CHAPTER XVI
A Mystery to be cleared up -- The Stranger's first Words -- Twelve Years on the Islet -- Avowal which escapes him -- The Disappearance -- Cyrus Harding's Confidence -- Construction of a Mill -- The first Bread -- An Act of Devotion -- Honest Hands.
Yes! the unfortunate man had wept! Some recollection doubtless hadflashed across his brain, and to use Cyrus Harding's expression, bythose tears he was 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 he did not think of profiting by this liberty, and Harding soonbrought him back to Granite House. Two days after this occurrence, thestranger appeared to wish gradually to mingle with their common life.He evidently heard and understood, but no less evidently was hestrangely determined not to speak to the colonists; for one evening,Pencroft, listening at the door of his room, heard these words escapefrom 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 labouring tools, and he worked inthe garden. When he stopped in his work, as was often the case, heremained retired within himself; but on the engineer's recommendation,they respected the reserve which he apparently wished to keep. If oneof the settlers approached him, he drew back, and his chest heavedwith sobs, as if overburthened!
Was it remorse that overwhelmed him thus? They were compelled tobelieve so, and Gideon Spilett could not help one day making thisobservation,--
"If he does not speak it is because he has, I fear, things too seriousto be told!"
They must be patient and wait.
"WHO ARE YOU?" HE ASKED IN A HOLLOW VOICE]
A few days later, on the 3rd of November, the stranger, working on theplateau, had stopped, letting his spade drop to the ground, andHarding who was observing him from a little distance, saw that tearswere again flowing from his eyes. A sort of irresistible pity led himtowards the unfortunate man, and he touched his arm lightly.
"My friend!" said he.
The stranger tried to avoid his look, and Cyrus Harding, havingendeavoured to 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,as a subject under the influence of a mesmerist. He wished to runaway. But then his countenance suddenly underwent a transformation.His eyes flashed. Words struggled to escape from his lips. He could nolonger contain himself!... At last he folded his arms, then, in ahollow voice,--
"Who are you?" he asked Cyrus Harding.
"Castaways, like you," replied the engineer, whose emotion was deep."We have 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 facein his hands. "No--never--leave me! leave me!"
Then he rushed to the side of the plateau which overlooked the sea,and remained 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 thesailor. "He has secrets--"
"Which we will respect," interrupted Cyrus Harding quickly. "If he hascommitted any crime, he has most fearfully expiated it, and in oureyes he is absolved."
THE STRANGER]
For two hours the stranger remained alone on the shore, evidentlyunder the influence of recollections which recalled all his pastlife--a melancholy life doubtless--and the colonists, without losingsight of him, did not attempt to disturb his solitude. However, aftertwo hours, appearing to have formed a resolution, he came to findCyrus Harding. His eyes were red with the tears he had shed, but hewept no longer. His countenance expressed deep humility. He appearedanxious, timorous, ashamed, and his eyes were constantly fixed on theground.
"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 tothe beach, where he walked up and down between the cascade and themouth of the Mercy, in a state of extreme agitation.
Then, passing one moment close to Herbert, he stopped, and in astifled voice,--
"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 theislet when we found him there!"
"Twelve years!" rejoined Harding. "Ah! twelve years of solitude, aftera wicked life, perhaps, may well impair a man's reason!"
"I am induced to think," said Pencroft, "that this man was not wreckedon Tabor Island, but that in consequence of some crime he was leftthere."
"You must be right, Pencroft," replied the reporter, "and if it is soit is not impossible that those who left him on the island may returnto fetch him 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 hassuffered, that he has severely expiated his faults, whatever they mayhave been, and that the wish to unburden himself stifles him. Do notlet us press him to tell us his history! He will tell it to usdoubtless, and when we know it, we shall see what course it will bebest to follow. He alone besides can tell us, if he has more than ahope, a certainty, of returning some day to his country, but I doubtit!"
"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 andwould not have thrown this document into the sea. No, it is moreprobable that he was condemned to die on that islet, and that he neverexpected to see his fellow-creatures again!"
"But," observed the sailor, "there is one thing which I cannotexplain."
"What is it?"
"If this man had been left for twelve years on Tabor Island, one maywell suppose that he had been several years already in the wild statein which we 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 recentlywritten!"
"Besides, how do you know that the bottle which enclosed the documentmay not have taken several years to come from Tabor Island to LincolnIsland?"
"That is not absolutely impossible," replied the reporter.
