The Mysterious Island
at a moment’s notice. Gideon Spilett with his glass eagerly scanned the
shore, though without perceiving anything.
However, at about twelve o’clock the keel of the “Bonadventure” grated
on the bottom. The anchor was let go, the sails furled, and the crew of
the little vessel landed.
And there was no reason to doubt that this was Tabor Island, since
according to the most recent charts there was no island in this part of
the Pacific between New Zealand and the American Coast.
The vessel was securely moored, so that there should be no danger of
her being carried away by the receding tide; then Pencroft and his
companions, well armed, ascended the shore, so as to gain an elevation
of about two hundred and fifty or three hundred feet which rose at a
distance of half a mile.
“From the summit of that hill,” said Spilett, “we can no doubt obtain a
complete view of the island, which will greatly facilitate our search.”
“So as to do here,” replied Herbert, “that which Captain Harding did the
very first thing on Lincoln Island, by climbing Mount Franklin.”
“Exactly so,” answered the reporter, “and it is the best plan.”
While thus talking the explorers had advanced along a clearing
which terminated at the foot of the hill. Flocks of rock-pigeons and
sea-swallows, similar to those of Lincoln Island, fluttered around them.
Under the woods which skirted the glade on the left they could hear the
bushes rustling and see the grass waving, which indicated the presence
of timid animals, but still nothing to show that the island was
inhabited.
Arrived at the foot of the hill, Pencroft, Spilett, and Herbert climbed
it in a few minutes, and gazed anxiously round the horizon.
They were on an islet, which did not measure more than six miles in
circumference, its shape not much bordered by capes or promontories,
bays or creeks, being a lengthened oval. All around, the lonely sea
extended to the limits of the horizon. No land nor even a sail was in
sight.
This woody islet did not offer the varied aspects of Lincoln Island,
arid and wild in one part, but fertile and rich in the other. On the
contrary this was a uniform mass of verdure, out of which rose two or
three hills of no great height. Obliquely to the oval of the island ran
a stream through a wide meadow falling into the sea on the west by a
narrow mouth.
“The domain is limited,” said Herbert.
“Yes,” rejoined Pencroft: “It would have been too small for us.”
“And moreover,” said the reporter, “it appears to be uninhabited.”
“Indeed,” answered Herbert, “nothing here betrays the presence of man.”
“Let us go down,” said Pencroft, “and search.”
The sailor and his two companions returned to the shore, to the place
where they had left the “Bonadventure.”
They had decided to make the tour of the island on foot, before
exploring the interior; so that not a spot should escape their
investigations. The beach was easy to follow, and only in some places
was their way barred by large rocks, which, however, they easily passed
round. The explorers proceeded towards the south, disturbing numerous
flocks of sea-birds and herds of seals, which threw themselves into the
sea as soon as they saw the strangers at a distance.
“Those beasts yonder,” observed the reporter, “do not see men for the
first time. They fear them, therefore they must know them.”
An hour after their departure they arrived on the southern point of the
islet, terminated by a sharp cape, and proceeded towards the north along
the western coast, equally formed by sand and rocks, the background
bordered with thick woods.
There was not a trace of a habitation in any part, not the print of a
human foot on the shore of the island, which after four hours’ walking
had been gone completely round.
It was to say the least very extraordinary, and they were compelled to
believe that Tabor Island was not or was no longer inhabited. Perhaps,
after all the document was already several months or several years old,
and it was possible in this case, either that the castaway had been
enabled to return to his country, or that he had died of misery.
Pencroft, Spilett, and Herbert, forming more or less probable
conjectures, dined rapidly on board the “Bonadventure” so as to be
able to continue their excursion until nightfall. This was done at five
o’clock in the evening, at which hour they entered the wood.
Numerous animals fled at their approach, being principally, one might
say, only goats and pigs, which were obviously European species.
Doubtless some whaler had landed them on the island, where they had
rapidly increased. Herbert resolved to catch one or two living, and take
them back to Lincoln Island.
It was no longer doubtful that men at some period or other had visited
this islet, and this became still more evident when paths appeared
trodden through the forest, felled trees, and everywhere traces of the
hand of man; but the trees were becoming rotten, and had been felled
many years ago; the marks of the axe were velveted with moss, and the
grass grew long and thick on the paths, so that it was difficult to find
them.
“But,” observed Gideon Spilett, “this not only proves that men have
landed on the island, but also that they lived on it for some time. Now,
who were these men? How many of them remain?”
“The document,” said Herbert, “only spoke of one castaway.”
“Well, if he is still on the island,” replied Pencroft, “it is
impossible but that we shall find him.”
The exploration was continued. The sailor and his companions naturally
followed the route which cut diagonally across the island, and they were
thus obliged to follow the stream which flowed towards the sea.
If the animals of European origin, if works due to a human hand, showed
incontestably that men had already visited the island, several specimens
of the vegetable kingdom did not prove it less. In some places, in the
midst of clearings, it was evident that the soil had been planted with
culinary plants, at probably the same distant period.
