The Secret of the Island (Illustrated Edition) E-Book

Bauer Books

• Herausgeber: Bauer Books
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

It formed the third and
completing part of the Mysterious Island set of tales of adventure.
We may count it, taken separately, as next to Robinson Crusoe and
possibly Treasure Island, the best read and the best appreciated book
in all that large group of island-tales and sea-stories to which it
belongs. It gained its vogue immediately in France, Great Britain,
and overseas besides being translated, with more or less despatch,
into other European tongues. M. Jules Verne must indeed have
gained enough by it and its two connective tales to have acquired an
island of his own.

Leseprobe

Jules

UUID: b19f9be0-ebe4-11e7-b8c5-17532927e555

This ebook was created with StreetLib Writehttp://write.streetlib.com

Table of contents

Chapter One.

It was now two years and a half since the castaways from the balloon had been thrown on Lincoln Island, and during that period there had been no communication between them and their fellow-creatures. Once the reporter had attempted to communicate with the inhabited world by confiding to a bird a letter which contained the secret of their situation, but that was a chance on which it was impossible to reckon seriously. Ayrton, alone, under the circumstances which have been related, had come to join the little colony. Now, suddenly, on this day, the 17th of October, other men had unexpectedly appeared in sight of the island, on that deserted sea!

There could be no doubt about it! A vessel was there! But would she pass on, or would she put into port? In a few hours the colonists would definitely know what to expect.

Cyrus Harding and Herbert having immediately called Gideon Spilett, Pencroft, and Neb into the dining-room of Granite House, told them what had happened. Pencroft, seizing the telescope, rapidly swept the horizon, and stopping on the indicated point, that is to say, on that which had made the almost imperceptible spot on the photographic negative—

“I’m blessed but it is really a vessel!” he exclaimed, in a voice which did not express any great amount of satisfaction. “Is she coming here?” asked Gideon Spilett.

“Impossible to say anything yet,” answered Pencroft, “for her rigging alone is above the horizon, and not a bit of her hull can be seen.” “What is to be done?” asked the lad.

“Wait,” replied Harding.

And for a considerable time the settlers remained silent, given up to all the thoughts, all the emotions, all the fears, all the hopes, which were aroused by this incident—the most important which had occurred since their arrival in Lincoln Island. Certainly, the colonists were not in the situation of castaways abandoned on a sterile islet, constantly contending against a cruel nature for their miserable existence, and incessantly tormented by the longing to return to inhabited countries. Pencroft and Neb, especially, who felt themselves at once so happy and so rich, would not have left their island without regret. They were accustomed, besides, to this new life in the midst of the domain which their intelligence had as it were civilised. But at any rate this ship brought news from the world, perhaps even from their native land. It was bringing fellow-creatures to them, and it may be conceived how deeply their hearts were moved at the sight!

