interior
of the island, or the south coast.

Ayrton had no further news of his friends, and relinquished all hope
of ever seeing them again. At last, the unfortunate man, weakened
by ill-treatment, fell into a prostration so profound that sight and
hearing failed him. From that moment, that is to say, since the last two
days, he could give no information whatever of what had occurred.

“But, Captain Harding,” he added, “since I was imprisoned in that
cavern, how is it that I find myself in the corral?”

“How is it that the convicts are lying yonder dead, in the middle of the
enclosure?” answered the engineer.

“Dead!” cried Ayrton, half rising from his bed, notwithstanding his
weakness.

His companions supported him. He wished to get up, and with their
assistance he did so. They then proceeded together towards the little
stream.

It was now broad daylight.

There, on the bank, in the position in which they had been stricken
by death in its most instantaneous form, lay the corpses of the five
convicts!

Ayrton was astounded. Harding and his companions looked at him without
uttering a word. On a sign from the engineer, Neb and Pencroft examined
the bodies, already stiffened by the cold.

They bore no apparent trace of any wound.

Only, after carefully examining them, Pencroft found on the forehead of
one, on the chest of another, on the back of this one, on the shoulder
of that, a little red spot, a sort of scarcely visible bruise, the cause
of which it was impossible to conjecture.

“It is there that they have been struck!” said Cyrus Harding.

“But with what weapon?” cried the reporter.

“A weapon, lightning-like in its effects, and of which we have not the
secret!”

“And who has struck the blow?” asked Pencroft.

“The avenging power of the island,” replied Harding, “he who brought you
here, Ayrton, whose influence has once more manifested itself, who does
for us all that which we cannot do for ourselves, and who, his will
accomplished, conceals himself from us.”

“Let us make search for him, then!” exclaimed Pencroft.

“Yes, we will search for him,” answered Harding, “but we shall not
discover this powerful being who performs such wonders, until he pleases
to call us to him!”

This invisible protection, which rendered their own action unavailing,
both irritated and piqued the engineer. The relative inferiority which
it proved was of a nature to wound a haughty spirit. A generosity
evinced in such a manner as to elude all tokens of gratitude, implied a
sort of disdain for those on whom the obligation was conferred, which in
Cyrus Harding’s eyes marred, in some degree, the worth of the benefit.

“Let us search,” he resumed, “and God grant that we may some day be
permitted to prove to this haughty protector that he has not to deal
with ungrateful people! What would I not give could we repay him, by
rendering him in our turn, although at the price of our lives, some
signal service!”

From this day, the thoughts of the inhabitants of Lincoln Island were
solely occupied with the intended search. Everything incited them to
discover the answer to this enigma, an answer which would only be the
name of a man endowed with a truly inexplicable, and in some degree
superhuman power.

In a few minutes, the settlers re-entered the house, where their
influence soon restored to Ayrton his moral and physical energy. Neb
and Pencroft carried the corpses of the convicts into the forest, some
distance from the corral, and buried them deep in the ground.

Ayrton was then made acquainted with the facts which had occurred during
his seclusion. He learned Herbert’s adventures, and through what various
trials the colonists had passed. As to the settlers, they had despaired
of ever seeing Ayrton again, and had been convinced that the convicts
had ruthlessly murdered him.

“And now,” said Cyrus Harding, as he ended his recital, “a duty remains
for us to perform. Half of our task is accomplished, but although the
convicts are no longer to be feared, it is not owing to ourselves that
we are once more masters of the island.”

“Well!” answered Gideon Spilett, “let us search all this labyrinth of
the spurs of Mount Franklin. We will not leave a hollow, not a hole
unexplored! Ah! if ever a reporter found himself face to face with a
mystery, it is I who now speak to you, my friends!”

“And we will not return to Granite House until we have found our
benefactor,” said Herbert.

“Yes,” said the engineer, “we will do all that it is humanly possible to
do, but I repeat we shall not find him until he himself permits us.”

“Shall we stay at the corral?” asked Pencroft.

“We shall stay here,” answered Harding. “Provisions are abundant, and we
are here in the very center of the circle we have to explore. Besides,
if necessary, the cart will take us rapidly to Granite House.”

“Good!” answered the sailor. “Only I have a remark to make.”

“What is it?”

“Here is the fine season getting on, and we must not forget that we have
a voyage to make.”

“A voyage?” said Gideon Spilett.

“Yes, to Tabor Island,” answered Pencroft. “It is necessary to carry a
notice there to point out the position of our island and say that Ayrton
is here in case the Scotch yacht should come to take him off. Who knows
if it is not already too late?”

“But, Pencroft,” asked Ayrton, “how do you intend to make this voyage?”

“In the ‘Bonadventure.’”

“The ‘Bonadventure!’” exclaimed Ayrton. “She no longer exists.”

“My ‘Bonadventure’ exists no longer!” shouted Pencroft, bounding from
his seat.

“No,” answered Ayrton. “The convicts discovered her in her little harbor
only eight days ago, they put to sea in her--”

“And?” said Pencroft, his heart beating.

“And not having Bob Harvey to steer her, they ran on the rocks, and the
vessel went to pieces.”

“Oh, the villains, the cutthroats, the infamous scoundrels!” exclaimed
Pencroft.

“Pencroft,” said Herbert, taking the sailor’s hand, “we will build
another ‘Bonadventure’--a larger one. We have all the ironwork--all the
rigging of the brig at our disposal.”

“But do you know,” returned Pencroft, “that it will take at least five
or six months to build a vessel of from thirty to forty tons?”

“We can take our time,” said the reporter, “and we must give up the
voyage to Tabor Island for this year.”

“Oh, my ‘Bonadventure!’ my poor ‘Bonadventure!’” cried Pencroft, almost
broken-hearted at the destruction of the vessel of which he was so
proud.

The loss of the “Bonadventure” was certainly a thing to be lamented by
the colonists, and it was agreed that this loss should be repaired
as soon as possible. This settled, they now occupied themselves with
bringing their researches to bear on the most secret parts of the
island.

The exploration was commenced at daybreak on the 19th of February, and
lasted an entire week. The base of the mountain, with its spurs and
their numberless ramifications, formed a labyrinth of valleys and
elevations. It was evident that there, in the depths of these narrow
gorges, perhaps even in the interior of Mount Franklin itself, was the
proper place to pursue their researches. No part of the island could
have been more suitable to conceal a dwelling whose occupant wished to
remain unknown. But so irregular was the formation of the valleys that
Cyrus Harding was obliged to conduct the exploration in a strictly
methodical manner.

The colonists first visited the valley opening to the south of the
volcano, and which first received the waters of Falls River. There
Ayrton showed them the cavern where the convicts had taken refuge, and
in which he had been imprisoned until his removal to the corral. This
cavern was just as Ayrton had left it. They found there a considerable
quantity of ammunition and provisions, conveyed thither by the convicts
in order to form a reserve.

The whole of the valley bordering on the cave, shaded by fir and
other trees, was thoroughly explored, and on turning the point of the
southwestern spur, the colonists entered a narrower gorge similar to the
picturesque columns of basalt on the coast. Here the trees were fewer.
Stones took the place of grass. Goats and musmons gambolled among the
rocks. Here began the barren part of the island. It could already be
seen that, of the numerous valleys branching off at the base of Mount
Franklin, three only were wooded and rich in pasturage like that of the
corral, which bordered on the west on the Falls River valley, and on the
east on the Red Creek valley. These two streams, which lower down became
rivers by the absorption of several tributaries, were formed by all the
springs of the mountain and thus caused the fertility of its southern
part. As to the Mercy, it was more directly fed from ample springs
concealed under the cover of Jacamar Wood, and it was by springs of
this nature, spreading in a thousand streamlets, that the soil of the
Serpentine Peninsula was watered.

Now, of these three well-watered valleys, either might have served as a
retreat to some solitary who would have found there everything necessary
for life. But the settlers had already explored them, and in no part had
they discovered the presence of man.

Was it then in the depths of those barren gorges, in the midst of the
piles of rock, in the rugged northern ravines, among the streams of
lava, that this dwelling and its occupant would be found?

The northern part of Mount Franklin was at its base composed solely of
two valleys, wide, not very deep, without any appearance of vegetation,
strewn with masses of rock, paved with lava, and varied with great
blocks of mineral. This region required a long and careful exploration.
It contained a thousand cavities, comfortless no doubt, but perfectly
concealed and difficult of access.

The colonists even visited dark tunnels, dating from the volcanic
period, still black from the passage of the fire, and penetrated into
the depths of the mountain. They traversed these somber galleries,
waving lighted torches; they examined the smallest excavations; they
sounded the shallowest depths, but all was dark and silent. It did
not appear that the foot of man had ever before trodden these ancient
passages, or that his arm had ever displaced one of these blocks, which
remained as the volcano had cast them up above the waters, at the time
of the submersion of the island.

However, although these passages appeared to be absolutely deserted, and
the obscurity was complete, Cyrus Harding was obliged to confess that
absolute silence did not reign there.

On arriving at the end of one of these gloomy caverns, extending several
hundred feet into the interior of the mountain, he was surprised to hear
a deep rumbling noise, increased in intensity by the sonorousness of the
rocks.

Gideon Spilett, who accompanied him, also heard these distant
mutterings, which indicated a revivification of the subterranean fires.
Several times both listened, and they agreed that some chemical process
was taking place in the bowels of the earth.

“Then the volcano is not totally extinct?” said the reporter.

“It is possible that since our exploration of the crater,” replied Cyrus
Harding, “some change has occurred. Any volcano, although considered
extinct, may evidently again burst forth.”

“But if an eruption of Mount Franklin occurred,” asked Spilett, “would
there not be some danger to Lincoln Island?”

“I do not think so,” answered the reporter. “The crater, that is to
say, the safety-valve, exists, and the overflow of smoke and lava, would
escape, as it did formerly, by this customary outlet.”

“Unless the lava opened a new way for itself towards the fertile parts
of the island!”

“And why, my dear Spilett,” answered Cyrus Harding, “should it not
follow the road naturally traced out for it?”

“Well, volcanoes are capricious,” returned the reporter.

“Notice,” answered the engineer, “that the inclination of Mount Franklin
favors the flow of water towards the valleys which we are exploring just
now. To turn aside this flow, an earthquake would be necessary to change
the mountain’s center of gravity.”

“But an earthquake is always to be feared at these times,” observed
Gideon Spilett.

“Always,” replied the engineer, “especially when the subterranean forces
begin to awake, as they risk meeting with some obstruction, after a long
rest. Thus, my dear Spilett, an eruption would be a serious thing
for us, and it would be better that the volcano should not have the
slightest desire to wake up. But we could not prevent it, could we? At
any rate, even if it should occur, I do not think Prospect Heights would
be seriously threatened. Between them and the mountain, the ground
is considerably depressed, and if the lava should ever take a course
towards the lake, it would be cast on the downs and the neighboring
parts of Shark Gulf.”

“We have not yet seen any smoke at the top of the mountain, to indicate
an approaching eruption,” said Gideon Spilett.

“No,” answered Harding, “not a vapor escapes from the crater, for it
was only yesterday that I attentively surveyed the summit. But it
is probable that at the lower part of the chimney, time may have
accumulated rocks, cinders, hardened lava, and that this valve of which
I spoke, may at any time become overcharged. But at the first serious
effort, every obstacle will disappear, and you may be certain, my dear
Spilett, that neither the island, which is the boiler, nor the
volcano, which is the chimney, will burst under the pressure of gas.
Nevertheless, I repeat, it would be better that there should not be an
eruption.”

“And yet we are not mistaken,” remarked the reporter. “Mutterings can be
distinctly heard in the very bowels of the volcano!”

“You are right,” said the engineer, again listening attentively. “There
can be no doubt of it. A commotion is going on there, of which we can
neither estimate the importance nor the ultimate result.”

Cyrus Harding and Spilett, on coming out, rejoined their companions, to
whom they made known the state of affairs.

“Very well!” cried Pencroft, “The volcano wants to play his pranks! Let
him try, if he likes! He will find his master!”

“Who?” asked Neb.

“Our good genius, Neb, our good genius, who will shut his mouth for him,
if he so much as pretends to open it!”

As may be seen, the sailor’s confidence in the tutelary deity of his
island was absolute, and, certainly, the occult power, manifested until
now in so many inexplicable ways, appeared to be unlimited; but also it
knew how to escape the colonists’ most minute researches, for, in
spite of all their efforts, in spite of the more than zeal,--the
obstinacy,--with which they carried on their exploration, the retreat of
the mysterious being could not be discovered.

From the 19th to the 20th of February the circle of investigation was
extended to all the northern region of Lincoln Island, whose most secret
nooks were explored. The colonists even went the length of tapping every
rock. The search was extended to the extreme verge of the mountain. It
was explored thus to the very summit of the truncated cone terminating
the first row of rocks, then to the upper ridge of the enormous hat, at
the bottom of which opened the crater.

They did more; they visited the gulf, now extinct, but in whose depths
the rumbling could be distinctly heard. However, no sign of smoke or
vapor, no heating of the rock, indicated an approaching eruption.
But neither there, nor in any other part of Mount Franklin, did the
colonists find any traces of him of whom they were in search.

Their investigations were then directed to the downs. They carefully
examined the high lava-cliffs of Shark Gulf from the base to the crest,
although it was extremely difficult to reach even the level of the gulf.
No one!--nothing!

Indeed, in these three words was summed up so much fatigue uselessly
expended, so much energy producing no results, that somewhat of anger
mingled with the discomfiture of Cyrus Harding and his companions.

It was now time to think of returning, for these researches could not be
prolonged indefinitely. The colonists were certainly right in believing
that the mysterious being did not reside on the surface of the island,
and the wildest fancies haunted their excited imaginations. Pencroft
and Neb, particularly, were not contented with the mystery, but allowed
their imaginations to wander into the domain of the supernatural.

On the 25th of February the colonists re-entered Granite House, and by
means of the double cord, carried by an arrow to the threshold of the
door, they re-established communication between their habitation and the
ground.

A month later they commemorated, on the 25th of March, the third
anniversary of their arrival on Lincoln Island.



Chapter 14

Three years had passed away since the escape of the prisoners from
Richmond, and how often during those three years had they spoken of
their country, always present in their thoughts!

They had no doubt that the civil war was at an end, and to them it
appeared impossible that the just cause of the North had not triumphed.
But what had been the incidents of this terrible war? How much blood had
it not cost? How many of their friends must have fallen in the struggle?
They often spoke of these things, without as yet being able to foresee
the day when they would be permitted once more to see their country.
To return thither, were it but for a few days, to renew the social link
with the inhabited world, to establish a communication between their
native land and their island, then to pass the longest, perhaps the
best, portion of their existence in this colony, founded by them,
and which would then be dependent on their country, was this a dream
impossible to realize?

There were only two ways of accomplishing it--either a ship must appear
off Lincoln Island, or the colonists must themselves build a vessel
strong enough to sail to the nearest land.

“Unless,” said Pencroft, “our good genius, himself provides us with the
means of returning to our country.”

And, really, had any one told Pencroft and Neb that a ship of 300 tons
was waiting for them in Shark Gulf or at Port Balloon, they would not
even have made a gesture of surprise. In their state of mind nothing
appeared improbable.

But Cyrus Harding, less confident, advised them to confine themselves to
fact, and more especially so with regard to the building of a vessel--a
really urgent work, since it was for the purpose of depositing, as
soon as possible, at Tabor Island a document indicating Ayrton’s new
residence.

As the “Bonadventure” no longer existed, six months at least would
be required for the construction of a new vessel. Now winter was
approaching, and the voyage would not be made before the following
spring.

“We have time to get everything ready for the fine season,” remarked
the engineer, who was consulting with Pencroft about these matters. “I
think, therefore, my friend, that since we have to rebuild our vessel
it will be best to give her larger dimensions. The arrival of the Scotch
yacht at Tabor Island is very uncertain. It may even be that, having
arrived several months ago, she has again sailed after having vainly
searched for some trace of Ayrton. Will it not then be best to build
a ship which, if necessary, could take us either to the Polynesian
Archipelago or to New Zealand? What do you think?”

