by Jules Verne
Chapter 16
Yes! the unfortunate man had wept! Some recollection doubtless hadflashed across his brain, and to use Cyrus Harding's expression, bythose tears he was once more a man.
The colonists left him for some time on the plateau, and withdrewthemselves to a short distance, so that he might feel himself free; buthe did not think of profiting by this liberty, and Harding soon broughthim back to Granite House. Two days after this occurrence, the strangerappeared to wish gradually to mingle with their common life. Heevidently heard and understood, but no less evidently was he strangelydetermined not to speak to the colonists; for one evening, Pencroft,listening at the door of his room, heard these words escape from hislips:--
"No! here! I! never!"
The sailor reported these words to his companions.
"There is some painful mystery there!" said Harding.
The stranger had begun to use the laboring tools, and he worked in thegarden. When he stopped in his work, as was often the case, he remainedretired within himself, but on the engineer's recommendation, theyrespected the reserve which he apparently wished to keep. If one of thesettlers approached him, he drew back, and his chest heaved with sobs,as if overburdened!
Was it remorse that overwhelmed him thus? They were compelled to believeso, and Gideon Spilett could not help one day making this observation,--
"If he does not speak it is because he has, I fear, things too seriousto be told!"
They must be patient and wait.
A few days later, on the 3rd of November, the stranger, working on theplateau, had stopped, letting his spade drop to the ground, and Harding,who was observing him from a little distance, saw that tears were againflowing from his eyes. A sort of irresistible pity led him towards theunfortunate man, and he touched his arm lightly.
"My friend!" said he.
The stranger tried to avoid his look, and Cyrus Harding havingendeavored to take his hand, he drew back quickly.
"My friend," said Harding in a firmer voice, "look at me, I wish it!"
The stranger looked at the engineer, and seemed to be under his power,as a subject under the influence of a mesmerist. He wished to run away.But then his countenance suddenly underwent a transformation. His eyesflashed. Words struggled to escape from his lips. He could no longercontain himself! At last he folded his arms; then, in a hollowvoice,--"Who are you?" he asked Cyrus Harding.
"Castaways, like you," replied the engineer, whose emotion was deep. "Wehave brought you here, among your fellow-men."
"My fellow-men!.... I have none!"
"You are in the midst of friends."
"Friends!--for me! friends!" exclaimed the stranger, hiding his face inhis hands. "No--never--leave me! leave me!"
Then he rushed to the side of the plateau which overlooked the sea, andremained there a long time motionless.
Harding rejoined his companions and related to them what had justhappened.
"Yes! there is some mystery in that man's life," said Gideon Spilett,"and it appears as if he had only re-entered society by the path ofremorse."
"I don't know what sort of a man we have brought here," said the sailor."He has secrets--"
"Which we will respect," interrupted Cyrus Harding quickly. "If he hascommitted any crime, he has most fearfully expiated it, and in our eyeshe is absolved."
For two hours the stranger remained alone on the shore, evidently underthe influence of recollections which recalled all his past life--amelancholy life doubtless--and the colonists, without losing sight ofhim, did not attempt to disturb his solitude. However, after two hours,appearing to have formed a resolution, he came to find Cyrus Harding.His eyes were red with the tears he had shed, but he wept no longer.His countenance expressed deep humility. He appeared anxious, timorous,ashamed, and his eyes were constantly fixed on the ground.
"Sir," said he to Harding, "your companions and you, are you English?"
"No," answered the engineer, "we are Americans."
"Ah!" said the stranger, and he murmured, "I prefer that!"
"And you, my friend?" asked the engineer.
"English," replied he hastily.
And as if these few words had been difficult to say, he retreated to thebeach, where he walked up and down between the cascade and the mouth ofthe Mercy, in a state of extreme agitation.
Then, passing one moment close to Herbert, he stopped and in a stifledvoice,--
"What month?" he asked.
"December," replied Herbert.
"What year?"
"1866."
"Twelve years! twelve years!" he exclaimed.
Then he left him abruptly.
Herbert reported to the colonists the questions and answers which hadbeen made.
"This unfortunate man," observed Gideon Spilett, "was no longeracquainted with either months or years!"
"Yes!" added Herbert, "and he had been twelve years already on the isletwhen we found him there!"
"Twelve years!" rejoined Harding. "Ah! twelve years of solitude, after awicked life, perhaps, may well impair a man's reason!"
