The Mysterious Island. Jules Verne

line, but the sailor very modestly told him that it was not his first try and not his invention.

      “And in any case,” he added, “in our situation, we must depend on measures such as these.”

      The grouse were tied by their feet and Pencroff, happy that he was not returning with empty hands and seeing that the daylight was beginning to lessen, decided to return home.

      The path to follow was clearly indicated by the river; there was no question about which direction to go. At about six o’clock, rather tired from their excursion, Harbert and Pencroff again entered the Chimneys.

*Celebrated author of a book on angling.⁴

       CHAPTER VII

      Gideon Spilett, motionless, his arms crossed, was on the beach looking at the sea whose horizon was obscured in the east by a large black cloud that was rapidly moving towards the zenith. The wind was already strong and becoming fresher with the decline of day. The sky looked bad and the first symptoms of a storm were apparent.

      Harbert entered the Chimneys, and Pencroff went to the reporter. The latter, deeply absorbed, did not see him come.

“We’re going to have a bad night, Mr. Spilett!” said the sailor. “Rain and wind are the joy of petrels.”*

      The reporter, then turning, saw Pencroff and his first words were these:

      “At what distance from the coast would you say the basket was when it was struck by the wave which carried off our companion?”

      The sailor had not expected this question. He reflected for a moment and replied:

      “At two cables length at most.”

      “But what is a cable length?”

      “About 120 fathoms or 600 feet.”

      “Then,” said the reporter, “Cyrus Smith disappeared 1200 feet at most from the shore?”

      “About,” replied Pencroff.

      “And his dog also?”

      “Also.”

      “What astonishes me,” added the reporter, “is that our companion has perished, and Top has likewise met his end, but neither the body of the dog nor that of his master has been thrown on shore.”

      “It isn’t astonishing with such a strong sea,” replied the sailor. “Besides, it’s possible that the current carried them further along the coast.”

      “So it’s your opinion that our companion has perished among the waves?” the reporter asked again.

      “That’s my opinion.”

      “My opinion,” said Gideon Spilett, “much as I respect your experience, Pencroff, is that the double disappearance of Cyrus and Top, living or dead, is an inexplicable and improbable thing.”

      “I wish I could think like you, Mr. Spilett,” replied Pencroff, “but, unfortunately, my mind is made up.”

      That said, the sailor returned to the Chimneys. A good fire crackled on the hearth. Harbert threw an armful of dry wood on it, and the flames shed light into the gloomy parts of the passageway. Pencroff occupied himself at once with preparing dinner. It seemed best to introduce some “pièce de résistance” into the menu because everyone needed to renew his strength. The strings of couroucous were saved for the next day but they plucked two grouse, and soon the gallinules were roasting on a spit in front of a blazing fire.

      At seven o’clock Neb had not yet returned. This prolonged absence only made Pencroff uneasy about the Negro. He feared that he had either met with some accident on this unknown land or that the poor wretch had given in to some act of despair. But Harbert drew totally different conclusions from this absence. In his opinion, if Neb had not yet returned, it was due to some new circumstance which caused him to prolong his search and anything new could only be to Cyrus Smith’s advantage. Why had Neb not returned unless some hope detained him? Perhaps he had found some indication, a footprint or the remains of a wreck which put him on the track. Perhaps, at this very moment, he was following a solid clue. Perhaps he was even near his master …

      So the lad reasoned. His companions let him speak of it. The reporter alone approved with a gesture. But, for Pencroff, it was likely that Neb had gone further than the previous day in his search along the coast and that he could not yet return.

      However, Harbert was agitated by vague premonitions, and several times he wanted to go to meet Neb. Pencroff made him understand that it would be a useless course of action, that in this darkness and deplorable weather, he would find no trace of Neb, and it would be better to wait. If, by the next day, Neb had not reappeared, Pencroff would not hesitate to join Harbert in searching for him.

      Gideon Spilett agreed that they must not separate, and Harbert had to give up his plan; but two large tears fell from his eyes. The reporter could not refrain from embracing the noble lad.

      Bad weather had now definitely broken out. A windstorm of unparalleled violence passed over the coast from the southeast. They heard the sea, then at low tide, roaring against the leading edge of rocks on the beach. The rain, whipped by the storm, rose up like a wet mist. Ragged masses of fog swept along the shore where pebbles rattled noisily like cartloads of stone being emptied. Sand, lifted by the wind, became mixed with the rain, making the storm’s attack invincible. There was just as much mineral dust in the air as water vapor. Large whirlwinds swirled between the mouth of the river and the face of the wall, and strong gusts of air escaping from this maelstrom could find no exit other than through the narrow valley whose river was churned up with an irresistible violence. The smoke from the hearth, restricted by the narrow passageway, backed up frequently, filling the corridors and rendering them uninhabitable.

      That is why, as soon as the grouse were roasted, Pencroff let the fire die down, conserving nothing but the embers buried under the cinders.

      At eight o’clock Neb still had not reappeared. They could now assume that the awful weather alone prevented his return and that he had found refuge in some hollow to wait out the end of the storm or at least the return of day. To attempt to find him under these conditions was impossible.

      The game formed the only dish for supper, and they gladly ate this excellent meat. Pencroff and Harbert, whose appetites were excited by their long excursion, were ravenous.

      Everyone retired to the corner where he had rested the previous night. Harbert soon fell asleep near the sailor who stretched out along the hearth. Outside, as the night advanced, the storm took on formidable proportions. It was a windstorm comparable to the one that carried the prisoners from Richmond to this land in the Pacific. Tempests are frequent during the seasons of the equinox. They produce terrible catastrophes throughout this vast area where no obstacles oppose their fury. One can therefore understand how a coast so exposed, in direct line with the storm and struck headlong, was battered by a force that cannot be described.

       Pencroff crawled to the opening.

      Fortunately, the pile of rocks which formed the Chimneys was sturdy. It was composed of enormous slabs of granite though a few, slightly off-balance, seemed to tremble at their base. Pencroff sensed this and, pressing his hand against the walls, felt the rapid vibrations. But he finally convinced himself, and rightly so, that there was nothing to fear and that his improvised retreat would not cave in. Nevertheless, he heard the clatter of the rocks which, detached from the summit of the plateau and uprooted by the swirling wind, fell on the beach. A few even rolled as far as the upper part of the Chimneys or broke into fragments when they fell straight down. Twice the sailor got up and crawled to the opening of the passageway to look outside. But these falling rocks did not constitute any danger and he returned to his place in front of the fire whose embers were sputtering