“I think, captain,” answered the sailor; “I think that you are as
capable of building a large vessel as a small one. Neither the wood nor
the tools are wanting. It is only a question of time.”

“And how many months would be required to build a vessel of from 250 to
300 tons?” asked Harding.

“Seven or eight months at least,” replied Pencroft. “But it must not be
forgotten that winter is drawing near, and that in severe frost wood is
difficult to work. We must calculate on several weeks delay, and if our
vessel is ready by next November we may think ourselves very lucky.”

“Well,” replied Cyrus Harding, “that will be exactly the most favorable
time for undertaking a voyage of any importance, either to Tabor Island
or to a more distant land.”

“So it will, captain,” answered the sailor. “Make out your plans then;
the workmen are ready, and I imagine that Ayrton can lend us a good
helping hand.”

The colonists, having been consulted, approved the engineer’s plan,
and it was, indeed, the best thing to be done. It is true that the
construction of a ship of from two to three hundred tons would be great
labor, but the colonists had confidence in themselves, justified by
their previous success.

Cyrus Harding then busied himself in drawing the plan of the vessel and
making the model. During this time his companions employed themselves in
felling and carting trees to furnish the ribs, timbers, and planks.
The forest of the Far West supplied the best oaks and elms. They took
advantage of the opening already made on their last excursion to form a
practicable road, which they named the Far West Road, and the trees were
carried to the Chimneys, where the dockyard was established. As to
the road in question, the choice of trees had rendered its direction
somewhat capricious, but at the same time it facilitated the access to a
large part of the Serpentine Peninsula.

It was important that the trees should be quickly felled and cut up, for
they could not be used while yet green, and some time was necessary to
allow them to get seasoned. The carpenters, therefore, worked vigorously
during the month of April, which was troubled only by a few equinoctial
gales of some violence. Master Jup aided them dexterously, either by
climbing to the top of a tree to fasten the ropes or by lending his
stout shoulders to carry the lopped trunks.

All this timber was piled up under a large shed, built near the
Chimneys, and there awaited the time for use.

The month of April was tolerably fine, as October often is in the
northern zone. At the same time other work was actively continued, and
soon all trace of devastation disappeared from the plateau of
Prospect Heights. The mill was rebuilt, and new buildings rose in the
poultry-yard. It had appeared necessary to enlarge their dimensions,
for the feathered population had increased considerably. The stable
now contained five onagers, four of which were well broken, and allowed
themselves to be either driven or ridden, and a little colt. The colony
now possessed a plow, to which the onagers were yoked like regular
Yorkshire or Kentucky oxen. The colonists divided their work, and their
arms never tired. Then who could have enjoyed better health than these
workers, and what good humor enlivened the evenings in Granite House as
they formed a thousand plans for the future!

As a matter of course Ayrton shared the common lot in every respect,
and there was no longer any talk of his going to live at the corral.
Nevertheless he was still sad and reserved, and joined more in the work
than in the pleasures of his companions. But he was a valuable workman
at need--strong, skilful, ingenious, intelligent. He was esteemed and
loved by all, and he could not be ignorant of it.

In the meanwhile the corral was not abandoned. Every other day one of
the settlers, driving the cart or mounted on an onager, went to look
after the flock of musmons and goats and bring back the supply of
milk required by Neb. These excursions at the same time afforded
opportunities for hunting. Therefore Herbert and Gideon Spilett, with
Top in front, traversed more often than their companions the road to
the corral, and with the capital guns which they carried, capybaras,
agouties, kangaroos, and wild pigs for large game, ducks, grouse,
jacamars, and snipe for small game, were never wanting in the house.
The produce of the warren, of the oyster-bed, several turtles which were
taken, excellent salmon which came up the Mercy, vegetables from the
plateau, wild fruit from the forest, were riches upon riches, and Neb,
the head cook, could scarcely by himself store them away.

The telegraphic wire between the corral and Granite House had of course
been repaired, and it was worked whenever one or other of the settlers
was at the corral and found it necessary to spend the night there.
Besides, the island was safe now and no attacks were to be feared, at
any rate from men.

However, that which had happened might happen again. A descent of
pirates, or even of escaped convicts, was always to be feared. It was
possible that companions or accomplices of Bob Harvey had been in the
secret of his plans, and might be tempted to imitate him. The colonists,
therefore, were careful to observe the sea around the island, and every
day their telescope covered the horizon enclosed by Union and Washington
Bays. When they went to the corral they examined the sea to the west
with no less attention, and by climbing the spur their gaze extended
over a large section of the western horizon.

Nothing suspicious was discerned, but still it was necessary for them to
be on their guard.

The engineer one evening imparted to his friends a plan which he had
conceived for fortifying the corral. It appeared prudent to him to
heighten the palisade and to flank it with a sort of blockhouse, which,
if necessary, the settlers could hold against the enemy. Granite House
might, by its very position, be considered impregnable; therefore the
corral with its buildings, its stores, and the animals it contained,
would always be the object of pirates, whoever they were, who might land
on the island, and should the colonists be obliged to shut themselves
up there they ought also to be able to defend themselves without any
disadvantage. This was a project which might be left for consideration,
and they were, besides, obliged to put off its execution until the next
spring.

About the 15th of May the keel of the new vessel lay along the dockyard,
and soon the stem and stern-post, mortised at each of its extremities,
rose almost perpendicularly. The keel, of good oak, measured 110 feet
in length, this allowing a width of five-and-twenty feet to the midship
beam. But this was all the carpenters could do before the arrival of the
frosts and bad weather. During the following week they fixed the first
of the stern timbers, but were then obliged to suspend work.

During the last days of the month the weather was extremely bad. The
wind blew from the east, sometimes with the violence of a tempest. The
engineer was somewhat uneasy on account of the dockyard shed--which
besides, he could not have established in any other place near to
Granite House--for the islet only imperfectly sheltered the shore from
the fury of the open sea, and in great storms the waves beat against the
very foot of the granite cliff.

But, very fortunately, these fears were not realized. The wind shifted
to the southeast, and there the beach of Granite House was completely
covered by Flotsam Point.

Pencroft and Ayrton, the most zealous workmen at the new vessel, pursued
their labor as long as they could. They were not men to mind the wind
tearing at their hair, nor the rain wetting them to the skin, and a blow
from a hammer is worth just as much in bad as in fine weather. But when
a severe frost succeeded this wet period, the wood, its fibers acquiring
the hardness of iron, became extremely difficult to work, and about the
10th of June shipbuilding was obliged to be entirely discontinued.

Cyrus Harding and his companions had not omitted to observe how severe
was the temperature during the winters of Lincoln Island. The cold was
comparable to that experienced in the States of New England, situated at
almost the same distance from the equator. In the northern hemisphere,
or at any rate in the part occupied by British America and the north of
the United States, this phenomenon is explained by the flat conformation
of the territories bordering on the pole, and on which there is no
intumescence of the soil to oppose any obstacle to the north winds;
here, in Lincoln Island, this explanation would not suffice.

“It has even been observed,” remarked Harding one day to his companions,
“that in equal latitudes the islands and coast regions are less tried by
the cold than inland countries. I have often heard it asserted that the
winters of Lombardy, for example, are not less rigorous than those of
Scotland, which results from the sea restoring during the winter the
heat which it received during the summer. Islands are, therefore, in a
better situation for benefiting by this restitution.”

“But then, Captain Harding,” asked Herbert, “why does Lincoln Island
appear to escape the common law?”

“That is difficult to explain,” answered the engineer. “However, I
should be disposed to conjecture that this peculiarity results from the
situation of the island in the Southern Hemisphere, which, as you know,
my boy, is colder than the Northern Hemisphere.”

“Yes,” said Herbert, “and icebergs are met with in lower latitudes in
the south than in the north of the Pacific.”

“That is true,” remarked Pencroft, “and when I have been serving on
board whalers I have seen icebergs off Cape Horn.”

“The severe cold experienced in Lincoln Island,” said Gideon Spilett,
“may then perhaps be explained by the presence of floes or icebergs
comparatively near to Lincoln Island.”

“Your opinion is very admissible indeed, my dear Spilett,” answered
Cyrus Harding, “and it is evidently to the proximity of icebergs that
we owe our rigorous winters. I would draw your attention also to an
entirely physical cause, which renders the Southern colder than the
Northern Hemisphere. In fact, since the sun is nearer to this hemisphere
during the summer, it is necessarily more distant during the winter.
This explains then the excess of temperature in the two seasons, for, if
we find the winters very cold in Lincoln Island, we must not forget that
the summers here, on the contrary, are very hot.”

“But why, if you please, captain,” asked Pencroft, knitting his brows,
“why should our hemisphere, as you say, be so badly divided? It isn’t
just, that!”

“Friend Pencroft,” answered the engineer, laughing, “whether just
or not, we must submit to it, and here lies the reason for this
peculiarity. The earth does not describe a circle around the sun, but
an ellipse, as it must by the laws of rational mechanics. Now, the earth
occupies one of the foci of the ellipse, and so at one point in its
course is at its apogee, that is, at its farthest from the sun, and
at another point it is at its perigee, or nearest to the sun. Now it
happens that it is during the winter of the southern countries that
it is at its most distant point from the sun, and consequently, in a
situation for those regions to feel the greatest cold. Nothing can be
done to prevent that, and men, Pencroft, however learned they may be,
can never change anything of the cosmographical order established by God
Himself.”

“And yet,” added Pencroft, “the world is very learned. What a big book,
captain, might be made with all that is known!”

“And what a much bigger book still with all that is not known!” answered
Harding.

At last, for one reason or another, the month of June brought the cold
with its accustomed intensity, and the settlers were often confined to
Granite House. Ah! how wearisome this imprisonment was to them, and more
particularly to Gideon Spilett.

“Look here,” said he to Neb one day, “I would give you by notarial
deed all the estates which will come to me some day, if you were a good
enough fellow to go, no matter where, and subscribe to some newspaper
for me! Decidedly the thing that is most essential to my happiness is
the knowing every morning what has happened the day before in other
places than this!”

Neb began to laugh.

“‘Pon my word,” he replied, “the only thing I think about is my daily
work!”

The truth was that indoors as well as out there was no want of work.

The colony of Lincoln Island was now at its highest point of prosperity,
achieved by three years of continued hard work. The destruction of the
brig had been a new source of riches. Without speaking of the complete
rig which would serve for the vessel now on the stocks, utensils and
tools of all sorts, weapons and ammunition, clothes and instruments,
were now piled in the storerooms of Granite House. It had not even
been necessary to resort again to the manufacture of the coarse felt
materials. Though the colonists had suffered from cold during their
first winter, the bad season might now come without their having any
reason to dread its severity. Linen was plentiful also, and besides,
they kept it with extreme care. From chloride of sodium, which is
nothing else than sea salt, Cyrus Harding easily extracted the soda and
chlorine. The soda, which it was easy to change into carbonate of soda,
and the chlorine, of which he made chloride of lime, were employed for
various domestic purposes, and especially in bleaching linen. Besides,
they did not wash more than four times a year, as was done by families
in the olden times, and it may be added, that Pencroft and Gideon
Spilett, while waiting for the postman to bring him his newspaper,
distinguished themselves as washermen.

So passed the winter months, June, July, and August. They were severe,
and the average observations of the thermometer did not give more than
eight degrees of Fahrenheit. It was therefore lower in temperature than
the preceding winter. But then, what splendid fires blazed continually
on the hearths of Granite House, the smoke marking the granite wall with
long, zebra-like streaks! Fuel was not spared, as it grew naturally a
few steps from them. Besides, the chips of the wood destined for the
construction of the ship enabled them to economize the coal, which
required more trouble to transport.

Men and animals were all well. Master Jup was a little chilly, it must
be confessed. This was perhaps his only weakness, and it was necessary
to make him a well-padded dressing-gown. But what a servant he was,
clever, zealous, indefatigable, not indiscreet, not talkative, and
he might have been with reason proposed as a model for all his biped
brothers in the Old and New Worlds!

“As for that,” said Pencroft, “when one has four hands at one’s service,
of course one’s work ought to be done so much the better!”

And indeed the intelligent creature did it well.

During the seven months which had passed since the last researches made
round the mountain, and during the month of September, which brought
back fine weather, nothing was heard of the genius of the island. His
power was not manifested in any way. It is true that it would have
been superfluous, for no incident occurred to put the colonists to any
painful trial.

Cyrus Harding even observed that if by chance the communication between
the unknown and the tenants of Granite House had ever been established
through the granite, and if Top’s instinct had as it were felt it, there
was no further sign of it during this period. The dog’s growling
had entirely ceased, as well as the uneasiness of the orang. The two
friends--for they were such--no longer prowled round the opening of the
inner well, nor did they bark or whine in that singular way which from
the first the engineer had noticed. But could he be sure that this was
all that was to be said about this enigma, and that he should never
arrive at a solution? Could he be certain that some conjuncture would
not occur which would bring the mysterious personage on the scene? who
could tell what the future might have in reserve?

At last the winter was ended, but an event, the consequences of which
might be serious occurred in the first days of the returning spring.

On the 7th of September, Cyrus Harding, having observed the crater, saw
smoke curling round the summit of the mountain, its first vapors rising
in the air.



Chapter 15

The colonists, warned by the engineer, left their work and gazed in
silence at the summit of Mount Franklin.

The volcano had awoke, and the vapor had penetrated the mineral layer
heaped at the bottom of the crater. But would the subterranean fires
provoke any violent eruption? This was an event which could not be
foreseen. However, even while admitting the possibility of an eruption,
it was not probable that the whole of Lincoln Island would suffer from
it. The flow of volcanic matter is not always disastrous, and the island
had already undergone this trial, as was shown by the streams of lava
hardened on the northern slopes of the mountain. Besides, from the shape
of the crater--the opening broken in the upper edge--the matter would be
thrown to the side opposite the fertile regions of the island.

However, the past did not necessarily answer for the future. Often, at
the summit of volcanoes, the old craters close and new ones open.
This had occurred in the two hemispheres--at Etna, Popocatepetl, at
Orizabaand on the eve of an eruption there is everything to be feared.
In fact, an earthquake--a phenomenon which often accompanies volcanic
eruption--is enough to change the interior arrangement of a mountain,
and to open new outlets for the burning lava.

Cyrus Harding explained these things to his companions, and, without
exaggerating the state of things, he told them all the pros and cons.
After all, they could not prevent it. It did not appear likely that
Granite House would be threatened unless the ground was shaken by an
earthquake. But the corral would be in great danger should a new crater
open in the southern side of Mount Franklin.

From that day the smoke never disappeared from the top of the mountain,
and it could even be perceived that it increased in height and
thickness, without any flame mingling in its heavy volumes. The
phenomenon was still concentrated in the lower part of the central
crater.

However, with the fine days work had been continued. The building of the
vessel was hastened as much as possible, and, by means of the waterfall
on the shore, Cyrus Harding managed to establish an hydraulic sawmill,
which rapidly cut up the trunks of trees into planks and joists. The
mechanism of this apparatus was as simple as those used in the rustic
sawmills of Norway. A first horizontal movement to move the piece of
wood, a second vertical movement to move the saw--this was all that was
wanted; and the engineer succeeded by means of a wheel, two cylinders,
and pulleys properly arranged. Towards the end of the month of September
the skeleton of the vessel, which was to be rigged as a schooner, lay
in the dockyard. The ribs were almost entirely completed, and, all the
timbers having been sustained by a provisional band, the shape of the
vessel could already be seen. The schooner, sharp in the bows, very
slender in the after-part, would evidently be suitable for a long
voyage, if wanted; but laying the planking would still take a
considerable time. Very fortunately, the iron work of the pirate brig
had been saved after the explosion. From the planks and injured ribs
Pencroft and Ayrton had extracted the bolts and a large quantity
of copper nails. It was so much work saved for the smiths, but the
carpenters had much to do.

