CONCERNING THE LEADEN PELLET—MAKING A CANOE—HUNTING—IN THE TOP OF A KAURI—NOTHING TO INDICATE THE PRESENCE OF MAN—THE TURTLE ON ITS BACK—THE TURTLE DISAPPEARS—SMITH’S EXPLANATION.
It was exactly seven months since the passengers in the balloon had been thrown upon Lincoln Island. In all this time no human being had been seen. No smoke had betrayed the presence of man upon he island. No work of man’s hands, either ancient or modern, had attested his passage. Not only did it seem uninhabited at present, but it appeared to have been so always. And now all the framework of deductions fell before a little bit of metal found in the body of a pig.
It was certainly a bullet from a gun, and what but a human being would be so provided?
When Pencroff had placed it upon the table, his companions looked at it with profound astonishment. The possibilities suggested by this seemingly trivial incident flashed before them. The sudden appearance of a supernatural being could not have impressed them more.
Smith instantly began to reason upon the theories which this incident, as surprising as it was unexpected, suggested. Taking the bit of lead between his fingers he turned it round and about for some time before he spoke.
“You are sure, Pencroff,” he asked, at length, “that the peccary was hardly three months old?”
“I’m sure, sir,” answered the sailor. “It was sucking its mother when I found it in the ditch.”
“Well, then, that proves that within three months a gun has been fired upon Lincoln Island.”
“And that the bullet has wounded, though not mortally, this little animal,” added Spilett.
“Undoubtedly,” replied Smith; “and now let us see what conclusions are to be drawn from this incident. Either the island was inhabited before our arrival, or men have landed here within three months. How these men arrived, whether voluntarily or involuntarily, whether by landing or by shipwreck, cannot be settled at present. Neither have we any means of determining whether they are Europeans or Malays, friends or enemies; nor do we know whether they are living here at present or whether they have gone. But these questions are too important to be allowed to remain undecided.”
“No!” cried the sailor springing from the table. “There can be no men besides ourselves on Lincoln Island. Why, the island is not large: and if it had been inhabited, we must have met some one of its people before this.”
“It would, indeed, be astonishing if we had not,” said Herbert.
“But it would be much more astonishing, I think,” remarked the reporter, “if this little beast had been born with a bullet in his body!”
“Unless,” suggested Neb, seriously, “Pencroff had had it—”
“How’s that, Neb?” interrupted the sailor, “I, to have had a bullet in my jaw for five or six months, without knowing it? Where would it have been?” he added, opening his mouth and displaying the thirty-two splendid teeth that ornamented it. “Look, Neb, and if you can find one broken one in the whole set you may pull out half-a-dozen!”
“Neb’s theory is inadmissible,” said Smith, who, in spite of the gravity of his thoughts, could not restrain a smile. “It is certain that a gun has been discharged on the island within three months. But I am bound to believe that the persons on this island have been here but a short time, or else simply landed in passing; as, had the island had inhabitants when we made the ascent of Mount Franklin, we must have seen them or been seen. It is more probable, that within the past few weeks some people have been shipwrecked somewhere upon the coast; the thing, therefore, to do is to discover this point.”
“I think we should act cautiously,” said the reporter.
“I think so, too,” replied Smith, “as I fear that they must be Malay pirates;”
“How would it do, Mr. Smith,” said the sailor, “to build A canoe so that we could go up this river, or, if need be, round the coast? It won’t do to be taken unawares.”
“It’s a good idea,” answered the engineer; “but we have not the time now. It would take at least a month to build a canoe—”
“A regular one, yes,” rejoined the sailor; “but we don’t want it to stand the sea. I will guarantee to make one in less than five days that will do to use on the Mercy.”
“Build a boat in five days,” cried Neb.
“Yes, Neb, one of Indian fashion.”
“Of wood?” demanded the negro, still incredulous.
“Of wood, or what is better, of bark,” answered Pencroff. “Indeed, Mr. Smith, it could be done in five days!”
“Be it so, then,” answered the engineer. “In five days.”
“But we must look out for ourselves in the meantime!” said Herbert.
“With the utmost caution, my friends,” answered Smith. “And be very careful to confine your hunting expeditions to the neighborhood of Granite House.”
