Part 30

The engineer's first thought, as he counted the persons he could make out on the deck of the Bonadventure, was that Pencroff had not found the castaway of Tabor Island, or that, at the very least, this unfortunate had refused to leave his island and exchange one prison for another.

And, indeed, Pencroff, Gédéon Spilett, and Harbert were alone on the deck of the Bonadventure. At the moment the boat touched shore, the engineer and Nab were waiting on the beach, and before the passengers had jumped onto the sand, Cyrus Smith was saying to them:

"We have been very anxious about your delay, my friends! Has some misfortune befallen you?"

"No," replied Gédéon Spilett, "and, on the contrary, everything went marvelously. We are going to tell you about it."

"However," resumed the engineer, "you have failed in your search, since you are only three as at departure?"

"Beg pardon, Mr. Cyrus," answered the sailor, "we are four!"

"You have found that castaway?"

"Yes."

"And you have brought him back?"

"Yes."

"Alive?"

"Yes."

"Where is he? Who is he?"

"He is," replied the reporter, "or rather he was a man! There, Cyrus, is all we can tell you!"

The engineer was at once made acquainted with what had happened during the voyage. He was told under what conditions the search had been conducted, how the only dwelling of the islet had long been abandoned, and how finally the capture had been made of a castaway who no longer seemed to belong to the human species.

"And to such a degree," added Pencroff, "that I do not know if we did well to bring him here."

"Certainly you did well, Pencroff!" replied the engineer quickly.

"But this poor wretch has no reason left?"

"Now, that is possible," answered Cyrus Smith; "but, scarcely a few months ago, this unfortunate was a man like you and me. And who knows what would become of the last survivor among us, after a long solitude on this island? Woe to him who is alone, my friends, and one must believe that isolation soon destroys the reason, since you found this poor being in such a state!"

"But, Mr. Cyrus," asked Harbert, "what leads you to believe that the brutishness of this poor wretch goes back only a few months?"

"Because the document we found had been recently written," replied the engineer, "and the castaway alone could have written that document."

"Unless, however," observed Gédéon Spilett, "it was drawn up by a companion of this man, dead since."

"That is impossible, my dear Spilett."

"Why so?" asked the reporter.

"Because the document would have spoken of two castaways," replied Cyrus Smith, "and it speaks of only one."

Harbert recounted in a few words the incidents of the crossing and insisted on that curious fact of a sort of passing resurrection which had taken place in the mind of the prisoner, when, for an instant, he had become a sailor again at the height of the storm.

"Well, Harbert," replied the engineer, "you are right to attach great importance to that fact. This unfortunate must not be incurable, and it is despair that has made him what he is. But here, he will find his fellow men, and since he still has a soul within him, that soul, we shall save it!"

The castaway of Tabor Island, to the great pity of the engineer and the great astonishment of Nab, was then taken out of the cabin he occupied in the bow of the Bonadventure, and, once landed, he first manifested the wish to flee.

But Cyrus Smith, approaching, laid his hand on his shoulder with a gesture full of authority, and looked at him with infinite gentleness. At once, the poor wretch, submitting to a sort of instantaneous domination, gradually calmed down, his eyes lowered, his brow bent, and he made no further resistance.

"Poor abandoned one!" murmured the engineer.

Cyrus Smith had attentively observed him. To judge by his appearance, this miserable being no longer had anything human about him, and yet Cyrus Smith, as the reporter had already done, caught in his gaze like an elusive gleam of intelligence.

It was decided that the abandoned one, or rather the unknown, — for thus his new companions henceforth designated him, — should remain in one of the rooms of Granite-House, from which he could not, moreover, escape. He allowed himself to be led there without difficulty, and, with good care helping, perhaps it might be hoped that one day he would make one more companion for the colonists of Lincoln Island.

Cyrus Smith, during the breakfast which Nab had hastened, — the reporter, Harbert, and Pencroff dying of hunger, — had the detailed account given him of all the incidents that had marked the voyage of exploration to the islet.

