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
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