The dinner was finished in lower spirits than Pencroff had expected. The incident of the bullet proved beyond doubt that the island had been, or was now, inhabited by others, and such a discovery awakened the liveliest anxiety in the breasts of the colonists.
Smith and Spilett, before retiring, had a long talk about these things. They questioned, if by chance this incident had an connection with the unexplained rescue of the engineer, and other strange events which they had encountered in so many ways. Smith, after having discussed the pros and cons of the question, ended by saying:—
“In short, Spilett, do you want to know my opinion?”
“Yes, Cyrus.”
“Well, this is it. No matter how minutely we examine the island, we will find nothing!”
Pencroff began his work the next day. He did not mean to build a boat with ribs and planks, but simply a flat bottomed float, which would do admirably in the Mercy, especially in the shallow water and its sources. Strips of bark fastened together would be sufficient for their purpose, and in places where a portage would be necessary the affair would be neither heavy nor cumbersome. The sailor’s idea was to fasten the strips of bark together with clinched nails, and thus to make the craft staunch.
The first thing was to select trees furnishing a supple and tough bark. Now, it had happened that the last storm had blown down a number of Douglass pines, which were perfectly adapted to this purpose. Some of these lay prone upon the earth, and all the colonists had to do was to strip them of their bark, though this indeed was somewhat difficult, on account of the awkwardness of their tools.
While the sailor, assisted by the engineer was thus occupied, Herbert and Spilett, who had been made purveyors to the colony, were not idle. The reporter could not help admiring the young lad, who had acquired a remarkable proficiency in the use of the bow and arrows, and who exhibited, withal, considerable hardiness and coolness. The two hunters, remembering the caution of the engineer, never ventured more than two miles from Granite House, but the outskirts of the forest furnished a sufficient supply of agoutis, cabiais, kangaroos, peccaries, etc., and although the traps had not done so well since the cold had abated, the warren furnished a supply sufficient for the wants of the colonists.
Often, while on these excursions, Herbert conversed with Spilett about the incident of the bullet and of the engineer’s conclusions, and one day—the 26th of October—he said:—
“Don’t you think it strange, Mr. Spilett, that any people should have been wrecked on this island, and never have followed up the coast to Granite House?”
“Very strange if they are still here,” answered the reporter, “but not at all astonishing if they are not.”
“Then you think they have gone again?”
“It is likely, my boy, that, if they had staid any time, or were still here, something would have discovered their presence.”
“But if they had been able to get off again they were not really shipwrecked.”
“No, Herbert, they were what I should call shipwrecked temporarily. That is, it is possible that they were driven by stress of weather upon the island, without having to abandon their vessel, and when the wind moderated they set out again.”
“One thing is certain,” said Herbert, “and that is, that Mr. Smith has always seemed to dread, rather than to desire, the presence of human beings on our island.”
“The reason is, that he knows that only Malays frequent these seas, and these gentlemen are a kind of rascals that had better be avoided.”
“Is it not possible, sir, that some time we will discover traces of their landing and, perhaps, be able to settle this point?”
“It is not unlikely, my boy. An abandoned camp or the remains of a fire, we would certainly notice, and these are what we will look for on our exploration.”
The hunters, talking in this way, found themselves in a portion of the forest near the Mercy, remarkable for its splendid trees. Among others, were those magnificent conifera, called by the New Zealanders “kauris,” rising mere than 200 feet in height.
“I have an idea, Mr. Spilett,” said Herbert, “supposing I climb to the top of one of these kauris, I could see, perhaps, for a good ways.”
“It’s a good idea,” answered the other, “but can you climb one of these giants?”
“I am going to try, anyhow,” exclaimed the boy, springing upon the lower branches of one, which grew in such a manner as to make the tree easy to mount. In a few minutes he was in its top, high above all the surrounding leafage of the forest.
From this height, the eye could take in all the southern portion of the island between Claw Cape on the southeast and Reptile Promontory on the southwest. To the northwest rose Mount Franklin, shutting out more than one-fourth of the horizon.
