Chapter 4

All at once the reporter sprang up, and telling the sailor that he would

rejoin them at that same place, he climbed the cliff in the direction

which the Negro Neb had taken a few hours before. Anxiety hastened

his steps, for he longed to obtain news of his friend, and he soon

disappeared round an angle of the cliff. Herbert wished to accompany

him.

“Stop here, my boy,” said the sailor; “we have to prepare an encampment,

and to try and find rather better grub than these shell-fish. Our

friends will want something when they come back. There is work for

everybody.”

“I am ready,” replied Herbert.

“All right,” said the sailor; “that will do. We must set about it

regularly. We are tired, cold, and hungry; therefore we must have

shelter, fire, and food. There is wood in the forest, and eggs in nests;

we have only to find a house.”

“Very well,” returned Herbert, “I will look for a cave among the rocks,

and I shall be sure to discover some hole into which we can creep.”

“All right,” said Pencroft; “go on, my boy.”

They both walked to the foot of the enormous wall over the beach, far

from which the tide had now retreated; but instead of going towards the

north, they went southward. Pencroft had remarked, several hundred feet

from the place at which they landed, a narrow cutting, out of which

he thought a river or stream might issue. Now, on the one hand it was

important to settle themselves in the neighborhood of a good stream

of water, and on the other it was possible that the current had thrown

Cyrus Harding on the shore there.

The cliff, as has been said, rose to a height of three hundred feet, but

the mass was unbroken throughout, and even at its base, scarcely washed

by the sea, it did not offer the smallest fissure which would serve as

a dwelling. It was a perpendicular wall of very hard granite, which even

the waves had not worn away. Towards the summit fluttered myriads of

sea-fowl, and especially those of the web-footed species with long,

flat, pointed beaks--a clamorous tribe, bold in the presence of man,

who probably for the first time thus invaded their domains. Pencroft

recognized the skua and other gulls among them, the voracious little

sea-mew, which in great numbers nestled in the crevices of the granite.

A shot fired among this swarm would have killed a great number, but to

fire a shot a gun was needed, and neither Pencroft nor Herbert had one;

besides this, gulls and sea-mews are scarcely eatable, and even their

eggs have a detestable taste. However, Herbert, who had gone forward

a little more to the left, soon came upon rocks covered with sea-weed,

which, some hours later, would be hidden by the high tide. On these

rocks, in the midst of slippery wrack, abounded bivalve shell-fish, not

to be despised by starving people. Herbert called Pencroft, who ran up

hastily.

“Here are mussels!” cried the sailor; “these will do instead of eggs!”

“They are not mussels,” replied Herbert, who was attentively examining

the molluscs attached to the rocks; “they are lithodomes.”

“Are they good to eat?” asked Pencroft.

“Perfectly so.”

“Then let us eat some lithodomes.”

The sailor could rely upon Herbert; the young boy was well up in natural

history, and always had had quite a passion for the science. His father

had encouraged him in it, by letting him attend the lectures of the best

professors in Boston, who were very fond of the intelligent, industrious

lad. And his turn for natural history was, more than once in the course

of time, of great use, and he was not mistaken in this instance. These

lithodomes were oblong shells, suspended in clusters and adhering

very tightly to the rocks. They belong to that species of molluscous

perforators which excavate holes in the hardest stone; their shell is

rounded at both ends, a feature which is not remarked in the common

mussel.

Pencroft and Herbert made a good meal of the lithodomes, which were

then half opened to the sun. They ate them as oysters, and as they had

a strong peppery taste, they were palatable without condiments of any

sort.

Their hunger was thus appeased for the time, but not their thirst, which

increased after eating these naturally-spiced molluscs. They had then to

find fresh water, and it was not likely that it would be wanting in such

a capriciously uneven region. Pencroft and Herbert, after having taken

the precaution of collecting an ample supply of lithodomes, with which

they filled their pockets and handkerchiefs, regained the foot of the

cliff.

Two hundred paces farther they arrived at the cutting, through which, as

Pencroft had guessed, ran a stream of water, whether fresh or not was to

be ascertained. At this place the wall appeared to have been separated

by some violent subterranean force. At its base was hollowed out a

little creek, the farthest part of which formed a tolerably sharp angle.

The watercourse at that part measured one hundred feet in breadth, and

its two banks on each side were scarcely twenty feet high. The river

became strong almost directly between the two walls of granite, which

began to sink above the mouth; it then suddenly turned and disappeared

beneath a wood of stunted trees half a mile off.

“Here is the water, and yonder is the wood we require!” said Pencroft.

“Well, Herbert, now we only want the house.”

The water of the river was limpid. The sailor ascertained that at this

time--that is to say, at low tide, when the rising floods did not reach

it--it was sweet. This important point established, Herbert looked for

some cavity which would serve them as a retreat, but in vain; everywhere

the wall appeared smooth, plain, and perpendicular.

However, at the mouth of the watercourse and above the reach of the high

tide, the convulsions of nature had formed, not a grotto, but a pile

of enormous rocks, such as are often met with in granite countries and

which bear the name of “Chimneys.”

