Chapter 13

How had it happened? who had killed the convicts? Was it Ayrton? No, for

a moment before he was dreading their return.

But Ayrton was now in a profound stupor, from which it was no longer

possible to rouse him. After uttering those few words he had again

become unconscious, and had fallen back motionless on the bed.

The colonists, a prey to a thousand confused thoughts, under the

influence of violent excitement, waited all night, without leaving

Ayrton’s house, or returning to the spot where lay the bodies of the

convicts. It was very probable that Ayrton would not be able to throw

any light on the circumstances under which the bodies had been found,

since he himself was not aware that he was in the corral. But at any

rate he would be in a position to give an account of what had taken

place before this terrible execution. The next day Ayrton awoke from his

torpor, and his companions cordially manifested all the joy they felt,

on seeing him again, almost safe and sound, after a hundred and four

days separation.

Ayrton then in a few words recounted what had happened, or, at least, as

much as he knew.

The day after his arrival at the corral, on the 10th of last November,

at nightfall, he was surprised by the convicts, who had scaled the

palisade. They bound and gagged him; then he was led to a dark cavern,

at the foot of Mount Franklin, where the convicts had taken refuge.

His death had been decided upon, and the next day the convicts were

about to kill him, when one of them recognized him and called him by

the name which he bore in Australia. The wretches had no scruples as to

murdering Ayrton! They spared Ben Joyce!

But from that moment Ayrton was exposed to the importunities of his

former accomplices. They wished him to join them again, and relied upon

his aid to enable them to gain possession of Granite House, to penetrate

into that hitherto inaccessible dwelling, and to become masters of the

island, after murdering the colonists!

Ayrton remained firm. The once convict, now repentant and pardoned,

would rather die than betray his companions. Ayrton--bound, gagged, and

closely watched--lived in this cave for four months.

Nevertheless the convicts had discovered the corral a short time after

their arrival in the island, and since then they had subsisted on

Ayrton’s stores, but did not live at the corral.

On the 11th of November, two of the villains, surprised by the

colonists’ arrival, fired at Herbert, and one of them returned, boasting

of having killed one of the inhabitants of the island; but he returned

alone. His companion, as is known, fell by Cyrus Harding’s dagger.

Ayrton’s anxiety and despair may be imagined when he learned the news of

Herbert’s death. The settlers were now only four, and, as it seemed,

at the mercy of the convicts. After this event, and during all the

time that the colonists, detained by Herbert’s illness, remained in the

corral, the pirates did not leave their cavern, and even after they had

pillaged the plateau of Prospect Heights, they did not think it prudent

to abandon it.

The ill-treatment inflicted on Ayrton was now redoubled. His hands and

feet still bore the bloody marks of the cords which bound him day and

night. Every moment he expected to be put to death, nor did it appear

possible that he could escape.

Matters remained thus until the third week of February. The convicts,

still watching for a favorable opportunity, rarely quitted their

retreat, and only made a few hunting excursions, either to the interior

of the island, or the south coast.

Ayrton had no further news of his friends, and relinquished all hope

of ever seeing them again. At last, the unfortunate man, weakened

by ill-treatment, fell into a prostration so profound that sight and

hearing failed him. From that moment, that is to say, since the last two

days, he could give no information whatever of what had occurred.

“But, Captain Harding,” he added, “since I was imprisoned in that

cavern, how is it that I find myself in the corral?”

“How is it that the convicts are lying yonder dead, in the middle of the

enclosure?” answered the engineer.

“Dead!” cried Ayrton, half rising from his bed, notwithstanding his

weakness.

His companions supported him. He wished to get up, and with their

assistance he did so. They then proceeded together towards the little

stream.

It was now broad daylight.

There, on the bank, in the position in which they had been stricken

by death in its most instantaneous form, lay the corpses of the five

convicts!

Ayrton was astounded. Harding and his companions looked at him without

uttering a word. On a sign from the engineer, Neb and Pencroft examined

the bodies, already stiffened by the cold.

They bore no apparent trace of any wound.

Only, after carefully examining them, Pencroft found on the forehead of

one, on the chest of another, on the back of this one, on the shoulder

of that, a little red spot, a sort of scarcely visible bruise, the cause

of which it was impossible to conjecture.

“It is there that they have been struck!” said Cyrus Harding.

“But with what weapon?” cried the reporter.

