Chapter 11

Half an hour later Cyrus Harding and Herbert had returned to the

encampment. The engineer merely told his companions that the land upon

which fate had thrown them was an island, and that the next day they

would consult. Then each settled himself as well as he could to sleep,

and in that rocky hole, at a height of two thousand five hundred feet

above the level of the sea, through a peaceful night, the islanders

enjoyed profound repose.

The next day, the 30th of March, after a hasty breakfast, which

consisted solely of the roasted tragopan, the engineer wished to climb

again to the summit of the volcano, so as more attentively to survey

the island upon which he and his companions were imprisoned for life

perhaps, should the island be situated at a great distance from any

land, or if it was out of the course of vessels which visited the

archipelagoes of the Pacific Ocean. This time his companions followed

him in the new exploration. They also wished to see the island, on the

productions of which they must depend for the supply of all their wants.

It was about seven o’clock in the morning when Cyrus Harding, Herbert,

Pencroft, Gideon Spilett, and Neb quitted the encampment. No one

appeared to be anxious about their situation. They had faith in

themselves, doubtless, but it must be observed that the basis of this

faith was not the same with Harding as with his companions. The engineer

had confidence, because he felt capable of extorting from this wild

country everything necessary for the life of himself and his companions;

the latter feared nothing, just because Cyrus Harding was with them.

Pencroft especially, since the incident of the relighted fire, would

not have despaired for an instant, even if he was on a bare rock, if the

engineer was with him on the rock.

“Pshaw,” said he, “we left Richmond without permission from the

authorities! It will be hard if we don’t manage to get away some day or

other from a place where certainly no one will detain us!”

Cyrus Harding followed the same road as the evening before. They went

round the cone by the plateau which formed the shoulder, to the mouth of

the enormous chasm. The weather was magnificent. The sun rose in a pure

sky and flooded with his rays all the eastern side of the mountain.

The crater was reached. It was just what the engineer had made it out to

be in the dark; that is to say, a vast funnel which extended, widening,

to a height of a thousand feet above the plateau. Below the chasm, large

thick streaks of lava wound over the sides of the mountain, and thus

marked the course of the eruptive matter to the lower valleys which

furrowed the northern part of the island.

The interior of the crater, whose inclination did not exceed thirty five

to forty degrees, presented no difficulties nor obstacles to the ascent.

Traces of very ancient lava were noticed, which probably had overflowed

the summit of the cone, before this lateral chasm had opened a new way

to it.

As to the volcanic chimney which established a communication between the

subterranean layers and the crater, its depth could not be calculated

with the eye, for it was lost in obscurity. But there was no doubt as to

the complete extinction of the volcano.

Before eight o’clock Harding and his companions were assembled at the

summit of the crater, on a conical mound which swelled the northern

edge.

“The sea, the sea everywhere!” they cried, as if their lips could not

restrain the words which made islanders of them.

The sea, indeed, formed an immense circular sheet of water all around

them! Perhaps, on climbing again to the summit of the cone, Cyrus

Harding had had a hope of discovering some coast, some island shore,

which he had not been able to perceive in the dark the evening before.

But nothing appeared on the farthest verge of the horizon, that is to

say over a radius of more than fifty miles. No land in sight. Not a

sail. Over all this immense space the ocean alone was visible--the

island occupied the center of a circumference which appeared to be

infinite.

The engineer and his companions, mute and motionless, surveyed for

some minutes every point of the ocean, examining it to its most extreme

limits. Even Pencroft, who possessed a marvelous power of sight, saw

nothing; and certainly if there had been land at the horizon, if it

appeared only as an indistinct vapor, the sailor would undoubtedly

have found it out, for nature had placed regular telescopes under his

eyebrows.

From the ocean their gaze returned to the island which they commanded

entirely, and the first question was put by Gideon Spilett in these

terms:

“About what size is this island?”

Truly, it did not appear large in the midst of the immense ocean.

Cyrus Harding reflected a few minutes; he attentively observed the

perimeter of the island, taking into consideration the height at which

he was placed; then,--

“My friends,” said he, “I do not think I am mistaken in giving to the

shore of the island a circumference of more than a hundred miles.”

“And consequently an area?”

“That is difficult to estimate,” replied the engineer, “for it is so

uneven.”

