Then, in a pause of the tumult, they again heard the barking, which they
found must be at some distance.
It could only be Top! But was he alone or accompanied? He was most
probably alone, for, if Neb had been with him, he would have made
his way more directly towards the Chimneys. The sailor squeezed the
reporter’s hand, for he could not make himself heard, in a way which
signified “Wait!” then he reentered the passage.
An instant after he issued with a lighted fagot, which he threw into the
darkness, whistling shrilly.
It appeared as if this signal had been waited for; the barking
immediately came nearer, and soon a dog bounded into the passage.
Pencroft, Herbert, and Spilett entered after him.
An armful of dry wood was thrown on the embers. The passage was lighted
up with a bright flame.
“It is Top!” cried Herbert.
It was indeed Top, a magnificent Anglo-Norman, who derived from these
two races crossed the swiftness of foot and the acuteness of smell which
are the preeminent qualities of coursing dogs. It was the dog of the
engineer, Cyrus Harding. But he was alone! Neither Neb nor his master
accompanied him!
How was it that his instinct had guided him straight to the Chimneys,
which he did not know? It appeared inexplicable, above all, in the
midst of this black night and in such a tempest! But what was still more
inexplicable was, that Top was neither tired, nor exhausted, nor even
soiled with mud or sand!--Herbert had drawn him towards him, and was
patting his head, the dog rubbing his neck against the lad’s hands.
“If the dog is found, the master will be found also!” said the reporter.
“God grant it!” responded Herbert. “Let us set off! Top will guide us!”
Pencroft did not make any objection. He felt that Top’s arrival
contradicted his conjectures. “Come along then!” said he.
Pencroft carefully covered the embers on the hearth. He placed a few
pieces of wood among them, so as to keep in the fire until their return.
Then, preceded by the dog, who seemed to invite them by short barks to
come with him, and followed by the reporter and the boy, he dashed out,
after having put up in his handkerchief the remains of the supper.
The storm was then in all its violence, and perhaps at its height. Not a
single ray of light from the moon pierced through the clouds. To follow
a straight course was difficult. It was best to rely on Top’s instinct.
They did so. The reporter and Herbert walked behind the dog, and the
sailor brought up the rear. It was impossible to exchange a word. The
rain was not very heavy, but the wind was terrific.
However, one circumstance favored the seaman and his two companions. The
wind being southeast, consequently blew on their backs. The clouds of
sand, which otherwise would have been insupportable, from being received
behind, did not in consequence impede their progress. In short, they
sometimes went faster than they liked, and had some difficulty in
keeping their feet; but hope gave them strength, for it was not at
random that they made their way along the shore. They had no doubt that
Neb had found his master, and that he had sent them the faithful dog.
But was the engineer living, or had Neb only sent for his companions
that they might render the last duties to the corpse of the unfortunate
Harding?
After having passed the precipice, Herbert, the reporter, and Pencroft
prudently stepped aside to stop and take breath. The turn of the rocks
sheltered them from the wind, and they could breathe after this walk or
rather run of a quarter of an hour.
They could now hear and reply to each other, and the lad having
pronounced the name of Cyrus Harding, Top gave a few short barks, as
much as to say that his master was saved.
“Saved, isn’t he?” repeated Herbert; “saved, Top?”
And the dog barked in reply.
They once more set out. The tide began to rise, and urged by the wind it
threatened to be unusually high, as it was a spring tide. Great billows
thundered against the reef with such violence that they probably passed
entirely over the islet, then quite invisible. The mole no longer
protected the coast, which was directly exposed to the attacks of the
open sea.
As soon as the sailor and his companions left the precipice, the wind
struck them again with renewed fury. Though bent under the gale they
walked very quickly, following Top, who did not hesitate as to what
direction to take.
They ascended towards the north, having on their left an interminable
extent of billows, which broke with a deafening noise, and on their
right a dark country, the aspect of which it was impossible to guess.
But they felt that it was comparatively flat, for the wind passed
completely over them, without being driven back as it was when it came
in contact with the cliff.
At four o’clock in the morning, they reckoned that they had cleared
about five miles. The clouds were slightly raised, and the wind, though
less damp, was very sharp and cold. Insufficiently protected by their
clothing, Pencroft, Herbert and Spilett suffered cruelly, but not
a complaint escaped their lips. They were determined to follow Top,
wherever the intelligent animal wished to lead them.
Towards five o’clock day began to break. At the zenith, where the fog
was less thick, gray shades bordered the clouds; under an opaque belt, a
luminous line clearly traced the horizon. The crests of the billows were
tipped with a wild light, and the foam regained its whiteness. At the
same time on the left the hilly parts of the coast could be seen, though
very indistinctly.
