Île mystérieuse. English

Chapter 16

It was the 6th of May, a day which cor­re­sponds to the 6th of Novem­ber in the coun­tries of the North­ern Hemi­sphere. The sky had been ob­scured for some days, and it was of im­por­tance to make prepa­ra­tions for the win­ter. How­ev­er, the tem­per­ature was not as yet much low­er, and a centi­grade ther­mome­ter, trans­port­ed to Lin­coln Is­land, would still have marked an av­er­age of ten to twelve de­grees above ze­ro. This was not sur­pris­ing, since Lin­coln Is­land, prob­ably sit­uat­ed be­tween the thir­ty-​fifth and for­ti­eth par­al­lel, would be sub­ject, in the South­ern Hemi­sphere, to the same cli­mate as Sici­ly or Greece in the North­ern Hemi­sphere. But as Greece and Sici­ly have se­vere cold, pro­duc­ing snow and ice, so doubt­less would Lin­coln Is­land in the sever­est part of the win­ter and it was ad­vis­able to pro­vide against it.

In any case if cold did not yet threat­en them, the rainy sea­son would be­gin, and on this lone­ly is­land, ex­posed to all the fury of the el­ements, in mid-​ocean, bad weath­er would be fre­quent, and prob­ably ter­ri­ble. The ques­tion of a more com­fort­able dwelling than the Chim­neys must there­fore be se­ri­ous­ly con­sid­ered and prompt­ly re­solved on.

Pen­croft, nat­ural­ly, had some predilec­tion for the re­treat which he had dis­cov­ered, but he well un­der­stood that an­oth­er must be found. The Chim­neys had been al­ready vis­it­ed by the sea, un­der cir­cum­stances which are known, and it would not do to be ex­posed again to a sim­ilar ac­ci­dent.

“Be­sides,” added Cyrus Hard­ing, who this day was talk­ing of these things with his com­pan­ions, “we have some pre­cau­tions to take.”

“Why? The is­land is not in­hab­it­ed,” said the re­porter.

“That is prob­able,” replied the en­gi­neer, “al­though we have not yet ex­plored the in­te­ri­or; but if no hu­man be­ings are found, I fear that dan­ger­ous an­imals may abound. It is nec­es­sary to guard against a pos­si­ble at­tack, so that we shall not be obliged to watch ev­ery night, or to keep up a fire. And then, my friends, we must fore­see ev­ery­thing. We are here in a part of the Pa­cif­ic of­ten fre­quent­ed by Malay pi­rates–“

“What!” said Her­bert, “at such a dis­tance from land?”

“Yes, my boy,” replied the en­gi­neer. “These pi­rates are bold sailors as well as formidable en­emies, and we must take mea­sures ac­cord­ing­ly.”

“Well,” replied Pen­croft, “we will for­ti­fy our­selves against sav­ages with two legs as well as against sav­ages with four. But, cap­tain, will it not be best to ex­plore ev­ery part of the is­land be­fore un­der­tak­ing any­thing else?”

“That would be best,” added Gideon Spilett.

“Who knows if we might not find on the op­po­site side one of the cav­erns which we have searched for in vain here?”

“That is true,” replied the en­gi­neer, “but you for­get, my friends, that it will be nec­es­sary to es­tab­lish our­selves in the neigh­bor­hood of a wa­ter­course, and that, from the sum­mit of Mount Franklin, we could not see to­wards the west, ei­ther stream or riv­er. Here, on the con­trary, we are placed be­tween the Mer­cy and Lake Grant, an ad­van­tage which must not be ne­glect­ed. And, be­sides, this side, look­ing to­wards the east, is not ex­posed as the oth­er is to the trade-​winds, which in this hemi­sphere blow from the north­west.”

“Then, cap­tain,” replied the sailor, “let us build a house on the edge of the lake. Nei­ther bricks nor tools are want­ing now. Af­ter hav­ing been brick­mak­ers, pot­ters, smelters, and smiths, we shall sure­ly know how to be ma­sons!”

“Yes, my friend; but be­fore com­ing to any de­ci­sion we must con­sid­er the mat­ter thor­ough­ly. A nat­ural dwelling would spare us much work, and would be a sur­er re­treat, for it would be as well de­fend­ed against en­emies from the in­te­ri­or as those from out­side.”

“That is true, Cyrus,” replied the re­porter, “but we have al­ready ex­am­ined all that mass of gran­ite, and there is not a hole, not a cran­ny!”

