Chapter 14

Pencroft, Herbert, and Gideon Spilett remained silent in the midst of

the darkness.

Pencroft shouted loudly.

No reply was made.

The sailor then struck a light and set fire to a twig. This lighted for

a minute a small room, which appeared perfectly empty. At the back was

a rude fireplace, with a few cold cinders, supporting an armful of dry

wood. Pencroft threw the blazing twig on it, the wood crackled and gave

forth a bright light.

The sailor and his two companions then perceived a disordered bed, of

which the damp and yellow coverlets proved that it had not been used for

a long time. In the corner of the fireplace were two kettles, covered

with rust, and an overthrown pot. A cupboard, with a few moldy sailor’s

clothes; on the table a tin plate and a Bible, eaten away by damp; in a

corner a few tools, a spade, pickaxe, two fowling-pieces, one of which

was broken; on a plank, forming a shelf, stood a barrel of powder, still

untouched, a barrel of shot, and several boxes of caps, all thickly

covered with dust, accumulated, perhaps, by many long years.

“There is no one here,” said the reporter.

“No one,” replied Pencroft.

“It is a long time since this room has been inhabited,” observed

Herbert.

“Yes, a very long time!” answered the reporter.

“Mr. Spilett,” then said Pencroft, “instead of returning on board, I

think that it would be well to pass the night in this hut.”

“You are right, Pencroft,” answered Gideon Spilett, “and if its owner

returns, well! perhaps he will not be sorry to find the place taken

possession of.”

“He will not return,” said the sailor, shaking his head.

“You think that he has quitted the island?” asked the reporter.

“If he had quitted the island he would have taken away his weapons and

his tools,” replied Pencroft. “You know the value which castaways set

on such articles as these the last remains of a wreck. No! no!” repeated

the sailor, in a tone of conviction; “no, he has not left the island! If

he had escaped in a boat made by himself, he would still less have left

these indispensable and necessary articles. No! he is on the island!”

“Living?” asked Herbert.

“Living or dead. But if he is dead, I suppose he has not buried himself,

and so we shall at least find his remains!”

It was then agreed that the night should be passed in the deserted

dwelling, and a store of wood found in a corner was sufficient to warm

it. The door closed, Pencroft, Herbert and Spilett remained there,

seated on a bench, talking little but wondering much. They were in a

frame of mind to imagine anything or expect anything. They listened

eagerly for sounds outside. The door might have opened suddenly, and

a man presented himself to them without their being in the least

surprised, notwithstanding all that the hut revealed of abandonment,

and they had their hands ready to press the hands of this man, this

castaway, this unknown friend, for whom friends were waiting.

But no voice was heard, the door did not open. The hours thus passed

away.

How long the night appeared to the sailor and his companions! Herbert

alone slept for two hours, for at his age sleep is a necessity. They

were all three anxious to continue their exploration of the day before,

and to search the most secret recesses of the islet! The inferences

deduced by Pencroft were perfectly reasonable, and it was nearly certain

that, as the hut was deserted, and the tools, utensils, and weapons were

still there, the owner had succumbed. It was agreed, therefore, that

they should search for his remains, and give them at least Christian

burial.

Day dawned; Pencroft and his companions immediately proceeded to survey

the dwelling. It had certainly been built in a favorable situation,

at the back of a little hill, sheltered by five or six magnificent

gum-trees. Before its front and through the trees the axe had prepared

a wide clearing, which allowed the view to extend to the sea. Beyond a

lawn, surrounded by a wooden fence falling to pieces, was the shore, on

the left of which was the mouth of the stream.

The hut had been built of planks, and it was easy to see that these

planks had been obtained from the hull or deck of a ship. It was

probable that a disabled vessel had been cast on the coast of the

island, that one at least of the crew had been saved, and that by means

of the wreck this man, having tools at his disposal, had built the

dwelling.

And this became still more evident when Gideon Spilett, after having

walked around the hut, saw on a plank, probably one of those which

had formed the armor of the wrecked vessel, these letters already half

effaced:

BR--TAN--A

“Britannia,” exclaimed Pencroft, whom the reporter had called; “it is

a common name for ships, and I could not say if she was English or

American!”

“It matters very little, Pencroft!”