At six o’clock day had broken. The clouds rapidly lifted. The seaman and
his companions were then about six miles from the Chimneys. They were
following a very flat shore bounded by a reef of rocks, whose heads
scarcely emerged from the sea, for they were in deep water. On the left,
the country appeared to be one vast extent of sandy downs, bristling
with thistles. There was no cliff, and the shore offered no resistance
to the ocean but a chain of irregular hillocks. Here and there grew two
or three trees, inclined towards the west, their branches projecting in
that direction. Quite behind, in the southwest, extended the border of
the forest.
At this moment, Top became very excited. He ran forward, then returned,
and seemed to entreat them to hasten their steps. The dog then left the
beach, and guided by his wonderful instinct, without showing the least
hesitation, went straight in among the downs. They followed him. The
country appeared an absolute desert. Not a living creature was to be
seen.
The downs, the extent of which was large, were composed of hillocks
and even of hills, very irregularly distributed. They resembled a
Switzerland modeled in sand, and only an amazing instinct could have
possibly recognized the way.
Five minutes after having left the beach, the reporter and his two
companions arrived at a sort of excavation, hollowed out at the back of
a high mound. There Top stopped, and gave a loud, clear bark. Spilett,
Herbert, and Pencroft dashed into the cave.
Neb was there, kneeling beside a body extended on a bed of grass.
The body was that of the engineer, Cyrus Harding.
Chapter 8
Neb did not move. Pencroft only uttered one word.
“Living?” he cried.
Neb did not reply. Spilett and the sailor turned pale. Herbert clasped
his hands, and remained motionless. The poor Negro, absorbed in his
grief, evidently had neither seen his companions nor heard the sailor
speak.
The reporter knelt down beside the motionless body, and placed his ear
to the engineer’s chest, having first torn open his clothes.
A minute--an age!--passed, during which he endeavored to catch the
faintest throb of the heart.
Neb had raised himself a little and gazed without seeing. Despair had
completely changed his countenance. He could scarcely be recognized,
exhausted with fatigue, broken with grief. He believed his master was
dead.
Gideon Spilett at last rose, after a long and attentive examination.
“He lives!” said he.
Pencroft knelt in his turn beside the engineer, he also heard a
throbbing, and even felt a slight breath on his cheek.
Herbert at a word from the reporter ran out to look for water. He found,
a hundred feet off, a limpid stream, which seemed to have been greatly
increased by the rains, and which filtered through the sand; but nothing
in which to put the water, not even a shell among the downs. The lad was
obliged to content himself with dipping his handkerchief in the stream,
and with it hastened back to the grotto.
Happily the wet handkerchief was enough for Gideon Spilett, who only
wished to wet the engineer’s lips. The cold water produced an almost
immediate effect. His chest heaved and he seemed to try to speak.
“We will save him!” exclaimed the reporter.
At these words hope revived in Neb’s heart. He undressed his master
to see if he was wounded, but not so much as a bruise was to be found,
either on the head, body, or limbs, which was surprising, as he must
have been dashed against the rocks; even the hands were uninjured, and
it was difficult to explain how the engineer showed no traces of the
efforts which he must have made to get out of reach of the breakers.
But the explanation would come later. When Cyrus was able to speak he
would say what had happened. For the present the question was, how to
recall him to life, and it appeared likely that rubbing would bring this
about; so they set to work with the sailor’s jersey.
The engineer, revived by this rude shampooing, moved his arm slightly
and began to breathe more regularly. He was sinking from exhaustion,
and certainly, had not the reporter and his companions arrived, it would
have been all over with Cyrus Harding.
“You thought your master was dead, didn’t you?” said the seaman to Neb.
“Yes! quite dead!” replied Neb, “and if Top had not found you, and
brought you here, I should have buried my master, and then have lain
down on his grave to die!”
It had indeed been a narrow escape for Cyrus Harding!
Neb then recounted what had happened. The day before, after having
left the Chimneys at daybreak, he had ascended the coast in a northerly
direction, and had reached that part of the shore which he had already
visited.
There, without any hope he acknowledged, Neb had searched the beach,
among the rocks, on the sand, for the smallest trace to guide him. He
examined particularly that part of the beach which was not covered by
the high tide, for near the sea the water would have obliterated all
marks. Neb did not expect to find his master living. It was for a corpse
that he searched, a corpse which he wished to bury with his own hands!
He sought long in vain. This desert coast appeared never to have been
visited by a human creature. The shells, those which the sea had not
reached, and which might be met with by millions above high-water mark,
were untouched. Not a shell was broken.
Neb then resolved to walk along the beach for some miles. It was
possible that the waves had carried the body to quite a distant point.
When a corpse floats a little distance from a low shore, it rarely
happens that the tide does not throw it up, sooner or later. This Neb
knew, and he wished to see his master again for the last time.
