Part 29

The exploration therefore continued. The sailor and his companions naturally followed the path that cut diagonally across the islet, and thus they came to skirt the stream that ran toward the sea.

If the animals of European origin, if certain works due to a human hand incontestably demonstrated that man had already come to this island, several specimens of the vegetable kingdom proved it no less. In certain places, amid clearings, it was visible that the ground had been planted with garden vegetables at a probably rather remote period. Accordingly, what was Harbert's joy when he recognized potatoes, chicory, sorrel, carrots, cabbages, turnips, of which it sufficed to gather the seed to enrich the soil of Lincoln Island!

"Good! Fine!" answered Pencroff. "That will suit Nab and ourselves nicely. So if we do not find the castaway, at least our voyage will not have been useless, and God will have rewarded us!"

"No doubt," replied Gédéon Spilett; "but from the state in which these plantations are found, one may fear that the islet has no longer been inhabited for a long time."

"Indeed," replied Harbert, "an inhabitant, whoever he might be, would not have neglected so important a cultivation!"

"Yes!" said Pencroff, "this castaway is gone!... that is to be supposed..."

"It must therefore be admitted that the document is already of old date?"

"Evidently."

"And that this bottle arrived at Lincoln Island only after having long floated on the sea?"

"Why not?" replied Pencroff. "-- but here is night coming," he added, "and I think it is better to suspend our researches."

"Let us return on board, and tomorrow we will begin again," said the reporter.

That was the wisest course, and the advice was about to be followed, when Harbert, pointing to a confused mass among the trees, cried:

"A dwelling!"

Immediately, all three directed their steps toward the indicated habitation. By the gleams of twilight, it was possible to see that it had been built of planks covered with a thick tarred canvas.

The door, half closed, was pushed back by Pencroff, who entered with a rapid step... the dwelling was empty!

CHAPTER XIV

Pencroff, Harbert and Gédéon Spilett had remained silent in the midst of the darkness.

Pencroff called out in a loud voice. No answer was made to him.

The sailor then struck his flint and lit a twig. This light illuminated for an instant a small room, which appeared to be absolutely abandoned. At the back was a rough fireplace, with some cold ashes, supporting an armful of dry wood. Pencroff threw the flaming twig there, the wood crackled and gave a bright glow.

The sailor and his two companions then perceived a disordered bed, whose covers, damp and yellowed, proved that it had not been used for a long time; in a corner of the fireplace, two rust-covered kettles and an overturned pot; a wardrobe, with some half-moldy sailor's clothes; on the table, a pewter plate and a Bible gnawed by damp; in an angle, a few tools, shovel, pickaxe, mattock, two fowling pieces, one of which was broken; on a plank forming a shelf, a barrel of powder still intact, a barrel of lead and several boxes of primers; all covered with a thick layer of dust, which long years, perhaps, had accumulated.

"There is no one," said the reporter.

"No one!" replied Pencroff.

"It is long since this room has been inhabited," observed Harbert.

"Yes, very long!" replied the reporter.

"Mr. Spilett," then said Pencroff, "instead of returning on board, I think it is better to spend the night in this dwelling."

"You are right, Pencroff," replied Gédéon Spilett, "and if its owner returns, well! he will perhaps not complain of finding the place taken!"

"He will not return!" said the sailor, shaking his head.

"You believe he has left the island?" asked the reporter.

"If he had left the island, he would have taken his arms and his tools," replied Pencroff. "You know the value castaways attach to these objects, which are the last wrecks of the shipwreck. No! no!" repeated the sailor in a convinced voice, "no! He has not left the island! If he had escaped in a boat made by himself, he would still less have abandoned these objects of primary necessity! No, he is on the island!"

"Living?..." asked Harbert.

"Living or dead. But if he is dead, he did not bury himself, I suppose," replied Pencroff, "and we shall at least find his remains!"