“We must tell Ayrton,” said Gideon Spilett, “and send for him immediately. He alone can say if it is the .” In a few minutes the bell sounded. “I am coming,” replied Ayrton. Then the settlers continued to watch the vessel. “If it is the ,” said Herbert, “Ayrton will recognise her without difficulty, since he sailed on board her for some time.” “And if he recognises her,” added Pencroft, “it will agitate him exceedingly!” “We could defend it,” cried Herbert. “Certainly,” replied Pencroft. “But if any one seizes it in our absence?” observed Gideon Spilett. Towards four o’clock—an hour after he had been sent for—Ayrton arrived at Granite House. He entered the dining-room, saying— “At your service, gentlemen.” Cyrus Harding gave him his hand, as was his custom to do, and, leading him to the window— “Ayrton,” said he, “we have begged you to come here for an important reason. A ship is in sight of the island.” “No,” said he, “no! it cannot be the !” “It is indeed a vessel,” said he, “but I do not think she is the .” “What shall we do when night comes on?” asked Gideon Spilett. “Shall we light a fire, so as to signal our presence, on the coast?” “It is not the ! It could not be her!” “And yet,” added the sailor, “a flag is floating from her peak, but I cannot distinguish the colours of it.” “Never mind!” said Pencroft. “It is best to know whom we have to deal with, and I shall not be sorry to recognise that fellow’s colours!” “And our vessel?” said Herbert. “Oh,” answered Pencroft, “she is sheltered in Port Balloon, and I defy any of those rascals there to find her!” When all these precautions had been taken— “Yes, Cyrus,” replied the reporter, “and if necessary we will die to defend it!” The engineer extended his hand to his companions, who pressed it warmly. Ayrton alone remained in his corner, not joining the colonists. Perhaps he, the former convict, still felt himself unworthy to do so! Cyrus Harding understood what was passing in Ayrton’s mind, and going to him— “And you, Ayrton,” he asked, “what will you do?” “My duty,” answered Ayrton. He then took up his station near the window and gazed through the foliage. As if in reply to the sailor’s observation, a bright light flashed in the darkness, and a cannon-shot was heard. The vessel was still there and had guns on board. Six seconds elapsed between the flash and the report. Therefore the brig was about a mile and a quarter from the coast. At the same time, the chains were heard rattling through the hawseholes. The vessel had just anchored in sight of Granite House! Chapter Two. “Captain Harding,” then said Ayrton, advancing towards the engineer, “will you give me leave.” “For what, my friend?” “To go to that vessel to find out the strength of her crew.” “But Ayrton—” answered the engineer, hesitating, “you will risk your life—” “Why not, sir?” “That is more than your duty.” “I have more than my duty to do,” replied Ayrton. “Will you go to the ship in the boat?” asked Gideon Spilett. “No, sir, but I will swim. A boat would be seen where a man may glide between wind and water.” “Do you know that the brig is a mile and a quarter from the shore?” said Herbert. “I am a good swimmer, Mr Herbert.” “I tell you it is risking your life,” said the engineer. “I will accompany you,” said Pencroft. “You mistrust me!” said Ayrton quickly. Then more humbly,— “Alas!” “No! no!” exclaimed Harding with animation, “no, Ayrton, Pencroft does not mistrust you. You interpret his words wrongly.” “Our brig is a famous acquisition.” “She sails well, and merits her name of the .” “She would show all the navy of Norfolk a clean pair of heels.” “Hurrah for her captain!” “Hurrah for Bob Harvey!” At that moment a hand was laid on Ayrton’s shoulder. “Help, lads!” shouted Bob Harvey. But was flight still possible? It was doubtful, yet Ayrton resolved to dare everything in order to rejoin his companions. “Well, we shall know how to die!” said the reporter. “Let us go in and watch,” answered the engineer. “Have we any chance of escape, captain?” asked the sailor. “Yes, Pencroft.” “Hum! six against fifty!” “Yes! six! without counting—” “Who?” asked Pencroft. Cyrus did not reply, but pointed upwards. Chapter Three. desperate Situation—Unexpected Catastrophe. The posts were arranged in the following manner:— Cyrus Harding and Herbert remained in ambush at the Chimneys, thus commanding the shore to the foot of Granite House. None of them could have been seen, for they themselves