“A weapon, lightning-like in its effects, and of which we have not the

secret!”

“And who has struck the blow?” asked Pencroft.

“The avenging power of the island,” replied Harding, “he who brought you

here, Ayrton, whose influence has once more manifested itself, who does

for us all that which we cannot do for ourselves, and who, his will

accomplished, conceals himself from us.”

“Let us make search for him, then!” exclaimed Pencroft.

“Yes, we will search for him,” answered Harding, “but we shall not

discover this powerful being who performs such wonders, until he pleases

to call us to him!”

This invisible protection, which rendered their own action unavailing,

both irritated and piqued the engineer. The relative inferiority which

it proved was of a nature to wound a haughty spirit. A generosity

evinced in such a manner as to elude all tokens of gratitude, implied a

sort of disdain for those on whom the obligation was conferred, which in

Cyrus Harding’s eyes marred, in some degree, the worth of the benefit.

“Let us search,” he resumed, “and God grant that we may some day be

permitted to prove to this haughty protector that he has not to deal

with ungrateful people! What would I not give could we repay him, by

rendering him in our turn, although at the price of our lives, some

signal service!”

From this day, the thoughts of the inhabitants of Lincoln Island were

solely occupied with the intended search. Everything incited them to

discover the answer to this enigma, an answer which would only be the

name of a man endowed with a truly inexplicable, and in some degree

superhuman power.

In a few minutes, the settlers re-entered the house, where their

influence soon restored to Ayrton his moral and physical energy. Neb

and Pencroft carried the corpses of the convicts into the forest, some

distance from the corral, and buried them deep in the ground.

Ayrton was then made acquainted with the facts which had occurred during

his seclusion. He learned Herbert’s adventures, and through what various

trials the colonists had passed. As to the settlers, they had despaired

of ever seeing Ayrton again, and had been convinced that the convicts

had ruthlessly murdered him.

“And now,” said Cyrus Harding, as he ended his recital, “a duty remains

for us to perform. Half of our task is accomplished, but although the

convicts are no longer to be feared, it is not owing to ourselves that

we are once more masters of the island.”

“Well!” answered Gideon Spilett, “let us search all this labyrinth of

the spurs of Mount Franklin. We will not leave a hollow, not a hole

unexplored! Ah! if ever a reporter found himself face to face with a

mystery, it is I who now speak to you, my friends!”

“And we will not return to Granite House until we have found our

benefactor,” said Herbert.

“Yes,” said the engineer, “we will do all that it is humanly possible to

do, but I repeat we shall not find him until he himself permits us.”

“Shall we stay at the corral?” asked Pencroft.

“We shall stay here,” answered Harding. “Provisions are abundant, and we

are here in the very center of the circle we have to explore. Besides,

if necessary, the cart will take us rapidly to Granite House.”

“Good!” answered the sailor. “Only I have a remark to make.”

“What is it?”

“Here is the fine season getting on, and we must not forget that we have

a voyage to make.”

“A voyage?” said Gideon Spilett.

“Yes, to Tabor Island,” answered Pencroft. “It is necessary to carry a

notice there to point out the position of our island and say that Ayrton

is here in case the Scotch yacht should come to take him off. Who knows

if it is not already too late?”

“But, Pencroft,” asked Ayrton, “how do you intend to make this voyage?”

“In the ‘Bonadventure.’”

“The ‘Bonadventure!’” exclaimed Ayrton. “She no longer exists.”

“My ‘Bonadventure’ exists no longer!” shouted Pencroft, bounding from

his seat.

“No,” answered Ayrton. “The convicts discovered her in her little harbor

only eight days ago, they put to sea in her--”

“And?” said Pencroft, his heart beating.

“And not having Bob Harvey to steer her, they ran on the rocks, and the

vessel went to pieces.”

“Oh, the villains, the cutthroats, the infamous scoundrels!” exclaimed

Pencroft.

“Pencroft,” said Herbert, taking the sailor’s hand, “we will build

another ‘Bonadventure’--a larger one. We have all the ironwork--all the

rigging of the brig at our disposal.”

“But do you know,” returned Pencroft, “that it will take at least five

or six months to build a vessel of from thirty to forty tons?”

“We can take our time,” said the reporter, “and we must give up the

voyage to Tabor Island for this year.”

“Oh, my ‘Bonadventure!’ my poor ‘Bonadventure!’” cried Pencroft, almost

broken-hearted at the destruction of the vessel of which he was so

proud.