“I went along the coast for another two miles, carefully examining
the beach, both at high and low water, and I had despaired of finding
anything, when yesterday, above five in the evening, I saw footprints on
the sand.”
“Footprints?” exclaimed Pencroft.
“Yes!” replied Neb.
“Did these footprints begin at the water’s edge?” asked the reporter.
“No,” replied Neb, “only above high-water mark, for the others must have
been washed out by the tide.”
“Go on, Neb,” said Spilett.
“I went half crazy when I saw these footprints. They were very clear
and went towards the downs. I followed them for a quarter of a mile,
running, but taking care not to destroy them. Five minutes after, as
it was getting dark, I heard the barking of a dog. It was Top, and Top
brought me here, to my master!”
Neb ended his account by saying what had been his grief at finding the
inanimate body, in which he vainly sought for the least sign of life.
Now that he had found him dead he longed for him to be alive. All his
efforts were useless! Nothing remained to be done but to render the last
duties to the one whom he had loved so much! Neb then thought of his
companions. They, no doubt, would wish to see the unfortunate man again.
Top was there. Could he not rely on the sagacity of the faithful animal?
Neb several times pronounced the name of the reporter, the one among his
companions whom Top knew best.
Then he pointed to the south, and the dog bounded off in the direction
indicated to him.
We have heard how, guided by an instinct which might be looked upon
almost as supernatural, Top had found them.
Neb’s companions had listened with great attention to this account.
It was unaccountable to them how Cyrus Harding, after the efforts which
he must have made to escape from the waves by crossing the rocks, had
not received even a scratch. And what could not be explained either was
how the engineer had managed to get to this cave in the downs, more than
a mile from the shore.
“So, Neb,” said the reporter, “it was not you who brought your master to
this place.”
“No, it was not I,” replied the Negro.
“It’s very clear that the captain came here by himself,” said Pencroft.
“It is clear in reality,” observed Spilett, “but it is not credible!”
The explanation of this fact could only be produced from the engineer’s
own lips, and they must wait for that till speech returned. Rubbing had
re-established the circulation of the blood. Cyrus Harding moved his arm
again, then his head, and a few incomprehensible words escaped him.
Neb, who was bending over him, spoke, but the engineer did not appear
to hear, and his eyes remained closed. Life was only exhibited in him by
movement, his senses had not as yet been restored.
Pencroft much regretted not having either fire, or the means of
procuring it, for he had, unfortunately, forgotten to bring the burnt
linen, which would easily have ignited from the sparks produced by
striking together two flints. As to the engineer’s pockets, they were
entirely empty, except that of his waistcoat, which contained his watch.
It was necessary to carry Harding to the Chimneys, and that as soon as
possible. This was the opinion of all.
Meanwhile, the care which was lavished on the engineer brought him back
to consciousness sooner than they could have expected. The water with
which they wetted his lips revived him gradually. Pencroft also thought
of mixing with the water some moisture from the titra’s flesh which
he had brought. Herbert ran to the beach and returned with two large
bivalve shells. The sailor concocted something which he introduced
between the lips of the engineer, who eagerly drinking it opened his
eyes.
Neb and the reporter were leaning over him.
“My master! my master!” cried Neb.
The engineer heard him. He recognized Neb and Spilett, then his other
two companions, and his hand slightly pressed theirs.
A few words again escaped him, which showed what thoughts were, even
then, troubling his brain. This time he was understood. Undoubtedly they
were the same words he had before attempted to utter.
“Island or continent?” he murmured.
“Bother the continent,” cried Pencroft hastily; “there is time enough
to see about that, captain! we don’t care for anything, provided you are
living.”
The engineer nodded faintly, and then appeared to sleep.
They respected this sleep, and the reporter began immediately to make
arrangements for transporting Harding to a more comfortable place. Neb,
Herbert, and Pencroft left the cave and directed their steps towards
a high mound crowned with a few distorted trees. On the way the sailor
could not help repeating,--
“Island or continent! To think of that, when at one’s last gasp! What a
man!”
Arrived at the summit of the mound, Pencroft and his two companions
set to work, with no other tools than their hands, to despoil of its
principal branches a rather sickly tree, a sort of marine fir; with
these branches they made a litter, on which, covered with grass and
leaves, they could carry the engineer.
This occupied them nearly forty minutes, and it was ten o’clock when
they returned to Cyrus Harding whom Spilett had not left.
The engineer was just awaking from the sleep, or rather from the
drowsiness, in which they had found him. The color was returning to his
cheeks, which till now had been as pale as death. He raised himself a
little, looked around him, and appeared to ask where he was.
“Can you listen to me without fatigue, Cyrus?” asked the reporter.
“Yes,” replied the engineer.
“It’s my opinion,” said the sailor, “that Captain Harding will be
able to listen to you still better, if he will have some more grouse
jelly,--for we have grouse, captain,” added he, presenting him with a
little of this jelly, to which he this time added some of the flesh.
