The Mysterious Island - The Original Classic Edition. Verne Jules

no doubt that the frightful weather alone hindered his return, and that he must have taken refuge in some cave, to await the end of the storm or at least the return of day. As to going to meet him, or attempting to find him, it was impossible.

       The game constituted the only dish at supper; the meat was excellent, and Pencroft and Herbert, whose long excursion had rendered

       them very hungry, devoured it with infinite satisfaction.

       Their meal concluded, each retired to the corner in which he had rested the preceding night, and Herbert was not long in going to

       sleep near the sailor, who had stretched himself beside the fireplace.

       Outside, as the night advanced, the tempest also increased in strength, until it was equal to that which had carried the prisoners from Richmond to this land in the Pacific. The tempests which are frequent during the seasons of the equinox, and which are so prolific in catastrophes, are above all terrible over this immense ocean, which opposes no obstacle to their fury. No description can give an idea of the terrific violence of the gale as it beat upon the unprotected coast.

       Happily the pile of rocks which formed the Chimneys was solid. It was composed of enormous blocks of granite, a few of which, insecurely balanced, seemed to tremble on their foundations, and Pencroft could feel rapid quiverings under his head as it rested on the rock. But he repeated to himself, and rightly, that there was nothing to fear, and that their retreat would not give way. However he heard the noise of stones torn from the summit of the plateau by the wind, falling down on to the beach. A few even rolled on to the upper part of the Chimneys, or flew off in fragments when they were projected perpendicularly. Twice the sailor rose and in-

       trenched himself at the opening of the passage, so as to take a look in safety at the outside. But there was nothing to be feared from these showers, which were not considerable, and he returned to his couch before the fireplace, where the embers glowed beneath the ashes.

       Notwithstanding the fury of the hurricane, the uproar of the tempest, the thunder, and the tumult, Herbert slept profoundly. Sleep at last took possession of Pencroft, whom a seafaring life had habituated to anything. Gideon Spilett alone was kept awake by anxiety. He reproached himself with not having accompanied Neb. It was evident that he had not abandoned all hope. The presentiments which had troubled Herbert did not cease to agitate him also. His thoughts were concentrated on Neb. Why had Neb not returned? He tossed about on his sandy couch, scarcely giving a thought to the struggle of the elements. Now and then, his eyes, heavy with

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       fatigue, closed for an instant, but some sudden thought reopened them almost immediately.

       Meanwhile the night advanced, and it was perhaps two hours from morning, when Pencroft, then sound asleep, was vigorously shaken.

       "What's the matter?" he cried, rousing himself, and collecting his ideas with the promptitude usual to seamen. The reporter was leaning over him, and saying,--

       "Listen, Pencroft, listen!"

       The sailor strained his ears, but could hear no noise beyond those caused by the storm. "It is the wind," said he.

       "No," replied Gideon Spilett, listening again, "I thought I heard--" "What?"

       "The barking of a dog!"

       "A dog!" cried Pencroft, springing up. "Yes--barking--"

       "It's not possible!" replied the sailor. "And besides, how, in the roaring of the storm--" "Stop--listen--" said the reporter.

       Pencroft listened more attentively, and really thought he heard, during a lull, distant barking. "Well!" said the reporter, pressing the sailor's hand.

       "Yes--yes!" replied Pencroft.

       "It is Top! It is Top!" cried Herbert, who had just awoke; and all three rushed towards the opening of the Chimneys. They had great

       difficulty in getting out. The wind drove them back. But at last they succeeded, and could only remain standing by leaning against

       the rocks. They looked about, but could not speak. The darkness was intense. The sea, the sky, the land were all mingled in one black mass. Not a speck of light was visible.

       The reporter and his companions remained thus for a few minutes, overwhelmed by the wind, drenched by the rain, blinded by the sand.

       Then, in a pause of the tumult, they again heard the barking, which they found must be at some distance.

       It could only be Top! But was he alone or accompanied? He was most probably alone, for, if Neb had been with him, he would have made his way more directly towards the Chimneys. The sailor squeezed the reporter's hand, for he could not make himself heard, in

       a way which signified "Wait!" then he reentered the passage.

       An instant after he issued with a lighted fagot, which he threw into the darkness, whistling shrilly.

       It appeared as if this signal had been waited for; the barking immediately came nearer, and soon a dog bounded into the passage. Pencroft, Herbert, and Spilett entered after him.

       An armful of dry wood was thrown on the embers. The passage was lighted up with a bright flame.

       "It is Top!" cried Herbert.

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       It was indeed Top, a magnificent Anglo-Norman, who derived from these two races crossed the swiftness of foot and the acute-ness of smell which are the preeminent qualities of coursing dogs. It was the dog of the engineer, Cyrus Harding. But he was alone! Neither Neb nor his master accompanied him!

       How was it that his instinct had guided him straight to the Chimneys, which he did not know? It appeared inexplicable, above all, in the midst of this black night and in such a tempest! But what was still more inexplicable was, that Top was neither tired, nor exhausted, nor even soiled with mud or sand!--Herbert had drawn him towards him, and was patting his head, the dog rubbing his neck against the lad's hands.

       "If the dog is found, the master will be found also!" said the reporter. "God grant it!" responded Herbert. "Let us set off ! Top will guide us!"

       Pencroft did not make any objection. He felt that Top's arrival contradicted his conjectures. "Come along then!" said he.

       Pencroft carefully covered the embers on the hearth. He placed a few pieces of wood among them, so as to keep in the fire until their return. Then, preceded by the dog, who seemed to invite them by short barks to come with him, and followed by the reporter and the boy, he dashed out, after having put up in his handkerchief the remains of the supper.

       The storm was then in all its violence, and perhaps at its height. Not a single ray of light from the moon pierced through the clouds. To follow a straight course was difficult. It was best to rely on Top's instinct. They did so. The reporter and Herbert walked behind the dog, and the sailor brought up the rear. It was impossible to exchange a word. The rain was not very heavy, but the wind was terrific.

       However, one circumstance favored the seaman and his two companions. The wind being southeast, consequently blew on their backs. The clouds of sand, which otherwise would have been insupportable, from being received behind, did not in consequence impede their progress. In short, they sometimes went faster than they liked, and had some difficulty in keeping their feet; but hope gave them strength, for it was not at random that they made their way along the shore. They had no doubt that Neb had found his master, and that he had sent them the faithful dog. But was the engineer living, or had Neb only sent for his companions that they might render the last duties to the corpse of the unfortunate Harding?

       After having passed the precipice, Herbert, the reporter, and Pencroft prudently stepped aside to stop and take breath. The turn of the rocks sheltered them from the wind, and they could breathe after this walk or rather run of a quarter of an hour.

       They could now hear and reply to each other, and the lad having pronounced the name of Cyrus Harding, Top gave a few short barks, as much as to say that his master was saved.

       "Saved, isn't he?" repeated Herbert; "saved, Top?" And the dog barked in reply.

       They once more set out. The tide began to rise, and urged by the wind it threatened to be unusually high,