Shipbuilding was interrupted for a week for the harvest, the haymaking,
and the gathering in of the different crops on the plateau. This work
finished, every moment was devoted to finishing the schooner. When night
came the workmen were really quite exhausted. So as not to lose any
time they had changed the hours for their meals; they dined at twelve
o’clock, and only had their supper when daylight failed them. They then
ascended to Granite House, when they were always ready to go to bed.

Sometimes, however, when the conversation bore on some interesting
subject the hour for sleep was delayed for a time. The colonists then
spoke of the future, and talked willingly of the changes which a voyage
in the schooner to inhabited lands would make in their situation.
But always, in the midst of these plans, prevailed the thought of a
subsequent return to Lincoln Island. Never would they abandon this
colony, founded with so much labor and with such success, and to which
a communication with America would afford a fresh impetus. Pencroft and
Neb especially hoped to end their days there.

“Herbert,” said the sailor, “you will never abandon Lincoln Island?”

“Never, Pencroft, and especially if you make up your mind to stay
there.”

“That was made up long ago, my boy,” answered Pencroft. “I shall expect
you. You will bring me your wife and children, and I shall make jolly
chaps of your youngsters!”

“That’s agreed,” replied Herbert, laughing and blushing at the same
time.

“And you, Captain Harding,” resumed Pencroft enthusiastically, “you will
be still the governor of the island! Ah, how many inhabitants could it
support? Ten thousand at least!”

They talked in this way, allowing Pencroft to run on, and at last the
reporter actually started a newspaper--the New Lincoln Herald!

So is man’s heart. The desire to perform a work which will endure, which
will survive him, is the origin of his superiority over all other living
creatures here below. It is this which has established his dominion, and
this it is which justifies it, over all the world.

After that, who knows if Jup and Top had not themselves their little
dream of the future.

Ayrton silently said to himself that he would like to see Lord Glenarvan
again and show himself to all restored.

One evening, on the 15th of October, the conversation was prolonged
later than usual. It was nine o’clock. Already, long badly concealed
yawns gave warning of the hour of rest, and Pencroft was proceeding
towards his bed, when the electric bell, placed in the dining-room,
suddenly rang.

All were there, Cyrus Harding, Gideon Spilett, Herbert, Ayrton,
Pencroft, Neb. Therefore none of the colonists were at the corral.

Cyrus Harding rose. His companions stared at each other, scarcely
believing their ears.

“What does that mean?” cried Neb. “Was it the devil who rang it?”

No one answered.

“The weather is stormy,” observed Herbert. “Might not its influence of
electricity--”

Herbert did not finish his phrase. The engineer, towards whom all eyes
were turned, shook his head negatively.

“We must wait,” said Gideon Spilett. “If it is a signal, whoever it may
be who has made it, he will renew it.”

“But who do you think it is?” cried Neb.

“Who?” answered Pencroft, “but he--”

The sailor’s sentence was cut short by a new tinkle of the bell.

Harding went to the apparatus, and sent this question to the corral:--

“What do you want?”

A few moments later the needle, moving on the alphabetic dial, gave this
reply to the tenants of Granite House:--

“Come to the corral immediately.”

“At last!” exclaimed Harding.

Yes! At last! The mystery was about to be unveiled. The colonists’
fatigue had disappeared before the tremendous interest which was about
to urge them to the corral, and all wish for rest had ceased. Without
having uttered a word, in a few moments they had left Granite House,
and were standing on the beach. Jup and Top alone were left behind. They
could do without them.

The night was black. The new moon had disappeared at the same time as
the sun. As Herbert had observed, great stormy clouds formed a lowering
and heavy vault, preventing any star rays. A few lightning flashes,
reflections from a distant storm, illuminated the horizon.

It was possible that a few hours later the thunder would roll over the
island itself. The night was very threatening.

But however deep the darkness was, it would not prevent them from
finding the familiar road to the corral.

They ascended the left bank of the Mercy, reached the plateau, passed
the bridge over Creek Glycerine, and advanced through the forest.

They walked at a good pace, a prey to the liveliest emotions. There was
no doubt but that they were now going to learn the long-searched-for
answer to the enigma, the name of that mysterious being, so deeply
concerned in their life, so generous in his influence, so powerful
in his action! Must not this stranger have indeed mingled with their
existence, have known the smallest details, have heard all that was said
in Granite House, to have been able always to act in the very nick of
time?

Every one, wrapped up in his own reflections, pressed forward. Under the
arch of trees the darkness was such that even the edge of the road
could not be seen. Not a sound in the forest. Both animals and birds,
influenced by the heaviness of the atmosphere, remained motionless
and silent. Not a breath disturbed the leaves. The footsteps of the
colonists alone resounded on the hardened ground.

During the first quarter of an hour the silence was only interrupted by
this remark from Pencroft:--

“We ought to have brought a torch.”

And by this reply from the engineer:--

“We shall find one at the corral.”

Harding and his companions had left Granite House at twelve minutes past
nine. At forty-seven minutes past nine they had traversed three out of
the five miles which separated the mouth of the Mercy from the corral.

At that moment sheets of lightning spread over the island and illumined
the dark trees. The flashes dazzled and almost blinded them. Evidently
the storm would not be long in bursting forth.

The flashes gradually became brighter and more rapid. Distant thunder
growled in the sky. The atmosphere was stifling.

The colonists proceeded as if they were urged onwards by some
irresistible force.

At ten o’clock a vivid flash showed them the palisade, and as they
reached the gate the storm burst forth with tremendous fury.

In a minute the corral was crossed, and Harding stood before the hut.

Probably the house was occupied by the stranger, since it was from
thence that the telegram had been sent. However, no light shone through
the window.

The engineer knocked at the door.

No answer.

Cyrus Harding opened the door, and the settlers entered the room, which
was perfectly dark. A light was struck by Neb, and in a few moments the
lantern was lighted and the light thrown into every corner of the room.

There was no one there. Everything was in the state in which it had been
left.

“Have we been deceived by an illusion?” murmured Cyrus Harding.

No! that was not possible! The telegram had clearly said,--

“Come to the corral immediately.”

They approached the table specially devoted to the use of the wire.
Everything was in order--the pile on the box containing it, as well as
all the apparatus.

“Who came here the last time?” asked the engineer.

“I did, captain,” answered Ayrton.

“And that was--”

“Four days ago.”

“Ah! a note!” cried Herbert, pointing to a paper lying on the table.

On this paper were written these words in English:--

“Follow the new wire.”

“Forward!” cried Harding, who understood that the despatch had not been
sent from the corral, but from the mysterious retreat, communicating
directly with Granite House by means of a supplementary wire joined to
the old one.

Neb took the lighted lantern, and all left the corral. The storm
then burst forth with tremendous violence. The interval between each
lightning-flash and each thunder-clap diminished rapidly. The summit
of the volcano, with its plume of vapor, could be seen by occasional
flashes.

There was no telegraphic communication in any part of the corral between
the house and the palisade; but the engineer, running straight to the
first post, saw by the light of a flash a new wire hanging from the
isolator to the ground.

“There it is!” said he.

This wire lay along the ground, and was surrounded with an isolating
substance like a submarine cable, so as to assure the free transmission
of the current. It appeared to pass through the wood and the southern
spurs of the mountain, and consequently it ran towards the west.

“Follow it!” said Cyrus Harding.

And the settlers immediately pressed forward, guided by the wire.

The thunder continued to roar with such violence that not a word could
be heard. However, there was no occasion for speaking, but to get
forward as fast as possible.

Cyrus Harding and his companions then climbed the spur rising between
the corral valley and that of Falls River, which they crossed at its
narrowest part. The wire, sometimes stretched over the lower branches
of the trees, sometimes lying on the ground, guided them surely. The
engineer had supposed that the wire would perhaps stop at the bottom of
the valley, and that the stranger’s retreat would be there.

Nothing of the sort. They were obliged to ascend the south-western spur,
and re-descend on that arid plateau terminated by the strangely-wild
basalt cliff. From time to time one of the colonists stooped down and
felt for the wire with his hands; but there was now no doubt that the
wire was running directly towards the sea. There, to a certainty, in the
depths of those rocks, was the dwelling so long sought for in vain.

The sky was literally on fire. Flash succeeded flash. Several struck the
summit of the volcano in the midst of the thick smoke. It appeared there
as if the mountain was vomiting flame. At a few minutes to eleven the
colonists arrived on the high cliff overlooking the ocean to the west.
The wind had risen. The surf roared 500 feet below.

Harding calculated that they had gone a mile and a half from the corral.

At this point the wire entered among the rocks, following the steep side
of a narrow ravine. The settlers followed it at the risk of occasioning
a fall of the slightly-balanced rocks, and being dashed into the sea.
The descent was extremely perilous, but they did not think of the
danger; they were no longer masters of themselves, and an irresistible
attraction drew them towards this mysterious place as the magnet draws
iron.

Thus they almost unconsciously descended this ravine, which even in
broad daylight would have been considered impracticable.

The stones rolled and sparkled like fiery balls when they crossed
through the gleams of light. Harding was first--Ayrton last. On they
went, step by step. Now they slid over the slippery rock; then they
struggled to their feet and scrambled on.

At last the wire touched the rocks on the beach. The colonists had
reached the bottom of the basalt cliff.

There appeared a narrow ridge, running horizontally and parallel with
the sea. The settlers followed the wire along it. They had not gone a
hundred paces when the ridge by a moderate incline sloped down to the
level of the sea.

The engineer seized the wire and found that it disappeared beneath the
waves.

His companions were stupefied.

A cry of disappointment, almost a cry of despair, escaped them! Must
they then plunge beneath the water and seek there for some submarine
cavern? In their excited state they would not have hesitated to do it.

The engineer stopped them.

He led his companions to a hollow in the rocks, and there--

“We must wait,” said he. “The tide is high. At low water the way will be
open.”

“But what can make you think-” asked Pencroft.

“He would not have called us if the means had been wanting to enable us
to reach him!”

Cyrus Harding spoke in a tone of such thorough conviction that no
objection was raised. His remark, besides, was logical. It was quite
possible that an opening, practicable at low water, though hidden now by
the high tide, opened at the foot of the cliff.

There was some time to wait. The colonists remained silently crouching
in a deep hollow. Rain now began to fall in torrents. The thunder was
re-echoed among the rocks with a grand sonorousness.

The colonists’ emotion was great. A thousand strange and extraordinary
ideas crossed their brains, and they expected some grand and superhuman
apparition, which alone could come up to the notion they had formed of
the mysterious genius of the island.

At midnight, Harding carrying the lantern, descended to the beach to
reconnoiter.

The engineer was not mistaken. The beginning of an immense excavation
could be seen under the water. There the wire, bending at a right angle,
entered the yawning gulf.

Cyrus Harding returned to his companions, and said simply,--

“In an hour the opening will be practicable.”

“It is there, then?” said Pencroft.

“Did you doubt it?” returned Harding.

“But this cavern must be filled with water to a certain height,”
 observed Herbert.

“Either the cavern will be completely dry,” replied Harding, “and in
that case we can traverse it on foot, or it will not be dry, and some
means of transport will be put at our disposal.”

An hour passed. All climbed down through the rain to the level of the
sea. There was now eight feet of the opening above the water. It was
like the arch of a bridge, under which rushed the foaming water.

Leaning forward, the engineer saw a black object floating on the
water. He drew it towards him. It was a boat, moored to some interior
projection of the cave. This boat was iron-plated. Two oars lay at the
bottom.

“Jump in!” said Harding.

In a moment the settlers were in the boat. Neb and Ayrton took the
oars, Pencroft the rudder. Cyrus Harding in the bows, with the lantern,
lighted the way.

The elliptical roof, under which the boat at first passed, suddenly
rose; but the darkness was too deep, and the light of the lantern too
slight, for either the extent, length, height, or depth of the cave to
be ascertained. Solemn silence reigned in this basaltic cavern. Not a
sound could penetrate into it, even the thunder peals could not pierce
its thick sides.

Such immense caves exist in various parts of the world, natural crypts
dating from the geological epoch of the globe. Some are filled by the
sea; others contain entire lakes in their sides. Such is Fingal’s Cave,
in the island of Staffa, one of the Hebrides; such are the caves of
Morgat, in the bay of Douarnenez, in Brittany, the caves of Bonifacio,
in Corsica, those of Lyse-Fjord, in Norway; such are the immense Mammoth
caverns in Kentucky, 500 feet in height, and more than twenty miles in
length! In many parts of the globe, nature has excavated these caverns,
and preserved them for the admiration of man.

Did the cavern which the settlers were now exploring extend to the
center of the island? For a quarter of an hour the boat had been
advancing, making detours, indicated to Pencroft by the engineer in
short sentences, when all at once,--

“More to the right!” he commanded.

The boat, altering its course, came up alongside the right wall. The
engineer wished to see if the wire still ran along the side.

The wire was there fastened to the rock.

“Forward!” said Harding.

And the two oars, plunging into the dark waters, urged the boat onwards.

On they went for another quarter of an hour, and a distance of
half-a-mile must have been cleared from the mouth of the cave, when
Harding’s voice was again heard.

“Stop!” said he.

The boat stopped, and the colonists perceived a bright light
illuminating the vast cavern, so deeply excavated in the bowels of the
island, of which nothing had ever led them to suspect the existence.

At a height of a hundred feet rose the vaulted roof, supported on basalt
shafts. Irregular arches, strange moldings, appeared on the columns
erected by nature in thousands from the first epochs of the formation of
the globe. The basalt pillars, fitted one into the other, measured
from forty to fifty feet in height, and the water, calm in spite of the
tumult outside, washed their base. The brilliant focus of light, pointed
out by the engineer, touched every point of rocks, and flooded the walls
with light.

By reflection the water reproduced the brilliant sparkles, so that the
boat appeared to be floating between two glittering zones. They could
not be mistaken in the nature of the irradiation thrown from the glowing
nucleus, whose clear rays were shattered by all the angles, all the
projections of the cavern. This light proceeded from an electric source,
and its white color betrayed its origin. It was the sun of this cave,
and it filled it entirely.

At a sign from Cyrus Harding the oars again plunged into the water,
causing a regular shower of gems, and the boat was urged forward towards
the light, which was now not more than half a cable’s length distant.

At this place the breadth of the sheet of water measured nearly 350
feet, and beyond the dazzling center could be seen an enormous basaltic
wall, blocking up any issue on that side. The cavern widened here
considerably, the sea forming a little lake. But the roof, the side
walls, the end cliff, all the prisms, all the peaks, were flooded with
the electric fluid, so that the brilliancy belonged to them, and as if
the light issued from them.

In the center of the lake a long cigar-shaped object floated on the
surface of the water, silent, motionless. The brilliancy which issued
from it escaped from its sides as from two kilns heated to a white heat.
This apparatus, similar in shape to an enormous whale, was about 250
feet long, and rose about ten or twelve above the water.

The boat slowly approached it, Cyrus Harding stood up in the bows. He
gazed, a prey to violent excitement. Then, all at once, seizing the
reporter’s arm,--

“It is he! It can only be he!” he cried, “he!--”

Then, falling back on the seat, he murmured a name which Gideon Spilett
alone could hear.

The reporter evidently knew this name, for it had a wonderful effect
upon him, and he answered in a hoarse voice,--

“He! an outlawed man!”

“He!” said Harding.

At the engineer’s command the boat approached this singular floating
apparatus. The boat touched the left side, from which escaped a ray of
light through a thick glass.

Harding and his companions mounted on the platform. An open hatchway was
there. All darted down the opening.

At the bottom of the ladder was a deck, lighted by electricity. At the
end of this deck was a door, which Harding opened.

A richly-ornamented room, quickly traversed by the colonists, was joined
to a library, over which a luminous ceiling shed a flood of light.

At the end of the library a large door, also shut, was opened by the
engineer.