"Might it not have been a long time already on the coast of theisland?"
"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,it would have been swept off by the sea, for the south coast is allrocks, and it 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 yearsold, if it had been shut up in that bottle for several years, it wouldhave been injured by damp. Now, there is nothing of the kind, and i
twas found in a perfect state of preservation."
The sailor's reasoning was very just, and pointed out anincomprehensible fact, for the document appeared to have been recentlywritten, when the colonists found it in the bottle. Moreover, it gavethe latitude and longitude of Tabor Island correctly, which impliedthat its author had a more complete knowledge of hydrography thancould be expected of a common sailor.
"There is in this, again, something unaccountable," said the engineer;"but we will not urge our companion to speak. When he likes, myfriends, then we shall be ready to hear him!"
During the following days the stranger did not speak a word, and didnot once leave the precincts of the plateau. He worked away, withoutlosing a moment, without taking a minute's rest, but always in aretired place. At meal times he never came to Granite House, althoughinvited several times to do so, but contented himself with eating afew raw vegetables. At nightfall he did not return to the roomassigned to him, but remained under some clump of trees, or when theweather was bad crouched in some cleft of the rocks. Thus he lived inthe same manner as when he had no other shelter than the forests ofTabor Island, and as all persuasion to induce him to improve his lifewas in vain, the colonists waited patiently. And the time was near,when, as it seemed, almost involuntarily urged by his conscience, aterrible confession escaped him.
On the 10th of November, about eight o'clock in the evening, as nightwas coming on, the stranger appeared unexpectedly before the settlers,who were assembled under the verandah. His eyes burned strangely, andhe had quite resumed the wild aspect of his worst days.
Cyrus Harding and his companions were astounded on seeing that,overcome by some terrible emotion, his teeth chattered like those of aperson in a fever. What was the matter with him? Was the sight of hisfellow-creatures insupportable to him? Was he weary of this return toa civilised mode of existence? Was he pining for his former savagelife? It appeared so, as soon he was heard to express himself in theseincoherent 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 knowwho I am--what I have done--why I was there--alone? And who told youthat I was not abandoned there--that I was not condemned to diethere?... Do you know my past?... How do you know that I have notstolen, murdered--that I am not a wretch--an accursed being--only fitto live like a wild beast far from all--speak--do you know it?"
The colonists listened without interrupting the miserable creature,from whom these broken confessions escaped, as it were, in spite ofhimself. Harding wishing to calm him, approached him, but he hastilydrew 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 ofpresentiment?--persisted in the fixed idea that sooner or later theunhappy man would return.
"It is the last revolt of his wild nature," said he, "which remorsehas touched, and which renewed solitude will terrify."
In the meanwhile, works of all sorts were continued, as well onProspect Heights as at the corral, where Harding intended to build afarm. It is unnecessary to say that the seeds collected by Herbert onTabor Island had been carefully sown. The plateau thus formed oneimmense kitchen-garden, well laid out and carefully tended, so thatthe arms of the settlers were never in want of work. There was alwayssomething to be done. As the esculents increased in number, it becamenecessary to enlarge the simple beds, which threatened to grow intoregular fields and replace the meadows. But grass abounded in otherparts of the island, and there was no fear of the onagas being obligedto go on short allowance. It was well worth while, besides, to turnProspect Heights into a kitchen-garden, defended by its deep belt ofcreeks, and to remove them to the meadows, which had no need ofprotection against the depredations of quadrumana and quadrupeds.
On the 15th of November, the third harvest was gathered in. Howwonderfully had the field increased in extent, since eighteen monthsago, when the first grain of wheat was sown! The second crop of sixhundred thousand grains produced this time four thousand bushels, orfive hundred millions 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 menand beasts. The harvest was completed, and the last fortnight of themonth of November was devoted to the work of converting it into foodfor man. In fact, they had corn, but not flour, and the establishmentof a mill was necessary. Cyrus Harding could have utilised the secondfall which flowed into the Mercy to establish his motive power, thefirst being already occupied with moving the felting mill; but aftersome consultation, it was decided that a simple windmill should bebuilt on Prospect Heights. The building of this presented no moredifficulty than the building of the former, and it was moreovercertain that there would be no want of wind on the plateau, exposed asit was to the sea breezes.
"Not to mention," said Pencroft, "that the windmill will be morelively and 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 beeasily transformed into millstones; and as to the sails, theinexhaustible case of the 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.The frame was to rest on a pivot supported with strong timbers, sothat it could turn with all the machinery it contained according asthe wind required it. The work advanced rapidly. Neb and Pencroft hadbecome very skilful carpenters, and had nothing to do but to copy themodels provided by the engineer.
