JULES VERNE: 25 Greatest Books in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). Жюль Верн

during which no, that’s absurd… Do any of the footsteps still remain?” asked Harding.

      “Yes, master,” replied Neb; “here, at the entrance, at the back of the mound, in a place sheltered from the rain and wind. The storm has destroyed the others.”

      “Pencroft,” said Cyrus Harding, “will you take my shoe and see if it fits exactly to the footprints?”

      The sailor did as the engineer requested. While he and Herbert, guided by Neb, went to the place where the footprints were to be found, Cyrus remarked to the reporter,—

      “It is a most extraordinary thing!”

      “Perfectly inexplicable!” replied Gideon Spilett.

      “But do not dwell upon it just now, my dear Spilett, we will talk about it by–and–by.”

      A moment after the others entered.

      There was no doubt about it. The engineer’s shoe fitted exactly to the footmarks. It was therefore Cyrus Harding who had left them on the sand.

      “Come,” said he, “I must have experienced this unconsciousness which I attributed to Neb. I must have walked like a somnambulist, without any knowledge of my steps, and Top must have guided me here, after having dragged me from the waves… Come, Top! Come, old dog!”

      The magnificent animal bounded barking to his master, and caresses were lavished on him. It was agreed that there was no other way of accounting for the rescue of Cyrus Harding, and that Top deserved all the honor of the affair.

      Towards twelve o’clock, Pencroft having asked the engineer if they could now remove him, Harding, instead of replying, and by an effort which exhibited the most energetic will, got up. But he was obliged to lean on the sailor, or he would have fallen.

      “Well done!” cried Pencroft; “bring the captain’s litter.”

      The litter was brought; the transverse branches had been covered with leaves and long grass. Harding was laid on it, and Pencroft, having taken his place at one end and Neb at the other, they started towards the coast. There was a distance of eight miles to be accomplished; but, as they could not go fast, and it would perhaps be necessary to stop frequently, they reckoned that it would take at least six hours to reach the Chimneys. The wind was still strong, but fortunately it did not rain. Although lying down, the engineer, leaning on his elbow, observed the coast, particularly inland. He did not speak, but he gazed; and, no doubt, the appearance of the country, with its inequalities of ground, its forests, its various productions, were impressed on his mind. However, after traveling for two hours, fatigue overcame him, and he slept.

      At half–past five the little band arrived at the precipice, and a short time after at the Chimneys.

      They stopped, and the litter was placed on the sand; Cyrus Harding was sleeping profoundly, and did not awake.

      Pencroft, to his extreme surprise, found that the terrible storm had quite altered the aspect of the place. Important changes had occurred; great blocks of stone lay on the beach, which was also covered with a thick carpet of sea–weed, algae, and wrack. Evidently the sea, passing over the islet, had been carried right up to the foot of the enormous curtain of granite. The soil in front of the cave had been torn away by the violence of the waves. A horrid presentiment flashed across Pencroft’s mind. He rushed into the passage, but returned almost immediately, and stood motionless, staring at his companions… The fire was out; the drowned cinders were nothing but mud; the burnt linen, which was to have served as tinder, had disappeared! The sea had penetrated to the end of the passages, and everything was overthrown and destroyed in the interior of the Chimneys!

      CHAPTER 9

       Table of Contents

      Cyrus is here — Pencroft’s attempts — Rubbing wood — Island or continent — The engineer’s projects — In what part of the Pacific Ocean? — In the midst of the forests — The stone pine — Chasing a capybara — An auspicious smoke

      In a few words, Gideon Spilett, Herbert, and Neb were made acquainted with what had happened. This accident, which appeared so very serious to Pencroft, produced different effects on the companions of the honest sailor.

      Neb, in his delight at having found his master, did not listen, or rather, did not care to trouble himself with what Pencroft was saying.

      Herbert shared in some degree the sailor’s feelings.

      As to the reporter, he simply replied,—

      “Upon my word, Pencroft, it’s perfectly indifferent to me!”

      “But, I repeat, that we haven’t any fire!”

      “Pooh!”

      “Nor any means of relighting it!”

      “Nonsense!”

      “But I say, Mr. Spilett—”

      “Isn’t Cyrus here?” replied the reporter.

      “Is not our engineer alive? He will soon find some way of making fire for us!”

      “With what?”

      “With nothing.”

      What had Pencroft to say? He could say nothing, for, in the bottom of his heart he shared the confidence which his companions had in Cyrus Harding. The engineer was to them a microcosm, a compound of every science, a possessor of all human knowledge. It was better to be with Cyrus in a desert island, than without him in the most flourishing town in the United States. With him they could want nothing; with him they would never despair. If these brave men had been told that a volcanic eruption would destroy the land, that this land would be engulfed in the depths of the Pacific, they would have imperturbably replied,—

      “Cyrus is here!”

      While in the palanquin, however, the engineer had again relapsed into unconsciousness, which the jolting to which he had been subjected during his journey had brought on, so that they could not now appeal to his ingenuity. The supper must necessarily be very meager. In fact, all the grouse flesh had been consumed, and there no longer existed any means of cooking more game. Besides, the couroucous which had been reserved had disappeared. They must consider what was to be done.

      First of all, Cyrus Harding was carried into the central passage. There they managed to arrange for him a couch of sea–weed which still remained almost dry. The deep sleep which had overpowered him would no doubt be more beneficial to him than any nourishment.

      Night had closed in, and the temperature, which had modified when the wind shifted to the northwest, again became extremely cold. Also, the sea having destroyed the partitions which Pencroft had put up in certain places in the passages, the Chimneys, on account of the draughts, had become scarcely habitable. The engineer’s condition would, therefore, have been bad enough, if his companions had not carefully covered him with their coats and waistcoats.

      Supper, this evening, was of course composed of the inevitable lithodomes, of which Herbert and Neb picked up a plentiful supply on the beach. However, to these molluscs, the lad added some edible sea–weed, which he gathered on high rocks, whose sides were only washed by the sea at the time of high tides. This sea–weed, which belongs to the order of Fucacae, of the genus Sargassum, produces, when dry, a gelatinous matter, rich and nutritious. The reporter and his companions, after having eaten a quantity of lithodomes, sucked the sargassum, of which the taste was very tolerable. It is used in parts of the East very considerably by the natives. “Never mind!” said the sailor, “the captain will help us soon.” Meanwhile the cold became very severe, and unhappily they had no means of defending themselves from it.

      The