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The Mysterious Island

by Jules Verne · English · Gutenberg #8993 · 967,735 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Mysterious Island

Author: Jules Verne

Translator: Stephen W. White


        
Release date: September 1, 2005 [eBook #8993]
                Most recently updated: June 9, 2022

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8993

Credits: Norman M. Wolcott


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MYSTERIOUS ISLAND ***




The Mysterious Island

by Jules Verne




[Redactor’s Note: _The Mysterious Island_ (Number V013 in the T&M
numerical listing of Verne’s works) is a translation of _L’Île
mystérieuse_ first published in England by Sampson and Low and in the
United States by Scribner and Henry L. Shepard using the same
translation of W. H. G. Kingston. English translators often altered
their translations to suit current political views of Church and
Empire. In the Kingston translation the chapters near the end of the
book where Captain Nemo makes his appearance are altered beyond all
recognition and all mention of Captain Nemo’s previous life as a
“freedom fighter” for Indian independence is removed, in addition to
other deletions. The present translation is by the American Stephen W.
White. It first appeared in the _Evening Telegraph_ of Philadelphia, PA
and was later published as an Evening Telegraph Reprint Book (1876).
The present version is prepared from a xerox copy of that book kindly
provided by Mr. Sidney Kravitz of Dover, NJ. According to Taves and
Michaluk “Although more faithful than any other translation, this one
has never been reprinted”. And so after a lapse of 127 years this
translation of _The Mysterious Island_ is now again available to the
public.

Since the text was hand set for a newspaper there are many printer’s
errors (including upside-down characters). Where obvious these have
been corrected, although an attempt has been made to retain the
original spelling of words in use at that period. Where there is a
doubt, words have been altered so that the spelling is consistent. In
other cases, like “trajopan” where the inconsistency is traced to
Verne’s original, the spelling is left unaltered. A table of contents
based on the chapter headings has been added which also indicates the
points at which the french version was divided into three parts. An
updated translation by Sidney Kravitz is now available from Wesleyan
University Press (2001).


JULES VERNE’S LAST STORY


THE

THE MYSTERIOUS ISLAND

ISLAND

WITH A MAP OF THE ISLAND AND A FULL GLOSSARY


By JULES VERNE


AUTHOR OF “THE TOUR OF THE WORLD IN EIGHTY DAYS,” “A JOURNEY TO THE
CENTRE OF THE EARTH,” “TWENTY THOUSAND LEAGUES UNDER THE SEA,”
ETC.,ETC.




_TRANSLATED EXPRESSLY FOR_

“T H E   E V E N I N G   T E L E G R A P H,”

_AND REPRINTED FROM THE COLUMNS OF THAT JOURNAL._




PHILADELPHIA:


OFFICE OF THE EVENING TELEGAPH, 108 SOUTH THIRD ST.

1876

PRICE, 25 CENTS


THE MYSTERIOUS ISLAND




CONTENTS


PART I SHIPWRECKED IN THE AIR

I  The Hurricane of 1865—Cries in the Air—A Balloon Caught By a
Waterspout—Only the Sea in Sight—Five Passengers—What Took Place in the
Basket—Land Ahead!—The End.

II  An Episode of the Rebellion—The Engineer Cyrus Smith—Gideon
Spilett—The Negro Neb—The Sailor Pencroft—The Youth, Herbert—An
Unexpected Proposal—Rendezvous at 10 O’clock P.M.—Departure in the
Storm.

III  Five O’clock in the Afternoon—The Lost One—The Despair of
Neb—Search to the Northward—The Island—A Night of Anguish—The Fog of
the Morning—Neb Swimming—Sight of the Land—Fording the Channel.

IV  The Lithodomes—The Mouth of the River—The “Chimneys”—Continuation
of the Search—The Forest of Evergreens—Getting Firewood—Waiting for the
Tide—On Top of the Cliff—The Timber-Float—The Return to the Coast.

V  Arranging the Chimneys—The Important Question of Fire—The Match
Box—Search Over the Shore—Return of the Reporter and Neb—One Match—The
Crackling Fire—The Fish Supper—The First Night on Land.

VI  The Castaways’ Inventory—No Effects—The Charred Linen—An Expedition
Into the Forest—The Flora of the Woods—The Flight of the Jacamar—Tracks
of Wild Beasts—The Couroucous—The Heath-Cock—Line-Fishing
Extraordinary.

VII  Neb Has Not Yet Returned—The Reflections of the Reporter—The
Supper—Prospect of a Bad Night—The Storm Is Frightful—They Go Out Into
the Night—Struggle with the Rain and Wind.

VIII  Is Cyrus Smith Alive?—Neb’s Story—Footprints—An Insoluble
Question—The First Words of Smith—Comparing the Footprints—Return to
the Chimneys—Pencroff Dejected.

IX  Cyrus Is Here-Pencroff’s Attempts—Rubbing Wood—Island or
Continent—The Plans of the Engineer—Whereabouts in the Pacific—In the
Depths of the Forest—The Pistachio Pine—A Pig Chase—A Smoke of Good
Omen.

X  The Engineer’s Invention—Island Or Continent?—Departure for the
Mountain—The Forest—Volcanic Soil—The Tragopans—The Moufflons—The First
Plateau—Encamping for the Night—The Summit of the Cone

XI  At the Summit of the Cone—The Interior of the Crater—Sea
Everywhere—No Land in Sight—A Bird’s Eve View of the Coast—Hydrography
and Orography—Is the Island Inhabited?—A Geographical Baptism—Lincoln
Island.

XII  Regulation of Watches—Pencroff Is Satisfied—A Suspicious Smoke—The
Course of Red Creek—The Flora of the Island—Its Fauna—Mountain
Pheasants—A Kangaroo Chase—The Agouti—Lake Grant—Return to the
Chimneys.

XIII  Top’s Contribution—Making Bows and Arrows—A Brick-Kiln—A
Pottery—Different Cooking Utensils—The First Boiled Meat—Mugwort—The
Southern Cross—An Important Astronomical Observation.

XIV  The Measure Of the Granite Wall—An Application of the Theorem of
Similar Triangles—The Latitude of the Island—An Excursion to the
North—An Oyster-Bed—Plans for the Future—The Sun’s Passage of the
Meridian—The Co-ordinates of Lincoln Island.

XV  Winter Sets In—The Metallurgic Question—The Exploration of Safety
Island—A Seal Hunt—Capture of an Echidna—The Ai—The Catalonian
Method—Making Iron and Steel.

XVI  The Question of a Dwelling Discussed Again—Pencroff’s Ideas—An
Exploration to the North of the Lake—The Western Boundary of the
Plateau—The Serpents—The Outlet of the Lake—Top’s Alarm—Top Swimming—A
Fight Under Water—The Dugong.

XVII  A Visit to the Lake—The Direction of the Current—The Prospects of
Cyrus Smith—The Dugong Fat—The Use of the Schistous Limestone—The
Sulphate of Iron—How Glycerine Is Made—Soap—Saltpetre—Sulphuric
Acid—Nitric Acid—The New Outlet.

XVIII  Pencroff Doubts No More—The Old Outlet of the Lake—A
Subterranean Descent—The Way Through the Granite—Top Has
Disappeared—The Central Cavern—The Lower Well—Mystery—The Blows with
the Pick—The Return.

XIX  Smith’s Plan—The Front of Granite House—The Rope Ladder—Pencroff’s
Ideas—The Aromatic Herbs—A Natural Warren—Getting Water—The View From
the Windows of Granite House.

XX  The Rainy Season—What to Wear-A Seal-Hunt—Candle-Making—-Work in
the Granite House—The Two Causeways—Return From a Visit to the
Oyster-Bed—What Herbert Found in His Pocket.

XXI  Several Degrees Below Zero—Exploration of the Swamp Region to the
Southeast—The View of the Sea—A Conversation Concerning the Future of
the Pacific Ocean—The Incessant Labor of the Infusoria—What Will Become
of This Globe—The Chase—The Swamp of the Tadorns.

XXII.  The Traps—The Foxes—The Peccaries—The Wind Veers to the
Northwest—The Snow-Storm—The Basket-Makers—The Coldest Snap of
Winter—Crystallization of the Sugar-Maple—The Mysterious Shafts—The
Projected Exploration—The Pellet of Lead.


PART II THE ABANDONED

XXIII  Concerning the Leaden Pellet—Making a Canoe—Hunting—In the Top
of a Kauri—Nothing to Indicate the Presence of Man—The Turtle on its
Back—The Turtle Disappears—Smith’s Explanation.

XXIV  Trial of the Canoe—A Wreck on the Shore—The Tow—Jetsam
Point—Inventory of the Box—What Pencroff Wanted—A Bible—A Verse from
the Bible.

XXV  The Departure—The Rising Tide—Elms and Other Trees—Different
Plants—The Kingfisher—Appearance of the Forest—The Gigantic
Eucalypti—Why They Are Called Fever-Trees—Monkeys—The
Waterfall—Encampment for the Night.

XXVI  Going Toward the Coast—Troops of Monkeys—A New Water-Course—Why
the Tide Was Not Felt—A Forest on the Shore—Reptile Promontory—Spilett
Makes Herbert Envious—The Bamboo Fusilade.

XXVII  Proposal to Return By the South Coast—Its Configuration—Search
for the Shipwrecked—A Waif in the Air—Discovery of a Small Natural
Harbor—Midnight on the Mercy—A Drifting Canoe.

XXVIII  Pencroff’s Halloos—A Night in the Chimneys—Herbert’s
Arrow—Smith’s Plan—An Unexpected Solution—What Had Happened in Granite
House—How the Colonists Obtained a New Domestic.

XXIX  Projects to Be Carried Out—A Bridge Over the Mercy—To Make An
Island of Prospect Plateau—The Draw-Bridge—The Corn Harvest—The
Stream—The Causeway—The Poultry Yard—The Pigeon-House—The Two Wild
Asses—Harnessed to the Wagon—Excursion to Balloon Harbor.

XXX  Clothing—Seal-Skin Boots—Making Pyroxyline—Planting—The
Fish—Turtles’ Eggs—Jup’s Education—The Corral-Hunting Moufflons—Other
Useful Animals and Vegetables—Home Thoughts.

XXXI  Bad Weather—The Hydraulic Elevator—Making Window Glass and Table
Ware—The Bread Tree—Frequent Visits to the Corral—The Increase of the
Herd—The Reporter’s Question—The Exact Position of Lincoln
Island—Pencroff’s Proposal.

XXXII  Ship Building—The Second Harvest—Ai Hunting—A New Plant—A
Whale—The Harpoon From the Vineyard—Cutting Up This Cetacea—Use of the
Whalebone—The End of May—PencroffIs Content.

XXXIII  Winter—Fulling Cloth—The Mill—Pencroff’s Fixed Purpose—The
Whalebones—The Use of An Albatross—Top and Jup—Storms—Damage to the
Poultry-Yard—An Excursion to the Marsh—Smith Alone—Exploration of the
Pits.

XXXIV  Rigging the Launch—Attacked By Foxes—Jup Wounded—Jup Nursed—Jup
Cured—Completion of the Launch—Pencroff’s Triumph—The Good Luck—Trial
Trip, to the South of the Island—An Unexpected Document.

XXXV  Departure Decided Upon—Preparations—The Three Passengers—The
First Night—The Second Night—Tabor Island—Search on the Shore—Search in
the Woods—No One—Animals—Plants—A House—Deserted.

XXXVI  The Inventory—The Night—Some Letters—The Search Continued—Plants
and Animals—Herbert in Danger—Aboard—The Departure—Bad Weather—A
Glimmer of Intelligence—Lost At Sea—A Timely Light.

XXXVII  The Return-Discussion—Smith and the Unknown—Balloon Harbor-The
Devotion of the Engineer-A Touching Experience-Tears.

XXXVIII  A Mystery to Be Solved—The First Words of the Unknown—Twelve
Years on the Island—Confessions—Disappearance—Smith’s
Confidence—Building a Wind-Mill—The First Bread—An Act of
Devotion—Honest Hands.

XXXIX  Always Apart—A Bequest of the Unknown’s—The Farm Established At
the Corral—Twelve Years—The Boatswain’s Mate of the Britannia—Left on
Tabor Island—The Hand of Smith—The Mysterious Paper

XL  A Talk—Smith and Spilett—The Engineer’s Idea—The Electric
Telegraph—The Wires—The Batter—the Alphabet—Fine Weather—The Prosperity
of the Colony—Photography—A Snow Effect—Two Years on Lincoln Island.

XLI  Thoughts of Home—Chances of Return—Plan to Explore the Coast—The
Departure of the 16th of April—Serpentine Peninsula Seen From Sea—The
Basaltic Cliffs of the Western Coast—Bad Weather—Night—A New Incident.

XLII  Night At Sea—Shark Gulf—Confidences—Preparations for Winter—Early
Advent of Bad Weather—Cold—In-Door Work—Six Months Later—A Speck on the
Photograph—An Unexpected Event.


PART III THE SECRET OF THE ISLAND

XLIII  Lost Or Saved?—Ayrton Recalled—Important Discussion—It Is Not
the Duncan—Suspicion And Precaution—Approach of the Ship—A Cannon
Shot—The Brig Anchors in Sight of the Island—Night Fall.

XLIV  Discussions—Presentiments—Ayrton’s Proposal—It Is Accepted—Ayrton
and Pencroff on Safety Islet—Norfolk Convicts—Their Projects—Heroic
Attempt of Ayrton—His Return—Six Against Fifty.

XLV  The Mist Rises—The Engineer’s Disposition of Forces—Three
Posts—Ayrton and Pencroft—The First Attack—Two Other Boat Loads—On the
Islet—Six Convicts on Shore—The Brig Weighs Anchor—The Speedy’s
Projectiles—Desperate Situation—Unexpected Denouement.

XLVI  The Colonists on the Beach—Ayrton and Pencroff as Salvors—Talk At
Breakfast—Pencroff’s Reasoning—Exploration of the Brig’s Hull in
Detail—The Magazine Uninjured—New Riches—A Discovery—A Piece of a
Broken Cylinder.

XLVII  The Engineer’s Theory—Pencroff’s Magnificent Suppositions—A
Battery in the Air—Four Projectiles—The Surviving Convicts—Ayrton
Hesitates—Smith’s Generosity and Pencroff’s Dissatisfaction.

XLVIII  The Projected Expedition—Ayrton At the Corral—Visit to Port
Balloon—Pencroff’s Remarks—Despatch Sent to the Corral—No Answer From
Ayrton—Setting Out Next Day—Why the Wire Did Not Act—A Detonation.

XLIX  The Reporter and Pencroff in the Corral—Moving Herbert—Despair of
the Sailor—Consultation of the Engineer and the Reporter—Mode of
Treatment—A Glimmer of Hope—How to Warn Neb—A Faithful Messenger—Neb’s
Reply.

L  The Convicts in the Neighborhood of the Corral—Provisional
Occupation—Continuation of Herbert’s Treatment—Pencroff’s
Jubilation—Review of the Past—Future Prospects—Smith’s Ideas.

LI  No News of Neb—A Proposal From Pencroff and Spilett—The Reporter’s
Sorties—A Fragment Of Cloth—A Message—Hurried Departure—Arrival At
Prospect Plateau.

LII  Herbert Carried to Granite House—Neb Relates What Had
Happened—Visit of Smith to the Plateau—Ruin and Devastation—The
Colonists Helpless—Willow Bark—A Mortal Fever—Top Barks Again.

LIII  An Inexplicable Mystery—Herbert’s Convalescence—The Unexplored
Parts of the Island—Preparations for Departure—The First
Day—Night—Second Day—The Kauris—Cassowaries—Footprints in the
Sand—Arrival At Reptile End.

LIV  Exploration of Reptile End—Camp At the Mouth of Fall River—By the
Corral—The Reconnaissance—The Return—Forward—An Open Door—A Light in
the Window—By Moonlight.

LV  Ayrton’s Recital—Plans of His Old Comrades—Taking Possession of the
Corral—The Rules of the Island—The Good Luck—Researches About Mount
Franklin—The Upper Valleys—Subterranean Rumblings—Pencroff’s Answer—At
the Bottom of the Crater—The Return

LVI  After Three Years—The Question of a New Ship—Its
Determination—Prosperity of the Colony—The Shipyard—The Cold
Weather—Pencroff Resigned—Washing—Mount Franklin.

LVII  The Awakening of the Volcano—The Fine Weather—Resumption of
Work—The Evening of the 15th of October—A Telegraph—A Demand—An
Answer—Departure for the Corral—The Notice—The Extra Wire—The Basalt
Wall—At High Tide—At Low Tide—The Cavern—A Dazzling Light.

LVIII  Captain Nemo—His First Words—History of a Hero of Liberty—Hatred
of the Invaders—His Companions—The Life Under Water—Alone—The Last
Refuge of the Nautilus—The Mysterious Genius of the Island.

LIX  The Last Hours of Captain Nemo—His Dying Wishes—A Souvenir for His
Friends—His Tomb—Some Counsel to the Colonists—The Supreme Moment—At
the Bottom of the Sea.

LX  The Reflections of the Colonists—Renewal of Work—The 1st of
January, 1869—A Smoke From the Volcano—Symptoms of An Eruption Ayrton
and Smith At the Corral—Exploration of the Crypt Dakkar—What Captain
Nemo Had Said to the Engineer.

LXI  Smith’s Recital—Hastening the Work—A Last Visit to the Corral—The
Combat Between the Fire and the Water—The Aspect of the Island—They
Decide to Launch the Ship—The Night of the 8th of March.

LXII  An Isolated Rock in the Pacific—The Last Refuge of the
Colonists—The Prospect of Death—Unexpected Succor—How and Why It
Came—The Last Good Action—An Island on Terra Firma—The Tomb of Captain
Nemo.




THE MYSTERIOUS ISLAND.

By JULES VERNE.


PART I
SHIPWRECKED IN THE AIR




CHAPTER I.


THE HURRICANE OF 1865—CRIES IN THE AIR—A BALLOON CAUGHT BY A
WATERSPOUT—ONLY THE SEA IN SIGHT—FIVE PASSENGERS—WHAT TOOK PLACE IN THE
BASKET—LAND AHEAD!—THE END.


“Are we going up again?”

“No. On the contrary; we are going down!”

“Worse than that, Mr. Smith, we are falling!”

“For God’s sake throw over all the ballast!”

“The last sack is empty!”

“And the balloon rises again?”

“No!”

“I hear the splashing waves!”

“The sea is under us!”

“It is not five hundred feet off!”

Then a strong, clear voice shouted:—

“Overboard with all we have, and God help us!”

Such were the words which rang through the air above the vast
wilderness of the Pacific, towards 4 o’clock in the afternoon of the
23d of March, 1865:—

Doubtless, no one has forgotten that terrible northeast gale which
vented its fury during the equinox of that year. It was a hurricane
lasting without intermission from the 18th to the 26th of March.
Covering a space of 1,800 miles, drawn obliquely to the equator,
between the 35° of north latitude and 40° south, it occasioned immense
destruction both in America and Europe and Asia. Cities in ruins,
forests uprooted, shores devastated by the mountains of water hurled
upon them, hundreds of shipwrecks, large tracts of territory desolated
by the waterspouts which destroyed everything in their path, thousands
of persons crushed to the earth or engulfed in the sea; such were the
witnesses to its fury left behind by this terrible hurricane. It
surpassed in disaster those storms which ravaged Havana and Guadeloupe
in 1810 and 1825.

While these catastrophes were taking place upon the land and the sea, a
scene not less thrilling was enacting in the disordered heavens.

A balloon, caught in the whirl of a column of air, borne like a ball on
the summit of a waterspout, spinning around as in some aerial
whirlpool, rushed through space with a velocity of ninety miles an
hour. Below the balloon, dimly visible through the dense vapor, mingled
with spray, which spread over the ocean, swung a basket containing five
persons.

From whence came this aerial traveller, the sport of the awful tempest?
Evidently it could not have been launched during the storm, and the
storm had been raging five days, its symptoms manifesting themselves on
the 18th. It must, therefore, have come from a great distance, as it
could not have traversed less than 2,000 miles in twenty-four hours.
The passengers, indeed, had been unable to determine the course
traversed, as they had nothing with which to calculate their position;
and it was a necessary effect, that, though borne along in the midst of
this tempest; they were unconscious of its violence. They were whirled
and spun about and carried up and down without any sense of motion.
Their vision could not penetrate the thick fog massed together under
the balloon. Around them everything was obscure. The clouds were so
dense that they could not tell the day from the night. No reflection of
light, no sound from the habitations of men, no roaring of the ocean
had penetrated that profound obscurity in which they were suspended
during their passage through the upper air. Only on their rapid descent
had they become conscious of the danger threatening them by the waves.

Meanwhile the balloon, disencumbered of the heavy articles, such as
munitions, arms, and provisions, had risen to a height of 4,500 feet,
and the passengers having discovered that the sea was beneath them, and
realizing that the dangers above were less formidable than those below,
did not hesitate to throw overboard everything, no matter how
necessary, at the same time endeavoring to lose none of that fluid, the
soul of the apparatus, which sustained them above the abyss.

The night passed in the midst of dangers that would have proved fatal
to souls less courageous; and with the coming of day the hurricane
showed signs of abatement. At dawn, the emptied clouds rose high into
the heavens; and, in a few hours more, the whirlwind had spent its
force. The wind, from a hurricane, had subsided into what sailors would
call a “three reef breeze.”

Toward eleven o’clock, the lower strata of the air had lightened
visibly. The atmosphere exhaled that humidity which is noticeable after
the passage of great meteors. It did not seem as if the storm had moved
westward, but rather as if it was ended. Perhaps it had flowed off in
electric sheets after the whirlwind had spent itself, as is the case
with the typhoon in the Indian Ocean.