But Herbert, from his perch, could overlook the very portion of the island which was giving, or had given, refuge to the strangers whose presence they suspected. The lad looked about him with great attention, first towards the sea, where not a sail was visible, although it was possible that a ship, and especially one dismasted, lying close in to shore, would be concealed from view by the trees which hid the coast. In the woods of the Far West nothing could be seen. The forest formed a vast impenetrable dome many miles in extent, without an opening or glade. Even the course of the Mercy could not be seen, and it might be that there were other streams flowing westward, which were equally invisible.
But, other signs failing, could not the lad catch in the air some smoke that would indicate the presence of man? The atmosphere was pure, and the slightest vapor was sharply outlined against the sky. For an instant Herbert thought he saw a thin film rising in the west, but a more careful observation convinced him that he was mistaken. He looked again, however, with all care, and his sight was excellent. No, certainly, it was nothing.
Herbert climbed down the tree, and he and the reporter returned to Granite House. There Smith listened to the lad’s report without comment. It was plain he would not commit himself until after the island had been explored.
Two days later—the 28th of October—another unaccountable incident happened.
In strolling along the beach, two miles from Granite House, Herbert and Neb had been lucky enough to capture a splendid specimen of the chelonia mydas (green turtle), whose carapace shone with emerald reflections. Herbert had caught sight of it moving among the rocks towards the sea.
“Stop him, Neb, stop him!” he cried.
Neb ran to it.
“It’s a fine animal,” said Neb, “but how are we going to keep it?”
“That’s easy enough, Neb. All we have to do is to turn it on its back, and then it cannot get away. Take your spear and do as I do.”
The reptile had shut itself in its shell, so that neither its head nor eyes were visible, and remained motionless as a rock. The lad and the negro placed their spears underneath it, and, after some difficulty, succeeded in turning it over. It measured three feet in length, and must have weighed at least 400 pounds.
“There, that will please Pencroff,” cried Neb.
Indeed, the sailor could not fail to be pleased, as the flesh of these turtles, which feed upon eel-grass, is very savory.
“And now what can we do with our game?” asked Neb; “we can’t carry it to Granite House.”
“Leave it here, since it cannot turn back again,” answered Herbert, “and we will come for it with the cart.”
Neb agreed, and Herbert, as an extra precaution, which the negro thought useless, propped up the reptile with large stones. Then the two returned to Granite House, following the beach, on which the tide was down. Herbert, wishing to surprise Pencroff, did not tell him of the prize which was lying on its back upon the sand; but two hours later Neb and he returned with the cart to where they had left it, and—the “splendid specimen of chelonia mydas” was not there!
The two looked about them. Certainly, this was where they had left it. Here were the stones he had used, and, therefore, the lad could not be mistaken.
“Did the beast turn over, after all?” asked Neb.
“It seems so,” replied Herbert, puzzled, and examining the stones scattered over the sand.
“Pencroff will be disappointed.”
“And Mr. Smith will be troubled to explain this!” thought Herbert.
“Well,” said Neb, who wished to conceal their misadventure, “we won’t say anything about it.”
“Indeed, we will tell the whole story,” answered Herbert.
And taking with them the useless cart, they returned to Granite House.
At the shipyard they found the engineer and the sailor working together. Herbert related all that happened.
“You foolish fellows,” cried the sailor, “to let at least fifty pounds of soup, escape!”
“But, Pencroff,” exclaimed Neb, “it was not our fault that the reptile got away; haven’t I told you we turned it on its back?”
“Then you didn’t turn it enough!” calmly asserted the stubborn sailor.
“Not enough!” cried Herbert; and he told how he had taken care to prop the turtle up with stones.
“Then it was a miracle!” exclaimed Pencroff.
“Mr. Smith,” asked Herbert, “I thought that turtles once placed on their backs could not get over again, especially the very large ones?”
“That is the fact,” answered Smith.
“Then how did it—”
“How far off from the sea did you leave this turtle,” asked the engineer, who had stopped working and was turning this incident over in his mind.
“About fifteen feet,” answered Herbert.
“And it was low water?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well,” responded the engineer, “what the turtle could not do on land, he could do in water. When the tide rose over him he turned over, and—tranquilly paddled off.”
“How foolish we are,” cried Neb.
“That is just what I said you were,” answered Pencroff.
Smith had given this explanation, which was doubtless admissible; but was he himself satisfied with it? He did not venture to say that.
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