Part 5

But this forest was composed only of conifers, such as the deodars, already recognized by Harbert, "douglas" firs, similar to those that grow on the northwest coast of America, and admirable spruces, measuring a hundred and fifty feet in height. At this moment, a flight of small birds with pretty plumage, long and iridescent tails, scattered among the branches, shedding their loosely attached feathers, which covered the ground with a fine down. Harbert picked up some of these feathers, and, after examining them:

"These are 'couroucous,'" he said.

"I should have preferred a guinea fowl or a grouse," answered Pencroff; "but still, if they are good to eat?..."

"They are good to eat, and even their flesh is very delicate," resumed Harbert. "Besides, if I am not mistaken, it is easy to approach them and kill them with a stick."

The sailor and the young boy, slipping between the grasses, arrived at the foot of a tree whose lower branches were covered with small birds. These couroucous waited for the insects that served them as food to pass by. Their feathered feet could be seen tightly gripping the middle shoots that served them as support.

The hunters then straightened up, and, with their sticks wielded like a scythe, they swept entire rows of these couroucous, who did not think of flying away and let themselves be stupidly struck down. A hundred already littered the ground, when the others decided to flee.

"Well," said Pencroff, "here is game quite within the reach of hunters such as we! One could take it by hand!"

The sailor threaded the couroucous, like larks, on a flexible twig, and the exploration continued. It could be observed that the stream curved slightly, so as to form a hook toward the south, but this detour was probably not prolonged, for the river must take its source in the mountain and be fed by the melting of the snows that lined the flanks of the central cone.

The particular object of this excursion was, as we know, to procure for the inhabitants of the Chimneys the greatest possible quantity of game. It could not be said that the goal had thus far been attained. Hence the sailor actively pursued his search, and grumbled when some animal, which he had not even time to recognize, fled between the tall grasses. If only he had had Top the dog!

But Top had disappeared at the same time as his master and had probably perished with him!

Toward three o'clock in the afternoon, new flocks of birds were glimpsed through certain trees, whose aromatic berries they were pecking, among others junipers. Suddenly, a veritable trumpet call resounded in the forest. These strange and sonorous fanfares were produced by those gallinaceous birds called "grouse" in the United States.

Soon several pairs were seen, with plumage variegated in fawn and brown, and brown tails. Harbert recognized the males by the two pointed winglets formed by the raised feathers of their necks. Pencroff judged it indispensable to seize one of these gallinaceous birds, as large as a hen, and whose flesh is worth that of the hazel grouse. But it was difficult, for they would not allow themselves to be approached. After several unsuccessful attempts, which had no other result than to frighten the grouse, the sailor said to the young boy:

"Decidedly, since they cannot be killed on the wing, we must try to take them on the line."

"Like a carp?" cried Harbert, very surprised at the proposal.

"Like a carp," answered the sailor seriously.

Pencroff had found in the grasses half a dozen grouse nests, each having two to three eggs. He took great care not to touch these nests, to which their owners could not fail to return. It was around them that he imagined setting his lines—not noose lines, but true hook lines. He took Harbert some distance from the nests, and there he prepared his singular devices with the care that a disciple of Isaac Walton would have brought. Harbert followed this work with an easily understood interest, while doubting its success. The lines were made of thin vines, tied one to another and fifteen to twenty feet long. Large very strong thorns, with recurved points, furnished by a bush of dwarf acacias, were tied to the ends of the vines in lieu of hooks. As for bait, large red worms that crawled on the ground served the purpose.

This done, Pencroff, passing between the grasses and skillfully hiding, went to place the end of his hook-armed lines near the grouse nests; then he came back to take the other end and hid with Harbert behind a large tree. Both then waited patiently. Harbert, it must be said, did not count much on the success of the inventive Pencroff. A good half-hour elapsed, but, as the sailor had foreseen, several pairs of grouse returned to their nests. They hopped about, pecking the ground, and in no way suspecting the presence of the hunters, who, moreover, had taken care to place themselves to leeward of the gallinaceous birds.

Certainly the young boy, at that moment, felt very keenly interested. He held his breath, and Pencroff, eyes wide, mouth open, lips thrust forward as if he were about to taste a morsel of grouse, scarcely breathed.

Meanwhile, the gallinaceous birds walked among the hooks, without troubling themselves too much about them. Pencroff then gave little jerks that agitated the baits, as if the worms were still alive.

Surely the sailor, at that moment, felt an emotion far stronger than that of the angler, who, he, does not see his prey coming through the waters.

The jerks soon awakened the attention of the gallinaceous birds, and the hooks were attacked with blows of the beak. Three grouse, very greedy no doubt, swallowed at once bait and hook. Suddenly, with a sharp pull, Pencroff "struck" his gear, and beatings of wings indicated to him that the birds were taken.