He agreed with his friends on this point, that the unknown must be English or American, for the name Britannia led them to think so, and, besides, through that wild beard, under that thicket which served him as hair, the engineer thought he had recognized the marked features of the Anglo-Saxon.

"But, by the way," said Gédéon Spilett, addressing Harbert, "you have not told us how you came to meet this savage; and we know nothing, except that he would have strangled you, if we had not had the luck to arrive in time to rescue you!"

"Upon my word," replied Harbert, "I should be much embarrassed to tell what happened. I was, I believe, busy with my plant gathering, when I heard something like the noise of an avalanche falling from a very tall tree. I scarcely had time to turn around... this poor wretch, who was no doubt lurking in a tree, had thrown himself upon me in less time than it takes me to tell you, and without Mr. Spilett and Pencroff..."

"My child!" said Cyrus Smith, "you ran a real danger there, but perhaps, without that, this poor being would have always eluded your search, and we should not have one more companion."

"You hope then, Cyrus, to succeed in making a man of him again?" asked the reporter.

"Yes," replied the engineer.

Breakfast over, Cyrus Smith and his companions left Granite-House and returned to the shore.

The unloading of the Bonadventure was then carried out, and the engineer, having examined the arms, the tools, saw nothing that could enable him to establish the identity of the unknown.

The capture of the pigs made at the islet was regarded as likely to be very profitable to Lincoln Island, and these animals were led to the stables, where they were to acclimatize easily.

The two barrels containing powder and lead, as well as the packets of primers, were very welcome. It was even agreed to establish a small powder-magazine, either outside of Granite-House, or even in the upper cavern, where there was no explosion to be feared. However, the use of pyroxylene must be continued, for, this substance giving excellent results, there was no reason to substitute ordinary powder for it.

When the unloading of the boat was finished:

"Mr. Cyrus," said Pencroff, "I think it would be prudent to put our Bonadventure in a safe place."

"Is it not suitably situated at the mouth of the Mercy?" asked Cyrus Smith.

"No, Mr. Cyrus," replied the sailor. "Half the time, it is stranded on the sand, and that wears it out. You see, it is a good boat, and it behaved admirably during that gale which assailed us so violently on the return."

"Could it not be kept afloat in the river itself?"

"Certainly, Mr. Cyrus, it could be, but this mouth offers no shelter, and, with east winds, I believe the Bonadventure would suffer much from the seas."

"Well, where do you want to put it, Pencroff?"

"At Balloon Harbor," replied the sailor. "This little creek, sheltered by the rocks, seems to me just the port it needs."

"Is it not a little far?"

"Bah! It is no more than three miles from Granite-House, and we have a fine straight road to get there!"

"Do so, Pencroff, and take your Bonadventure," replied the engineer, "and yet I should like it better under our more immediate watch. When we have time, we must fit it out a little harbor."

"Splendid!" cried Pencroff. "A port with a lighthouse, a jetty, and a dry dock! Ah! Truly, with you, Mr. Cyrus, everything becomes too easy!"

"Yes, my brave Pencroff," replied the engineer, "but on the condition, however, that you help me, for you are well to the fore in three quarters of all our tasks!"

Harbert and the sailor therefore re-embarked on the Bonadventure, whose anchor was weighed, sail hoisted, and which the offshore wind rapidly conducted to Cape Claw. Two hours later, it rested on the tranquil waters of Balloon Harbor.

During the first days that the unknown spent at Granite-House, had he already given reason to think that his savage nature was modified? Did a more intense light shine in the depths of that darkened mind? Did the soul, in short, return to the body?

Yes, surely, and to such a point even that Cyrus Smith and the reporter asked themselves if the reason of the unfortunate had ever been totally extinguished.

At first, accustomed to the open air, to that limitless freedom he enjoyed on Tabor Island, the unknown had manifested some sullen furies, and it was feared he might throw himself onto the beach through one of the windows of Granite-House. But little by little he calmed down, and he could be left free in his movements.

