Books: The Mysterious Island

J >> Jules Verne >> The Mysterious Island

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Happily the pile of rocks which formed the Chimneys was solid. It was
composed of enormous blocks of granite, a few of which, insecurely
balanced, seemed to tremble on their foundations, and Pencroft could feel
rapid quiverings under his head as it rested on the rock. But he repeated
to himself, and rightly, that there was nothing to fear, and that their
retreat would not give way. However he heard the noise of stones torn from
the summit of the plateau by the wind, falling down on to the beach. A few
even rolled on to the upper part of the Chimneys, or flew off in fragments
when they were projected perpendicularly. Twice the sailor rose and
intrenched himself at the opening of the passage, so as to take a look in
safety at the outside. But there was nothing to be feared from these
showers, which were not considerable, and he returned to his couch before
the fireplace, where the embers glowed beneath the ashes.

Notwithstanding the fury of the hurricane, the uproar of the tempest, the
thunder, and the tumult, Herbert slept profoundly. Sleep at last took
possession of Pencroft, whom a seafaring life had habituated to anything.
Gideon Spilett alone was kept awake by anxiety. He reproached himself with
not having accompanied Neb. It was evident that he had not abandoned all
hope. The presentiments which had troubled Herbert did not cease to agitate
him also. His thoughts were concentrated on Neb. Why had Neb not returned?
He tossed about on his sandy couch, scarcely giving a thought to the
struggle of the elements. Now and then, his eyes, heavy with fatigue,
closed for an instant, but some sudden thought reopened them almost
immediately.

Meanwhile the night advanced, and it was perhaps two hours from morning,
when Pencroft, then sound asleep, was vigorously shaken.

"What's the matter?" he cried, rousing himself, and collecting his ideas
with the promptitude usual to seamen.

The reporter was leaning over him, and saying,--

"Listen, Pencroft, listen!"

The sailor strained his ears, but could hear no noise beyond those caused
by the storm.

"It is the wind," said he.

"No," replied Gideon Spilett, listening again, "I thought I heard--"

"What?"

"The barking of a dog!"

"A dog!" cried Pencroft, springing up.

"Yes--barking--"

"It's not possible!" replied the sailor. "And besides, how, in the
roaring of the storm--"

"Stop--listen--" said the reporter.

Pencroft listened more attentively, and really thought he heard, during a
lull, distant barking.

"Well!" said the reporter, pressing the sailor's hand.

"Yes--yes!" replied Pencroft.

"It is Top! It is Top!" cried Herbert, who had just awoke; and all three
rushed towards the opening of the Chimneys. They had great difficulty in
getting out. The wind drove them back. But at last they succeeded, and
could only remain standing by leaning against the rocks. They looked about,
but could not speak. The darkness was intense. The sea, the sky, the land
were all mingled in one black mass. Not a speck of light was visible.

The reporter and his companions remained thus for a few minutes,
overwhelmed by the wind, drenched by the rain, blinded by the sand.

Then, in a pause of the tumult, they again heard the barking, which they
found must be at some distance.

It could only be Top! But was he alone or accompanied? He was most
probably alone, for, if Neb had been with him, he would have made his way
more directly towards the Chimneys. The sailor squeezed the reporter's
hand, for he could not make himself heard, in a way which signified "Wait!"
then he reentered the passage.

An instant after he issued with a lighted fagot, which he threw into the
darkness, whistling shrilly.

It appeared as if this signal had been waited for; the barking
immediately came nearer, and soon a dog bounded into the passage. Pencroft,
Herbert, and Spilett entered after him.

An armful of dry wood was thrown on the embers. The passage was lighted
up with a bright flame.

"It is Top!" cried Herbert.

It was indeed Top, a magnificent Anglo-Norman, who derived from these two
races crossed the swiftness of foot and the acuteness of smell which are
the preeminent qualities of coursing dogs. It was the dog of the engineer,
Cyrus Harding. But he was alone! Neither Neb nor his master accompanied
him!

How was it that his instinct had guided him straight to the Chimneys,
which he did not know? It appeared inexplicable, above all, in the midst of
this black night and in such a tempest! But what was still more
inexplicable was, that Top was neither tired, nor exhausted, nor even
soiled with mud or sand!--Herbert had drawn him towards him, and was
patting his head, the dog rubbing his neck against the lad's hands.

