Part 20

The engineer therefore showed a certain eagerness to reach the western coast of Lincoln Island, which he estimated to be at least five miles distant.

The voyage was resumed, and although, by its present course, the Mercy seemed to be running not toward the shore but rather toward Mount Franklin, it was decided that the pirogue should be used as long as there was enough water under her keel to float. This saved much fatigue and also gained time, for it would have been necessary to hew a way with the ax through the thick underbrush.

But soon the tide failed entirely, either because the tide was ebbing—and indeed it should have been ebbing at that hour—or because it was no longer felt at that distance from the mouth of the Mercy. It was therefore necessary to take to the oars. Nab and Herbert took their places on the bench, Pencroff at the stern oar, and the ascent of the river was continued.

It then seemed that the forest was tending to thin out on the Far-West side. The trees there were less crowded and often stood isolated. But, precisely because they were more spaced apart, they enjoyed more freely that pure, open air which circulated around them, and they were magnificent. What splendid specimens of the flora of that latitude! Certainly their presence would have sufficed for a botanist to name without hesitation the parallel crossed by Lincoln Island!

“Eucalyptus!” cried Herbert.

They were indeed those superb plants, the last giants of the extra-tropical zone, the congeners of the eucalyptus of Australia and New Zealand, both situated on the same latitude as Lincoln Island. Some rose to a height of two hundred feet. Their trunks measured twenty feet in circumference at the base, and their bark, furrowed by the networks of a fragrant resin, was up to five inches thick. Nothing was more wonderful, but also more singular, than these enormous specimens of the myrtle family, whose foliage presented itself edgewise to the light and let the sun's rays reach the ground! At the foot of these eucalyptus, fresh grass carpeted the soil, and from the midst of the tufts flocks of little birds escaped, resplendent in the luminous jets like winged carbuncles.

“There are trees!” cried Nab, “but are they good for anything?”

“Pshaw!” replied Pencroff. “It must be with giant plants as with giant men. They serve hardly any purpose except to be shown at fairs!”

“I think you are mistaken, Pencroff,” replied Gideon Spilett, “and that eucalyptus wood is beginning to be used very advantageously in cabinetmaking.”

“And I will add,” said the young boy, “that these eucalyptus belong to a family which includes many useful members: the guava tree, which gives guavas; the clove tree, which produces cloves; the pomegranate, which bears pomegranates; the ‘eugenia cauliflora,’ whose fruits serve in the making of a passable wine; the myrtle ‘ugni,’ which contains an excellent alcoholic liqueur; the myrtle ‘caryophyllus,’ whose bark forms an esteemed cinnamon; the ‘eugenia pimenta,’ from which comes Jamaica pepper; the common myrtle, whose berries can replace pepper; the ‘eucalyptus robusta,’ which produces an excellent sort of manna; the ‘eucalyptus gunei,’ whose sap is transformed into beer by fermentation; finally all those trees known under the name of ‘trees of life’ or ‘ironwood,’ which belong to this family of myrtaceae, of which there are counted forty-six genera and thirteen hundred species!”

They let the young lad run on, as he delivered his little botany lesson with great spirit.

Cyrus Smith listened to him smiling, and Pencroff with a feeling of pride impossible to describe.

“Well done, Herbert,” replied Pencroff, “but I would dare swear that all those useful specimens you have just cited are not giants like these!”

“Indeed, Pencroff.”

“That then supports what I said,” rejoined the sailor, “namely: that giants are good for nothing!”

“That is where you are wrong, Pencroff,” said the engineer then, “and precisely these gigantic eucalyptus that shelter us are good for something.”

“And for what, pray?”

“For purifying the country they inhabit. — Do you know what they are called in Australia and New Zealand?”

“No, Mr. Cyrus.”

“They are called ‘fever trees.’”

“Because they give it?”

“No, because they prevent it!”

“Good. I will note that,” said the reporter.

“Note it then, my dear Spilett, for it appears proven that the presence of eucalyptus suffices to neutralize marsh miasmas. This natural preservative has been tried in certain regions of southern Europe and northern Africa, whose soil was absolutely unhealthy, and which have seen the sanitary condition of their inhabitants gradually improve. No more intermittent fevers in the regions covered by forests of these myrtaceae. This fact is now beyond doubt, and it is a fortunate circumstance for us, colonists of Lincoln Island.”

“Ah! What an island! What a blessed island!” cried Pencroff. “I tell you, it lacks nothing… except…”

“That will come, Pencroff, that will be found,” replied the engineer; “but let us resume our navigation, and push as far as the river can carry our pirogue!”