"I am induced to think," said Pencroft, "that this man was not wreckedon Tabor Island, but that in consequence of some crime he was leftthere."
"You must be right, Pencroft," replied the reporter, "and if it is soit is not impossible that those who left him on the island may return tofetch him some day!"
"And they will no longer find him," said Herbert.
"But then," added Pencroft, "they must return, and--"
"My friends," said Cyrus Harding, "do not let us discuss this questionuntil we know more about it. I believe that the unhappy man hassuffered, that he has severely expiated his faults, whatever they mayhave been, and that the wish to unburden himself stifles him. Do not letus press him to tell us his history! He will tell it to us doubtless,and when we know it, we shall see what course it will be best to follow.He alone besides can tell us, if he has more than a hope, a certainty,of returning some day to his country, but I doubt it!"
"And why?" asked the reporter.
"Because that, in the event of his being sure of being delivered at acertain time, he would have waited the hour of his deliverance and wouldnot have thrown this document into the sea. No, it is more probable thathe was condemned to die on that islet, and that he never expected to seehis fellow-creatures again!"
"But," observed the sailor, "there is one thing which I cannot explain."
"What is it?"
"If this man had been left for twelve years on Tabor Island, one maywell suppose that he had been several years already in the wild state inwhich we found him!"
"That is probable," replied Cyrus Harding.
"It must then be many years since he wrote that document!"
"No doubt," and yet the document appears to have been recently written!
"Besides, how do you know that the bottle which enclosed the documentmay not have taken several years to come from Tabor Island to LincolnIsland?"
"That is not absolutely impossible," replied the reporter.
"Might it not have been a long time already on the coast of the island?"
"No," answered Pencroft, "for it was still floating. We could not evensuppose that after it had stayed for any length of time on the shore, itwould have been swept off by the sea, for the south coast is all rocks,and it would certainly have been smashed to pieces there!"
"That is true," rejoined Cyrus Harding thoughtfully.
"And then," continued the sailor, "if the document was several yearsold, if it had been shut up in that bottle for several years, it wouldhave been injured by damp. Now, there is nothing of the kind, and it wasfound in a perfect state of preservation."
The sailor's reasoning was very just, and pointed out anincomprehensible fact, for the document appeared to have been recentlywritten, when the colonists found it in the bottle. Moreover, it gavethe latitude and longitude of Tabor Island correctly, which implied thatits author had a more complete knowledge of hydrography than could b
eexpected of a common sailor.
"There is in this, again, something unaccountable," said the engineer,"but we will not urge our companion to speak. When he likes, myfriends, then we shall be ready to hear him!"
During the following days the stranger did not speak a word, and did notonce leave the precincts of the plateau. He worked away, without losinga moment, without taking a minute's rest, but always in a retired place.At meal times he never came to Granite House, although invited severaltimes to do so, but contented himself with eating a few raw vegetables.At nightfall he did not return to the room assigned to him, but remainedunder some clump of trees, or when the weather was bad crouched in somecleft of the rocks. Thus he lived in the same manner as when he had noother shelter than the forests of Tabor Island, and as all persuasionto induce him to improve his life was in vain, the colonistswaited patiently. And the time was near, when, as it seemed, almostinvoluntarily urged by his conscience, a terrible confession escapedhim.
On the 10th of November, about eight o'clock in the evening, as nightwas coming on, the stranger appeared unexpectedly before the settlers,who were assembled under the veranda. His eyes burned strangely, and hehad quite resumed the wild aspect of his worst days.
Cyrus Harding and his companions were astounded on seeing that, overcomeby some terrible emotion, his teeth chattered like those of a personin a fever. What was the matter with him? Was the sight of hisfellow-creatures insupportable to him? Was he weary of this return to acivilized mode of existence? Was he pining for his former savagelife? It appeared so, as soon he was heard to express himself in theseincoherent sentences:--
"Why am I here?.... By what right have you dragged me from my islet?....Do you think there could be any tie between you and me?.... Do you knowwho I am--what I have done--why I was there--alone? And who toldyou that I was not abandoned there--that I was not condemned to diethere?.... Do you know my past?.... How do you know that I have notstolen, murdered--that I am not a wretch--an accursed being--only fit tolive like a wild beast, far from all--speak--do you know it?"
The colonists listened without interrupting the miserable creature, fromwhom these broken confessions escaped, as it were, in spite of himself.Harding wishing to calm him, approached him, but he hastily drew back.