Now, however, it became evident that the balloon was again sinking
slowly but surely. It seemed also as if it was gradually collapsing,
and that its envelope was lengthening and passing from a spherical into
an oval form. It held 50,000 cubic feet of gas, and therefore, whether
soaring to a great height or moving along horizontally, it was able to
maintain itself for a long time in the air. In this emergency the
voyagers threw overboard the remaining articles which weighed down the
balloon, the few provisions they had kept, and everything they had in
their pockets, while one of the party hoisted himself into the ring to
which was fastened the cords of the net, and endeavored to closely tie
the lower end of the balloon. But it was evident that the gas was
escaping, and that the voyagers could no longer keep the balloon
afloat.

They were lost!

There was no land, not even an island, visible beneath them. The wide
expanse of ocean offered no point of rest, nothing upon which they
could cast anchor. It was a vast sea on which the waves were surging
with incomparable violence. It was the limitless ocean, limitless even
to them from their commanding height. It was a liquid plain, lashed and
beaten by the hurricane, until it seemed like a circuit of tossing
billows, covered with a net-work of foam. Not even a ship was in sight.

In order, therefore, to save themselves from being swallowed up by the
waves it was necessary to arrest this downward movement, let it cost
what it might. And it was evidently to the accomplishment of this that
the party were directing their efforts. But in spite of all they could
do the balloon continued to descend, though at the same time moving
rapidly along with the wind toward the southwest.

It was a terrible situation, this, of these unfortunate men. No longer
masters of the balloon, their efforts availed them nothing. The
envelope collapsed more and more, and the gas continued to escape.
Faster and faster they fell, until at 1 o’clock they were not more than
600 feet above the sea. The gas poured out of a rent in the silk. By
lightening the basket of everything the party had been able to continue
their suspension in the air for several hours, but now the inevitable
catastrophe could only be delayed, and unless some land appeared before
nightfall, voyagers, balloon, and basket must disappear beneath the
waves.

It was evident that these men were strong and able to face death. Not a
murmur escaped their lips. They were determined to struggle to the last
second to retard their fall, and they tried their last expedient. The
basket, constructed of willow osiers, could not float, and they had no
means of supporting it on the surface of the water. It was 2 o’clock,
and the balloon was only 400 feet above the waves.

Then a voice was heard—the voice of a man whose heart knew no
fear—responded to by others not less strong:—

“Everything is thrown out?”

“No, we yet have 10,000 francs in gold.”

A heavy bag fell into the sea.

“Does the balloon rise?”

“A little, but it will soon fall again.”

“Is there nothing else we can gut rid of?”

“Not a thing.”

“Yes there is; there’s the basket!”

“Catch hold of the net then, and let it go.”

The cords which attached the basket to the hoop were cut, and the
balloon, as the former fell into the sea, rose again 2,000 feet. This
was, indeed, the last means of lightening the apparatus. The five
passengers had clambered into the net around the hoop, and, clinging to
its meshes, looked into the abyss below.

Every one knows the statical sensibility of a balloon. It is only
necessary to relieve it of the lightest object in order to have it
rise. The apparatus floating in air acts like a mathematical balance.
One can readily understand, then, that when disencumbered of every
weight relatively great, its upward movement will be sudden and
considerable. It was thus in the present instance. But after remaining
poised for a moment at its height, the balloon began to descend. It was
impossible to repair the rent, through which the gas was rushing, and
the men having done everything they could do, must look to God for
succor.

At 4 o’clock, when the balloon was only 500 feet above the sea, the
loud barking of a dog, holding itself crouched beside its master in the
meshes of the net, was heard.

“Top has seen something!” cried one, and immediately afterwards another
shouted:—

“Land! Land!”

The balloon, which the wind had continued to carry towards the
southwest, had since dawn passed over a distance of several hundred
miles, and a high land began to be distinguishable in that direction.
But it was still thirty miles to leeward, and even supposing they did
not drift, it would take a full hour to reach it. An hour! Before that
time could pass, would not the balloon be emptied of what gas remained?
This was the momentous question.

The party distinctly saw that solid point which they must reach at all
hazards. They did not know whether it was an island or a continent, as
they were uninformed as to what part of the world the tempest had
hurried them. But they knew that this land, whether inhabited or
desert, must be reached.

At 4 o’clock it was plain that the balloon could not sustain itself
much longer. It grazed the surface of the sea, and the crests of the
higher waves several times lapped the base of the net, making it
heavier; and, like a bird with a shot in its wing, could only half
sustain itself.

A half hour later, and the land was scarcely a mile distant. But the
balloon, exhausted, flabby, hanging in wrinkles, with only a little gas
remaining in its upper portion, unable to sustain the weight of those
clinging to the net, was plunging them in the sea, which lashed them
with its furious billows. Occasionally the envelope of the balloon
would belly out, and the wind taking it would carry it along like a
ship. Perhaps by this means it would reach the shore. But when only two
cables’ length away four voices joined in a terrible cry. The balloon,
though seemingly unable to rise again, after having been struck by a
tremendous wave, made a bound into the air, as if it had been suddenly
lightened of some of its weight. It rose 1,500 feet, and encountering a
sort of eddy in the air, instead of being carried directly to land, it
was drawn along in a direction nearly parallel thereto. In a minute or
two, however, it reapproached the shore in an oblique direction, and
fell upon the sand above the reach of the breakers. The passengers,
assisting each other, hastened to disengage themselves from the meshes
of the net; and the balloon, relieved of their weight, was caught up by
the wind, and, like a wounded bird recovering for an instant,
disappeared into space.

The basket had contained five passengers and a dog, and but four had
been thrown upon the shore. The fifth one, then, had been washed off by
the great wave which had struck the net, and it was owing to this
accident that the lightened balloon had been able to rise for the last
time before falling upon the land. Scarcely had the four castaways felt
the ground beneath their feet than all thinking of the one who was
lost, cried:—“Perhaps he is trying to swim ashore. Save him! Let us
save him!”




CHAPTER II.


AN EPISODE OF THE REBELLION-THE ENGINEER CYRUS SMITH—GIDEON SPILETT—THE
NEGRO NEB—THE SAILOR PENCROFF—THE YOUTH, HERBERT—AN UNEXPECTED
PROPOSAL—RENDEZVOUS AT 10 O’CLOCK P.M.—DEPARTURE IN THE STORM.


They were neither professional aeronauts nor amateurs in aerial
navigation whom the storm had thrown upon this coast. They were
prisoners of war whose audacity had suggested this extraordinary manner
of escape. A hundred times they would have perished, a hundred times
their torn balloon would have precipitated them into the abyss, had not
Providence preserved them for a strange destiny, and on the 20th of
March, after having flown from Richmond, besieged by the troops of
General Ulysses Grant, they found themselves 7,000 miles from the
Virginia capital, the principal stronghold of the Secessionists during
that terrible war. Their aerial voyage had lasted five days.

Let us see by what curious circumstances this escape of prisoners was
effected,—an escape which resulted in the catastrophe which we have
seen.

This same year, in the month of February, 1865, in one of those
surprises by which General Grant, though in vain, endeavored to take
Richmond, many of his officers were captured by the enemy and confined
within the city. One of the most distinguished of those taken was a
Federal staff officer named Cyrus Smith.

Cyrus Smith was a native of Massachusetts, an engineer by profession,
and a scientist of the first order, to whom the Government had given,
during the war, the direction of the railways, which played such a
great strategic part during the war.

A true Yankee, thin, bony, lean, about forty-five years old, with
streaks of grey appearing in his close cut hair and heavy moustache. He
had one of those fine classical heads that seem as if made to be copied
upon medals; bright eyes, a serious mouth, and the air of a practiced
officer. He was one of these engineers who began of his own wish with
the pick and shovel, as there are generals who have preferred to rise
from the ranks. Thus, while possessing inventive genius, he had
acquired manual dexterity, and his muscles showed remarkable firmness.
He was as much a man of action as of study; he moved without effort,
under the influence of a strong vitality and his sanguine temperament
defied all misfortune. Highly educated, practical, “clear-headed,” his
temperament was superb, and always retaining his presence of mind he
combined in the highest degree the three conditions whose union
regulates the energy of man: activity of body, strength of will, and
determination. His motto might have been that of William of Orange in
the XVIIth century—“I can undertake without hope, and persevere through
failure.”

Cyrus Smith was also the personification of courage. He had been in
every battle of the war. After having begun under General Grant, with
the Illinois volunteers, he had fought at Paducah, at Belmont, at
Pittsburg Landing, at the siege of Corinth, at Port Gibson, at the
Black River, at Chattanooga, at the Wilderness, upon the Potomac,
everywhere with bravery, a soldier worthy of the General who said “I
never counted my dead.” And a hundred times Cyrus Smith would have been
among the number of those whom the terrible Grant did not count; but in
these combats, though he never spared himself, fortune always favored
him, until the time he was wounded and taken prisoner at the siege of
Richmond.

At the same time with Cyrus Smith another important personage fell into
the power of the Southerners. This was no other than the honorable
Gideon Spilett, reporter to the New York Herald, who had been detailed
to follow the fortunes of the war with the armies of the North.

Gideon Spilett was of the race of astonishing chroniclers, English or
American, such as Stanley and the like, who shrink from nothing in
their endeavor to obtain exact information and to transmit it to their
journal in the quickest manner. The journals of the United States, such
as the New York _Herald_, are true powers, and their delegates are
persons of importance. Gideon Spilett belonged in the first rank of
these representatives.

A man of great merit; energetic, prompt, and ready; full of ideas,
having been all over the world; soldier and artist; vehement in
council; resolute in action; thinking nothing of pain, fatigue, or
danger when seeking information, first for himself and afterwards for
his journal; a master of recondite information of the unpublished, the
unknown, the impossible. He was one of those cool observers who write
amid the cannon balls, “reporting” under the bullets, and to whom all
perils are welcome.

He also had been in all the battles, in the front rank, revolver in one
hand and notebook in the other, his pencil never trembling in the midst
of a cannonade. He did not tire the wires by incessant telegraphing,
like those who speak when they have nothing to say, but each of his
messages was short, condensed, clear, and to the purpose. For the rest,
he did not lack humor. It was he who, after the affair of Black river,
wishing at any price to keep his place at the telegraph wicket in order
to announce the result, kept telegraphing for two hours the first
chapters of the Bible. It cost the New York _Herald_ $2,000, but the
New York _Herald_ had the first news.

Gideon Spilett was tall. He was forty years old or more. Sandy-colored
whiskers encircled his face. His eye was clear, lively, and quick
moving. It was the eye of a man who was accustomed to take in
everything at a glance. Strongly built, he was tempered by all climates
as a bar of steel is tempered by cold water. For ten years Gideon
Spilett had been connected with the New York _Herald_, which he had
enriched with his notes and his drawings, as he wielded the pencil as
well as the pen. When captured he was about making a description and a
sketch of the battle. The last words written in his note-book were
these:—“A Southerner is aiming at me and—.” And Gideon Spilett was
missed; so, following his invariable custom, he escaped unscratched.

Cyrus Smith and Gideon Spilett, who knew each other only by reputation,
were both taken to Richmond. The engineer recovered rapidly from his
wound, and it was during his convalescence he met the reporter. The two
soon learned to appreciate each-other. Soon their one aim was to rejoin
the army of Grant and fight again in the ranks for the preservation of
the Union.

The two Americans had decided to avail themselves of any chance; but
although free to go and come within the city, Richmond was so closely
guarded that an escape might be deemed impossible.

During this time Cyrus Smith was rejoined by a devoted servant. This
man was a negro, born upon the engineer’s estate, of slave parents,
whom Smith, an abolitionist by conviction, had long since freed. The
negro, though free, had no desire to leave his master, for whom he
would have given his life. He was a man of thirty years, vigorous,
agile, adroit, intelligent, quick, and self-possessed, sometimes
ingenuous always smiling, ready and honest. He was named
Nebuchadnezzar, but he answered to the nickname of Neb.

When Neb learned that his master had been taken prisoner he left
Massachusetts without waiting a moment, arrived before Richmond, and,
by a ruse, after having risked his life twenty times, he was able to
get within the besieged city. The pleasure of Cyrus Smith on seeing
again his servant, and the joy of Neb in finding his master, cannot be
expressed. But while he had been able to get into Richmond it was much
more difficult to get out, as the watch kept upon the Federal prisoners
was very strict. It would require an extraordinary opportunity in order
to attempt an escape with any chance of success; and that occasion not
only did not present itself, but it was difficult to make. Meanwhile,
Grant continued his energetic operations. The victory of Petersburg had
been vigorously contested. His forces, reunited to those of Butler, had
not as yet obtained any result before Richmond, and nothing indicated
an early release to the prisoners. The reporter, whose tiresome
captivity gave him no item worthy of note, grew impatient. He had but
one idea; to get out of Richmond at any risk. Many times, indeed, he
tried the experiment, and was stopped by obstacles insurmountable.

Meanwhile, the siege continued, and as the prisoners were anxious to
escape in order to join the army of Grant, so there were certain of the
besieged no less desirous to be free to join the army of the
Secessionists; and among these was a certain Jonathan Forster, who was
a violent Southerner. In truth, the Confederates were no more able to
get out of the city than the Federal prisoners, as the army of Grant
invested it around. The Mayor of Richmond had not for some time been
able to communicate with General Lee, and it was of the highest
importance to make the latter aware of the situation of the city, in
order to hasten the march of the rescuing army. This Jonathan Forster
had conceived the idea of passing over the lines of the besiegers in a
balloon, and arriving by this means in the Confederate camp.

The Mayor authorized the undertaking, a balloon was made and placed at
the disposal of Forster and five of his companions. They were provided
with arms as they might have to defend themselves in descending, and
food in case their aerial voyage should be prolonged. The departure of
the balloon had been fixed for the 18th of March. It was to start in
the night, and with a moderate breeze from the northeast, the party
expected to arrive at the quarters of General Lee in a few hours. But
the wind from the northeast was not a mere breeze. On the morning of
the 18th there was every symptom of a storm, and soon the tempest broke
forth, making it necessary for Forster to defer his departure, as it
was impossible to risk the balloon and those whom it would carry, to
the fury of the elements.

The balloon, inflated in the great square of Richmond, was all ready,
waiting for the first lull in the storm; and throughout the city there
was great vexation at the settled bad weather. The night of the 19th
and 20th passed, but in the morning the storm was only developed in
intensity, and departure was impossible.

On this day Cyrus Smith was accosted in one of the streets of Richmond
by a man whom he did not know. It was a sailor named Pencroff, aged
from thirty-five to forty years, strongly built, much sun-burnt, his
eyes bright and glittering, but with a good countenance.

This Pencroff was a Yankee who had sailed every sea, and who had
experienced every kind of extraordinary adventure that a two-legged
being without wings could encounter. It is needless to say that he was
of an adventurous nature, ready to dare anything and to be astonished
at nothing. Pencroff, in the early part of this year, had come to
Richmond on business, having with him Herbert Brown, of New Jersey, a
lad fifteen years old, the son of Pencroff’s captain, and an orphan
whom he loved as his own child. Not having left the city at the
beginning of the siege, he found himself, to his great displeasure,
blocked. He also had but one idea: to get out. He knew the reputation
of the engineer, and he knew with what impatience that determined man
chaffed at his restraint. He did not therefore hesitate to address him
without ceremony.

“Mr. Smith, have you had enough of Richmond?”

The engineer looked fixedly at the man who spoke thus, and who added in
a low voice:—

“Mr. Smith, do you want to escape?”

“How?” answered the engineer, quickly, and it was evidently an
inconsiderate reply, for he had not yet examined the man who spoke.

“Mr. Smith, do you want to escape?”

““Who are you?” he demanded, in a cold voice.

Pencroff made himself known.

“Sufficient,” replied Smith. “And by what means do you propose to
escape?”

“By this idle balloon which is doing nothing, and seems to me all ready
to take us!”—

The sailor had no need to finish his sentence. The engineer had
understood all in a word. He seized Pencroff by the arm and hurried him
to his house. There the sailor explained his project, which, in truth,
was simple enough:—They risked only their lives in carrying it out. The
storm was at its height, it is true; but a skilful and daring engineer
like Smith would know well how to manage a balloon. He, himself, would
not have hesitated to have started, had he known how—with Herbert, of
course. He had seen many storms and he thought nothing of them.

Cyrus Smith listened to the sailor without saying a word, but with
glistening eyes. This was the opportunity, and he was not the man to
let it escape him. The project was very dangerous, but it could be
accomplished. During the night, in spite of the guards, they might
reach the balloon, creep into the basket, and then cut the lines which
held it! Certainly they risked being shot, but on the other hand they
might succeed, and but for this tempest—but without this tempest the
balloon would have been gone and the long-sought opportunity would not
have been present.

“I am not alone,” said Smith at length.

“How many would you want to take?” demanded the sailor.

“Two; my friend Spilett, and my man Neb.”

“That would be three,” replied Pencroff; “and, with Herbert and myself,
five. Well, the balloon can carry six?”

“Very well. We will go!” said the engineer.

This “we” pledged the reporter, who was not a man to retreat, and who,
when the project was told him, approved of it heartily. What astonished
him was, that so simple a plan had not already occurred to himself. As
to Neb, he followed his master wherever his master wanted to go.

“To-night, then,” said Pencroff.

“To-night, at ten o’clock,” replied Smith; “and pray heaven that this
storm does not abate before we get off.”

Pencroff took leave of the engineer, and returned to his lodging, where
he found young Herbert Brown. This brave boy knew the plans of the
sailor, and he was not without a certain anxiety as to the result of
the proposal to the engineer. We see, therefore, five persons
determined to throw themselves into the vortex of the storm.

The storm did not abate. And neither Jonathan Forster nor his companion
dreamed of confronting it in that frail basket. The journey would be
terrible. The engineer feared but one thing; that the balloon, held to
the ground and beaten down under the wind, would be torn into a
thousand pieces. During many hours he wandered about the nearly
deserted square, watching the apparatus. Pencroff, his hands in his
pockets, yawning like a man who is unable to kill time, did the same;
but in reality he also feared that the balloon would be torn to pieces,
or break from its moorings and be carried off.

Evening arrived and the night closed in dark and threatening. Thick
masses of fog passed like clouds low down over the earth. Rain mingled
with snow fell. The weather was cold. A sort of mist enveloped
Richmond. It seemed as if in the face of this terrible tempest a truce
had been agreed upon between the besiegers and besieged, and the cannon
were silent before the heavy detonations of the storm. The streets of
the city were deserted; it had not even seemed necessary, in such
weather, to guard the square in which swung the balloon. Everything
favored the departure of the prisoners; but this voyage, in the midst
of the excited elements!—

“Bad weather,” said Pencroff, holding his hat, which the wind was
trying to take off, firmly to his head, “but pshaw, it can’t last, all
the same.”

At half-past 9, Cyrus Smith and his companions glided by different
routes to the square, which the gas lights, extinguished by the wind,
left in profound darkness. They could not see even the huge balloon, as
it lay pressed over against the ground. Beside the bags of ballast
which held the cords of the net, the basket was held down by a strong
cable passed through a ring fastened in the pavement, and the ends
brought back on board.

The five prisoners came together at the basket. They had not been
discovered, and such was the darkness that they could not see each
other. Without saying a word, four of them took their places in the
basket, while Pencroff, under the direction of the engineer, unfastened
successively the bundles of ballast. It took but a few moments, and
then the sailor joined his companions. The only thing that then held
the balloon was the loop of the cable, and Cyrus Smith had but to give
the word for them to let it slip. At that moment, a dog leaped with a
bound into the basket. It was Top, the dog of the engineer, who, having
broken his chain, had followed his master. Cyrus Smith, fearing to add
to the weight, wanted to send the poor brute back, but Pencroff said,
“Pshaw, it is but one more!” and at the same time threw overboard two
bags of sand. Then, slipping the cable, the balloon, shooting off in an
oblique direction, disappeared, after having dashed its basket against
two chimneys, which it demolished in its rush.

Then the storm burst upon them with frightful violence. The engineer
did not dare to descend during the night, and when day dawned all sight
of the earth was hidden by the mists. It was not until five days later
that the breaking of the clouds enabled them to see the vast sea
extending below them, lashed by the wind into a terrific fury.

We have seen how, of these five men, who started on the 20th of March,
four were thrown, four days later, on a desert coast, more than 6,000
miles from this country. And the one who was missing, the one to whose
rescue the four survivors had hurried was their leader, Cyrus Smith.

[The 5th of April, Richmond fell into the hands of Grant, the Rebellion
was repressed, Lee retreated into the West (_sic_) and the cause of the
Union triumphed.]




CHAPTER III.


FIVE O’CLOCK IN THE AFTERNOON—THE LOST ONE—THE DESPAIR OF NEB—SEARCH TO
THE NORTHWARD—THE ISLAND—A NIGHT OF ANGUISH—THE FOG OF THE MORNING—NEB
SWIMMING—SIGHT OF THE LAND—FORDING THE CHANNEL.


The engineer, on the giving way of the net, had been swept away by a
wave. His dog had disappeared at the same time. The faithful animal had
of its own accord sprung to the rescue of its master.

“Forward!” cried the reporter, and all four, forgetting weakness and
fatigue, began their search. Poor Neb wept with grief and despair at
the thought of having lost all that he loved in the world.

Not more than two minutes had passed between the moment that Smith had
disappeared, and the instant of his companions landing. They were,
therefore, hopeful of being in time to rescue him.

“Hunt, hunt for him,” cried Neb.

“Yes, Neb, and we will find him,” replied Spilett.

“Alive?”

“Alive!”

“Can he swim?” demanded Pencroff.

“Oh, yes,” responded Neb. “And, besides, Top is with him—”

The sailor, looking at the roaring sea, shook his head.

It was at a point northward from this shore, and about half a mile from
the place where the castaways had landed, that the engineer had
disappeared, and if he had come ashore at the nearest point it was at
least that distance from where they now were.