"If the dog is found, the master will be found also!" said the reporter.

"God grant it!" responded Herbert. "Let us set off! Top will guide us!"

Pencroft did not make any objection. He felt that Top's arrival
contradicted his conjectures. "Come along then!" said he.

Pencroft carefully covered the embers on the hearth. He placed a few
pieces of wood among them, so as to keep in the fire until their return.
Then, preceded by the dog, who seemed to invite them by short barks to come
with him, and followed by the reporter and the boy, he dashed out, after
having put up in his handkerchief the remains of the supper.

The storm was then in all its violence, and perhaps at its height. Not a
single ray of light from the moon pierced through the clouds. To follow a
straight course was difficult. It was best to rely on Top's instinct. They
did so. The reporter and Herbert walked behind the dog, and the sailor
brought up the rear. It was impossible to exchange a word. The rain was not
very heavy, but the wind was terrific.

However, one circumstance favored the seaman and his two companions. The
wind being southeast, consequently blew on their backs. The clouds of sand,
which otherwise would have been insupportable, from being received behind,
did not in consequence impede their progress. In short, they sometimes went
faster than they liked, and had some difficulty in keeping their feet; but
hope gave them strength, for it was not at random that they made their way
along the shore. They had no doubt that Neb had found his master, and that
he had sent them the faithful dog. But was the engineer living, or had Neb
only sent for his companions that they might render the last duties to the
corpse of the unfortunate Harding?

After having passed the precipice, Herbert, the reporter, and Pencroft
prudently stepped aside to stop and take breath. The turn of the rocks
sheltered them from the wind, and they could breathe after this walk or
rather run of a quarter of an hour.

They could now hear and reply to each other, and the lad having
pronounced the name of Cyrus Harding, Top gave a few short barks, as much
as to say that his master was saved.

"Saved, isn't he?" repeated Herbert; "saved, Top?"

And the dog barked in reply.

They once more set out. The tide began to rise, and urged by the wind it
threatened to be unusually high, as it was a spring tide. Great billows
thundered against the reef with such violence that they probably passed
entirely over the islet, then quite invisible. The mole no longer protected
the coast, which was directly exposed to the attacks of the open sea.

As soon as the sailor and his companions left the precipice, the wind
struck them again with renewed fury. Though bent under the gale they walked
very quickly, following Top, who did not hesitate as to what direction to
take.

They ascended towards the north, having on their left an interminable
extent of billows, which broke with a deafening noise, and on their right a
dark country, the aspect of which it was impossible to guess. But they felt
that it was comparatively flat, for the wind passed completely over them,
without being driven back as it was when it came in contact with the cliff.

At four o'clock in the morning, they reckoned that they had cleared about
five miles. The clouds were slightly raised, and the wind, though less
damp, was very sharp and cold. Insufficiently protected by their clothing,
Pencroft, Herbert and Spilett suffered cruelly, but not a complaint escaped
their lips. They were determined to follow Top, wherever the intelligent
animal wished to lead them.

Towards five o'clock day began to break. At the zenith, where the fog was
less thick, gray shades bordered the clouds; under an opaque belt, a
luminous line clearly traced the horizon. The crests of the billows were
tipped with a wild light, and the foam regained its whiteness. At the same
time on the left the hilly parts of the coast could be seen, though very
indistinctly.

At six o'clock day had broken. The clouds rapidly lifted. The seaman and
his companions were then about six miles from the Chimneys. They were
following a very flat shore bounded by a reef of rocks, whose heads
scarcely emerged from the sea, for they were in deep water. On the left,
the country appeared to be one vast extent of sandy downs, bristling with
thistles. There was no cliff, and the shore offered no resistance to the
ocean but a chain of irregular hillocks. Here and there grew two or three
trees, inclined towards the west, their branches projecting in that
direction. Quite behind, in the southwest, extended the border of the
forest.

At this moment, Top became very excited. He ran forward, then returned,
and seemed to entreat them to hasten their steps. The dog then left the
beach, and guided by his wonderful instinct, without showing the least
hesitation, went straight in among the downs. They followed him. The
country appeared an absolute desert. Not a living creature was to be seen.

The downs, the extent of which was large, were composed of hillocks and
even of hills, very irregularly distributed. They resembled a Switzerland
modeled in sand, and only an amazing instinct could have possibly
recognized the way.