An immense saloon--a sort of museum, in which were heaped up, with
all the treasures of the mineral world, works of art, marvels of
industry--appeared before the eyes of the colonists, who almost thought
themselves suddenly transported into a land of enchantment.

Stretched on a rich sofa they saw a man, who did not appear to notice
their presence.

Then Harding raised his voice, and to the extreme surprise of his
companions, he uttered these words,--

“Captain Nemo, you asked for us! We are here.--”



Chapter 16

At these words the reclining figure rose, and the electric light fell
upon his countenance; a magnificent head, the forehead high, the glance
commanding, beard white, hair abundant and falling over the shoulders.

His hand rested upon the cushion of the divan from which he had just
risen. He appeared perfectly calm. It was evident that his strength had
been gradually undermined by illness, but his voice seemed yet powerful,
as he said in English, and in a tone which evinced extreme surprise,--

“Sir, I have no name.”

“Nevertheless, I know you!” replied Cyrus Harding.

Captain Nemo fixed his penetrating gaze upon the engineer, as though he
were about to annihilate him.

Then, falling back amid the pillows of the divan,--

“After all, what matters now?” he murmured; “I am dying!”

Cyrus Harding drew near the captain, and Gideon Spilett took his
hand--it was of a feverish heat. Ayrton, Pencroft, Herbert, and Neb
stood respectfully apart in an angle of the magnificent saloon, whose
atmosphere was saturated with the electric fluid.

Meanwhile Captain Nemo withdrew his hand, and motioned the engineer and
the reporter to be seated.

All regarded him with profound emotion. Before them they beheld that
being whom they had styled the “genius of the island,” the powerful
protector whose intervention, in so many circumstances, had been so
efficacious, the benefactor to whom they owed such a debt of gratitude!
Their eyes beheld a man only, and a man at the point of death, where
Pencroft and Neb had expected to find an almost supernatural being!

But how happened it that Cyrus Harding had recognized Captain Nemo? why
had the latter so suddenly risen on hearing this name uttered, a name
which he had believed known to none?--

The captain had resumed his position on the divan, and leaning on his
arm, he regarded the engineer, seated near him.

“You know the name I formerly bore, sir?” he asked.

“I do,” answered Cyrus Harding, “and also that of this wonderful
submarine vessel--”

“The ‘Nautilus’?” said the captain, with a faint smile.

“The ‘Nautilus.’”

“But do you--do you know who I am?”

“I do.”

“It is nevertheless many years since I have held any communication with
the inhabited world; three long years have I passed in the depth of
the sea, the only place where I have found liberty! Who then can have
betrayed my secret?”

“A man who was bound to you by no tie, Captain Nemo, and who,
consequently, cannot be accused of treachery.”

“The Frenchman who was cast on board my vessel by chance sixteen years
since?”

“The same.”

“He and his two companions did not then perish in the maelstrom, in the
midst of which the ‘Nautilus’ was struggling?”

“They escaped, and a book has appeared under the title of ‘Twenty
Thousand Leagues Under the Sea,’ which contains your history.”

“The history of a few months only of my life!” interrupted the captain
impetuously.

“It is true,” answered Cyrus Harding, “but a few months of that strange
life have sufficed to make you known.”

“As a great criminal, doubtless!” said Captain Nemo, a haughty smile
curling his lips. “Yes, a rebel, perhaps an outlaw against humanity!”

The engineer was silent.

“Well, sir?”

“It is not for me to judge you, Captain Nemo,” answered Cyrus Harding,
“at any rate as regards your past life. I am, with the rest of the
world, ignorant of the motives which induced you to adopt this strange
mode of existence, and I cannot judge of effects without knowing their
causes; but what I do know is, that a beneficent hand has constantly
protected us since our arrival on Lincoln Island, that we all owe our
lives to a good, generous, and powerful being, and that this being so
powerful, good and generous, Captain Nemo, is yourself!”

“It is I,” answered the captain simply.

The engineer and the reporter rose. Their companions had drawn near, and
the gratitude with which their hearts were charged was about to express
itself in their gestures and words.

Captain Nemo stopped them by a sign, and in a voice which betrayed more
emotion than he doubtless intended to show.

“Wait till you have heard all,” he said.

And the captain, in a few concise sentences, ran over the events of his
life.

His narrative was short, yet he was obliged to summon up his whole
remaining energy to arrive at the end. He was evidently contending
against extreme weakness. Several times Cyrus Harding entreated him to
repose for a while, but he shook his head as a man to whom the morrow
may never come, and when the reporter offered his assistance,--

“It is useless,” he said; “my hours are numbered.”

Captain Nemo was an Indian, the Prince Dakkar, son of a rajah of the
then independent territory of Bundelkund. His father sent him, when ten
years of age, to Europe, in order that he might receive an education
in all respects complete, and in the hopes that by his talents and
knowledge he might one day take a leading part in raising his long
degraded and heathen country to a level with the nations of Europe.

From the age of ten years to that of thirty Prince Dakkar, endowed by
Nature with her richest gifts of intellect, accumulated knowledge of
every kind, and in science, literature, and art his researches were
extensive and profound.

He traveled over the whole of Europe. His rank and fortune caused him to
be everywhere sought after; but the pleasures of the world had for him
no attractions. Though young and possessed of every personal advantage,
he was ever grave--somber even--devoured by an unquenchable thirst for
knowledge, and cherishing in the recesses of his heart the hope that
he might become a great and powerful ruler of a free and enlightened
people.

Still, for long the love of science triumphed over all other feelings.
He became an artist deeply impressed by the marvels of art, a
philosopher to whom no one of the higher sciences was unknown, a
statesman versed in the policy of European courts. To the eyes of those
who observed him superficially he might have passed for one of those
cosmopolitans, curious of knowledge, but disdaining action; one of those
opulent travelers, haughty and cynical, who move incessantly from place
to place, and are of no country.

The history of Captain Nemo has, in fact, been published under the title
of “Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea.” Here, therefore, will apply
the observation already made as to the adventures of Ayrton with regard
to the discrepancy of dates. Readers should therefore refer to the note
already published on this point.

This artist, this philosopher, this man was, however, still cherishing
the hope instilled into him from his earliest days.

Prince Dakkar returned to Bundelkund in the year 1849. He married a
noble Indian lady, who was imbued with an ambition not less ardent than
that by which he was inspired. Two children were born to them, whom they
tenderly loved. But domestic happiness did not prevent him from seeking
to carry out the object at which he aimed. He waited an opportunity. At
length, as he vainly fancied, it presented itself.

Instigated by princes equally ambitious and less sagacious and more
unscrupulous than he was, the people of India were persuaded that they
might successfully rise against their English rulers, who had brought
them out of a state of anarchy and constant warfare and misery, and had
established peace and prosperity in their country. Their ignorance and
gross superstition made them the facile tools of their designing chiefs.

In 1857 the great sepoy revolt broke out. Prince Dakkar, under the
belief that he should thereby have the opportunity of attaining the
object of his long-cherished ambition, was easily drawn into it. He
forthwith devoted his talents and wealth to the service of this cause.
He aided it in person; he fought in the front ranks; he risked his life
equally with the humblest of the wretched and misguided fanatics; he was
ten times wounded in twenty engagements, seeking death but finding it
not, but at length the sanguinary rebels were utterly defeated, and the
atrocious mutiny was brought to an end.

Never before had the British power in India been exposed to such danger,
and if, as they had hoped, the sepoys had received assistance from
without, the influence and supremacy in Asia of the United Kingdom would
have been a thing of the past.

The name of Prince Dakkar was at that time well known. He had fought
openly and without concealment. A price was set upon his head, but he
managed to escape from his pursuers.

Civilization never recedes; the law of necessity ever forces it onwards.
The sepoys were vanquished, and the land of the rajahs of old fell again
under the rule of England.

Prince Dakkar, unable to find that death he courted, returned to the
mountain fastnesses of Bundelkund. There, alone in the world, overcome
by disappointment at the destruction of all his vain hopes, a prey
to profound disgust for all human beings, filled with hatred of the
civilized world, he realized the wreck of his fortune, assembled some
score of his most faithful companions, and one day disappeared, leaving
no trace behind.

Where, then, did he seek that liberty denied him upon the inhabited
earth? Under the waves, in the depths of the ocean, where none could
follow.

The warrior became the man of science. Upon a deserted island of the
Pacific he established his dockyard, and there a submarine vessel was
constructed from his designs. By methods which will at some future
day be revealed he had rendered subservient the illimitable forces of
electricity, which, extracted from inexhaustible sources, was employed
for all the requirements of his floating equipage, as a moving,
lighting, and heating agent. The sea, with its countless treasures, its
myriads of fish, its numberless wrecks, its enormous mammalia, and not
only all that nature supplied, but also all that man had lost in its
depths, sufficed for every want of the prince and his crew--and thus was
his most ardent desire accomplished, never again to hold communication
with the earth. He named his submarine vessel the “Nautilus,” called
himself simply Captain Nemo, and disappeared beneath the seas.

During many years this strange being visited every ocean, from pole to
pole. Outcast of the inhabited earth in these unknown worlds he gathered
incalculable treasures. The millions lost in the Bay of Vigo, in 1702,
by the galleons of Spain, furnished him with a mine of inexhaustible
riches which he devoted always, anonymously, in favor of those nations
who fought for the independence of their country.

  (This refers to the resurrection of the Candiotes, who were, in
   fact, largely assisted by Captain Nemo.)

For long, however, he had held no communication with his
fellow-creatures, when, during the night of the 6th of November, 1866,
three men were cast on board his vessel. They were a French professor,
his servant, and a Canadian fisherman. These three men had been hurled
overboard by a collision which had taken place between the “Nautilus”
 and the United States frigate “Abraham Lincoln,” which had chased her.

Captain Nemo learned from this professor that the “Nautilus,” taken now
for a gigantic mammal of the whale species, now for a submarine vessel
carrying a crew of pirates, was sought for in every sea.

He might have returned these three men to the ocean, from whence chance
had brought them in contact with his mysterious existence. Instead of
doing this he kept them prisoners, and during seven months they were
enabled to behold all the wonders of a voyage of twenty thousand leagues
under the sea.

One day, the 22nd of June, 1867, these three men, who knew nothing of
the past history of Captain Nemo, succeeded in escaping in one of the
“Nautilus’s” boats. But as at this time the “Nautilus” was drawn into
the vortex of the maelstrom, off the coast of Norway, the captain
naturally believed that the fugitives, engulfed in that frightful
whirlpool, found their death at the bottom of the abyss. He was unaware
that the Frenchman and his two companions had been miraculously cast
on shore, that the fishermen of the Lofoten Islands had rendered
them assistance, and that the professor, on his return to France, had
published that work in which seven months of the strange and eventful
navigation of the “Nautilus” were narrated and exposed to the curiosity
of the public.

For a long time after this, Captain Nemo continued to live thus,
traversing every sea. But one by one his companions died, and found
their last resting-place in their cemetery of coral, in the bed of the
Pacific. At last Captain Nemo remained the solitary survivor of all
those who had taken refuge with him in the depths of the ocean.

He was now sixty years of age. Although alone, he succeeded in
navigating the “Nautilus” towards one of those submarine caverns which
had sometimes served him as a harbor.

One of these ports was hollowed beneath Lincoln Island, and at this
moment furnished an asylum to the “Nautilus.”

The captain had now remained there six years, navigating the ocean no
longer, but awaiting death, and that moment when he should rejoin his
former companions, when by chance he observed the descent of the balloon
which carried the prisoners of the Confederates. Clad in his diving
dress he was walking beneath the water at a few cables’ length from the
shore of the island, when the engineer had been thrown into the sea.
Moved by a feeling of compassion the captain saved Cyrus Harding.

His first impulse was to fly from the vicinity of the five castaways;
but his harbor refuge was closed, for in consequence of an elevation of
the basalt, produced by the influence of volcanic action, he could
no longer pass through the entrance of the vault. Though there was
sufficient depth of water to allow a light craft to pass the bar,
there was not enough for the “Nautilus,” whose draught of water was
considerable.

Captain Nemo was compelled, therefore, to remain. He observed these men
thrown without resources upon a desert island, but had no wish to be
himself discovered by them. By degrees he became interested in their
efforts when he saw them honest, energetic, and bound to each other by
the ties of friendship. As if despite his wishes, he penetrated all the
secrets of their existence. By means of the diving dress he could easily
reach the well in the interior of Granite House, and climbing by the
projections of rock to its upper orifice he heard the colonists as they
recounted the past, and studied the present and future. He learned from
them the tremendous conflict of America with America itself, for the
abolition of slavery. Yes, these men were worthy to reconcile Captain
Nemo with that humanity which they represented so nobly in the island.

Captain Nemo had saved Cyrus Harding. It was he also who had brought
back the dog to the Chimneys, who rescued Top from the waters of the
lake, who caused to fall at Flotsam Point the case containing so many
things useful to the colonists, who conveyed the canoe back into the
stream of the Mercy, who cast the cord from the top of Granite House at
the time of the attack by the baboons, who made known the presence
of Ayrton upon Tabor Island, by means of the document enclosed in the
bottle, who caused the explosion of the brig by the shock of a torpedo
placed at the bottom of the canal, who saved Herbert from certain death
by bringing the sulphate of quinine; and finally, it was he who had
killed the convicts with the electric balls, of which he possessed the
secret, and which he employed in the chase of submarine creatures. Thus
were explained so many apparently supernatural occurrences, and which
all proved the generosity and power of the captain.

Nevertheless, this noble misanthrope longed to benefit his proteges
still further. There yet remained much useful advice to give them, and,
his heart being softened by the approach of death, he invited, as we are
aware, the colonists of Granite House to visit the “Nautilus,” by means
of a wire which connected it with the corral. Possibly he would not
have done this had he been aware that Cyrus Harding was sufficiently
acquainted with his history to address him by the name of Nemo.

The captain concluded the narrative of his life. Cyrus Harding then
spoke; he recalled all the incidents which had exercised so beneficent
an influence upon the colony, and in the names of his companions and
himself thanked the generous being to whom they owed so much.

But Captain Nemo paid little attention; his mind appeared to be absorbed
by one idea, and without taking the proffered hand of the engineer,--

“Now, sir,” said he, “now that you know my history, your judgment!”

In saying this, the captain evidently alluded to an important incident
witnessed by the three strangers thrown on board his vessel, and which
the French professor had related in his work, causing a profound and
terrible sensation. Some days previous to the flight of the professor
and his two companions, the “Nautilus,” being chased by a frigate in the
north of the Atlantic had hurled herself as a ram upon this frigate, and
sunk her without mercy.

Cyrus Harding understood the captain’s allusion, and was silent.

“It was an enemy’s frigate,” exclaimed Captain Nemo, transformed for
an instant into the Prince Dakkar, “an enemy’s frigate! It was she who
attacked me--I was in a narrow and shallow bay--the frigate barred my
way--and I sank her!”

A few moments of silence ensued; then the captain demanded,--

“What think you of my life, gentlemen?”

Cyrus Harding extended his hand to the ci-devant prince and replied
gravely, “Sir, your error was in supposing that the past can be
resuscitated, and in contending against inevitable progress. It is one
of those errors which some admire, others blame; which God alone can
judge. He who is mistaken in an action which he sincerely believes to be
right may be an enemy, but retains our esteem. Your error is one that
we may admire, and your name has nothing to fear from the judgment of
history, which does not condemn heroic folly, but its results.”

The old man’s breast swelled with emotion, and raising his hand to
heaven,--

“Was I wrong, or in the right?” he murmured.

Cyrus Harding replied, “All great actions return to God, from whom they
are derived. Captain Nemo, we, whom you have succored, shall ever mourn
your loss.”

Herbert, who had drawn near the captain, fell on his knees and kissed
his hand.

A tear glistened in the eyes of the dying man. “My child,” he said, “may
God bless you!”



Chapter 17

Day had returned. No ray of light penetrated into the profundity of the
cavern. It being high-water, the entrance was closed by the sea. But the
artificial light, which escaped in long streams from the skylights of
the “Nautilus” was as vivid as before, and the sheet of water shone
around the floating vessel.