It was therefore agreed that they would spend the night in the abandoned dwelling, which a supply of wood found in a corner would permit to be sufficiently heated. The door closed, Pencroff, Harbert and Gédéon Spilett, seated on a bench, remained there, speaking little, but reflecting much. They were in a state of mind to suppose everything, as to expect everything, and they listened avidly to the noises from outside. The door might have suddenly opened, a man presented himself to them, they would not have been otherwise surprised, despite all that this dwelling revealed of abandonment, and they had their hands ready to clasp the hands of that man, of that castaway, of that unknown friend whom friends awaited!

But no noise was heard, the door did not open, and the hours thus passed. How long this night seemed to the sailor and his two companions! Alone, Harbert had slept for two hours, for, at his age, sleep is a need. They were all three eager to resume their exploration of the previous day and to search this islet even in its most secret corners! The deductions made by Pencroff were absolutely just, and it was almost certain that, since the house was abandoned and the tools, utensils, and arms were still found there, its host had succumbed. It was therefore fitting to seek his remains and to give them at least a Christian burial.

Day appeared. Pencroff and his companions immediately proceeded to the examination of the dwelling.

It had been built, truly, in a happy situation, on the reverse slope of a small hill that five or six magnificent gum trees sheltered. Before its facade and through the trees, the ax had contrived a wide clearing, which permitted the gaze to extend over the sea. A small lawn, surrounded by a wooden fence falling in ruins, led to the shore, on the left of which opened the mouth of the stream.

This dwelling had been constructed of planks, and it was easy to see that these planks came from the hull or the deck of a ship. It was therefore probable that a disabled vessel had been thrown onto the coast of the island, that at least one man of the crew had been saved, and that, by means of the debris of the ship, this man, having tools at his disposal, had constructed this dwelling.

And this was yet more evident, when Gédéon Spilett, after having gone around the dwelling, saw on a plank -- probably one of those which formed the bulwarks of the wrecked ship -- these letters already half effaced: Br.tan.. a

"Britannia!" cried Pencroff, whom the reporter had called, "that is a name common to many ships, and I could not say whether this one was English or American!"

"No matter, Pencroff!"

"No matter, indeed," replied the sailor, "and the survivor of its crew, if he still lives, we will save him, to whatever country he belongs! But, before recommencing our exploration, let us first return to the Bonadventure!"

A sort of uneasiness had seized Pencroff regarding his boat. If however the islet were inhabited, and if some inhabitant had seized... but he shrugged his shoulders at this unlikely supposition.

Be that as it may, the sailor was not sorry to go and breakfast on board. The road, moreover, was well marked, and not long -- barely a mile.

They therefore set out again, while searching with their eyes the woods and thickets, through which goats and pigs fled by the hundreds.

Twenty minutes after leaving the dwelling, Pencroff and his companions again saw the eastern coast of the island and the Bonadventure, held by its anchor, which bit deeply into the sand.

Pencroff could not restrain a sigh of satisfaction.

After all, this boat was his child, and the right of fathers is to be often anxious beyond reason.

They went on board, they breakfasted, in a manner to need to dine only very late; then, the meal finished, the exploration was resumed and conducted with the most minute care.

In short, it was very probable that the sole inhabitant of the islet had succumbed. It was therefore rather a dead man than a living one whose traces Pencroff and his companions sought to recover! But their researches were vain, and, during half the day, they uselessly searched the thickets of trees which covered the islet. It had then to be admitted that, if the castaway was dead, there no longer remained any trace of his corpse, and that some wild beast, no doubt, had devoured it to the last bone.

"We will depart tomorrow at daybreak," said Pencroff to his two companions, who, toward two o'clock in the afternoon, lay down in the shade of a clump of pines, in order to rest a few moments.

"I think we may without scruple," added Harbert, "carry off the utensils which belonged to the castaway?"

"I think so too," replied Gédéon Spilett, "and these arms, these tools will complete the equipment of Granite-House. If I am not mistaken, the reserve of powder and lead is important."

"Yes," replied Pencroff, "but let us not forget to capture one or two couples of these pigs, of which Lincoln Island is destitute..."