If Cyrus Harding was not mistaken in his calculation, the island had

almost the extent of Malta or Zante, in the Mediterranean, but it was at

the same time much more irregular and less rich in capes, promontories,

points, bays, or creeks. Its strange form caught the eye, and when

Gideon Spilett, on the engineer’s advice, had drawn the outline, they

found that it resembled some fantastic animal, a monstrous leviathan,

which lay sleeping on the surface of the Pacific.

This was in fact the exact shape of the island, which it is of

consequence to know, and a tolerably correct map of it was immediately

drawn by the reporter.

The east part of the shore, where the castaways had landed, formed a

wide bay, terminated by a sharp cape, which had been concealed by a high

point from Pencroft on his first exploration. At the northeast two other

capes closed the bay, and between them ran a narrow gulf, which looked

like the half-open jaws of a formidable dog-fish.

From the northeast to the southwest the coast was rounded, like

the flattened cranium of an animal, rising again, forming a sort of

protuberance which did not give any particular shape to this part of the

island, of which the center was occupied by the volcano.

From this point the shore ran pretty regularly north and south, broken

at two-thirds of its perimeter by a narrow creek, from which it ended in

a long tail, similar to the caudal appendage of a gigantic alligator.

This tail formed a regular peninsula, which stretched more than thirty

miles into the sea, reckoning from the cape southeast of the island,

already mentioned; it curled round, making an open roadstead, which

marked out the lower shore of this strangely-formed land.

At the narrowest part, that is to say between the Chimneys and the creek

on the western shore, which corresponded to it in latitude, the island

only measured ten miles; but its greatest length, from the jaws at the

northeast to the extremity of the tail of the southwest, was not less

than thirty miles.

As to the interior of the island, its general aspect was this, very

woody throughout the southern part from the mountain to the shore, and

arid and sandy in the northern part. Between the volcano and the east

coast Cyrus Harding and his companions were surprised to see a

lake, bordered with green trees, the existence of which they had not

suspected. Seen from this height, the lake appeared to be on the same

level as the ocean, but, on reflection, the engineer explained to his

companions that the altitude of this little sheet of water must be about

three hundred feet, because the plateau, which was its basin, was but a

prolongation of the coast.

“Is it a freshwater lake?” asked Pencroft.

“Certainly,” replied the engineer, “for it must be fed by the water

which flows from the mountain.”

“I see a little river which runs into it,” said Herbert, pointing out a

narrow stream, which evidently took its source somewhere in the west.

“Yes,” said Harding; “and since this stream feeds the lake, most

probably on the side near the sea there is an outlet by which the

surplus water escapes. We shall see that on our return.”

This little winding watercourse and the river already mentioned

constituted the water-system, at least such as it was displayed to the

eyes of the explorers. However, it was possible that under the masses of

trees which covered two-thirds of the island, forming an immense forest,

other rivers ran towards the sea. It might even be inferred that such

was the case, so rich did this region appear in the most magnificent

specimens of the flora of the temperate zones. There was no indication

of running water in the north, though perhaps there might be stagnant

water among the marshes in the northeast; but that was all, in addition

to the downs, sand, and aridity which contrasted so strongly with the

luxuriant vegetation of the rest of the island.

The volcano did not occupy the central part; it rose, on the contrary,

in the northwestern region, and seemed to mark the boundary of the two

zones. At the southwest, at the south, and the southeast, the first part

of the spurs were hidden under masses of verdure. At the north, on the

contrary, one could follow their ramifications, which died away on the

sandy plains. It was on this side that, at the time when the mountain

was in a state of eruption, the discharge had worn away a passage, and

a large heap of lava had spread to the narrow jaw which formed the

northeastern gulf.

Cyrus Harding and his companions remained an hour at the top of the

mountain. The island was displayed under their eyes, like a plan in

relief with different tints, green for the forests, yellow for the

sand, blue for the water. They viewed it in its tout-ensemble, nothing

remained concealed but the ground hidden by verdure, the hollows of the

valleys, and the interior of the volcanic chasms.

One important question remained to be solved, and the answer would have

a great effect upon the future of the castaways.

Was the island inhabited?

It was the reporter who put this question, to which after the close

examination they had just made, the answer seemed to be in the negative.