An extreme exhaustion now overcame Captain Nemo, who had fallen back
upon the divan. It was useless to contemplate removing him to Granite
House, for he had expressed his wish to remain in the midst of those
marvels of the “Nautilus” which millions could not have purchased, and
to wait there for that death which was swiftly approaching.

During a long interval of prostration, which rendered him almost
unconscious, Cyrus Harding and Gideon Spilett attentively observed
the condition of the dying man. It was apparent that his strength was
gradually diminishing. That frame, once so robust, was now but the
fragile tenement of a departing soul. All of life was concentrated in
the heart and head.

The engineer and reporter consulted in whispers. Was it possible to
render any aid to the dying man? Might his life, if not saved, be
prolonged for some days? He himself had said that no remedy could
avail, and he awaited with tranquillity that death which had for him no
terrors.

“We can do nothing,” said Gideon Spilett.

“But of what is he dying?” asked Pencroft.

“Life is simply fading out,” replied the reporter.

“Nevertheless,” said the sailor, “if we move him into the open air, and
the light of the sun, he might perhaps recover.”

“No, Pencroft,” answered the engineer, “it is useless to attempt it.
Besides, Captain Nemo would never consent to leave his vessel. He
has lived for a dozen years on board the ‘Nautilus,’ and on board the
‘Nautilus’ he desires to die.”

Without doubt Captain Nemo heard Cyrus Harding’s reply, for he raised
himself slightly, and in a voice more feeble, but always intelligible,--

“You are right, sir,” he said. “I shall die here--it is my wish; and
therefore I have a request to make of you.”

Cyrus Harding and his companions had drawn near the divan, and now
arranged the cushions in such a manner as to better support the dying
man.

They saw his eyes wander over all the marvels of this saloon, lighted
by the electric rays which fell from the arabesques of the luminous
ceiling. He surveyed, one after the other, the pictures hanging from
the splendid tapestries of the partitions, the chef-d’oeuvres of the
Italian, Flemish, French, and Spanish masters; the statues of marble and
bronze on their pedestals; the magnificent organ, leaning against the
after-partition; the aquarium, in which bloomed the most wonderful
productions of the sea--marine plants, zoophytes, chaplets of pearls
of inestimable value; and, finally, his eyes rested on this device,
inscribed over the pediment of the museum--the motto of the “Nautilus”--


“Mobilis in mobile.”


His glance seemed to rest fondly for the last time on these masterpieces
of art and of nature, to which he had limited his horizon during a
sojourn of so many years in the abysses of the seas.

Cyrus Harding respected the captain’s silence, and waited till he should
speak.

After some minutes, during which, doubtless, he passed in review his
whole life, Captain Nemo turned to the colonists and said,

“You consider yourselves, gentlemen, under some obligations to me?”

“Captain, believe us that we would give our lives to prolong yours.”

“Promise, then,” continued Captain Nemo, “to carry out my last wishes,
and I shall be repaid for all I have done for you.”

“We promise,” said Cyrus Harding.

And by this promise he bound both himself and his companions.

“Gentlemen,” resumed the captain, “to-morrow I shall be dead.”

Herbert was about to utter an exclamation, but a sign from the captain
arrested him.

“To-morrow I shall die, and I desire no other tomb than the ‘Nautilus.’
It is my grave! All my friends repose in the depths of the ocean; their
resting-place shall be mine.”

These words were received with profound silence.

“Pay attention to my wishes,” he continued. “The ‘Nautilus’ is
imprisoned in this grotto, the entrance of which is blocked up; but,
although egress is impossible, the vessel may at least sink in the
abyss, and there bury my remains.”

The colonists listened reverently to the words of the dying man.

“To-morrow, after my death, Mr. Harding,” continued the captain,
“yourself and companions will leave the ‘Nautilus,’ for all the
treasures it contains must perish with me. One token alone will remain
with you of Prince Dakkar, with whose history you are now acquainted.
That coffer yonder contains diamonds of the value of many millions,
most of them mementoes of the time when, husband and father, I thought
happiness possible for me, and a collection of pearls gathered by my
friends and myself in the depths of the ocean. Of this treasure at a
future day, you may make good use. In the hands of such men as yourself
and your comrades, Captain Harding, money will never be a source of
danger. From on high I shall still participate in your enterprises, and
I fear not but that they will prosper.”

After a few moments’ repose, necessitated by his extreme weakness,
Captain Nemo continued,--

“To-morrow you will take the coffer, you will leave the saloon, of which
you will close the door; then you will ascend on to the deck of the
‘Nautilus,’ and you will lower the mainhatch so as entirely to close the
vessel.”

“It shall be done, captain,” answered Cyrus Harding.

“Good. You will then embark in the canoe which brought you hither; but,
before leaving the ‘Nautilus,’ go to the stern and there open two large
stop-cocks which you will find upon the water-line. The water will
penetrate into the reservoirs, and the ‘Nautilus’ will gradually sink
beneath the water to repose at the bottom of the abyss.”

And comprehending a gesture of Cyrus Harding, the captain added,--

“Fear nothing! You will but bury a corpse!”

Neither Cyrus Harding nor his companions ventured to offer any
observation to Captain Nemo. He had expressed his last wishes, and they
had nothing to do but to conform to them.

“I have your promise, gentlemen?” added Captain Nemo.

“You have, captain,” replied the engineer.

The captain thanked the colonists by a sign, and requested them to leave
him for some hours. Gideon Spilett wished to remain near him, in the
event of a crisis coming on, but the dying man refused, saying, “I shall
live until to-morrow, sir.”

All left the saloon, passed through the library and the dining-room, and
arrived forward, in the machine-room where the electrical apparatus was
established, which supplied not only heat and light, but the mechanical
power of the “Nautilus.”

The “Nautilus” was a masterpiece containing masterpieces within itself,
and the engineer was struck with astonishment.

The colonists mounted the platform, which rose seven or eight feet above
the water. There they beheld a thick glass lenticular covering, which
protected a kind of large eye, from which flashed forth light. Behind
this eye was apparently a cabin containing the wheels of the rudder, and
in which was stationed the helmsman, when he navigated the “Nautilus”
 over the bed of the ocean, which the electric rays would evidently light
up to a considerable distance.

Cyrus Harding and his companions remained for a time silent, for they
were vividly impressed by what they had just seen and heard, and their
hearts were deeply touched by the thought that he whose arm had so often
aided them, the protector whom they had known but a few hours, was at
the point of death.

Whatever might be the judgment pronounced by posterity upon the events
of this, so to speak, extra-human existence, the character of Prince
Dakkar would ever remain as one of those whose memory time can never
efface.

“What a man!” said Pencroft. “Is it possible that he can have lived at
the bottom of the sea? And it seems to me that perhaps he has not found
peace there any more than elsewhere!”

“The ‘Nautilus,’” observed Ayrton, “might have enabled us to leave
Lincoln Island and reach some inhabited country.”

“Good Heavens!” exclaimed Pencroft, “I for one would never risk myself
in such a craft. To sail on the seas, good, but under the seas, never!”

“I believe, Pencroft,” answered the reporter, “that the navigation of a
submarine vessel such as the ‘Nautilus’ ought to be very easy, and that
we should soon become accustomed to it. There would be no storms, no
lee-shore to fear. At some feet beneath the surface the waters of the
ocean are as calm as those of a lake.”

“That may be,” replied the sailor, “but I prefer a gale of wind on
board a well-found craft. A vessel is built to sail on the sea, and not
beneath it.”

“My friends,” said the engineer, “it is useless, at any rate as regards
the ‘Nautilus,’ to discuss the question of submarine vessels. The
‘Nautilus’ is not ours, and we have not the right to dispose of it.
Moreover, we could in no case avail ourselves of it. Independently of
the fact that it would be impossible to get it out of this cavern, whose
entrance is now closed by the uprising of the basaltic rocks, Captain
Nemo’s wish is that it shall be buried with him. His wish is our law,
and we will fulfil it.”

After a somewhat prolonged conversation, Cyrus Harding and his
companions again descended to the interior of the “Nautilus.” There they
took some refreshment and returned to the saloon.

Captain Nemo had somewhat rallied from the prostration which had
overcome him, and his eyes shone with their wonted fire. A faint smile
even curled his lips.

The colonists drew around him.

“Gentlemen,” said the captain, “you are brave and honest men. You
have devoted yourselves to the common weal. Often have I observed
your conduct. I have esteemed you--I esteem you still! Your hand, Mr.
Harding.”

Cyrus Harding gave his hand to the captain, who clasped it
affectionately.

“It is well!” he murmured.

He resumed,--

“But enough of myself. I have to speak concerning yourselves, and this
Lincoln Island, upon which you have taken refuge. You now desire to
leave it?”

“To return, captain!” answered Pencroft quickly.

“To return, Pencroft?” said the captain, with a smile. “I know, it is
true, your love for this island. You have helped to make it what it now
is, and it seems to you a paradise!”

“Our project, captain,” interposed Cyrus Harding, “is to annex it to the
United States, and to establish for our shipping a port so fortunately
situated in this part of the Pacific.”

“Your thoughts are with your country, gentlemen,” continued the captain;
“your toils are for her prosperity and glory. You are right. One’s
native land!--there should one live! there die! And I die far from all I
loved!”

“You have some last wish to transmit,” said the engineer with emotion,
“some souvenir to send to those friends you have left in the mountains
of India?”

“No, Captain Harding; no friends remain to me! I am the last of my race,
and to all whom I have known I have long been as are the dead.--But
to return to yourselves. Solitude, isolation, are painful things, and
beyond human endurance. I die of having thought it possible to live
alone! You should, therefore, dare all in the attempt to leave Lincoln
Island, and see once more the land of your birth. I am aware that those
wretches have destroyed the vessel you have built.”

“We propose to construct a vessel,” said Gideon Spilett, “sufficiently
large to convey us to the nearest land; but if we should succeed, sooner
or later we shall return to Lincoln Island. We are attached to it by too
many recollections ever to forget it.”

“It is here that we have known Captain Nemo,” said Cyrus Harding.

“It is here only that we can make our home!” added Herbert.

“And here shall I sleep the sleep of eternity, if--” replied the
captain.

He paused for a moment, and, instead of completing the sentence, said
simply,--

“Mr. Harding, I wish to speak with you--alone!”

The engineer’s companions, respecting the wish, retired.

Cyrus Harding remained but a few minutes alone with Captain Nemo, and
soon recalled his companions; but he said nothing to them of the private
matters which the dying man had confided to him.

Gideon Spilett now watched the captain with extreme care. It was evident
that he was no longer sustained by his moral energy, which had lost the
power of reaction against his physical weakness.

The day closed without change. The colonists did not quit the “Nautilus”
 for a moment. Night arrived, although it was impossible to distinguish
it from day in the cavern.

Captain Nemo suffered no pain, but he was visibly sinking. His noble
features, paled by the approach of death, were perfectly calm. Inaudible
words escaped at intervals from his lips, bearing upon various incidents
of his checkered career. Life was evidently ebbing slowly and his
extremities were already cold.

Once or twice more he spoke to the colonists who stood around him, and
smiled on them with that last smile which continues after death.

At length, shortly after midnight, Captain Nemo by a supreme effort
succeeded in folding his arms across his breast, as if wishing in that
attitude to compose himself for death.

By one o’clock his glance alone showed signs of life. A dying light
gleamed in those eyes once so brilliant. Then, murmuring the words, “God
and my country!” he quietly expired.

Cyrus Harding, bending low closed the eyes of him who had once been the
Prince Dakkar, and was now not even Captain Nemo.

Herbert and Pencroft sobbed aloud. Tears fell from Ayrton’s eyes. Neb
was on his knees by the reporter’s side, motionless as a statue.

Then Cyrus Harding, extending his hand over the forehead of the dead,
said solemnly, “May his soul be with God!” Turning to his friends, he
added, “Let us pray for him whom we have lost!”


Some hours later the colonists fulfilled the promise made to the captain
by carrying out his dying wishes.

Cyrus Harding and his companions quitted the “Nautilus,” taking with
them the only memento left them by their benefactor, the coffer which
contained wealth amounting to millions.

The marvelous saloon, still flooded with light, had been carefully
closed. The iron door leading on deck was then securely fastened in
such a manner as to prevent even a drop of water from penetrating to the
interior of the “Nautilus.”

The colonists then descended into the canoe, which was moored to the
side of the submarine vessel.

The canoe was now brought around to the stern. There, at the water-line,
were two large stop-cocks communicating with the reservoirs employed in
the submersion of the vessel.

The stop-cocks were opened, the reservoirs filled, and the “Nautilus,”
 slowly sinking, disappeared beneath the surface of the lake.

But the colonists were yet able to follow its descent through the waves.
The powerful light it gave forth lighted up the translucent water, while
the cavern became gradually obscure. At length this vast effusion of
electric light faded away, and soon after the “Nautilus,” now the tomb
of Captain Nemo, reposed in its ocean bed.



Chapter 18


At break of day the colonists regained in silence the entrance of the
cavern, to which they gave the name of “Dakkar Grotto,” in memory of
Captain Nemo. It was now low-water, and they passed without difficulty
under the arcade, washed on the right by the sea.

The canoe was left here, carefully protected from the waves. As
additional precaution, Pencroft, Neb, and Ayrton drew it up on a little
beach which bordered one of the sides of the grotto, in a spot where it
could run no risk of harm.

The storm had ceased during the night. The last low mutterings of the
thunder died away in the west. Rain fell no longer, but the sky was yet
obscured by clouds. On the whole, this month of October, the first of
the southern spring, was not ushered in by satisfactory tokens, and the
wind had a tendency to shift from one point of the compass to another,
which rendered it impossible to count upon settled weather.

Cyrus Harding and his companions, on leaving Dakkar Grotto, had taken
the road to the corral. On their way Neb and Herbert were careful to
preserve the wire which had been laid down by the captain between the
corral and the grotto, and which might at a future time be of service.

The colonists spoke but little on the road. The various incidents of the
night of October 15th had left a profound impression on their minds. The
unknown being whose influence had so effectually protected them, the
man whom their imagination had endowed with supernatural powers, Captain
Nemo, was no more. His “Nautilus” and he were buried in the depths of
the abyss. To each one of them their existence seemed even more isolated
than before. They had been accustomed to count upon the intervention of
that power which existed no longer, and Gideon Spilett, and even Cyrus
Harding, could not escape this impression. Thus they maintained a
profound silence during their journey to the corral.

Towards nine in the morning the colonists arrived at Granite House.

It had been agreed that the construction of the vessel should be
actively pushed forward, and Cyrus Harding more than ever devoted his
time and labor to this object. It was impossible to divine what future
lay before them. Evidently the advantage to the colonists would be great
of having at their disposal a substantial vessel, capable of keeping the
sea even in heavy weather, and large enough to attempt, in case of
need, a voyage of some duration. Even if, when their vessel should be
completed, the colonists should not resolve to leave Lincoln Island as
yet, in order to gain either one of the Polynesian Archipelagoes of the
Pacific or the shores of New Zealand, they might at least, sooner or
later, proceed to Tabor Island, to leave there the notice relating to
Ayrton. This was a precaution rendered indispensable by the possibility
of the Scotch yacht reappearing in those seas, and it was of the highest
importance that nothing should be neglected on this point.

The works were then resumed. Cyrus Harding, Pencroft, and Ayrton,
assisted by Neb, Gideon Spilett, and Herbert, except when unavoidably
called off by other necessary occupations, worked without cessation. It
was important that the new vessel should be ready in five months--that
is to say, by the beginning of March--if they wished to visit Tabor
Island before the equinoctial gales rendered the voyage impracticable.
Therefore the carpenters lost not a moment. Moreover, it was unnecessary
to manufacture rigging, that of the “Speedy” having been saved entire,
so that the hull only of the vessel needed to be constructed.