The loss of the “Bonadventure” was certainly a thing to be lamented by

the colonists, and it was agreed that this loss should be repaired

as soon as possible. This settled, they now occupied themselves with

bringing their researches to bear on the most secret parts of the

island.

The exploration was commenced at daybreak on the 19th of February, and

lasted an entire week. The base of the mountain, with its spurs and

their numberless ramifications, formed a labyrinth of valleys and

elevations. It was evident that there, in the depths of these narrow

gorges, perhaps even in the interior of Mount Franklin itself, was the

proper place to pursue their researches. No part of the island could

have been more suitable to conceal a dwelling whose occupant wished to

remain unknown. But so irregular was the formation of the valleys that

Cyrus Harding was obliged to conduct the exploration in a strictly

methodical manner.

The colonists first visited the valley opening to the south of the

volcano, and which first received the waters of Falls River. There

Ayrton showed them the cavern where the convicts had taken refuge, and

in which he had been imprisoned until his removal to the corral. This

cavern was just as Ayrton had left it. They found there a considerable

quantity of ammunition and provisions, conveyed thither by the convicts

in order to form a reserve.

The whole of the valley bordering on the cave, shaded by fir and

other trees, was thoroughly explored, and on turning the point of the

southwestern spur, the colonists entered a narrower gorge similar to the

picturesque columns of basalt on the coast. Here the trees were fewer.

Stones took the place of grass. Goats and musmons gambolled among the

rocks. Here began the barren part of the island. It could already be

seen that, of the numerous valleys branching off at the base of Mount

Franklin, three only were wooded and rich in pasturage like that of the

corral, which bordered on the west on the Falls River valley, and on the

east on the Red Creek valley. These two streams, which lower down became

rivers by the absorption of several tributaries, were formed by all the

springs of the mountain and thus caused the fertility of its southern

part. As to the Mercy, it was more directly fed from ample springs

concealed under the cover of Jacamar Wood, and it was by springs of

this nature, spreading in a thousand streamlets, that the soil of the

Serpentine Peninsula was watered.

Now, of these three well-watered valleys, either might have served as a

retreat to some solitary who would have found there everything necessary

for life. But the settlers had already explored them, and in no part had

they discovered the presence of man.

Was it then in the depths of those barren gorges, in the midst of the

piles of rock, in the rugged northern ravines, among the streams of

lava, that this dwelling and its occupant would be found?

The northern part of Mount Franklin was at its base composed solely of

two valleys, wide, not very deep, without any appearance of vegetation,

strewn with masses of rock, paved with lava, and varied with great

blocks of mineral. This region required a long and careful exploration.

It contained a thousand cavities, comfortless no doubt, but perfectly

concealed and difficult of access.

The colonists even visited dark tunnels, dating from the volcanic

period, still black from the passage of the fire, and penetrated into

the depths of the mountain. They traversed these somber galleries,

waving lighted torches; they examined the smallest excavations; they

sounded the shallowest depths, but all was dark and silent. It did

not appear that the foot of man had ever before trodden these ancient

passages, or that his arm had ever displaced one of these blocks, which

remained as the volcano had cast them up above the waters, at the time

of the submersion of the island.

However, although these passages appeared to be absolutely deserted, and

the obscurity was complete, Cyrus Harding was obliged to confess that

absolute silence did not reign there.

On arriving at the end of one of these gloomy caverns, extending several

hundred feet into the interior of the mountain, he was surprised to hear

a deep rumbling noise, increased in intensity by the sonorousness of the

rocks.

Gideon Spilett, who accompanied him, also heard these distant

mutterings, which indicated a revivification of the subterranean fires.

Several times both listened, and they agreed that some chemical process

was taking place in the bowels of the earth.

“Then the volcano is not totally extinct?” said the reporter.

“It is possible that since our exploration of the crater,” replied Cyrus

Harding, “some change has occurred. Any volcano, although considered

extinct, may evidently again burst forth.”

“But if an eruption of Mount Franklin occurred,” asked Spilett, “would

there not be some danger to Lincoln Island?”

“I do not think so,” answered the reporter. “The crater, that is to

say, the safety-valve, exists, and the overflow of smoke and lava, would

escape, as it did formerly, by this customary outlet.”

“Unless the lava opened a new way for itself towards the fertile parts

of the island!”

