Their Island Home

by Jules Verne

  THEIR

  ISLAND

  HOME

  THE LATER ADVENTURES OF

  THE SWISS FAMILY ROBINSON

  By

  JULES VERNE

  AUTHOR OF

  TWENTY THOUSAND LEAGUES UNDER

  THE SEA, THE MYSTERIOUS ISLAND,

  THE LIGHTHOUSE AT THE END OF

  THE WORLD, Etc

  Their Island Home

  By

  Jules Verne

  GROSSET & DUNLAP Publishers

  New York

  COPYRIGHT, 1924, BY G. HOWARD WATT

  Printed in the United States of America

  CONTENTS

  TRANSLATOR'S NOTE

  Map of Nouvelle Suisse

  PREFACE

  CHAPTER I - SHOTS ASHORE AND SHOTS AT SEA!

  CHAPTER II - FRITZ AND JACK PLAY SAVAGES

  CHAPTER III - THE BRITISH CORVETTE "UNICORN"

  CHAPTER IV - A RETROSPECT

  CHAPTER V - THE STORY OF JENNY MONTROSE

  CHAPTER VI - PLANNING AND WORKING

  CHAPTER VII - THE START OF AN EXPEDITION

  CHAPTER VIII - EXPLORERS OF UNKNOWN COASTS

  CHAPTER IX - MONTROSE RIVER

  CHAPTER X - THE DISTANT SMOKE!

  CHAPTER XI - IN THE SEASON OF RAINS

  CHAPTER XII - THE NEW VENTURE

  CHAPTER XIII - THE MOUNTAIN RANGE

  CHAPTER XIV - JEAN ZERMATT PEAK

  CHAPTER XV - JACK AND THE ELEPHANTS

  CHAPTER XVI - TROUBLE AHEAD

  [THE SEQUEL TO THIS STORY IS "THE CASTAWAYS OF THE FLAG," WHICH IS ON SALE AT THE SAME TIME AND THE SAME PRICE.]

  THEIR ISLAND HOME

  TRANSLATOR'S NOTE

  It is a commonplace of criticism that sequels are unsatisfactory. For the most part they are, and the reason is fairly obvious. If the original story has been properly planned and written it should be a complete and completed thing with which the author has finished. If, yielding to public clamour for "more," he then professes to have regarded it merely as a "first part" of a larger thing and grafts something else on to it the probabilities are that his "second part" will prove to be but a mechanical invention mothered not by the necessity of inspiration but by some less noble emotion such as vanity or desire for further gain. Sir Walter Scott made no such blunder. He was not lured by the prodigious success of "Waverly" into putting forth any "farther adventures" of that somewhat precious young man but directed his creative powers upon a wholly new subject and while thereby satisfying the public desire for further romance set fresh laurels on his own brow and put more money in his purse.

  Inspiration, in truth, is not to be captured. It comes from an outside source. And if sequels are to be written—and one must admit that sometimes they seem to be required—they should be written by another hand irresistibly compelled by the inspiration derived from the first originating genius. Robert Louis Stevenson could have written a better "second part" to "Robinson Crusoe" than was accomplished by Daniel Defoe and —to come to the particular—Jules Verne achieved a triumph when, his imagination fired by the one great work of Rudolph Wyss, he was impelled to carry it a further stage in "Their Island Home" and to its final stage in "The Castaways of the Flag."

  Of the genius manifested by Rudolph Wyss, Jules Verne had much more than a double portion. An Island was ever his spiritual home and no one, not even Robert Louis Stevenson, was ever happier upon one. "Their Island Home" is a satisfactory sequel to "The Swiss Family Robinson" because it is essentially the spontaneous production of an original genius set in activity by something outside itself. Wherever "The Swiss Family Robinson" is read—and that is everywhere— "Their Island Home" and "The Castaways of the Flag" should be read. In French they are already established classics. I hope that in this English translation they will prove equally enduring.

  CRANSTOUN METCALFE.

  Map of Nouvelle Suisse

  PREFACE

  IN a long preface to the original French edition of this story—too long to be given in full here— M. Jules Verne tells how the stories of "Robinson Crusoe" and "The Swiss Family Robinson" were the books of his childhood, and of the imperishable impression they made upon his mind.

  They influenced his bent in literature to a very marked extent—not only the two books named, but imitations such as "The Twelve-Year-old Robinson," "The Robinson of the Desert," and "The Adventures of Robert Robert," half-forgotten, perhaps now completely forgotten, French stories for young readers, and an island story of Fenimore Cooper's, "The Crater," which it is safe to say has not been read by one person for every hundred who have rejoiced in the great Leatherstocking series.

  To this influence we owe "The Mysterious Island" and "Godfrey Morgan." There were also "The Robinsons at School" and "Two Years' Holidays," which have not yet appeared in English form. The author does not mention "Godfrey Morgan," by the way, but that book must surely be classed with these.

  Jules Verne found the part of "Robinson Crusoe" which deals with the island "a masterpiece which is merely an episode in a long and tedious tale." But he drew delight from every page of "The Swiss Family Robinson." He came to believe, he says, that New Switzerland was a real island and he felt that the story did not really end with the arrival of the Unicorn. The surface of the island had not been fully explored.

