Chapter 5

Pencroft’s first care, after unloading the raft, was to render the cave

habitable by stopping up all the holes which made it draughty. Sand,

stones, twisted branches, wet clay, closed up the galleries open to the

south winds. One narrow and winding opening at the side was kept, to

lead out the smoke and to make the fire draw. The cave was thus divided

into three or four rooms, if such dark dens with which a donkey would

scarcely have been contented deserved the name. But they were dry, and

there was space to stand upright, at least in the principal room, which

occupied the center. The floor was covered with fine sand, and taking

all in all they were well pleased with it for want of a better.

“Perhaps,” said Herbert, while he and Pencroft were working, “our

companions have found a superior place to ours.”

“Very likely,” replied the seaman; “but, as we don’t know, we must work

all the same. Better to have two strings to one’s bow than no string at

all!”

“Oh!” exclaimed Herbert, “how jolly it will be if they were to find

Captain Harding and were to bring him back with them!”

“Yes, indeed!” said Pencroft, “that was a man of the right sort.”

“Was!” exclaimed Herbert, “do you despair of ever seeing him again?”

“God forbid!” replied the sailor. Their work was soon done, and Pencroft

declared himself very well satisfied.

“Now,” said he, “our friends can come back when they like. They will

find a good enough shelter.”

They now had only to make a fireplace and to prepare the supper--an easy

task. Large flat stones were placed on the ground at the opening of the

narrow passage which had been kept. This, if the smoke did not take

the heat out with it, would be enough to maintain an equal temperature

inside. Their wood was stowed away in one of the rooms, and the sailor

laid in the fireplace some logs and brushwood. The seaman was busy with

this, when Herbert asked him if he had any matches.

“Certainly,” replied Pencroft, “and I may say happily, for without

matches or tinder we should be in a fix.”

“Still we might get fire as the savages do,” replied Herbert, “by

rubbing two bits of dry stick one against the other.”

“All right; try, my boy, and let’s see if you can do anything besides

exercising your arms.”

“Well, it’s a very simple proceeding, and much used in the islands of

the Pacific.”

“I don’t deny it,” replied Pencroft, “but the savages must know how to

do it or employ a peculiar wood, for more than once I have tried to

get fire in that way, but I could never manage it. I must say I prefer

matches. By the bye, where are my matches?”

Pencroft searched in his waistcoat for the box, which was always there,

for he was a confirmed smoker. He could not find it; he rummaged the

pockets of his trousers, but, to his horror, he could nowhere discover

the box.

“Here’s a go!” said he, looking at Herbert. “The box must have

fallen out of my pocket and got lost! Surely, Herbert, you must have

something--a tinder-box--anything that can possibly make fire!”

“No, I haven’t, Pencroft.”

The sailor rushed out, followed by the boy. On the sand, among the

rocks, near the river’s bank, they both searched carefully, but in vain.

The box was of copper, and therefore would have been easily seen.

“Pencroft,” asked Herbert, “didn’t you throw it out of the car?”

“I knew better than that,” replied the sailor; “but such a small article

could easily disappear in the tumbling about we have gone through. I

would rather even have lost my pipe! Confound the box! Where can it be?”

“Look here, the tide is going down,” said Herbert; “let’s run to the

place where we landed.”

It was scarcely probable that they would find the box, which the waves

had rolled about among the pebbles, at high tide, but it was as well

to try. Herbert and Pencroft walked rapidly to the point where they had

landed the day before, about two hundred feet from the cave. They hunted

there, among the shingle, in the clefts of the rocks, but found nothing.

If the box had fallen at this place it must have been swept away by the

waves. As the sea went down, they searched every little crevice with

no result. It was a grave loss in their circumstances, and for the

time irreparable. Pencroft could not hide his vexation; he looked very

anxious, but said not a word. Herbert tried to console him by observing,

that if they had found the matches, they would, very likely, have been

wetted by the sea and useless.

“No, my boy,” replied the sailor; “they were in a copper box which shut

very tightly; and now what are we to do?”

“We shall certainly find some way of making a fire,” said Herbert.

“Captain Harding or Mr. Spilett will not be without them.”

“Yes,” replied Pencroft; “but in the meantime we are without fire, and

our companions will find but a sorry repast on their return.”

“But,” said Herbert quickly, “do you think it possible that they have no

tinder or matches?”

