The Mysterious Island
east winds, I think that the ‘Bonadventure’ would suffer much from the
surf.”
“Well, where would you put her, Pencroft?”
“In Port Balloon,” replied the sailor. “That little creek, shut in by
rocks, seems to me to be just the harbor we want.”
“Is it not rather far?”
“Pooh! it is not more than three miles from Granite House, and we have a
fine straight road to take us there!”
“Do it then, Pencroft, and take your ‘Bonadventure’ there,” replied
the engineer, “and yet I would rather have her under our more immediate
protection. When we have time, we must make a little harbor for her.”
“Famous!” exclaimed Pencroft. “A harbor with a lighthouse, a pier, and
dock! Ah! really with you, captain, everything becomes easy.”
“Yes, my brave Pencroft,” answered the engineer, “but on condition,
however, that you help me, for you do as much as three men in all our
work.”
Herbert and the sailor then re-embarked on board the “Bonadventure,”
the anchor was weighed, the sail hoisted, and the wind drove her rapidly
towards Claw Cape. Two hours after, she was reposing on the tranquil
waters of Port Balloon.
During the first days passed by the stranger in Granite House, had he
already given them reason to think that his savage nature was becoming
tamed? Did a brighter light burn in the depths of that obscured mind? In
short, was the soul returning to the body?
Yes, to a certainty, and to such a degree, that Cyrus Harding and the
reporter wondered if the reason of the unfortunate man had ever been
totally extinguished. At first, accustomed to the open air, to the
unrestrained liberty which he had enjoyed on Tabor Island, the stranger
manifested a sullen fury, and it was feared that he might throw
himself onto the beach, out of one of the windows of Granite House.
But gradually he became calmer, and more freedom was allowed to his
movements.
They had reason to hope, and to hope much. Already, forgetting his
carnivorous instincts, the stranger accepted a less bestial nourishment
than that on which he fed on the islet, and cooked meat did not produce
in him the same sentiment of repulsion which he had showed on board
the “Bonadventure.” Cyrus Harding had profited by a moment when he was
sleeping, to cut his hair and matted beard, which formed a sort of
mane and gave him such a savage aspect. He had also been clothed more
suitably, after having got rid of the rag which covered him. The result
was that, thanks to these attentions, the stranger resumed a more
human appearance, and it even seemed as if his eyes had become milder.
Certainly, when formerly lighted up by intelligence, this man’s face
must have had a sort of beauty.
Every day, Harding imposed on himself the task of passing some hours
in his company. He came and worked near him, and occupied himself in
different things, so as to fix his attention. A spark, indeed, would be
sufficient to reillumine that soul, a recollection crossing that brain
to recall reason. That had been seen, during the storm, on board the
“Bonadventure!” The engineer did not neglect either to speak aloud, so
as to penetrate at the same time by the organs of hearing and sight the
depths of that torpid intelligence. Sometimes one of his companions,
sometimes another, sometimes all joined him. They spoke most often of
things belonging to the navy, which must interest a sailor.
At times, the stranger gave some slight attention to what was said,
and the settlers were soon convinced that he partly understood them.
Sometimes the expression of his countenance was deeply sorrowful, a
proof that he suffered mentally, for his face could not be mistaken;
but he did not speak, although at different times, however, they almost
thought that words were about to issue from his lips. At all events, the
poor creature was quite quiet and sad!
But was not his calm only apparent? Was not his sadness only the result
of his seclusion? Nothing could yet be ascertained. Seeing only certain
objects and in a limited space, always in contact with the colonists,
to whom he would soon become accustomed, having no desires to satisfy,
better fed, better clothed, it was natural that his physical nature
should gradually improve; but was he penetrated with the sense of a new
life? or rather, to employ a word which would be exactly applicable
to him, was he not becoming tamed, like an animal in company with his
master? This was an important question, which Cyrus Harding was anxious
to answer, and yet he did not wish to treat his invalid roughly! Would
he ever be a convalescent?
How the engineer observed him every moment! How he was on the watch for
his soul, if one may use the expression! How he was ready to grasp it!
The settlers followed with real sympathy all the phases of the cure
undertaken by Harding. They aided him also in this work of humanity, and
all, except perhaps the incredulous Pencroft, soon shared both his hope
and his faith.
The calm of the stranger was deep, as has been said, and he even showed
a sort of attachment for the engineer, whose influence he evidently
felt. Cyrus Harding resolved then to try him, by transporting him
to another scene, from that ocean which formerly his eyes had been
accustomed to contemplate, to the border of the forest, which might
perhaps recall those where so many years of his life had been passed!
“But,” said Gideon Spilett, “can we hope that he will not escape, if
once set at liberty?”
“The experiment must be tried,” replied the engineer.
“Well!” said Pencroft. “When that fellow is outside, and feels the fresh
air, he will be off as fast as his legs can carry him!”
“I do not think so,” returned Harding.
“Let us try,” said Spilett.
“We will try,” replied the engineer.