The exploration therefore continued, for at least two miles, in the midst of a country covered with eucalyptus, which dominated all the woods of this portion of the island. The space they covered extended beyond the range of sight on each side of the Mercy, whose bed, rather sinuous, then cut between high verdant banks. This bed was often obstructed with tall grasses and even sharp rocks which rendered navigation rather painful. The action of the oars was hindered, and Pencroff had to push with a pole. It was also felt that the bottom was gradually rising, and that the moment was not far off when the boat, for lack of water, would be obliged to stop. Already the sun was declining toward the horizon and casting upon the ground the disproportionate shadows of the trees. Cyrus Smith, seeing that he could not reach the western coast of the island that day, resolved to camp at the very spot where, for lack of water, navigation would necessarily be stopped. He estimated that he must still be five or six miles from the coast, and this distance was too great for him to attempt to cross it during the night in the midst of these unknown woods.

The boat was therefore pushed without respite through the forest, which by degrees grew thicker again and seemed more inhabited also, for, if the sailor's eyes did not deceive him, he thought he caught sight of bands of monkeys running under the thickets. Sometimes even two or three of these animals stopped at some distance from the boat and looked at the colonists without showing any fear, as if, seeing men for the first time, they had not yet learned to dread them. It would have been easy to fell these quadrupeds with rifle shots, but Cyrus Smith opposed this useless slaughter which somewhat tempted the furious Pencroff. Besides, it was prudent, for these monkeys, vigorous, endowed with extreme agility, could be formidable, and it was better not to provoke them by a perfectly inopportune aggression.

It is true that the sailor considered the monkey from a purely alimentary point of view, and indeed these animals, which are exclusively herbivorous, form excellent game; but, since provisions abounded, it was useless to spend ammunition to no purpose.

Toward four o'clock, the navigation of the Mercy became very difficult, for its course was obstructed with aquatic plants and rocks. The banks rose more and more, and already the bed of the river cut between the first foothills of Mount Franklin. Its sources could therefore not be far, since they were fed by all the waters of the southern slopes of the mountain.

“In a quarter of an hour,” said the sailor, “we shall be forced to stop, Mr. Cyrus.”

“Well, we will stop, Pencroff, and we will organize a camp for the night.”

“At what distance can we be from Granite House?” asked Herbert.

“About seven miles,” replied the engineer, “but taking into account, however, the windings of the river, which have carried us to the northwest.”

“Do we continue to go forward?” asked the reporter.

“Yes, and as long as we can do so,” replied Cyrus Smith. “Tomorrow, at daybreak, we will abandon the boat, we will cross in two hours, I hope, the distance that separates us from the coast, and we will have almost the whole day to explore the shore.”

“Forward!” replied Pencroff.

But soon the pirogue scraped the stony bottom of the river, whose width then did not exceed twenty feet. A thick bower of verdure arched above its bed and enveloped it in a half-obscurity. One also heard the rather pronounced noise of a waterfall, which indicated, a few hundred paces upstream, the presence of a natural dam.

And indeed, at a last turn of the river, a cascade appeared through the trees. The boat struck the bottom of the bed, and, a few moments later, it was moored to a trunk, near the right bank.

It was about five o'clock. The last rays of the sun slipped under the thick foliage and struck obliquely the little fall, whose humid dust resplended with the colors of the prism. Beyond, the bed of the Mercy disappeared under the thickets, where it was fed by some hidden source. The various streams which flowed into it on its course made of it lower down a veritable river, but then it was no more than a limpid and shallow brook.

They camped at this very spot, which was charming. The colonists landed, and a fire was lit under a clump of broad sycamores, among whose branches Cyrus Smith and his companions would, if need be, have found a refuge for the night.

Supper was soon devoured, for they were hungry, and nothing was spoken of but sleeping. But, some roarings of suspicious nature having been heard with the fall of day, the hearth was fed for the night, so as to protect the sleepers with its crackling flames. Nab and Pencroff even kept watch in turn and did not spare the fuel. Perhaps they were not mistaken, when they thought they saw some shadows of animals wandering around the camp, whether under the thicket or among the branches; but the night passed without accident, and the next day, October 31, at five o'clock in the morning, all were on their feet, ready to depart.

CHAPTER IV

It was at six o'clock in the morning that the colonists, after a first breakfast, set out again, with the intention of gaining by the shortest route the western coast of the island. In how much time could they reach it? Cyrus Smith had said in two hours, but that evidently depended on the nature of the obstacles that would present themselves. This part of the Far-West appeared closed in with woods, like an immense thicket composed of extremely varied species. It was therefore probable that they would have to cut a way through the grasses, the brushwood, the lianas, and march with ax in hand—and rifle also, no doubt, if one went by the cries of wild beasts heard in the night.

The exact position of the camp had been able to be determined by the situation of Mount Franklin, and, since the volcano rose in the north at a distance of less than three miles, it was only a matter of taking a rectilinear direction toward the southwest to reach the western coast.

