The Mysterious Island. Jules Verne

rocks, made a large flock of these winged creatures fly away.

      “Ah,” he shouted, “These are neither sea gulls nor sea mews!”

      “Then what sort of birds are they?” asked Pencroff. “Upon my word, one would say pigeons.”

      “Quite so, but these are wild pigeons or rock pigeons,” replied Harbert. “I recognize them by the double black band on their wing, by their white rump, and their ashen blue plumage. Now, if rock pigeons are good to eat, then their eggs must be excellent, if there are still some in their nests! …”

      “We’ll not give them time to hatch unless it is in the shape of an omelette!” replied Pencroff gleefully.

      “But what will you make your omelette in?” asked Harbert. “In your hat?”

      “Well,” replied the sailor, “I’m not enough of a wizard for that. We’ll have to be happy with hard-boiled eggs, my boy, and I’ll eat the hardest of them.”

      Pencroff and the young lad carefully examined the crevices in the granite, and they did in fact find eggs in some of the cavities. Several dozen were collected, then placed in the sailor’s handkerchief. Since it was almost high tide, they began to descend to the water’s edge. When they arrived at the bend in the river, it was one o’clock in the afternoon. The current had already reversed itself. It was necessary to take advantage of the ebb to bring the raft of wood to the river’s mouth. Pencroff had no intention of letting the raft float in the current at random, nor did he intend to climb aboard to steer it. But a sailor is never at a loss when it is a question of cables or ropes, and Pencroff quickly braided a long rope several yards long made of dried vines. This vegetable cable was attached to the back of the raft. The sailor pulled it by hand while Harbert pushed the raft with a long pole, keeping it in the current.

      The procedure worked perfectly. The large load of wood, which the sailor held onto while walking along the bank, followed the current. The bank was even, and there was no reason to fear that the raft would run aground. Before two o’clock, they arrived at the mouth of the river just a few paces from the Chimneys.

       CHAPTER V

      After the raft of wood was unloaded, Pencroff’s first concern was to make the Chimneys habitable by blocking those holes where the wind blew in. Some sand, stones, intertwined branches, and mud tightly sealed the corridors of the “&” which were open to the winds from the south, isolating the upper loop. One passageway only, narrow, winding, and open on one side, was kept to channel the smoke outside and to induce a draft from the fireplace. The Chimneys were divided into three or four rooms, if one could give this name to such gloomy dens where a wild beast would hardly be content. But it was dry and one could stand up, at least in the main room. A fine sand covered the ground and all things considered, they would have to manage until they could find something better.

      While working, Harbert and Pencroff chatted.

      “Perhaps,” said Harbert, “our companions have found a better accommodation than ours?”

      “That’s possible,” replied the sailor, “but when in doubt, we’d best play it safe. It’s better to have one string too many on your bow than no strings at all!”

      “Ah!” repeated Harbert, “if they could only bring back Mr. Smith when they return, how we would thank Heaven!”

      “Yes,” murmured Pencroff. “That was truly a man!”

      “Was …” said Harbert. “Do you despair of ever seeing him again?”

      “God forbid!” replied the sailor.

      The arrangements were quickly completed, and Pencroff was quite satisfied with them.

      “Now,” he said, “our friends can return. They will find a suitable shelter.”

      Nothing remained to do but build a fireplace and prepare a meal, really a simple and easy task. Some large flat stones were placed on the ground at the entrance of the narrow passageway which had been reserved for this purpose. If the smoke did not draw out too much heat, this would be sufficient to maintain a proper temperature inside. A load of wood was stored in one of the rooms, and the sailor placed several logs and small pieces of wood on the rocks of the fireplace. The sailor was busy with this work when Harbert asked him if he had any matches.

      “Certainly,” replied Pencroff, “and I’ll add, fortunately, because without matches or tinder we’d have quite a problem!”

      “We could always make fire the way the savages do,” replied Harbert, “by rubbing two pieces of dry wood against each other.”

      “Well, my boy, try it and then see if you can do it without breaking your arms.”

      “Nevertheless it’s a very simple procedure and is often used on the islands of the Pacific.”

      “I don’t say it’s not,” replied Pencroff, “but I believe that the savages must either have their own way of doing it or that they use a particular type of wood because, more than once, I’ve tried to make a fire this way and I’ve never succeeded. I admit that I much prefer matches. By the way, where are my matches?”

      Pencroff searched in his vest for the match box that was always with him because he was a zealous smoker. He did not find it. He rummaged through his pants pockets and, to his amazement, he could not find the box.

      “This is annoying! It’s more than annoying!” he said looking at Harbert. “The box must have fallen out of my pocket, and I’ve lost it! But you, Harbert, do you have a tinder box or anything we can use to make a fire?”

      “No, Pencroff.”

      The sailor went out scratching his forehead followed by the young boy.

      Both searched with the greatest care along the beach, among the rocks, near the bank of the river, but to no avail. The box was made of copper and should not have escaped their attention.

      “Pencroff,” asked Harbert, “didn’t you throw the box out of the basket?”

      “I took good care not to,” replied the sailor, “but when one has been tossed about like we were, so small an object can easily disappear. Even my pipe is gone. Where can the confounded box be?”

      “Well, the tide is going down now,” said Harbert, “let’s go round to the spot where we landed.”

      There was little chance that they would recover this box tossed among the rocks at high tide, but it was worth a try under the circumstances. Harbert and Pencroff ran to the spot where they had landed earlier, about two hundred feet from the Chimneys.

      There, among the pebbles, in the cavities of the rocks, they searched carefully. The result: nothing. If the box had fallen here, it must have been swept away by the waves. As the sea went down, the sailor searched every crevice in the rocks without finding anything. It was a serious loss under the circumstances and, for the moment, irreparable. Pencroff found it hard to hide his disappointment. His brow wrinkled up. He didn’t say a word. Harbert wanted to console him by observing that, very likely, the matches would have been wet from the sea water and therefore useless.

      “But no, my boy,” replied the sailor. “They were in a tightly closed copper box! And now what are we to do?”

      “We’ll certainly find some way to make fire,” said Harbert. “Mr. Smith or Mr. Spilett will know what to do.”

      “Yes,” replied Pencroff, “but in the meanwhile we’re without fire, and our companions will find a sorry meal on their return.”

      “But,” said Harbert briskly, “isn’t it possible that they have tinder or matches?”

      “I doubt it,” the sailor replied shaking his head. “First, Neb and Mr. Smith don’t smoke, and Mr. Spilett would rather save his notebook than his box of matches.”

      Harbert did not reply. The loss of the box was obviously regrettable. However, the lad was certain