It was nearly 6 o’clock. The fog had risen and made the night very
dark. The castaways followed northward along the shore of that land
upon which chance had thrown them. A land unknown, whose geographical
situation they could not guess. They walked upon a sandy soil, mixed
with stones, seemingly destitute of any kind of vegetation. The ground,
very uneven, seemed in certain places to be riddled with small holes,
making the march very painful. From these holes, great, heavy-flying
birds rushed forth, and were lost in the darkness. Others, more active,
rose in flocks, and fled away like the clouds. The sailor thought he
recognized gulls and sea-mews, whose sharp cries were audible above the
raging of the sea.

From time to time the castaways would stop and call, listening for an
answering voice from the ocean. They thought, too, that if they were
near the place where the engineer had been, washed ashore, and he had
been unable to make any response, that, at least, the barking of the
dog Top would have been heard. But no sound was distinguishable above
the roaring of the waves and the thud of the surf. Then the little
party would resume their march, searching all the windings of the
shore.

After a walk of twenty minutes the four castaways were suddenly stopped
by a foaming line of breakers. They found themselves upon the extremity
of a sharp point upon which the sea broke with fury.

“This is a promontory,” said the sailor, “and it will be necessary to
turn back, keeping to the right in order to gain the main land.”

“But if he is there!” cried Neb, pointing towards the ocean, whose
enormous waves showed white through the gloom.

“Well, let us call again.”

And all together, uniting their voices, uttered a vigorous cry, but
without response. They waited for a lull, and tried once more. And
again there was no answer.

Then the castaways turned back, following the opposite side of the
promontory over ground equally sandy and rocky. However, Pencroff
observed that the shore was bolder, that the land rose somewhat, and he
thought that it might gradually slope up to the high hill which was
dimly visible through the darkness. The birds were less numerous on
this shore. The sea also seemed less surging and tempestuous, and it
was noticeable that the agitation of the waves was subsiding. They
hardly heard the sound of the surf, and doubtless, this side of the
promontory formed a semi-circular bay, protected by its sharp point
from the long roll of the sea.

But by following this direction they were walking towards the south,
which was going away from that place where Smith would have landed.
After a tramp of a mile and a half, the shore presented no other curve
which would permit of a return towards the north. It was evident that
this promontory, the point of which they had turned, must be joined to
the mainland. The castaways, although much fatigued, pushed on
courageously, hoping each moment to find a sudden turn which would take
them in the desired direction. What, then, was their disappointment
when, after having walked nearly two miles, they found themselves again
arrested by the sea, upon a high promontory of slippery rocks.

“We are on an island,” exclaimed Pencroff; “and we have measured it
from end to end!”

The words of the sailor were true. The castaways had been thrown, not
upon a continent, but upon an island not more than two miles long, and
of inconsiderable breadth.

This desert isle, covered with stones, without vegetation, desolate
refuge of sea-birds, did it belong to a more important archipelago?
They could not tell. The party in the balloon, when from their basket
they saw the land through the clouds, had not been able to determine
its size. But Pencroff, with the eyes of a sailor accustomed to
piercing the gloom, thought, at the moment, that he could distinguish
in the west confused masses, resembling a high coast. But at this time
they were unable, on account of the obscurity, to determine to what
system, whether simple or complex, their isle belonged. They were
unable to get off, as the sea surrounded them, and it was necessary to
wait until the next day to search for the engineer; who, alas! had made
no cry to signal his presence.

“The silence of Cyrus proves nothing,” said the reporter. “He may have
fainted, or be wounded, and unable to reply, but we will not despair.”

The reporter then suggested the idea of lighting a fire upon the point
of the island, which would serve as a signal for the engineer. But they
searched in vain for wood or dry branches. Sand and stones were all
they found.

One can understand the grief of Neb and his companions, who were
strongly attached to their brave comrade. It was too evident that they
could not help him now, and that they must wait till day. The engineer
had escaped, and was already safe upon the land, or he was lost
forever. The hours were long and dreadful, the cold was intense, and
the castaways suffered keenly, but they did not realize it. They did
not think of sleep. Thinking only of their chief, hoping, wishing to
hope, they moved back and forth upon that arid island, constantly
returning to the northern end, where they would be closest to the place
of the catastrophe. They listened, they shouted, they tried to catch
some call, and, as a lull would come, or the roar of the surf fall with
the waves, their hallooes must have sounded far into the distance.

Once the cry of Neb was answered by an echo; and Herbert made Pencroff
notice it, saying:—“That proves that there is land not far to the
west.”

The sailor nodded; he knew his eyes could not deceive him. He thought
he had seen land, and it must be there. But this distant echo was the
only answer to the cries of Neb, and the silence about the island
remained unbroken. Meanwhile the sky was clearing slowly. Towards
midnight, some stars shone out, and, had the engineer been there with
his companions, he would have noticed that these stars did not belong
to the northern hemisphere. The pole star was not visible in this new
horizon, the constellations in the zenith were not such as they had
been accustomed to see from North America, and the Southern Cross shone
resplendent in the heavens.

The night passed; and towards 5 o’clock in the morning the middle
heavens began to brighten, though the horizon remained obscure; until
with the first rays of day, a fog rose from the sea, so dense that the
eye could scarcely penetrate twenty paces into its depths, and
separated into great, heavy-moving masses. This was unfortunate, as the
castaways were unable to distinguish anything about them. While the
gaze of Neb and the reporter was directed towards the sea, the sailor
and Herbert searched for the land in the west; but they could see
nothing.

“Never mind,” said Pencroff, “if I do not see the land. I feel that it
is there,—just as sure as that we are not in Richmond.”

But the fog, which was nothing more than a morning mist, soon rose. A
clear sun warmed the upper air, its heat penetrating to the surface of
the island. At half-past 6, three quarters of an hour after sunrise,
the mist was nearly gone. Though still thick overhead, it dissolved,
below, and soon all the island appeared, as from a cloud. Then the sea
appeared, limitless towards the east, but bounded on the west by a high
and abrupt coast.

Yes, the land was there! There, safety was at least provisionally
assured. The island and the main land were separated by a channel half
a mile wide, through which rushed a strong current. Into this current
one of the party, without saying a word or consulting with his
companions, precipitated himself. It was Neb. He was anxious to be upon
that coast and to be pushing forward towards the north. No one could
keep him back. Pencroff called to him in vain. The reporter prepared to
follow, but the sailor ran to him, exclaiming:—

“Are you determined to cross this channel?”

“I am,” replied Spilett.

“Well, then, listen to me a moment. Neb can rescue his master alone. If
we throw ourselves into the channel we are in danger of being carried
out to sea by this strong current. Now, if I am not mistaken it is
caused by the ebb. You see the tide is going out. Have patience until
low water and then we may ford it.”

“You are right,” answered the reporter; “we will keep together as much
as possible.”

Meantime, Neb was swimming vigorously in a diagonal direction, against
the current; his black shoulders were seen rising with each stroke. He
was drawn backward with swiftness, but he was gaining towards the other
shore. It took him more than half an hour to cross the half mile which
separated the isle from the mainland, and when he reached the other
side it was at a place a long distance from the point opposite to that
which he had left.

Neb, having landed at the base of a high rocky wall, clambered quickly
up its side, and, running, disappeared behind a point projecting into
the sea, about the same height as the northern end of the island.

Neb’s companions had watched with anxiety his daring attempt, and, when
he was out of sight, they fixed their eyes upon that land from which
they were going to demand refuge. They ate some of the shellfish which
they found upon the sands; it was a poor meal, but then it was better
than nothing.

The opposite coast formed an immense bay, terminated to the south by a
sharp point bare of all vegetation, and having a most forbidding
aspect. This point at its junction with the shore was abutted by high
granite rocks. Towards the north, on the contrary, the bay widened,
with a shore more rounded, extending from the southwest to the
northeast, and ending in a narrow cape. Between these two points, the
distance must have been about eight miles. A half mile from the shore
the island, like an enormous whale, lay upon the sea. Its width could
not have been greater than a quarter of a mile.

Before the Island, the shore began with a sandy beach strewn with black
rocks, at this moment beginning to appear above the receding tide.
Beyond this rose, like a curtain, a perpendicular granite wall, at
least 300 feet high and terminated by a ragged edge. This extended for
about three miles, ending abruptly on the right in a smooth face, as if
cut by the hand of man. To the left on the contrary, above the
promontory, this kind of irregular cliff, composed of heaped-up rocks
and glistening in the light, sank and gradually mingled with the rocks
of the southern point.

Upon the upper level of the coast not a tree was visible. It was a
table-land, as barren though not as extensive as that around Cape Town,
or at the Cape of Good Hope. At least so it appeared from the islet. To
the right, however, and back of the smooth face of rock, some verdure
appeared. The confused massing of large trees was easily
distinguishable extending far as the eye could reach. This verdure
gladdened the sight tired by the rough face of granite. Finally, back
of and above the plateau, distant towards the northwest about seven
miles, shone a white summit, reflecting the sun’s rays. It was the
snowy cap of some lofty mountain.

It was not possible at present to say whether this land was an island
or part of a continent; but the sight of the broken rocks heaped
together on the left would have proved to a geologist their volcanic
origin, as they were incontestably the result of igneous action.

Gideon Spilett, Pencroff, and Herbert looked earnestly upon this land
where they were to live, perhaps for long years; upon which, if out of
the track of ships, they might have to die.

“Well,” demanded Herbert, “what do you think of it, Pencroff?”

“Well,” replied the sailor, “there’s good and bad in it, as with
everything else. But we shall soon see; for look; what I told you. In
three hours we can cross, and once over there, we will see what we can
do towards finding Mr. Smith.”

Pencroff was not wrong in his predictions. Three hours later, at low
tide, the greater part of the sandy bed of the channel was bare. A
narrow strip of water, easily crossed, was all that separated the
island from the shore. And at 10 o’clock, Spilett and his two
companions, stripped of their clothing, which they carried in packages
on their heads, waded through the water, which was nowhere more than
five feet deep. Herbert, where the water was too deep, swam like a
fish, acquitting himself well; and all arrived without difficulty at
the other shore. There, having dried themselves in the sun, they put on
their clothes, which had not touched the water, and took counsel
together.




CHAPTER IV.


THE LITHODOMES—THE MOUTH OF THE RIVER—THE “CHIMNEYS”—CONTINUATION OF
THE SEARCH—THE FOREST OF EVERGREENS—GETTING FIREWOOD—WAITING FOR THE
TIDE—ON TOP OF THE CLIFF—THE TIMBER-FLOAT—THE RETURN TO THE COAST.


Presently the reporter told the sailor to wait just where he was until
he should come back, and without losing a moment, he walked back along
the coast in the direction which Neb had taken some hours before, and
disappeared quickly around a turn in the shore.

Herbert wished to go with him.

“Stay, my boy,” said the sailor. “We must pitch our camp for the night,
and try to find something to eat more satisfying than shellfish. Our
friends will need food when they come back.”

“I am ready, Pencroff,” said Herbert.

“Good,” said the sailor. “Let us set to work methodically. We are
tired, cold, and hungry: we need shelter, fire, and food. There is
plenty of wood in the forest, and we can get eggs from the nests; but
we must find a house.”

“Well,” said Herbert, “I will look for a cave in these rocks, and I
shall certainly find some hole in which we can stow ourselves.”

“Right,” said Pencroff; “let us start at once.”

They walked along the base of the rocky wall, on the strand left bare
by the receding waves. But instead of going northwards, they turned to
the south. Pencroff had noticed, some hundreds of feet below the place
where they had been thrown ashore, a narrow inlet in the coast, which
he thought might be the mouth of a river or of a brook. Now it was
important to pitch the camp in the neighborhood of fresh water; in that
part of the island, too, Smith might be found.

The rock rose 300 feet, smooth and massive. It was a sturdy wall of the
hardest granite, never corroded by the waves, and even at its base
there was no cleft which might serve as a temporary abode. About the
summit hovered a host of aquatic birds, mainly of the web-footed tribe,
with long, narrow, pointed beaks. Swift and noisy, they cared little
for the unaccustomed presence of man. A shot into the midst of the
flock would have brought down a dozen; but neither Pencroff nor Herbert
had a gun. Besides, gulls and sea-mews are barely eatable, and their
eggs have a very disagreeable flavor.

Meanwhile Herbert, who was now to the left, soon noticed some rocks
thickly strewn with sea weed, which would evidently be submerged again
in a few hours. On them lay hosts of bivalves, not to be disdained by
hungry men. Herbert called to Pencroff, who came running to him.

“Ah, they are mussels,” said the sailor. “Now we can spare the eggs.”

“They are not mussels,” said Herbert, examining the mollusks carefully,
“they are lithodomes.”

“Can we eat them?” said Pencroff.

“Certainly.”

“Then let us eat some lithodomes.”

The sailor could rely on Herbert, who was versed in Natural History and
very fond of it. He owed his acquaintance with this study in great part
to his father, who had entered him in the classes of the best
professors in Boston, where the child’s industry and intelligence had
endeared him to all.

These lithodomes were oblong shell-fish, adhering in clusters to the
rocks. They belonged to that species of boring mollusk which can
perforate a hole in the hardest stone, and whose shell has the
peculiarity of being rounded at both ends.

Pencroff and Herbert made a good meal of these lithodomes. which lay
gaping in the sun. They tasted like oysters, with a peppery flavor
which left no desire for condiments of any kind.

Their hunger was allayed for the moment, but their thirst was increased
by the spicy flavor of the mollusks. The thing now was to find fresh
water, which was not likely to fail them in a region so undulating.
Pencroff and Herbert, after having taken the precaution to fill their
pockets and handkerchiefs with lithodomes, regained the foot of the
hill.

Two hundred feet further on they reached the inlet, through which, as
Pencroff had surmised, a little river was flowing with full current
Here the rocky wall seemed to have been torn asunder by some volcanic
convulsion. At its base lay a little creek, running at an acute angle.
The water in this place was 100 feet across, while the banks on either
side were scarcely 20 feet broad. The river buried itself at once
between the two walls of granite, which began to decline as one went up
stream.

“Here is water,” said Pencroff, “and over there is wood. Well, Herbert,
now we only want the house.”

The river water was clear. The sailor knew that as the tide was now low
there would be no influx from the sea, and the water would be fresh.
When this important point had been settled, Herbert looked for some
cave which might give them shelter, but it was in vain. Everywhere the
wall was smooth, flat, and perpendicular.

However, over at the mouth of the watercourse, and above high-water
mark, the detritus had formed, not a grotto, but a pile of enormous
rocks, such as are often met with in granitic countries, and which are
called _Chimneys_.

Pencroff and Herbert went down between the rocks, into those sandy
corridors, lighted only by the huge cracks between the masses of
granite, some of which only kept their equilibrium by a miracle. But
with the light the wind came in, and with the wind the piercing cold of
the outer air. Still, the sailor thought that by stopping up some of
these openings with a mixture of stones and sand, the Chimneys might be
rendered habitable. Their plan resembled the typographical sign, &, and
by cutting off the upper curve of the sign, through which the south and
the west wind rushed in, they could succeed without doubt in utilizing
its lower portion.

“This is just what we want,” said Pencroff, and if we ever see Mr.
Smith again, he will know how to take advantage of this labyrinth.”

“We shall see him again, Pencroff,” said Herbert, “and when he comes
back he must find here a home that is tolerably comfortable. We can
make this so if we can build a fireplace in the left corridor with an
opening for the smoke.”

“That we can do, my boy,” answered the sailor, “and these Chimneys will
just serve our purpose. But first we must get together some firing.
Wood will be useful, too, in blocking up these great holes through
which the wind whistles so shrilly.”

Herbert and Pencroff left the Chimneys, and turning the angle, walked
up the left bank of the river, whose current was strong enough to bring
down a quantity of dead wood. The return tide, which had already begun,
would certainly carry it in the ebb to a great distance. “Why not
utilize this flux and reflux,” thought the sailor, “in the carriage of
heavy timber?”

After a quarter of an hour’s walk, the two reached the elbow which the
river made in turning to the left. From this point onward it flowed
through a forest of magnificent trees, which had preserved their
verdure in spite of the season; for they belonged to that great
cone-bearing family indigenous everywhere, from the poles to the
tropics. Especially conspicuous were the “deodara,” so numerous in the
Himalayas, with their pungent perfume. Among them were clusters of
pines, with tall trunks and spreading parasols of green. The ground was
strewn with fallen branches, so dry as to crackle under their feet.

“Good,” said the sailor, “I may not know the name of these trees, but I
know they belong to the genus firewood, and that’s the main thing for
us.”

It was an easy matter to gather the firewood. They did not need even to
strip the trees; plenty of dead branches lay at their feet. This dry
wood would burn rapidly, and they would need a large supply. How could
two men carry such a load to the Chimneys? Herbert asked the question.

“My boy,” said the sailor, “there’s a way to do everything. If we had a
car or a boat it would be too easy.”

“We have the river,” suggested Herbert.

“Exactly,” said Pencroff. “The river shall be our road and our carrier,
too. Timber-floats were not invented for nothing.”

“But our carrier is going in the wrong direction,” said Herbert, “since
the tide is coming up from the sea.”

“We have only to wait for the turn of tide,” answered the sailor. “Let
us get our float ready.”

They walked towards the river, each carrying a heavy load of wood tied
up in fagots. On the bank, too, lay quantities of dead boughs, among
grass which the foot of man had probably never pressed before. Pencroff
began to get ready his float.

In an eddy caused by an angle of the shore, which broke the flow of the
current, they set afloat the larger pieces of wood, bound together by
liana stems so as to form a sort of raft. On this raft they piled the
rest of the wood, which would have been a load for twenty men. In an
hour their work was finished, and the float was moored to the bank to
wait for the turn of the tide. Pencroff and Herbert resolved to spend
the mean time in gaining a more extended view of the country from the
higher plateau. Two hundred feet behind the angle of the river, the
wall terminating in irregular masses of rocks, sloped away gently to
the edge of the forest. The two easily climbed this natural staircase,
soon attained the summit, and posted themselves at the angle
overlooking the mouth of the river.

Their first look was at that ocean over which they had been so
frightfully swept. They beheld with emotion the northern part of the
coast, the scene of the catastrophe, and of Smith’s disappearance. They
hoped to see on the surface some wreck of the balloon to which a man
might cling. But the sea was a watery desert. The coast, too, was
desolate. Neither Neb nor the reporter could be seen.

“Something tells me,” said Herbert, “that a person so energetic as Mr.
Smith would not let himself be drowned like an ordinary man. He must
have got to shore; don’t you think so, Pencroff?”

The sailor shook his head sadly. He never thought to see Smith again;
but he left Herbert a hope.

“No doubt,” said he, “our engineer could save himself where any one
else would perish.”

Meanwhile he took a careful observation of the coast. Beneath his eyes
stretched out the sandy beach, bounded, upon the right of the
river-mouth, by lines of breakers. The rocks which still were visible
above the water were like groups of amphibious monsters lying in the
surf. Beyond them the sea sparkled in the rays of the sun. A narrow
point terminated the southern horizon, and it was impossible to tell
whether the land stretched further in that direction, or whether it
trended southeast and southwest, so as to make an elongated peninsula.
At the northern end of the bay, the outline of the coast was continued
to a great distance. There the shore was low and flat, without rocks,
but covered by great sandbanks, left by the receding tide.

When Pencroff and Herbert walked back towards the west, their looks
fell on the snowcapped mountain, which rose six or seven miles away.
Masses of tree-trunks, with patches of evergreens, extended from its
first declivities to within two miles of the coast. Then from the edge
of this forest to the coast stretched a plateau strewn at random with
clumps of trees. On the left shore through the glades the waters of the
little river, which seemed to have returned in its sinuous course to
the mountains which gave it birth.

“Are we upon an island?” muttered the sailor.

“It is big enough, at all events,” said the boy.

“An island’s an island, no matter how big,” said Pencroff.

But this important question could not yet be decided. The country
itself, isle or continent, seemed fertile, picturesque, and diversified
in its products. For that they must be grateful. They returned along
the southern ridge of the granite plateau, outlined by a fringe of
fantastic rocks, in whose cavities lived hundreds of birds. A whole
flock of them soared aloft as Herbert jumped over the rocks.

“Ah!” cried he, “these are neither gulls nor sea-mews.”

“What are they?” said Pencroff. “They look for all the world like
pigeons.”

“So they are,” said Herbert, “but they are wild pigeons, or rock
pigeons.” I know them by the two black bands on the wing, the white
rump, and the ash-blue feathers. The rock pigeon is good to eat, and
its eggs ought to be delicious; and if they have left a few in their
nests—”

“We will let them hatch in an omelet,” said Pencroff, gaily.

“But what will you make your omelet in?” asked Herbert; “in your hat?”

“I am not quite conjurer enough for that,” said the sailor. “We must
fall back on eggs in the shell, and I will undertake to despatch the
hardest.”

Pencroff and the boy examined carefully the cavities of the granite,
and succeeded in discovering eggs in some of them. Some dozens were
collected in the sailor’s handkerchief, and, high tide approaching, the
two went down again to the water-course.

It was 1 o’clock when they arrived at the elbow of the river, and the
tide was already on the turn. Pencroff had no intention of letting his
timber float at random, nor did he wish to get on and steer it. But a
sailor is never troubled in a matter of ropes or cordage, and Pencroff
quickly twisted from the dry lianas a rope several fathoms long. This
was fastened behind the raft, and the sailor held it in his hand, while
Herbert kept the float in the current by pushing it off from the shore
with a long pole.

This expedient proved an entire success. The enormous load of wood kept
well in the current. The banks were sheer, and there was no fear lest
the float should ground; before 2 o’clock they reached the mouth of the
stream, a few feet from the Chimneys.




CHAPTER V.


