Books: The Mysterious Island

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All was embarked, and the "Bonadventure" was ready to weigh anchor and
sail with the morning tide.

The prisoner had been placed in the fore-cabin, where he remained quiet,
silent, apparently deaf and dumb.

Pencroft offered him something to eat, but he pushed away the cooked meat
that was presented to him and which doubtless did not suit him. But on the
sailor showing him one of the ducks which Herbert had killed, he pounced on
it like a wild beast, and devoured it greedily.

"You think that he will recover his senses?" asked Pencroft. "It is not
impossible that our care will have an effect upon him, for it is solitude
that has made him what he is, and from this time forward he will be no
longer alone."

"The poor man must no doubt have been in this state for a long time,"
said Herbert.

"Perhaps," answered Gideon Spilett.

"About what age is he?" asked the lad.

"It is difficult to say," replied the reporter, "for it is impossible to
see his features under the thick beard which covers his face, but he is no
longer young, and I suppose he might be about fifty."

"Have you noticed, Mr. Spilett, how deeply sunk his eyes are?" asked
Herbert.

"Yes, Herbert, but I must add that they are more human than one could
expect from his appearance."

"However, we shall see," replied Pencroft, "and I am anxious to know what
opinion Captain Harding will have of our savage. We went to look for a
human creature, and we are bringing back a monster! After all, we did what
we could."

The night passed, and whether the prisoner slept or not could not be
known, but at any rate, although he had been unbound, he did not move. He
was like a wild animal, which appears stunned at first by its capture, and
becomes wild again afterwards.

At daybreak the next morning, the 15th of October, the change of weather
predicted by Pencroft occurred. The wind having shifted to the northwest
favored the return of the "Bonadventure," but at the same time it
freshened, which might render navigation more difficult.

At five o'clock in the morning the anchor was weighed. Pencroft took a
reef in the mainsail, and steered towards the north-east, so as to sail
straight for Lincoln Island.

The first day of the voyage was not marked by any incident. The prisoner
remained quiet in the fore-cabin, and as he had been a sailor it appeared
that the motion of the vessel might produce on him a salutary reaction. Did
some recollection of his former calling return to him? However that might
be, he remained tranquil, astonished rather than depressed.

The next day the wind increased, blowing more from the north,
consequently in a less favorable direction for the "Bonadventure." Pencroft
was soon obliged to sail close-hauled, and without saying anything about it
he began to be uneasy at the state of the sea, which frequently broke over
the bows. Certainly, if the wind did not moderate, it would take a longer
time to reach Lincoln Island than it had taken to make Tabor Island.

Indeed, on the morning of the 17th, the "Bonadventure" had been forty-
eight hours at sea, and nothing showed that she was near the island. It was
impossible, besides, to estimate the distance traversed, or to trust to the
reckoning for the direction, as the speed had been very irregular.

Twenty-four hours after there was yet no land in sight. The wind was
right ahead and the sea very heavy. The sails were close-reefed, and they
tacked frequently. On the 18th, a wave swept completely over the
"Bonadventure"; and if the crew had not taken the precaution of lashing
themselves to the deck, they would have been carried away.

On this occasion Pencroft and his companions, who were occupied with
loosing themselves, received unexpected aid from the prisoner, who emerged
from the hatchway as if his sailor's instinct had suddenly returned, broke
a piece out of the bulwarks with a spar so as to let the water which filled
the deck escape. Then the vessel being clear, he descended to his cabin
without having uttered a word. Pencroft, Gideon Spilett, and Herbert,
greatly astonished, let him proceed.

Their situation was truly serious, and the sailor had reason to fear that
he was lost on the wide sea without any possibility of recovering his
course.

The night was dark and cold. However, about eleven o'clock, the wind
fell, the sea went down, and the speed of the vessel, as she labored less,
greatly increased.