Cyrus Harding ate a little of the grouse, and the rest was divided
among his companions, who found it but a meager breakfast, for they were
suffering extremely from hunger.
“Well!” said the sailor, “there is plenty of food at the Chimneys, for
you must know, captain, that down there, in the south, we have a house,
with rooms, beds, and fireplace, and in the pantry, several dozen of
birds, which our Herbert calls couroucous. Your litter is ready, and as
soon as you feel strong enough we will carry you home.”
“Thanks, my friend,” replied the engineer; “wait another hour or two,
and then we will set out. And now speak, Spilett.”
The reporter then told him all that had occurred. He recounted all the
events with which Cyrus was unacquainted, the last fall of the balloon,
the landing on this unknown land, which appeared a desert (whatever it
was, whether island or continent), the discovery of the Chimneys,
the search for him, not forgetting of course Neb’s devotion, the
intelligence exhibited by the faithful Top, as well as many other
matters.
“But,” asked Harding, in a still feeble voice, “you did not, then, pick
me up on the beach?”
“No,” replied the reporter.
“And did you not bring me to this cave?”
“No.”
“At what distance is this cave from the sea?”
“About a mile,” replied Pencroft; “and if you are astonished, captain,
we are not less surprised ourselves at seeing you in this place!”
“Indeed,” said the engineer, who was recovering gradually, and who took
great interest in these details, “indeed it is very singular!”
“But,” resumed the sailor, “can you tell us what happened after you were
carried off by the sea?”
Cyrus Harding considered. He knew very little. The wave had torn him
from the balloon net. He sank at first several fathoms. On returning
to the surface, in the half light, he felt a living creature struggling
near him. It was Top, who had sprung to his help. He saw nothing of the
balloon, which, lightened both of his weight and that of the dog, had
darted away like an arrow.
There he was, in the midst of the angry sea, at a distance which could
not be less than half a mile from the shore. He attempted to struggle
against the billows by swimming vigorously. Top held him up by his
clothes; but a strong current seized him and drove him towards the
north, and after half an hour of exertion, he sank, dragging Top
with him into the depths. From that moment to the moment in which he
recovered to find himself in the arms of his friends he remembered
nothing.
“However,” remarked Pencroft, “you must have been thrown on to the
beach, and you must have had strength to walk here, since Neb found your
footmarks!”
“Yes... of course,” replied the engineer, thoughtfully; “and you found
no traces of human beings on this coast?”
“Not a trace,” replied the reporter; “besides, if by chance you had met
with some deliverer there, just in the nick of time, why should he have
abandoned you after having saved you from the waves?”
“You are right, my dear Spilett. Tell me, Neb,” added the engineer,
turning to his servant, “it was not you who... you can’t have had a
moment of unconsciousness... during which no, that’s absurd.... Do any
of the footsteps still remain?” asked Harding.
“Yes, master,” replied Neb; “here, at the entrance, at the back of
the mound, in a place sheltered from the rain and wind. The storm has
destroyed the others.”
“Pencroft,” said Cyrus Harding, “will you take my shoe and see if it
fits exactly to the footprints?”
The sailor did as the engineer requested. While he and Herbert, guided
by Neb, went to the place where the footprints were to be found, Cyrus
remarked to the reporter,--
“It is a most extraordinary thing!”
“Perfectly inexplicable!” replied Gideon Spilett.
“But do not dwell upon it just now, my dear Spilett, we will talk about
it by-and-by.”
A moment after the others entered.
There was no doubt about it. The engineer’s shoe fitted exactly to the
footmarks. It was therefore Cyrus Harding who had left them on the sand.
“Come,” said he, “I must have experienced this unconsciousness which I
attributed to Neb. I must have walked like a somnambulist, without any
knowledge of my steps, and Top must have guided me here, after having
dragged me from the waves... Come, Top! Come, old dog!”
The magnificent animal bounded barking to his master, and caresses were
lavished on him. It was agreed that there was no other way of accounting
for the rescue of Cyrus Harding, and that Top deserved all the honor of
the affair.
Towards twelve o’clock, Pencroft having asked the engineer if they could
now remove him, Harding, instead of replying, and by an effort which
exhibited the most energetic will, got up. But he was obliged to lean on
the sailor, or he would have fallen.
“Well done!” cried Pencroft; “bring the captain’s litter.”
The litter was brought; the transverse branches had been covered with
leaves and long grass. Harding was laid on it, and Pencroft, having
taken his place at one end and Neb at the other, they started towards
the coast. There was a distance of eight miles to be accomplished; but,
as they could not go fast, and it would perhaps be necessary to stop
frequently, they reckoned that it would take at least six hours to reach
the Chimneys. The wind was still strong, but fortunately it did not
rain. Although lying down, the engineer, leaning on his elbow, observed
the coast, particularly inland. He did not speak, but he gazed; and, no
doubt, the appearance of the country, with its inequalities of ground,
its forests, its various productions, were impressed on his mind.