ARRANGING THE CHIMNEYS—THE IMPORTANT QUESTION OF FIRE—THE MATCH
BOX—SEARCH OVER THE SHORE—RETURN OF THE REPORTER AND NEB—ONE MATCH—THE
CRACKLING FIRE—THE FISH SUPPER—THE FIRST NIGHT ON LAND.


The first care of Pencroff, after the raft had been unloaded, was to
make the Chimneys habitable, by stopping up those passages traversed by
the draughts of air. Sand, stones, twisted branches, and mud,
hermetically sealed the galleries of the & open to the southerly winds,
and shut out its upper curve. One narrow, winding passage, opening on
the side; was arranged to carry out the smoke and to quicken the
draught of the fire. The Chimneys were thus divided into three or four
chambers, if these dark dens, which would hardly have contained a
beast, might be so called. But they were dry, and one could stand up in
them, or at least in the principal one, which was in the centre. The
floor was covered with sand, and, everything considered, they could
establish themselves in this place while waiting for one better.

While working, Herbert and Pencroff chatted together.

“Perhaps,” said the boy, “our companions will have found a better place
than ours.”

“It is possible.” answered the sailor, “but, until we know, don’t let
us stop. Better have two strings to one’s bow than none at all!”

“Oh,” repeated Herbert, “if they can only find Mr. Smith, and bring him
back with them, how thankful we will be!”

“Yes,” murmured Pencroff. “He was a good man.”

“Was!” said Herbert. “Do you think we shall not see him again?”

“Heaven forbid!” replied the sailor.

The work of division was rapidly accomplished, and Pencroff declared
himself satisfied. “Now,” said he, “our friends may return, and they
will find a good enough shelter.”

Nothing remained but to fix the fireplace and to prepare the meal,
which, in truth, was a task easy and simple enough. Large flat stones
were placed at the mouth of the first gallery to the left, where the
smoke passage had been made; and this chimney was made so narrow that
but little heat would escape up the flue, and the cavern would be
comfortably warmed. The stock of wood was piled up in one of the
chambers, and the sailor placed some logs and broken branches upon the
stones. He was occupied in arranging them when Herbert asked him if he
had some matches.

“Certainly,” replied Pencroff, “and moreover, fortunately; for without
matches or tinder we would indeed be in trouble.”

“Could not we always make fire as the savages do,” replied Herbert, “by
rubbing two bits of dry wood together?”

“Just try it, my boy, some time, and see if you do anything more than
put your arms out of joint.”

“Nevertheless, it is often done in the islands of the Pacific.”

“I don’t say that it is not,” replied Pencroff, “but the savages must
have a way of their own, or use a certain kind of wood, as more than
once I have wanted to get fire in that way and have never yet been able
to. For my part, I prefer matches; and, by the way, where are mine?”

Pencroff, who was an habitual smoker, felt in his vest for the box,
which he was never without, but, not finding it, he searched the
pockets of his trowsers, and to his profound amazement, it was not
there.

“This is an awkward business,” said he, looking at Herbert. “My box
must have fallen from my pocket, and I can’t find it. But you, Herbert,
have you nothing: no steel, not anything, with which we can make fire?”

“Not a thing, Pencroff.”

The sailor, followed by the boy, walked out, rubbing his forehead.

On the sand, among the rocks, by the bank of the river, both of them
searched with the utmost care, but without result. The box was of
copper, and had it been there, they must have seen it.

“Pencroff,” asked Herbert, “did not you throw it out of the basket?”

“I took good care not to,” said the sailor. “But when one has been
knocked around as we have been, so small a thing could easily have been
lost; even my pipe is gone. The confounded box; where can it be?”

“Well, the tide is out; let us run to the place where we landed,” said
Herbert.

It was little likely that they would find this box, which the sea would
have rolled among the pebbles at high water; nevertheless, it would do
no harm to search. They, therefore, went quickly to the place where
they had first landed, some 200 paces from the Chimneys. There, among
the pebbles, in the hollows of the rocks, they made minute search, but
in vain. If the box had fallen here it must have been carried out by
the waves. As the tide went down, the sailor peered into every crevice,
but without Success. It was a serious loss, and, for the time,
irreparable. Pencroff did not conceal his chagrin. He frowned, but did
not speak, and Herbert tried to console him by saying, that, most
probably, the matches would have been so wetted as to be useless.

“No, my boy,” answered the sailor. “They were in a tightly closing
metal box. But now, what are we to do?”

“We will certainly find means of procuring fire,” said Herbert. “Mr.
Smith or Mr. Spilett will not be as helpless as we are.”

“Yes, but in the meantime we are without it,” said Pencroff, “and our
companions will find but a very sorry meal on their return.”

“But,” said Herbert, hopefully, “it is not possible that they will have
neither tinder nor matches.”

“I doubt it,” answered the sailor, shaking his head. “In the first
place, neither Neb nor Mr. Smith smoke, and then I’m afraid Mr. Spilett
has more likely kept his notebook than his match-box.”

Herbert did not answer. This loss was evidently serious. Nevertheless,
the lad thought surely they could make a fire in some way or other, but
Pencroff, more experienced, although a man not easily discouraged, knew
differently. At any rate there was but one thing to do:—to wait until
the return of Neb and the reporter. It was necessary to give up the
repast of cooked eggs which they had wished to prepare, and a diet of
raw flesh did not seem to be, either for themselves or for the others,
an agreeable prospect.

Before returning to the Chimneys, the companions, in case they failed
of a fire, gathered a fresh lot of lithodomes, and then silently took
the road to their dwelling. Pencroff, his eyes fixed upon the ground,
still searched in every direction for the lost box. They followed again
up the left bank of the river, from its mouth to the angle where the
raft had been built. They returned to the upper plateau, and went in
every direction, searching in the tall grass on the edge of the forest,
but in vain. It was 5 o’clock when they returned again to the Chimneys,
and it is needless to say that the passages were searched in their
darkest recesses before all hope was given up.

Towards 6 o’clock, just as the sun was disappearing behind the high
land in the west, Herbert, who was walking back and forth upon the
shore, announced the return of Neb and of Gideon Spilett. They came
back alone, and the lad felt his heart sink. The sailor had not, then,
been wrong in his presentiments; they had been unable to find the
engineer.

The reporter, when he came up, seated himself upon a rock, without
speaking. Fainting from fatigue, half dead with hunger, he was unable
to utter a word. As to Neb, his reddened eyes showed how he had been
weeping, and the fresh tears which he was unable to restrain,
indicated, but too clearly, that he had lost all hope.

The reporter at length gave the history of their search. Neb and he had
followed the coast for more than eight miles, and, consequently, far
beyond the point where the balloon had made the plunge which was
followed by the disappearance of the engineer and Top. The shore was
deserted. Not a recently turned stone, not a trace upon the sand, not a
footprint, was upon all that part of the shore. It was evident that
nobody inhabited that portion of the island. The sea was as deserted as
the land; and it was there, at some hundreds of feet from shore, that
the engineer had found his grave.

At that moment Neb raised his head, and in a voice which showed how he
still struggled against despair, exclaimed:—

“No, he is not dead. It is impossible. It might happen to you or me,
but never to him. He is a man who can get out of anything!”

Then his strength failing him, he murmured, “But I am used up.”

Herbert ran to him and cried:—

“Neb, we will find him; God will give him back to us; but you, you must
be famishing; do eat something.”

And while speaking the lad offered the poor negro a handful of
shell-fish—a meagre and insufficient nourishment enough.

But Neb, though he had eaten nothing for hours, refused them. Poor
fellow! deprived of his master, he wished no longer to live.

As to Gideon Spilett, he devoured the mollusks, and then laid down upon
the sand at the foot of a rock. He was exhausted, but calm. Herbert,
approaching him, took his hand.

“Mr. Spilett,” said he, “we have discovered a shelter where you will be
more comfortable. The night is coming on; so come and rest there.
To-morrow we will see—”

The reporter rose, and, guided by the lad, proceeded towards the
Chimneys. As he did so, Pencroff came up to him, and in an off-hand way
asked him if, by chance, he had a match with him. The reporter stopped,
felt in his pockets, and finding none, said:—

“I had some, but I must have thrown them all away.”

Then the sailor called Neb and asked him the same question, receiving a
like answer.

“Curse it!” cried the sailor, unable to restrain the word.

The reporter heard it, and going to him said:—“Have you no matches?”

“Not one; and, of course, no fire.”

“Ah,” cried Neb, “if he was here, my master, he could soon make one.”

The four castaways stood still and looked anxiously at each other.
Herbert was the first to break the silence, by saying:—

“Mr. Spilett, you are a smoker, you always have matches about you;
perhaps you have not searched thoroughly. Look again; a single match
will be enough.”

The reporter rummaged the pockets of his trowsers, his vest, and coat,
and to the great joy of Pencroff, as well as to his own surprise, felt
a little sliver of wood caught in the lining of his vest. He could feel
it from the outside, but his fingers were unable to disengage it. If
this should prove a match, and only one, it was extremely necessary not
to rub off the phosphorus.

“Let me try,” said the lad. And very adroitly, without breaking it, he
drew out this little bit of wood, this precious trifle, which to these
poor men was of such great importance. It was uninjured.

“One match!” cried Pencroff.” “Why, it is as good as if we had a whole
ship-load!”

He took it, and, followed by his companions, regained the Chimneys.
This tiny bit of wood, which in civilised lands is wasted with
indifference, as valueless, it was necessary here to use with the
utmost care. The sailor, having assured himself that it was dry, said:—

“We must have some paper.”

“Here is some,” answered Spilett, who, after a little hesitation, had
torn a leaf from his note-book.

Pencroff took the bit of paper and knelt down before the fire-place,
where some handfuls of grass, leaves, and dry moss had been placed
under the faggots in such a way that the air could freely circulate and
make the dry wood readily ignite. Then Pencroff shaping the paper into
a cone, as pipe-smokers do in the wind, placed it among the moss.
Taking, then, a slightly rough stone and wiping it carefully, with
beating heart and suspended breath, he gave the match a little rub. The
first stroke produced no effect, as Pencroff fearing to break off the
phosphorus had not rubbed hard enough.

“Ho, I won’t be able to do it,” said he; “my hand shakes—the match will
miss—I can’t do it—I don’t want to try!” And, rising, he besought
Herbert to undertake it.

Certainly, the boy had never in his life been so affected. His heart
beat furiously. Prometheus, about to steal the fire from heaven, could
not have been more excited.

Nevertheless he did not hesitate, but rubbed the stone with a quick
stroke. A little sputtering was heard, and a light blue flame sprung
out and produced a pungent smoke. Herbert gently turned the match, so
as to feed the flame, and then slid it under the paper cone. In a few
seconds the paper took fire, and then the moss kindled. An instant
later, the dry wood crackled, and a joyous blaze, fanned by the breath
of the sailor, shone out from the darkness.

“At length,” cried Pencroff, rising, “I never was so excited in my
life!”

It was evident that the fire did well in the fireplace of flat stones.
The smoke readily ascended through its passage; the chimney drew, and
an agreeable warmth quickly made itself felt. As to the fire, it would
be necessary to take care that it should not go out, and always to keep
some embers among the cinders. But it was only a matter of care and
attention as the wood was plenty, and the supply could always be
renewed in good time.

Pencroff began at once to utilize the fire by preparing something more
nourishing than a dish of lithodomes. Two dozen eggs were brought by
Herbert, and the reporter, seated in a corner, watched these
proceedings without speaking. A triple thought held possession of his
mind. Did Cyrus still live? If alive, where was he? If he had survived
his plunge, why was it he had found no means of making his existence
known? As to Neb, he roamed the sand like one distracted.

Pencroff, who knew fifty-two ways of cooking eggs, had no choice at
this time. He contented himself with placing them in the hot cinders
and letting them cook slowly. In a few minutes the operation was
finished, and the sailor invited the reporter to take part in the
supper. This was the first meal of the castaways upon this unknown
coast. The hard eggs were excellent, and as the egg contains all the
elements necessary for man’s nourishment, these poor men found them
sufficient, and felt their strength reviving.

Unfortunately, one was absent from this repast. If the five prisoners
who had escaped from Richmond had all been there, under those piled-up
rocks, before that bright and crackling fire upon that dry sand, their
happiness would have been complete. But the most ingenious, as well as
the most learned—he who was undoubtedly their chief, Cyrus Smith—alas!
was missing, and his body had not even obtained burial.

Thus passed the 25th of March. The night was come. Outside they heard
the whistling of the wind, the monotonous thud of the surf, and the
grinding of the pebbles on the beach.

The reporter had retired to a dark corner, after having briefly noted
the events of the day—the first sight of this new land, the loss of the
engineer, the exploration of the shore, the incidents of the matches,
etc.; and, overcome by fatigue, he was enabled to find some rest in
sleep.

Herbert fell asleep at once. The sailor, dozing, with one eye open,
passed the night by the fire, on which he kept heaping fuel.

One only of the castaways did not rest in the Chimneys. It was the
inconsolable, the despairing Neb, who, during the whole night, and in
spite of his companions’ efforts to make him take some rest, wandered
upon the sands calling his master.




CHAPTER VI.


THE CASTAWAYS’ INVENTORY—NO EFFECTS —THE CHARRED LINEN—AN EXPEDITION
INTO THE FOREST—THE FLORA OF THE WOODS—THE FLIGHT OF THE JACAMAR—TRACKS
OF WILD BEASTS—THE COUROUCOUS—THE HEATH-COCK—LINE-FISHING
EXTRAORDINARY.


The inventory of the castaways can be promptly taken. Thrown upon a
desert coast, they had nothing but the clothes they wore in the
balloon. We must add Spilett’s watch and note-book, which he had kept
by some inadvertence; but there were no firearms and no tools, not even
a pocket knife. Every thing had been thrown overboard to lighten the
balloon. Every necessary of life was wanting!

Yet if Cyrus Smith had been with them, his practical science and
inventive genius would have saved them from despair. But, alas! they
could hope to see him no more. The castaways could rely on Providence
only, and on their own right hands.

And, first, should they settle down on this strip of coast without an
effort to discover whether it was island or continent, inhabited or
desert? It was an urgent question, for all their measures would depend
upon its solution. However, it seemed to Pencroff better to wait a few
days before undertaking an exploration. They must try to procure more
satisfying food than eggs and shellfish, and repair their strength,
exhausted by fatigue and by the inclemency of the weather. The Chimneys
would serve as a house for a while. Their fire was lit, and it would be
easy to keep alive some embers. For the time being there were plenty of
eggs and shell-fish. They might even be able to kill, with a stick or a
stone, some of the numerous pigeons which fluttered among the rocks.
They might find fruit-trees in the neighboring forest, and they had
plenty of fresh water. It was decided then to wait a few days at the
Chimneys, and to prepare for an expedition either along the coast or
into the interior of the country.

This plan was especially agreeable to Neb, who was in no hurry to
abandon that part of the coast which had been the scene of the
catastrophe. He could not and would not believe that Smith was dead.
Until the waves should have thrown up the engineer’s body—until Neb
should have seen with his eyes and handled with his hands his master’s
corpse, he believed him alive. It was an illusion which the sailor had
not the heart to destroy; and there was no use in talking to Neb. He
was like the dog who would not leave his master’s tomb, and his grief
was such that he would probably soon follow him.

Upon the morning of the 26th of March, at daybreak, Neb started along
the coast northward to the spot where the sea had doubtless closed over
the unfortunate engineer.

For breakfast that morning they had only eggs and lithodomes, seasoned
with salt which Herbert had found in the cavities of the rocks. When
the meal was over they divided forces. The reporter stayed behind to
keep up the fire, and in the very improbable case of Neb’s needing him
to go to his assistance. Herbert and Pencroff went into the forest.

“We will go hunting, Herbert, “said the sailor. “We shall find
ammunition on our way, and we will cut our guns in the forest.”

But, before starting, Herbert suggested that as they had no tinder they
must replace it by burnt linen. They were sorry to sacrifice a piece of
handkerchief, but the need was urgent, and a piece of Pencroff’s large
check handkerchief was soon converted into a charred rag, and put away
in the central chamber in a little cavity of the rock, sheltered from
wind and dampness.

By this time it was 9 o’clock. The weather was threatening and the
breeze blew from the southeast. Herbert and Pencroff, as they left the
Chimneys, cast a glance at the smoke which curled upwards from amid the
rocks; then they walked up the left bank of the river.

When they reached the forest, Pencroff broke from the first tree two
thick branches which he made into cudgels, and whose points Herbert
blunted against a rock. What would he not have given for a knife? Then
the hunters walked on in the high grass along the bank of the river,
which, after its turn to the southwest, gradually narrowed, running
between high banks and over-arched by interlacing trees. Pencroff, not
to lose his way, determined to follow the course of the stream, which
would bring him back to his point of departure. But the bank offered
many obstacles. Here, trees whose flexible branches bent over to the
brink of the current; there, thorns and lianas which they had to break
with their sticks. Herbert often glided between the broken stumps with
the agility of a young cat and disappeared in the copse, but Pencroff
called him back at once, begging him not to wander away.

Meanwhile, the sailor carefully observed the character and
peculiarities of the region. On this left bank the surface was flat,
rising insensibly towards the interior. Sometimes it was moist and
swampy, indicating the existence of a subterranean network of little
streams emptying themselves into the river. Sometimes, too, a brook ran
across the copse, which they crossed without trouble. The opposite bank
was more undulating, and the valley, through whose bottom flowed the
river, was more clearly defined. The hill, covered with trees rising in
terraces, intercepted the vision. Along this right bank they could
hardly have walked, for the descent was steep, and the trees which bent
over the water were only sustained by their roots. It is needless to
say that both forest and shore seemed a virgin wilderness. They saw
fresh traces of animals whose species was unknown to them. Some seemed
to them the tracks of dangerous wild beasts, but nowhere was there the
mark of an axe on a tree-trunk, or the ashes of a fire, or the imprint
of a foot. They should no doubt have been glad that it was so, for on
this land in the mid-Pacific, the presence of man was a thing more to
be dreaded than desired.

They hardly spoke, so great were the difficulties of the route; after
an hour’s walk they had but just compassed a mile. Hitherto their
hunting had been fruitless. Birds were singing and flying to and fro
under the trees; but they showed an instinctive fear of their enemy
man. Herbert descried among them, in a swampy part of the forest, a
bird with narrow and elongated beak, in shape something like a
kingfisher, from which it was distinguished by its harsh and lustrous
plumage.

“That must be a jacamar,” said Herbert, trying to get within range of
the bird.

“It would be a good chance to taste jacamar,” answered the sailor, “if
that fellow would only let himself be roasted.”

In a moment a stone, adroitly aimed by the boy, struck the bird on the
wing; but the jacamar took to his legs and disappeared in a minute.

“What a muff I am,” said Herbert. ‘Not at all,” said the sailor. “It
was a good shot, a great many would have missed the bird. Don’t be
discouraged, we’ll catch him again some day.”

The wood opened as the hunters went on, and the trees grew to a vast
height, but none had edible fruits. Pencroff sought in vain for some of
those precious palm trees, which lend themselves so wonderfully to the
needs of mankind, and which grow from 40° north latitude to 35° south.
But this forest was composed only of conifers, such as the deodars,
already recognized by Herbert; the Douglas pines, which grow on the
northeast coast of America; and magnificent fir trees, 150 feet high.
Among their branches was fluttering a flock of birds, with small bodies
and long, glittering tails. Herbert picked up some of the feathers,
which lay scattered on the ground, and looked at them carefully.

“These are ‘couroucous,’“ said he.

“I would rather have a guinea-hen, or a heath-cock,” said Pencroff,
“but still, if they are good to eat”—

“They are good to eat,” said Herbert; “their meat is delicious.
Besides, I think we can easily get at them with our sticks.”

Slipping through the grass, they reached the foot of a tree whose lower
branches were covered with the little birds, who were snapping at the
flying insects. Their feathered claws clutched tight the twigs on which
they were sitting. Then the hunters rose to their feet, and using their
sticks like a scythe, they mowed down whole rows of the couroucous, of
whom 105 were knocked over before the stupid birds thought of escape.

“Good,” said Pencroff, “this is just the sort of game for hunters like
us. We could catch them in our hands.”

They skewered the couroucous on a switch like field-larks, and
continued to explore. The object of the expedition was, of course, to
bring back as much game as possible to the Chimneys. So far it had not
been altogether attained. They looked about everywhere, and were
enraged to see animals escaping through the high grass. If they had
only had Top! But Top, most likely, had perished with his master.

About 3 o’clock they entered a wood full of juniper trees, at whose
aromatic berries flocks of birds were pecking. Suddenly they heard a
sound like the blast of a trumpet. It was the note of those gallinaceæ,
called “tetras” in the United States. Soon they saw several pairs of
them, with brownish-yellow plumage and brown tails. Pencroff determined
to capture one of these birds, for they were as big as hens, and their
meat as delicious as a pullet. But they would not let him come near
them. At last, after several unsuccessful attempts, he said,

“Well, since we can’t kill them on the wing, we must take them with a
line.”

“Like a carp,” cried the wondering Herbert.

“Like a carp,” answered the sailor, gravely.

Pencroff had found in the grass half-a-dozen tetras nests, with two or
three eggs in each.

He was very careful not to touch these nests, whose owners would
certainly return to them. Around these he purposed to draw his lines,
not as a snare, but with hook and bait. He took Herbert to some
distance from the nests, and there made ready his singular apparatus
with the care of a true disciple of Isaac Walton. Herbert watched the
work with a natural interest, but without much faith in its success.
The lines were made of small lianas tied together, from fifteen to
twenty feet long, and stout thorns with bent points, broken from a
thicket of dwarf acacias, and fastened to the ends of the lianas,
served as hooks, and the great red worms which crawled at their feet
made excellent bait. This done, Pencroff, walking stealthily through
the grass, placed one end of his hook-and-line close to the nests of
the tetras. Then he stole back, took the other end in his hand, and hid
himself with Herbert behind a large tree. Herbert, it must be said, was
not sanguine of success.

