The Mysterious Island by Jules Verne (e book reading free .txt) 📖

“How is that the convicts are lying there, dead, in the middle of the corral?” answered the engineer.

“Dead!” cried Ayrton, half rising, notwithstanding his feebleness. His companions assisted him to get up, and all went to the little brook.

It was broad daylight. There on the shore, in the position in which they had met their deaths, lay the five convicts.

Ayrton was astounded. The others looked on without speaking. Then, at a sign from Smith, Neb and Pencroff examined the bodies. Not a wound was visible upon them. Only after minute search, Pencroff perceived on the forehead of one, on the breast of another, on this one’s back, and on the shoulder of a fourth, a small red mark, a hardly visible bruise, made by some unknown instrument.

“There is where they have been hit!” said Smith.

“But with what sort of a weapon?” cried the reporter.

“A destructive weapon enough, though unknown to us!”

“And who has destroyed them?” asked Pencroff.

“The ruler of the island,” answered Smith, “he who has brought you here, Ayrton, whose influence is again manifesting itself, who does for us what we are unable to do for ourselves, and who then hides from us.”

“Let us search for him!” cried Pencroff.

“Yes, we will search,” replied Smith; “but the being who accomplishes such prodigies will not be found until it pleases him to call us to him!”

This invisible protection, which nullified their own actions, both annoyed and affected the engineer. The relative inferiority in which it placed him wounded his pride. A generosity which so studiously eluded all mark of recognition denoted a sort of disdain for those benefited, which, in a measure, detracted from the value of the gift.

“Let us search,” he repeated, “and Heaven grant that some day we be permitted to prove to this haughty protector that he is not dealing with ingrates! What would I not give to be able, in our turn, to repay him, and to render him, even at the risk of our lives, some signal service!”

From this time, this search was the single endeavor of the inhabitants of Lincoln Island. All tried to discover the answer to this enigma, an answer which involved the name of a man endowed with an inexplicable, an almost superhuman power.

In a short time, the colonists entered the house again, and their efforts soon restored Ayrton to himself. Neb and Pencroff carried away the bodies of the convicts and buried them in the wood. Then, Ayrton was informed by the engineer of all that had happened during his imprisonment.

“And now,” said Smith, finishing his recital, “we have one thing more to do. Half of our task is accomplished; but if the convicts are no longer to be feared, we did not restore ourselves to the mastership of the island!”

“Very well,” replied Spilett, “let us search all the mazes of Mount Franklin. Let us leave no cavity, no hole unexplored! Ah! if ever a reporter found himself in the presence of an exciting mystery. I am in that position!”

“And we will not return to Granite House,” said Herbert, “until we have found our benefactor.”

“Yes,” said Smith, “we will do everything that is possible for human beings to do—but, I repeat it, we will not find him till he wills it.”

“Shall we stay here at the corral?” asked Pencroff.

“Yes,” replied the engineer, “let us remain here. Provisions are abundant, and we are in the centre of our circle of investigation, and, moreover, if it is necessary, the wagon can go quickly to Granite House.”

“All right,” said Pencroff. “Only one thing.”

“What is that?”

“Why, the fine weather is here, and we must not forget that we have a voyage to make.”

“A voyage?” asked Spilett.

“Yes, to Tabor Island. We most put up a notice, indicating our island, in case the Scotch yacht returns. Who knows that it is not already too late?”

“But, Pencroff,” asked Ayrton, “how do you propose to make this voyage?”

“Why, on the Good Luck!”

“The Good Luck!” cried Ayrton. “It’s gone!”

“Gone!” shouted Pencroff, springing to his feet.

“Yes. The convicts discovered where the sloop lay, and, a week ago, they put out to sea in her, and—”

“And?” said Pencroff, his heart trembling.

“And, not having Harvey to manage her, they ran her upon the rocks, and she broke all to pieces!”

“Oh! the wretches! the pirates! the devils!” exclaimed the sailor.

“Pencroff,” said Herbert, taking his hand, “we will build another, a larger Good Luck. We have all the iron, all the rigging of the brig at our disposal!”

“But, do you realize,” answered Pencroff, “that it will take at least five or six months to build a vessel of thirty or forty tons.”

“We will take our time,” replied the reporter, “and we will give up our voyage to Tabor Island for this year.”

“We must make the best of it, Pencroff,” said the engineer, “and I hope that this delay will not be prejudicial to us.”

“My poor Good Luck! my poor boat!” exclaimed the sailor, half broken-hearted at the loss of what was so dear to him.

The destruction of the sloop was a thing much to be regretted, and it was agreed that this loss must be repaired as soon as the search was ended.

This search was begun the same day, the 19th of February, and lasted throughout the week. The base of the mountain was composed of a perfect labyrinth of ravines and gorges, and it was here that the explorations must be made. No other part of the island was so well suited to hide an inhabitant who wished to remain concealed. But so great was the intricacy of these places that Smith explored them by a settled system.

In the first place, the colonists visited the valley opening to the south of the volcano, in which Fall River rose. Here was where Ayrton showed them the cavern of the convicts. This place was in exactly the same condition as Ayrton had left it. They found here a quantity of food and ammunition left there as a reserve by the convicts.