However, after traveling for two hours, fatigue overcame him, and he
slept.
At half-past five the little band arrived at the precipice, and a short
time after at the Chimneys.
They stopped, and the litter was placed on the sand; Cyrus Harding was
sleeping profoundly, and did not awake.
Pencroft, to his extreme surprise, found that the terrible storm had
quite altered the aspect of the place. Important changes had occurred;
great blocks of stone lay on the beach, which was also covered with a
thick carpet of sea-weed, algae, and wrack. Evidently the sea, passing
over the islet, had been carried right up to the foot of the enormous
curtain of granite. The soil in front of the cave had been torn away
by the violence of the waves. A horrid presentiment flashed across
Pencroft’s mind. He rushed into the passage, but returned almost
immediately, and stood motionless, staring at his companions.... The
fire was out; the drowned cinders were nothing but mud; the burnt
linen, which was to have served as tinder, had disappeared! The sea had
penetrated to the end of the passages, and everything was overthrown and
destroyed in the interior of the Chimneys!
Chapter 9
In a few words, Gideon Spilett, Herbert, and Neb were made acquainted
with what had happened. This accident, which appeared so very serious
to Pencroft, produced different effects on the companions of the honest
sailor.
Neb, in his delight at having found his master, did not listen, or
rather, did not care to trouble himself with what Pencroft was saying.
Herbert shared in some degree the sailor’s feelings.
As to the reporter, he simply replied,--
“Upon my word, Pencroft, it’s perfectly indifferent to me!”
“But, I repeat, that we haven’t any fire!”
“Pooh!”
“Nor any means of relighting it!”
“Nonsense!”
“But I say, Mr. Spilett--”
“Isn’t Cyrus here?” replied the reporter.
“Is not our engineer alive? He will soon find some way of making fire
for us!”
“With what?”
“With nothing.”
What had Pencroft to say? He could say nothing, for, in the bottom of
his heart he shared the confidence which his companions had in Cyrus
Harding. The engineer was to them a microcosm, a compound of every
science, a possessor of all human knowledge. It was better to be with
Cyrus in a desert island, than without him in the most flourishing town
in the United States. With him they could want nothing; with him they
would never despair. If these brave men had been told that a volcanic
eruption would destroy the land, that this land would be engulfed in the
depths of the Pacific, they would have imperturbably replied,--
“Cyrus is here!”
While in the palanquin, however, the engineer had again relapsed into
unconsciousness, which the jolting to which he had been subjected during
his journey had brought on, so that they could not now appeal to his
ingenuity. The supper must necessarily be very meager. In fact, all the
grouse flesh had been consumed, and there no longer existed any means of
cooking more game. Besides, the couroucous which had been reserved had
disappeared. They must consider what was to be done.
First of all, Cyrus Harding was carried into the central passage. There
they managed to arrange for him a couch of sea-weed which still remained
almost dry. The deep sleep which had overpowered him would no doubt be
more beneficial to him than any nourishment.
Night had closed in, and the temperature, which had modified when the
wind shifted to the northwest, again became extremely cold. Also, the
sea having destroyed the partitions which Pencroft had put up in certain
places in the passages, the Chimneys, on account of the draughts, had
become scarcely habitable. The engineer’s condition would, therefore,
have been bad enough, if his companions had not carefully covered him
with their coats and waistcoats.
Supper, this evening, was of course composed of the inevitable
lithodomes, of which Herbert and Neb picked up a plentiful supply on the
beach. However, to these molluscs, the lad added some edible sea-weed,
which he gathered on high rocks, whose sides were only washed by the sea
at the time of high tides. This sea-weed, which belongs to the order
of Fucacae, of the genus Sargassum, produces, when dry, a gelatinous
matter, rich and nutritious. The reporter and his companions, after
having eaten a quantity of lithodomes, sucked the sargassum, of which
the taste was very tolerable. It is used in parts of the East very
considerably by the natives. “Never mind!” said the sailor, “the captain
will help us soon.” Meanwhile the cold became very severe, and unhappily
they had no means of defending themselves from it.
The sailor, extremely vexed, tried in all sorts of ways to procure fire.
Neb helped him in this work. He found some dry moss, and by striking
together two pebbles he obtained some sparks, but the moss, not being
inflammable enough, did not take fire, for the sparks were really only
incandescent, and not at all of the same consistency as those which
are emitted from flint when struck in the same manner. The experiment,
therefore, did not succeed.