Five minutes after having left the beach, the reporter and his two
companions arrived at a sort of excavation, hollowed out at the back of a
high mound. There Top stopped, and gave a loud, clear bark. Spilett,
Herbert, and Pencroft dashed into the cave.

Neb was there, kneeling beside a body extended on a bed of grass.

The body was that of the engineer, Cyrus Harding.

Chapter 8

Neb did not move. Pencroft only uttered one word.

"Living?" he cried.

Neb did not reply. Spilett and the sailor turned pale. Herbert clasped
his hands, and remained motionless. The poor Negro, absorbed in his grief,
evidently had neither seen his companions nor heard the sailor speak.

The reporter knelt down beside the motionless body, and placed his ear to
the engineer's chest, having first torn open his clothes.

A minute--an age!--passed, during which he endeavored to catch the
faintest throb of the heart.

Neb had raised himself a little and gazed without seeing. Despair had
completely changed his countenance. He could scarcely be recognized,
exhausted with fatigue, broken with grief. He believed his master was dead.

Gideon Spilett at last rose, after a long and attentive examination.

"He lives!" said he.

Pencroft knelt in his turn beside the engineer, he also heard a
throbbing, and even felt a slight breath on his cheek.

Herbert at a word from the reporter ran out to look for water. He found,
a hundred feet off, a limpid stream, which seemed to have been greatly
increased by the rains, and which filtered through the sand; but nothing in
which to put the water, not even a shell among the downs. The lad was
obliged to content himself with dipping his handkerchief in the stream, and
with it hastened back to the grotto.

Happily the wet handkerchief was enough for Gideon Spilett, who only
wished to wet the engineer's lips. The cold water produced an almost
immediate effect. His chest heaved and he seemed to try to speak.

"We will save him!" exclaimed the reporter.

At these words hope revived in Neb's heart. He undressed his master to
see if he was wounded, but not so much as a bruise was to be found, either
on the head, body, or limbs, which was surprising, as he must have been
dashed against the rocks; even the hands were uninjured, and it was
difficult to explain how the engineer showed no traces of the efforts which
he must have made to get out of reach of the breakers.

But the explanation would come later. When Cyrus was able to speak he
would say what had happened. For the present the question was, how to
recall him to life, and it appeared likely that rubbing would bring this
about; so they set to work with the sailor's jersey.

The engineer, revived by this rude shampooing, moved his arm slightly and
began to breathe more regularly. He was sinking from exhaustion, and
certainly, had not the reporter and his companions arrived, it would have
been all over with Cyrus Harding.

"You thought your master was dead, didn't you?" said the seaman to Neb.

"Yes! quite dead!" replied Neb, "and if Top had not found you, and
brought you here, I should have buried my master, and then have lain down
on his grave to die!"

It had indeed been a narrow escape for Cyrus Harding!

Neb then recounted what had happened. The day before, after having left
the Chimneys at daybreak, he had ascended the coast in a northerly
direction, and had reached that part of the shore which he had already
visited.

There, without any hope he acknowledged, Neb had searched the beach,
among the rocks, on the sand, for the smallest trace to guide him. He
examined particularly that part of the beach which was not covered by the
high tide, for near the sea the water would have obliterated all marks. Neb
did not expect to find his master living. It was for a corpse that he
searched, a corpse which he wished to bury with his own hands!

He sought long in vain. This desert coast appeared never to have been
visited by a human creature. The shells, those which the sea had not
reached, and which might be met with by millions above high-water mark,
were untouched. Not a shell was broken.

Neb then resolved to walk along the beach for some miles. It was possible
that the waves had carried the body to quite a distant point. When a corpse
floats a little distance from a low shore, it rarely happens that the tide
does not throw it up, sooner or later. This Neb knew, and he wished to see
his master again for the last time.

"I went along the coast for another two miles, carefully examining the
beach, both at high and low water, and I had despaired of finding anything,
when yesterday, above five in the evening, I saw footprints on the sand."

"Footprints?" exclaimed Pencroft.

"Yes!" replied Neb.

"Did these footprints begin at the water's edge?" asked the reporter.

"No," replied Neb, "only above high-water mark, for the others must have
been washed out by the tide."

"Go on, Neb," said Spilett.