"Hurrah!" he cried, throwing himself toward this game, of which he made himself master in an instant.

Harbert had clapped his hands. It was the first time he had seen birds taken on the line, but the sailor, very modest, assured him that he was not at his first attempt, and that, besides, he had not the merit of the invention.

"And in any case," he added, "in the situation we are in, we must expect to see many stranger things!"

The grouse were tied by the feet, and Pencroff, happy not to be returning empty-handed and seeing that the day was beginning to decline, judged it fitting to return to his dwelling.

The direction to follow was clearly indicated by that of the river, of which it was only necessary to descend the course, and, toward six o'clock, rather fatigued by their excursion, Harbert and Pencroff re-entered the Chimneys.

CHAPTER VII

Gédéon Spilett, motionless, arms crossed, was then on the beach, looking at the sea, whose horizon merged in the east with a heavy black cloud that was rapidly rising toward the zenith. The wind was already strong, and it freshened with the decline of day. The whole sky had a threatening aspect, and the first symptoms of a gale were visibly manifesting themselves.

Harbert entered the Chimneys, and Pencroff directed himself toward the reporter. The latter, very absorbed, did not see him coming.

"We are going to have a bad night, Mr. Spilett!" said the sailor. "Rain and wind enough to delight the petrels!"

The reporter, turning then, perceived Pencroff, and his first words were these:

"At what distance from the coast did the boat, in your opinion, receive that sea which swept away our companion?"

The sailor did not expect this question. He reflected an instant and replied:

"Two cable lengths at most."

"But what is a cable length?" asked Gédéon Spilett.

"About a hundred and twenty fathoms or six hundred feet."

"Thus," said the reporter, "Cyrus Smith would have disappeared at twelve hundred feet at most from the shore?"

"About," answered Pencroff.

"And his dog too?"

"Also."

"What astonishes me," added the reporter, "admitting that our companion perished, is that Top should likewise have met death, and that neither the dog's body nor his master's has been cast up on the shore!"

"That is not astonishing, with a sea so heavy," answered the sailor. "Besides, it may be that the currents have carried them farther along the coast."

"Thus, it is indeed your opinion that our companion perished in the waves?" asked the reporter once more.

"It is my opinion."

"My opinion, for my part," said Gédéon Spilett, "saving what I owe to your experience, Pencroff, is that the double fact of the absolute disappearance of Cyrus and of Top, alive or dead, has something inexplicable and improbable about it."

"I should like to think as you do, Mr. Spilett," answered Pencroff. "Unfortunately, my conviction is made!"

That said, the sailor returned toward the Chimneys. A good fire crackled on the hearth. Harbert had just thrown on a armful of dry wood, and the flame cast great lights into the dark parts of the passage.

Pencroff at once occupied himself with preparing dinner. It seemed fitting to him to introduce into the menu some substantial piece, for all needed to repair their strength. The strings of couroucous were kept for the next day, but two grouse were plucked, and soon, spitted on a twig, the gallinaceous birds were roasting before a blazing fire.

At seven o'clock in the evening, Nab had not yet returned. This prolonged absence could but alarm Pencroff concerning the negro. He must fear either that some accident had befallen him on this unknown land, or that the poor fellow had done some act of despair. But Harbert drew from this absence consequences wholly different. For him, if Nab did not return, it was that some new circumstance had arisen, which had led him to prolong his search. Now, all that was new could be so only to the advantage of Cyrus Smith.

Why had Nab not come home, if some hope did not detain him? Perhaps he had found some clue, a footprint, a remnant of wreckage that had put him on the track? Perhaps he was following at that moment a certain trail? Perhaps he was near his master?...

Thus reasoned the young boy. Thus he spoke.

His companions let him talk. Alone, the reporter approved him by gesture. But, for Pencroff, what was probable was that Nab had pushed his researches on the shore farther than the day before, and that he could not yet be back.

Meanwhile, Harbert, much agitated by vague presentiments, manifested several times the intention of going to meet Nab. But Pencroff made him understand that this would be a useless errand, that, in this darkness and with this deplorable weather, he could not recover Nab's traces, and that it was better to wait. If the next day Nab had not reappeared, Pencroff would not hesitate to join Harbert in going in search of Nab.

Gédéon Spilett approved the sailor's opinion on this point that they must not divide themselves, and Harbert had to renounce his project; but two large tears fell from his eyes.

The reporter could not refrain from embracing the generous child.

The bad weather had absolutely set in. A southeast gale passed over the coast with unequalled violence. The sea was heard, which was then falling, to roar against the edge of the first rocks, off the shore. The rain, pulverized by the hurricane, rose like a liquid fog.