Pencroft and Herbert penetrated quite far in among the rocks, by sandy

passages in which light was not wanting, for it entered through the

openings which were left between the blocks, of which some were only

sustained by a miracle of equilibrium; but with the light came also

air--a regular corridor-gale--and with the wind the sharp cold from the

exterior. However, the sailor thought that by stopping-up some of

the openings with a mixture of stones and sand, the Chimneys could be

rendered habitable. Their geometrical plan represented the typographical

sign “&,” which signifies “et cetera” abridged, but by isolating the

upper mouth of the sign, through which the south and west winds blew so

strongly, they could succeed in making the lower part of use.

“Here’s our work,” said Pencroft, “and if we ever see Captain Harding

again, he will know how to make something of this labyrinth.”

“We shall see him again, Pencroft,” cried Herbert, “and when he returns

he must find a tolerable dwelling here. It will be so, if we can make a

fireplace in the left passage and keep an opening for the smoke.”

“So we can, my boy,” replied the sailor, “and these Chimneys will serve

our turn. Let us set to work, but first come and get a store of fuel. I

think some branches will be very useful in stopping up these openings,

through which the wind shrieks like so many fiends.”

Herbert and Pencroft left the Chimneys, and, turning the angle, they

began to climb the left bank of the river. The current here was quite

rapid, and drifted down some dead wood. The rising tide--and it could

already be perceived--must drive it back with force to a considerable

distance. The sailor then thought that they could utilize this ebb and

flow for the transport of heavy objects.

After having walked for a quarter of an hour, the sailor and the boy

arrived at the angle which the river made in turning towards the left.

From this point its course was pursued through a forest of magnificent

trees. These trees still retained their verdure, notwithstanding the

advanced season, for they belonged to the family of “coniferae,” which

is spread over all the regions of the globe, from northern climates to

the tropics. The young naturalist recognized especially the “deedara,”

which are very numerous in the Himalayan zone, and which spread around

them a most agreeable odor. Between these beautiful trees sprang up

clusters of firs, whose opaque open parasol boughs spread wide around.

Among the long grass, Pencroft felt that his feet were crushing dry

branches which crackled like fireworks.

“Well, my boy,” said he to Herbert, “if I don’t know the name of these

trees, at any rate I reckon that we may call them ‘burning wood,’ and

just now that’s the chief thing we want.”

“Let us get a supply,” replied Herbert, who immediately set to work.

The collection was easily made. It was not even necessary to lop the

trees, for enormous quantities of dead wood were lying at their feet;

but if fuel was not wanting, the means of transporting it was not yet

found. The wood, being very dry, would burn rapidly; it was therefore

necessary to carry to the Chimneys a considerable quantity, and the

loads of two men would not be sufficient. Herbert remarked this.

“Well, my boy,” replied the sailor, “there must be some way of carrying

this wood; there is always a way of doing everything. If we had a cart

or a boat, it would be easy enough.”

“But we have the river,” said Herbert.

“Right,” replied Pencroft; “the river will be to us like a road which

carries of itself, and rafts have not been invented for nothing.”

“Only,” observed Herbert, “at this moment our road is going the wrong

way, for the tide is rising!”

“We shall be all right if we wait till it ebbs,” replied the sailor,

“and then we will trust it to carry our fuel to the Chimneys. Let us get

the raft ready.”

The sailor, followed by Herbert, directed his steps towards the river.

They both carried, each in proportion to his strength, a load of wood

bound in fagots. They found on the bank also a great quantity of dead

branches in the midst of grass, among which the foot of man had probably

never before trod. Pencroft began directly to make his raft. In a kind

of little bay, created by a point of the shore which broke the current,

the sailor and the lad placed some good-sized pieces of wood, which

they had fastened together with dry creepers. A raft was thus formed, on

which they stacked all they had collected, sufficient, indeed, to have

loaded at least twenty men. In an hour the work was finished, and the

raft moored to the bank, awaited the turning of the tide.

There were still several hours to be occupied, and with one consent

Pencroft and Herbert resolved to gain the upper plateau, so as to have a

more extended view of the surrounding country.

Exactly two hundred feet behind the angle formed by the river, the wall,

terminated by a fall of rocks, died away in a gentle slope to the edge

of the forest. It was a natural staircase. Herbert and the sailor began

their ascent; thanks to the vigor of their muscles they reached the

summit in a few minutes; and proceeded to the point above the mouth of

the river.

On attaining it, their first look was cast upon the ocean which not long

before they had traversed in such a terrible condition. They observed,

with emotion, all that part to the north of the coast on which the

catastrophe had taken place. It was there that Cyrus Harding had

disappeared. They looked to see if some portion of their balloon, to

which a man might possibly cling, yet existed. Nothing! The sea was but

one vast watery desert. As to the coast, it was solitary also. Neither

the reporter nor Neb could be anywhere seen. But it was possible that at

this time they were both too far away to be perceived.

“Something tells me,” cried Herbert, “that a man as energetic as Captain

Harding would not let himself be drowned like other people. He must have

reached some point of the shore; don’t you think so, Pencroft?”

The sailor shook his head sadly. He little expected ever to see Cyrus

Harding again; but wishing to leave some hope to Herbert: “Doubtless,

doubtless,” said he; “our engineer is a man who would get out of a

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.