"No! no!" he exclaimed; "one word only--am I free?"
"You are free," answered the engineer.
"Farewell, then!" he cried, and fled like a madman.
Neb, Pencroft, and Herbert ran also towards the edge of the wood--butthey returned alone.
"We must let him alone!" said Cyrus Harding.
"He will never come back!" exclaimed Pencroft.
"He will come back," replied the engineer.
Many days passed; but Harding--was it a sort ofpresentiment?--persisted in the fixed idea that sooner or later theunhappy man would return.
"It is the last revolt of his wild nature," said he, "which remorse hastouched, and which renewed solitude will terrify."
In the meanwhile, works of all sorts were continued, as well on ProspectHeights as at the corral, where Harding intended to build a farm. It isunnecessary to say that the seeds collected by Herbert on TaborIsland had been carefully sown. The plateau thus formed one immensekitchen-garden, well laid out and carefully tended, so that the arms ofthe settlers were never in want of work. There was always something tobe done. As the esculents increased in number, it became necessary toenlarge the simple beds, which threatened to grow into regular fieldsand replace the meadows. But grass abounded in other parts of theisland, and there was no fear of the onagers being obliged to go onshort allowance. It was well worth while, besides, to turn ProspectHeights into a kitchen-garden, defended by its deep belt of creeks, andto remove them to the meadows, which had no need of protection againstthe depredations of quadrumana and quadrapeds.
On the 15th of November, the third harvest was gathered in. Howwonderfully had the field increased in extent, since eighteen monthsago, when the first grain of wheat was sown! The second crop of sixhundred thousand grains produced this time four thousand bushels, orfive hundred millions of grains!
The colony was rich in corn, for ten bushels alone were sufficient forsowing every year to produce an ample crop for the food both of men andbeasts. The harvest was completed, and the last fortnight of the monthof November was devoted to the work of converting it into food for man.In fact, they had corn, but not flour, and the establishment of a millwas necessary. Cyrus Harding could have utilized the second fall whichflowed into the Mercy to establish his motive power, the firstbeing already occupied with moving the felting mill, but, after someconsultation, it was decided that a simple windmill should be built onProspect Heights. The building of this presented no more difficulty thanthe building of the former, and it was moreover certain that there wouldbe no want of wind on the plateau, exposed as it was to the sea breezes.
"Not to mention," said Pencroft, "that the windmill will be more livelyand will have a good effect in the landscape!"
They set to work by choosing timber for the frame and machinery of themill. Some large stones, found at the north of the lake, could be easilytransformed into millstones, and as to the sails, the inexhaustible caseof the balloon furnished the necessary material.
Cyrus Harding made his model, and the site of the mill was chosen alittle to the right of the poultry-yard, near the shore of the lake. Theframe was to rest on a pivot supported with strong timbers, so that itcould turn with all the machinery it contained according as the windrequired it. The work advanced rapidly. Neb and Pencroft had becomevery skilful carpenters, and had nothing to do but to copy the modelsprovided by the engineer.
Soon a sort of cylindrical box, in shape like a pepper-pot, with apointed roof, rose on the spot chosen. The four frames which formed thesails had been firmly fixed in the center beam, so as to form a certainangle with it, and secured with iron clamps. As to the differentparts of the internal mechanism, the box destined to contain the twomillstones, the fixed stone and the moving stone, the hopper, a sort oflarge square trough, wide at the top, narrow at the bottom, which wouldallow the grain to fall on the stones, the oscillating spout intended toregulate the passing of the grain, and lastly the bolting machine, whichby the operation of sifting, separates the bran from the flour,were made without difficulty. The tools were good, and the work notdifficult, for in reality, the machinery of a mill is very simple. Thiswas only a question of time.
Every one had worked at the construction of the mill, and on the 1stof December it was finished. As usual, Pencroft was delighted with hiswork, and had no doubt that the apparatus was perfect.
"Now for a good wind," said he, "and we shall grind our first harvestsplendidly!"
"A good wind, certainly," answered the engineer, "but not too much,Pencroft."
"Pooh! our mill would only go the faster!"
"There is no need for it to go so very fast," replied Cyrus Harding. "Itis known by experience that the greatest quantity of work is performedby a mill when the number of turns made by the sails in a minute is sixtimes the number of feet traversed by the wind in a second. A moderatebreeze, which passes over twenty-four feet to the second, will givesixteen turns to the sails during a minute, and there is no need ofmore."
