The Mysterious Island
scrape to which any one else would yield.”
In the meantime he examined the coast with great attention. Stretched
out below them was the sandy shore, bounded on the right of the river’s
mouth by lines of breakers. The rocks which were visible appeared like
amphibious monsters reposing in the surf. Beyond the reef, the sea
sparkled beneath the sun’s rays. To the south a sharp point closed the
horizon, and it could not be seen if the land was prolonged in that
direction, or if it ran southeast and southwest, which would have made
this coast a very long peninsula. At the northern extremity of the bay
the outline of the shore was continued to a great distance in a wider
curve. There the shore was low, flat, without cliffs, and with great
banks of sand, which the tide left uncovered. Pencroft and Herbert then
returned towards the west. Their attention was first arrested by the
snow-topped mountain which rose at a distance of six or seven miles.
From its first declivities to within two miles of the coast were spread
vast masses of wood, relieved by large green patches, caused by the
presence of evergreen trees. Then, from the edge of this forest to the
shore extended a plain, scattered irregularly with groups of trees. Here
and there on the left sparkled through glades the waters of the little
river; they could trace its winding course back towards the spurs of the
mountain, among which it seemed to spring. At the point where the sailor
had left his raft of wood, it began to run between the two high granite
walls; but if on the left bank the wall remained clear and abrupt, on
the right bank, on the contrary, it sank gradually, the massive sides
changed to isolated rocks, the rocks to stones, the stones to shingle
running to the extremity of the point.
“Are we on an island?” murmured the sailor.
“At any rate, it seems to be big enough,” replied the lad.
“An island, ever so big, is an island all the same!” said Pencroft.
But this important question could not yet be answered. A more perfect
survey had to be made to settle the point. As to the land itself, island
or continent, it appeared fertile, agreeable in its aspect, and varied
in its productions.
“This is satisfactory,” observed Pencroft; “and in our misfortune, we
must thank Providence for it.”
“God be praised!” responded Herbert, whose pious heart was full of
gratitude to the Author of all things.
Pencroft and Herbert examined for some time the country on which
they had been cast; but it was difficult to guess after so hasty an
inspection what the future had in store for them.
They then returned, following the southern crest of the granite
platform, bordered by a long fringe of jagged rocks, of the most
whimsical shapes. Some hundreds of birds lived there nestled in the
holes of the stone; Herbert, jumping over the rocks, startled a whole
flock of these winged creatures.
“Oh!” cried he, “those are not gulls nor sea-mews!”
“What are they then?” asked Pencroft.
“Upon my word, one would say they were pigeons!”
“Just so, but these are wild or rock pigeons. I recognize them by
the double band of black on the wing, by the white tail, and by their
slate-colored plumage. But if the rock-pigeon is good to eat, its eggs
must be excellent, and we will soon see how many they may have left in
their nests!”
“We will not give them time to hatch, unless it is in the shape of an
omelet!” replied Pencroft merrily.
“But what will you make your omelet in?” asked Herbert; “in your hat?”
“Well!” replied the sailor, “I am not quite conjuror enough for that;
we must come down to eggs in the shell, my boy, and I will undertake to
despatch the hardest!”
Pencroft and Herbert attentively examined the cavities in the granite,
and they really found eggs in some of the hollows. A few dozen being
collected, were packed in the sailor’s handkerchief, and as the time
when the tide would be full was approaching, Pencroft and Herbert began
to redescend towards the watercourse. When they arrived there, it was
an hour after midday. The tide had already turned. They must now avail
themselves of the ebb to take the wood to the mouth. Pencroft did not
intend to let the raft go away in the current without guidance, neither
did he mean to embark on it himself to steer it. But a sailor is never
at a loss when there is a question of cables or ropes, and Pencroft
rapidly twisted a cord, a few fathoms long, made of dry creepers. This
vegetable cable was fastened to the after-part of the raft, and the
sailor held it in his hand while Herbert, pushing off the raft with
a long pole, kept it in the current. This succeeded capitally. The
enormous load of wood drifted down the current. The bank was very
equal; there was no fear that the raft would run aground, and before
two o’clock they arrived at the river’s mouth, a few paces from the
Chimneys.
Chapter 5
Pencroft’s first care, after unloading the raft, was to render the cave
habitable by stopping up all the holes which made it draughty. Sand,
stones, twisted branches, wet clay, closed up the galleries open to the
south winds. One narrow and winding opening at the side was kept, to
lead out the smoke and to make the fire draw. The cave was thus divided
into three or four rooms, if such dark dens with which a donkey would
scarcely have been contented deserved the name. But they were dry, and
there was space to stand upright, at least in the principal room, which
occupied the center. The floor was covered with fine sand, and taking
all in all they were well pleased with it for want of a better.
“Perhaps,” said Herbert, while he and Pencroft were working, “our
companions have found a superior place to ours.”
“Very likely,” replied the seaman; “but, as we don’t know, we must work
all the same. Better to have two strings to one’s bow than no string at
all!”
“Oh!” exclaimed Herbert, “how jolly it will be if they were to find
Captain Harding and were to bring him back with them!”