“No, not one!” added Pen­croft. “Ah, if we were able to dig out a dwelling in that cliff, at a good height, so as to be out of the reach of harm, that would be cap­ital! I can see that on the front which looks sea­ward, five or six rooms–“

“With win­dows to light them!” said Her­bert, laugh­ing.

“And a stair­case to climb up to them!” added Neb.

“You are laugh­ing,” cried the sailor, “and why? What is there im­pos­si­ble in what I pro­pose? Haven’t we got pick­ax­es and spades? Won’t Cap­tain Hard­ing be able to make pow­der to blow up the mine? Isn’t it true, cap­tain, that you will make pow­der the very day we want it?”

Cyrus Hard­ing lis­tened to the en­thu­si­as­tic Pen­croft de­vel­op­ing his fan­ci­ful projects. To at­tack this mass of gran­ite, even by a mine, was Her­culean work, and it was re­al­ly vex­ing that na­ture could not help them at their need. But the en­gi­neer did not re­ply to the sailor ex­cept by propos­ing to ex­am­ine the cliff more at­ten­tive­ly, from the mouth of the riv­er to the an­gle which ter­mi­nat­ed it on the north.

They went out, there­fore, and the ex­plo­ration was made with ex­treme care, over an ex­tent of near­ly two miles. But in no place in the bare, straight cliff, could any cav­ity be found. The nests of the rock pi­geons which flut­tered at its sum­mit were on­ly, in re­al­ity, holes bored at the very top, and on the ir­reg­ular edge of the gran­ite.

It was a pro­vok­ing cir­cum­stance, and as to at­tack­ing this cliff, ei­ther with pick­axe or with pow­der, so as to ef­fect a suf­fi­cient ex­ca­va­tion, it was not to be thought of. It so hap­pened that, on all this part of the shore, Pen­croft had dis­cov­ered the on­ly hab­it­able shel­ter, that is to say, the Chim­neys, which now had to be aban­doned.

The ex­plo­ration end­ed, the colonists found them­selves at the north an­gle of the cliff, where it ter­mi­nat­ed in long slopes which died away on the shore. From this place, to its ex­treme lim­it in the west, it on­ly formed a sort of de­cliv­ity, a thick mass of stones, earth, and sand, bound to­geth­er by plants, bush­es, and grass in­clined at an an­gle of on­ly forty-​five de­grees. Clumps of trees grew on these slopes, which were al­so car­pet­ed with thick grass. But the veg­eta­tion did not ex­tend far, and a long, sandy plain, which be­gan at the foot of these slopes, reached to the beach.

Cyrus Hard­ing thought, not with­out rea­son, that the over­plus of the lake must over­flow on this side. The ex­cess of wa­ter fur­nished by the Red Creek must al­so es­cape by some chan­nel or oth­er. Now the en­gi­neer had not yet found this chan­nel on any part of the shore al­ready ex­plored, that is to say, from the mouth of the stream on the west of Prospect Heights.

The en­gi­neer now pro­posed to his com­pan­ions to climb the slope, and to re­turn to the Chim­neys by the heights, while ex­plor­ing the north­ern and east­ern shores of the lake. The pro­pos­al was ac­cept­ed, and in a few min­utes Her­bert and Neb were on the up­per plateau. Cyrus Hard­ing, Gideon Spilett, and Pen­croft fol­lowed with more se­date steps.

The beau­ti­ful sheet of wa­ter glit­tered through the trees un­der the rays of the sun. In this di­rec­tion the coun­try was charm­ing. The eye feast­ed on the groups of trees. Some old trunks, bent with age, showed black against the ver­dant grass which cov­ered the ground. Crowds of bril­liant cock­atoos screamed among the branch­es, mov­ing prisms, hop­ping from one bough to an­oth­er.

The set­tlers in­stead of go­ing di­rect­ly to the north bank of the lake, made a cir­cuit round the edge of the plateau, so as to join the mouth of the creek on its left bank. It was a de­tour of more than a mile and a half. Walk­ing was easy, for the trees wide­ly spread, left a con­sid­er­able space be­tween them. The fer­tile zone ev­ident­ly stopped at this point, and veg­eta­tion would be less vig­or­ous in the part be­tween the course of the Creek and the Mer­cy.