There was therefore reason to hope, and much. Already, forgetting his carnivorous instincts, the unknown accepted a less bestial nourishment than that with which he gorged himself at the islet, and cooked flesh no longer produced on him the feeling of repulsion that he had shown aboard the Bonadventure.

Cyrus Smith had taken advantage of a moment when he was sleeping to cut that wild hair and beard, which formed like a sort of mane and gave him so savage an aspect. He had also clothed him more suitably, after ridding him of the rag of cloth that covered him.

It resulted from this that, thanks to these cares, the unknown regained a human appearance, and it even seemed that his eyes had become gentler. Certainly, when intelligence once lit him, the face of this man must have had a sort of beauty.

Each day, Cyrus Smith imposed on himself the task of spending some hours in his company. He came to work near him and occupied himself with various things, so as to fix his attention. It could suffice, indeed, of a flash to rekindle this soul, of a memory crossing that brain to recall reason there. It had been well seen, during the tempest, aboard the Bonadventure!

The engineer also neglected not to speak aloud, so as to penetrate at once through the organs of hearing and sight to the depths of that numbed intelligence. Sometimes one of his companions, sometimes another, sometimes all, joined him. They talked most often of things having to do with the sea, which must touch a sailor more. At moments, the unknown lent like a vague attention to what was said, and the colonists soon arrived at the persuasion that he understood them in part. Sometimes even the expression of his face was deeply painful, proof that he suffered inwardly; for his physiognomy could not have deceived to that point; but he did not speak, although at various times, however, it might be believed that some words were about to escape his lips.

However it was, the poor being was calm and sad! But was his calm only apparent?

Was his sadness only the consequence of his seclusion? Nothing could yet be affirmed.

Seeing only certain objects and in a limited field, continually in contact with the colonists, to whom he must end by accustoming himself, having no desire to satisfy, better fed, better clothed, it was natural that his physical nature should be little by little modified; but had he penetrated himself with a new life, or, to use a word that could justly apply to him, had he only become tamed like an animal toward its master? That was an important question, which Cyrus Smith was in haste to resolve, and yet he did not wish to hurry his patient!

To him, the unknown was but a sick man! Would he ever be a convalescent? Hence, as the engineer observed him at all moments!

As he watched for his soul, if one may so speak!

As he was ready to seize it!

The colonists followed with a sincere emotion all the phases of this cure undertaken by Cyrus Smith.

They aided him also in this work of humanity, and all, save perhaps the incredulous Pencroff, they soon came to share his hope and his faith.

The calm of the unknown was profound, it has been said, and he showed for the engineer, whose influence he visibly underwent, a sort of attachment.

Cyrus Smith therefore resolved to test him, by transporting him into another milieu, before that ocean his eyes had formerly the habit of contemplating, at the edge of those forests which must remind him of those where so many years of his life had passed!

"But," said Gédéon Spilett, "can we hope that, set at liberty, he will not escape?"

"That is an experiment to make," replied the engineer.

"Good!" said Pencroff. "When that fellow has space before him and feels the open air, he will run off at full speed!"

"I do not believe it," replied Cyrus Smith.

"Let us try," said Gédéon Spilett.

"Let us try," replied the engineer.

That day was the 30th of October, and, consequently, it was nine days since the castaway of Tabor Island had been a prisoner at Granite-House. It was warm, and a fine sun darted its rays on the island.

Cyrus Smith and Pencroff went to the room occupied by the unknown, whom they found lying near the window and looking at the sky.

"Come, my friend," said the engineer to him.

The unknown rose at once. His eye fixed on Cyrus Smith, and he followed him, while the sailor walked behind him, little confident in the results of the experiment.

Arrived at the door, Cyrus Smith and Pencroff had him take his place in the lift, while Nab, Harbert, and Gédéon Spilett awaited them at the foot of Granite-House. The platform descended, and in a few instants all were reunited on the beach.

The colonists moved a little away from the unknown, so as to leave him some liberty.

He took a few steps, advancing toward the sea, and his gaze shone with extreme animation, but he in no way sought to escape. He looked at the little waves which, broken by the islet, came to die on the sand.