"I went half crazy when I saw these footprints. They were very clear and
went towards the downs. I followed them for a quarter of a mile, running,
but taking care not to destroy them. Five minutes after, as it was getting
dark, I heard the barking of a dog. It was Top, and Top brought me here, to
my master!"

Neb ended his account by saying what had been his grief at finding the
inanimate body, in which he vainly sought for the least sign of life. Now
that he had found him dead he longed for him to be alive. All his efforts
were useless! Nothing remained to be done but to render the last duties to
the one whom he had loved so much! Neb then thought of his companions.
They, no doubt, would wish to see the unfortunate man again. Top was there.
Could he not rely on the sagacity of the faithful animal? Neb several times
pronounced the name of the reporter, the one among his companions whom Top
knew best.

Then he pointed to the south, and the dog bounded off in the direction
indicated to him.

We have heard how, guided by an instinct which might be looked upon
almost as supernatural, Top had found them.

Neb's companions had listened with great attention to this account.

It was unaccountable to them how Cyrus Harding, after the efforts which
he must have made to escape from the waves by crossing the rocks, had not
received even a scratch. And what could not be explained either was how the
engineer had managed to get to this cave in the downs, more than a mile
from the shore.

"So, Neb," said the reporter, "it was not you who brought your master to
this place."

"No, it was not I," replied the Negro.

"It's very clear that the captain came here by himself," said Pencroft.

"It is clear in reality," observed Spilett, "but it is not credible!"

The explanation of this fact could only be produced from the engineer's
own lips, and they must wait for that till speech returned. Rubbing had
re-established the circulation of the blood. Cyrus Harding moved his arm
again, then his head, and a few incomprehensible words escaped him.

Neb, who was bending over him, spoke, but the engineer did not appear to
hear, and his eyes remained closed. Life was only exhibited in him by
movement, his senses had not as yet been restored.

Pencroft much regretted not having either fire, or the means of procuring
it, for he had, unfortunately, forgotten to bring the burnt linen, which
would easily have ignited from the sparks produced by striking together two
flints. As to the engineer's pockets, they were entirely empty, except that
of his waistcoat, which contained his watch. It was necessary to carry
Harding to the Chimneys, and that as soon as possible. This was the opinion
of all.

Meanwhile, the care which was lavished on the engineer brought him back
to consciousness sooner than they could have expected. The water with which
they wetted his lips revived him gradually. Pencroft also thought of mixing
with the water some moisture from the titra's flesh which he had brought.
Herbert ran to the beach and returned with two large bivalve shells. The
sailor concocted something which he introduced between the lips of the
engineer, who eagerly drinking it opened his eyes.

Neb and the reporter were leaning over him.

"My master! my master!" cried Neb.

The engineer heard him. He recognized Neb and Spilett, then his other two
companions, and his hand slightly pressed theirs.

A few words again escaped him, which showed what thoughts were, even
then, troubling his brain. This time he was understood. Undoubtedly they
were the same words he had before attempted to utter.

"Island or continent?" he murmured.

"Bother the continent," cried Pencroft hastily; "there is time enough to
see about that, captain! we don't care for anything, provided you are
living."

The engineer nodded faintly, and then appeased to sleep.

They respected this sleep, and the reporter began immediately to make
arrangements for transporting Harding to a more comfortable place. Neb,
Herbert, and Pencroft left the cave and directed their steps towards a high
mound crowned with a few distorted trees. On the way the sailor could not
help repeating,--

"Island or continent! To think of that, when at one's last gasp! What a
man!"

Arrived at the summit of the mound, Pencroft and his two companions set
to work, with no other tools than their hands, to despoil of its principal
branches a rather sickly tree, a sort of marine fir; with these branches
they made a litter, on which, covered with grass and leaves, they could
carry the engineer.

This occupied them nearly forty minutes, and it was ten o'clock when they
returned to Cyrus Harding whom Spilett had not left.

The engineer was just awaking from the sleep, or rather from the
drowsiness, in which they had found him. The color was returning to his
cheeks, which till now had been as pale as death. He raised himself a
little, looked around him, and appeared to ask where he was.

"Can you listen to me without fatigue, Cyrus?" asked the reporter.

"Yes," replied the engineer.

"It's my opinion," said the sailor, "that Captain Harding will be able to
listen to you still better, if he will have some more grouse jelly,--for we
have grouse, captain," added he, presenting him with a little of this
jelly, to which he this time added some of the flesh.