Cyrus Hard­ing and his com­pan­ions walked over this new ground with great care. Bows, ar­rows, and sticks with sharp iron points were their on­ly weapons. How­ev­er, no wild beast showed it­self, and it was prob­able that these an­imals fre­quent­ed rather the thick forests in the south; but the set­tlers had the dis­agree­able sur­prise of see­ing Top stop be­fore a snake of great size, mea­sur­ing from four­teen to fif­teen feet in length. Neb killed it by a blow from his stick. Cyrus Hard­ing ex­am­ined the rep­tile, and de­clared it not ven­omous, for it be­longed to that species of di­amond ser­pents which the na­tives of New South Wales rear. But it was pos­si­ble that oth­ers ex­ist­ed whose bite was mor­tal such as the deaf vipers with forked tails, which rise up un­der the feet, or those winged snakes, fur­nished with two ears, which en­able them to pro­ceed with great ra­pid­ity. Top, the first mo­ment of sur­prise over, be­gan a rep­tile chase with such ea­ger­ness, that they feared for his safe­ty. His mas­ter called him back di­rect­ly.

The mouth of the Red Creek, at the place where it en­tered in­to the lake, was soon reached. The ex­plor­ers rec­og­nized on the op­po­site shore the point which they had vis­it­ed on their de­scent from Mount Franklin. Cyrus Hard­ing as­cer­tained that the flow of wa­ter in­to it from the creek was con­sid­er­able. Na­ture must there­fore have pro­vid­ed some place for the es­cape of the over­plus. This doubt­less formed a fall, which, if it could be dis­cov­ered, would be of great use.

The colonists, walk­ing apart, but not stray­ing far from each oth­er, be­gan to skirt the edge of the lake, which was very steep. The wa­ter ap­peared to be full of fish, and Pen­croft re­solved to make some fish­ing-​rods, so as to try and catch some.

The north­east point was first to be dou­bled. It might have been sup­posed that the dis­charge of wa­ter was at this place, for the ex­trem­ity of the lake was al­most on a lev­el with the edge of the plateau. But no signs of this were dis­cov­ered, and the colonists con­tin­ued to ex­plore the bank, which, af­ter a slight bend, de­scend­ed par­al­lel to the shore.

On this side the banks were less woody, but clumps of trees, here and there, added to the pic­turesque­ness of the coun­try. Lake Grant was viewed from thence in all its ex­tent, and no breath dis­turbed the sur­face of its wa­ters. Top, in beat­ing the bush­es, put up flocks of birds of dif­fer­ent kinds, which Gideon Spilett and Her­bert salut­ed with ar­rows. One was hit by the lad, and fell in­to some marshy grass. Top rushed for­ward, and brought a beau­ti­ful swim­ming bird, of a slate col­or, short beak, very de­vel­oped frontal plate, and wings edged with white. It was a “coot,” the size of a large par­tridge, be­long­ing to the group of macro­dactyls which form the tran­si­tion be­tween the or­der of wad­ing birds and that of palmipeds. Sor­ry game, in truth, and its fla­vor is far from pleas­ant. But Top was not so par­tic­ular in these things as his mas­ters, and it was agreed that the coot should be for his sup­per.

The set­tlers were now fol­low­ing the east­ern bank of the lake, and they would not be long in reach­ing the part which they al­ready knew. The en­gi­neer was much sur­prised at not see­ing any in­di­ca­tion of the dis­charge of wa­ter. The re­porter and the sailor talked with him, and he could not con­ceal his as­ton­ish­ment.

At this mo­ment Top, who had been very qui­et till then, gave signs of ag­ita­tion. The in­tel­li­gent an­imal went back­wards and for­wards on the shore, stopped sud­den­ly, and looked at the wa­ter, one paw raised, as if he was point­ing at some in­vis­ible game; then he barked fu­ri­ous­ly, and was sud­den­ly silent.

Nei­ther Cyrus Hard­ing nor his com­pan­ions had at first paid any at­ten­tion to Top’s be­hav­ior; but the dog’s bark­ing soon be­came so fre­quent that the en­gi­neer no­ticed it.

“What is there, Top?” he asked.

The dog bound­ed to­wards his mas­ter, seem­ing to be very un­easy, and then rushed again to­wards the bank. Then, all at once, he plunged in­to the lake.

“Here, Top!” cried Cyrus Hard­ing, who did not like his dog to ven­ture in­to the treach­er­ous wa­ter.

“What’s hap­pen­ing down there?” asked Pen­croft, ex­am­in­ing the sur­face of the lake.

“Top smells some am­phibi­ous crea­ture,” replied Her­bert.

“An al­li­ga­tor, per­haps,” said the re­porter.

“I do not think so,” replied Hard­ing. “Al­li­ga­tors are on­ly met with in re­gions less el­evat­ed in lat­itude.”