could scarcely distinguish the brig in the fog. It was half-past six in the morning. The sinister black flag floated from the peak. The situation was evidently becoming very dangerous for Pencroft and Ayrton, and they saw that they must regain the mainland. “Hallo,” exclaimed Pencroft as he rushed into the Chimneys, “hallo, captain! What do you think of it, now?” “No doubt,” replied Herbert; “but what can two rifles do against the brig’s guns?” “Well, the brig isn’t in the channel yet, I fancy!” said Pencroft. “But suppose she does come there?” said Harding. “Confound them!” exclaimed Pencroft. “It really seems as if the blackguards were preparing to weigh anchor.” “Perhaps we shall be obliged to take refuge in Granite House!” observed Herbert. “We must wait!” answered Cyrus Harding. “But Mr Spilett and Neb?” said Pencroft. “They will know when it is best to rejoin us. Be ready, Ayrton. It is yours and Spilett’s rifles which must speak now.” “Eight less!” exclaimed Pencroft. “Really, one would have thought that Mr Spilett and Ayrton had given the word to fire together!” “Gentlemen,” said Ayrton, as he reloaded his gun, “this is becoming more serious. The brig is making sail!” “The anchor is weighed!” exclaimed Pencroft. “Yes; and she is already moving.” The route previously followed by the boats had allowed her to reconnoitre the channel, and she boldly entered it. “The scoundrels! they are coming!” said Pencroft. At that moment, Cyrus Harding, Ayrton, the sailor, and Herbert, were rejoined by Neb and Gideon Spilett. “Spilett! Neb!” cried the engineer, “you are not wounded?” “No,” answered the reporter; “a few bruises only from the ricochet! But that cursed brig has entered the channel!” “Yes,” replied Pencroft, “and in ten minutes she will have anchored before Granite House!” “Have you formed any plan, Cyrus?” asked the reporter. “We must take refuge in Granite House whilst there is still time, and the convicts cannot see us.” “That is my opinion, too,” replied Gideon Spilett; “but once shut up—” “We must be guided by circumstances,” said the engineer. “Let us be off, then, and make haste!” said the reporter. “Would you not wish, captain, that Ayrton and I should remain here?” asked the sailor. “What would be the use of that, Pencroft?” replied Harding. “No. We will not separate!” “We are discovered!” exclaimed Pencroft. Cyrus Harding and his companions rushed to one of the windows— Cylinder. “She has blown up!” cried Herbert. “But what has happened?” asked Gideon Spilett, quite stunned by this unexpected catastrophe. “Oh! this time, we shall know,” answered the engineer quickly. “What shall we know?—” “Later! later! Come, Spilett. The main point is that these pirates have been exterminated!” And Cyrus Harding, hurrying away the reporter and Ayrton, joined Pencroft, Neb, and Herbert on the beach. “What about those six convicts who disembarked on the right bank of the Mercy?” said he. In fact, it would not do to forget that the six men whose boat had gone to pieces on the rocks, had landed at Flotsam Point. Ayrton and Pencroft pulled vigorously towards the wreck. “That is what I have been, Pencroft.” “But what you are no longer, brave Ayrton!” returned the sailor warmly. “And can you guess, Pencroft,” asked the reporter, “how it happened, or what can have occasioned the explosion?” “Does that astonish you, my boy?” asked the engineer. “Why not,” observed Neb, “if there are rocks in the channel?” “It was just because she was not an honest vessel!” returned Neb. “Well, we shall soon see, Pencroft,” said the engineer. Cyrus Harding did not answer. “At any rate,” said Gideon Spilett, “whether rock or explosion, you will agree, Pencroft, that it occurred just in the nick of time!” “Yes! yes!” replied the sailor, “but that is not the question. I ask Captain Harding if he sees anything supernatural in all this.” “I cannot say, Pencroft,” said the engineer. “That is all the answer I can make.” And it must be confessed that the sailor’s arguments were not without reason. “It will be impossible,” said Ayrton. “There is not a rock in the channel!” answered the sailor. “I will admit anything you like, except the rock.” “Then, how did it happen?” asked Herbert. “I don’t know,” answered Pencroft, “Captain Harding doesn’t know, and nobody knows or ever will know!” “We are too rich!” exclaimed Pencroft. “But what are we going to do with all this?” In fact, on the night of the 23rd, the hull entirely broke