“And why, my dear Spilett,” answered Cyrus Harding, “should it not

follow the road naturally traced out for it?”

“Well, volcanoes are capricious,” returned the reporter.

“Notice,” answered the engineer, “that the inclination of Mount Franklin

favors the flow of water towards the valleys which we are exploring just

now. To turn aside this flow, an earthquake would be necessary to change

the mountain’s center of gravity.”

“But an earthquake is always to be feared at these times,” observed

Gideon Spilett.

“Always,” replied the engineer, “especially when the subterranean forces

begin to awake, as they risk meeting with some obstruction, after a long

rest. Thus, my dear Spilett, an eruption would be a serious thing

for us, and it would be better that the volcano should not have the

slightest desire to wake up. But we could not prevent it, could we? At

any rate, even if it should occur, I do not think Prospect Heights would

be seriously threatened. Between them and the mountain, the ground

is considerably depressed, and if the lava should ever take a course

towards the lake, it would be cast on the downs and the neighboring

parts of Shark Gulf.”

“We have not yet seen any smoke at the top of the mountain, to indicate

an approaching eruption,” said Gideon Spilett.

“No,” answered Harding, “not a vapor escapes from the crater, for it

was only yesterday that I attentively surveyed the summit. But it

is probable that at the lower part of the chimney, time may have

accumulated rocks, cinders, hardened lava, and that this valve of which

I spoke, may at any time become overcharged. But at the first serious

effort, every obstacle will disappear, and you may be certain, my dear

Spilett, that neither the island, which is the boiler, nor the

volcano, which is the chimney, will burst under the pressure of gas.

Nevertheless, I repeat, it would be better that there should not be an

eruption.”

“And yet we are not mistaken,” remarked the reporter. “Mutterings can be

distinctly heard in the very bowels of the volcano!”

“You are right,” said the engineer, again listening attentively. “There

can be no doubt of it. A commotion is going on there, of which we can

neither estimate the importance nor the ultimate result.”

Cyrus Harding and Spilett, on coming out, rejoined their companions, to

whom they made known the state of affairs.

“Very well!” cried Pencroft, “The volcano wants to play his pranks! Let

him try, if he likes! He will find his master!”

“Who?” asked Neb.

“Our good genius, Neb, our good genius, who will shut his mouth for him,

if he so much as pretends to open it!”

As may be seen, the sailor’s confidence in the tutelary deity of his

island was absolute, and, certainly, the occult power, manifested until

now in so many inexplicable ways, appeared to be unlimited; but also it

knew how to escape the colonists’ most minute researches, for, in

spite of all their efforts, in spite of the more than zeal,--the

obstinacy,--with which they carried on their exploration, the retreat of

the mysterious being could not be discovered.

From the 19th to the 20th of February the circle of investigation was

extended to all the northern region of Lincoln Island, whose most secret

nooks were explored. The colonists even went the length of tapping every

rock. The search was extended to the extreme verge of the mountain. It

was explored thus to the very summit of the truncated cone terminating

the first row of rocks, then to the upper ridge of the enormous hat, at

the bottom of which opened the crater.

They did more; they visited the gulf, now extinct, but in whose depths

the rumbling could be distinctly heard. However, no sign of smoke or

vapor, no heating of the rock, indicated an approaching eruption.

But neither there, nor in any other part of Mount Franklin, did the

colonists find any traces of him of whom they were in search.

Their investigations were then directed to the downs. They carefully

examined the high lava-cliffs of Shark Gulf from the base to the crest,

although it was extremely difficult to reach even the level of the gulf.

No one!--nothing!

Indeed, in these three words was summed up so much fatigue uselessly

expended, so much energy producing no results, that somewhat of anger

mingled with the discomfiture of Cyrus Harding and his companions.

It was now time to think of returning, for these researches could not be

prolonged indefinitely. The colonists were certainly right in believing

that the mysterious being did not reside on the surface of the island,

and the wildest fancies haunted their excited imaginations. Pencroft

and Neb, particularly, were not contented with the mystery, but allowed

their imaginations to wander into the domain of the supernatural.

On the 25th of February the colonists re-entered Granite House, and by

means of the double cord, carried by an arrow to the threshold of the

door, they re-established communication between their habitation and the

ground.

A month later they commemorated, on the 25th of March, the third

anniversary of their arrival on Lincoln Island.