"Nor to gather these seeds," added Harbert, "which will give us all the vegetables of the old and new continent."

"It would perhaps then be fitting," said the reporter, "to remain one day longer at Tabor Island, in order to collect there all that may be useful to us."

"No, Mr. Spilett," replied Pencroff, "and I ask you to depart tomorrow at daybreak. The wind seems to me to have a tendency to shift to the west, and, after having had fair wind to come, we shall have fair wind to go away."

"Then let us lose no time!" said Harbert, rising.

"Let us lose no time," replied Pencroff. "You, Harbert, occupy yourself with gathering these seeds, which you know better than we. During this time, Mr. Spilett and I will go hunt the pigs, and, even in Top's absence, I hope well that we shall succeed in capturing some!"

Harbert therefore took through the path which was to bring him back to the cultivated part of the islet, while the sailor and the reporter went directly into the forest.

Many specimens of the porcine race fled before them, and these singularly agile animals did not appear disposed to let themselves be approached.

However, after half an hour of pursuit, the hunters had managed to seize a couple which had hidden in a thick thicket, when cries resounded a few hundred paces to the north of the islet. With these cries were mingled horrible croakings which had nothing human.

Pencroff and Gédéon Spilett straightened up, and the pigs profited by this movement to flee, at the moment when the sailor was preparing cords to tie them.

"It is Harbert's voice!" said the reporter.

"Let us run!" cried Pencroff.

And immediately the sailor and Gédéon Spilett bore with all the speed of their legs toward the spot from which these cries came.

They did well to hasten, for, at the turn of the path, near a clearing, they perceived the young boy overthrown by a wild being, a gigantic ape no doubt, who was about to do him a mischief.

To throw himself on this monster, overthrow it in turn, snatch Harbert from it, then hold it firmly, was the affair of an instant for Pencroff and Gédéon Spilett. The sailor was of herculean strength, the reporter very robust also, and, despite the resistance of the monster, it was solidly tied, so as to no longer be able to make a movement.

"You are not hurt, Harbert?" asked Gédéon Spilett.

"No! No!"

"Ah! If that ape had wounded you!..." cried Pencroff.

"But it is not an ape!" replied Harbert.

Pencroff and Gédéon Spilett, at these words, then looked at the singular being who lay on the ground. Truly, it was not an ape! It was a human creature, it was a man! But what a man! A savage, in the whole horrible acceptation of the word, and all the more frightful, that he seemed to have fallen to the last degree of brutishness!

Bristling hair, uncultivated beard descending to the chest, body nearly naked, save a rag of blanket about the loins, fierce eyes, enormous hands, disproportionately long nails, skin dark as mahogany, feet hardened as if made of horn: such was the miserable creature whom yet one must call a man!

But one had truly the right to ask if in this body there was still a soul, or if the common instinct of the brute alone survived in him!

"Are you quite sure that this is a man or that he has been one?" asked Pencroff of the reporter.

"Alas! It is not doubtful," replied the latter.

"Would this then be the castaway?" said Harbert.

"Yes," replied Gédéon Spilett, "but the unfortunate one no longer has anything human!"

The reporter spoke truly. It was evident that, if the castaway had ever been a civilized being, isolation had made a savage of him, and worse, perhaps, a true man of the woods. Hoarse sounds issued from his throat, between his teeth, which had the sharpness of the teeth of carnivores, made to grind no longer but raw flesh. Memory must have abandoned him long since, no doubt, and, long since also, he no longer knew how to use his tools, his arms, he no longer knew how to make fire! One saw that he was nimble, supple, but that all the physical qualities had developed in him to the detriment of the moral qualities!

Gédéon Spilett spoke to him. He did not appear to understand, nor even to hear... And yet, in looking him well in the eyes, the reporter thought he saw that all reason was not extinguished in him.