“Very little indeed,” answered the sailor, “and we will save the

survivor of her crew if he is still living, to whatever country he may

belong. But before beginning our search again let us go on board the

‘Bonadventure’.”

A sort of uneasiness had seized Pencroft upon the subject of his vessel.

Should the island be inhabited after all, and should some one have taken

possession of her? But he shrugged his shoulders at such an unreasonable

supposition. At any rate the sailor was not sorry to go to breakfast on

board. The road already trodden was not long, scarcely a mile. They set

out on their walk, gazing into the wood and thickets through which goats

and pigs fled in hundreds.

Twenty minutes after leaving the hut Pencroft and his companions reached

the western coast of the island, and saw the “Bonadventure” held fast by

her anchor, which was buried deep in the sand.

Pencroft could not restrain a sigh of satisfaction. After all this

vessel was his child, and it is the right of fathers to be often uneasy

when there is no occasion for it.

They returned on board, breakfasted, so that it should not be necessary

to dine until very late; then the repast being ended, the exploration

was continued and conducted with the most minute care. Indeed, it was

very probable that the only inhabitant of the island had perished. It

was therefore more for the traces of a dead than of a living man that

Pencroft and his companions searched. But their searches were vain, and

during the half of that day they sought to no purpose among the thickets

of trees which covered the islet. There was then scarcely any doubt

that, if the castaway was dead, no trace of his body now remained, but

that some wild beast had probably devoured it to the last bone.

“We will set off to-morrow at daybreak,” said Pencroft to his two

companions, as about two o’clock they were resting for a few minutes

under the shade of a clump of firs.

“I should think that we might without scruple take the utensils which

belonged to the castaway,” added Herbert.

“I think so, too,” returned Gideon Spilett, “and these arms and tools

will make up the stores of Granite House. The supply of powder and shot

is also most important.”

“Yes,” replied Pencroft, “but we must not forget to capture a couple or

two of those pigs, of which Lincoln Island is destitute.”

“Nor to gather those seeds,” added Herbert, “which will give us all the

vegetables of the Old and the New Worlds.”

“Then perhaps it would be best,” said the reporter, “to remain a day

longer on Tabor Island, so as to collect all that may be useful to us.”

“No, Mr. Spilett,” answered Pencroft, “I will ask you to set off

to-morrow at daybreak. The wind seems to me to be likely to shift to the

west, and after having had a fair wind for coming we shall have a fair

wind for going back.”

“Then do not let us lose time,” said Herbert, rising.

“We won’t waste time,” returned Pencroft. “You, Herbert, go and gather

the seeds, which you know better than we do. While you do that, Mr.

Spilett and I will go and have a pig hunt, and even without Top I hope

we shall manage to catch a few!”

Herbert accordingly took the path which led towards the cultivated part

of the islet, while the sailor and the reporter entered the forest.

Many specimens of the porcine race fled before them, and these animals,

which were singularly active, did not appear to be in a humor to allow

themselves to be approached.

However, after an hour’s chase, the hunters had just managed to get hold

of a couple lying in a thicket, when cries were heard resounding from

the north part of the island, With the cries were mingled terrible

yells, in which there was nothing human.

Pencroft and Gideon Spilett were at once on their feet, and the pigs

by this movement began to run away, at the moment when the sailor was

getting ready the rope to bind them.

“That’s Herbert’s voice,” said the reporter.

“Run!” exclaimed Pencroft.

And the sailor and Spilett immediately ran at full speed towards the

spot from whence the cries proceeded.

They did well to hasten, for at a turn of the path near a clearing they

saw the lad thrown on the ground and in the grasp of a savage being,

apparently a gigantic ape, who was about to do him some great harm.

To rush on this monster, throw him on the ground in his turn, snatch

Herbert from him, then bind him securely, was the work of a minute for

Pencroft and Gideon Spilett. The sailor was of Herculean strength, the

reporter also very powerful, and in spite of the monster’s resistance he

was firmly tied so that he could not even move.

“You are not hurt, Herbert?” asked Spilett.

“No, no!”

“Oh, if this ape had wounded him!” exclaimed Pencroft.

“But he is not an ape,” answered Herbert.