What, then, was Herbert’s joy, when he recognized potatoes, chicory,
sorrel, carrots, cabbages, and turnips, of which it was sufficient to
collect the seed to enrich the soil of Lincoln Island.
“Capital, jolly!” exclaimed Pencroft. “That will suit Neb as well as us.
Even if we do not find the castaway, at least our voyage will not have
been useless, and God will have rewarded us.”
“Doubtless,” replied Gideon Spilett, “but to see the state in which we
find these plantations, it is to be feared that the island has not been
inhabited for some time.”
“Indeed,” answered Herbert, “an inhabitant, whoever he was, could not
have neglected such an important culture!”
“Yes,” said Pencroft, “the castaway has gone.”
“We must suppose so.”
“It must then be admitted that the document has already a distant date?”
“Evidently.”
“And that the bottle only arrived at Lincoln Island after having floated
in the sea a long time.”
“Why not?” returned Pencroft. “But night is coming on,” added he, “and I
think that it will be best to give up the search for the present.”
“Let us go on board, and to-morrow we will begin again,” said the
reporter.
This was the wisest course, and it was about to be followed when
Herbert, pointing to a confused mass among the trees, exclaimed,--
“A hut!”
All three immediately ran towards the dwelling. In the twilight it was
just possible to see that it was built of planks and covered with a
thick tarpaulin.
The half-closed door was pushed open by Pencroft, who entered with a
rapid step.
The hut was empty!
Chapter 14
Pencroft, Herbert, and Gideon Spilett remained silent in the midst of
the darkness.
Pencroft shouted loudly.
No reply was made.
The sailor then struck a light and set fire to a twig. This lighted for
a minute a small room, which appeared perfectly empty. At the back was
a rude fireplace, with a few cold cinders, supporting an armful of dry
wood. Pencroft threw the blazing twig on it, the wood crackled and gave
forth a bright light.
The sailor and his two companions then perceived a disordered bed, of
which the damp and yellow coverlets proved that it had not been used for
a long time. In the corner of the fireplace were two kettles, covered
with rust, and an overthrown pot. A cupboard, with a few moldy sailor’s
clothes; on the table a tin plate and a Bible, eaten away by damp; in a
corner a few tools, a spade, pickaxe, two fowling-pieces, one of which
was broken; on a plank, forming a shelf, stood a barrel of powder, still
untouched, a barrel of shot, and several boxes of caps, all thickly
covered with dust, accumulated, perhaps, by many long years.
“There is no one here,” said the reporter.
“No one,” replied Pencroft.
“It is a long time since this room has been inhabited,” observed
Herbert.
“Yes, a very long time!” answered the reporter.
“Mr. Spilett,” then said Pencroft, “instead of returning on board, I
think that it would be well to pass the night in this hut.”
“You are right, Pencroft,” answered Gideon Spilett, “and if its owner
returns, well! perhaps he will not be sorry to find the place taken
possession of.”
“He will not return,” said the sailor, shaking his head.
“You think that he has quitted the island?” asked the reporter.
“If he had quitted the island he would have taken away his weapons and
his tools,” replied Pencroft. “You know the value which castaways set
on such articles as these the last remains of a wreck. No! no!” repeated
the sailor, in a tone of conviction; “no, he has not left the island! If
he had escaped in a boat made by himself, he would still less have left
these indispensable and necessary articles. No! he is on the island!”
“Living?” asked Herbert.
“Living or dead. But if he is dead, I suppose he has not buried himself,
and so we shall at least find his remains!”
It was then agreed that the night should be passed in the deserted
dwelling, and a store of wood found in a corner was sufficient to warm
it. The door closed, Pencroft, Herbert and Spilett remained there,
seated on a bench, talking little but wondering much. They were in a
frame of mind to imagine anything or expect anything. They listened
eagerly for sounds outside. The door might have opened suddenly, and
a man presented himself to them without their being in the least
surprised, notwithstanding all that the hut revealed of abandonment,
and they had their hands ready to press the hands of this man, this
castaway, this unknown friend, for whom friends were waiting.
But no voice was heard, the door did not open. The hours thus passed
away.
How long the night appeared to the sailor and his companions! Herbert
alone slept for two hours, for at his age sleep is a necessity. They
were all three anxious to continue their exploration of the day before,
and to search the most secret recesses of the islet! The inferences
deduced by Pencroft were perfectly reasonable, and it was nearly certain
that, as the hut was deserted, and the tools, utensils, and weapons were
still there, the owner had succumbed. It was agreed, therefore, that
they should search for his remains, and give them at least Christian
burial.
Day dawned; Pencroft and his companions immediately proceeded to survey
the dwelling. It had certainly been built in a favorable situation,
at the back of a little hill, sheltered by five or six magnificent
gum-trees. Before its front and through the trees the axe had prepared
a wide clearing, which allowed the view to extend to the sea. Beyond a
lawn, surrounded by a wooden fence falling to pieces, was the shore, on
the left of which was the mouth of the stream.
The hut had been built of planks, and it was easy to see that these