The Mysterious Island
“Stop here, my boy,” said the sailor; “we have to prepare an encampment,
and to try and find rather better grub than these shell-fish. Our
friends will want something when they come back. There is work for
everybody.”
“I am ready,” replied Herbert.
“All right,” said the sailor; “that will do. We must set about it
regularly. We are tired, cold, and hungry; therefore we must have
shelter, fire, and food. There is wood in the forest, and eggs in nests;
we have only to find a house.”
“Very well,” returned Herbert, “I will look for a cave among the rocks,
and I shall be sure to discover some hole into which we can creep.”
“All right,” said Pencroft; “go on, my boy.”
They both walked to the foot of the enormous wall over the beach, far
from which the tide had now retreated; but instead of going towards the
north, they went southward. Pencroft had remarked, several hundred feet
from the place at which they landed, a narrow cutting, out of which
he thought a river or stream might issue. Now, on the one hand it was
important to settle themselves in the neighborhood of a good stream
of water, and on the other it was possible that the current had thrown
Cyrus Harding on the shore there.
The cliff, as has been said, rose to a height of three hundred feet, but
the mass was unbroken throughout, and even at its base, scarcely washed
by the sea, it did not offer the smallest fissure which would serve as
a dwelling. It was a perpendicular wall of very hard granite, which even
the waves had not worn away. Towards the summit fluttered myriads of
sea-fowl, and especially those of the web-footed species with long,
flat, pointed beaks--a clamorous tribe, bold in the presence of man,
who probably for the first time thus invaded their domains. Pencroft
recognized the skua and other gulls among them, the voracious little
sea-mew, which in great numbers nestled in the crevices of the granite.
A shot fired among this swarm would have killed a great number, but to
fire a shot a gun was needed, and neither Pencroft nor Herbert had one;
besides this, gulls and sea-mews are scarcely eatable, and even their
eggs have a detestable taste. However, Herbert, who had gone forward
a little more to the left, soon came upon rocks covered with sea-weed,
which, some hours later, would be hidden by the high tide. On these
rocks, in the midst of slippery wrack, abounded bivalve shell-fish, not
to be despised by starving people. Herbert called Pencroft, who ran up
hastily.
“Here are mussels!” cried the sailor; “these will do instead of eggs!”
“They are not mussels,” replied Herbert, who was attentively examining
the molluscs attached to the rocks; “they are lithodomes.”
“Are they good to eat?” asked Pencroft.
“Perfectly so.”
“Then let us eat some lithodomes.”
The sailor could rely upon Herbert; the young boy was well up in natural
history, and always had had quite a passion for the science. His father
had encouraged him in it, by letting him attend the lectures of the best
professors in Boston, who were very fond of the intelligent, industrious
lad. And his turn for natural history was, more than once in the course
of time, of great use, and he was not mistaken in this instance. These
lithodomes were oblong shells, suspended in clusters and adhering
very tightly to the rocks. They belong to that species of molluscous
perforators which excavate holes in the hardest stone; their shell is
rounded at both ends, a feature which is not remarked in the common
mussel.
Pencroft and Herbert made a good meal of the lithodomes, which were
then half opened to the sun. They ate them as oysters, and as they had
a strong peppery taste, they were palatable without condiments of any
sort.
Their hunger was thus appeased for the time, but not their thirst, which
increased after eating these naturally-spiced molluscs. They had then to
find fresh water, and it was not likely that it would be wanting in such
a capriciously uneven region. Pencroft and Herbert, after having taken
the precaution of collecting an ample supply of lithodomes, with which
they filled their pockets and handkerchiefs, regained the foot of the
cliff.
Two hundred paces farther they arrived at the cutting, through which, as
Pencroft had guessed, ran a stream of water, whether fresh or not was to
be ascertained. At this place the wall appeared to have been separated
by some violent subterranean force. At its base was hollowed out a
little creek, the farthest part of which formed a tolerably sharp angle.
The watercourse at that part measured one hundred feet in breadth, and
its two banks on each side were scarcely twenty feet high. The river
became strong almost directly between the two walls of granite, which
began to sink above the mouth; it then suddenly turned and disappeared
beneath a wood of stunted trees half a mile off.
“Here is the water, and yonder is the wood we require!” said Pencroft.
“Well, Herbert, now we only want the house.”
The water of the river was limpid. The sailor ascertained that at this
time--that is to say, at low tide, when the rising floods did not reach
it--it was sweet. This important point established, Herbert looked for
some cavity which would serve them as a retreat, but in vain; everywhere
the wall appeared smooth, plain, and perpendicular.
However, at the mouth of the watercourse and above the reach of the high
tide, the convulsions of nature had formed, not a grotto, but a pile
of enormous rocks, such as are often met with in granite countries and
which bear the name of “Chimneys.”