It was as if rags of vapor trailed along the coast, whose pebbles rustled violently, like carts of stones being emptied. The sand, lifted by the wind, mingled with the showers and made their assault unbearable. There was in the air as much mineral dust as aqueous dust. Between the mouth of the river and the side of the wall, great eddies whirled, and the layers of air that escaped from this maelstrom, finding no other outlet than the narrow valley at the bottom of which the stream rose, rushed into it with an irresistible violence. Hence the smoke of the hearth, driven back by the narrow throat, frequently rebounded, filling the passages and rendering them uninhabitable.

This is why, as soon as the grouse were cooked, Pencroff let the fire fall, and kept only embers buried under the ashes.

At eight o'clock, Nab had not yet reappeared; but it could now be admitted that this frightful weather alone had prevented his return, and that he must have sought refuge in some cavity, to await the end of the storm or at least the return of day. As for going to meet him, attempting to find him in such conditions, it was impossible.

The game formed the only dish of the supper. They ate willingly of this meat, which was excellent.

Pencroff and Harbert, whose long excursion had sharpened the appetite, devoured.

Then, each retired to the corner where he had already rested the previous night, and Harbert soon fell asleep near the sailor, who had stretched himself along the hearth. Outside, with the advancing night, the tempest took on formidable proportions. It was a gale comparable to that which had carried the prisoners from Richmond to this land of the Pacific. Frequent storms during these equinox times, fertile in catastrophes, terrible above all on this wide field, which opposes no obstacle to their fury! One understands then that a coast thus exposed to the east, that is to say directly to the blows of the hurricane, and struck full force, should be beaten with a strength of which no description can give an idea.

Very happily, the heap of rocks that formed the Chimneys was solid. They were enormous blocks of granite, some of which, however, insufficiently balanced, seemed to tremble on their base. Pencroff felt that, and under his hand, pressed to the walls, ran rapid quiverings. But in short he repeated to himself, and with reason, that there was nothing to fear, and that his improvised retreat would not collapse.

Nevertheless, he heard the noise of stones, detached from the top of the plateau and torn away by the eddies of the wind, that fell on the beach. Some even rolled to the upper part of the Chimneys, or flew there in fragments, when they were projected perpendicularly. Twice, the sailor rose and came crawling to the mouth of the passage, in order to observe outside. But these landslides, of little consequence, constituted no danger, and he resumed his place before the hearth, whose embers crackled under the ash.

Despite the furies of the hurricane, the clamor of the tempest, the thunder of the storm, Harbert slept profoundly. Sleep even ended by seizing Pencroff, whom his life as a sailor had accustomed to all these violences. Alone, Gédéon Spilett was kept awake by anxiety. He reproached himself for not having accompanied Nab. It has been seen that all hope had not abandoned him. The presentiments that had agitated Harbert had not ceased to agitate him also. His thought was concentrated on Nab. Why had Nab not returned? He turned on his bed of sand, giving scarcely a vague attention to this struggle of the elements.

At times, his eyes, heavy with fatigue, closed an instant, but some rapid thought reopened them almost immediately.

However, the night advanced, and it might be two o'clock in the morning, when Pencroff, profoundly asleep then, was vigorously shaken.

"What is it?" he cried, waking and recovering his ideas with that promptness peculiar to men of the sea.

The reporter was leaning over him, and said to him:

"Listen, Pencroff, listen!"

The sailor lent his ear and distinguished no noise foreign to that of the gusts.

"It is the wind," said he.

"No," answered Gédéon Spilett, listening again, "I thought I heard..."

"What?"

"The barking of a dog!"

"A dog!" cried Pencroff, who sprang up with a bound.

"Yes... barkings..."

"That is impossible!" answered the sailor. "And, besides, how, with the roarings of the storm..."

"Hark... listen..." said the reporter.

Pencroff listened more attentively, and he believed, indeed, in a moment of calm, to hear distant barkings.

"Well!..." said the reporter, pressing the sailor's hand.

"Yes... yes!..." answered Pencroff.

"It is Top! It is Top!..." cried Harbert, who had just awakened, and all three rushed toward the mouth of the Chimneys.

They had extreme difficulty in getting out. The wind pushed them back. But at last they succeeded, and could not keep their feet except by leaning against the rocks.

They looked, they could not speak.

The darkness was absolute. The sea, the sky, the earth, confounded in an equal intensity of shadows. It seemed that there was not an atom of diffused light in the atmosphere.

For some minutes, the reporter and his two companions remained thus, as crushed by the gust, soaked by the rain, blinded by the sand.

Then, they heard again these barkings in a respite of the storm, and they recognized that they must be rather far off.

It could be none but Top who barked thus!

But was he alone or accompanied? It is more probable that he was alone, for, admitting that Nab was with him, Nab would have directed himself in all haste toward the Chimneys.