Neither Pencroft, Spilett, nor Herbert thought of taking an hour's sleep.
They kept a sharp look-out, for either Lincoln Island could not be far
distant and would be sighted at daybreak, or the "Bonadventure," carried
away by currents, had drifted so much that it would be impossible to
rectify her course. Pencroft, uneasy to the last degree, yet did not
despair, for he had a gallant heart, and grasping the tiller he anxiously
endeavored to pierce the darkness which surrounded them.

About two o'clock in the morning he started forward,--

"A light! a light!" he shouted.

Indeed, a bright light appeared twenty miles to the northeast. Lincoln
Island was there, and this fire, evidently lighted by Cyrus Harding, showed
them the course to be followed. Pencroft, who was bearing too much to the
north, altered his course and steered towards the fire, which burned
brightly above the horizon like a star of the first magnitude.

Chapter 15

The next day, the 20th of October, at seven o'clock in the morning, after a
voyage of four days, the "Bonadventure" gently glided up to the beach at
the mouth of the Mercy.

Cyrus Harding and Neb, who had become very uneasy at the bad weather and
the prolonged absence of their companions, had climbed at daybreak to the
plateau of Prospect Heights, and they had at last caught sight of the
vessel which had been so long in returning.

"God be praised! there they are!" exclaimed Cyrus Harding.

As to Neb in his joy, he began to dance, to twirl round, clapping his
hands and shouting, "Oh! my master!" A more touching pantomime than the
finest discourse.

The engineer's first idea, on counting the people on the deck of the
"Bonadventure," was that Pencroft had not found the castaway of Tabor
Island, or at any rate that the unfortunate man had refused to leave his
island and change one prison for another.

Indeed Pencroft, Gideon Spilett, and Herbert were alone on the deck of
the "Bonadventure."

The moment the vessel touched, the engineer and Neb were waiting on the
beach, and before the passengers had time to leap on to the sand, Harding
said: "We have been very uneasy at your delay, my friends! Did you meet
with any accident?"

"No," replied Gideon Spilett; "on the contrary, everything went
wonderfully well. We will tell you all about it."

"However," returned the engineer, "your search has been unsuccessful,
since you are only three, just as you went!"

"Excuse me, captain," replied the sailor, "we are four."

"You have found the castaway?"

"Yes."

"And you have brought him?"

"Yes."

"Living?"

"Yes."

"Where is he? Who is he?"

"He is," replied the reporter, "or rather he was a man! There, Cyrus,
that is all we can tell you!"

The engineer was then informed of all that had passed during the voyage,
and under what conditions the search had been conducted; how the only
dwelling in the island had long been abandoned; how at last a castaway had
been captured, who appeared no longer to belong to the human species.

"And that's just the point," added Pencroft, "I don't know if we have
done right to bring him here."

"Certainly you have, Pencroft," replied the engineer quickly.

"But the wretched creature has no sense!"

"That is possible at present," replied Cyrus Harding, "but only a few
months ago the wretched creature was a man like you and me. And who knows
what will become of the survivor of us after a long solitude on this
island? It is a great misfortune to be alone, my friends; and it must be
believed that solitude can quickly destroy reason, since you have found
this poor creature in such a state!"

"But, captain," asked Herbert, "what leads you to think that the
brutishness of the unfortunate man began only a few months back?"

"Because the document we found had been recently written," answered the
engineer, "and the castaway alone can have written it."

"Always supposing," observed Gideon Spilett, "that it had not been
written by a companion of this man, since dead."

"That is impossible, my dear Spilett."

"Why so?" asked the reporter.

"Because the document would then have spoken of two castaways," replied
Harding, "and it mentioned only one."

Herbert then in a few words related the incidents of the voyage, and
dwelt on the curious fact of the sort of passing gleam in the prisoner's
mind, when for an instant in the height of the storm he had become a
sailor.

"Well, Herbert," replied the engineer, "you are right to attach great
importance to this fact. The unfortunate man cannot be incurable, and
despair has made him what he is; but here he will find his fellow-men, and
since there is still a soul in him, this soul we shall save!"