A good half hour passed, but as the sailor had foreseen, several pairs
of tetras returned to their nests. They hopped about, pecking the
ground, and little suspecting the presence of the hunters, who had
taken care to station themselves to leeward of the gallinaceæ. Herbert
held his breath with excitement, while Pencroff, with dilated eyes,
open month, and lips parted as if to taste a morsel of tetras, scarcely
breathed. Meanwhile the gallinaceæ walked heedlessly among the hooks.
Pencroff then gave little jerks, which moved the bait up and down as if
the worms were still alive. How much more intense was his excitement
than the fisherman’s who cannot see the approach of his prey!

The jerks soon aroused the attention of the gallinaceæ, who began to
peck at the bait. Three of the greediest swallowed hook and bait
together. Suddenly, with a quick jerk, Pencroff pulled in his line, and
the flapping of wings showed that the birds were taken.

“Hurrah!” cried he, springing upon the game, of which he was master in
a moment. Herbert clapped his hands. It was the first time he had seen
birds taken with a line; but the modest sailor said it was not his
first attempt, and, moreover, that the merit of the invention was not
his.

“And at any rate,” said he, “in our present situation we must hope for
many such contrivances.”

The tetras were tied together by the feet, and Pencroff, happy that
they were not returning empty handed, and perceiving that the day was
ending, thought it best to return home.

Their route was indicated by the river, and following it downward, by 6
o’clock, tired out by their excursion, Herbert and Pencroff re-entered
the Chimneys.




CHAPTER VII.


NEB HAS NOT YET RETURNED—THE REFLECTIONS OF THE REPORTER—THE
SUPPER—PROSPECT OF A BAD NIGHT—THE STORM IS FRIGHTFUL—THEY GO OUT INTO
THE NIGHT—STRUGGLE WITH THE RAIN AND WIND.


Gideon Spilett stood motionless upon the shore, his arms crossed,
gazing on the sea, whose horizon was darkened towards the east by a
huge black cloud mounting rapidly into the zenith. The wind, already
strong, was freshening, the heavens had an angry look, and the first
symptoms of a heavy blow were manifesting themselves.

Herbert went into the Chimneys, and Pencroff walked towards the
reporter, who was too absorbed to notice his approach.

“We will have a bad night, Mr. Spilett,” said the sailor. “Wind and
rain enough for Mother Cary’s chickens.”

The reporter turning, and perceiving Pencroff, asked this question:—

“How far off from the shore do you think was the basket when it was
struck by the sea that carried away our companion?”

The sailor had not expected this question. He reflected an instant
before answering:—

“Two cables’ lengths or more.”

“How much is a cable’s length?” demanded Spilett.

“About 120 fathoms, or 600 feet.”

“Then,” said the reporter, “Cyrus Smith would have disappeared not more
than 1,200 feet from the shore?”

“Not more than that.”

“And his dog, too?”

“Yes.”

“What astonishes me,” said the reporter, “admitting that our companion
and Top have perished, is the fact that neither the body of the dog nor
of his master has been cast upon the shore.”

“That is not astonishing with so heavy a sea,” replied the sailor.
“Moreover, it is quite possible that there are currents which have
carried them farther up the coast.”

“Then it is really your opinion that our companion has been drowned?”
asked, once more, the reporter.

“That is my opinion.”

“And my opinion, Pencroff,” said Spilett, “with all respect for your
experience, is, that in this absolute disappearance of both Cyrus and
Top, living or dead, there is something inexplicable and incredible.”

“I wish I could think as you do, sir,” responded Pencroff, “but,
unhappily, I cannot.”

After thus speaking the sailor returned to the Chimneys. A good fire
was burning in the fireplace. Herbert had just thrown on a fresh armful
of wood, and its flames lit up the dark recesses of the corridor.

Pencroff began at once to busy himself about dinner. It seemed
expedient to provide something substantial, as all stood in need of
nourishment, so two tetras were quickly plucked, spitted upon a stick,
and placed to roast before at blazing fire. The couroucous were
reserved for the next day.

At 7 o’clock Neb was still absent, and Pencroff began to be alarmed
about him. He feared that he might have met with some accident in this
unknown land, or that the poor fellow had been drawn by despair to some
rash act. Herbert, on the contrary, argued that Neb’s absence was owing
to some fresh discovery which had induced him to prolong his
researches. And anything new must be to Cyrus Smith’s advantage. Why
had not Neb come back, if some hope was not detaining him? Perhaps he
had found some sign or footprint which had put him upon the track.
Perhaps, at this moment he was following the trail. Perhaps, already,
he was beside his master.

Thus the lad spoke and reasoned, unchecked by his companions. The
reporter nodded approval, but Pencroff thought it more probable that
Neb, in his search, had pushed on so far that he had not been able to
return.

Meantime, Herbert, excited by vague presentiments, manifested a desire
to go to meet Neb. But Pencroff showed him that it would be useless in
the darkness and storm to attempt to find traces of the negro, and,
that the better course was, to wait. If, by morning, Neb had not
returned, Pencroff would not hesitate joining the lad in a search for
him.

Gideon Spilett concurred with the sailor in his opinion that they had
better remain together, and Herbert, though tearfully, gave up the
project. The reporter could not help embracing the generous lad.

The storm began. A furious gust of wind passed over the coast from the
southeast. They heard the sea, which was out, roaring upon the reef.
The whirlwind drove the rain in clouds along the shore. The sand,
stirred up by the wind, mingled with the rain, and the air was filled
with mineral as well as aqueous dust. Between the mouth of the river
and the cliff’s face, the wind whirled about as in a maelstrom, and,
finding no other outlet than the narrow valley through which ran the
stream, it rushed through this with irresistible violence.

Often, too, the smoke from the chimney, driven back down its narrow
vent, filled the corridors, and rendered them uninhabitable. Therefore,
when the tetras were cooked Pencroff let the fire smoulder, only
preserving some clear embers among the ashes.

At 8 o’clock Neb had not returned; but they could not help admitting
that now the tempest alone was sufficient to account for his
non-appearance, and that, probably, he had sought refuge in some
cavern, waiting the end of the storm, or, at least, daybreak. As to
going to meet him under present circumstances, that was simply
impossible.

The birds were all they had for supper, but the party found them
excellent eating. Pencroff and Herbert, their appetite sharpened by
their long walk, devoured them. Then each one retired to his corner,
and Herbert, lying beside the sailor, extended before the fireplace,
was soon asleep.

Outside, as the night advanced, the storm developed formidable
proportions. It was a hurricane equal to that which had carried the
prisoners from Richmond. Such tempests, pregnant with catastrophes,
spreading terror over a vast area, their fury withstood by no obstacle,
are frequent during the equinox. We can understand how a coast facing
the east, and exposed to the full fury of the storm, was attacked with
a violence perfectly indescribable.

Happily the heap of rocks forming the Chimneys was composed of solid,
enormous blocks of granite, though some of them, imperfectly balanced,
seemed to tremble upon their foundations. Pencroff, placing his hand
against the walls, could feel their rapid vibrations; but he said to
himself, with reason, that there was no real danger, and that the
improvised retreat would not tumble about their ears. Nevertheless, he
heard the sound of rocks, torn from the top of the plateau by the
gusts, crashing upon the shore. And some, falling perpendicularly,
struck the Chimneys and flew off into fragments. Twice the sailor rose,
and went to the opening of the corridor, to look abroad. But there was
no danger from these inconsiderable showers of stones, and he returned
to his place before the fire, where the embers glowed among the ashes.

In spite of the fury and fracas of the tempest Herbert slept
profoundly, and, at length, sleep took possession of Pencroff, whose
sailor life had accustomed him to such demonstrations. Gideon Spilett,
who was kept awake by anxiety, reproached himself for not having
accompanied Neb. We have seen that he had not given up all hope, and
the presentiments which had disturbed Herbert had affected him also.
His thoughts were fixed upon Neb; why had not the negro returned? He
tossed about on his sandy couch, unheeding the warfare of the elements.
Then, overcome by fatigue, he would close his eyes for an instant, only
to be awakened by some sudden thought.

Meantime the night advanced; and it was about 2 o’clock when Pencroff
was suddenly aroused from a deep sleep by finding himself vigorously
shaken.

“What’s the matter?” he cried, rousing and collecting himself with the
quickness peculiar to sailors.

The reporter was bending over him and saying:—

“Listen, Pencroff, listen!”

The sailor listened, but could hear no sounds other than those caused
by the gusts.

“It is the wind,” he said.

“No,” answered Spilett, listening again, “I think I heard—”

“What?”

“The barking of a dog!”

“A dog!” cried Pencroff, springing to his feet.

“Yes—the barking—”

“Impossible!” answered the sailor. “How, in the roarings of the
tempest—”

“Wait—listen,” said the reporter.

Pencroff listened most attentively, and at length, during a lull, he
thought he caught the sound of distant barking.

“Is it?” asked the reporter, squeezing the sailor’s hand.

“Yes—yes!” said Pencroff.

“It is Top! It is Top!” cried Herbert, who had just wakened, and the
three rushed to the entrance of the Chimneys.

They had great difficulty in getting out, as the wind drove against
them with fury, but at last they succeeded, and then they were obliged
to steady themselves against the rocks. They were unable to speak, but
they looked about them. The darkness was absolute. Sea, sky, and earth,
were one intense blackness. It seemed as if there was not one particle
of light diffused in the atmosphere.

For some moments the reporter and his two companions stood in this
place, beset by the gusts, drenched by the rain, blinded by the sand.
Then again, in the hush of the storm, they heard, far away, the barking
of a dog. This must be Top. But was he alone or accompanied? Probably
alone, for if Neb had been with him, the negro would have hastened, at
once, to the Chimneys.

The sailor pressed the reporter’s hand in a manner signifying that he
was to remain without, and then returning to the corridor, emerged a
moment later with a lighted fagot, which he threw into the darkness, at
the same time whistling shrilly. At this signal, which seemed to have
been looked for, the answering barks came nearer, and soon a dog
bounded into the corridor, followed by the three companions. An armful
of wood was thrown upon the coals, brightly lighting up the passage.

“It is Top!” cried Herbert.

It was indeed Top, a magnificent Anglo-Norman, uniting in the cross of
the two breeds those qualities—swiftness of foot and keenness of
scent—indispensable in coursing dogs. But he was alone! Neither his
master nor Neb accompanied him.

It seemed inexplicable how, through the darkness and storm, the dog’s
instinct had directed him to the Chimneys, a place he was unacquainted
with. But still more unaccountable was the fact that he was neither
fatigued nor exhausted nor soiled with mud or sand. Herbert had drawn
him towards him, patting his head; and the dog rubbed 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. “Come, let us set out. Top will
guide us!”

Pencroff made no objection. He saw that the dog’s cunning had disproved
his conjectures.

“Let us set out at once,” he said; and covering the fire so that it
could be relighted on their return, and preceded by the dog, who seemed
to invite their departure, the sailor, having gathered up the remnants
of the supper, followed by the reporter and Herbert, rushed into the
darkness.

The tempest, then in all its violence, was, perhaps, at its maximum
intensity. The new moon had not sufficient light to pierce the clouds.
It was difficult to follow a straight course. The better way,
therefore, was to trust to the instinct of Top; which was done. The
reporter and the lad walked behind the dog, and the sailor followed
after. To speak was impossible. The rain, dispersed by the wind, was
not heavy, but the strength of the storm was terrible.

Fortunately, as it came from the southeast, the wind was at the back of
the party, and the sand, hurled from behind, did not prevent their
march. Indeed, they were often blown along so rapidly as nearly to be
overthrown. But they were sustained by a great hope. This time, at
least, they were not wandering at random. They felt, no doubt, that Neb
had found his master and had sent the faithful dog to them. But was the
engineer living, or had Neb summoned his companions only to render the
last services to the dead?

After having passed the smooth face of rock, which they carefully
avoided, the party stopped to take breath. The angle of the cliff
sheltered them from the wind, and they could breathe freely after this
tramp, or rather race, of a quarter of an hour. They were now able to
hear themselves speak, and the lad having pronounced the name of Smith,
the dog seemed to say by his glad barking that his master was safe.

“Saved! He is saved! Isn’t he, Top?” repeated the boy. And the dog
barked his answer.

It was half-past 2 when the march was resumed. The sea began to rise,
and this, which was a spring tide backed up by the wind, threatened to
be very high. The tremendous breakers thundered against the reef,
assailing it so violently as probably to pass completely over the
islet, which was invisible. The coast was no longer sheltered by this
long breakwater, but was exposed to the full fury of the open sea.

After the party were clear of the precipice the storm attacked them
again with fury. Crouching, with backs still to the wind, they followed
Top, who never hesitated in his course. Mounting towards the north,
they had upon their right the endless line of breakers deafening them
with its thunders, and upon their left a region buried in darkness. One
thing was certain, that they were upon an open plain, as the wind
rushed over them without rebounding as it had done from the granite
cliffs.

By 4 o’clock they estimated the distance travelled as eight miles. The
clouds had risen a little, and the wind was drier and colder.
Insufficiently clad, the three companions suffered cruelly, but no
murmur passed their lips. They were determined to follow Top wherever
he wished to lead them.

Towards 5 o’clock the day began to break. At first, overhead, where
some grey shadowings bordered the clouds, and presently, under a dark
band a bright streak of light sharply defined the sea horizon. The
crests of the billows shone with a yellow light and the foam revealed
its whiteness. At the same time, on the left, the hilly parts of the
shore were confusedly defined in grey outlines upon the blackness of
the night. At 6 o’clock it was daylight. The clouds sped rapidly
overhead. The sailor and his companions were some six miles from the
Chimneys, following a very flat shore, bordered in the offing by a reef
of rocks whose surface only was visible above the high tide. On the
left the country sloped up into downs bristling with thistles, giving a
forbidding aspect to the vast sandy region. The shore was low, and
offered no other resistance to the ocean than an irregular chain of
hillocks. Here and there was a tree, leaning its trunks and branches
towards the west. Far behind, to the southwest, extended the borders of
the forest.

At this moment Top gave unequivocal signs of excitement. He ran ahead,
returned, and seemed to try to hurry them on. The dog had left the
coast, and guided by his wonderful instinct, without any hesitation had
gone among the downs. They followed him through a region absolutely
devoid of life.

The border of the downs, itself large, was composed of hills and
hillocks, unevenly scattered here and there. It was like a little
Switzerland of sand, and nothing but a dog’s astonishing instinct could
find the way.

Five minutes after leaving the shore the reporter and his companions
reached a sort of hollow, formed in the back of a high down, before
which Top stopped with a loud bark. The three entered the cave.

Neb was there, kneeling beside a body extended upon a bed of grass—

It was the body of Cyrus Smith.




CHAPTER VIII.


IS CYPRUS SMITH ALIVE?—NEB’S STORY—FOOTPRINTS —AN INSOLUBLE
QUESTION—THE FIRST WORDS OF SMITH—COMPARING THE FOOTPRINTS—RETURN TO
THE CHIMNEYS—PENCROFF DEJECTED.


Neb did not move. The sailor uttered one word.

“Living!” he cried.

The negro did not answer. Spilett and Pencroff turned pale. Herbert,
clasping his hands, stood motionless. But it was evident that the poor
negro, overcome by grief, had neither seen his companions nor heard the
voice of the sailor.

The reporter knelt down beside the motionless body, and, having opened
the clothing, pressed his ear to the chest of the engineer. A minute,
which seemed an age, passed, daring which he tried to detect some
movement of the heart.

Neb raised up a little, and looked on as if in a trance. Overcome by
exhaustion, prostrated by grief, the poor fellow was hardly
recognizable. He believed his master dead.

Gideon Spilett, after a long and attentive examination, rose up.

“He lives!” he said.

Pencroff, in his turn, knelt down beside Cyrus Smith; he also detected
some heartbeats, and a slight breath issuing from the lips of the
engineer. Herbert, at a word from the reporter, hurried in search of
water. A hundred paces off he found a clear brook swollen by the late
rains and filtered by the sand. But there was nothing, not even a
shell, in which to carry the water; so the lad had to content himself
with soaking his handkerchief in the stream, and hastened back with it
to the cave.

Happily the handkerchief held sufficient for Spilett’s purpose, which
was simply to moisten the lips of the engineer. The drops of fresh
water produced an instantaneous effect. A sigh escaped from the breast
of Smith, and it seemed as if he attempted to speak.

“We shall save him,” said the reporter. Neb took heart at these words.
He removed the clothing from his master to see if his body was anywhere
wounded. But neither on his head nor body nor limbs was there a bruise
or even a scratch, an astonishing circumstance, since he must have been
tossed about among the rocks; even his hands were uninjured, and it was
difficult to explain how the engineer should exhibit no mark of the
efforts which he must have made in getting over the reef.

But the explanation of this circumstance would come later, when Cyrus
Smith could speak. At present, it was necessary to restore his
consciousness, and it was probable that this result could be
accomplished by friction. For this purpose they mode use of the
sailor’s pea-jacket. The engineer, warmed by this rude rubbing, moved
his arms slightly, and his breathing began to be more regular. He was
dying from exhaustion, and, doubtless, had not the reporter and his
companions arrived, it would have been all over with Cyrus Smith.

“You thought he was dead?” asked the sailor.

“Yes, I thought so,” answered Neb. “And if Top had not found you and
brought you back, I would have buried my master and died beside him.”

The engineer had had a narrow escape!

Then Neb told them what had happened. The day before, after having left
the Chimneys at day-break, he had followed along the coast in a
direction due north, until he reached that part of the beach which he
had already visited. There, though, as he said, without hope of
success, he searched the shore, the rocks, the sand for any marks that
could guide him, examining most carefully that part which was above
high-water mark, as below that point the ebb and flow of the tide would
have effaced all traces. He did not hope to find his master living. It
was the discovery of the body which he sought, that he might bury it
with his own hands. He searched a long time, without success. It seemed
as if nothing human had ever been upon that desolate shore. Of the
millions of shell-fish lying out of reach of the tide, not a shell was
broken. There was no sign of a landing having ever been made there. The
negro then decided to continue some miles further up the coast. It was
possible that the currents had carried the body to some distant point.
For Neb knew that a corpse, floating a little distance from a low
shore, was almost certain, sooner or later, to be thrown upon the
strand, and he was desirous to look upon his master one last time.

“I followed the shore two miles further, looking at it at low and high
water, hardly hoping to find anything, when yesterday evening, about 5
o’clock, I discovered footprints upon the sand.”

“Footprints,” cried Pencroff.

“Yes, sir,” replied Neb.

“And did they begin at the water?” demanded the reporter.

“No,” answered the negro, “above high-water mark; below that the tide
had washed out the others.”

“Go on, Neb,” said Spilett.

“The sight of these footprints made me wild with joy. They were very
plain, and went towards the downs. I followed them for a quarter of an
hour, running so as not to tread on them. Five minutes later, as it was
growing dark, I heard a dog bark. It was Top. And he brought me here,
to my master.”

Neb finished his recital by telling of his grief at the discovery of
the inanimate body. He had tried to discover some signs of life still
remaining in it. But all his efforts were in vain. There was nothing,
therefore, to do but to perform the last offices to him whom he had
loved so well. Then he thought of his companions. They, too, would wish
to look once more upon their comrade. Top was there. Could he not rely
upon the sagacity of that faithful animal? So having pronounced several
times the name of the reporter, who, of all the engineer’s companions,
was best known by Top, and having at the same time motioned towards the
south, the dog bounded off in the direction indicated.

We have seen how, guided by an almost supernatural instinct, the dog
had arrived at the Chimneys.

Neb’s companions listened to his story with the greatest attention. How
the engineer had been able to reach this cave in the midst of the
downs, more than a mile from the beach, was as inexplicable as was his
escape from the waves and rocks without a scratch.

“So you, Neb,” said the reporter, “did not bring your master to this
place?”

“No, it was not I,” answered Neb.

“He certainly could not have come alone,” said Pencroff.

“But he must have done it, though it does not seem credible,” said the
reporter.

They must wait for the solution of the mystery until the engineer could
speak. Fortunately the rubbing had re-established the circulation of
the blood, and life was returning. Smith moved his arm again, then his
head, and a second time some incoherent words escaped his lips.

Neb, leaning over him, spoke, but the engineer seemed not to hear, and
his eyes remained closed. Life was revealing itself by movement, but
consciousness had not yet returned. Pencroff had, unfortunately,
forgotten to bring the burnt linen, which could have been ignited with
a couple of flints, and without it they had no means of making a fire.
The pockets of the engineer were empty of everything but his watch. It
was therefore the unanimous opinion that Cyrus Smith must be carried to
the Chimneys as soon as possible.

Meantime the attention lavished on the engineer restored him to
consciousness sooner than could have been hoped. The moistening of his
lips had revived him, and Pencroff conceived the idea of mixing some of
the juice of the tetras with water. Herbert ran to the shore and
brought back two large shells; and the sailor made a mixture which they
introduced between the lips of the engineer, who swallowed it with
avidity. His eyes opened. Neb and the reporter were leaning over him.

“My master! my master!” cried Neb.

The engineer heard him. He recognized Neb and his companions, and his
hand gently pressed theirs.

Again he spoke some words—doubtless the same which he had before
uttered, and which indicated that some thoughts were troubling him.
This time the words were understood.

“Island or continent?” he murmured.

“What the devil do we care,” cried Pencroff, unable to restrain the
exclamation, “now that you are alive, sir. Island or continent? “We
will find that out later.”

The engineer made a motion in the affirmative, and then seemed to
sleep.

Taking care not to disturb him, the reporter set to work to provide the
most comfortable means of moving him.

Neb, Herbert, and Pencroff left the cave and went towards a high down
on which were some gnarled trees. On the way the sailor kept
repeating:—

“Island or continent! To think of that, at his last gasp! What a man!”