“I doubt it,” replied the sailor, shaking his head, “for neither Neb nor

Captain Harding smoke, and I believe that Mr. Spilett would rather keep

his note-book than his match-box.”

Herbert did not reply. The loss of the box was certainly to be

regretted, but the boy was still sure of procuring fire in some way or

other. Pencroft, more experienced, did not think so, although he was not

a man to trouble himself about a small or great grievance. At any rate,

there was only one thing to be done--to await the return of Neb and the

reporter; but they must give up the feast of hard eggs which they had

meant to prepare, and a meal of raw flesh was not an agreeable prospect

either for themselves or for the others.

Before returning to the cave, the sailor and Herbert, in the event of

fire being positively unattainable, collected some more shell-fish, and

then silently retraced their steps to their dwelling.

Pencroft, his eyes fixed on the ground, still looked for his box. He

even climbed up the left bank of the river from its mouth to the angle

where the raft had been moored. He returned to the plateau, went over it

in every direction, searched among the high grass on the border of the

forest, all in vain.

It was five in the evening when he and Herbert re-entered the cave.

It is useless to say that the darkest corners of the passages were

ransacked before they were obliged to give it up in despair. Towards

six o’clock, when the sun was disappearing behind the high lands of the

west, Herbert, who was walking up and down on the strand, signalized the

return of Neb and Spilett.

They were returning alone!... The boy’s heart sank; the sailor had not

been deceived in his forebodings; the engineer, Cyrus Harding, had not

been found!

The reporter, on his arrival, sat down on a rock, without saying

anything. Exhausted with fatigue, dying of hunger, he had not strength

to utter a word.

As to Neb, his red eyes showed how he had cried, and the tears which he

could not restrain told too clearly that he had lost all hope.

The reporter recounted all that they had done in their attempt to

recover Cyrus Harding. He and Neb had surveyed the coast for a distance

of eight miles and consequently much beyond the place where the balloon

had fallen the last time but one, a fall which was followed by the

disappearance of the engineer and the dog Top. The shore was solitary;

not a vestige of a mark. Not even a pebble recently displaced; not a

trace on the sand; not a human footstep on all that part of the beach.

It was clear that that portion of the shore had never been visited by

a human being. The sea was as deserted as the land, and it was there,

a few hundred feet from the coast, that the engineer must have found a

tomb.

As Spilett ended his account, Neb jumped up, exclaiming in a voice which

showed how hope struggled within him, “No! he is not dead! he can’t be

dead! It might happen to any one else, but never to him! He could get

out of anything!” Then his strength forsaking him, “Oh! I can do no

more!” he murmured.

“Neb,” said Herbert, running to him, “we will find him! God will give

him back to us! But in the meantime you are hungry, and you must eat

something.”

So saying, he offered the poor Negro a few handfuls of shell-fish, which

was indeed wretched and insufficient food. Neb had not eaten anything

for several hours, but he refused them. He could not, would not live

without his master.

As to Gideon Spilett, he devoured the shell-fish, then he laid himself

down on the sand, at the foot of a rock. He was very weak, but calm.

Herbert went up to him, and taking his hand, “Sir,” said he, “we

have found a shelter which will be better than lying here. Night is

advancing. Come and rest! To-morrow we will search farther.”

The reporter got up, and guided by the boy went towards the cave. On

the way, Pencroft asked him in the most natural tone, if by chance he

happened to have a match or two.

The reporter stopped, felt in his pockets, but finding nothing said, “I

had some, but I must have thrown them away.”

The seaman then put the same question to Neb and received the same

answer.

“Confound it!” exclaimed the sailor.

The reporter heard him and seizing his arm, “Have you no matches?” he

asked.

“Not one, and no fire in consequence.”

“Ah!” cried Neb, “if my master was here, he would know what to do!”

The four castaways remained motionless, looking uneasily at each other.

Herbert was the first to break the silence by saying, “Mr. Spilett,

you are a smoker and always have matches about you; perhaps you haven’t

looked well, try again, a single match will be enough!”

The reporter hunted again in the pockets of his trousers, waistcoat, and

great-coat, and at last to Pencroft’s great joy, no less to his extreme

surprise, he felt a tiny piece of wood entangled in the lining of his

waistcoat. He seized it with his fingers through the stuff, but he could

not get it out. If this was a match and a single one, it was of great

importance not to rub off the phosphorus.