The castaway of Tabor Island, to the great pity of the engineer and the
great astonishment of Neb, was then brought from the cabin which he
occupied in the fore part of the "Bonadventure"; when once on land he
manifested a wish to run away.

But Cyrus Harding approaching, placed his hand on his shoulder with a
gesture full of authority, and looked at him with infinite tenderness.
Immediately the unhappy man, submitting to a superior will, gradually
became calm, his eyes fell, his head bent, and he made no more resistance.

"Poor fellow!" murmured the engineer.

Cyrus Harding had attentively observed him. To judge by his appearance
this miserable being had no longer anything human about him, and yet
Harding, as had the reporter already, observed in his look an indefinable
trace of intelligence.

It was decided that the castaway, or rather the stranger as he was
thenceforth termed by his companions, should live in one of the rooms of
Granite House, from which, however, he could not escape. He was led there
without difficulty, and with careful attention, it might, perhaps, be hoped
that some day he would be a companion to the settlers in Lincoln Island.

Cyrus Harding, during breakfast, which Neb had hastened to prepare, as
the reporter, Herbert, and Pencroft were dying of hunger, heard in detail
all the incidents which had marked the voyage of exploration to the islet.
He agreed with his friends on this point, that the stranger must be either
English or American, the name Britannia leading them to suppose this, and,
besides, through the bushy beard, and under the shaggy, matted hair, the
engineer thought he could recognize the characteristic features of the
Anglo-Saxon.

"But, by the bye," said Gideon Spilett, addressing Herbert, "you never
told us how you met this savage, and we know nothing, except that you would
have been strangled, if we had not happened to come up in time to help
you!"

"Upon my word," answered Herbert, "it is rather difficult to say how it
happened. I was, I think, occupied in collecting my plants, when I heard a
noise like an avalanche falling from a very tall tree. I scarcely had time
to look round. This unfortunate man, who was without doubt concealed in a
tree, rushed upon me in less time than I take to tell you about it, and
unless Mr. Spilett and Pencroft--"

"My boy!" said Cyrus Harding, "you ran a great danger, but, perhaps,
without that, the poor creature would have still hidden himself from your
search, and we should not have had a new companion."

"You hope, then, Cyrus, to succeed in reforming the man?" asked the
reporter.

"Yes," replied the engineer.

Breakfast over, Harding and his companions left Granite House and
returned to the beach. They there occupied themselves in unloading the
"Bonadventure," and the engineer, having examined the arms and tools, saw
nothing which could help them to establish the identity of the stranger.

The capture of pigs, made on the islet, was looked upon as being very
profitable to Lincoln Island, and the animals were led to the sty, where
they soon became at home.

The two barrels, containing the powder and shot, as well as the box of
caps, were very welcome. It was agreed to establish a small powder-
magazine, either outside Granite House or in the Upper Cavern, where there
would be no fear of explosion. However, the use of pyroxyle was to be
continued, for this substance giving excellent results, there was no reason
for substituting ordinary powder.

When the unloading of the vessel was finished,--

"Captain," said Pencroft, "I think it would be prudent to put our
'Bonadventure' in a safe place."

"Is she not safe at the mouth of the Mercy?" asked Cyrus Harding.

"No, captain," replied the sailor. "Half of the time she is stranded on
the sand, and that works her. She is a famous craft, you see, and she
behaved admirably during the squall which struck us on our return."

"Could she not float in the river?"

"No doubt, captain, she could; but there is no shelter there, and in the
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
melancholy life doubtless--and the colonists, without losing sight of him,
did not attempt to disturb his solitude. However, after two hours,
appearing to have formed a resolution, he came to find Cyrus Harding. His
eyes were red with the tears he had shed, but he wept no longer. His
countenance expressed deep humility. He appeared anxious, timorous,
ashamed, and his eyes were constantly fixed on the ground.