They set out, after carefully securing the mooring of the pirogue. Pencroff and Nab carried provisions which were to suffice to feed the little troop for at least two days.

There was no longer any question of hunting, and the engineer even recommended to his companions to avoid any untimely detonation, so as not to signal their presence in the vicinity of the shore.

The first blows of the ax were given in the brushwood, amid thickets of mastic trees, a little above the cascade, and, his compass in hand, Cyrus Smith indicated the route to follow.

The forest was then composed of trees most of which had already been recognized around the lake and the plateau of Grand-View. They were deodars, douglas, casuarinas, gum trees, eucalyptus, dragon trees, hibiscus, cedars and other species, generally of medium size, for their number had hindered their development. The colonists could therefore advance only slowly on this route which they cut for themselves in walking, and which, in the engineer's thought, should later be connected to that of Red Creek. Since their departure, the colonists had been descending the low ramps which constituted the orographic system of the island, and over very dry ground, but whose luxuriant vegetation let one foresee either the presence of a hydrographic network inside the soil, or the near course of some brook.

However, Cyrus Smith did not remember, during his excursion to the crater, having recognized any other watercourse than those of Red Creek and the Mercy.

During the first hours of the excursion, bands of monkeys were again seen, which seemed to mark the liveliest astonishment at the sight of these men, whose aspect was new to them. Gideon Spilett pleasantly asked if these agile and robust quadrupeds did not consider him and his companions as degenerate brothers! And frankly, simple pedestrians, at each step hindered by the brushwood, stopped by the lianas, barred by tree trunks, did not shine beside these supple animals, who bounded from branch to branch and whom nothing stopped in their march. These monkeys were numerous, but, very fortunately, they manifested no hostile disposition.

Some wild boars were also seen, agoutis, kangaroos and other rodents, and two or three koalas, at whom Pencroff would willingly have directed some charges of lead.

“But,” said he, “the hunt is not open. Frisk about then, my friends, leap and fly in peace! We will have two words with you on the return!”

At half past nine in the morning, the route, which bore directly southwest, was suddenly barred by an unknown watercourse, thirty to forty feet wide, and whose swift current, provoked by the slope of its bed and broken by numerous rocks, precipitated itself with rough rumblings.

This creek was deep and clear, but it would have been absolutely unnavigable.

“We are cut off!” cried Nab.

“No,” replied Herbert, “it is only a brook, and we will know well how to cross it by swimming.”

“What is the use,” replied Cyrus Smith. “It is evident that this creek runs to the sea. Let us stay on its left bank, follow its shore, and I shall be much astonished if it does not lead us very promptly to the coast. Onward!”

“One moment,” said the reporter. “And the name of this creek, my friends? Let us not leave our geography incomplete.”

“Right!” said Pencroff.

“Name it, my child,” said the engineer, addressing the young boy.

“Is it not better to wait until we have recognized it to its mouth?” observed Herbert.

“So be it,” replied Cyrus Smith. “Let us follow it then without stopping.”

“One more moment!” said Pencroff.

“What is it?” asked the reporter.

“If the hunt is forbidden, fishing is permitted, I suppose,” said the sailor.

“We have no time to lose,” replied the engineer.

“Oh! five minutes!” rejoined Pencroff. “I ask you only five minutes in the interest of our breakfast!”

And Pencroff, lying down on the bank, plunged his arms into the lively waters and soon made some dozens of fine crayfish leap, which swarmed among the rocks.

“That will be good!” cried Nab, coming to the sailor's aid.

“When I tell you that except for tobacco, there is everything in this island!” murmured Pencroff with a sigh.

It did not take five minutes to make a miraculous catch, for the crayfish abounded in the creek. Of these crustaceans, whose shell presented a cobalt blue color, and who bore a rostrum armed with a small tooth, they filled a sack, and the route was resumed. Since they had been following the bank of this new watercourse, the colonists marched more easily and more rapidly. Besides, the shores were virgin of any human imprint. From time to time, some traces left by animals of large size were noticed, who came habitually to quench their thirst at this brook, but nothing more, and it was not yet in this part of the Far-West that the peccary had received the lead shot which cost Pencroff a molar.

However, in considering this rapid current which fled toward the sea, Cyrus Smith was led to suppose that his companions and he were much farther from the western coast than they believed. And indeed, at that hour, the tide was rising on the shore and would have had to turn back the course of the creek, if its mouth had been only a few miles away.

Now, this effect was not produced, and the thread of water followed the natural slope of the bed. The engineer must therefore have been very astonished, and he consulted his compass frequently, so as to assure himself that some hook of the river was not bringing him back to the interior of the Far-West.

However, the creek widened little by little, and its waters became less tumultuous. The trees of its right bank were as crowded as those of its left bank, and it was impossible for the sight to extend beyond; but these wooded masses were certainly deserted, for Top did not bark, and the intelligent animal would not have failed to signal the presence of any stranger in the neighborhood of the watercourse.