Having reached the top of the down, Pencroff and his companions tore
off the main branches from a tree, a sort of sea pine, sickly and
stunted. And with these branches they constructed a litter, which they
covered with leaves and grass.

This work occupied some little time, and it was 10 o’clock when the
three returned to Smith and Spilett.

The engineer had just wakened from the sleep, or rather stupor, in
which they had found him. The color had come back to his lips, which
had been as pale as death. He raised himself slightly, and looked
about, as if questioning where he was.

“Can you listen to me without being tired, Cyrus?” asked the reporter.

“Yes,” responded the engineer.

“I think,” said the sailor, “that Mr. Smith can listen better after
having taken some more of this tetra jelly,—it is really tetra, sir,”
he continued, as he gave him some of the mixture, to which he had this
time added some of the meat of the bird.

Cyrus Smith swallowed these bits of tetra, and the remainder was eaten
by his companions, who were suffering from hunger, and who found the
repast light enough.

“Well,” said the sailor, “there are victuals waiting for us at the
Chimneys, for you must know, Mr. Smith, that to the south of here we
have a house with rooms and beds and fire-place, and in the pantry
dozens of birds which our Herbert calls couroucous. Your litter is
ready, and whenever you feel strong enough we will carry you to our
house.”

“Thanks, my friend,” replied the engineer, “in an hour or two we will
go. And now, Spilett, continue.”

The reporter related everything that had happened. Recounting the
events unknown to Smith; the last plunge of the balloon, the landing
upon this unknown shore, its deserted appearance, the discovery of the
Chimneys, the search for the engineer, the devotion of Neb, and what
they owed to Top’s intelligence, etc.

“But,” asked Smith, in a feeble voice, “you did not pick me up on the
beach?”

“No,” replied the reporter.

“And it was not you who brought me to this hollow?”

“No.”

“How far is this place from the reef?”

“At least half a mile,” replied Pencroff, “and if you are astonished,
we are equally surprised to find you here.”

“It is indeed singular,” said the engineer, who was gradually reviving
and taking interest in these details.

“But,” asked the sailor, “cannot you remember anything that happened
after you were washed away by that heavy sea?”

Cyrus Smith tried to think, but he remembered little. The wave had
swept him from the net of the balloon, and at first he had sunk several
fathoms. Coming up to the surface, he was conscious, in the half-light,
of something struggling beside him. It was Top, who had sprung to his
rescue. Looking up, he could see nothing of the balloon, which,
lightened by his and the dog’s weight, had sped away like an arrow. He
found himself in the midst of the tumultuous sea, more than half a mile
from shore. He swum vigorously against the waves, and Top sustained him
by his garments; but a strong current seized him, carrying him to the
north, and, after struggling for half an hour, he sank, dragging the
dog with him into the abyss. From that moment to the instant of his
finding himself in the arms of his friends, he remembered nothing.

“Nevertheless,” said Pencroff, “you must have been cast upon the shore,
and had strength enough to walk to this place, since Neb found your
tracks.”

“Yes, that must be so,” answered the engineer, reflectively. “And you
have not seen any traces of inhabitants upon the shore?”

“Not a sign,” answered the reporter. “Moreover, if by chance some one
had rescued you from the waves, why should he then have abandoned you?”

“You are right, my dear Spilett. Tell me, Neb,” inquired the engineer,
turning towards his servant, “it was not you—you could not have been in
a trance—during which—. No, that’s absurd. Do any of the footprints
still remain?”

“Yes, master,” replied Neb; “there are some at the entrance, back of
this mound, in a place sheltered from the wind and rain, but the others
have been obliterated by the storm.”

“Pencroff,” said Cyrus, “will you take my shoes and see if they fit
those footprints exactly?”

The sailor did as he had been asked. He and Herbert, guided by Neb,
went to where the marks were, and in their absence Smith said to the
reporter:—

“That is a thing passing belief.”

“Inexplicable, indeed,” answered the other.

“But do not dwell upon it at present, my dear Spilett, we will talk of
it hereafter.”

At this moment the others returned. All doubt was set at rest. The
shoes of the engineer fitted the tracks exactly. Therefore it must have
been Smith himself who had walked over the sand.

“So,” he said, “I was the one in a trance, and not Neb! I must have
walked like a somnambulist, without consciousness, and Top’s instinct
brought me here after he rescued me from the waves. Here, Top. Come
here, dog.”

The splendid animal sprang, barking, to his master, and caresses were
lavished upon him. It was agreed that there was no other way to account
for the rescue than by giving Top the credit of it.

Towards noon, Pencroff having asked Smith if he felt strong enough to
be carried, the latter, for answer, by an effort which showed his
strength of will, rose to his feet. But if he had not leaned upon the
sailor he would have fallen.

“Capital,” said Pencroff. “Summon the engineer’s carriage!”

The litter was brought. The cross-branches had been covered with moss
and grass; and when Smith was laid upon it they walked towards the
coast, Neb and the sailor carrying him.

Eight miles had to be travelled, and as they could move but slowly, and
would probably have to make frequent rests, it would take six hours or
more to reach the Chimneys. The wind was still strong, but,
fortunately, it had ceased raining. From his couch, the engineer,
leaning upon his arm, observed the coast, especially the part opposite
the sea. He examined it without comment, but undoubtedly the aspect of
the country, its contour, its forests and diverse products were noted
in his mind. But after two hours, fatigue overcame him, and he slept
upon the litter.

At half-past 5 the little party reached the precipice, and soon after,
were before the Chimneys. Stopping here, the litter was placed upon the
sand without disturbing the slumber of the engineer.

Pencroff saw, to his surprise, that the terrible storm of the day
before had altered the aspect of the place. Rocks had been displaced.
Great fragments were strewn over the sand, and a thick carpet of
several kinds of seaweed covered all the shore. It was plain that the
sea sweeping over the isle had reached to the base of the enormous
granite curtain.

Before the entrance to the Chimneys the ground had been violently torn
up by the action of the waves. Pencroff, seized with a sudden fear,
rushed into the corridor. Returning, a moment after, he stood
motionless looking at his comrades.

The fire had been extinguished; the drowned cinders were nothing but
mud. The charred linen, which was to serve them for tinder, had gone.
The sea had penetrated every recess of the corridor, and everything was
overthrown, everything was destroyed within the Chimneys.




CHAPTER IX.


CYRUS IS HERE-PENCROFF’S ATTEMPTS—RUBBING WOOD—ISLAND OR CONTINENT —THE
PLANS OF THE ENGINEER—WHEREABOUTS IN THE PACIFIC—IN THE DEPTHS OF THE
FOREST—THE PISTACHIO PINE—A PIG CHASE—A SMOKE OF GOOD OMEN.


In a few words the others were informed of what had happened. This
accident, which portended serious results—at least Pencroff foresaw
such—affected each one differently. Neb, overjoyed in having recovered
his master, did not listen or did not wish to think of what Pencroff
said. Herbert shared in a measure the apprehensions of the sailor. As
to the reporter, he simply answered:—

“Upon my word, Pencroff, I don’t think it matters much!”

“But I tell you again; we have no fire!”

“Pshaw!”

“Nor any means of lighting one!”

“Absurd!”

“But, Mr. Spilett—”

“Is not Cyrus here?” asked the reporter; “Isn’t he alive? He will know
well enough how to make fire!”

“And with what?”

“With nothing!”

What could Pencroff answer? He had nothing to say, as, in his heart, he
shared his companion’s confidence in Cyrus Smith’s ability. To them the
engineer was a microcosm, a compound of all science and all knowledge.
They were better off on a desert island with Cyrus than without him in
the busiest city of the Union. With him they could want for nothing;
with him they would have no fear. If they had been told that a volcanic
eruption would overwhelm the land, sinking it into the depths of the
Pacific, the imperturbable answer of these brave men would have been,
“Have we not Cyrus!”

Meantime, the engineer had sunk into a lethargy, the result of the
journey, and his help could not be asked for just then. The supper,
therefore, would be very meagre. All the tetras had been eaten, there
was no way to cook other birds, and, finally, the couroucous which had
been reserved had disappeared. Something, therefore, must be done.

First of all, Cyrus Smith was carried into the main corridor. There
they were able to make for him a couch of seaweeds, and, doubtless, the
deep sleep in which he was plunged, would strengthen him more than an
abundant nourishment.

With night the temperature, which the northwest wind had raised, again
became very cold, and, as the sea had washed away the partitions which
Pencroff had constructed, draughts of air made the place scarcely
habitable. The engineer would therefore have been in a bad plight if
his companions had not covered him with clothing which they took from
themselves.

The supper this evening consisted of the inevitable lithodomes, an
ample supply of which Herbert and Neb had gathered from the beach. To
these the lad had added a quantity of edible seaweed which clung to the
high rocks and were only washed by the highest tides. These seaweeds,
belonging to the family of Fucaceæ, were a species of Sargassum, which,
when dry, furnish a gelatinous substance full of nutritive matter, much
used by the natives of the Asiatic coast. After having eaten a quantity
of lithodomes the reporter and his companions sucked some of the
seaweed, which they agreed was excellent.

“Nevertheless,” said the sailor, “it is time for Mr. Smith to help us.”

Meantime the cold became intense, and, unfortunately, they had no means
of protecting themselves. The sailor, much worried, tried every
possible means of procuring a fire. He had found some dry moss, and by
striking two stones together he obtained sparks; but the moss was not
sufficiently inflammable to catch fire, nor had the sparks the strength
of those struck by a steel. The operation amounted to nothing. Then
Pencroff, although he had no confidence in the result, tried rubbing
two pieces of dry wood together, after the manner of the savages. It is
true that the motion of the man, if it could have been turned into
heat, according to the new theory, would have heated the boiler of a
steamer. But it resulted in nothing except putting him in a glow, and
making the wood hot. After half an hour’s work Pencroff was in a
perspiration, and he threw away the wood in disgust.

“When you can make me believe that savages make fire after that
fashion,” said he, “it will he hot in winter! I might as well try to
light my arms by rubbing them together.”

But the sailor was wrong to deny the feasibility of this method. The
savages frequently do light wood in this way. But it requires
particular kinds of wood, and, moreover, the “knack,” and Pencroff had
not this “knack.”

Pencroff’s ill humor did not last long. The bits of wood which he had
thrown away had been picked up by Herbert, who exerted himself to rub
them well. The strong sailor could not help laughing at the boy’s weak
efforts to accomplish what he had failed in.

“Rub away, my boy; rub hard!” he cried.

“I am rubbing them,” answered Herbert, laughing, “but only to take my
turn at getting warm, instead of sitting here shivering; and pretty
soon I will be as hot as you are, Pencroff!”

This was the case, and though it was necessary for this night to give
up trying to make a fire, Spilett, stretching himself upon the sand in
one of the passages, repeated for the twentieth time that Smith could
not be baffled by such a trifle. The others followed his example, and
Top slept at the feet of his master.

The next day, the 28th of March, when the engineer awoke, about 8
o’clock, he saw his companions beside him watching, and, as on the day
before, his first words were,

“Island or continent?”

It was his one thought.

“Well, Mr. Smith,” answered Pencroff, “we don’t know.”

“You haven’t found out yet?”

“But we will,” affirmed Pencroff, “when you are able to guide us in
this country.”

“I believe that I am able to do that now,” answered the engineer, who,
without much effort, rose up and stood erect.

“That is good,” exclaimed the sailor.

“I am dying of hunger,” responded Smith. “Give me some food, my friend,
and I will feel better. You’ve fire, haven’t you?”

This question met with no immediate answer. But after some moments the
sailor said:—

“No, sir, we have no fire; at least, not now.”

And be related what had happened the day before. He amused the engineer
by recounting the history of their solitary match, and their fruitless
efforts to procure fire like the savages.

“We will think about it,” answered the engineer, “and if we cannot find
something like tinder—”

“Well,” asked the sailor.

“Well, we will make matches!”

“Friction matches?”

“Friction matches!”

“It’s no more difficult than that,” cried the reporter, slapping the
sailor on the shoulder.

The latter did not see that it would be easy, but he said nothing, and
all went out of doors. The day was beautiful. A bright sun was rising
above the sea horizon, its rays sparkling and glistening on the granite
wall. After having cast a quick look about him, the engineer seated
himself upon a rock. Herbert offered him some handfuls of mussels and
seaweed, saying:—

“It is all that we have, Mr. Smith.”

“Thank you, my boy,” answered he, “it is enough—for this morning, at
least.”

And he ate with appetite this scanty meal, washing it down with water
brought from the river in a large shell.

His companions looked on without speaking. Then, after having satisfied
himself, he crossed his arms and said:—

“Then, my friends, you do not yet know whether we have been thrown upon
an island or a continent?”

“No sir,” answered Herbert.

“We will find out to-morrow,” said the engineer. “Until then there is
nothing to do.”

“There is one thing,” suggested Pencroff.

“What is that?”

“Some fire,” replied the sailor, who thought of nothing else.

“We will have it, Pencroff,” said Smith. “But when you were carrying me
here yesterday, did not I see a mountain rising in the west?”

“Yes,” saidSpilett, “quite a high one.”

“All right,” exclaimed the engineer. “Tomorrow we will climb to its
summit and determine whether this is an island or a continent; until
then I repeat there is nothing to do.”

“But there is; we want fire!” cried the obstinate sailor again.

“Have a little patience, Pencroff, and we will have the fire,” said
Spilett.

The other looked at the reporter as much as to say, “If there was only
you to make it we would never taste roast meat.” But he kept silent.

Smith had not spoken. He seemed little concerned about this question of
fire. For some moments he remained absorbed in his own thoughts. Then
he spoke as follows:—

“My friends, our situation is, doubtless, deplorable, nevertheless it
is very simple. Either we are upon a continent, and, in that case, at
the expense of greater or less fatigue, we will reach some inhabited
place, or else we are on an island. In the latter case, it is one of
two things; if the island is inhabited, we will get out of our
difficulty by the help of the inhabitants; if it is deserted, we will
get out of it by ourselves.”

“Nothing could be plainer than that,” said Pencroff.

“But,” asked Spilett, “whether it is a continent or an island,
whereabouts do you think this storm has thrown us, Cyrus?”

“In truth, I cannot say,” replied the engineer, “but the probability is
that we are somewhere in the Pacific. When we left Richmond the wind
was northeast, and its very violence proves that its direction did not
vary much. Supposing it unchanged, we crossed North and South Carolina,
Georgia, the Gulf of Mexico, and the narrow part of Mexico, and a
portion of the Pacific Ocean. I do not estimate the distance traversed
by the balloon at less than 6,000 or 7,000 miles, and even if the wind
had varied a half a quarter it would have carried us either to the
Marquesas Islands or to the Low Archipelago; or, if it was stronger
than I suppose, as far as New Zealand. If this last hypothesis is
correct, our return home will be easy. English or Maoris, we shall
always find somebody with whom to speak. If, on the other hand, this
coast belongs to some barren island in the Micronesian Archipelago,
perhaps we can reconnoitre it from the summit of this mountain, and
then we will consider how to establish ourselves here as if we were
never going to leave it.”

“Never?” cried the reporter. “Do you say never, my dear Cyrus?”

“It is better to put things in their worst light at first,” answered
the engineer; “and to reserve those which are better, as a surprise.”

“Well said,” replied Pencroff. “And we hope that this island, if it is
an island, will not be situated just outside of the route of ships; for
that would, indeed, be unlucky.”

“We will know how to act after having first ascended the mountain,”
answered Smith.

“But will you be able, Mr. Smith, to make the climb tomorrow?” asked
Herbert.

“I hope so,” answered the engineer, “if Pencroff and you, my boy, show
yourselves to be good and ready hunters.”

“Mr. Smith,” said the sailor, “since you are speaking of game, if when
I come back I am as sure of getting it roasted as I am of bringing it—”

“Bring it, nevertheless,” interrupted Smith.

It was now agreed that the engineer and the reporter should spend the
day at the Chimneys, in order to examine the shore and the plateau,
while Neb, Herbert, and the sailor were to return to the forest, renew
the supply of wood, and lay hands on every bird and beast that should
cross their path. So, at 6 o’clock, the party left, Herbert confident.
Neb happy, and Pencroff muttering to himself:—

“If, when I get back I find a fire in the house, it will have been the
lightning that lit it!”

The three climbed the bank, and having reached the turn in the river,
the sailor stopped and said to his companions:—

“Shall we begin as hunters or wood-choppers?”

“Hunters,” answered Herbert. “See Top, who is already at it.”

“Let us hunt, then,” replied the sailor, “and on our return here we
will lay in our stock of wood.”

This said, the party made three clubs for themselves, and followed Top,
who was jumping about in the high grass.

This time, the hunters, instead of following the course of the stream,
struck at once into the depths of the forests. The trees were for the
most part of the pine family. And in certain places, where they stood
in small groups, they were of such a size as to indicate that this
country was in a higher latitude than the engineer supposed. Some
openings, bristling with stumps decayed by the weather, were covered
with dead timber which formed an inexhaustible reserve of firewood.
Then, the opening passed, the underwood became so thick as to be nearly
impenetrable.

To guide oneself among these great trees without any beaten path was
very difficult. So the sailer from time to time blazed the route by
breaking branches in a manner easily recognizable. But perhaps they
would have done better to have followed the water course, as in the
first instance, as, after an hour’s march, no game had been taken. Top,
running under the low boughs, only flushed birds that were
unapproachable. Even the couroucous were invisible, and it seemed
likely that the sailor would be obliged to return to that swampy place
where he had fished for tetras with such good luck.

“Well, Pencroff,” said Neb sarcastically, “if this is all the game you
promised to carry back to my master it won’t take much fire to roast
it!”

“Wait a bit, Neb,” answered the sailor; “it won’t be game that will be
wanting on our return.”

“Don’t you believe in Mr. Smith?”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t believe be will make a fire?”

“I will believe that when the wood is blazing in the fire-place.”

“It will blaze, then, for my master has said so!”

“Well, we’ll see!”

Meanwhile the sun had not yet risen to its highest point above the
horizon. The exploration went on and was signalized by Herbert’s
discovery of a tree bearing edible fruit. It was the pistachio pine,
which bears an excellent nut, much liked in the temperate regions of
America and Europe. These nuts were perfectly ripe, and Herbert showed
them to his companions, who feasted on them.

“Well,” said Pencroff, “seaweed for bread, raw mussels for meat, and
nuts for dessert, that’s the sort of dinner for men who haven’t a match
in their pocket!”

“It’s not worth while complaining,” replied Herbert.

“I don’t complain, my boy. I simply repeat that the meat is a little
too scant in this sort of meal.”

“Top has seen something!” cried Neb, running toward a thicket into
which the dog had disappeared barking. With the dog’s barks were
mingled singular gruntings. The sailor and Herbert had followed the
negro. If it was game, this was not the time to discuss how to cook it,
but rather how to secure it.

The hunters, on entering the brush, saw Top struggling with an animal
which he held by the ear. This quadruped was a species of pig, about
two feet and a half long, of a brownish black color, somewhat lighter
under the belly, having harsh and somewhat scanty hair, and its toes at
this time strongly grasping the soil seemed joined together by
membranes.

Herbert thought that he recognized in this animal a cabiai, or
water-hog, one of the largest specimens of the order of rodents. The
water-hog did not fight the dog. Its great eyes, deep sank in thick
layers of fat, rolled stupidly from side to side. And Neb, grasping his
club firmly, was about to knock the beast down, when the latter tore
loose from Top, leaving a piece of his ear in the dog’s mouth, and
uttering a vigorous grunt, rushed against and overset Herbert and
disappeared in the wood.

“The beggar!” cried Pencroff, as they all three darted after the hog.
But just as they had come up to it again, the water-hog disappeared
under the surface of a large pond, overshadowed by tall, ancient pines.

The three companions stopped, motionless. Top had plunged into the
water, but the cabiai, hidden at the bottom of the pond, did not
appear.

“Wait,”, said the boy, “he will have to come to the surface to
breathe.”

“Won’t he drown?” asked Neb.

“No,” answered Herbert, “since he is fin-toed and almost amphibious.
But watch for him.”

Top remained in the water, and Pencroff and his companions took
stations upon the bank, to cut off the animal’s retreat, while the dog
swam to and fro looking for him.

Herbert was not mistaken. In a few minutes the animal came again to the
surface. Top was upon him at once, keeping him from diving again, and a
moment later, the cabiai, dragged to the shore, was struck down by a
blow from Neb’s club.

“Hurrah!” cried Pencroff with all his heart. “Nothing but a clear fire,
and this gnawer shall be gnawed to the bone.”

Pencroff lifted the carcase to his shoulder, and judging by the sun
that it must be near 2 o’clock, he gave the signal to return.

Top’s instinct was useful to the hunters, as, thanks to that
intelligent animal, they were enabled to return upon their steps. In
half an hour they had reached the bend of the river. There, as before,
Pencroff quickly constructed a raft, although, lacking fire, this
seemed to him a useless job, and, with the raft keeping the current,
they returned towards the Chimneys. But the sailor had not gone fifty
paces when he stopped and gave utterance anew to a tremendous hurrah,
and extending his hand towards the angle of the cliff—

“Herbert! Neb! See!” he cried.

Smoke was escaping and curling above the rocks!




CHAPTER X.


THE ENGINEER’S INVENTION—ISLAND OR CONTINENT?—DEPARTURE FOR THE
MOUNTAIN—THE FOREST—VOLCANIC SOIL—THE TRAGOPANS—THE MOUFFLONS —THE
FIRST PLATEAU—ENCAMPING FOR THE NIGHT—THE SUMMIT OF THE CONE


A few minutes afterwards, the three hunters were seated before a
sparkling fire. Beside them sat Cyrus Smith and the reporter. Pencroff
looked from one to the other without saying a word, his cabiai in his
hand.

“Yes, my good fellow,” said the reporter, “a fire, a real fire, that
will roast your game to a turn.”

“But who lighted it?” said the sailor.

