The Mysterious Island. Jules Verne

which he put into his pocket without making any comment.

      “What the devil can he be picking up?” murmured Pencroff. “I’ve looked carefully and I don’t see anything worth bending over for.”

      About ten o’clock, the small troop descended the last slopes of Mount Franklin. The soil was still scattered with only a few bushes and some sparse trees. They walked on yellowish calcinated ground forming a plain about a mile long which preceded the border of the woods. Some large sections of basalt which, according to Bischof,¹ require three hundred fifty million years to cool, were strewn on the plain, very broken up in places. However, there were no traces of lava, which had poured down especially the northern slopes.

       They continued on, preceded by Top.

      Cyrus Smith believed they could reach the creek without incident. He was explaining that the creek would unfold under the trees at the edge of the plain, when he saw Harbert running towards him, while Neb and the sailor were hiding behind some rocks.

      “What is it, my boy?” asked Gideon Spilett.

      “Smoke,” replied Harbert. “We’ve seen smoke rising among the rocks about a hundred feet from us.”

      “Men in this area?” said the reporter.

      “Let’s avoid showing ourselves before we know who we’re dealing with,” replied Cyrus Smith. “I especially fear the natives if there are any on this island. Where’s Top?”

      “Top’s up ahead.”

      “And he doesn’t bark?”

      “No.”

      “That’s strange. Nevertheless, let’s try to call him back.”

      In a few minutes, the engineer, Gideon Spilett, and Harbert joined their two companions and they all hid behind some basalt debris. From there, they could clearly see smoke with a characteristic yellow color twirling into the air.

      Top was recalled by a low whistle from his master who, making a sign to his companions to wait for him, glided among the rocks.

      The colonists were motionless, waiting for the result of this exploration with a certain anxiety, when a call from Cyrus Smith made them run up. They soon joined him and were at once struck by a very disagreeable odor. This recognizable odor allowed the engineer to guess at the identity of this smoke which had caused some anxiety.

      “This fire,” he said, “or rather this smoke is the result of nature’s efforts alone. It’s due to a sulfuric spring, which will allow us to treat ourselves if we have laryngitis.”

      “Good,” said Pencroff. “What a pity I don’t have a cold.”

      The colonists went to the spot where the smoke escaped and saw a sulfuric salt spring pouring out abundantly among the rocks. The water gave off a vivid sulfuric acid odor after absorbing the oxygen from the air.

      Cyrus Smith dipped his hand into it, finding these waters oily to the touch. He tasted it and found it to be a little sweet. As for its temperature, he estimated it at 95° Fahrenheit (35° Centigrade above zero). Harbert asked him how he made his evaluation.

      “Very simple, my child.” he said. “On plunging my hand into this water, I felt no sensation of either hot or cold. It’s the same temperature as the human body, around 95°.”

       The smoke was from a sulphuric spring.

      Since the sulfuric spring was of no immediate benefit, the colonists went toward the thick border of the forest which grew a few hundred feet away.

      There, as they had guessed, the brisk clear waters of the stream ran between high banks of red ground, a color revealing the presence of iron oxide. This color immediately gave the watercourse the name of Red Creek.

      It was only a large brook, deep and clear, formed by the mountain waters which, half stream and half torrent, flowed peacefully here on a sand bed, gurgling over the tops of the rocks or falling in a cascade. It flowed toward the lake a mile and a half away, and its width varied from thirty to forty feet. Its waters were fresh, which led them to believe that so were the waters of the lake. This would be a fortunate circumstance in the event they should find a dwelling on its border more agreeable than the Chimneys.

      As to the trees which shaded the banks of the creek a hundred feet downstream, they appeared for the most part to be of a species which are abundant in the temperate zone of Australia and of Tasmania and not the same as the conifers which grew on that part of the island already explored a few miles from Grand View Plateau. At this time of the year, at the beginning of April, which corresponds to the month of October and early autumn in the northern hemisphere, the leaves had not yet begun to fall. This was especially so with the casuarinas and the eucalyptus, some of which would furnish next spring a sweet manna perfectly similar to the manna of the Orient. Some clusters of Australian cedars also grew in the clearings, covered with a tall grass called “tussock”² in Australia. However, the coconut which grows so abundantly in the archipelagos of the Pacific seemed to be missing on this island³ whose latitude was doubtless too low.

      “What a pity” said Harbert, “a tree which is so useful and which has such beautiful nuts.”

      As for the birds, they swarmed among the somewhat sparse branches of the eucalyptus and the casuarinas since these did not interfere with their wings. Black, white, or grey cockatoos, parrots and parakeets with a plumage tinged with all colors, “kings” with a bright green crowned with red, blue loris and “blue mountains” created a sight like looking through a prism. They flew amid a deafening clatter.

      All at once, a strange concert of discordant voices resounded from a thicket. The colonists heard successively the singing of birds, the cries of quadrupeds and a sort of clapping which they would have believed escaped from the lips of a native. Neb and Harbert ran toward this bush forgetting the most elementary principles of prudence. Very fortunately, there was no fearsome beast there, nor a dangerous native, but very simply a half dozen mocking and singing birds which they recognized as “mountain pheasants.” A few strokes of the stick, skillfully applied, ended this scene of mimicking and also procured some excellent game for the evening meal.

      Harbert also pointed out some magnificent pigeons with bronze colored wings, some topped by a superb crest, others draped in green like their cousins from Port Macquarie; but it was impossible to catch them any more than the crows and magpies which flew away in flocks. A firing of small shot would have produced a great slaughter among these birds, but the hunters were still limited to stones for missiles and to sticks for hand held weapons, and these primitive devices were inadequate.

      Their inadequacy was demonstrated more clearly again when a troop of hopping and bounding quadrupeds, making leaps of thirty feet, real flying mammals, ran away over the thicket so nimbly and at such a height that they seemed to pass from one tree to another like squirrels.

      “Kangaroos!” shouted Harbert.

      “Can we eat them?” replied Pencroff.

      “Stewed,” responded the reporter, “they compare to the best venison! …”

      Gideon Spilett had not finished this enticing statement when the sailor, followed by Neb and Harbert, rushed after the kangaroos. Cyrus Smith called them back but in vain. It was also in vain that the hunters chased this springy game which bounced like a ball. After five minutes of running, they were out of breath and the band of kangaroos disappeared in the brushwood. Top had no more success than his masters.

      “Mr. Cyrus,” said Pencroff when they rejoined the engineer and the reporter, “Mr. Cyrus, you can see that it’s indispensable to make some guns. Will that be possible?”

      “Perhaps,” replied the engineer, “but we’ll first begin by making some bows and