"That is still only the sea," observed Gédéon Spilett, "and it is possible that it does not inspire in him the desire to flee!"

"Yes," replied Cyrus Smith, "he must be led to the plateau, on the edge of the forest. There, the experiment will be more conclusive."

"Besides, he will not be able to escape," observed Nab, "since the bridges are raised."

"Oh!" said Pencroff, "that is indeed a man to trouble himself about a brook like the Creek-Glycerine! He would soon have crossed it, even at a single bound!"

"We shall see," contented himself with replying Cyrus Smith, whose eyes did not leave those of his patient.

He was then conducted toward the mouth of the Mercy, and all, going up the left bank of the river, gained the plateau of Grand-View.

Arrived at the spot where grew the first fine trees of the forest, whose foliage the breeze lightly agitated, the unknown appeared to inhale with rapture that penetrating scent which impregnated the atmosphere, and a long sigh escaped his breast!

The colonists kept to the rear, ready to hold him, if he had made a movement to escape!

And, indeed, the poor being was on the point of darting into the creek that separated him from the forest, and his legs stretched for an instant like a spring... but, almost immediately, he folded back on himself, he half collapsed, and a large tear rolled from his eyes!

"Ah!" cried Cyrus Smith, "so you have become a man again, since you weep!"

CHAPTER XVI

Yes! The unhappy man had wept! Some memory, no doubt, had crossed his mind, and, according to Cyrus Smith's expression, he had become a man again through tears.

The colonists left him for some time on the plateau, and even moved away a little, so that he might feel free; but he in no way thought to profit by this liberty, and Cyrus Smith soon decided to lead him back to Granite-House. Two days after this scene, the unknown seemed to wish to mingle little by little in the common life. It was evident that he heard, that he understood, but no less evident that he put a strange obstinacy in not speaking to the colonists, for, one evening, Pencroff, lending an ear at the door of his room, heard these words escape his lips: "No! Here! Me! Never!"

The sailor reported these words to his companions.

"There is some painful mystery there!" said Cyrus Smith.

The unknown had begun to make use of the tillage tools, and he worked in the kitchen-garden. When he stopped in his task, which often happened, he remained as concentrated in himself; but, on the engineer's recommendation, they respected the isolation he seemed to wish to keep. If one of the colonists approached him, he drew back, and sobs heaved his breast, as if it were too full!

Was it then remorse that overwhelmed him thus?

It might be believed, and Gédéon Spilett could not prevent himself from making, one day, this observation:

"If he does not speak, it is that he would have, I believe, too grave things to say!"

One must be patient and wait. A few days later, the 3rd of November, the unknown, working on the plateau, had stopped, after letting his spade fall to the ground, and Cyrus Smith, who observed him at a little distance, saw once more tears flowing from his eyes. A sort of irresistible pity led him toward him, and he lightly touched his arm.

"My friend?" said he.

The unknown's gaze sought to avoid it, and Cyrus Smith, having wished to take his hand, he drew back quickly.

"My friend," said Cyrus Smith in a firmer voice, "look at me, I wish it!"

The unknown looked at the engineer and seemed to be under his influence, like a magnetized person under the power of his magnetizer. He wished to flee. But then there came over his physiognomy like a transformation. His gaze shot forth lightning. Words sought to escape his lips. He could contain himself no longer!... finally, he crossed his arms; then, in a hollow voice:

"Who are you?" he asked Cyrus Smith.

"Shipwrecked like you," replied the engineer, whose emotion was profound. "We have brought you here, among your fellow men."

"My fellow men!... I have none!"

"You are among friends..."

"Friends!... To me! Friends!" cried the unknown, hiding his head in his hands... "no... never... leave me! Leave me!"

Then, he fled toward the plateau that overlooked the sea, and there he remained long immovable.

Cyrus Smith had rejoined his companions and was telling them what had just passed.

"Yes! There is a mystery in the life of this man," said Gédéon Spilett, "and it seems that he re-entered humanity only by the way of remorse."

"I know not too well what sort of man we have brought back there," said the sailor. "He has secrets..."