At these words Pencroft and Gideon Spilett looked at the singular being

who lay on the ground. Indeed it was not an ape; it was a human being,

a man. But what a man! A savage in all the horrible acceptation of the

word, and so much the more frightful that he seemed fallen to the lowest

degree of brutishness!

Shaggy hair, untrimmed beard descending to the chest, the body almost

naked except a rag round the waist, wild eyes, enormous hands with

immensely long nails, skin the color of mahogany, feet as hard as if

made of horn, such was the miserable creature who yet had a claim to be

called a man. But it might justly be asked if there were yet a soul in

this body, or if the brute instinct alone survived in it!

“Are you quite sure that this is a man, or that he has ever been one?”

said Pencroft to the reporter.

“Alas! there is no doubt about it,” replied Spilett.

“Then this must be the castaway?” asked Herbert.

“Yes,” replied Gideon Spilett, “but the unfortunate man has no longer

anything human about him!”

The reporter spoke the truth. It was evident that if the castaway had

ever been a civilized being, solitude had made him a savage, or worse,

perhaps a regular man of the woods. Hoarse sounds issued from his throat

between his teeth, which were sharp as the teeth of a wild beast made to

tear raw flesh.

Memory must have deserted him long before, and for a long time also he

had forgotten how to use his gun and tools, and he no longer knew how to

make a fire! It could be seen that he was active and powerful, but the

physical qualities had been developed in him to the injury of the moral

qualities. Gideon Spilett spoke to him. He did not appear to understand

or even to hear. And yet on looking into his eyes, the reporter thought

he could see that all reason was not extinguished in him. However, the

prisoner did not struggle, nor even attempt to break his bonds. Was he

overwhelmed by the presence of men whose fellow he had once been? Had he

found in some corner of his brain a fleeting remembrance which recalled

him to humanity? If free, would he attempt to fly, or would he remain?

They could not tell, but they did not make the experiment; and after

gazing attentively at the miserable creature,--

“Whoever he may be,” remarked Gideon Spilett, “whoever he may have

been, and whatever he may become, it is our duty to take him with us to

Lincoln Island.”

“Yes, yes!” replied Herbert, “and perhaps with care we may arouse in him

some gleam of intelligence.”

“The soul does not die,” said the reporter, “and it would be a great

satisfaction to rescue one of God’s creatures from brutishness.”

Pencroft shook his head doubtfully.

“We must try at any rate,” returned the reporter; “humanity commands

us.”

It was indeed their duty as Christians and civilized beings. All three

felt this, and they well knew that Cyrus Harding would approve of their

acting thus.

“Shall we leave him bound?” asked the sailor.

“Perhaps he would walk if his feet were unfastened,” said Herbert.

“Let us try,” replied Pencroft.

The cords which shackled the prisoner’s feet were cut off, but his arms

remained securely fastened. He got up by himself and did not manifest

any desire to run away. His hard eyes darted a piercing glance at the

three men, who walked near him, but nothing denoted that he recollected

being their fellow, or at least having been so. A continual hissing

sound issued from his lips, his aspect was wild, but he did not attempt

to resist.

By the reporter’s advice the unfortunate man was taken to the hut.

Perhaps the sight of the things that belonged to him would make some

impression on him! Perhaps a spark would be sufficient to revive his

obscured intellect, to rekindle his dulled soul. The dwelling was

not far off. In a few minutes they arrived there, but the prisoner

remembered nothing, and it appeared that he had lost consciousness of

everything.

What could they think of the degree of brutishness into which this

miserable being had fallen, unless that his imprisonment on the islet

dated from a very distant period and after having arrived there a

rational being solitude had reduced him to this condition.

The reporter then thought that perhaps the sight of fire would have

some effect on him, and in a moment one of those beautiful flames, that

attract even animals, blazed up on the hearth. The sight of the flame

seemed at first to fix the attention of the unhappy object, but soon

he turned away and the look of intelligence faded. Evidently there was

nothing to be done, for the time at least, but to take him on board

the “Bonadventure.” This was done, and he remained there in Pencroft’s

charge.

Herbert and Spilett returned to finish their work; and some hours after

they came back to the shore, carrying the utensils and guns, a store of

vegetables, of seeds, some game, and two couple of pigs.

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.