Pencroft, although he had no confidence in the proceeding, then tried
rubbing two pieces of dry wood together, as savages do. Certainly, the
movement which he and Neb exhibited, if it had been transformed into
heat, according to the new theory, would have been enough to heat the
boiler of a steamer! It came to nothing. The bits of wood became hot, to
be sure, but much less so than the operators themselves.
After working an hour, Pencroft, who was in a complete state of
perspiration, threw down the pieces of wood in disgust.
“I can never be made to believe that savages light their fires in this
way, let them say what they will,” he exclaimed. “I could sooner light
my arms by rubbing them against each other!”
The sailor was wrong to despise the proceeding. Savages often kindle
wood by means of rapid rubbing. But every sort of wood does not answer
for the purpose, and besides, there is “the knack,” following the usual
expression, and it is probable that Pencroft had not “the knack.”
Pencroft’s ill humor did not last long. Herbert had taken the bits of
wood which he had turned down, and was exerting himself to rub them.
The hardy sailor could not restrain a burst of laughter on seeing the
efforts of the lad to succeed where he had failed.
“Rub, my boy, rub!” said he.
“I am rubbing,” replied Herbert, laughing, “but I don’t pretend to do
anything else but warm myself instead of shivering, and soon I shall be
as hot as you are, my good Pencroft!”
This soon happened. However, they were obliged to give up, for this
night at least, the attempt to procure fire. Gideon Spilett repeated,
for the twentieth time, that Cyrus Harding would not have been troubled
for so small a difficulty. And, in the meantime, he stretched himself in
one of the passages on his bed of sand. Herbert, Neb, and Pencroft did
the same, while Top slept at his master’s feet.
Next day, the 28th of March, when the engineer awoke, about eight in the
morning, he saw his companions around him watching his sleep, and, as on
the day before, his first words were:--
“Island or continent?” This was his uppermost thought.
“Well!” replied Pencroft, “we don’t know anything about it, captain!”
“You don’t know yet?”
“But we shall know,” rejoined Pencroft, “when you have guided us into
the country.”
“I think I am able to try it,” replied the engineer, who, without much
effort, rose and stood upright.
“That’s capital!” cried the sailor.
“I feel dreadfully weak,” replied Harding. “Give me something to eat, my
friends, and it will soon go off. You have fire, haven’t you?”
This question was not immediately replied to. But, in a few seconds--
“Alas! we have no fire,” said Pencroft, “or rather, captain, we have it
no longer!”
And the sailor recounted all that had passed the day before. He amused
the engineer by the history of the single match, then his abortive
attempt to procure fire in the savages’ way.
“We shall consider,” replied the engineer, “and if we do not find some
substance similar to tinder--”
“Well?” asked the sailor.
“Well, we will make matches.
“Chemicals?”
“Chemicals!”
“It is not more difficult than that,” cried the reporter, striking the
sailor on the shoulder.
The latter did not think it so simple, but he did not protest. All went
out. The weather had become very fine. The sun was rising from the sea’s
horizon, and touched with golden spangles the prismatic rugosities of
the huge precipice.
Having thrown a rapid glance around him, the engineer seated himself on
a block of stone. Herbert offered him a few handfuls of shell-fish and
sargassum, saying,--
“It is all that we have, Captain Harding.”
“Thanks, my boy,” replied Harding; “it will do--for this morning at
least.”
He ate the wretched food with appetite, and washed it down with a little
fresh water, drawn from the river in an immense shell.
His companions looked at him without speaking. Then, feeling somewhat
refreshed, Cyrus Harding crossed his arms, and said,--
“So, my friends, you do not know yet whether fate has thrown us on an
island, or on a continent?”
“No, captain,” replied the boy.
“We shall know to-morrow,” said the engineer; “till then, there is
nothing to be done.”
“Yes,” replied Pencroft.
“What?”
“Fire,” said the sailor, who, also, had a fixed idea.
“We will make it, Pencroft,” replied Harding.
“While you were carrying me yesterday, did I not see in the west a
mountain which commands the country?”
“Yes,” replied Spilett, “a mountain which must be rather high--”
“Well,” replied the engineer, “we will climb to the summit to-morrow,
and then we shall see if this land is an island or a continent. Till
then, I repeat, there is nothing to be done.”
“Yes, fire!” said the obstinate sailor again.
“But he will make us a fire!” replied Gideon Spilett, “only have a
little patience, Pencroft!”
The seaman looked at Spilett in a way which seemed to say, “If it
depended upon you to do it, we wouldn’t taste roast meat very soon”; but
he was silent.
Meanwhile Captain Harding had made no reply. He appeared to be very
little troubled by the question of fire. For a few minutes he remained
absorbed in thought; then again speaking,--
“My friends,” said he, “our situation is, perhaps, deplorable; but, at
any rate, it is very plain. Either we are on a continent, and then, at
the expense of greater or less fatigue, we shall reach some inhabited
place, or we are on an island. In the latter case, if the island is
inhabited, we will try to get out of the scrape with the help of its
inhabitants; if it is desert, we will try to get out of the scrape by
ourselves.”