up, and some of the wreck was cast up on the beach. Neb brought this piece of metal to his master, who was then occupied with his companions in the workshop of the Chimneys. Cyrus Harding examined the cylinder attentively, then, turning to Pencroft— “You persist, my friend,” said he, “in maintaining that the was not lost in consequence of a collision?” “What, that bit of pipe!” exclaimed Pencroft in a tone of perfect incredulity. “My friends,” resumed Harding, “you remember that before she foundered the brig rose on the summit of a regular water-spout?” “Yes, captain,” replied Herbert. “Well, would you like to know what occasioned that water-spout? It was this,” said the engineer, holding up the broken tube. “That?” returned Pencroft. “Yes! This cylinder is all that remains of a torpedo!” “A torpedo!” exclaimed the engineer’s companions. “And who put the torpedo there?” demanded Pencroft, who did not like to yield. Pencroft’s Regret. Yes! all was explained, everything—except the presence of the torpedo in the waters of the channel! The reporter’s reasoning was just, and every one felt it to be so. “My opinion,” said Pencroft, “is that, whoever he may be, he is a brave man, and he has my esteem!” “Be it so,” answered Harding, “but that is not an answer, Pencroft.” “That’s not bad, what you say, Neb,” observed Pencroft. “And you, my boy, give us your opinion,” said the engineer, turning to Herbert. “But, Pencroft,” answered Spilett, “you are describing a picture of the Creator.” “Possibly, Mr Spilett,” replied the sailor, “but that is how I imagine him!” “And you, Ayrton?” asked the engineer. “Do you think that is useful?” asked the engineer. “I believe so. However,” added the engineer, “we will be prudent.” “We shall be a great deal more certain of that when we have tried them!” answered Pencroft. Pencroft, holding the end of the quick-match, stood ready to fire. “Believe me, Pencroft,” replied the engineer, “it would be better not to have to make the experiment.” “I have been one of those jaguars, Mr Pencroft. I have no right to speak.” And with a slow step he walked away. Pencroft understood. “Is that your opinion, Pencroft?” asked the engineer. “Quite my opinion.” “And before hunting them mercilessly, you would not wait until they had committed some fresh act of hostility against us?” “Isn’t what they have done already enough?” asked Pencroft, who did not understand these scruples. “They may adopt other sentiments!” said Harding, “and perhaps repent.” “They repent!” exclaimed the sailor, shrugging his shoulders. “Pencroft, think of Ayrton!” said Herbert, taking the sailor’s hand. “He became an honest man again!” “Why have they not done so?” said Herbert. “No doubt because it was not their interest to do it. Besides, we are six also.” “I would fire on him as I would on a mad dog, Neb,” replied Pencroft coldly. “Pencroft,” said the engineer, “you have always shown much deference to my advice; will you, in this matter, yield to me?” “I will do as you please, Captain Harding,” answered the sailor, who was not at all convinced. “Very well, wait, and we will not attack them unless we are attacked first.” During the nine days which preceded their departure, it was agreed that the work on Prospect Heights should be finished off. “Well, the is always there, Mr Spilett,” answered the sailor. “She and her crew are ready to start at a moment’s notice!” “Hallo,” he cried, “this is queer!” “What is the matter, Pencroft?” asked the reporter. “What, it was not you?” asked Gideon Spilett. “No! I can swear to it. This is a reef knot, and I always make a running bowline.” “You must be mistaken, Pencroft.” “I am not mistaken!” declared the sailor. “My hand does it so naturally, and one’s hand is never mistaken!” “Then can the convicts have been on board?” asked Herbert. “But if the convicts had used her, they would have pillaged her, or rather gone off with her.” “Gone off! where to—to Tabor Island?” replied Pencroft. “Do you think they would risk themselves in a boat of such small tonnage?” “We must, besides, be sure that they know of the islet,” rejoined the reporter. “Then, Pencroft,” said Herbert, “would it not be wisest to bring the off to Granite House?” “Yes and no,” answered Pencroft, “or rather no. The mouth of the Mercy is a bad place for a vessel, and the sea is heavy there.” “But by hauling her up on the sand, to the foot of the Chimneys?” “That’s settled. Let us be off,” said the reporter. They