Part 2 - Abandoned: Chapter 16

by Jules Verne

　　Yes! the unfortunate man had wept! Some recollection doubtless had flashedacross his brain, and to use Cyrus Harding's expression, by those tears hewas 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; but hedid not think of profiting by this liberty, and Harding soon brought himback to Granite House. Two days after this occurrence, the strangerappeared to wish gradually to mingle with their common life. He evidentlyheard and understood, but no less evidently was he strangely determined notto speak to the colonists; for one evening, Pencroft, listening at the doorof his room, heard these words escape from his lips:--

　　"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, asif 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 serious tobe 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 having endeavoredto 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, asa subject under the influence of a mesmerist. He wished to run away. Butthen his countenance suddenly underwent a transformation. His eyes flashed.Words struggled to escape from his lips. He could no longer containhimself! At last he folded his arms; then, in a hollow voice,--"Who areyou?" 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 eyes heis 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 of him,did not attempt to disturb his solitude. However, after two hours,appearing to have formed a resolution, he came to find Cyrus Harding. Hiseyes were red with the tears he had shed, but he wept no longer. Hiscountenance 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 of theMercy, 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 wrecked onTabor Island, but that in consequence of some crime he was left there."

　　"You must be right, Pencroft," replied the reporter, "and if it is so itis not impossible that those who left him on the island may return to fetchhim 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 has suffered,that he has severely expiated his faults, whatever they may have been, andthat the wish to unburden himself stifles him. Do not let us press him totell 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 cantell us, if he has more than a hope, a certainty, of returning some day tohis 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 that hewas condemned to die on that islet, and that he never expected to see hisfellow-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 may wellsuppose that he had been several years already in the wild state in whichwe 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 document maynot have taken several years to come from Tabor Island to Lincoln Island?"

　　"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, andit 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 years old,if it had been shut up in that bottle for several years, it would have beeninjured by damp. Now, there is nothing of the kind, and it was found in aperfect state of preservation."

　　The sailor's reasoning was very just, and pointed out an incomprehensiblefact, for the document appeared to have been recently written, when thecolonists found it in the bottle. Moreover, it gave the latitude andlongitude of Tabor Island correctly, which implied that its author had amore complete knowledge of hydrography than could be expected of a commonsailor.

　　"There is in this, again, something unaccountable," said the engineer,"but we will not urge our companions to speak. When he likes, my friends,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 losing amoment, without taking a minute's rest, but always in a retired place. Atmeal times he never came to Granite House, although invited several timesto do so, but contented himself with eating a few raw vegetables. Atnightfall he did not return to the room assigned to him, but remained undersome clump of trees, or when the weather was bad crouched in some cleft ofthe rocks. Thus he lived in the same manner as when he had no other shelterthan the forests of Tabor Island, and as all persuasion to induce him toimprove his life was in vain, the colonists waited patiently. And the timewas near, when, as it seemed, almost involuntarily urged by his conscience,a terrible confession escaped him.

　　On the 10th of November, about eight o'clock in the evening, as night wascoming on, the stranger appeared unexpectedly before the settlers, who wereassembled under the veranda. His eyes burned strangely, and he had quiteresumed 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 person in afever. What was the matter with him? Was the sight of his fellow-creaturesinsupportable to him? Was he weary of this return to a civilized mode ofexistence? Was he pining for his former savage life? It appeared so, assoon he was heard to express himself in these incoherent 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 know whoI am--what I have done--why I was there--alone? And who told you that I wasnot abandoned there--that I was not condemned to die there?.... Do you knowmy past?.... How do you know that I have not stolen, murdered--that I amnot a wretch--an accursed being--only fit to live like a wild beast, farfrom 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 of presentiment? --persistedin the fixed idea that sooner or later the unhappy 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 Tabor Island hadbeen carefully sown. The plateau thus formed one immense kitchen-garden,well laid out and carefully tended, so that the arms of the settlers werenever in want of work. There was always something to be done. As theesculents increased in number, it became necessary to enlarge the simplebeds, which threatened to grow into regular fields and replace the meadows.But grass abounded in other parts of the island, and there was no fear ofthe onagers being obliged to go on short allowance. It was well worthwhile, besides, to turn Prospect Heights into a kitchen-garden, defended byits deep belt of creeks, and to remove them to the meadows, which had noneed of protection against the 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 months ago,when the first grain of wheat was sown! The second crop of six hundredthousand grains produced this time four thousand bushels, or five hundredmillions 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 month ofNovember was devoted to the work of converting it into food for man. Infact, they had corn, but not flour, and the establishment of a mill wasnecessary. Cyrus Harding could have utilized the second fall which flowedinto the Mercy to establish his motive power, the first being alreadyoccupied with moving the felting mill, but, after some consultation, it wasdecided that a simple windmill should be built on Prospect Heights. Thebuilding of this presented no more difficulty than the building of theformer, and it was moreover certain that there would be no want of wind onthe 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 case ofthe 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 become veryskilful carpenters, and had nothing to do but to copy the models providedby 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 different parts ofthe internal mechanism, the box destined to contain the two millstones, thefixed stone and the moving stone, the hopper, a sort of large squaretrough, wide at the top, narrow at the bottom, which would allow the grainto fall on the stones, the oscillating spout intended to regulate thepassing of the grain, and lastly the bolting machine, which by theoperation of sifting, separates the bran from the flour, were made withoutdifficulty. The tools were good, and the work not difficult, for inreality, the machinery of a mill is very simple. This was only a questionof time.

　　Every one had worked at the construction of the mill, and on the 1st ofDecember it was finished. As usual, Pencroft was delighted with his work,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 performed by amill when the number of turns made by the sails in a minute is six timesthe number of feet traversed by the wind in a second. A moderate breeze,which passes over twenty-four feet to the second, will give sixteen turnsto the sails during a minute, and there is no need of more."

　　"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. Onthis morning two or three bushels of wheat were ground, and the next day atbreakfast a magnificent loaf, a little heavy perhaps, although raised withyeast, appeared on the table at Granite House. Every one munched away at itwith 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 became seriouslyuneasy at this prolonged absence. Certainly, the former savage of Taborisland could not be perplexed how to live in the forest, abounding in game,but was it not to be feared that he had resumed his habits, and that thisfreedom would revive in him his wild instincts? However, Harding, by a sortof presentiment, doubtless, always persisted in saying that the fugitivewould return.

　　"Yes, he will return!" he repeated with a confidence which his companionscould not share. "When this unfortunate man was on Tabor Island, he knewhimself to be alone! Here, he knows that fellow-men are awaiting him! Sincehe has partially spoken of his past life, the poor penitent will return totell the whole, and from that day he will belong to 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 of theisland.

　　Meanwhile, Pencroft and Neb were working in the poultry-yard, whileHarding and the reporter were occupied at the Chimneys in making soda, thestore 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-yard inall 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 the onewhich had been killed on Reptile End. Suddenly surprised, he was standingwith his back against a tree, while the animal gathering itself togetherwas 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, holding itas in a vise, without heeding the beast's claws which tore his flesh, andwith the other he plunged his knife into its heart.

　　The jaguar fell. The stranger kicked away the body, and was about to flyat 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, buthe 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, and heappeared to wish to escape, but making a violent effort over himself, andin 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 they nowhad 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 they hadfelt since their arrival in Lincoln Island was on the return of the vesselfrom Tabor Island, when they had been able to include among them a newcompanion.

　　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--"