“Certainly, nothing could be plainer,” replied Pencroft.
“But, whether it is an island or a continent,” asked Gideon Spilett,
“whereabouts do you think, Cyrus, this storm has thrown us?”
“I cannot say exactly,” replied the engineer, “but I presume it is
some land in the Pacific. In fact, when we left Richmond, the wind was
blowing from the northeast, and its very violence greatly proves that
it could not have varied. If the direction has been maintained from
the northeast to the southwest, we have traversed the States of North
Carolina, of South Carolina, of Georgia, the Gulf of Mexico, Mexico,
itself, in its narrow part, then a part of the Pacific Ocean. I cannot
estimate the distance traversed by the balloon at less than six to seven
thousand miles, and, even supposing that the wind had varied half a
quarter, it must have brought us either to the archipelago of Mendava,
either on the Pomotous, or even, if it had a greater strength than I
suppose, to the land of New Zealand. If the last hypothesis is correct,
it will be easy enough to get home again. English or Maoris, we shall
always find some one to whom we can speak. If, on the contrary, this is
the coast of a desert island in some tiny archipelago, perhaps we shall
be able to reconnoiter it from the summit of that peak which overlooks
the country, and then we shall see how best to establish ourselves here
as if we are never to go away.”
“Never?” cried the reporter. “You say ‘Never,’ my dear Cyrus?”
“Better to put things at the worst at first,” replied the engineer, “and
reserve the best for a surprise.”
“Well said,” remarked Pencroft. “It is to be hoped, too, that this
island, if it be one, is not situated just out of the course of ships;
that would be really unlucky!”
“We shall not know what we have to rely on until we have first made the
ascent of the mountain,” replied the engineer.
“But to-morrow, captain,” asked Herbert, “shall you be in a state to
bear the fatigue of the ascent?”
“I hope so,” replied the engineer, “provided you and Pencroft, my boy,
show yourselves quick and clever hunters.”
“Captain,” said the sailor, “since you are speaking of game, if on my
return, I was as certain of roasting it as I am of bringing it back--”
“Bring it back all the same, Pencroft,” replied Harding.
It was then agreed that the engineer and the reporter were to pass the
day at the Chimneys, so as to examine the shore and the upper plateau.
Neb, Herbert, and the sailor were to return to the forest, renew their
store of wood, and lay violent hands on every creature, feathered or
hairy, which might come within their reach.
They set out accordingly about ten o’clock in the morning, Herbert
confident, Neb joyous, Pencroft murmuring aside,--
“If, on my return, I find a fire at the house, I shall believe that
the thunder itself came to light it.” All three climbed the bank; and
arrived at the angle made by the river, the sailor, stopping, said to
his two companions,--
“Shall we begin by being hunters or wood-men?”
“Hunters,” replied Herbert. “There is Top already in quest.”
“We will hunt, then,” said the sailor, “and afterwards we can come back
and collect our wood.”
This agreed to, Herbert, Neb, and Pencroft, after having torn three
sticks from the trunk of a young fir, followed Top, who was bounding
about among the long grass.
This time, the hunters, instead of following the course of the river,
plunged straight into the heart of the forest. There were still the
same trees, belonging, for the most part, to the pine family. In
certain places, less crowded, growing in clumps, these pines exhibited
considerable dimensions, and appeared to indicate, by their development,
that the country was situated in a higher latitude than the engineer had
supposed. Glades, bristling with stumps worn away by time, were covered
with dry wood, which formed an inexhaustible store of fuel. Then,
the glade passed, the underwood thickened again, and became almost
impenetrable.
It was difficult enough to find the way among the groups of trees,
without any beaten track. So the sailor from time to time broke off
branches which might be easily recognized. But, perhaps, he was wrong
not to follow the watercourse, as he and Herbert had done on their first
excursion, for after walking an hour not a creature had shown itself.
Top, running under the branches, only roused birds which could not be
approached. Even the couroucous were invisible, and it was probable that
the sailor would be obliged to return to the marshy part of the forest,
in which he had so happily performed his grouse fishing.
“Well, Pencroft,” said Neb, in a slightly sarcastic tone, “if this is
all the game which you promised to bring back to my master, it won’t
need a large fire to roast it!”
“Have patience,” replied the sailor, “it isn’t the game which will be
wanting on our return.”
“Have you not confidence in Captain Harding?”
“Yes.”
“But you don’t believe that he will make fire?”
“I shall believe it when the wood is blazing in the fireplace.”
“It will blaze, since my master has said so.”
“We shall see!”