However, the prisoner did not struggle, and he did not try to break his bonds. Was he overwhelmed by the presence of these men of whom he had been the fellow? Did he recover in a corner of his brain some fugitive memory which brought him back to humanity? Free, would he have tried to flee, or would he have remained? One knows not, but one did not make the trial of it, and, after having considered the wretch with extreme attention:

"Whoever he is," said Gédéon Spilett, "whatever he has been and whatever he may become, our duty is to bring him back with us to Lincoln Island!"

"Yes! Yes!" replied Harbert, "and perhaps, with care, one may awaken in him some gleam of intelligence!"

"The soul does not die," said the reporter, "and it would be a great satisfaction to snatch this creature of God from brutishness!"

Pencroff shook his head with an air of doubt.

"It must be tried, in any case," replied the reporter, "and humanity commands it of us."

It was, indeed, their duty as civilized and Christian beings. All three understood it, and they well knew that Cyrus Smith would approve of their having acted thus.

"Shall we leave him tied?" asked the sailor.

"Perhaps he would walk, if his feet were untied?" said Harbert.

"Let us try," replied Pencroff.

The cords which hampered the prisoner's feet were undone, but his arms remained firmly tied. He rose of his own accord and did not appear to manifest any desire to flee. His dry eyes darted a keen glance at the three men who walked near him, and nothing denoted that he remembered being their fellow or at least having been so. A continuous whistling escaped his lips, and his aspect was wild, but he did not seek to resist. On the reporter's advice, this unfortunate was brought back to his house. Perhaps the sight of the objects which belonged to him would make some impression on him!

Perhaps a spark sufficed to revive his obscured thought, to relight his extinguished soul!

The dwelling was not far. In a few minutes, all arrived there; but there, the prisoner recognized nothing, and it seemed that he had lost consciousness of all things! What could one conjecture from this degree of brutishness to which this miserable being had fallen, if not that his imprisonment on the islet dated from far back already, and that, after arriving there reasonable, isolation had reduced him to such a state?

The reporter then had the idea that the sight of fire would perhaps act on him, and, in an instant, one of those fine blazes which even attract animals illuminated the hearth.

The sight of the flame seemed at first to fix the unhappy one's attention; but soon he drew back, and his unconscious gaze went out.

Evidently, there was nothing to be done, for the moment at least, but to bring him on board the Bonadventure, which was done, and there he remained under Pencroff's guard.

Harbert and Gédéon Spilett returned to the islet to finish their operations, and, some hours later, they came back to the shore, bringing the utensils and arms, a harvest of vegetable seeds, some pieces of game and two couples of pigs. All was embarked, and the Bonadventure held ready to weigh anchor, as soon as the tide of the next morning should make itself felt.

The prisoner had been placed in the forward cabin, where he remained calm, silent, deaf and mute all at once.

Pencroff offered him food, but he pushed back the cooked meat that was presented to him and which no doubt no longer suited him. And, indeed, the sailor having shown him one of the ducks that Harbert had killed, he threw himself on it with a bestial avidity and devoured it.

"You believe he will come back?" said Pencroff, shaking his head.

"Perhaps," replied the reporter. "It is not impossible that our care may end by reacting on him, for it is isolation which has made him what he is, and he will no longer be alone henceforth!"

"It is long, no doubt, that the poor man has been in this state!" said Harbert.

"Perhaps," replied Gédéon Spilett.

"What age can he be?" asked the young boy.

"That is difficult to say," replied the reporter, "for it is impossible to see his features under the thick beard which covers his face, but he is no longer young, and I suppose that he must be at least fifty years old."

"Have you noticed, Mr. Spilett, how deeply his eyes are sunk under their brow?" asked the young boy.

"Yes, Harbert, but I add that they are more human than one would be tempted to believe from the aspect of his person."

"Well, we shall see," replied Pencroff, "and I am curious to know the judgment that Mr. Smith will pronounce on our savage. We went to seek a human creature, and it is a monster that we bring back! At all events, one does what one can!"

The night passed, and if the prisoner slept or not, one knows not, but, in any case, although he had been untied, he did not move. He was like those wild beasts whom the first moments of sequestration overwhelm and whom rage seizes later. At daybreak, the next day -- 15 October -- the change of weather foreseen by Pencroff had produced itself. The wind had hauled to the north-west, and it favored the return of the Bonadventure; but, at the same time, it freshened and was to render the navigation more difficult.