The sailor pressed the reporter's hand, whose words he could not make himself heard above, and in a way that signified: "Wait!" then, he re-entered the passage. An instant after, he came out with a lighted fagot, he projected it into the darkness, and he uttered sharp whistles.

At this signal, which might have been expected, as one might believe, nearer barkings answered, and soon a dog precipitated himself into the passage.

Pencroff, Harbert and Gédéon Spilett re-entered it at his heels. An armful of dry wood was thrown on the coals. The passage lit up with a vivid flame.

"It is Top!" cried Harbert.

It was Top, indeed, a magnificent Anglo-Norman, who held from these two crossed breeds the speed of leg and the fineness of scent, the two qualities par excellence of the hunting dog.

It was the dog of the engineer Cyrus Smith.

But he was alone! Neither his master nor Nab accompanied him!

However, how had his instinct been able to lead him to the Chimneys, which he did not know? That seemed inexplicable, especially in the middle of this black night, and by such a tempest! But, a detail still more inexplicable, Top was neither fatigued, nor exhausted, nor even soiled with mud or sand!...

Harbert had drawn him near and pressed his head between his hands. The dog let himself be done, and rubbed his neck against the young boy's hands.

"If the dog is found, the master will be found also!" said the reporter.

"God grant it!" answered Harbert. "Let us go! Top will guide us!"

Pencroff made no objection. He felt well that the arrival of Top might give the lie to his conjectures.

"On the way!" said he.

Pencroff covered carefully the coals of the hearth.

He placed some pieces of wood under the ashes, so as to recover fire on return. Then, preceded by the dog, who seemed to invite him to come by little barkings, and followed by the reporter and the young boy, he dashed outside, after taking the remains of the supper.

The tempest was then in all its violence, and perhaps even at its maximum of intensity. The moon, then new, and, consequently, in conjunction with the sun, let not filter the least gleam through the clouds. To follow a straight route became difficult. The best was to trust to Top's instinct. Which was done. The reporter and the young boy walked behind the dog, and the sailor closed the march. No exchange of words would have been possible. The rain did not fall very abundantly, for it pulverized at the breath of the hurricane, but the hurricane was terrible.

However, one circumstance very happily favored the sailor and his two companions. Indeed, the wind drove from the southeast, and, consequently, it pushed them from behind. This sand that it projected with violence, and which would not have been bearable, they received from behind, and, on condition of not turning around, they could not be incommoded by it so as to hinder their march. In short, they often went faster than they wished, and precipitated their steps so as not to be overthrown, but an immense hope doubled their strength, and it was no longer at adventure, this time, that they went up the shore. They did not doubt that Nab had found his master, and that he had sent them the faithful dog. But was the engineer alive, or did Nab send for his companions only to render the last duties to the corpse of the unfortunate Smith?

After having passed the cut side of the high land of which they had prudently kept clear, Harbert, the reporter and Pencroff stopped to take breath. The return of the rock sheltered them from the wind, and they breathed after this quarter-hour walk, which had been rather a run.

At this moment, they could hear each other, answer each other, and the young boy having pronounced the name of Cyrus Smith, Top barked in little bursts, as if he would say that his master was saved.

"Saved, is it not?" repeated Harbert, "saved, Top?"

And the dog barked as if to answer.

The march was resumed. It was about half past two in the morning. The sea began to rise, and, pushed by the wind, this tide, which was a syzygy tide, threatened to be very strong. The great waves thundered against the edge of reefs, and assailed them with such violence, that, very probably, they must pass over the islet, absolutely invisible then. This long dike no longer covered the coast, which was directly exposed to the shocks of the open sea.

As soon as the sailor and his companions had detached themselves from the cut side, the wind struck them again with extreme fury. Bent, presenting their backs to the gust, they walked very fast, following Top, who hesitated not on the direction to take. They went up toward the north, having on their right an interminable crest of waves, that broke with a deafening crash, and on their left an obscure country whose aspect it was impossible to seize.

But they felt well that it must be relatively flat, for the hurricane now passed above them without taking them on the return, an effect that was produced when it struck the wall of granite.

At four o'clock in the morning, one could estimate that a distance of five miles had been crossed. The clouds had slightly lifted and no longer trailed on the ground. The gust, less humid, propagated itself in very swift currents of air, drier and colder. Insufficiently protected by their garments, Pencroff, Harbert and Gédéon Spilett must cruelly suffer, but not a complaint escaped their lips. They were decided to follow Top wherever the intelligent animal would lead them.

Toward five o'clock, day began to break. At the zenith first, where the vapors were less thick, some grayish shades cut the edge of the clouds, and soon, under an opaque band, a more luminous line clearly traced the sea horizon. The crest of the waves was slightly pricked with tawny gleams, and the foam became white again. At the same time, on the left, the broken parts of the shore began to be vaguely outlined, but it was still only gray on black.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”