“The sun.”

The sailor could not believe his eyes, and was too stupefied to
question the engineer.

“Had you a burning-glass, sir?” asked Herbert of Cyrus Smith.

“No, my boy,” said he, “but I made one.”

And he showed his extemporized lens. It was simply the two glasses,
from his own watch and the reporter’s, which he had taken out, filled
with water, and stuck together at the edges with a little clay. Thus he
had made a veritable burning-glass, and by concentrating the solar rays
on some dry moss had set it on fire.

The sailor examined the lens; then he looked at the engineer without
saying a word, but his face spoke for him. If Smith was not a magician
to him, he was certainly more than a man. At last his speech returned,
and he said:—

“Put that down, Mr. Spilett, put that down in your book!”

“I have it down,” said the reporter.

Then, with the help of Neb, the sailor arranged the spit, and dressed
the cabiai for roasting, like a suckling pig, before the sparkling
fire, by whose warmth, and by the restoration of the partitions, the
Chimneys had been rendered habitable.

The engineer and his companion had made good use of their day. Smith
had almost entirely recovered his strength, which he had tested by
climbing the plateau above. From thence his eye, accustomed to measure
heights and distances, had attentively examined the cone whose summit
he proposed to reach on the morrow. The mountain, situated about six
miles to the northwest, seemed to him to reach about 3,500 feet above
the level of the sea, so that an observer posted at its summit, could
command a horizon of fifty miles at least. He hoped, therefore, for an
easy solution of the urgent question, “Island or continent?”

They had a pleasant supper, and the meat of the cabiai was proclaimed
excellent; the sargassum and pistachio-nuts completed the repast. But
the engineer said little; he was planning for the next day. Once or
twice Pencroff talked of some project for the future, but Smith shook
his head.

“To-morrow,” he said, “we will know how we are situated, and we can act
accordingly.”

After supper, more armfuls of wood were thrown on the fire, and the
party lay down to sleep. The morning found them fresh and eager for the
expedition which was to settle their fate.

Everything was ready. Enough was left of the cabiai for twenty-four
hours’ provisions, and they hoped to replenish their stock on the way.
They charred a little linen for tinder, as the watch glasses had been
replaced, and flint abounded in this volcanic region.

At half-past 7 they left the Chimneys, each with a stout cudgel. By
Pencroff’s advice, they took the route of the previous day, which was
the shortest way to the mountain. They turned the southern angle, and
followed the left bank of the river, leaving it where it bent to the
southwest. They took the beaten path under the evergreens, and soon
reached the northern border of the forest. The soil, flat and swampy,
then dry and sandy, rose by a gradual slope towards the interior. Among
the trees appeared a few shy animals, which rapidly took flight before
Top. The engineer called his dog back; later, perhaps, they might hunt,
but now nothing could distract him from his great object. He observed
neither the character of the ground nor its products; he was going
straight for the top of the mountain.

At 10 o’clock they were clear of the forest, and they halted for a
while to observe the country. The mountain was composed of two cones.
The first was truncated about 2,500 feet up, and supported by fantastic
spurs, branching out like the talons of an immense claw, laid upon the
ground. Between these spurs were narrow valleys, thick set with trees,
whose topmost foliage was level with the flat summit of the first cone.
On the northeast side of the mountain, vegetation was more scanty, and
the ground was seamed here and there, apparently with currents of lava.

On the first cone lay a second, slightly rounded towards the summit. It
lay somewhat across the other, like a huge hat cocked over the ear. The
surface seemed utterly bare, with reddish rocks often protruding. The
object of the expedition was to reach the top of this cone, and their
best way was along the edge of the spurs.

“We are in a volcanic country,” said Cyrus Smith, as they began to
climb, little by little, up the side of the spurs, whose winding summit
would most readily bring them out upon the lower plateau. The ground
was strewn with traces of igneous convulsion. Here and there lay
blocks, debris of basalt, pumice-stone, and obsidian. In isolated
clumps rose some few of those conifers, which, some hundreds of feet
lower, in the narrow gorges, formed a gigantic thicket, impenetrable to
the sun. As they climbed these lower slopes, Herbert called attention
to the recent marks of huge paws and hoofs on the ground.

“These brutes will make a fight for their territory,” said Pencroff.

“Oh well,” said the reporter, who had hunted tigers in India and lions
in Africa, “we shall contrive to get rid of them. In the meanwhile, we
must be on our guard.”

While talking they were gradually ascending. The way was lengthened by
detours around the obstacles which could not be directly surmounted.
Sometimes, too, deep crevasses yawned across the ascent, and compelled
them to return upon their track for a long distance, before they could
find an available pathway. At noon, when the little company halted to
dine at the foot of a great clump of firs, at whose foot babbled a tiny
brook, they were still half way from the first plateau, and could
hardly reach it before nightfall. From this point the sea stretched
broad beneath their feet; but on the right their vision was arrested by
the sharp promontory of the southeast, which left them in doubt whether
there was land beyond. On the left they could see directly north for
several miles; but the northwest was concealed from them by the crest
of a fantastic spur, which formed a massive abutment to the central
cone. They could, therefore, make no approach as yet to the solving of
the great question.

At 1 o’clock, the ascent was again begun. The easiest route slanted
upwards towards the southwest, through the thick copse. There, under
the trees, were flying about a number of gallinaceæ of the pheasant
family. These were “tragopans,” adorned with a sort of fleshy wattles
hanging over their necks and with two little cylindrical horns behind
their eyes. Of these birds, which were about the size of a hen, the
female was invariably brown, while the male was resplendent in a coat
of red, with little spots of white. With a well-aimed stone Spilett
killed one of the tragopans, which the hungry Pencroff looked at with
longing eyes.

Leaving the copse, the climbers, by mounting on each other’s shoulders,
ascended for a hundred feet up a very steep hill, and reached a
terrace, almost bare of trees, whose soil was evidently volcanic. From
hence, their course was a zigzag towards the east, for the declivity
was so steep that they had to take every point of vantage. Neb and
Herbert led the way, then came Smith and the reporter; Pencroff was
last. The animals who lived among these heights, and whose traces were
not wanting, must have the sure foot and the supple spine of a chamois
or an izard. They saw some to whom Pencroff gave a name of his
own—“Sheep,” he cried.

They all had stopped fifty feet from half-a-dozen large animals, with
thick horns curved backwards and flattened at the end, and with woolly
fleece, hidden under long silky fawn-colored hair. They were not the
common sheep, but a species widely distributed through the mountainous
regions of the temperate zone. Their name, according to Herbert, was
_Moufflon_.

“Have they legs and chops?” asked the sailor.

“Yes,” replied Herbert.

“Then they’re sheep,” said Pencroff. The animals stood motionless and
astonished at their first sight of man. Then, seized with sudden fear,
they fled, leaping away among the rocks.

“Good-bye till next time,” cried Pencroff to them, in a tone so comical
that the others could not forbear laughing.

As the ascension continued, the traces of lava were more frequent, and
little sulphur springs intercepted their route. At some points sulphur
had been deposited in crystals, in the midst of the sand and whitish
cinders of feldspar which generally precede the eruption of lava. As
they neared the first plateau, formed by the truncation of the lower
cone, the ascent became very difficult. By 4 o’clock the last belt of
trees had been passed. Here and there stood a few dwarfed and distorted
pines, which had survived the attacks of the furious winds. Fortunately
for the engineer and his party, it was a pleasant, mild day; for a high
wind, at that altitude of 3,000 feet, would have interfered with them
sadly. The sky overhead was extremely bright and clear. A perfect calm
reigned around them. The sun was hidden by the upper mountain, which
cast its shadow, like a vast screen, westward to the edge of the sea. A
thin haze began to appear in the east, colored with all the rays of the
solar spectrum.

There were only 500 feet between the explorers and the plateau where
they meant to encamp for the night, but these 500 were increased to
2,000 and more by the tortuous route. The ground, so to speak, gave way
under their feet. The angle of ascent was often so obtuse that they
slipped upon the smooth-worn lava. Little by little the evening set in,
and it was almost night when the party, tired out by a seven hours’
climb, arrived at the top of the first cone.

Now they must pitch their camp, and think of supper and sleep. The
upper terrace of the mountain rose upon a base of rocks, amid which
they could soon find a shelter. Firewood was not plenty, yet the moss
and dry thistles, so abundant on the plateau, would serve their turn.
The sailor built up a fireplace with huge stones, while Neb and Herbert
went after the combustibles. They soon came back with a load of
thistles; and with flint and steel, the charred linen for tinder, and
Neb to blow the fire, a bright blaze was soon sparkling behind the
rocks. It was for warmth only, for they kept the pheasant for the next
day, and supped off the rest of the cabiai and a few dozen
pistachio-nuts.

It was only half-past 6 when the meal was ended. Cyrus Smith resolved
to explore, in, the semi-obscurity, the great circular pediment which
upheld the topmost cone of the mountain. Before taking rest, he was
anxious to know whether the base of the cone could be passed, in case
its flanks should prove too steep for ascent. So, regardless of
fatigue, he left Pencroff and Neb to make the sleeping arrangements,
and Spilett to note down the incidents of the day, and taking Herbert
with him, began to walk around the base of the plateau towards the
north.

The night was beautiful and still; and not yet very dark. They walked
together in silence. Sometimes the plateau was wide and easy, sometimes
so encumbered with rubbish that the two could not walk abreast.
Finally, after twenty minutes tramp, they were brought to a halt. From
this point the slant of the two cones was equal. To walk around the
mountain upon an acclivity whose angle was nearly seventy-five degrees
was impossible.

But though they had to give up their flank movement, the chance of a
direct ascent was suddenly offered to them. Before them opened an
immense chasm in the solid rock. It was the mouth of the upper crater,
the gullet, so to speak, through which, when the volcano was active,
the eruption took place. Inside, hardened lava and scoriæ formed a sort
of natural staircase with enormous steps, by which they might possibly
reach the summit. Smith saw the opportunity at a glance, and followed
by the boy, he walked unhesitatingly into the huge crevasse, in the
midst of the gathering darkness.

There were yet 1,000 feet to climb. Could they scale the interior wall
of the crater? They would try, at all events. Fortunately, the long and
sinuous declivities described a winding staircase, and greatly helped
their ascent. The crater was evidently exhausted. Not a puff of smoke,
not a glimmer of fire, escaped; not a sound or motion in the dark
abyss, reaching down, perhaps, to the centre of the globe. The air
within retained no taint of sulphur. The volcano was not only quiet,
but extinct.

Evidently the attempt was to succeed. Gradually, as the two mounted the
inner walls, they saw the crater grow larger over their heads. The
light from the outer sky visibly increased. At each step, so to speak,
which they made, new stars entered the field of their vision: The
magnificent constellations of the southern sky shone resplendent. In
the zenith glittered the splendid Antares of the Scorpion, and not far
off that Beta of the Centaur, which is believed to be the nearest star
to our terrestrial globe. Then, as the crater opened, appeared
Fomalhaut of the Fish, the Triangle, and at last, almost at the
Antarctic pole, the glowing Southern Cross.

It was nearly 8 o’clock when they set foot on the summit of the cone.
The darkness was by this time complete, and they could hardly see a
couple of miles around them. Was the land an island, or the eastern
extremity of a continent? They could not yet discover. Towards the west
a band of cloud, clearly defined against the horizon, deepened the
obscurity, and confounded sea with sky.

But at one point of the horizon suddenly appeared a vague light, which
slowly sank as the clouds mounted to the zenith. It was the slender
crescent of the moon, just about to disappear. But the line of the
horizon was now cloudless, and as the moon touched it, the engineer
could see her face mirrored for an instant on a liquid surface. He
seized the boy’s hand—

“An island!” said he, as the lunar crescent disappeared behind the
waves.




CHAPTER XI.


AT THE SUMMIT OF THE CONE—THE INTERIOR OF THE CRATER—SEA EVERYWHERE —NO
LAND IN SIGHT—A BIRD’S EVE VIEW OF THE COAST—HYDROGRAPHY AND OROGRAPHY
—IS THE ISLAND INHABITED?—A GEOGRAPHICAL BAPTISM—LINCOLN ISLAND.


A half hour later they walked back to the camp. The engineer contented
himself with saying to his comrades that the country was an island, and
that to-morrow they would consider what to do. Then each disposed
himself to sleep, and in this basalt cave, 2,500 feet above sea-level,
they passed a quiet night in profound repose. The next day, March 30,
after a hurried breakfast on roast trajopan, they started out for the
summit of the volcano. All desired to see the isle on which perhaps
they were to spend their lives, and to ascertain how far it lay from
other land, and how near the course of vessels bound for the
archipelagoes of the Pacific.

It was about 7 o’clock in the morning when they left the camp. No one
seemed dismayed by the situation. They had faith in themselves, no
doubt; but the source of that faith was not the same with Smith as with
his companions. They trusted in him, he in his ability to extort from
the wilderness around them all the necessaries of life. As for
Pencroff, he would not have despaired, since the rekindling of the fire
by the engineer’s lens, if he had found himself upon a barren rock, if
only Smith was with him.

“Bah!” said he, “we got out of Richmond without the permission of the
authorities, and it will be strange if we can’t get away some time from
a place where no one wants to keep us!”

They followed the route of the day before, flanking the cone till they
reached the enormous crevasse. It was a superb day, and the southern
side of the mountain was bathed in sunlight. The crater, as the
engineer had supposed, was a huge shaft gradually opening to a height
of 1,000 feet above the plateau. From the bottom of the crevasse large
currents of lava meandered down the flanks of the mountain, indicating
the path of the eruptive matter down to the lower valleys which
furrowed the north of the island.

The interior of the crater, which had an inclination of thirty-five or
forty degrees, was easily scaled. They saw on the way traces of ancient
lava, which had probably gushed from the summit of the cone before the
lateral opening had given it a new way of escape. As to the volcano
chimney which communicated with the subterranean abyss, its depth could
not be estimated by the eye, for it was lost in obscurity; but there
seemed no doubt that the volcano was completely extinct. Before 8
o’clock, the party were standing at the summit of the crater, on a
conical elevation of the northern side.

“The sea! the sea everywhere!” was the universal exclamation. There it
lay, an immense sheet of water around them on every side. Perhaps Smith
had hoped that daylight would reveal some neighboring coast or island.
But nothing appeared to the horizon-line, a radius of more than fifty
miles. Not a sail was in sight. Around the island stretched a desert
infinity of ocean.

Silent and motionless, they surveyed every point of the horizon. They
strained their eyes to the uttermost limit of the ocean. But even
Pencroff, to whom Nature had given a pair of telescopes instead of
eyes, and who could have detected land even in the faintest haze upon
the sea-line, could see nothing. Then they looked down upon their
island, and the silence was broken by Spilett:—

“How large do you think this island is?”

It seemed small enough in the midst of the infinite ocean.

Smith thought awhile, noticed the circumference of the island, and
allowed for the elevation.

“My friends,” he said, “if I am not mistaken, the coast of the island
is more than 100 miles around.”

“Then its surface will be—”

“That is hard to estimate; the outline is so irregular.”

If Smith was right, the island would be about the size of Malta or
Zante in the Mediterranean; but it was more irregular than they, and at
the same time had fewer capes, promontories, points, bays, and creeks.
Its form was very striking. When Spilett drew it they declared it was
like some fantastic sea beast, some monstrous pteropode, asleep on the
surface of the Pacific.

The exact configuration of the island may thus be described:—The
eastern coast, upon which the castaways had landed, was a decided
curve, embracing a large bay, terminating at the southeast in a sharp
promontory, which the shape of the land had hidden from Pencroff on his
first exploration. On the northeast, two other capes shut in the bay,
and between them lay a narrow gulf like the half-open jaws of some
formidable dog-fish. From northeast to northwest the coast was round
and flat, like the skull of a wild beast; then came a sort of
indeterminate hump, whose centre was occupied by the volcanic mountain.
From this point the coast ran directly north and south. For two-thirds
of its length it was bordered by a narrow creek; then it finished in
along cue, like the tail of a gigantic alligator. This cue formed a
veritable peninsula, which extended more than thirty miles into the
sea, reckoning from the southeastern cape before mentioned. These
thirty miles, the southern coast of the island, described an open bay.
The narrowest part of the island, between the Chimneys and the creek,
on the west, was ten miles wide, but its greatest length, from the jaw
in the northeast to the extremity of the southwestern peninsula, was
not less than thirty miles.

The general aspect of the interior was as follows:—The southern part,
from the shore to the mountain, was covered with woods; the northern
part was arid and sandy. Between the volcano and the eastern coast the
party were surprised to see a lake, surrounded by evergreens, whose
existence they had not suspected. Viewed from such a height it seemed
to be on the same level with the sea, but, on reflection, the engineer
explained to his companions that it must be at least 300 feet higher,
for the plateau on which it lay was as high as that of the coast.

“So, then, it is a fresh water lake?” asked Pencroff.

“Yes,” said the engineer, “for it must be fed by the mountain streams.”

“I can see a little river flowing into it,” said Herbert, pointing to a
narrow brook whose source was evidently in the spurs of the western
cliff.

“True,” said Smith, “and since this brook flows into the lake, there is
probably some outlet towards the sea for the overflow. We will see
about that when we go back.”

This little winding stream and the river so familiar to them were all
the watercourses they could see. Nevertheless, it was possible that
under those-masses of trees which covered two-thirds of the island,
other streams flowed towards the sea. This seemed the more probable
from the fertility of the country and its magnificent display of the
flora of the temperate zone. In the northern section there was no
indication of running water; perhaps there might be stagnant pools in
the swampy part of the northeast, but that was all; in the main this
region was composed of arid sand-hills and downs, contrasting strongly
with the fertility of the larger portion.

The volcano did not occupy the centre of the island. It rose in the
northwest, and seemed to indicate the dividing line of the two zones.
On the southwest, south, and southeast, the beginnings of the spurs
were lost in masses of verdure. To the north, on the contrary, these
ramifications were plainly visible, subsiding gradually to the level of
the sandy plain. On this side, too, when the volcano was active, the
eruptions had taken place, and a great bed of lava extended as far as
the narrow jaw which formed the northeastern gulf.

They remained for an hour at the summit of the mountain. The island lay
stretched before them like a plan in relief, with its different tints,
green for the forests, yellow for the sands, blue for the water. They
understood the configuration of the entire island; only the bottoms of
the shady valleys and the depths of the narrow gorges between the spurs
of the volcano, concealed by the spreading foliage, escaped their
searching eye.

There remained a question of great moment, whose answer would have a
controlling influence upon the fortunes of the castaways. Was the
island inhabited? It was the reporter who put this question, which
seemed already to have been answered in the negative by the minute
examination which they had just made of the different portions of the
island. Nowhere could they perceive the handiwork of man; no late
settlement on the beach, not even a lonely cabin or a fisherman’s hut.
No smoke, rising on the air, betrayed a human presence. It is true, the
observers were thirty miles from the long peninsula which extended to
the southwest, and upon which even Pencroff’s eye could hardly have
discovered a dwelling. Nor could they raise the curtain of foliage
which covered three-fourths of the island to see whether some village
lay sheltered there. But the natives of these little islands in the
Pacific usually live on the coast, and the coast seemed absolutely
desert. Until they should make a more complete exploration, they might
assume that the island was uninhabited. But was it ever frequented by
the inhabitants of neighboring islands? This question was difficult to
answer. No land appeared within a radius of fifty miles. But fifty
miles could easily be traversed by Malay canoes or by the larger
pirogues of the Polynesians. Everything depended upon the situation of
the island—on its isolation in the Pacific, or its proximity to the
archipelagoes. Could Smith succeed, without his instruments, in
determining its latitude and longitude? It would be difficult, and in
the uncertainty, they must take precautions against an attack from
savage neighbors.

The exploration of the island was finished, its configuration
determined, a map of it drawn, its size calculated, and the
distribution of its land and water ascertained. The forests and the
plains had been roughly sketched upon the reporter’s map. They had only
now to descend the declivities of the mountain, and to examine into the
animal, vegetable, and mineral resources of the country. But before
giving the signal of departure, Cyrus Smith, in a calm, grave voice,
addressed his companions.

“Look, my friends, upon this little corner of the earth, on which the
hand of the Almighty has cast us. Here, perhaps, we may long dwell.
Perhaps, too, unexpected help will arrive, should some ship chance to
pass. I say _chance_, because this island is of slight importance,
without even a harbor for ships. I fear it is situated out of the usual
course of vessels, too far south for those which frequent the
archipelagoes of the Pacific, too far north for those bound to
Australia round Cape Horn. I will not disguise from you our situation.”

“And you are right, my dear Cyrus,” said the reporter, eagerly. “You
are dealing with men. They trust you, and you can count on them. Can he
not, my friends?”

“I will obey you in everyting [sic], Mr. Smith,” said Herbert, taking
the engineer’s hand.

“May I lose my name,” said the sailor, “if I shirk my part! If you
choose, Mr. Smith, we will make a little America here. We will build
cities, lay railroads, establish telegraphs, and some day, when the
island is transformed and civilized, offer her to the United States.
But one thing I should like to ask.”

“What Is that?” said the reporter.

“That we should not consider ourselves any longer as castaways, but as
colonists.”

Cyrus Smith could not help smiling, and the motion was adopted. Then
Smith thanked his companions, and added that he counted upon their
energy and upon the help of Heaven.

“Well, let’s start for the Chimneys,” said Pencroff.

“One minute, my friends,” answered the engineer; “would it not be well
to name the island, as well as the capes, promontories, and
water-courses, which we see before us?”

“Good,” said the reporter. “That will simplify for the future the
instructions which we may have to give or to take.”

“Yes,” added the sailor, “it will be something gained to be able to say
whence we are coming and where we are going. We shall seem to be
somewhere.”

“At the Chimneys, for instance,” said Herbert.