Nowhere could the work of a human hand be perceived. Not a group of

huts, not a solitary cabin, not a fishery on the shore. No smoke curling

in the air betrayed the presence of man. It is true, a distance of

nearly thirty miles separated the observers from the extreme points,

that is, of the tail which extended to the southwest, and it would have

been difficult, even to Pencroft’s eyes, to discover a habitation there.

Neither could the curtain of verdure, which covered three-quarters

of the island, be raised to see if it did not shelter some straggling

village. But in general the islanders live on the shores of the narrow

spaces which emerge above the waters of the Pacific, and this shore

appeared to be an absolute desert.

Until a more complete exploration, it might be admitted that the island

was uninhabited. But was it frequented, at least occasionally, by

the natives of neighboring islands? It was difficult to reply to this

question. No land appeared within a radius of fifty miles. But fifty

miles could be easily crossed, either by Malay proas or by the large

Polynesian canoes. Everything depended on the position of the island,

of its isolation in the Pacific, or of its proximity to archipelagoes.

Would Cyrus Harding be able to find out their latitude and longitude

without instruments? It would be difficult. Since he was in doubt, it

was best to take precautions against a possible descent of neighboring

natives.

The exploration of the island was finished, its shape determined, its

features made out, its extent calculated, the water and mountain systems

ascertained. The disposition of the forests and plains had been marked

in a general way on the reporter’s plan. They had now only to descend

the mountain slopes again, and explore the soil, in the triple point of

view, of its mineral, vegetable, and animal resources.

But before giving his companions the signal for departure, Cyrus Harding

said to them in a calm, grave voice,--

“Here, my friends, is the small corner of land upon which the hand of

the Almighty has thrown us. We are going to live here; a long time,

perhaps. Perhaps, too, unexpected help will arrive, if some ship passes

by chance. I say by chance, because this is an unimportant island; there

is not even a port in which ships could anchor, and it is to be feared

that it is situated out of the route usually followed, that is to say,

too much to the south for the ships which frequent the archipelagoes of

the Pacific, and too much to the north for those which go to Australia

by doubling Cape Horn. I wish to hide nothing of our position from

you--”

“And you are right, my dear Cyrus,” replied the reporter, with

animation. “You have to deal with men. They have confidence in you, and

you can depend upon them. Is it not so, my friends?”

“I will obey you in everything, captain,” said Herbert, seizing the

engineer’s hand.

“My master always, and everywhere!” cried Neb.

“As for me,” said the sailor, “if I ever grumble at work, my name’s not

Jack Pencroft, and if you like, captain, we will make a little America

of this island! We will build towns, we will establish railways, start

telegraphs, and one fine day, when it is quite changed, quite put in

order and quite civilized, we will go and offer it to the government of

the Union. Only, I ask one thing.”

“What is that?” said the reporter.

“It is, that we do not consider ourselves castaways, but colonists,

who have come here to settle.” Harding could not help smiling, and the

sailor’s idea was adopted. He then thanked his companions, and added,

that he would rely on their energy and on the aid of Heaven.

“Well, now let us set off to the Chimneys!” cried Pencroft.

“One minute, my friends,” said the engineer. “It seems to me it would

be a good thing to give a name to this island, as well as to, the capes,

promontories, and watercourses, which we can see.

“Very good,” said the reporter. “In the future, that will simplify the

instructions which we shall have to give and follow.”

“Indeed,” said the sailor, “already it is something to be able to say

where one is going, and where one has come from. At least, it looks like

somewhere.”

“The Chimneys, for example,” said Herbert.

“Exactly!” replied Pencroft. “That name was the most convenient, and it

came to me quite of myself. Shall we keep the name of the Chimneys for

our first encampment, captain?”

“Yes, Pencroft, since you have so christened it.”

“Good! as for the others, that will be easy,” returned the sailor, who

was in high spirits. “Let us give them names, as the Robinsons did,

whose story Herbert has often read to me; Providence Bay, Whale Point,

Cape Disappointment!”

“Or, rather, the names of Captain Harding,” said Herbert, “of Mr.

Spilett, of Neb!--”

“My name!” cried Neb, showing his sparkling white teeth.

“Why not?” replied Pencroft. “Port Neb, that would do very well! And

Cape Gideon--”

“I should prefer borrowing names from our country,” said the reporter,

“which would remind us of America.”

