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

become very anxious at the stormy weather and the prolonged absence of their companions, had climbed, at daylight, to Prospect Plateau, and had at length perceived the sloop in the distance.

“Thank Heaven! There they are,” exclaimed Smith; while Neb, dancing with pleasure, turned towards his master, and, striking his hands together, cried, “Oh, my master!”⁠—a more touching expression than the first polished phrase.

The engineer’s first thought, on counting the number of persons on the deck of the Good Luck, was that Pencroff had found no one on Tabor Island, or that the unfortunate man had refused to exchange one prison for another.

The engineer and Neb were on the beach at the moment the sloop arrived, and before the party had leaped ashore, Smith said:⁠—

“We have been very anxious about you, my friends. Did anything happen to you?”

“No, indeed; everything went finely,” replied Spilett. “We will tell you all about it.”

“Nevertheless, you have failed in your search, since you are all alone.”

“But, sir, there are four of us,” said the sailor.

“Have you found this person?”

“Yes.”

“And brought him back?”

“Yes.”

“Living?”

“Where is he, and what is he, then?”

“He is, or rather, he was a human being; and that is all, Cyrus, that we can say.”

The engineer was thereupon informed of everything that had happened; of the search, of the long-abandoned house, of the capture of the scarcely human inhabitant.

“And,” added Pencroff, “I don’t know whether we have done right in bringing him here.”

“Most certainly you have done right,” replied the engineer.

“But the poor fellow has no sense at all.”

“Not now, perhaps; in a few months, he will be as much a man as any of us.”

“Who knows what might happen to the last one of us, after living for a long time alone on this island? It is terrible to be all alone, my friends, and it is probable that solitude quickly overthrows reason, since you have found this poor being in such a condition.”

“But, Mr. Smith,” asked Herbert, “what makes you think that the brutishness of this man has come on within a little while?”

“Because the paper we found had been recently written, and no one but this shipwrecked man could have written it.”

“Unless,” suggested Spilett, “it had been written by a companion of this man who has since died.”

“That is impossible, Spilett.”

“Why so?”

“Because, then, the paper would have mentioned two persons instead of one.”

Herbert briefly related the incident of the sea striking the sloop, and insisted that the prisoner must then have had a glimmer of his sailor instinct.

“You are perfectly right, Herbert,” said the engineer, “to attach great importance to this fact. This poor man will not be incurable; despair has made him what he is. But here he will find his kindred, and if he still has any reason, we will save it.”

Then, to Smith’s great pity and Neb’s wonderment, the man was brought up from the cabin of the sloop, and as soon as he was on land, he manifested a desire to escape. But Smith, approaching him, laid his hand authoritatively upon his shoulder and looked at him with infinite tenderness. Thereupon the poor wretch, submitting to a sort of instantaneous power, became quiet, his eyes fell, his head dropped forward, and he made no further resistance.

“Poor shipwrecked sailor,” murmured the reporter.

Smith regarded him attentively. To judge from his appearance, this miserable creature had little of the human left in him; but Smith caught in his glance, as the reporter had done, an almost imperceptible gleam of intelligence.

It was decided that the Unknown, as his new companions called him, should stay in one of the rooms of Granite House, from which he could not escape. He made no resistance to being conducted there, and with good care they might, perhaps, hope that someday he would prove a companion to them.

Neb hastened to prepare breakfast, for the voyagers were very hungry, and during the meal Smith made them relate in detail every incident of the cruise. He agreed with them in thinking that the name of the Britannia gave them reason to believe that the Unknown was either English or American; and, moreover, under all the growth of hair covering the man’s face, the engineer thought he recognized the features characteristic of an Anglo-Saxon.

“But, by the way, Herbert,” said the reporter, “you have never told us how you met this savage, and we know nothing, except that he would have strangled you, had we not arrived so opportunely.”

“Indeed, I am not sure that I can tell just what happened,” replied Herbert. “I was, I think, gathering seeds, when I heard a tremendous noise in a high tree near by. I had hardly time to turn, when this unhappy creature, who had, doubtless, been hidden crouching in the tree, threw himself upon me; and, unless Mr. Spilett and Pencroff⁠—”

“You were in great danger, indeed, my boy,” said Smith; “but perhaps, if this had not happened, this poor being would have escaped your search, and we would have been without another companion.”

“You expect, then, to make him a man again?” asked the reporter.

“Yes,” replied Smith.

Breakfast ended, all returned to the shore and began unloading the sloop; and the engineer examined the arms and tools, but found nothing to establish the identity of the Unknown.

The pigs were taken to the stables, to which they would soon become accustomed. The two barrels of powder and shot and the caps were a great acquisition, and it was determined to make a small powder magazine in the upper cavern of Granite House, where there would be no danger of an explosion. Meantime, since the pyroxyline answered very well, there was no present need to use this powder.

When the sloop was unloaded Pencroff said:⁠—

“I think, Mr. Smith, that it would be better to put the Good Luck in a safe place.”

“Is it not safe enough at the mouth of the Mercy?”

“No, sir,” replied the sailor. “Most of the time she is aground on the sand, which strains her.”

“Could not she be moored out in the stream?”

“She