At five o'clock in the morning, the anchor was weighed. Pencroff took a reef in his mainsail and put the helm east-north-east, so as to sail directly toward Lincoln Island.

The first day of the crossing was marked by no incident. The prisoner had remained calm in the forward cabin, and as he had been a sailor, it seemed that the agitations of the sea produced on him a sort of salutary reaction.

Did some memory of his former trade then return to him? In any case, he kept himself quiet, astonished rather than cast down.

The next day -- 16 October -- the wind freshened much, rising still more to the north, and, consequently, in a direction less favorable to the progress of the Bonadventure, which bounded on the waves. Pencroff was soon brought to sail as close as possible to the wind, and, without saying anything of it, he began to be uneasy at the state of the sea, which broke violently on the forepart of his boat.

Certainly, if the wind did not moderate, he would take more time to reach Lincoln Island than he had employed to gain Tabor Island. Indeed, on the 17th in the morning, it was forty-eight hours since the Bonadventure had departed, and nothing indicated that it was in the waters of the island. It was impossible, moreover, to evaluate the route traversed by dead reckoning, for the direction and speed had been too irregular.

Twenty-four hours later, there was still no land in sight. The wind was quite ahead then and the sea detestable. It was necessary to maneuver rapidly the sails of the boat, which heavy seas covered in great part, take reefs, and often change tack, running short boards. It even happened that, in the course of the 18th, the Bonadventure was entirely pooped by a wave, and if its passengers had not taken the precaution of tying themselves on deck beforehand, they would have been swept away.

On this occasion, Pencroff and his companions, very occupied in clearing the boat, received unexpected aid from the prisoner, who sprang through the hatchway, as if his sailor's instinct had taken the upper hand, and broke the bulwarks with a vigorous blow of a spar, in order to make the water which filled the deck flow off faster; then, the boat cleared, without having uttered a word, he went down again into his cabin.

Pencroff, Gédéon Spilett and Harbert, absolutely stupefied, had let him act.

However, the situation was bad, and the sailor had reason to believe himself lost on this immense sea, without any possibility of finding his route again!

The night of the 18th to the 19th was dark and cold. However, toward eleven o'clock, the wind calmed, the swell fell, and the Bonadventure, less shaken, acquired a greater speed. Besides, it had wonderfully held the sea.

Neither Pencroff, nor Gédéon Spilett, nor Harbert thought of taking even an hour of sleep. They watched with extreme care, for either Lincoln Island could not be far, and one would have knowledge of it at daybreak, or the Bonadventure, carried away by currents, had drifted to leeward, and it became almost impossible then to correct its direction.

Pencroff, uneasy to the last degree, did not however despair, for he had a strongly tempered soul, and, seated at the helm, he obstinately sought to pierce the thick shadow which enveloped him.

Toward two o'clock in the morning, he suddenly rose:

"A fire! A fire!" he cried.

And, indeed, a bright gleam appeared twenty miles to the north-east. Lincoln Island was there, and this gleam, evidently lit by Cyrus Smith, showed the route to follow.

Pencroff, who was bearing much too far to the north, modified his direction, and he put the helm on this fire which shone above the horizon like a star of the first magnitude.

CHAPTER XV

The next day -- 20 October -- at seven o'clock in the morning, after four days of voyage, the Bonadventure came gently to run aground on the beach, at the mouth of the Mercy.

Cyrus Smith and Nab, very uneasy at this bad weather and the prolonged absence of their companions, had mounted at dawn to the plateau of Grand-View, and they had at last perceived the boat which had so long delayed to return!

"Praised be God! There they are!" cried Cyrus Smith.

As for Nab, in his joy, he began to dance, to turn on himself clapping his hands and crying: "Oh! My master!" a pantomime more touching than the finest speech!

“Stories of the world, in your language.”