“Yes, for the principal ones,” then said Cyrus Harding; “for those of

the bays and seas, I admit it willingly. We might give to that vast bay

on the east the name of Union Bay, for example; to that large hollow on

the south, Washington Bay; to the mountain upon which we are standing,

that of Mount Franklin; to that lake which is extended under our eyes,

that of Lake Grant; nothing could be better, my friends. These names

will recall our country, and those of the great citizens who have

honored it; but for the rivers, gulfs, capes, and promontories, which we

perceive from the top of this mountain, rather let us choose names which

will recall their particular shape. They will impress themselves better

on our memory, and at the same time will be more practical. The shape of

the island is so strange that we shall not be troubled to imagine

what it resembles. As to the streams which we do not know as yet, in

different parts of the forest which we shall explore later, the creeks

which afterwards will be discovered, we can christen them as we find

them. What do you think, my friends?”

The engineer’s proposal was unanimously agreed to by his companions. The

island was spread out under their eyes like a map, and they had only to

give names to all its angles and points. Gideon Spilett would write

them down, and the geographical nomenclature of the island would be

definitely adopted. First, they named the two bays and the mountain,

Union Bay, Washington Bay, and Mount Franklin, as the engineer had

suggested.

“Now,” said the reporter, “to this peninsula at the southwest of the

island, I propose to give the name of Serpentine Peninsula, and that of

Reptile-end to the bent tail which terminates it, for it is just like a

reptile’s tail.”

“Adopted,” said the engineer.

“Now,” said Herbert, pointing to the other extremity of the island, “let

us call this gulf which is so singularly like a pair of open jaws, Shark

Gulf.”

“Capital!” cried Pencroft, “and we can complete the resemblance by

naming the two parts of the jaws Mandible Cape.”

“But there are two capes,” observed the reporter.

“Well,” replied Pencroft, “we can have North Mandible Cape and South

Mandible Cape.”

“They are inscribed,” said Spilett.

“There is only the point at the southeastern extremity of the island to

be named,” said Pencroft.

“That is, the extremity of Union Bay?” asked Herbert.

“Claw Cape,” cried Neb directly, who also wished to be godfather to some

part of his domain.

In truth, Neb had found an excellent name, for this cape was very like

the powerful claw of the fantastic animal which this singularly-shaped

island represented.

Pencroft was delighted at the turn things had taken, and their

imaginations soon gave to the river which furnished the settlers with

drinking water and near which the balloon had thrown them, the name of

the Mercy, in true gratitude to Providence. To the islet upon which the

castaways had first landed, the name of Safety Island; to the plateau

which crowned the high granite precipice above the Chimneys, and from

whence the gaze could embrace the whole of the vast bay, the name of

Prospect Heights.

Lastly, all the masses of impenetrable wood which covered the Serpentine

Peninsula were named the forests of the Far West.

The nomenclature of the visible and known parts of the island was

thus finished, and later, they would complete it as they made fresh

discoveries.

As to the points of the compass, the engineer had roughly fixed them by

the height and position of the sun, which placed Union Bay and Prospect

Heights to the east. But the next day, by taking the exact hour of the

rising and setting of the sun, and by marking its position between this

rising and setting, he reckoned to fix the north of the island exactly,

for, in consequence of its situation in the Southern Hemisphere, the

sun, at the precise moment of its culmination, passed in the north and

not in the south, as, in its apparent movement, it seems to do, to those

places situated in the Northern Hemisphere.

Everything was finished, and the settlers had only to descend Mount

Franklin to return to the Chimneys, when Pencroft cried out,--

“Well! we are preciously stupid!”

“Why?” asked Gideon Spilett, who had closed his notebook and risen to

depart.

“Why! our island! we have forgotten to christen it!”

Herbert was going to propose to give it the engineer’s name and all his

companions would have applauded him, when Cyrus Harding said simply,--

“Let us give it the name of a great citizen, my friend; of him who now

struggles to defend the unity of the American Republic! Let us call it

Lincoln Island!”

The engineer’s proposal was replied to by three hurrahs.

And that evening, before sleeping, the new colonists talked of their

absent country; they spoke of the terrible war which stained it with

blood; they could not doubt that the South would soon be subdued, and

that the cause of the North, the cause of justice, would triumph, thanks

to Grant, thanks to Lincoln!

Now this happened the 30th of March, 1865. They little knew that sixteen

days afterwards a frightful crime would be committed in Washington, and

that on Good Friday Abraham Lincoln would fall by the hand of a fanatic.