“Yes, indeed!” said Pencroft, “that was a man of the right sort.”
“Was!” exclaimed Herbert, “do you despair of ever seeing him again?”
“God forbid!” replied the sailor. Their work was soon done, and Pencroft
declared himself very well satisfied.
“Now,” said he, “our friends can come back when they like. They will
find a good enough shelter.”
They now had only to make a fireplace and to prepare the supper--an easy
task. Large flat stones were placed on the ground at the opening of the
narrow passage which had been kept. This, if the smoke did not take
the heat out with it, would be enough to maintain an equal temperature
inside. Their wood was stowed away in one of the rooms, and the sailor
laid in the fireplace some logs and brushwood. The seaman was busy with
this, when Herbert asked him if he had any matches.
“Certainly,” replied Pencroft, “and I may say happily, for without
matches or tinder we should be in a fix.”
“Still we might get fire as the savages do,” replied Herbert, “by
rubbing two bits of dry stick one against the other.”
“All right; try, my boy, and let’s see if you can do anything besides
exercising your arms.”
“Well, it’s a very simple proceeding, and much used in the islands of
the Pacific.”
“I don’t deny it,” replied Pencroft, “but the savages must know how to
do it or employ a peculiar wood, for more than once I have tried to
get fire in that way, but I could never manage it. I must say I prefer
matches. By the bye, where are my matches?”
Pencroft searched in his waistcoat for the box, which was always there,
for he was a confirmed smoker. He could not find it; he rummaged the
pockets of his trousers, but, to his horror, he could nowhere discover
the box.
“Here’s a go!” said he, looking at Herbert. “The box must have
fallen out of my pocket and got lost! Surely, Herbert, you must have
something--a tinder-box--anything that can possibly make fire!”
“No, I haven’t, Pencroft.”
The sailor rushed out, followed by the boy. On the sand, among the
rocks, near the river’s bank, they both searched carefully, but in vain.
The box was of copper, and therefore would have been easily seen.
“Pencroft,” asked Herbert, “didn’t you throw it out of the car?”
“I knew better than that,” replied the sailor; “but such a small article
could easily disappear in the tumbling about we have gone through. I
would rather even have lost my pipe! Confound the box! Where can it be?”
“Look here, the tide is going down,” said Herbert; “let’s run to the
place where we landed.”
It was scarcely probable that they would find the box, which the waves
had rolled about among the pebbles, at high tide, but it was as well
to try. Herbert and Pencroft walked rapidly to the point where they had
landed the day before, about two hundred feet from the cave. They hunted
there, among the shingle, in the clefts of the rocks, but found nothing.
If the box had fallen at this place it must have been swept away by the
waves. As the sea went down, they searched every little crevice with
no result. It was a grave loss in their circumstances, and for the
time irreparable. Pencroft could not hide his vexation; he looked very
anxious, but said not a word. Herbert tried to console him by observing,
that if they had found the matches, they would, very likely, have been
wetted by the sea and useless.
“No, my boy,” replied the sailor; “they were in a copper box which shut
very tightly; and now what are we to do?”
“We shall certainly find some way of making a fire,” said Herbert.
“Captain Harding or Mr. Spilett will not be without them.”
“Yes,” replied Pencroft; “but in the meantime we are without fire, and
our companions will find but a sorry repast on their return.”
“But,” said Herbert quickly, “do you think it possible that they have no
tinder or matches?”
“I doubt it,” replied the sailor, shaking his head, “for neither Neb nor
Captain Harding smoke, and I believe that Mr. Spilett would rather keep
his note-book than his match-box.”
Herbert did not reply. The loss of the box was certainly to be
regretted, but the boy was still sure of procuring fire in some way or
other. Pencroft, more experienced, did not think so, although he was not
a man to trouble himself about a small or great grievance. At any rate,
there was only one thing to be done--to await the return of Neb and the
reporter; but they must give up the feast of hard eggs which they had
meant to prepare, and a meal of raw flesh was not an agreeable prospect
either for themselves or for the others.
Before returning to the cave, the sailor and Herbert, in the event of
fire being positively unattainable, collected some more shell-fish, and
then silently retraced their steps to their dwelling.
Pencroft, his eyes fixed on the ground, still looked for his box. He
even climbed up the left bank of the river from its mouth to the angle
where the raft had been moored. He returned to the plateau, went over it
in every direction, searched among the high grass on the border of the
forest, all in vain.
It was five in the evening when he and Herbert re-entered the cave.
It is useless to say that the darkest corners of the passages were
ransacked before they were obliged to give it up in despair. Towards
six o’clock, when the sun was disappearing behind the high lands of the
west, Herbert, who was walking up and down on the strand, signalized the
return of Neb and Spilett.
They were returning alone!... The boy’s heart sank; the sailor had not
been deceived in his forebodings; the engineer, Cyrus Harding, had not
been found!
The reporter, on his arrival, sat down on a rock, without saying
anything. Exhausted with fatigue, dying of hunger, he had not strength
to utter a word.
As to Neb, his red eyes showed how he had cried, and the tears which he