The end of the year 1868 found them occupied by these important labors,
to the exclusion of almost all others. At the expiration of two months
and a half the ribs had been set up and the first planks adjusted. It
was already evident that the plans made by Cyrus Harding were admirable,
and that the vessel would behave well at sea.

Pencroft brought to the task a devouring energy, and would even grumble
when one or the other abandoned the carpenter’s axe for the gun of the
hunter. It was nevertheless necessary to keep up the stores of Granite
House, in view of the approaching winter. But this did not satisfy
Pencroft. The brave, honest sailor was not content when the workmen were
not at the dockyard. When this happened he grumbled vigorously, and, by
way of venting his feelings, did the work of six men.

The weather was very unfavorable during the whole of the summer season.
For some days the heat was overpowering, and the atmosphere, saturated
with electricity, was only cleared by violent storms. It was rarely that
the distant growling of the thunder could not be heard, like a low but
incessant murmur, such as is produced in the equatorial regions of the
globe.

The 1st of January, 1869, was signalized by a storm of extreme violence,
and the thunder burst several times over the island. Large trees were
struck by the electric fluid and shattered, and among others one of
those gigantic nettle-trees which had shaded the poultry-yard at the
southern extremity of the lake. Had this meteor any relation to the
phenomena going on in the bowels of the earth? Was there any connection
between the commotion of the atmosphere and that of the interior of the
earth? Cyrus Harding was inclined to think that such was the case, for
the development of these storms was attended by the renewal of volcanic
symptoms.

It was on the 3rd of January that Herbert, having ascended at daybreak
to the plateau of Prospect Heights to harness one of the onagers,
perceived an enormous hat-shaped cloud rolling from the summit of the
volcano.

Herbert immediately apprised the colonists, who at once joined him in
watching the summit of Mount Franklin.

“Ah!” exclaimed Pencroft, “those are not vapors this time! It seems to
me that the giant is not content with breathing; he must smoke!”

This figure of speech employed by the sailor exactly expressed the
changes going on at the mouth of the volcano. Already for three months
had the crater emitted vapors more or less dense, but which were as yet
produced only by an internal ebullition of mineral substances. But
now the vapors were replaced by a thick smoke, rising in the form of a
grayish column, more than three hundred feet in width at its base, and
which spread like an immense mushroom to a height of from seven to eight
hundred feet above the summit of the mountain.

“The fire is in the chimney,” observed Gideon Spilett.

“And we can’t put it out!” replied Herbert.

“The volcano ought to be swept,” observed Neb, who spoke as if perfectly
serious.

“Well said, Neb!” cried Pencroft, with a shout of laughter; “and you’ll
undertake the job, no doubt?”

Cyrus Harding attentively observed the dense smoke emitted by Mount
Franklin, and even listened, as if expecting to hear some distant
muttering. Then, turning towards his companions, from whom he had gone
somewhat apart, he said,--

“The truth is, my friends, we must not conceal from ourselves that an
important change is going forward. The volcanic substances are no longer
in a state of ebullition, they have caught fire, and we are undoubtedly
menaced by an approaching eruption.”

“Well, captain,” said Pencroft, “we shall witness the eruption; and if
it is a good one, we’ll applaud it. I don’t see that we need concern
ourselves further about the matter.”

“It may be so,” replied Cyrus Harding, “for the ancient track of
the lava is still open; and thanks to this, the crater has hitherto
overflowed towards the north. And yet--”

“And yet, as we can derive no advantage from an eruption, it might be
better it should not take place,” said the reporter.

“Who knows?” answered the sailor. “Perhaps there may be some valuable
substance in this volcano, which it will spout forth, and which we may
turn to good account!”

Cyrus Harding shook his head with the air of a man who augured no good
from the phenomenon whose development had been so sudden. He did not
regard so lightly as Pencroft the results of an eruption. If the lava,
in consequence of the position of the crater, did not directly menace
the wooded and cultivated parts of the island, other complications might
present themselves. In fact, eruptions are not unfrequently accompanied
by earthquakes; and an island of the nature of Lincoln Island, formed of
substances so varied, basalt on one side, granite on the other, lava on
the north, rich soil on the south, substances which consequently could
not be firmly attached to each other, would be exposed to the risk
of disintegration. Although, therefore, the spreading of the volcanic
matter might not constitute a serious danger, any movement of the
terrestrial structure which should shake the island might entail the
gravest consequences.

“It seems to me,” said Ayrton, who had reclined so as to place his ear
to the ground, “it seems to me that I can hear a dull, rumbling sound,
like that of a wagon loaded with bars of iron.”

The colonists listened with the greatest attention, and were convinced
that Ayrton was not mistaken. The rumbling was mingled with a
subterranean roar, which formed a sort of rinforzando, and died slowly
away, as if some violent storm had passed through the profundities of
the globe. But no explosion properly so termed, could be heard. It might
therefore be concluded that the vapors and smoke found a free passage
through the central shaft; and that the safety-valve being sufficiently
large, no convulsion would be produced, no explosion was to be
apprehended.

“Well, then!” said Pencroft, “are we not going back to work? Let Mount
Franklin smoke, groan, bellow, or spout forth fire and flame as much as
it pleases, that is no reason why we should be idle! Come, Ayrton, Neb,
Herbert, Captain Harding, Mr. Spilett, every one of us must turn to at
our work to-day! We are going to place the keelson, and a dozen pair
of hands would not be too many. Before two months I want our new
‘Bonadventure’--for we shall keep the old name, shall we not?--to float
on the waters of Port Balloon! Therefore there is not an hour to lose!”

All the colonists, their services thus requisitioned by Pencroft,
descended to the dockyard, and proceeded to place the keelson, a thick
mass of wood which forms the lower portion of a ship and unites firmly
the timbers of the hull. It was an arduous undertaking, in which all
took part.

They continued their labors during the whole of this day, the 3rd of
January, without thinking further of the volcano, which could not,
besides, be seen from the shore of Granite House. But once or twice,
large shadows, veiling the sun, which described its diurnal arc through
an extremely clear sky, indicated that a thick cloud of smoke passed
between its disc and the island. The wind, blowing on the shore, carried
all these vapors to the westward. Cyrus Harding and Gideon Spilett
remarked these somber appearances, and from time to time discussed
the evident progress of the volcanic phenomena, but their work went
on without interruption. It was, besides, of the first importance from
every point of view, that the vessel should be finished with the least
possible delay. In presence of the eventualities which might arise,
the safety of the colonists would be to a great extent secured by their
ship. Who could tell that it might not prove some day their only refuge?

In the evening, after supper, Cyrus Harding, Gideon Spilett, and Herbert
again ascended the plateau of Prospect Heights. It was already dark, and
the obscurity would permit them to ascertain if flames or incandescent
matter thrown up by the volcano were mingled with the vapor and smoke
accumulated at the mouth of the crater.

“The crater is on fire!” said Herbert, who, more active than his
companion, first reached the plateau.

Mount Franklin, distant about six miles, now appeared like a gigantic
torch, around the summit of which turned fuliginous flames. So much
smoke, and possibly scoriae and cinders were mingled with them, that
their light gleamed but faintly amid the gloom of the night. But a kind
of lurid brilliancy spread over the island, against which stood out
confusedly the wooded masses of the heights. Immense whirlwinds of vapor
obscured the sky, through which glimmered a few stars.

“The change is rapid!” said the engineer.

“That is not surprising,” answered the reporter. “The reawakening of the
volcano already dates back some time. You may remember, Cyrus, that
the first vapors appeared about the time we searched the sides of the
mountain to discover Captain Nemo’s retreat. It was, if I mistake not,
about the 15th of October.”

“Yes,” replied Herbert, “two months and a half ago!”

“The subterranean fires have therefore been smoldering for ten weeks,”
 resumed Gideon Spilett, “and it is not to be wondered at that they now
break out with such violence!”

“Do not you feel a certain vibration of the soil?” asked Cyrus Harding.

“Yes,” replied Gideon Spilett, “but there is a great difference between
that and an earthquake.”

“I do not affirm that we are menaced with an earthquake,” answered Cyrus
Harding, “may God preserve us from that! No; these vibrations are due to
the effervescence of the central fire. The crust of the earth is
simply the shell of a boiler, and you know that such a shell, under the
pressure of steam, vibrates like a sonorous plate. It is this effect
which is being produced at this moment.”

“What magnificent flames!” exclaimed Herbert.

At this instant a kind of bouquet of flames shot forth from the crater,
the brilliancy of which was visible even through the vapors. Thousands
of luminous sheets and barbed tongues of fire were cast in various
directions. Some, extending beyond the dome of smoke, dissipated
it, leaving behind an incandescent powder. This was accompanied
by successive explosions, resembling the discharge of a battery of
machine-guns.

Cyrus Harding, the reporter, and Herbert, after spending an hour on the
plateau of Prospect Heights, again descended to the beach, and returned
to Granite House. The engineer was thoughtful and preoccupied, so much
so, indeed, that Gideon Spilett inquired if he apprehended any immediate
danger, of which the eruption might directly or indirectly be the cause.

“Yes, and no,” answered Cyrus Harding.

“Nevertheless,” continued the reporter, “would not the greatest
misfortune which could happen to us be an earthquake which would
overturn the island? Now, I do not suppose that this is to be feared,
since the vapors and lava have found a free outlet.”

“True,” replied Cyrus Harding, “and I do not fear an earthquake in the
sense in which the term is commonly applied to convulsions of the soil
provoked by the expansion of subterranean gases. But other causes may
produce great disasters.”

“How so, my dear Cyrus?’

“I am not certain. I must consider. I must visit the mountain. In a few
days I shall learn more on this point.”

Gideon Spilett said no more, and soon, in spite of the explosions of
the volcano, whose intensity increased, and which were repeated by the
echoes of the island, the inhabitants of Granite House were sleeping
soundly.

Three days passed by--the 4th, 5th, and 6th of January. The construction
of the vessel was diligently continued, and without offering further
explanations the engineer pushed forward the work with all his energy.
Mount Franklin was now hooded by a somber cloud of sinister aspect, and,
amid the flames, vomiting forth incandescent rocks, some of which fell
back into the crater itself. This caused Pencroft, who would only look
at the matter in the light of a joke, to exclaim,--

“Ah! the giant is playing at cup and ball; he is a conjurer.”

In fact, the substances thrown up fell back again in to the abyss, and
it did not seem that the lava, though swollen by the internal pressure,
had yet risen to the orifice of the crater. At any rate, the opening on
the northeast, which was partly visible, poured out no torrent upon the
northern slope of the mountain.

Nevertheless, however pressing was the construction of the vessel, other
duties demanded the presence of the colonists on various portions of the
island. Before everything it was necessary to go to the corral, where
the flocks of musmons and goats were enclosed, and replenish the
provision of forage for those animals. It was accordingly arranged that
Ayrton should proceed thither the next day, the 7th of January; and as
he was sufficient for the task, to which he was accustomed, Pencroft and
the rest were somewhat surprised on hearing the engineer say to Ayrton--

“As you are going to-morrow to the corral I will accompany you.”

“But, Captain Harding,” exclaimed the sailor, “our working days will not
be many, and if you go also we shall be two pair of hands short!”

“We shall return to-morrow,” replied Cyrus Harding, “but it is necessary
that I should go to the corral. I must learn how the eruption is
progressing.”

“The eruption! always the eruption!” answered Pencroft, with an air of
discontent. “An important thing, truly, this eruption! I trouble myself
very little about it.”

Whatever might be the sailor’s opinion, the expedition projected by the
engineer was settled for the next day. Herbert wished to accompany Cyrus
Harding, but he would not vex Pencroft by his absence.

The next day, at dawn, Cyrus Harding and Ayrton, mounting the cart drawn
by two onagers, took the road to the corral and set off at a round trot.

Above the forest were passing large clouds, to which the crater of Mount
Franklin incessantly added fuliginous matter. These clouds, which rolled
heavily in the air, were evidently composed of heterogeneous substances.
It was not alone from the volcano that they derived their strange
opacity and weight. Scoriae, in a state of dust, like powdered
pumice-stone, and grayish ashes as small as the finest feculae, were
held in suspension in the midst of their thick folds. These ashes are so
fine that they have been observed in the air for whole months. After
the eruption of 1783 in Iceland for upwards of a year the atmosphere was
thus charged with volcanic dust through which the rays of the sun were
only with difficulty discernible.

But more often this pulverized matter falls, and this happened on the
present occasion. Cyrus Harding and Ayrton had scarcely reached the
corral when a sort of black snow like fine gunpowder fell, and instantly
changed the appearance of the soil. Trees, meadows, all disappeared
beneath a covering several inches in depth. But, very fortunately,
the wind blew from the northeast, and the greater part of the cloud
dissolved itself over the sea.

“This is very singular, Captain Harding,” said Ayrton.

“It is very serious,” replied the engineer. “This powdered pumice-stone,
all this mineral dust, proves how grave is the convulsion going forward
in the lower depths of the volcano.”

“But can nothing be done?”

“Nothing, except to note the progress of the phenomenon. Do you,
therefore, Ayrton, occupy yourself with the necessary work at the
corral. In the meantime I will ascend just beyond the source of Red
Creek and examine the condition of the mountain upon its northern
aspect. Then--”

“Well, Captain Harding?”

“Then we will pay a visit to Dakkar Grotto. I wish to inspect it. At any
rate I will come back for you in two hours.”

Ayrton then proceeded to enter the corral, and, while awaiting the
engineer’s return, busied himself with the musmons and goats which
seemed to feel a certain uneasiness in presence of these first signs of
an eruption.

Meanwhile Cyrus Harding ascended the crest of the eastern spur, passed
Red Creek, and arrived at the spot where he and his companions had
discovered a sulphurous spring at the time of their first exploration.

How changed was everything! Instead of a single column of smoke he
counted thirteen, forced through the soil as if violently propelled by
some piston. It was evident that the crust of the earth was subjected
in this part of the globe to a frightful pressure. The atmosphere was
saturated with gases and carbonic acid, mingled with aqueous vapors.
Cyrus Harding felt the volcanic tufa with which the plain was strewn,
and which was but pulverized cinders hardened into solid blocks by time,
tremble beneath him, but he could discover no traces of fresh lava.

The engineer became more assured of this when he observed all the
northern part of Mount Franklin. Pillars of smoke and flame escaped from
the crater; a hail of scoriae fell on the ground; but no current of
lava burst from the mouth of the volcano, which proved that the volcanic
matter had not yet attained the level of the superior orifice of the
central shaft.

“But I would prefer that it were so,” said Cyrus Harding to himself. “At
any rate, I should then know that the lava had followed its accustomed
track. Who can say that it may not take a new course? But the danger
does not consist in that! Captain Nemo foresaw it clearly! No, the
danger does not lie there!”

Cyrus Harding advanced towards the enormous causeway whose prolongation
enclosed the narrow Shark Gulf. He could now sufficiently examine on
this side the ancient channels of the lava. There was no doubt in his
mind that the most recent eruption had occurred at a far-distant epoch.

He then returned by the same way, listening attentively to the
subterranean mutterings which rolled like long-continued thunder,
interrupted by deafening explosions. At nine in the morning he reached
the corral.

Ayrton awaited him.

“The animals are cared for, Captain Harding,” said Ayrton.

“Good, Ayrton.”

“They seem uneasy, Captain Harding.”

“Yes, instinct speaks through them, and instinct is never deceived.”

“Are you ready?”

“Take a lamp, Ayrton,” answered the engineer; “we will start at once.”

Ayrton did as desired. The onagers, unharnessed, roamed in the corral.
The gate was secured on the outside, and Cyrus Harding, preceding
Ayrton, took the narrow path which led westward to the shore.

The soil they walked upon was choked with the pulverized matter fallen
from the cloud. No quadruped appeared in the woods. Even the birds had
fled. Sometimes a passing breeze raised the covering of ashes, and the
two colonists, enveloped in a whirlwind of dust, lost sight of each
other. They were then careful to cover their eyes and mouths with
handkerchiefs, for they ran the risk of being blinded and suffocated.