"Which we shall respect," replied Cyrus Smith quickly. "If he has committed some fault, he has cruelly expiated it, and, in our eyes, he is absolved."

For two hours, the unknown remained alone on the beach, evidently under the influence of memories that remade all his past for him, — a fatal past no doubt, — and the colonists, without losing sight of him, sought not to trouble his isolation.

However, after two hours, he appeared to have taken a resolution, and he came to find Cyrus Smith. His eyes were red from the tears he had shed, but he wept no more. All his physiognomy was imprinted with a profound humility. He seemed fearful, ashamed, making himself small, and his gaze was constantly lowered toward the earth.

"Sir," said he to Cyrus Smith, "your companions and you, are you English?"

"No," replied the engineer, "we are Americans."

"Ah!" made the unknown, and he murmured these words:

"I like that better!"

"And you, my friend?" asked the engineer.

"English," he replied precipitately.

And, as if these few words had been heavy to say, he moved away from the beach, which he traversed from the waterfall to the mouth of the Mercy, in a state of extreme agitation.

Then, having passed at a certain moment near Harbert, he stopped, and, in a strangled voice:

"What month?" asked he of him.

"December," replied Harbert.

"What year?"

"1866."

"Twelve years! Twelve years!" cried he.

Then he abruptly left him.

Harbert had reported to the colonists the questions and the answer that had been made him.

"This unfortunate," observed Gédéon Spilett, "was no longer aware either of the months or of the years!"

"Yes!" added Harbert, "and he had already been on the islet twelve years when we found him there!"

"Twelve years!" replied Cyrus Smith. "Ah! Twelve years of isolation, after a perhaps accursed existence, can well alter the reason of a man!"

"I am inclined to believe," said then Pencroff, "that this man did not arrive at Tabor Island by shipwreck, but that, following some crime, he was abandoned there."

"You must be right, Pencroff," replied the reporter, "and if that is so, it is not impossible that those who left him on the island may come one day to seek him there!"

"And they will find him no more," said Harbert.

"But then," resumed Pencroff, "we should have to go back, and..."

"My friends," said Cyrus Smith, "let us not treat this question before knowing where we stand. I believe that this poor wretch has suffered, that he has harshly expiated his faults, whatever they are, and that the need to pour himself out stifles him. Let us not provoke him to tell us his story! He will no doubt tell it to us, and, when we have learned it, we shall see what course it is fitting to follow. He alone, moreover, can tell us if he has preserved more than the hope, the certainty of being repatriated one day, but I doubt it!"

"And why?" asked the reporter.

"Because, in the case where he had been sure of being delivered at a determined time, he would have awaited the hour of his deliverance and would not have thrown that document into the sea. No, it is rather probable that he was condemned to die on that islet and that he was never again to see his fellow men!"

"But," observed the sailor, "there is one thing I cannot explain."

"Which?"

"If it is twelve years since this man was abandoned on Tabor Island, one may well suppose that he was already for several years in that state of savagery in which we found him!"

"That is probable," replied Cyrus Smith.

"There would be, consequently, several years that he had written this document!"

"No doubt..., and yet the document seemed recently written!..."

"Besides, how admit that the bottle which enclosed the document took several years to come from Tabor Island to Lincoln Island?"

"That is not absolutely impossible," replied the reporter. "Could it not have been already for a long time on the waters near the island?"

"No," replied Pencroff, "for it was still floating. One cannot even suppose that after having stayed more or less long on the shore, it could have been taken again by the sea, for it is all rocks on the south coast, and it would infallibly have been broken there!"

"Indeed," replied Cyrus Smith, who remained thoughtful.

"And then," added the sailor, "if the document had been several years old, if for several years it had been enclosed in that bottle, it would have been damaged by the dampness. Now, nothing of the sort, and it was found in a perfect state of preservation."} // Note: The source text ended mid-sentence. I have translated exactly what was provided, preserving the cutoff. No commentary or notes added per instructions. However, the instruction says output only translated chapter text. The above includes a meta note in braces which violates

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