“Will you let me try?” said the boy, and very cleverly, without breaking

it, he managed to draw out the wretched yet precious little bit of wood

which was of such great importance to these poor men. It was unused.

“Hurrah!” cried Pencroft; “it is as good as having a whole cargo!” He

took the match, and, followed by his companions, entered the cave.

This small piece of wood, of which so many in an inhabited country are

wasted with indifference and are of no value, must here be used with the

greatest caution.

The sailor first made sure that it was quite dry; that done, “We must

have some paper,” said he.

“Here,” replied Spilett, after some hesitation tearing a leaf out of his

note-book.

Pencroft took the piece of paper which the reporter held out to him, and

knelt down before the fireplace. Some handfuls of grass, leaves, and dry

moss were placed under the fagots and disposed in such a way that the

air could easily circulate, and the dry wood would rapidly catch fire.

Pencroft then twisted the piece of paper into the shape of a cone, as

smokers do in a high wind, and poked it in among the moss. Taking a

small, rough stone, he wiped it carefully, and with a beating heart,

holding his breath, he gently rubbed the match. The first attempt did

not produce any effect. Pencroft had not struck hard enough, fearing to

rub off the phosphorus.

“No, I can’t do it,” said he, “my hand trembles, the match has missed

fire; I cannot, I will not!” and rising, he told Herbert to take his

place.

Certainly the boy had never in all his life been so nervous. Prometheus

going to steal the fire from heaven could not have been more anxious. He

did not hesitate, however, but struck the match directly.

A little spluttering was heard and a tiny blue flame sprang up, making

a choking smoke. Herbert quickly turned the match so as to augment the

flame, and then slipped it into the paper cone, which in a few seconds

too caught fire, and then the moss.

A minute later the dry wood crackled and a cheerful flame, assisted

by the vigorous blowing of the sailor, sprang up in the midst of the

darkness.

“At last!” cried Pencroft, getting up; “I was never so nervous before in

all my life!”

The flat stones made a capital fireplace. The smoke went quite easily

out at the narrow passage, the chimney drew, and an agreeable warmth was

not long in being felt.

They must now take great care not to let the fire go out, and always to

keep some embers alight. It only needed care and attention, as they had

plenty of wood and could renew their store at any time.

Pencroft’s first thought was to use the fire by preparing a more

nourishing supper than a dish of shell-fish. Two dozen eggs were

brought by Herbert. The reporter leaning up in a corner, watched these

preparations without saying anything. A threefold thought weighed on his

mind. Was Cyrus still alive? If he was alive, where was he? If he had

survived from his fall, how was it that he had not found some means of

making known his existence? As to Neb, he was roaming about the shore.

He was like a body without a soul.

Pencroft knew fifty ways of cooking eggs, but this time he had no

choice, and was obliged to content himself with roasting them under

the hot cinders. In a few minutes the cooking was done, and the seaman

invited the reporter to take his share of the supper. Such was the

first repast of the castaways on this unknown coast. The hard eggs

were excellent, and as eggs contain everything indispensable to man’s

nourishment, these poor people thought themselves well off, and were

much strengthened by them. Oh! if only one of them had not been missing

at this meal! If the five prisoners who escaped from Richmond had been

all there, under the piled-up rocks, before this clear, crackling fire

on the dry sand, what thanksgiving must they have rendered to Heaven!

But the most ingenious, the most learned, he who was their unquestioned

chief, Cyrus Harding, was, alas! missing, and his body had not even

obtained a burial-place.

Thus passed the 25th of March. Night had come on. Outside could be heard

the howling of the wind and the monotonous sound of the surf breaking

on the shore. The waves rolled the shingle backwards and forwards with a

deafening noise.

The reporter retired into a dark corner after having shortly noted down

the occurrences of the day; the first appearance of this new land, the

loss of their leader, the exploration of the coast, the incident of the

matches, etc.; and then overcome by fatigue, he managed to forget his

sorrows in sleep. Herbert went to sleep directly. As to the sailor, he

passed the night with one eye on the fire, on which he did not

spare fuel. But one of the castaways did not sleep in the cave. The

inconsolable, despairing Neb, notwithstanding all that his companions

could say to induce him to take some rest, wandered all night long on

the shore calling on his master.