The Mysterious Island. Jules Verne

arrived there.

      Neb’s companions listened carefully to this story. It astonished them that Cyrus Smith, after the efforts he must have made to escape the waves and get past the reef, did not even show a scratch. Also inexplicable was that the engineer had been able to get to this distant cave in the middle of dunes more than a mile from the coast.

      “So, Neb,” said the reporter, “it wasn’t you who brought your master to this place?”

      “No, it wasn’t I,” replied Neb.

      “It’s obvious that Mr. Smith came here alone,” said Pencroff.

      “It’s obvious,” noted Gideon Spilett, “but it’s unbelievable!”

      They could only get an explanation from the engineer himself; they would have to wait until he was able to speak. Fortunately, life was already rapidly returning to him. The massage had improved his blood circulation. Cyrus Smith moved his arms again, then his head, and several incomprehensible words escaped from his lips.

      Neb, bending over him, called him, but the engineer did not seem to hear and his eyes were still closed. Life revealed itself only by the slight movements of his body; his consciousness had not yet returned.

      Pencroff regretted not having a fire, or the means for making one, because he had unfortunately forgotten to bring along the burnt linen which would have been easy to ignite by striking two flintstones together. As for the engineer’s pockets, they were absolutely empty except for his vest which contained his watch. They had to carry Cyrus Smith to the Chimneys as soon as possible. Everyone was in full agreement.

      Meanwhile, the care they lavished on the engineer was making his recovery more rapid than they had dared to hope. The water with which they wet his lips was reviving him little by little. Pencroff had the idea of mixing with this water some of the gravy from the flesh of the grouse that he had brought along. Harbert, running to the shore, returned with two large bivalve shells. The sailor made a sort of mixture and placed it between the lips of the engineer, who seemed eager to swallow it.

      His eyes opened. Neb and the reporter were bent over him. “My master! My Master!” shouted Neb.

      The engineer heard him. He recognized Neb and Spilett, then his two other companions, Harbert and the sailor, and his hand lightly pressed theirs.

      Several words again escaped from his mouth, the same words that he had doubtless uttered earlier, expressing the thoughts that were, even then, troubling his mind. This time these words were understood. “Island or continent?” he murmured.

      “Ah,” shouted Pencroff, “By all the devils, we couldn’t care less provided you’re alive, Mr. Cyrus! Island or continent? We’ll see later.”

      The engineer made a slight affirmative sign and appeared to sleep. Taking care not to disturb him, the reporter immediately made arrangements to have the engineer transported under the best conditions. Neb, Harbert, and Pencroff left the cave and made their way toward a high dune crowned with some scraggy trees. On the way, the sailor could not help repeating:

      “Island or continent! To think of that, with what might’ve been his final breath! What a man!”

      Arriving at the top of the dune, Pencroff and his two companions, without any tools but their hands, stripped off the main branches from a rather stunted tree, a sort of maritime pine weakened by the wind. Then, with these branches, they made a litter which, once covered with foliage and grass, would allow them to transport the engineer.

      It took about forty minutes, and it was ten o’clock when the sailor, Neb, and Harbert returned to Cyrus Smith whom Gideon Spilett had not left.

      The engineer was then up from his sleep or rather from this stupor in which they had found him. The color returned to his cheeks which had held the pallor of death. He got up a little, looked around him, and seemed to ask where he was.

      “Can you listen to me without tiring yourself, Cyrus?” asked the reporter.

      “Yes,” replied the engineer.

      “I’d say,” the sailor then said, “that Mr. Smith could listen to you better if he had more of this grouse jelly—it really is grouse, Mr. Cyrus,” he added, presenting him some of this jelly to which this time he added some scraps of flesh.

      Cyrus Smith chewed these bits of grouse, the remainder of which was distributed to his four companions who were very hungry and who found the meal rather meager.

      “Good,” said the sailor, “we have provisions waiting for us at the Chimneys, because it’s well for you to know, Mr. Cyrus, we have down there in the south a house with rooms, beds, and a fireplace and in the pantry dozens of birds which our Harbert calls couroucous. Your litter is ready and, as soon as you feel strong enough, we’ll carry you to our shelter.”

      “Thanks, my friend,” said the engineer, “in an hour or two we’ll be able to leave … and now, speak, Spilett.”

      The reporter then told him all that had happened. He related those events not known to Cyrus Smith: the last fall of the balloon, setting foot on this unknown land which appeared deserted whether it be an island or a continent, the discovery of the Chimneys, the search to find the engineer, Neb’s devotion, all they owed to the intelligence of the faithful Top, etc.

      “But,” Cyrus Smith asked in a voice still weak, “you didn’t pick me up at the beach?”

      “No,” replied the reporter.

      “And it wasn’t you who brought me to this cave?”

      “No.”

      “How far are we from the reef?”

      “About half a mile,” replied Pencroff, “and if you’re astonished, Mr. Cyrus, we’re equally surprised to see you here!”

      “Indeed,” replied the engineer, taking an interest in these details, “indeed, there is something peculiar in this!”

      “But,” responded the sailor, “can you tell us what happened after you were carried away by the wave?”

      Cyrus Smith tried to remember but he knew little. The wave had torn him from the ropes of the balloon. At first he sank several fathoms but when he returned to the surface of the sea, he felt a living being moving near him in the semi-darkness. It was Top who had thrown himself into the water to come to his aid. On raising his eyes, he could no longer see the balloon which, relieved of his weight and that of the dog, had shot away like an arrow. He found himself in the midst of an angry sea at least a half mile from shore. He tried to battle the waves and swam vigorously. Top held him up by his clothes, but a strong current seized him and pushed him northward. After a half hour of struggling, he sank, dragging Top with him down into the abyss. From that time until the moment when he found himself in the arms of his friends, he remembered nothing.

      “However,” said Pencroff, “you must have been thrown on the beach, and you must have had the strength to come here since Neb found your footprints!”

      “Yes … that must be it …” replied the engineer, “And you didn’t see any traces of human beings along this shore?”

      “Not a sign,” said the reporter. “Besides, if by chance some rescuer ran into you there, why would he have abandoned you after having plucked you from the waves?”

      “You’re right, my dear Spilett. Tell me Neb,” added the engineer, turning to his servant, “it wasn’t you who … you didn’t have a forgetful moment … during which … No, that’s absurd … Are there any other footprints?” asked Cyrus Smith.

      “Yes, master,” replied Neb, “here at the entrance, at the back of this dune, in a place sheltered from the wind and the rain. The others have been wiped away by the storm.”

      “Pencroff,” said Cyrus Smith, “would you take my shoes and see if they positively fit these footprints?”

      The sailor did as the engineer asked. Harbert and he, guided by Neb, went