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

“I cannot help thinking,” observed Pencroff, “that this man was not wrecked on that island, but that he has been left there for some crime.”

“You may be right, Pencroff,” replied the reporter, “and if that is the case, it is not impossible that whoever left him there may return for him someday.”

“And they would not find him,” said Herbert.

“But, then,” exclaimed Pencroff, “he would want to go back, and⁠—”

“My friends,” interrupted Smith, “do not let us discuss this question till we know what we are talking about. I believe that this unhappy man has suffered, and that he has paid bitterly for his faults, whatever they may have been, and that he is struggling with the need of opening his heart to someone. Do not provoke him to speak; he will tell us of his own accord someday, and when we have learned all, we will see what course it will be necessary to follow. He alone can tell us if he has more than the hope, the certainty of someday being restored to his country, but I doubt it.”

“Why?” asked the reporter.

“Because, had he been sure of being delivered after a fixed time, he would have awaited the hour of his deliverance, and not have thrown that paper in the sea. No, it is more likely that he was condemned to die upon this island, to never look upon his kind again.”

“But there still is something which I cannot understand,” said the sailor.

“What is that?”

“Why, if this man had been left on Tabor Island twelve years ago, it seems probable that he must have been in this savage condition for a long time.”

“That is probable,” replied the engineer.

“And, therefore, it is a long time since he wrote that paper.”

“Doubtless⁠—and yet that paper seemed to have been written recently⁠—”

“Yes, and how account for the bottle taking so many years in coming from Tabor Island here?”

“It is not absolutely impossible,” responded the reporter. “Could not it have been in the neighborhood of the island for a long time?”

“And have remained floating? No,” answered the sailor, “for sooner or later it would have been dashed to pieces on the rocks.”

“It would, indeed,” said Smith, thoughtfully.

“And, moreover,” continued the sailor, “if the paper had been enclosed in the bottle for a long time, it would have been injured by the moisture, whereas, it was not damaged in the least.”

The sailor’s remark was just, and, moreover, this paper, recently written, gave the situation of the island with an exactness which implied a knowledge of hydrography, such as a simple sailor could not have.

“There is, as I said before, something inexplicable in all this,” said the engineer, “but do not let us urge our new companion to speak, when he wishes it we will be ready to listen.”

For several days after this the Unknown neither spoke nor left the plateau. He worked incessantly, digging in the garden apart from the colonists, and at meal times, although he was often asked to join them, he remained alone, eating but a few uncooked vegetables. At night, instead of returning to his room in Granite House, he slept under the trees, or hid himself, if the weather was bad, in some hollow of the rocks. Thus he returned again to that manner of life in which he had lived when he had no other shelter than the forests of Tabor Island, and all endeavor to make him modify this life having proved fruitless, the colonists waited patiently. But the moment came when, irresistibly and as if involuntarily forced from him by his conscience, the terrible avowals were made.

At dusk on the evening of the 10th of November, as the colonists were seated in the arbor, the Unknown stood suddenly before them. His eyes glowed, and his whole appearance wore again the savage aspect of former days. He stood there, swayed by some terrible emotion, his teeth chattering like those of a person in a fever. The colonists were astounded. What was the matter with him? Was the sight of his fellow-creatures unendurable? Had he had enough of this honest life? Was he homesick for his brutish life? One would have thought so, hearing him give utterance to these incoherent phrases:⁠—

“Why am I here? By what right did you drag me from my island? Is there any bond between you and me? Do you know who I am⁠—what I have done⁠—why I was there⁠—alone? And who has told you that I was not abandoned⁠—that I was not condemned to die there? Do you know my past? Do you know whether I have not robbed, murdered⁠—if I am not a miserable⁠—a wicked being⁠—fit to live like a wild beast⁠—far from all⁠—say⁠—do you know?”

The colonists listened silently to the unhappy creature, from whom these half avowals came in spite of himself. Smith, wishing to soothe him, would have gone to him, but the Unknown drew back quickly.

“No! no!” he cried. “One word only⁠—am I free?”

“You are free,” replied the engineer.

“Then, goodbye!” he cried, rushing off.

Neb, Pencroff, and Herbert ran to the border of the wood, but they returned alone.

“We must let him have his own way,” said the engineer.

“He will never come back,” exclaimed Pencroff.

“He will return,” replied the engineer.

And after that conversation many days passed, but Smith⁠—was it a presentiment⁠—persisted in the fixed idea that the unhappy man would return sooner or later.

“It is the last struggle of this rude nature, which is touched by remorse, and which would be terrified by a new isolation.”

In the meantime, work of all kinds was continued, both on Prospect Plateau and at the corral, where Smith proposed to make a farm. It is needless to say that the seeds brought from Tabor Island had been carefully sown. The plateau was a great kitchen-garden, well laid out and enclosed, which kept the colonists always busy. As the plants multiplied, it was necessary to increase the size of the beds, which threatened to become fields, and to take the place of the grass land.