Cyrus Harding ate a little of the grouse, and the rest was divided among
his companions, who found it but a meager breakfast, for they were
suffering extremely from hunger.

"Well!" said the sailor, "there is plenty of food at the Chimneys, for
you must know, captain, that down there, in the south, we have a house,
with rooms, beds, and fireplace, and in the pantry, several dozen of birds,
which our Herbert calls couroucous. Your litter is ready, and as soon as
you feel strong enough we will carry you home."

"Thanks, my friend," replied the engineer; "wait another hour or two, and
then we will set out. And now speak, Spilett."

The reporter then told him all that had occurred. He recounted all the
events with which Cyrus was unacquainted, the last fall of the balloon, the
landing on this unknown land, which appeared a desert (whatever it was,
whether island or continent), the discovery of the Chimneys, the search for
him, not forgetting of course Neb's devotion, the intelligence exhibited by
the faithful Top, as well as many other matters.

"But," asked Harding, in a still feeble voice, "you did not, then, pick
me up on the beach?"

"No," replied the reporter.

"And did you not bring me to this cave?"

"No."

"At what distance is this cave from the sea?"

"About a mile," replied Pencroft; "and if you are astonished, captain, we
are not less surprised ourselves at seeing you in this place!"

"Indeed," said the engineer, who was recovering gradually, and who took
great interest in these details, "indeed it is very singular!"

"But," resumed the sailor, "can you tell us what happened after you were
carried off by the sea?"

Cyrus Harding considered. He knew very little. The wave had torn him from
the balloon net. He sank at first several fathoms. On returning to the
surface, in the half light, he felt a living creature struggling near him.
It was Top, who had sprung to his help. He saw nothing of the balloon,
which, lightened both of his weight and that of the dog, had darted away
like an arrow.

There he was, in the midst of the angry sea, at a distance which could
not be less than half a mile from the shore. He attempted to struggle
against the billows by swimming vigorously. Top held him up by his clothes;
but a strong current seized him and drove him towards the north, and after
half an hour of exertion, he sank, dragging Top with him into the depths.
From that moment to the moment in which he recovered to find himself in the
arms of his friends he remembered nothing.

"However," remarked Pencroft, "you must have been thrown on to the beach,
and you must have had strength to walk here, since Neb found your
footmarks!"

"Yes... of course replied the engineer, thoughtfully; "and you found no
traces of human beings on this coast?"

"Not a trace," replied the reporter; "besides, if by chance you had met
with some deliverer there, just in the nick of time, why should he have
abandoned you after having saved you from the waves?"

"You are right, my dear Spilett. Tell me, Neb," added the engineer,
turning to his servant, "it was not you who... you can't have had a moment
of unconsciousness... during which no, that's absurd.... Do any of the
footsteps still remain?" asked Harding.

"Yes, master, replied Neb; "here, at the entrance, at the back of the
mound, in a place sheltered from the rain and wind. The storm has destroyed
the others."

"Pencroft," said Cyrus Harding, "will you take my shoe and see if it fits
exactly to the footprints?"

The sailor did as the engineer requested. While he and Herbert, guided by
Neb, went to the place where the footprints were to be found, Cyrus
remarked to the reporter,--

"It is a most extraordinary thing!"

"Perfectly inexplicable!" replied Gideon Spilett.

"But do not dwell upon it just now, my dear Spilett, we will talk about
it by-and-by."

A moment after the others entered.

There was no doubt about it. The engineer's shoe fitted exactly to the
footmarks. It was therefore Cyrus Harding who had left them on the sand.

"Come," said he, "I must have experienced this unconsciousness which I
attributed to Neb. I must have walked like a somnambulist, without any
knowledge of my steps, and Top must have guided me here, after having
dragged me from the waves... Come, Top! Come, old dog!"

The magnificent animal bounded barking to his master, and caresses were
lavished on him. It was agreed that there was no other way of accounting
for the rescue of Cyrus Harding, and that Top deserved all the honor of the
affair.

Towards twelve o'clock, Pencroft having asked the engineer if they could
now remove him, Harding, instead of replying, and by an effort which
exhibited the most energetic will, got up. But he was obliged to lean on
the sailor, or he would have fallen.

"Well done!" cried Pencroft; "bring the captain's litter."