It was impossible for Cyrus Harding and Ayrton, with these impediments,
to make rapid progress. Moreover, the atmosphere was close, as if the
oxygen had been partly burned up, and had become unfit for respiration.
At every hundred paces they were obliged to stop to take breath. It was
therefore past ten o’clock when the engineer and his companion reached
the crest of the enormous mass of rocks of basalt and porphyry which
composed the northwest coast of the island.

Ayrton and Cyrus Harding commenced the descent of this abrupt declivity,
following almost step for step the difficult path which, during that
stormy night, had led them to Dakkar Grotto. In open day the descent was
less perilous, and, besides, the bed of ashes which covered the polished
surface of the rock enabled them to make their footing more secure.

The ridge at the end of the shore, about forty feet in height, was soon
reached. Cyrus Harding recollected that this elevation gradually sloped
towards the level of the sea. Although the tide was at present low, no
beach could be seen, and the waves, thickened by the volcanic dust, beat
upon the basaltic rocks.

Cyrus Harding and Ayrton found without difficulty the entrance to Dakkar
Grotto, and paused for a moment at the last rock before it.

“The iron boat should be there,” said the engineer.

“It is here, Captain Harding,” replied Ayrton, drawing towards him the
fragile craft, which was protected by the arch of the vault.

“On board, Ayrton!”

The two colonists stepped into the boat. A slight undulation of the
waves carried it farther under the low arch of the crypt, and there
Ayrton, with the aid of flint and steel, lighted the lamp. He then took
the oars, and the lamp having been placed in the bow of the boat, so
that its rays fell before them, Cyrus Harding took the helm and steered
through the shades of the grotto.

The “Nautilus” was there no longer to illuminate the cavern with its
electric light. Possibly it might not yet be extinguished, but no ray
escaped from the depths of the abyss in which reposed all that was
mortal of Captain Nemo.

The light afforded by the lamp, although feeble, nevertheless enabled
the engineer to advance slowly, following the wall of the cavern. A
deathlike silence reigned under the vaulted roof, or at least in the
anterior portion, for soon Cyrus Harding distinctly heard the rumbling
which proceeded from the bowels of the mountain.

“That comes from the volcano,” he said.

Besides these sounds, the presence of chemical combinations was soon
betrayed by their powerful odor, and the engineer and his companion were
almost suffocated by sulphurous vapors.

“This is what Captain Nemo feared,” murmured Cyrus Harding, changing
countenance. “We must go to the end, notwithstanding.”

“Forward!” replied Ayrton, bending to his oars and directing the boat
towards the head of the cavern.

Twenty-five minutes after entering the mouth of the grotto the boat
reached the extreme end.

Cyrus Harding then, standing up, cast the light of the lamp upon the
walls of the cavern which separated it from the central shaft of the
volcano. What was the thickness of this wall? It might be ten feet or a
hundred feet--it was impossible to say. But the subterranean sounds were
too perceptible to allow of the supposition that it was of any great
thickness.

The engineer, after having explored the wall at a certain height
horizontally, fastened the lamp to the end of an oar, and again surveyed
the basaltic wall at a greater elevation.

There, through scarcely visible clefts and joinings, escaped a pungent
vapor, which infected the atmosphere of the cavern. The wall was broken
by large cracks, some of which extended to within two or three feet of
the water’s edge.

Cyrus Harding thought for a brief space. Then he said in a low voice,--

“Yes! the captain was right! The danger lies there, and a terrible
danger!”

Ayrton said not a word, but, upon a sign from Cyrus Harding, resumed the
oars, and half an hour later the engineer and he reached the entrance of
Dakkar Grotto.



Chapter 19

The next day, the 8th day of January, after a day and night passed
at the corral, where they left all in order, Cyrus Harding and Ayrton
arrived at Granite House.

The engineer immediately called his companions together, and informed
them of the imminent danger which threatened Lincoln Island, and from
which no human power could deliver them.

“My friends,” he said, and his voice betrayed the depth of his emotion,
“our island is not among those which will endure while this earth
endures. It is doomed to more or less speedy destruction, the cause of
which it bears within itself, and from which nothing can save it.”

The colonists looked at each other, then at the engineer. They did not
clearly comprehend him.

“Explain yourself, Cyrus!” said Gideon Spilett.

“I will do so,” replied Cyrus Harding, “or rather I will simply
afford you the explanation which, during our few minutes of private
conversation, was given me by Captain Nemo.”

“Captain Nemo!” exclaimed the colonists.

“Yes, and it was the last service he desired to render us before his
death!”

“The last service!” exclaimed Pencroft, “the last service! You will see
that though he is dead he will render us others yet!”

“But what did the captain say?” inquired the reporter.

“I will tell you, my friends,” said the engineer. “Lincoln Island does
not resemble the other islands of the Pacific, and a fact of which
Captain Nemo has made me cognizant must sooner or later bring about the
subversion of its foundation.”

“Nonsense! Lincoln Island, it can’t be!” cried Pencroft, who, in spite
of the respect he felt for Cyrus Harding, could not prevent a gesture of
incredulity.

“Listen, Pencroft,” resumed the engineer, “I will tell you what Captain
Nemo communicated to me, and which I myself confirmed yesterday, during
the exploration of Dakkar Grotto.

“This cavern stretches under the island as far as the volcano, and is
only separated from its central shaft by the wall which terminates it.
Now, this wall is seamed with fissures and clefts which already allow
the sulphurous gases generated in the interior of the volcano to
escape.”

“Well?” said Pencroft, his brow suddenly contracting.

“Well, then, I saw that these fissures widen under the internal pressure
from within, that the wall of basalt is gradually giving way and that
after a longer or shorter period it will afford a passage to the waters
of the lake which fill the cavern.”

“Good!” replied Pencroft, with an attempt at pleasantry. “The sea will
extinguish the volcano, and there will be an end of the matter!”

“Not so!” said Cyrus Harding, “should a day arrive when the sea, rushing
through the wall of the cavern, penetrates by the central shaft into the
interior of the island to the boiling lava, Lincoln Island will that day
be blown into the air--just as would happen to the island of Sicily were
the Mediterranean to precipitate itself into Mount Etna.”

The colonists made no answer to these significant words of the engineer.
They now understood the danger by which they were menaced.

It may be added that Cyrus Harding had in no way exaggerated the danger
to be apprehended. Many persons have formed an idea that it would be
possible to extinguish volcanoes, which are almost always situated on
the shores of a sea or lake, by opening a passage for the admission of
the water. But they are not aware that this would be to incur the risk
of blowing up a portion of the globe, like a boiler whose steam is
suddenly expanded by intense heat. The water, rushing into a cavity
whose temperature might be estimated at thousands of degrees, would
be converted into steam with a sudden energy which no enclosure could
resist.

It was not therefore doubtful that the island, menaced by a frightful
and approaching convulsion, would endure only so long as the wall
of Dakkar Grotto itself should endure. It was not even a question of
months, nor of weeks, but of days; it might be of hours.

The first sentiment which the colonists felt was that of profound
sorrow. They thought not so much of the peril which menaced themselves
personally, but of the destruction of the island which had sheltered
them, which they had cultivated, which they loved so well, and had hoped
to render so flourishing. So much effort ineffectually expended, so much
labor lost.

Pencroft could not prevent a large tear from rolling down his cheek, nor
did he attempt to conceal it.

Some further conversation now took place. The chances yet in favor of
the colonists were discussed; but finally it was agreed that there was
not an hour to be lost, that the building and fitting of the vessel
should be pushed forward with their utmost energy, and that this was the
sole chance of safety for the inhabitants of Lincoln Island.

All hands, therefore, set to work on the vessel. What could it avail
to sow, to reap, to hunt, to increase the stores of Granite House?
The contents of the storehouse and outbuildings contained more than
sufficient to provide the ship for a voyage, however long might be its
duration. But it was imperative that the ship should be ready to receive
them before the inevitable catastrophe should arrive.

Their labors were now carried on with feverish ardor. By the 23rd of
January the vessel was half-decked over. Up to this time no change had
taken place on the summit of the volcano. Vapor and smoke mingled with
flames and incandescent stones were thrown up from the crater. But
during the night of the 23rd, in consequence of the lava attaining the
level of the first stratum of the volcano, the hat-shaped cone which
formed over the latter disappeared. A frightful sound was heard. The
colonists at first thought the island was rent asunder, and rushed out
of Granite House.

This occurred about two o’clock in the morning.

The sky appeared on fire. The superior cone, a mass of rock a thousand
feet in height, and weighing thousands of millions of pounds, had
been thrown down upon the island, making it tremble to its foundation.
Fortunately, this cone inclined to the north, and had fallen upon the
plain of sand and tufa stretching between the volcano and the sea. The
aperture of the crater being thus enlarged projected towards the sky a
glare so intense that by the simple effect of reflection the atmosphere
appeared red-hot. At the same time a torrent of lava, bursting from the
new summit, poured out in long cascades, like water escaping from a vase
too full, and a thousand tongues of fire crept over the sides of the
volcano.

“The corral! the corral!” exclaimed Ayrton.

It was, in fact, towards the corral that the lava was rushing as the
new crater faced the east, and consequently the fertile portions of the
island, the springs of Red Creek and Jacamar Wood, were menaced with
instant destruction.

At Ayrton’s cry the colonists rushed to the onagers’ stables. The cart
was at once harnessed. All were possessed by the same thought--to hasten
to the corral and set at liberty the animals it enclosed.

Before three in the morning they arrived at the corral. The cries of the
terrified musmons and goats indicated the alarm which possessed them.
Already a torrent of burning matter and liquefied minerals fell from
the side of the mountain upon the meadows as far as the side of the
palisade. The gate was burst open by Ayrton, and the animals, bewildered
with terror, fled in all directions.

An hour afterwards the boiling lava filled the corral, converting into
vapor the water of the little rivulet which ran through it, burning up
the house like dry grass, and leaving not even a post of the palisade to
mark the spot where the corral once stood.

To contend against this disaster would have been folly--nay, madness. In
presence of Nature’s grand convulsions man is powerless.

It was now daylight--the 24th of January. Cyrus Harding and his
companions, before returning to Granite House, desired to ascertain the
probable direction this inundation of lava was about to take. The soil
sloped gradually from Mount Franklin to the east coast, and it was to be
feared that, in spite of the thick Jacamar Wood, the torrent would reach
the plateau of Prospect Heights.

“The lake will cover us,” said Gideon Spilett.

“I hope so!” was Cyrus Harding’s only reply.

The colonists were desirous of reaching the plain upon which the
superior cone of Mount Franklin had fallen, but the lava arrested their
progress. It had followed, on one side, the valley of Red Creek, and
on the other that of Falls River, evaporating those watercourses in its
passage. There was no possibility of crossing the torrent of lava;
on the contrary, the colonists were obliged to retreat before it. The
volcano, without its crown, was no longer recognizable, terminated as it
was by a sort of flat table which replaced the ancient crater. From two
openings in its southern and eastern sides an unceasing flow of lava
poured forth, thus forming two distinct streams. Above the new crater a
cloud of smoke and ashes, mingled with those of the atmosphere, massed
over the island. Loud peals of thunder broke, and could scarcely be
distinguished from the rumblings of the mountain, whose mouth vomited
forth ignited rocks, which, hurled to more than a thousand feet, burst
in the air like shells. Flashes of lightning rivaled in intensity the
volcano’s eruption.

Towards seven in the morning the position was no longer tenable by the
colonists, who accordingly took shelter in the borders of Jacamar Wood.
Not only did the projectiles begin to rain around them, but the lava,
overflowing the bed of Red Creek, threatened to cut off the road to the
corral. The nearest rows of trees caught fire, and their sap, suddenly
transformed into vapor, caused them to explode with loud reports, while
others, less moist, remained unhurt in the midst of the inundation.

The colonists had again taken the road to the corral. They proceeded but
slowly, frequently looking back; but, in consequence of the inclination
of the soil, the lava gained rapidly in the east, and as its lower waves
became solidified others, at boiling heat, covered them immediately.

Meanwhile, the principal stream of Red Creek Valley became more and
more menacing. All this portion of the forest was on fire, and enormous
wreaths of smoke rolled over the trees, whose trunks were already
consumed by the lava.

The colonists halted near the lake, about half a mile from the mouth of
Red Creek. A question of life or death was now to be decided.

Cyrus Harding, accustomed to the consideration of important crises, and
aware that he was addressing men capable of hearing the truth, whatever
it might be, then said,--

“Either the lake will arrest the progress of the lava, and a part of
the island will be preserved from utter destruction, or the stream will
overrun the forests of the Far West, and not a tree or plant will
remain on the surface of the soil. We shall have no prospect but that
of starvation upon these barren rocks--a death which will probably be
anticipated by the explosion of the island.”

“In that case,” replied Pencroft, folding his arms and stamping his
foot, “what’s the use of working any longer on the vessel?”

“Pencroft,” answered Cyrus Harding, “we must do our duty to the last!”

At this instant the river of lava, after having broken a passage through
the noble trees it devoured in its course, reached the borders of the
lake. At this point there was an elevation of the soil which, had it
been greater, might have sufficed to arrest the torrent.

“To work!” cried Cyrus Harding.

The engineer’s thought was at once understood. It might be possible to
dam, as it were, the torrent, and thus compel it to pour itself into the
lake.

The colonists hastened to the dockyard. They returned with shovels,
picks, axes, and by means of banking the earth with the aid of fallen
trees they succeeded in a few hours in raising an embankment three feet
high and some hundreds of paces in length. It seemed to them, when
they had finished, as if they had scarcely been working more than a few
minutes.

It was not a moment too soon. The liquefied substances soon after
reached the bottom of the barrier. The stream of lava swelled like a
river about to overflow its banks, and threatened to demolish the sole
obstacle which could prevent it from overrunning the whole Far West. But
the dam held firm, and after a moment of terrible suspense the torrent
precipitated itself into Grant Lake from a height of twenty feet.

The colonists, without moving or uttering a word, breathlessly regarded
this strife of the two elements.

What a spectacle was this conflict between water and fire! What pen
could describe the marvelous horror of this scene--what pencil could
depict it? The water hissed as it evaporated by contact with the boiling
lava. The vapor whirled in the air to an immeasurable height, as if
the valves of an immense boiler had been suddenly opened. But, however
considerable might be the volume of water contained in the lake, it must
eventually be absorbed, because it was not replenished, while the stream
of lava, fed from an inexhaustible source, rolled on without ceasing new
waves of incandescent matter.

The first waves of lava which fell in the lake immediately solidified
and accumulated so as speedily to emerge from it. Upon their surface
fell other waves, which in their turn became stone, but a step
nearer the center of the lake. In this manner was formed a pier which
threatened to gradually fill up the lake, which could not overflow, the
water displaced by the lava being evaporated. The hissing of the water
rent the air with a deafening sound, and the vapor, blown by the wind,
fell in rain upon the sea. The pier became longer and longer, and the
blocks of lava piled themselves one on another. Where formerly stretched
the calm waters of the lake now appeared an enormous mass of smoking
rocks, as if an upheaving of the soil had formed immense shoals. Imagine
the waters of the lake aroused by a hurricane, then suddenly solidified
by an intense frost, and some conception may be formed of the aspect of
the lake three hours after the eruption of this irresistible torrent of
lava.

This time water would be vanquished by fire.

Nevertheless it was a fortunate circumstance for the colonists that the
effusion of lava should have been in the direction of Lake Grant. They
had before them some days’ respite. The plateau of Prospect Heights,
Granite House, and the dockyard were for the moment preserved. And these
few days it was necessary to employ in planking and carefully calking
the vessel, and launching her. The colonists would then take refuge on
board the vessel, content to rig her after she should be afloat on the
waters. With the danger of an explosion which threatened to destroy the
island there could be no security on shore. The walls of Granite House,
once so sure a retreat, might at any moment fall in upon them.