consulted. Some wished to go, the others to remain. “But,” said Herbert, “perhaps some accident had happened to the telegraphic apparatus, so that it works no longer?” “That may be,” said the reporter. They waited, of course not without some anxiety. At dawn of day, the 11th of November, Harding again sent the electric current along the wire and received no reply. He tried again: the same result. “Off to the corral,” said he. “And well-armed!” added Pencroft. “It wasn’t the wind that blew down this post,” observed Pencroft. “No,” replied Gideon Spilett. “The earth has been dug up round its foot, and it has been torn up by the hand of man.” “Besides, the wire is broken,” added Herbert, showing that the wire had been snapped. “Is the fracture recent?” asked Harding. “Yes,” answered Herbert, “it has certainly been done quite lately.” “To the corral! to the corral!” exclaimed the sailor. “Let us enter,” said Cyrus Harding. Herbert, struck by a bullet, lay stretched on the ground. \ Chapter Seven. At Herbert’s cry Pencroft, letting his gun fall, rushed towards him. “They have killed him!” he cried. “My boy! They have killed him!” Cyrus Harding and Gideon Spilett ran to Herbert. The reporter listened to ascertain if the poor lad’s heart was still beating. “He lives,” said he; “but he must be carried—” “To Granite House? that is impossible!” replied the engineer. “Into the corral, then!” said Pencroft. “In a moment,” said Harding. Herbert’s back was covered with blood from another contused wound, by which the ball had immediately escaped. “God be praised!” said the reporter, “the ball is not in the body, and we shall not have to extract it.” “Dead!” exclaimed Pencroft, with a groan. The sailor had only heard the last words uttered by the reporter. Pencroft was silent, but a reaction set in, and great tears rolled down his cheeks. “What! can’t we carry him to Granite House?” asked Pencroft. “No, Pencroft,” replied the reporter. “I’ll pay the villains off!” cried the sailor, shaking his fist in a menacing manner. “Pencroft!” said Cyrus Harding. Gideon Spilett had resumed his examination of the wounded boy. Herbert was still so frightfully pale that the reporter felt anxious. “Cyrus,” said he, “I am not a surgeon. I am in terrible perplexity. You must aid me with your advice, your experience!” “Tell me again that you hope, Mr Spilett,” said Pencroft. “Tell me again that you will save Herbert!” “God bless you!” answered Pencroft. “Yes,” answered the reporter, “but now we have the right to be merciless!” “But Neb?” asked the reporter. “Neb is in safety.” “But if, uneasy at our absence, he would venture to come?” “He must not come!” returned Cyrus Harding quickly. “He would be murdered on the road!” “It is very probable, however, that he will attempt to rejoin us!” “But Neb?” repeated the engineer. “It is now four-and-twenty hours since he has had any news of us! He will be sure to come!” “And as he will be less on his guard than we should be ourselves,” added Spilett, “he will be killed!” “Is there really no way of warning him?” Whilst the engineer thought, his eyes fell on Top, who, going backwards and forwards, seemed to say— “Am not I here?” “Top!” exclaimed Cyrus Harding. The animal sprang at his master’s call. “Quick!” said Harding. “Quick!” Spilett rapidly tore a leaf from his notebook, and wrote these words:— The engineer went to the gate of the corral and opened it. “Neb, Top! Neb!” repeated the engineer, again pointing in the direction of Granite House. Top sprang forwards, and almost immediately disappeared. “He will get there!” said the reporter. “Yes, and he will come back, the faithful animal!” “What o’clock is it?” asked Gideon Spilett. “Ten.” “In an hour he may be here. We will watch for his return.” The engineer opened the gate, and seeing smoke a hundred feet off in the wood, he fired in that direction. Almost immediately Top bounded into the corral, and the gate was quickly shut. “Top, Top!” exclaimed the engineer, taking the dog’s great honest head between his hands. A note was fastened to his neck, and Cyrus Harding read these words, traced in Neb’s large writing:— “No pirates in the neighbourhood of Granite House. I will not stir. Poor Mr Herbert!” Chapter Eight. “Who knows?” replied the engineer. “What do you mean?” asked the reporter. “And have they not been seen again?” asked Herbert. “I am still very weak, my poor Pencroft!” “And yet, if it had been necessary to operate,” said Harding