  Fritz, Frank, and Jenny Montrose had gone to Europe. They must have had adventures, and those adventures ought to be told. So he felt that he positively must write about them.

  One can guess that the romancer of Amiens got out of his work upon this book—"Their Island Home" —and its sequel—"The Castaways of the Flag"—a pleasure at least equal to that he derived from the writing of any of the numerous volumes which have enchanted generations of boys. All his stories were very real to him; but one doubts whether any other was quite so real as these two, whether even Captain Nemo or Dick Sands were quite as dear to him as the Wolstons and the Zermatts.

  The author of the original work was Rudolph Wyss, who was born at Berne in 1781, and died in 1860. The book which made him a popular author was not his only one, but the others seem to have been more the product of his mind as a professor than of his imaginative faculties, and they do not matter here. "The Swiss Family Robinson" was published (in German) at Zurich in 1812, and a first French translation appeared in 1813. The English version could not have been very long after this, and the book has maintained its popularity in England as in France and Switzerland, doubtless as in a dozen other countries.

  THEIR ISLAND HOME

  CHAPTER I - SHOTS ASHORE AND SHOTS AT SEA!

  The dry season set in at the beginning of the second week of October. This is the first spring month in the Southern zone. The winter in this nineteenth degree of latitude between the Equator and the tropic of Capricorn had not been very severe. The inhabitants of New Switzerland would soon be able to resume their wonted labours.

  After eleven years spent upon this land it was none too soon to attempt to ascertain whether it was a part of one of the continents laved by the Indian Ocean or whether it must be included by geographers among the islands of those seas.

  Since the rescue of Fritz of the young English girl upon Burning Rock, M. Zermatt and his wife, his four sons and Jenny Montrose had been happy on the whole. Of course they had at times fears of the future and of the great improbability of deliverance reaching them from outside, and they had, too, of memories of home and a longing to get into touch again with mankind.

  To-day, then at a very early hour, M. Zermatt passed through the orchard of Rock Castle and walked along the bank of Jackal River. Fritz and Jack were there before him, equipped with their fishing tackle. As for Ernest, always bad at getting up, yearning for five minutes longer between the sheets, he
had not yet left his bed.

  Mme. Zermatt and Jenny were busy within doors.

  "Papa," said Jack, "it is going to be a fine day."

  "I think it is, my boy," M. Zermatt replied. "And I hope that it will be followed by many more as fine, since we are at the beginning of spring."

  "What are you going to do to-day?" Frank asked.

  "We are going fishing," Fritz answered, showing his net and lines.

  "In the bay?" M. Zermatt enquired.

  "No," Fritz answered; "if we go up Jackal River as far as the dam, we shall catch more fish than we shall require for breakfast."

  "And then?" said Jack, addressing his father.

  "Then, my boy," M. Zermatt replied, "we shall not be at a loss for a job. In the afternoon, for example, I am thinking of going to Falconhurst to see if our summer dwelling requires any repairs. Besides, we shall take advantage of the first fine days to visit our other farms, Wood Grange, Sugar-cane Grove, the hermitage at Eberfurt and the villa at Prospect Hill. And then there will be the animals to attend to and the plantations to get into order."

  "That, of course, papa," Fritz rejoined. "But since we can have an hour or two this morning, come along, Jack; come along, Frank."

  "We are quite ready," cried Jack, "and I can feel a fine trout at the end of my line already. Houp-la! Houp-la!"

  Jack pretended to gaff the imaginary fish caught on his hook while calling in glad and ringing tones: "Off we go!"

  Perhaps Frank would have preferred to remain at Rock Castle, where his mornings were generally devoted to study. However, his brother pressed him so eagerly that he made up his mind to follow him.

  The three young men were going towards the right bank of Jackal River when M. Zermatt stopped them.

  "My children," he said, "your eagerness to go fishing has made you forget—"

  "Forget what?" Jack asked.

  "What we have made a practice of doing every year, at the beginning of the dry season."

  Fritz came back to his father.

  "What can that be?" he said, scratching his head.

  "What—do you not remember, Fritz—or you, Jack?" M. Zermatt persisted.

  "Is it that we have not given you an embrace in honour of the spring?" Jack replied.

  "No, no!" Ernest answered, who had just come out from the paddock, rubbing his eyes and stretching his limbs.

  "Then it is because we are going off without having had breakfast, isn't it, Ernest, you young glutton?" said Jack.

  "No," Ernest replied, "it has nothing to do with that. Papa only wants to remind you of our custom of firing the two guns of Shark's Island battery every year at this time."

  "Precisely," M. Zermatt answered.

  As a matter of fact, it had been the custom of Fritz and Jack, on one of the days in the second fortnight of October, at the end of the rainy season, to go to the island at the entrance to Deliverance Bay and rehoist the New Switzerland flag, then to salute it with two guns whose report could be heard quite distinctly at Rock Castle. After this, without much hope, they took a survey of the whole sea and shore. Perhaps some ship passing through those waters would catch the sound of the two reports. Perhaps it would soon arrive within sight of the bay. Perhaps some shipwrecked people had even been cast upon some point of this land, which they must suppose to be uninhabited, and these discharges of ordnance would give them warning.