Meanwhile, the sun had not reached the highest point in its course above
the horizon. The exploration, therefore, continued, and was usefully
marked by a discovery which Herbert made of a tree whose fruit was
edible. This was the stone-pine, which produces an excellent almond,
very much esteemed in the temperate regions of America and Europe. These
almonds were in a perfect state of maturity, and Herbert described them
to his companions, who feasted on them.
“Come,” said Pencroft, “sea-weed by way of bread, raw mussels for meat,
and almonds for dessert, that’s certainly a good dinner for those who
have not a single match in their pocket!”
“We mustn’t complain,” said Herbert.
“I am not complaining, my boy,” replied Pencroft, “only I repeat, that
meat is a little too much economized in this sort of meal.”
“Top has found something!” cried Neb, who ran towards a thicket, in the
midst of which the dog had disappeared, barking. With Top’s barking were
mingled curious gruntings.
The sailor and Herbert had followed Neb. If there was game there this
was not the time to discuss how it was to be cooked, but rather, how
they were to get hold of it.
The hunters had scarcely entered the bushes when they saw Top engaged
in a struggle with an animal which he was holding by the ear. This
quadruped was a sort of pig nearly two feet and a half long, of a
blackish brown color, lighter below, having hard scanty hair; its toes,
then strongly fixed in the ground, seemed to be united by a membrane.
Herbert recognized in this animal the capybara, that is to say, one of
the largest members of the rodent order.
Meanwhile, the capybara did not struggle against the dog. It stupidly
rolled its eyes, deeply buried in a thick bed of fat. Perhaps it saw men
for the first time.
However, Neb having tightened his grasp on his stick, was just going to
fell the pig, when the latter, tearing itself from Top’s teeth, by which
it was only held by the tip of its ear, uttered a vigorous grunt, rushed
upon Herbert, almost overthrew him, and disappeared in the wood.
“The rascal!” cried Pencroft.
All three directly darted after Top, but at the moment when they joined
him the animal had disappeared under the waters of a large pond shaded
by venerable pines.
Neb, Herbert, and Pencroft stopped, motionless. Top plunged into the
water, but the capybara, hidden at the bottom of the pond, did not
appear.
“Let us wait,” said the boy, “for he will soon come to the surface to
breathe.”
“Won’t he drown?” asked Neb.
“No,” replied Herbert, “since he has webbed feet, and is almost an
amphibious animal. But watch him.”
Top remained in the water. Pencroft and his two companions went to
different parts of the bank, so as to cut off the retreat of the
capybara, which the dog was looking for beneath the water.
Herbert was not mistaken. In a few minutes the animal appeared on the
surface of the water. Top was upon it in a bound, and kept it from
plunging again. An instant later the capybara, dragged to the bank, was
killed by a blow from Neb’s stick.
“Hurrah!” cried Pencroft, who was always ready with this cry of triumph.
“Give me but a good fire, and this pig shall be gnawed to the bones!”
Pencroft hoisted the capybara on his shoulders, and judging by the
height of the sun that it was about two o’clock, he gave the signal to
return.
Top’s instinct was useful to the hunters, who, thanks to the intelligent
animal, were enabled to discover the road by which they had come. Half
an hour later they arrived at the river.
Pencroft soon made a raft of wood, as he had done before, though if
there was no fire it would be a useless task, and the raft following the
current, they returned towards the Chimneys.
But the sailor had not gone fifty paces when he stopped, and again
uttering a tremendous hurrah, pointed towards the angle of the cliff,--
“Herbert! Neb! Look!” he shouted.
Smoke was escaping and curling up among the rocks.
Chapter 10
In a few minutes the three hunters were before a crackling fire. The
captain and the reporter were there. Pencroft looked from one to the
other, his capybara in his hand, without saying a word.
“Well, yes, my brave fellow,” cried the reporter.
“Fire, real fire, which will roast this splendid pig perfectly, and we
will have a feast presently!”
“But who lighted it?” asked Pencroft.
“The sun!”
Gideon Spilett was quite right in his reply. It was the sun which
had furnished the heat which so astonished Pencroft. The sailor could
scarcely believe his eyes, and he was so amazed that he did not think of
questioning the engineer.
“Had you a burning-glass, sir?” asked Herbert of Harding.
“No, my boy,” replied he, “but I made one.”
And he showed the apparatus which served for a burning-glass. It was
simply two glasses which he had taken from his own and the reporter’s
watches. Having filled them with water and rendered their edges adhesive
by means of a little clay, he thus fabricated a regular burning-glass,
which, concentrating the solar rays on some very dry moss, soon caused
it to blaze.
The sailor considered the apparatus; then he gazed at the engineer
without saying a word, only a look plainly expressed his opinion that if
Cyrus Harding was not a magician, he was certainly no ordinary man. At
last speech returned to him, and he cried,--
“Note that, Mr. Spilett, note that down on your paper!”
“It is noted,” replied the reporter.
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