"Exactly!" cried Herbert, "a fine breeze is blowing from the northeast,which will soon do our business for us."
There was no reason for delaying the inauguration of the mill, for thesettlers were eager to taste the first piece of bread in Lincoln Island.On this morning two or three bushels of wheat were ground, and the nextday at breakfast a magnificent loaf, a little heavy perhaps, althoughraised with yeast, appeared on the table at Granite House. Every onemunched away at it with a pleasure which may be easily understood.
In the meanwhile, the stranger had not reappeared. Several times GideonSpilett and Herbert searched the forest in the neighborhood of GraniteHouse, without meeting or finding any trace of him. They becameseriously uneasy at this prolonged absence. Certainly, the forme
rsavage of Tabor island could not be perplexed how to live in the forest,abounding in game, but was it not to be feared that he had resumed hishabits, and that this freedom would revive in him his wild instincts?However, Harding, by a sort of presentiment, doubtless, always persistedin saying that the fugitive would return.
"Yes, he will return!" he repeated with a confidence which hiscompanions could not share. "When this unfortunate man was on TaborIsland, he knew himself to be alone! Here, he knows that fellow-men areawaiting him! Since he has partially spoken of his past life, the poorpenitent will return to tell the whole, and from that day he will belongto us!"
The event justified Cyrus Harding's predictions. On the 3rd of December,Herbert had left the plateau to go and fish on the southern bank of thelake. He was unarmed, and till then had never taken any precautions fordefense, as dangerous animals had not shown themselves on that part ofthe island.
Meanwhile, Pencroft and Neb were working in the poultry-yard, whileHarding and the reporter were occupied at the Chimneys in making soda,the store of soap being exhausted.
Suddenly cries resounded,--
"Help! help!"
Cyrus Harding and the reporter, being at too great a distance, had notbeen able to hear the shouts. Pencroft and Neb, leaving the poultry-yardin all haste, rushed towards the lake.
But before then, the stranger, whose presence at this place no one hadsuspected, crossed Creek Glycerine, which separated the plateau from theforest, and bounded up the opposite bank.
Herbert was there face to face with a fierce jaguar, similar to theone which had been killed on Reptile End. Suddenly surprised, he wasstanding with his back against a tree, while the animal gathering itselftogether was about to spring.
But the stranger, with no other weapon than a knife, rushed on theformidable animal, who turned to meet this new adversary.
The struggle was short. The stranger possessed immense strength andactivity. He seized the jaguar's throat with one powerful hand, holdingit as in a vise, without heeding the beast's claws which tore his flesh,and with the other he plunged his knife into its heart.
The jaguar fell. The stranger kicked away the body, and was about tofly at the moment when the settlers arrived on the field of battle, butHerbert, clinging to him, cried,--
"No, no! you shall not go!"
Harding advanced towards the stranger, who frowned when he saw himapproaching. The blood flowed from his shoulder under his torn shirt,but he took no notice of it.
"My friend," said Cyrus Harding, "we have just contracted a debt ofgratitude to you. To save our boy you have risked your life!"
"My life!" murmured the stranger. "What is that worth? Less thannothing!"
"You are wounded?"
"It is no matter."
"Will you give me your hand?"
And as Herbert endeavored to seize the hand which had just saved him,the stranger folded his arms, his chest heaved, his look darkened, andhe appeared to wish to escape, but making a violent effort over himself,and in an abrupt tone,--
"Who are you?" he asked, "and what do you claim to be to me?"
It was the colonists' history which he thus demanded, and for the firsttime. Perhaps this history recounted, he would tell his own.
In a few words Harding related all that had happened since theirdeparture from Richmond; how they had managed, and what resources theynow had at their disposal.
The stranger listened with extreme attention.
Then the engineer told who they all were, Gideon Spilett, Herbert,Pencroft, Neb, himself, and, he added, that the greatest happiness theyhad felt since their arrival in Lincoln Island was on the return of thevessel from Tabor Island, when they had been able to include among thema new companion.
At these words the stranger's face flushed, his head sunk on his breast,and confusion was depicted on his countenance.
"And now that you know us," added Cyrus Harding, "will you give us yourhand?"
"No," replied the stranger in a hoarse voice; "no! You are honest men!And I--"