All this beautiful wooded valley was explored with great care, and then, the south-western spur having been turned, the colonists searched a narrow gorge where the trees were less numerous. Here the stones took the place of grass, and the wild goats and moufflons bounded among the rocks. The arid part of the island began at this part. They saw already that, of the numerous valleys ramifying from the base of Mount Franklin, three only, bounded on the west by Fall River and on the east by Red Creek, were as rich and fertile as the valley of the corral. These two brooks, which developed into rivers as they progressed, received the whole of the mountain’s southern water-shed and fertilized that portion of it. As to the Mercy it was more directly fed by abundant springs, hidden in Jacamar Wood.

Now any one of these three valleys would have answered for the retreat of some recluse, who would have found there all the necessaries of life. But the colonists had explored each of them without detecting the presence of man. Was it then at the bottom of these arid gorges, in the midst of heaps of rocks, in the rugged ravines to the north, between the streams of lava, that they would find this retreat and its occupant?

The northern part of Mount Franklin had at its base two large, arid valleys strewn with lava, sown with huge rocks, sprinkled with pieces of obsidian and labradorite. This part required long and difficult exploration. Here were a thousand cavities, not very comfortable, perhaps, but completely hidden and difficult of access. The colonists visited sombre tunnels, made in the plutonic epoch, still blackened by the fires of other days, which plunged into the heart of the mountain. They searched these dark galleries by the light of torches, peering into their least excavations and sounding their lowest depths. But everywhere was silence, obscurity. It did not seem as if any human being had ever trodden these antique corridors or an arm displaced one of these stones.

Nevertheless, if these places were absolutely deserted, if the obscurity was complete, Smith was forced to notice that absolute silence did not reign there.

Having arrived at the bottom of one of those sombre cavities, which extended several hundred feet into the interior of the mountain, he was surprised to hear deep muttering sounds which were intensified by the sonority of the rocks.

Spilett, who was with him, also heard these distant murmurs, which indicated an awakening of the subterranean fires.

Several times they listened, and they came to the conclusion that some chemical reaction was going on in the bowels of the earth.

“The volcano is not entirely extinct,” said the reporter.

“It is possible that, since our exploration of the crater, something has happened in its lower regions. All volcanoes, even those which are said to be extinct, can, evidently, become active again.”

“But if Mount Franklin is preparing for another eruption, is not Lincoln Island in danger?”

“I don’t think so,” answered the engineer, “The crater, that is to say, the safety-valve, exists, and the overflow of vapors and lavas will escape, as heretofore, by its accustomed outlet.”

“Unless the lavas make a new passage towards the fertile parts of the island.”

“Why, my dear Spilett, should they not follow their natural course?”

“Well, volcanoes are capricious.”

“Notice,” said Smith, “that all the slope of the mountain favors the flow of eruptive matter towards the valleys which we are traversing at present. It would take an earthquake to so change the centre of gravity of the mountain as to modify this slope.”

“But an earthquake is always possible under these conditions.”

“True,” replied the engineer, “especially when the subterranean forces are awakening, and the bowels of the earth, after a long repose, chance to be obstructed. You are right, my dear Spilett, an eruption would be a serious thing for us, and it would be better if this volcano has not the desire to wake up; but we can do nothing. Nevertheless, in any case, I do not think Prospect Plateau could be seriously menaced. Between it and the lake there is quite a depression in the land, and even if the lavas took the road to the lake, they would be distributed over the downs and the parts adjoining Shark Gulf.”

“We have not yet seen any smoke from the summit, indicating a near eruption,” said Spilett.

“No,” answered the engineer, “not the least vapor has escaped from the crater. It was but yesterday that I observed its upper part. But it is possible that rocks, cinders, and hardened lavas have accumulated in the lower part of its chimney, and, for the moment, this safety-valve is overloaded. But, at the first serious effort, all obstacles will disappear, and you may be sure, my dear Spilett, that neither the island, which is the boiler, nor the volcano, which is the valve, will burst under the pressure. Nevertheless, I repeat, it is better to wish for no eruption.”

“And yet we are not mistaken,” replied the reporter. “We plainly hear ominous rumblings in the depths of the volcano!”

“No,” replied the engineer, after listening again with the utmost attention, “that is not to be mistaken. Something is going on there the importance of which cannot be estimated nor what the result will be.”

Smith and Spilett, on rejoining their companions, told them of these things.

“All right!” cried Pencroff. “This volcano wants to take care of us! But let it try! It will find its master!”

“Who’s that?” asked the negro.

“Our genius, Neb, our good genius, who will put a gag in the mouth of the crater if it attempts to open it.”

The confidence of the sailor in the guardian of the island was absolute, and, indeed, the occult power which had so far been manifested seemed limitless; but, thus far this being had escaped all the efforts the colonists had made to discover him.

From the 19th to the 25th of February, the investigations were conducted in the western portion of Lincoln Island, where the most secret recesses were searched. They even sounded each