Mean­while Top had re­turned at his mas­ter’s call, and had re­gained the shore: but he could not stay qui­et; he plunged in among the tall grass, and guid­ed by in­stinct, he ap­peared to fol­low some in­vis­ible be­ing which was slip­ping along un­der the sur­face of the wa­ter. How­ev­er the wa­ter was calm; not a rip­ple dis­turbed its sur­face. Sev­er­al times the set­tlers stopped on the bank, and ob­served it at­ten­tive­ly. Noth­ing ap­peared. There was some mys­tery there.

The en­gi­neer was puz­zled.

“Let us pur­sue this ex­plo­ration to the end,” said he.

Half an hour af­ter they had all ar­rived at the south­east an­gle of the lake, on Prospect Heights. At this point the ex­am­ina­tion of the banks of the lake was con­sid­ered fin­ished, and yet the en­gi­neer had not been able to dis­cov­er how and where the wa­ters were dis­charged. “There is no doubt this over­flow ex­ists,” he re­peat­ed, and since it is not vis­ible it must go through the gran­ite cliff at the west!”

“But what im­por­tance do you at­tach to know­ing that, my dear Cyrus?” asked Gideon Spilett.

“Con­sid­er­able im­por­tance,” replied the en­gi­neer; “for if it flows through the cliff there is prob­ably some cav­ity, which it would be easy to ren­der hab­it­able af­ter turn­ing away the wa­ter.”

“But is it not pos­si­ble, cap­tain, that the wa­ter flows away at the bot­tom of the lake,” said Her­bert, “and that it reach­es the sea by some sub­ter­ranean pas­sage?”

“That might be,” replied the en­gi­neer, “and should it be so we shall be obliged to build our house our­selves, since na­ture has not done it for us.”

The colonists were about to be­gin to tra­verse the plateau to re­turn to the Chim­neys, when Top gave new signs of ag­ita­tion. He barked with fury, and be­fore his mas­ter could re­strain him, he had plunged a sec­ond time in­to the lake.

All ran to­wards the bank. The dog was al­ready more than twen­ty feet off, and Cyrus was call­ing him back, when an enor­mous head emerged from the wa­ter, which did not ap­pear to be deep in that place.

Her­bert rec­og­nized di­rect­ly the species of am­phib­ian to which the ta­per­ing head, with large eyes, and adorned with long silky mus­tach­es, be­longed.

“A lamantin!” he cried.

It was not a lamantin, but one of that species of the or­der of cetaceans, which bear the name of the “dugong,” for its nos­trils were open at the up­per part of its snout. The enor­mous an­imal rushed on the dog, who tried to es­cape by re­turn­ing to­wards the shore. His mas­ter could do noth­ing to save him, and be­fore Gideon Spilett or Her­bert thought of bend­ing their bows, Top, seized by the dugong, had dis­ap­peared be­neath the wa­ter.

Neb, his iron-​tipped spear in his hand, wished to go to Top’s help, and at­tack the dan­ger­ous an­imal in its own el­ement.

“No, Neb,” said the en­gi­neer, re­strain­ing his coura­geous ser­vant.

Mean­while, a strug­gle was go­ing on be­neath the wa­ter, an in­ex­pli­ca­ble strug­gle, for in his sit­ua­tion Top could not pos­si­bly re­sist; and judg­ing by the bub­bling of the sur­face it must be al­so a ter­ri­ble strug­gle, and could not but ter­mi­nate in the death of the dog! But sud­den­ly, in the mid­dle of a foam­ing cir­cle, Top reap­peared. Thrown in the air by some un­known pow­er, he rose ten feet above the sur­face of the lake, fell again in­to the midst of the ag­itat­ed wa­ters, and then soon gained the shore, with­out any se­vere wounds, mirac­ulous­ly saved.

Cyrus Hard­ing and his com­pan­ions could not un­der­stand it. What was not less in­ex­pli­ca­ble was that the strug­gle still ap­peared to be go­ing on. Doubt­less, the dugong, at­tacked by some pow­er­ful an­imal, af­ter hav­ing re­leased the dog, was fight­ing on its own ac­count. But it did not last long. The wa­ter be­came red with blood, and the body of the dugong, emerg­ing from the sheet of scar­let which spread around, soon strand­ed on a lit­tle beach at the south an­gle of the lake. The colonists ran to­wards it. The dugong was dead. It was an enor­mous an­imal, fif­teen or six­teen feet long, and must have weighed from three to four thou­sand pounds. At its neck was a wound, which ap­peared to have been pro­duced by a sharp blade.

What could the am­phibi­ous crea­ture have been, who, by this ter­ri­ble blow had de­stroyed the formidable dugong? No one could tell, and much in­ter­est­ed in this in­ci­dent, Hard­ing and his com­pan­ions re­turned to the Chim­neys.