“Exactly,” said the sailor. “That name has been quite convenient
already, and I was the author of it. Shall we keep that name for our
first encampment, Mr. Smith?”

“Yes, Pencroff, since you baptized it so.”

“Good! the others will be easy enough,” resumed the sailor, who was now
in the vein. “Let us give them names like those of the Swiss family
Robinson, whose story Herbert has read me more than once:—’Providence
Bay,’ ‘Cochalot Point,’ ‘Cape Disappointment.’“

“Or rather Mr. Smith’s name, Mr. Spilett’s, or Neb’s,” said Herbert.

“My name!” cried Neb, showing his white teeth.

“Why not?” replied Pencroff, “‘Port Neb’ would sound first-rate! And
‘Cape Gideon’—”

“I would rather have names, taken from our country,” said the reporter,
“which will recall America to us.”

“Yes,” said Smith, “the principal features, the bays and seas should be
so named. For instance, let us call the great bay to the east Union
Bay, the southern indentation Washington Bay, the mountain on which we
are standing Mount Franklin, the lake beneath our feet Lake Grant.
These names will recall our country and the great citizens who have
honored it; but for the smaller features, let us choose names which
will suggest their especial configuration. These will remain in our
memory and be more convenient at the same time. The shape of the island
is so peculiar that we shall have no trouble in finding appropriate
names. The streams, the creeks, and the forest regions yet to be
discovered we will baptize as they come. What say you, my friends?”

The engineer’s proposal was unanimously applauded. The inland bay
unrolled like a map before their eyes, and they had only to name the
features of its contour and relief. Spilett would put down the names
over the proper places, and the geographical nomenclature of the island
would be complete. First, they named the two bays and the mountain as
the engineer had suggested.

“Now,” said the reporter, “to that peninsula projecting from the
southwest I propose to give the name of Serpentine Peninsula, and to
call the twisted curve at the termination of it Reptile End, for it is
just like a snake’s tail.”

“Motion carried,” said the engineer.

“And the other extremity of the island,” said Herbert, “the gulf so
like an open pair of jaws, let us call it Shark Gulf.”

“Good enough,” said Pencroff, “and we may complete the figure by
calling the two sides of the gulf Mandible Cape.”

“But there are two capes,” observed the reporter.

“Well, we will have them North Mandible and South Mandible.”

“I’ve put them down,” said Spilett.

“Now we must name the southwestern extremity of the island,” said
Pencroff.

“You mean the end of Union Bay?” asked. Herbert.

“Claw Cape,” suggested Neb, who wished to have his turn as godfather.
And he had chosen an excellent name; for this Cape was very like the
powerful claw of the fantastic animal to which they had compared the
island. Pencroff was enchanted with the turn things were taking, and
their active imaginations soon supplied other names. The river which
furnished them with fresh water, and near which the balloon had cast
them on shore, they called the Mercy, in gratitude to Providence. The
islet on which they first set foot, was Safety Island; the plateau at
the top of the high granite wall above the Chimneys, from which the
whole sweep of the bay was visible, Prospect Plateau; and, finally,
that mass of impenetrable woods which covered Serpentine Peninsula, the
Forests of the Far West.

The engineer had approximately determined, by the height and position
of the sun, the situation of the island with reference to the cardinal
points, and had put Union Bay and Prospect Plateau to the east; but on
the morrow, by taking the exact time of the sun’s rising and setting,
and noting its situation at the time exactly intermediate, he expected
to ascertain precisely the northern point of the island; for, on
account of its situation on the Southern Hemisphere, the sun at the
moment of its culmination would pass to the north, and not to the
south, as it does in the Northern Hemisphere.

All was settled, and the colonists were about to descend the mountain,
when Pencroff cried:—

“Why, what idiots we are!”

“Why so?” said Spilett, who had gotten up and closed his note-book.

“We have forgotten to baptize our island!”

Herbert was about to propose to give it the name of the engineer, and
his companions would have applauded the choice, when Cyrus Smith said
quietly:—

“Let us give it the name of a great citizen, my friends, of the
defender of American unity! Let us call it Lincoln Island!”

They greeted the proposal with three hurrahs.




CHAPTER XII.


REGULATION OF WATCHES—PENCROFF IS SATISFIED—A SUSPICIOUS SMOKE—THE
COURSE OF RED CREEK—THE FLORA OF THE ISLAND—ITS FAUNA—MOUNTAIN
PHEASANTS—A KANGAROO CHASE—THE AGOUTI—LAKE GRANT—RETURN TO THE
CHIMNEYS.


The colonists of Lincoln Island cast a last look about them and walked
once around the verge of the crater. Half an hour afterwards they were
again upon the lower plateau, at their encampment of the previous
night. Pencroff thought it was breakfast time, and so came up the
question of regulating the watches of Smith and Spilett. The reporter’s
chronometer was uninjured by the sea water, as he had been cast high up
on the sand beyond the reach of the waves. It was an admirable
time-piece, a veritable pocket chronometer, and Spilett had wound it up
regularly every day. The engineer’s watch, of course, had stopped while
he lay upon the downs. He now wound it up, and set it at 9 o’clock,
estimating the time approximately by the height of the sun. Spilett was
about to do the same, when the engineer stopped him.

“Wait, my dear Spilett,” said he. “You have the Richmond time, have you
not?”

“Yes.”

“Your watch, then, is regulated by the meridian of that city, which is
very nearly that of Washington?”

“Certainly.”

“Well, keep it so. Wind it up carefully, but do not touch the hands.
This may be of use to us.”

“What’s the use of that?” thought the sailor.

They made such a hearty meal, that little was left of the meat and
pistachio-nuts; but Pencroff did not trouble himself about that. Top,
who had not been forgotten in the feast, would certainly find some new
game in the thicket. Besides, the sailor had made up his mind to ask
Smith to make some powder and one or two shot-guns, which, he thought,
would be an easy matter.

As they were leaving the plateau, Smith proposed to his companions to
take a new road back to the Chimneys. He wished to explore Lake Grant,
which lay surrounded so beautifully with trees. They followed the crest
of one of the spurs in which the creek which fed the lake probably had
its source. The colonists employed in conversation only the proper
names which they had just devised, and found that they could express
themselves much more easily. Herbert and Pencroff, one of whom was
young and the other something of a child, were delighted, and the
sailor said as they walked along:—

“Well, Herbert, this is jolly! We can’t lose ourselves now, my boy,
since, whether we follow Lake Grant or get to the Mercy through the
woods of the Far West, we must come to Prospect Plateau, and so to
Union Bay.”

It had been agreed that, without marching in a squad, the colonists
should not keep too far apart. Dangerous wild beasts surely inhabited
the forest recesses, and they must be on their guard. Usually Pencroff,
Herbert, and Neb walked in front, preceded by Top, who poked his nose
into every corner. The reporter and engineer walked together, the
former ready to note down every incident, the latter seldom speaking,
and turning aside only to pick up sometimes one thing, sometimes
another, vegetable or mineral, which he put in his pocket without
saying a word.

“What, the mischief, is he picking up?” muttered Pencroff. “There’s no
use in looking; I see nothing worth the trouble of stooping for.”

About 10 o’clock the little company descended the last declivities of
Mount Franklin. A few bushes and trees were scattered over the ground.
They were walking on a yellowish, calcined soil, forming a plain about
a mile long, which extended to the border of the wood. Large fragments
of that basalt which, according to Bischof’s theory, has taken
350,000,000 years to cool, strewed the uneven surface of the plain. Yet
there was no trace of lava, which had especially found an exit down the
northern declivities. Smith thought they should soon reach the creek,
which he expected to find flowing under the trees by the plain, when he
saw Herbert running back, and Neb and the sailor hiding themselves
behind the rocks.

“What’s the matter, my boy?” said Spilett.

“Smoke,” answered Herbert. “We saw smoke ascending from among the
rocks, a hundred steps in front.”

“Men in this region!” cried the reporter.

“We must not show ourselves till we know with whom we have to deal,”
answered Smith. “I have more fear than hope of the natives, if there
are any such on the island. Where is Top?”

“Top is on ahead.”

“And has not barked?”

“No.”

“That is strange. Still, let us try to call him back.”

In a few moments the three had rejoined their companions, and had
hidden themselves, like Neb and Pencroff, behind the basalt rubbish.
Thence they saw, very evidently, a yellowish smoke curling into the
air. Top was recalled by a low whistle from his master, who motioned to
his comrades to wait, and stole forward under cover of the rocks. In
perfect stillness the party awaited the result, when a call from Smith
summoned them forward. In a moment they were by his side, and were
struck at once by the disagreeable smell which pervaded the atmosphere.
This odor, unmistakable as it was, had been sufficient to reassure the
engineer.

“Nature is responsible for that fire,” he said, “or rather for that
smoke. It is nothing but a sulphur spring, which will be good for our
sore throats.”

“Good!” said Pencroff; “what a pity I have not a cold!”

The colonists walked towards the smoke. There they beheld a spring of
sulphate of soda, which flowed in currents among the rocks, and whose
waters, absorbing the oxygen of the air, gave off a lively odor of
sulpho-hydric acid. Smith dipped his hand into the spring and found it
oily. He tasted it, and perceived a sweetish savor. Its temperature he
estimated at 95° Fahrenheit; and when Herbert asked him on what he
based his estimate:—

“Simply, my boy,” said he, “because when I put my hand into this water,
I have no sensation either of heat or of cold. Therefore, it is at the
same temperature as the human body, that is, about 95°.”

Then as the spring of sulphur could be put to no present use, the
colonists walked towards the thick border of the forest, a few hundred
paces distant. There, as they had thought, the brook rolled its bright
limpid waters between high, reddish banks, whose color betrayed the
presence of oxide of iron. On account of this color, they instantly
named the water course Red Creek. It was nothing but a large mountain
brook, deep and clear, here, flowing quietly over the lands, there,
gurgling amid rocks, or falling in a cascade, but always flowing
towards the lake. It was a mile and a half long; its breadth varied
from thirty to forty feet. Its water was fresh, which argued that those
of the lake would be found the same—a fortunate occurrence, in case
they should find upon its banks a more comfortable dwelling than the
Chimneys.

The trees which, a few hundred paces down stream overshadowed the banks
of the creek, belonged principally to the species which abound in the
temperate zone of Australia or of Tasmania, and belong to those
conifers which clothed the portion of the island already explored, some
miles around Prospect Plateau. It was now the beginning of April, a
month which corresponds in that hemisphere to our October, yet their
leaves had not begun to fall. They were, especially, casuarinæ and
eucalypti, some of which, in the ensuing spring, would furnish a
sweetish manna like that of the East. Clumps of Australian cedars rose
in the glades, covered high with that sort of moss which the
New-Hollanders call _tussocks_; but the cocoa-palm, so abundant in the
archipelagoes of the Pacific, was conspicuous by its absence. Probably
the latitude of the island was too low.

“What a pity!” said Herbert, “such a useful tree and such splendid
nuts!”

There were flocks of birds on the thin boughs of the eucalypti and the
casuarinæ, which gave fine play to their wings. Black, white, and grey
cockatoos, parrots and parroquets of all colors, king-birds, birds of
paradise, of brilliant green, with a crowd of red, and blue lories,
glowing with every prismatic color, flew about with deafening clamors.
All at once, a strange volley of discordant sounds seemed to come from
the thicket. The colonists heard, one after another, the song of birds,
the cries of four-footed beasts, and a sort of clucking sound strangely
human. Neb and Herbert rushed towards the thicket, forgetting the most
elementary rules of prudence. Happily, there was neither formidable
wild beast nor savage native, but merely half-a-dozen of those mocking
birds which they recognized as “mountain pheasants.” A few skillfully
aimed blows with a stick brought this parody to an end, and gave them
excellent game for dinner that evening. Herbert also pointed out superb
pigeons with bronze-colored wings, some with a magnificent crest,
others clad in green, like their congeners at Port-Macquarie; but like
the troops of crows and magpies which flew about, they were beyond
reach. A load of small-shot would have killed hosts of them; but the
colonists had nothing but stones and sticks, very insufficient weapons.
They proved even more inadequate when a troop of quadrupeds leaped away
through the underbrush with tremendous bounds thirty feet long, so that
they almost seemed to spring from tree to tree, like squirrels.

“Kangaroos!” cried Herbert.

“Can you eat them?” said Pencroff.

“They make a delicious stew,” said the reporter.

The words had hardly escaped his lips, when the sailor, with Neb and
Herbert at his heels, rushed after the kangaroos. Smith tried in vain
to recall them, but equally in vain did they pursue the game, whose
elastic leaps left them far behind. After five minutes’ chase, they
gave it up, out of breath.

“You see, Mr. Smith,” said Pencroff, “that guns are a necessity. Will
it be possible to make them?”

“Perhaps,” replied the engineer; “but we will begin by making bows and
arrows, and you will soon use them as skilfully as the Australian
hunters.”

“Bows and arrows!” said Pencroff, with a contemptuous look. “They are
for children!”

“Don’t be so proud, my friend,” said the reporter. “Bows and arrows
were sufficient for many centuries for the warfare of mankind. Powder
is an invention of yesterday, while war, unhappily, is as old as the
race.”

“That’s true, Mr. Spilett,” said the sailor. “I always speak before I
think. Forgive me.”

Meanwhile Herbert, with his Natural History always uppermost in his
thoughts, returned to the subject of kangaroos.

“Those which escaped us,” he said, “belong to the species most
difficult to capture—very large, with long grey hair, but I am sure
there are black and red kangaroos, rock-kangaroos, kangaroo-rats—”

“Herbert,” said the sailor, “for me there is only one kind—the
‘kangaroo-on-the-spit’—and that is just what we haven’t got.”

They could not help laughing at Professor Pencroff’s new
classification. He was much cast down at the prospect of dining on
mountain-phesants; but chance was once more kind to him. Top, who felt
his dinner at stake, rushed hither and thither, his instinct quickened
by sharp appetite. In fact, he would have left very little of what he
might catch or any one else, had not Neb watched him shrewdly. About 3
o’clock he disappeared into the rushes, from which came grunts and
growls which indicated a deadly tustle. Neb rushed in, and found Top
greedily devouring an animal, which in ten seconds more would have
totally disappeared. But the dog had luckily fallen on a litter, and
two more rodents—for to this species did the beasts belong—lay
strangled on the ground. Neb reappeared in triumph with a rodent in
each hand. They had yellow hair, with patches of green, and the
rudiments of a tail. They were a sort of agouti, a little larger than
their tropical congeners, true American hares, with long ears and five
molar teeth on either side.

“Hurrah!” cried Pencroff, “the roast is here; now we can go back to the
house.”

The journey was resumed. Red Creek still rolled its limped waters under
the arching boughs of casuarence, bankseas and gigantic gum trees.
Superb liliaceæ rose, to a height of twenty feet, and other arborescent
trees of species unknown to the young naturalist, bent over the brook,
which murmered gently beneath its leafy cradle. It widened sensibly,
nevertheless, and the mouth was evidently near. As the party emerged
from a massive thicket of fine trees, the lake suddenly appeared before
them.

They were now on its left bank, and a picturesque region opened to
their view. The smooth sheet of water, about seven miles in
circumference and 250 acres in extent, lay sleeping among the trees.
Towards the east, across the intermittent screen of verdure, appeared a
shining horizon of sea. To the north the curve of the lake was concave,
contrasting with the sharp outline of its lower extremity. Numerous
aquatic birds frequented the banks of this little Ontario, in which the
“Thousand Isles” of its American original were represented by a rock
emerging from its surface some hundreds of feet from the southern bank.
There lived in harmony several couples of kingfishers, perched upon
rocks, grave and motionless, watching for fish; then they would plunge
into the water and dive with a shrill cry, reappearing with the prey in
their beaks. Upon the banks of the lake and the island were constantly
strutting wild ducks, pelicans, water-hens and red-beaks. The waters of
the lake were fresh and limpid, somewhat dark, and from the concentric
circles on its surface, were evidently full of fish.

“How beautiful this lake is!” said Spilett. “We could live on its
banks.”

“We will live there!” answered Smith.

The colonists, desiring to get back to the Chimneys by the shortest
route, went down towards the angle formed at the south by the junction
of the banks. They broke a path with much labor through the thickets
and brush wood, hitherto untouched by the hand of man, and walked
towards the seashore, so as to strike it to the north of Prospect
Plateau. After a two miles’ walk they came upon the thick turf of the
plateau, and saw before them the infinite ocean.

To get back to the Chimneys they had to walk across the plateau for a
mile to the elbow formed by the first bend of the Mercy. But the
engineer was anxious to know how and where the overflow of the lake
escaped. It was probable that a river existed somewhere pouring through
a gorge in the granite. In fine, the lake was an immense receptacle
gradually filled at the expense of the creek, and its overflow must
somehow find a way down to the sea. Why should they not utilize this
wasted store of water-power? So they walked up the plateau, following
the banks of Lake Grant, but after a tramp of a mile, they could find
no outlet.

It was now half-past 4, and dinner had yet to be prepared. The party
returned upon its track, and reached the Chimneys by the left bank of
the Mercy. Then the fire was lighted, and Neb and Pencroff, on whom
devolved the cooking, in their respective characters of negro and
sailor, skilfully broiled the agouti, to which the hungry explorers did
great honor. When the meal was over, and just as they were settling
themselves to sleep, Smith drew from his pocket little specimens of
various kinds of minerals, and said quietly,

“My friends, this is iron ore, this pyrites, this clay, this limestone,
this charcoal. Nature gives us these as her part in the common task.
To-morrow we must do our share!”




CHAPTER XIII.


TOP’S CONTRIBUTION—MAKING BOWS AND ARROWS—A BRICK-KILN—A
POTTERY—DIFFERENT COOKING UTENSILS—THE FIRST BOILED MEAT—MUGWORT—THE
SOUTHERN CROSS—AN IMPORTANT ASTRONOMICAL OBSERVATION.


“Now then, Mr. Smith, where shall we begin?” asked Pencroff the next
morning.

“At the beginning,” answered the engineer.

And this, indeed, was necessary, as the colonists did not even possess
implements with which to make implements. Neither were they in that
condition of nature which “having time,” economizes effort; the
necessities of life must be provided for at once, and, if profiting by
experience they had nothing to invent, at least they had everything to
make. Their iron and steel was in the ore, their pottery was in the
clay, their linen and clothes were still to be provided.

It must be remembered, however, that these colonists were _men_, in the
best sense of the word. The engineer Smith could not have been aided by
comrades more intelligent, or more devoted and zealous. He had
questioned them, and knew their ability.

The reporter, having learned everything so as to be able to speak of
everything, would contribute largely from his knowledge and skill
towards the settlement of the island. He would not shirk work; and, a
thorough sportsman, he would follow as a business what he had formerly
indulged in as a pastime. Herbert, a manly lad, already well versed in
natural science, would contribute his share to the common cause. Neb
was devotion personified. Adroit, intelligent, indefatigable, robust,
of iron constitution, knowing something of the work in a smithy, his
assistance would be considerable. As to Pencroff, he had sailed every
sea, had been a carpenter in the Brooklyn yards, an assistant tailor on
board ship, and, during hie leaves of absence, a gardener, farmer,
etc.; in short, like every sailor, he was a Jack-of-all-trades.

Indeed, it would have been hard to bring together five men, more able
to struggle against fate, and more certain to triumph in the end.

“At the beginning,” Smith had said. And this beginning was the
construction of an apparatus which would serve to transform the natural
substances. Every one knows what an important part heat plays in these
transformations. Therefore, as wood and coal were already provided it
was only necessary to make an oven to utilize them.

“What good is an oven,” asked Pencroff.

“To make the pottery that we want,” replied Smith.

“And how will we make an oven?”

“With bricks.”

“And how will we make the bricks?”

“With the clay. Come, friends. We will set up our factory at the place
of production, so as to avoid carriage. Neb will bring the provisions,
and we shall not lack fire to cook food.”

“No,” replied the reporter, “but suppose we lack food, since we have no
hunting implements?”

“If we only had a knife!” cried the sailor,

“What, then?” asked Smith.

“Why, I would make a bow and arrows. And game would be plenty in the
larder.”

“A knife. Something that will cut,” said the engineer, as if talking to
himself.

Suddenly his face brightened:

“Come here, Top,” he called.

The dog bounded to his master, and Smith having taken off the collar
which the animal had around his neck, broke it into halves, saying:—

“Here are two knives, Pencroff.”

For all response, the sailor gave a couple of cheers. Top’s collar was
made from a thin piece of tempered steel. All that was therefore
necessary was to rub it to an edge upon a sand-stone, and then to
sharpen it upon one of finer grain. These kind of stones were readily
procurable upon the beach, and in a couple of hours the implements of
the colony consisted of two strong blades, which it was easy to fasten
into solid handles. The overcoming of this first difficulty was greeted
as a triumph and it was indeed a fortunate event.

On setting out, it was the intention of the engineer to return to the
western bank of the lake, where he had noticed the clay, of which he
had secured a specimen. Following the bank of the Mercy they crossed
Prospect Plateau, and after a walk of about five miles, they arrived at
a glade some 200 paces distant from Lake Grant.

On the way, Herbert had discovered a tree from which the South American
Indians make bows. It was the “crejimba,” of the palm family. From it
they cut long straight branches, which they peeled and shaped into
bows. For cords they took the fibres of the “hibiscus heterophyltus”
(Indian hemp), a malvaceous plant, the fibres of which are as strong as
the tendons of an animal. Pencroff, having thus provided bows, only
needed arrows. Those were easily made from straight, stiff branches,
free from knots, but it was not so easy to arm them with a substitute
for iron. But Pencroff said that he had accomplished this much, and
that chance would do the rest.

The party had reached the place discovered the day before. The ground
was composed of that clay which is used in making bricks and tiles, and
was therefore just the thing for their purpose. The labor was not
difficult. It was only necessary to scour the clay with sand, mould the
bricks, and then bake them before a woo

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