  "It is quite true," said Fritz, "we were about to forget our duty. Go and get the canoe ready, Jack, and we shall be back in less than an hour."

  But Ernest objected.

  "What is the good of this artillery racket? Think of all the years we have fired our guns, only to wake the echoes of Falcon's Nest and Rock Castle! Why waste these charges of powder?"

  "That is you all over, Ernest!" Jack exclaimed. "If a cannon shot costs so much it must bring back so much, or else be silent!"

  "You are wrong to talk like that," said M. Zermatt to his second son, "and I do not regard the cost as wasted. To fly a flag over Shark's Island cannot be sufficient, for it would not be seen from far out at sea, while our cannon shots can be heard a good two and a half miles. It would be foolish to neglect this chance of making our presence known to any ship passing by."

  "In that case," said Frank, "we ought to fire every morning and every evening."

  "Certainly; just as they do in the navy," Jack declared.

  "In the navy there is no danger of running short of ammunition," remarked Ernest, who was by far the most obstinate of the four brothers.

  "Make your mind easy, my boy; we are not nearly out of powder," M. Zermatt assured him. "Two cannon shots, twice a year, at the beginning and the end of winter, only cost a trifle. It is my opinion that we should not discontinue this custom."

  "Papa is right," said Jack. "If the echoes of Falcon-hurst and Rock Castle object to being disturbed from their sleep, well and good! Ernest will make an apology to them in verse, and they will be delighted. Come along, Fritz!"

  "We must go and let Mamma know first" said Frank.

  "And Jenny too," Fritz added.

  "I will attend to that," M. Zermatt replied, "for the reports might cause them some surprise, and even lead them to imagine that some ship was coming into Deliverance Bay."

  Just at this moment Mme. Zermatt and Jenny Montrose, who were coming out of the verandah, stopped at the gate of the orchard.

  After having embraced his mother Fritz gave his hand to the young girl, who smiled upon him. And as she saw Jack moving towards the creek where the long boat and the pinnace were moored, she asked:

  "Are you going to sea this morning?"

  "Yes, Jenny," answered Jack, returning. "Fritz and I are making our preparations for a long voyage."

  "A long voyage?" Mme. Zermatt repeated, ever uneasy about absences of this kind, however great her confidence might be in the skill of her sons in managing the canoe.

  "Make your mind easy, my dear Betsy, and you, too, Jenny," M. Zermatt said. "Jack is only joking. It is only a matter of going to Shark's Island and firing the two regulation guns when the flag is hoisted, and of coming back after seeing that everything is in order."

  "That is all right," Jenny replied, "and while Fritz and Jack are going to the island Ernest and Frank and I will go and fish—that is, of course, if Mme. Betsy does not want me."

  "No, my dear child," said Mme. Zermatt, "and meanwhile I will go and get the washing ready."

  After going down to the mouth of Jackal River, whither Jack brought the canoe, Fritz and he embarked. All wished them a good voyage and the light boat shot quickly out of the little creek.

  The weather was fine, the sea calm, the tide favourable. Sitting one in front of the other, each in the narrow opening allotted to him, the two brothers plied their paddles alternately and rapidly drew away from Rock Castle. As the current bore a little towards the east, the canoe was obliged to approach the opposite shore, crossing the inlet which connected Deliverance Bay with the open sea.

  At this time Fritz was twenty-five years of age. Vigorous and skilful, well trained in every physical exercise, a tireless walker and an intrepid hunter, this eldest son was a credit to the Zermatt family. His temper, in his boyhood rather bad, had become better. His brothers never suffered now, as they used to do, from those fits of anger of his which had often brought upon him remonstrances from his father and mother. Something had changed him materially.

  He could not forget the young girl whom he had taken off Burning Rock, and Jenny Montrose could not forget that she owed her deliverance to him. Jenny was charming, with her fair hair falling in silky ringlets, her graceful figure, her pretty hands, and the fresh complexion which was not spoiled by the sunburn on her face. When she came into this family she brought into it what it had lacked till then, gladness of the home, and she was the good genius of the hearth.

  Ernest, Jack, and Frank saw no more than a sister in this charming girl. But was it quite the same with Fritz? Was it the self-same emotion that made his hea
rt beat so? Was it only friendship that Jenny felt for the brave young fellow who had come to her rescue? Already nearly two years had passed since that poignant incident upon Burning Rock. Fritz had not been able to live by Jenny's side without falling in love with her. And many a time did the father and mother talk of what the future held for these two.

  If Jack's character had undergone any modification it was in the development of his natural inclination for all exercises which called for strength, courage and skill, and on this score he now had nothing to envy Fritz. His age was now one and twenty, his stature medium, his figure strapping, and he was still the same gallant, merry, pleasant, impulsive, and also good fellow as ever. He had not given up teasing his brothers, but they were always ready to forgive him. Was he not the best pal in the world?