Pencroft and Herbert penetrated quite far in among the rocks, by sandy
passages in which light was not wanting, for it entered through the
openings which were left between the blocks, of which some were only
sustained by a miracle of equilibrium; but with the light came also
air--a regular corridor-gale--and with the wind the sharp cold from the
exterior. However, the sailor thought that by stopping-up some of
the openings with a mixture of stones and sand, the Chimneys could be
rendered habitable. Their geometrical plan represented the typographical
sign “&,” which signifies “et cetera” abridged, but by isolating the
upper mouth of the sign, through which the south and west winds blew so
strongly, they could succeed in making the lower part of use.
“Here’s our work,” said Pencroft, “and if we ever see Captain Harding
again, he will know how to make something of this labyrinth.”
“We shall see him again, Pencroft,” cried Herbert, “and when he returns
he must find a tolerable dwelling here. It will be so, if we can make a
fireplace in the left passage and keep an opening for the smoke.”
“So we can, my boy,” replied the sailor, “and these Chimneys will serve
our turn. Let us set to work, but first come and get a store of fuel. I
think some branches will be very useful in stopping up these openings,
through which the wind shrieks like so many fiends.”
Herbert and Pencroft left the Chimneys, and, turning the angle, they
began to climb the left bank of the river. The current here was quite
rapid, and drifted down some dead wood. The rising tide--and it could
already be perceived--must drive it back with force to a considerable
distance. The sailor then thought that they could utilize this ebb and
flow for the transport of heavy objects.
After having walked for a quarter of an hour, the sailor and the boy
arrived at the angle which the river made in turning towards the left.
From this point its course was pursued through a forest of magnificent
trees. These trees still retained their verdure, notwithstanding the
advanced season, for they belonged to the family of “coniferae,” which
is spread over all the regions of the globe, from northern climates to
the tropics. The young naturalist recognized especially the “deedara,”
which are very numerous in the Himalayan zone, and which spread around
them a most agreeable odor. Between these beautiful trees sprang up
clusters of firs, whose opaque open parasol boughs spread wide around.
Among the long grass, Pencroft felt that his feet were crushing dry
branches which crackled like fireworks.
“Well, my boy,” said he to Herbert, “if I don’t know the name of these
trees, at any rate I reckon that we may call them ‘burning wood,’ and
just now that’s the chief thing we want.”
“Let us get a supply,” replied Herbert, who immediately set to work.
The collection was easily made. It was not even necessary to lop the
trees, for enormous quantities of dead wood were lying at their feet;
but if fuel was not wanting, the means of transporting it was not yet
found. The wood, being very dry, would burn rapidly; it was therefore
necessary to carry to the Chimneys a considerable quantity, and the
loads of two men would not be sufficient. Herbert remarked this.
“Well, my boy,” replied the sailor, “there must be some way of carrying
this wood; there is always a way of doing everything. If we had a cart
or a boat, it would be easy enough.”
“But we have the river,” said Herbert.
“Right,” replied Pencroft; “the river will be to us like a road which
carries of itself, and rafts have not been invented for nothing.”
“Only,” observed Herbert, “at this moment our road is going the wrong
way, for the tide is rising!”
“We shall be all right if we wait till it ebbs,” replied the sailor,
“and then we will trust it to carry our fuel to the Chimneys. Let us get
the raft ready.”
The sailor, followed by Herbert, directed his steps towards the river.
They both carried, each in proportion to his strength, a load of wood
bound in fagots. They found on the bank also a great quantity of dead
branches in the midst of grass, among which the foot of man had probably
never before trod. Pencroft began directly to make his raft. In a kind
of little bay, created by a point of the shore which broke the current,
the sailor and the lad placed some good-sized pieces of wood, which
they had fastened together with dry creepers. A raft was thus formed, on
which they stacked all they had collected, sufficient, indeed, to have
loaded at least twenty men. In an hour the work was finished, and the
raft moored to the bank, awaited the turning of the tide.
There were still several hours to be occupied, and with one consent
Pencroft and Herbert resolved to gain the upper plateau, so as to have a
more extended view of the surrounding country.
Exactly two hundred feet behind the angle formed by the river, the wall,
terminated by a fall of rocks, died away in a gentle slope to the edge
of the forest. It was a natural staircase. Herbert and the sailor began
their ascent; thanks to the vigor of their muscles they reached the
summit in a few minutes; and proceeded to the point above the mouth of
the river.
On attaining it, their first look was cast upon the ocean which not long
before they had traversed in such a terrible condition. They observed,
with emotion, all that part to the north of the coast on which the
catastrophe had taken place. It was there that Cyrus Harding had
disappeared. They looked to see if some portion of their balloon, to
which a man might possibly cling, yet existed. Nothing! The sea was but
one vast watery desert. As to the coast, it was solitary also. Neither
the reporter nor Neb could be anywhere seen. But it was possible that at
this time they were both too far away to be perceived.
“Something tells me,” cried Herbert, “that a man as energetic as Captain
Harding would not let himself be drowned like other people. He must have
reached some point of the shore; don’t you think so, Pencroft?”
The sailor shook his head sadly. He little expected ever to see Cyrus
Harding again; but wishing to leave some hope to Herbert: “Doubtless,
doubtless,” said he; “our engineer is a man who would get out of a