The Mysterious Island by Jules Verne (uplifting books for women txt) 📕

about adopting this counsel, when Herbert, pointing to something dimly visible, through the trees, exclaimed:⁠—

“There’s a house!”

All three directed their steps towards the place indicated, and they made out in the twilight that it was built of planks, covered with heavy tarpaulin. The door, half closed, was pushed back by Pencroff, who entered quickly.

The place was empty!

XXXVI

The inventory⁠—The night⁠—Some letters⁠—The search continued⁠—Plants and animals⁠—Herbert in danger⁠—Aboard⁠—The departure⁠—Bad weather⁠—A glimmer of intelligence⁠—Lost at sea⁠—A timely light.

Pencroff, Spilett and Herbert stood silent in darkness. Then the former gave a loud call. There was no answer. He lit a twig, and the light illuminated for a moment a small room, seemingly deserted. At one end was a large chimney, containing some cold cinders and an armful of dry wood. Pencroff threw the lighted twig into it, and the wood caught fire and gave out a bright light.

The sailor and his companions thereupon discovered a bed in disorder, its damp and mildewed covers proving that it had been long unused; in the corner of the fireplace were two rusty kettles and an overturned pot; a clothespress with some sailors’ clothing, partially moulded; on the table a tin plate, and a Bible, injured by the dampness; in a corner some tools, a shovel, a mattock, a pick, two shot guns, one of which was broken; on a shelf was a barrel full of powder, a barrel of lead, and a number of boxes of caps. All were covered with a thick coating of dust.

“There is no one here,” said the reporter.

“Not a soul.”

“This room has not been occupied in a long time.”

“Since a very long time.”

“Mr. Spilett,” said Pencroff, “I think that instead of going on board we had better stay here all night.”

“You are right, Pencroff, and if the proprietor returns he will not be sorry, perhaps, to find the place occupied.”

“He won’t come back, though,” said the sailor, shaking his head.

“Do you think he has left the island?”

“If he had left the island he would have taken these things with him. You know how much a shipwrecked person would be attached to these objects. No, no,” repeated the sailor, in the tone of a man perfectly convinced; “no, he has not left the island. He is surely here.”

“Alive?”

“Alive or dead. But if he is dead he could not have buried himself, I am sure, and we will at least find his remains.”

It was therefore agreed to pass the night in this house, and a supply of wood in the corner gave them the means of heating it. The door having been closed, the three explorers, seated upon a bench, spoke little, but remained deep in thought. They were in the mood to accept anything that might happen, and they listened eagerly for any sound from without. If the door had suddenly opened and a man had stood before them, they would not have been much surprised, in spite of all the evidence of desolation throughout the house; and their hands were ready to clasp the hands of this man, of this shipwrecked one, of this unknown friend whose friends awaited him.

But no sound was heard, the door did not open, and the hours passed by.

The night seemed interminable to the sailor and his companions. Herbert, alone, slept for two hours, as at his age, sleep is a necessity. All were anxious to renew the search of the day before, and to explore the innermost recesses of the islet. Pencroff’s conclusions were certainly just, since the house and its contents had been abandoned. They determined, therefore, to search for the remains of its inhabitant, and to give them Christian burial.

As soon as it was daylight they began to examine the house. It was prettily situated under a small hill, on which grew several fine gum trees. Before it a large space had been cleared, giving a view over the sea. A small lawn, surrounded by a dilapidated fence, extended to the bank of the little stream. The house had evidently been built from planks taken from a ship. It seemed likely that a ship had been thrown upon the island, that all or at least one of the crew had been saved, and that this house had been built from the wreck. This was the more probable, as Spilett, in going round the dwelling, saw on one of the planks these half-effaced letters:⁠—

BR⁠ ⁠… TAN⁠ ⁠… A.

“Britannia,” exclaimed Pencroff, who had been called by the reporter to look at it; “that is a common name among ships, and I cannot say whether it is English or American. However, it don’t matter to what country the man belongs, we will save him, if he is alive. But before we begin our search let us go back to the Good Luck.”

Pencroff had been seized with a sort of anxiety about his sloop. Supposing the island was inhabited, and someone had taken it⁠—but he shrugged his shoulders at this unlikely thought. Nevertheless the sailor was not unwilling to go on board to breakfast. The route already marked was not more than a mile in length, and they started on their walk, looking carefully about them in the woods and underbrush, through which ran hundreds of pigs and goats.

In twenty minutes the party reached the place where the Good Luck rode quietly at anchor. Pencroff gave a sigh of satisfaction.

After all, this boat was his baby, and it is a father’s right to be often anxious without reason.

All went on board and ate a hearty breakfast, so as not to want anything before a late dinner; then the exploration was renewed, and conducted with the utmost carefulness. As it was likely that the solitary inhabitant of this island was dead, the party sought rather to find his remains than any traces of him living. But during all the morning they were unable to find anything; if he was dead, some animal must have devoured his body.

“We will leave tomorrow at daylight,” said