Soon a sort of cylindrical box, in shape like a pepperpot, with apointed roof, rose on the spot chosen. The four frames which formedthe sails had been firmly fixed in the centre beam, so as to form acertain angle with it, and secured with iron clamps. As to thedifferent parts of the internal mechanism, the box destined to containthe two millstones, the fixed stone and the moving stone, the hopper,a sort of large square trough, wide at the top, narrow at the bottom,which would allow the grain to fall on the stones, the oscillatingspout intended to regulate the passing of the grain, and lastly thebolting machine, which by the operation of sifting, separates the branfrom the flour, were made without difficulty. The tools were good, andthe work not difficult, for in reality, the machinery of a mill isvery simple. This was only a question of time.
Every one had worked at the construction of the mill, and on the 1stof December it was finished. As usual, Pencroft was delighted with hiswork, 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."It is known by experience that the greatest quantity of work isperformed by a mill when the number of turns made by the sails in aminute is six times the number of feet traversed by the wind in asecond. A moderate breeze, which passes over twenty-four feet to thesecond, will give sixteen turns to the sails during a minute, andthere is no need of more."
"Exactly!" cried Herbert; "a fine breeze is blowing from thenorth-east, 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 LincolnIsland. On this morning two or three bushels of wheat were ground, andthe next day at breakfast a magnificent loaf, a little heavy perhaps,although raised with yeast, appeared on
the table at Granite House.Every one munched away at it with a pleasure which may be easilyunderstood.
In the meanwhile, the stranger had not reappeared. Several timesGideon Spilett and Herbert searched the forest in the neighbourhood ofGranite House, without meeting or finding any trace of him. Theybecame seriously uneasy at this prolonged absence. Certainly, theformer savage of Tabor Island could not be perplexed how to live inthe forest, abounding in game, but was it not to be feared that he hadresumed his habits, and that this freedom would revive in him his wildinstincts? However, Harding, by a sort of presentiment, doubtless,always persisted in saying that the fugitive would return.
"Yes, he will return!" he repeated with a confidence which hiscompanions could not share. "When this unfortunate man was on TaborIsland, he knew himself to be alone! Here, he knows that fellow menare awaiting him! Since he has partially spoken of his past life, thepoor penitent will return to tell the whole, and from that day he willbelong to us!"
The event justified Cyrus Harding's predictions. On the 3rd ofDecember, Herbert had left the plateau to go and fish on the southernbank of the lake. He was unarmed, and till then had never taken anyprecautions for defence as dangerous animals had not shown themselveson that part of the island.
Meanwhile, Pencroft and Neb were working in the poultry-yard, whilstHarding and the reporter were occupied at the Chimneys in making soda,the store 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 thepoultry-yard in all haste, rushed towards the lake.
NOW FOR A GOOD WIND]
But before them, the stranger, whose presence at this place no one hadsuspected, crossed Creek Glycerine, which separated the plateau fromthe forest, and bounded up the opposite bank.
Herbert was there face to face with a fierce jaguar, similar to theone which had been killed on Reptile End. Suddenly surprised, he wasstanding with his back against a tree, whilst the animal, gatheringitself together, was 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 it as in a vice, without heeding the beast's claws which torehis flesh, and with the other he plunged his knife into its heart.
The jaguar fell. The stranger kicked away the body, and was about tofly at the moment when the settlers arrived on the field of battle,but Herbert, 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,but he 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 endeavoured to seize the hand which had just saved him,the stranger folded his arms, his chest heaved, his look darkened, andhe appeared to wish to escape, but making a violent effort overhimself, and in 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 thefirst time. Perhaps this history recounted, he would tell his own.
HE SEIZED THE JAGUAR'S THROAT WITH ONE POWERFUL HAND]
In a few words Harding related all that had happened since theirdeparture from Richmond; how they had managed, and what resources theynow had 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 theyhad felt since their arrival in Lincoln Island was on the return ofthe vessel from Tabor Island, when they had been able to includeamongst them a new companion.
At these words the stranger's face flushed, his head sunk on hisbreast, and confusion was depicted on his countenance.
"And now that you know us," added Cyrus Harding, "will you give usyour hand?"
"No," replied the stranger in a hoarse voice; "no! You are honest men,you! And I--"