one day to him, “you would not have hesitated?” “No, Cyrus!” said Gideon Spilett, “but thank God that we have been spared this complication!” In short, Cyrus Harding believed that fortune had turned against them. “But is he equal to five?” asked the engineer. “I will join Pencroft,” said the reporter, “and both of us, well-armed and accompanied by Top—” “Well, captain,” cried Pencroft, “a bullet does not always reach its mark.” “Oh, if we were only at Granite House!” Cyrus Harding’s reasoning was unanswerable, and his companions understood it well. “If only Ayrton was still one of us!” said Gideon Spilett. “Poor fellow! his return to social life will have been but of short duration.” “If he is dead,” added Pencroft, in a peculiar tone. “Do you hope, then, Pencroft, that the villains have spared him?” asked Gideon Spilett. “Yes, if they had any interest in doing so.” “What! you suppose that Ayrton, finding his old companions, forgetting all that he owes us—” “Who knows?” answered the sailor, who did not hazard this shameful supposition without hesitating. “And I also,” added the reporter quickly. It can, therefore, be well understood how injurious this seclusion in the corral must be to the colonists. But if they were compelled to bow before necessity, they did not do so without impatience. “What is that?” asked the reporter. “Some one is coming.” “Yes.” “It is not an enemy!” “Neb, perhaps?” “Or Ayrton?” It was Tup, Master Jup in person, to whom Top immediately gave a most cordial reception. “Jup!” exclaimed Pencroft. “Neb has sent him to us,” said the reporter. “Then,” replied the engineer, “he must have some note on him.” Cyrus Harding was not mistaken. At Jup’s neck hung a small bag, and in this bag was found a little note traced by Neb’s hand. The despair of Harding and his companions may be imagined when they read these words:— “Friday, six o’clock in the morning. “Plateau invaded by convicts. “Neb.” “Captain Harding,” said he, “I must go; I can bear the journey. I must go.” Gideon Spilett approached Herbert; then, having looked at him— “Let us go, then!” said he. “Are the guns ready?” asked Cyrus Harding. “Are you comfortable, Herbert?” asked the engineer. “Ah, captain,” replied the lad, “don’t be uneasy, I shall not die on the road!” “Forward!” said Harding. At that moment Pencroft stopped the onaga, and in a hoarse voice— “Oh! the villains!” he exclaimed. And he pointed to a thick smoke rising from the mill, the sheds, and the buildings at the poultry-yard. A man was moving about in the midst of the smoke. It was Neb. His companions uttered a shout. He heard, and ran to meet them. The convicts had left the plateau nearly half-an-hour before, having devastated it! “And Mr Herbert?” asked Neb. Gideon Spilett returned to the cart. Herbert had lost consciousness! Chapter Ten. Fever—Top barks again! “Jup, Jup! corral, corral!” And, in speaking thus, Cyrus Harding thought of Herbert, whose recovery the removal had so seriously checked. In the former case, they must have returned towards the corral, now without defenders, and which contained valuable stores. In the latter, they must have regained their encampment, and would wait an opportunity to recommence the attack. “And in order to cure it,” said Spilett to Cyrus Harding, “we need a febrifuge.” “Let us try it without losing a moment,” replied Cyrus Harding. Gideon Spilett was overwhelmed by this new complication. He took the engineer aside. “But the willow bark?” Fortunately, Pencroft heard nothing of this conversation or he would have gone mad. The fit lasted five hours. It was evident that Herbert could not survive a third. “If before to-morrow morning we have not given him a more energetic febrifuge,” said the reporter, “Herbert will be dead.” Top, at that moment, barked in a strange manner. A ray glanced on the table placed near the bed. Suddenly Pencroft, uttering a cry, pointed to the table. On it lay a little oblong box, of which the cover bore these words:— “Sulphate of Quinine.” Chapter Eleven. This powder must be administered to Herbert without delay. How it came there might be discussed later. “Some coffee!” said Spilett. This hope was not disappointed. Ten days after, on the 20th of December, Herbert’s convalescence commenced. The real doctor, however, remained undiscovered. “We will find him!” repeated the sailor. Certainly, this man, whoever he was, might expect a somewhat too energetic embrace from the worthy Pencroft!