This was on the 30th of October, and consequently the castaway of Tabor
Island had been a prisoner in Granite House for nine days. It was
warm, and a bright sun darted its rays on the island. Cyrus Harding and
Pencroft went to the room occupied by the stranger, who was found lying
near the window and gazing at the sky.
“Come, my friend,” said the engineer to him.
The stranger rose immediately. His eyes were fixed on Cyrus Harding, and
he followed him, while the sailor marched behind them, little confident
as to the result of the experiment.
Arrived at the door, Harding and Pencroft made him take his place in
the lift, while Neb, Herbert, and Gideon Spilett waited for them before
Granite House. The lift descended, and in a few moments all were united
on the beach.
The settlers went a short distance from the stranger, so as to leave him
at liberty.
He then made a few steps toward the sea, and his look brightened with
extreme animation, but he did not make the slightest attempt to escape.
He was gazing at the little waves which, broken by the islet, rippled on
the sand.
“This is only the sea,” observed Gideon Spilett, “and possibly it does
not inspire him with any wish to escape!”
“Yes,” replied Harding, “we must take him to the plateau, on the border
of the forest. There the experiment will be more conclusive.”
“Besides, he could not run away,” said Neb, “since the bridge is
raised.”
“Oh!” said Pencroft, “that isn’t a man to be troubled by a stream like
Creek Glycerine! He could cross it directly, at a single bound!”
“We shall soon see,” Harding contented himself with replying, his eyes
not quitting those of his patient.
The latter was then led towards the mouth of the Mercy, and all climbing
the left bank of the river, reached Prospect Heights.
Arrived at the spot on which grew the first beautiful trees of the
forest, their foliage slightly agitated by the breeze, the stranger
appeared greedily to drink in the penetrating odor which filled the
atmosphere, and a long sigh escaped from his chest.
The settlers kept behind him, ready to seize him if he made any movement
to escape!
And, indeed, the poor creature was on the point of springing into the
creek which separated him from the forest, and his legs were bent for an
instant as if for a spring, but almost immediately he stepped back, half
sank down, and a large tear fell from his eyes.
“Ah!” exclaimed Cyrus Harding, “you have become a man again, for you can
weep!”
Chapter 16
Yes! the unfortunate man had wept! Some recollection doubtless had
flashed across his brain, and to use Cyrus Harding’s expression, by
those tears he was once more a man.
The colonists left him for some time on the plateau, and withdrew
themselves to a short distance, so that he might feel himself free; but
he did not think of profiting by this liberty, and Harding soon brought
him back to Granite House. Two days after this occurrence, the stranger
appeared to wish gradually to mingle with their common life. He
evidently heard and understood, but no less evidently was he strangely
determined not to speak to the colonists; for one evening, Pencroft,
listening at the door of his room, heard these words escape from his
lips:--
“No! here! I! never!”
The sailor reported these words to his companions.
“There is some painful mystery there!” said Harding.
The stranger had begun to use the laboring tools, and he worked in the
garden. When he stopped in his work, as was often the case, he remained
retired within himself, but on the engineer’s recommendation, they
respected the reserve which he apparently wished to keep. If one of the
settlers approached him, he drew back, and his chest heaved with sobs,
as if overburdened!
Was it remorse that overwhelmed him thus? They were compelled to believe
so, and Gideon Spilett could not help one day making this observation,--
“If he does not speak it is because he has, I fear, things too serious
to be told!”
They must be patient and wait.
A few days later, on the 3rd of November, the stranger, working on the
plateau, had stopped, letting his spade drop to the ground, and Harding,
who was observing him from a little distance, saw that tears were again
flowing from his eyes. A sort of irresistible pity led him towards the
unfortunate man, and he touched his arm lightly.
“My friend!” said he.
The stranger tried to avoid his look, and Cyrus Harding having
endeavored to take his hand, he drew back quickly.
“My friend,” said Harding in a firmer voice, “look at me, I wish it!”
The stranger looked at the engineer, and seemed to be under his power,
as a subject under the influence of a mesmerist. He wished to run away.
But then his countenance suddenly underwent a transformation. His eyes
flashed. Words struggled to escape from his lips. He could no longer
contain himself! At last he folded his arms; then, in a hollow
voice,--“Who are you?” he asked Cyrus Harding.
“Castaways, like you,” replied the engineer, whose emotion was deep. “We
have brought you here, among your fellow-men.”
“My fellow-men!.... I have none!”
“You are in the midst of friends.”
“Friends!--for me! friends!” exclaimed the stranger, hiding his face in
his hands. “No--never--leave me! leave me!”
Then he rushed to the side of the plateau which overlooked the sea, and
remained there a long time motionless.
Harding rejoined his companions and related to them what had just
happened.
“Yes! there is some mystery in that man’s life,” said Gideon Spilett,
“and it appears as if he had only re-entered society by the path of
remorse.”
“I don’t know what sort of a man we have brought here,” said the sailor.
“He has secrets--”
“Which we will respect,” interrupted Cyrus Harding quickly. “If he has
committed any crime, he has most fearfully expiated it, and in our eyes
he is absolved.”
For two hours the stranger remained alone on the shore, evidently under
the influence of recollections which recalled all his past life--a