During the six following days, from the 25th to the 30th of January, the
colonists accomplished as much of the construction of their vessel as
twenty men could have done. They hardly allowed themselves a moment’s
repose, and the glare of the flames which shot from the crater enabled
them to work night and day. The flow of lava continued, but perhaps
less abundantly. This was fortunate, for Lake Grant was almost entirely
choked up, and if more lava should accumulate it would inevitably spread
over the plateau of Prospect Heights, and thence upon the beach.

But if the island was thus partially protected on this side, it was not
so with the western part.

In fact, the second stream of lava, which had followed the valley of
Falls River, a valley of great extent, the land on both sides of the
creek being flat, met with no obstacle. The burning liquid had then
spread through the forest of the Far West. At this period of the year,
when the trees were dried up by a tropical heat, the forest caught fire
instantaneously, in such a manner that the conflagration extended itself
both by the trunks of the trees and by their higher branches, whose
interlacement favored its progress. It even appeared that the current
of flame spread more rapidly among the summits of the trees than the
current of lava at their bases.

Thus it happened that the wild animals, jaguars, wild boars, capybaras,
koalas, and game of every kind, mad with terror, had fled to the banks
of the Mercy and to the Tadorn Marsh, beyond the road to Port Balloon.
But the colonists were too much occupied with their task to pay any
attention to even the most formidable of these animals. They had
abandoned Granite House, and would not even take shelter at the
Chimneys, but encamped under a tent, near the mouth of the Mercy.

Each day Cyrus Harding and Gideon Spilett ascended the plateau of
Prospect Heights. Sometimes Herbert accompanied them, but never
Pencroft, who could not bear to look upon the prospect of the island now
so utterly devastated.

It was, in truth, a heart-rending spectacle. All the wooded part of the
island was now completely bare. One single clump of green trees raised
their heads at the extremity of Serpentine Peninsula. Here and there
were a few grotesque blackened and branchless stumps. The side of the
devastated forest was even more barren than Tadorn Marsh. The eruption
of lava had been complete. Where formerly sprang up that charming
verdure, the soil was now nothing but a savage mass of volcanic tufa.
In the valleys of the Falls and Mercy rivers no drop of water now
flowed towards the sea, and should Lake Grant be entirely dried up,
the colonists would have no means of quenching their thirst. But,
fortunately the lava had spared the southern corner of the lake,
containing all that remained of the drinking water of the island.
Towards the northwest stood out the rugged and well-defined outlines of
the sides of the volcano, like a gigantic claw hovering over the island.
What a sad and fearful sight, and how painful to the colonists, who,
from a fertile domain covered with forests, irrigated by watercourses,
and enriched by the produce of their toils, found themselves, as it
were, transported to a desolate rock, upon which, but for their reserves
of provisions, they could not even gather the means of subsistence!

“It is enough to break one’s heart!” said Gideon Spilett, one day.

“Yes, Spilett,” answered the engineer. “May God grant us the time to
complete this vessel, now our sole refuge!”

“Do not you think, Cyrus, that the violence of the eruption has somewhat
lessened? The volcano still vomits forth lava, but somewhat less
abundantly, if I mistake not.”

“It matters little,” answered Cyrus Harding. “The fire is still burning
in the interior of the mountain, and the sea may break in at any moment.
We are in the condition of passengers whose ship is devoured by a
conflagration which they cannot extinguish, and who know that sooner or
later the flames must reach the powder-magazine. To work, Spilett, to
work, and let us not lose an hour!”

During eight days more, that is to say until the 7th of February,
the lava continued to flow, but the eruption was confined within the
previous limits. Cyrus Harding feared above all lest the liquefied
matter should overflow the shore, for in that event the dockyard could
not escape. Moreover, about this time the colonists felt in the frame of
the island vibrations which alarmed them to the highest degree.

It was the 20th of February. Yet another month must elapse before the
vessel would be ready for sea. Would the island hold together till then?
The intention of Pencroft and Cyrus Harding was to launch the vessel
as soon as the hull should be complete. The deck, the upperworks, the
interior woodwork and the rigging might be finished afterwards, but the
essential point was that the colonists should have an assured refuge
away from the island. Perhaps it might be even better to conduct the
vessel to Port Balloon, that is to say, as far as possible from the
center of eruption, for at the mouth of the Mercy, between the islet and
the wall of granite, it would run the risk of being crushed in the event
of any convulsion. All the exertions of the voyagers were therefore
concentrated upon the completion of the hull.

Thus the 3rd of March arrived, and they might calculate upon launching
the vessel in ten days.

Hope revived in the hearts of the colonists, who had, in this fourth
year of their sojourn on Lincoln island, suffered so many trials. Even
Pencroft lost in some measure the somber taciturnity occasioned by
the devastation and ruin of his domain. His hopes, it is true, were
concentrated upon his vessel.

“We shall finish it,” he said to the engineer, “we shall finish it,
captain, and it is time, for the season is advancing and the equinox
will soon be here. Well, if necessary, we must put in to Tabor island
to spend the winter. But think of Tabor island after Lincoln Island. Ah,
how unfortunate! Who could have believed it possible?”

“Let us get on,” was the engineer’s invariable reply.

And they worked away without losing a moment.

“Master,” asked Neb, a few days later, “do you think all this could have
happened if Captain Nemo had been still alive?”

“Certainly, Neb,” answered Cyrus Harding.

“I, for one, don’t believe it!” whispered Pencroft to Neb.

“Nor I!” answered Neb seriously.

During the first week of March appearances again became menacing.
Thousands of threads like glass, formed of fluid lava, fell like rain
upon the island. The crater was again boiling with lava which overflowed
the back of the volcano. The torrent flowed along the surface of the
hardened tufa, and destroyed the few meager skeletons of trees which had
withstood the first eruption. The stream, flowing this time towards the
southwest shore of Lake Grant, stretched beyond Creek Glycerine, and
invaded the plateau of Prospect Heights. This last blow to the work of
the colonists was terrible. The mill, the buildings of the inner court,
the stables, were all destroyed. The affrighted poultry fled in all
directions. Top and Jup showed signs of the greatest alarm, as if their
instinct warned them of an impending catastrophe. A large number of the
animals of the island had perished in the first eruption. Those which
survived found no refuge but Tadorn Marsh, save a few to which the
plateau of Prospect Heights afforded asylum. But even this last retreat
was now closed to them, and the lava-torrent, flowing over the edge of
the granite wall, began to pour down upon the beach its cataracts of
fire. The sublime horror of this spectacle passed all description.
During the night it could only be compared to a Niagara of molten fluid,
with its incandescent vapors above and its boiling masses below.

The colonists were driven to their last entrenchment, and although the
upper seams of the vessel were not yet calked, they decided to launch
her at once.

Pencroft and Ayrton therefore set about the necessary preparations for
the launching, which was to take place the morning of the next day, the
9th of March.

But during the night of the 8th an enormous column of vapor escaping
from the crater rose with frightful explosions to a height of more than
three thousand feet. The wall of Dakkar Grotto had evidently given way
under the pressure of gases, and the sea, rushing through the central
shaft into the igneous gulf, was at once converted into vapor. But
the crater could not afford a sufficient outlet for this vapor. An
explosion, which might have been heard at a distance of a hundred miles,
shook the air. Fragments of mountains fell into the Pacific, and, in a
few minutes, the ocean rolled over the spot where Lincoln island once
stood.



Chapter 20

An isolated rock, thirty feet in length, twenty in breadth, scarcely ten
from the water’s edge, such was the only solid point which the waves of
the Pacific had not engulfed.

It was all that remained of the structure of Granite House! The wall had
fallen headlong and been then shattered to fragments, and a few of the
rocks of the large room were piled one above another to form this point.
All around had disappeared in the abyss; the inferior cone of Mount
Franklin, rent asunder by the explosion; the lava jaws of Shark Gulf,
the plateau of Prospect Heights, Safety Islet, the granite rocks of Port
Balloon, the basalts of Dakkar Grotto, the long Serpentine Peninsula, so
distant nevertheless from the center of the eruption. All that could
now be seen of Lincoln Island was the narrow rock which now served as a
refuge to the six colonists and their dog Top.

The animals had also perished in the catastrophe; the birds, as well
as those representing the fauna of the island--all either crushed or
drowned, and the unfortunate Jup himself had, alas! found his death in
some crevice of the soil.

If Cyrus Harding, Gideon Spilett, Herbert, Pencroft, Neb, and Ayrton
had survived, it was because, assembled under their tent, they had been
hurled into the sea at the instant when the fragments of the island
rained down on every side.

When they reached the surface they could only perceive, at half a
cable’s length, this mass of rocks, towards which they swam and on which
they found footing.

On this barren rock they had now existed for nine days. A few provisions
taken from the magazine of Granite House before the catastrophe, a
little fresh water from the rain which had fallen in a hollow of the
rock, was all that the unfortunate colonists possessed. Their last hope,
the vessel, had been shattered to pieces. They had no means of quitting
the reef; no fire, nor any means of obtaining it. It seemed that they
must inevitably perish.

This day, the 18th of March, there remained only provisions for two
days, although they limited their consumption to the bare necessaries
of life. All their science and intelligence could avail them nothing in
their present position. They were in the hand of God.

Cyrus Harding was calm, Gideon Spilett more nervous, and Pencroft, a
prey to sullen anger, walked to and fro on the rock. Herbert did not
for a moment quit the engineer’s side, as if demanding from him that
assistance he had no power to give. Neb and Ayrton were resigned to
their fate.

“Ah, what a misfortune! what a misfortune!” often repeated Pencroft.
“If we had but a walnut-shell to take us to Tabor Island! But we have
nothing, nothing!”

“Captain Nemo did right to die,” said Neb.

During the five ensuing days Cyrus Harding and his unfortunate
companions husbanded their provisions with the most extreme care, eating
only what would prevent them from dying of starvation. Their weakness
was extreme. Herbert and Neb began to show symptoms of delirium.

Under these circumstances was it possible for them to retain even the
shadow of a hope? No! What was their sole remaining chance? That a
vessel should appear in sight of the rock? But they knew only too well
from experience that no ships ever visited this part of the Pacific.
Could they calculate that, by a truly providential coincidence, the
Scotch yacht would arrive precisely at this time in search of Ayrton
at Tabor Island? It was scarcely probable; and, besides, supposing
she should come there, as the colonists had not been able to deposit
a notice pointing out Ayrton’s change of abode, the commander of the
yacht, after having explored Tabor Island without results, would again
set sail and return to lower latitudes.

No! no hope of being saved could be retained, and a horrible death,
death from hunger and thirst, awaited them upon this rock.

Already they were stretched on the rock, inanimate, and no longer
conscious of what passed around them. Ayrton alone, by a supreme effort,
from time to time raised his head, and cast a despairing glance over the
desert ocean.

But on the morning of the 24th of March Ayrton’s arms were extended
toward a point in the horizon; he raised himself, at first on his knees,
then upright, and his hand seemed to make a signal.

A sail was in sight off the rock. She was evidently not without an
object. The reef was the mark for which she was making in a direct line,
under all steam, and the unfortunate colonists might have made her out
some hours before if they had had the strength to watch the horizon.

“The ‘Duncan’!” murmured Ayrton--and fell back without sign of life.

When Cyrus Harding and his companions recovered consciousness, thanks to
the attention lavished upon them, they found themselves in the cabin of
a steamer, without being able to comprehend how they had escaped death.

A word from Ayrton explained everything.

“The ‘Duncan’!” he murmured.

“The ‘Duncan’!” exclaimed Cyrus Harding. And raising his hand to Heaven,
he said, “Oh! Almighty God! mercifully hast Thou preserved us!”

It was, in fact, the “Duncan,” Lord Glenarvan’s yacht, now commanded by
Robert, son of Captain Grant, who had been despatched to Tabor Island to
find Ayrton, and bring him back to his native land after twelve years of
expiation.

The colonists were not only saved, but already on the way to their
native country.

“Captain Grant,” asked Cyrus Harding, “who can have suggested to you the
idea, after having left Tabor Island, where you did not find Ayrton, of
coming a hundred miles farther northeast?”

“Captain Harding,” replied Robert Grant, “it was in order to find, not
only Ayrton, but yourself and your companions.”

“My companions and myself?”

“Doubtless, at Lincoln Island.”

“At Lincoln Island!” exclaimed in a breath Gideon Spilett, Herbert, Neb,
and Pencroft, in the highest degree astonished.

“How could you be aware of the existence of Lincoln Island?” inquired
Cyrus Harding, “it is not even named in the charts.”

“I knew of it from a document left by you on Tabor Island,” answered
Robert Grant.

“A document!” cried Gideon Spilett.

“Without doubt, and here it is,” answered Robert Grant, producing a
paper which indicated the longitude and latitude of Lincoln Island, “the
present residence of Ayrton and five American colonists.”

“It is Captain Nemo!” cried Cyrus Harding, after having read the notice,
and recognized that the handwriting was similar to that of the paper
found at the corral.

“Ah!” said Pencroft, “it was then he who took our ‘Bonadventure’ and
hazarded himself alone to go to Tabor Island!”

“In order to leave this notice,” added Herbert.

“I was then right in saying,” exclaimed the sailor, “that even after his
death the captain would render us a last service.”

“My friends,” said Cyrus Harding, in a voice of the profoundest emotion,
“may the God of mercy have had pity on the soul of Captain Nemo, our
benefactor.”

The colonists uncovered themselves at these last words of Cyrus Harding,
and murmured the name of Captain Nemo.

Then Ayrton, approaching the engineer, said simply, “Where should this
coffer be deposited?”

It was the coffer which Ayrton had saved at the risk of his life, at
the very instant that the island had been engulfed, and which he now
faithfully handed to the engineer.

“Ayrton! Ayrton!” said Cyrus Harding, deeply touched. Then, addressing
Robert Grant, “Sir,” he added, “you left behind you a criminal; you find
in his place a man who has become honest by penitence, and whose hand I
am proud to clasp in mine.”

Robert Grant was now made acquainted with the strange history of Captain
Nemo and the colonists of Lincoln Island. Then, observation being taken
of what remained of this shoal, which must henceforward figure on the
charts of the Pacific, the order was given to make all sail.

A few weeks afterwards the colonists landed in America, and found their
country once more at peace after the terrible conflict in which right
and justice had triumphed.

Of the treasures contained in the coffer left by Captain Nemo to the
colonists of Lincoln Island, the larger portion was employed in the
purchase of a vast territory in the State of Iowa. One pearl alone, the
finest, was reserved from the treasure and sent to Lady Glenarvan in the
name of the castaways restored to their country by the “Duncan.”

There, upon this domain, the colonists invited to labor, that is to say,
to wealth and happiness, all those to whom they had hoped to offer the
hospitality of Lincoln Island. There was founded a vast colony to
which they gave the name of that island sunk beneath the waters of the
Pacific. A river there was called the Mercy, a mountain took the name
of Mount Franklin, a small lake was named Lake Grant, and the forests
became the forests of the Far West. It might have been an island on
terra firma.

There, under the intelligent hands of the engineer and his companions,
everything prospered. Not one of the former colonists of Lincoln Island
was absent, for they had sworn to live always together. Neb was with his
master; Ayrton was there ready to sacrifice himself for all; Pencroft
was more a farmer than he had ever been a sailor; Herbert, who completed
his studies under the superintendence of Cyrus Harding, and Gideon
Spilett, who founded the New Lincoln Herald, the best-informed journal
in the world.

There Cyrus Harding and his companions received at intervals visits from
Lord and Lady Glenarvan, Captain John Mangles and his wife, the sister
of Robert Grant, Robert Grant himself, Major McNab, and all those who
had taken part in the history both of Captain Grant and Captain Nemo.

There, to conclude, all were happy, united in the present as they had
been in the past; but never could they forget that island upon which
they had arrived poor and friendless, that island which, during four
years had supplied all their wants, and of which there remained but a
fragment of granite washed by the waves of the Pacific, the tomb of him
who had borne the name of Captain Nemo.
The Mysterious Island - Part 2