At half past ten, to the great surprise of Cyrus Smith, Herbert, who had gone a little ahead, suddenly stopped and cried: “The sea!”

And a few moments later, the colonists, halted on the edge of the forest, saw the western shore of the island unfold before their eyes.

But what a contrast between this coast and the east coast, on which chance had first cast them! No wall of granite, no reef offshore, not even a sandy beach. The forest formed the shoreline, and its last trees, beaten by the waves, leaned over the waters. This was not a shore, such as nature usually makes, either by extending vast carpets of sand or by grouping rocks, but an admirable border made of the finest trees in the world. The bank was raised so as to dominate the level of the highest seas, and on all this luxuriant soil, supported by a base of granite, the splendid forest species seemed to be as solidly implanted as those which massed in the interior of the island.

The colonists then found themselves at the notch of a small creek of no importance, which could not even have contained two or three fishing boats, and which served as a neck to the new creek; but, curious arrangement, its waters, instead of throwing themselves into the sea by a gently sloping mouth, fell from a height of more than forty feet—which explained why, at the hour when the tide was rising, it had not been felt upstream of the creek. Indeed, the tides of the Pacific, even at their maximum elevation, should never reach the level of the river, whose bed formed an upper reach, and millions of years, no doubt, would yet elapse before the waters had gnawed this granite sill and hollowed a practicable mouth. Also, by common accord, this watercourse was given the name of “Falls River.” Beyond, toward the north, the border, formed by the forest, extended over a space of about two miles; then the trees became rarer, and, beyond, very picturesque heights outlined themselves following an almost straight line, which ran north and south. On the contrary, in all the portion of the shore comprised between Falls River and Reptile Point, it was only wooded masses, magnificent trees, some straight, others leaning, whose roots the long undulation of the sea came to bathe. Now, it was toward this side, that is to say over all the Serpentine Peninsula, that the exploration must be continued, for this part of the shore offered refuges which the other, arid and savage, would evidently have refused to any shipwrecked men, whoever they might be.

The weather was fine and clear, and from the top of a cliff, on which Nab and Pencroff laid out breakfast, the gaze could extend far.

The horizon was perfectly clear, and there was not a sail offshore. On all the shore, as far as the eye could reach, not a vessel, not even a wreck. But the engineer would not consider himself well assured on this point until he had explored the coast to the very extremity of the Serpentine Peninsula.

Breakfast was quickly dispatched, and at half past eleven Cyrus Smith gave the signal for departure. Instead of traversing either the crest of a cliff or a sandy beach, the colonists had to follow the cover of the trees, so as to skirt the shoreline.

The distance which separated the mouth of Falls River from Reptile Point was about twelve miles. In four hours, over a practicable beach, and without hurrying, the colonists could have covered this distance; but they took double that time to reach their goal, for the trees to go around, the brushwood to cut, the lianas to break, stopped them unceasingly, and detours so multiplied singularly lengthened their route.

Besides, there was nothing that testified to a recent shipwreck on this shore. It is true, as Gideon Spilett observed, that the sea could have carried everything offshore, and that one must not conclude, from the fact that no trace of it was found, that a vessel had not been thrown onto this part of Lincoln Island.

The reporter's reasoning was just, and, moreover, the incident of the lead shot proved in an irrefutable manner that, within at most three months, a gunshot had been fired on the island.

It was already five o'clock, and the extremity of the Serpentine Peninsula was still two miles from the spot then occupied by the colonists. It was evident that, after having reached Reptile Point, Cyrus Smith and his companions would no longer have time to return, before sunset, to the camp which had been established near the sources of the Mercy. Hence, necessity of passing the night at the point itself. But provisions were not lacking, and this was fortunate, for fur game no longer showed itself on this border, which was only a shoreline, after all. On the contrary, birds swarmed there, jacamars, touracos, tragopans, grouse, lorises, parrots, cockatoos, pheasants, pigeons and a hundred others. Not a tree without a nest, not a nest not filled with beatings of wings!

Toward seven o'clock in the evening, the colonists, worn with fatigue, arrived at Reptile Point, a sort of volute strangely carved upon the sea. Here ended the riverside forest of the peninsula, and the shore, in all the southern part, resumed the accustomed aspect of a coast, with its rocks, its reefs and its beaches. It was therefore possible that a disabled vessel had run full upon this portion of the island, but night was coming, and the exploration had to be put off until the next day.

Pencroff and Herbert immediately hastened to seek a favorable spot in which to establish a camp. The last trees of the Far-West forest came to die at this point, and, among them, the young boy recognized thick clumps of bamboo.

“Good!” said he, “there is a precious discovery.”

“Precious?” replied Pencroff.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”