WINTER—FULLING CLOTH—THE MILL —PENCROFF’S FIXED PURPOSE—THE WHALEBONES—THE USE OF AN ALBATROSS —TOP AND JUP—STORMS—DAMAGE TO THE POULTRY-YARD—AN EXCURSION TO THE MARSH—SMITH ALONE—EXPLORATION OF THE PITS.
Winter came with June, and the principal work was the making of strong warm clothing. The moufflons had been clipped, and the question was how to transform the wool into cloth.
Smith, not having any mill machinery, was obliged to proceed in the simplest manner, in order to economize the spinning and weaving. Therefore he proposed to make use of the property possessed by the filaments of wool of binding themselves together under pressure, and making by their mere entanglement the substance known as felt. This felt can be obtained by a simple fulling, an operation which, while it diminishes the suppleness of the stuff, greatly augments its heat-preserving qualities; and as the moufflons’ wool was very short it was in good condition for felting.
The engineer, assisted by his companions, including Pencroff—who had to leave his ship again—cleansed the wool of the grease and oil by soaking it in warm water and washing it with soda, and, when it was partially dried by pressure it was in a condition to be milled, that is, to produce a solid stuff, too coarse to be of any value in the industrial centres of Europe, but valuable enough in the Lincoln Island market.
The engineer’s professional knowledge was of great service in constructing the machine destined to mill the wool, as he knew how to make ready use of the power, unemployed up to this time, in the water-fall at the cliff, to move a fulling mill.
Its construction was most simple. A tree furnished with cams, which raised and dropped the vertical millers, troughs for the wool, into which the millers fell, a strong wooden building containing and sustaining the contrivance, such was the machine in question.
The work, superintended by Smith, resulted admirably. The wool, previously impregnated with a soapy solution, came from the mill in the shape of a thick felt cloth. The striæ and roughnesses of the material had caught and blended together so thoroughly that they formed a stuff equally suitable for cloths or coverings. It was not, indeed, one of the stuffs of commerce, but it was “Lincoln felt,” and the island had one more industry.
The colonists, being thus provided with good clothes and warm bed-clothing, saw the winter of 1866-67 approach without any dread. The cold really began to be felt on the 20th of June, and, to his great regret, Pencroff was obliged to suspend work on his vessel, although it would certainly be finished by the next spring.
The fixed purpose of the sailor was to make a voyage of discovery to Tabor Island, although Smith did not approve of this voyage of simple curiosity, as there was evidently no succor to be obtained from that desert and half arid rock. A voyage of 150 miles in a boat, comparatively small, in the midst of unknown seas, was cause for considerable anxiety. If the frail craft, once at sea, should be unable to reach Tabor Island, or to return to Lincoln Island, what would become of her in the midst of this ocean so fertile in disasters?
Smith often talked of this project with Pencroff, and he found in the sailor a strange obstinacy to make the voyage, an obstinacy for which Pencroff himself could not account.
“Well,” said the engineer one day, “you must see, Pencroff, after having said every good of Lincoln Island, and expressing the regret you would feel should you have to leave it, that you are the first to want to get away.”
“Only for a day or two,” answered Pencroff, “for a few days, Mr. Smith; just long enough to go and return, and see what this island is.”
“But it cannot compare with ours.”
“I know that.””
“Then why go?”
“To find out what’s going on there!”
“But there is nothing; there can be nothing there.”
“Who knows?”
“And supposing you are caught in a storm?”
“That is not likely in that season,” replied Pencroff. “But, sir, as it is necessary to foresee everything, I want your permission to take Herbert with me.”
“Pencroff,” said the engineer, laying his hand on the shoulder of the sailor, “If anything should happen to you and this child, whom chance has made our son, do you think that we would ever forgive ourselves?”
“Mr. Smith,” responded Pencroff with unshaken confidence, “we won’t discuss such mishaps. But we will talk again of this voyage when the time comes. Then, I think, when you have seen our boat well rigged, when you have seen how well she behaves at sea, when you have made the tour of the island—as we will, together—I think, I say, that you will not hesitate to let me go. I do not conceal from you that this will be a fine work, your ship.”
“Say rather, our ship, Pencroff,” replied the engineer, momentarily disarmed. And the conversation, to be renewed later, ended without convincing either of the speakers.
The first snow fell towards the end of the month. The corral had been well provisioned, and there was no further necessity for daily visits, but it was decided to go there at least once a week. The traps were set again, and the contrivances of Smith were tried, and worked perfectly. The bent whalebones, frozen, and covered with fat, were placed near the edge of the forest, at a place frequented by animals, and some dozen foxes, some wild boars, and a jaguar were found killed by this means, their stomachs perforated by the straightened whalebones.
At this time, an experiment, thought of by the reporter, was made. It was the first attempt of the colonists to communicate with their kindred.
Spilett had already often thought of throwing a bottle containing a writing into the sea, to be carried by the currents, perhaps, to some inhabited coast, or to make use of the pigeons. But it was pure folly to seriously believe that pigeons or bottles could cross the 1,200 miles separating the island from all lands.—
But on the 30th of June they captured, not without difficulty, an albatross, which Herbert had slightly wounded in the foot. It was a splendid specimen of its kind, its wings measuring ten feet from tip to tip, and it could cross seas as vast as the Pacific.
Herbert would have liked to have kept the bird and tamed it, but Spilett made him understand that they could not afford to neglect this chance of corresponding by means of this courier with the Pacific coasts. So Herbert gave up the bird, as, if it had come from some inhabited region, it was likely to return there if at liberty.
Perhaps, in his heart, Spilett, to whom the journalistic spirit returned sometimes, did not regret giving to the winds an interesting article relating the adventures of the colonists of Lincoln Island. What a triumph for the reporters of the New York Herald, and for the issue containing the chronicle, if ever the latter should reach his director, the honorable John Bennett!
Spilett, therefore, wrote out a succinct article, which was enclosed in a waterproof-cloth bag, with the request to whoever found it to send it to one of the offices of the Herald. This little bag was fastened around the neck of the albatross and the bird given its freedom, and it was not without emotion that the colonists saw this rapid courier of the air disappear in the western clouds.
“Where does he go that way?” asked Pencroff.
“Towards New Zealand,” answered Herbert.
“May he have a good voyage,” said the sailor, who did not expect much from this method of communication.
With the winter, in-door work was resumed; old clothes were repaired, new garments made, and the sails of the sloop made from the inexhaustible envelope of the balloon. During July the cold was intense, but coal and wood were abundant, and Smith had built another chimney in the great hall, where they passed the long evenings. It was a great comfort to the colonists, when, seated in this well-lighted and warm hall, a good dinner finished, coffee steaming in the cups, the pipes emitting a fragrant smoke, they listened to the roar of the tempest without. They were perfectly comfortable, if that is possible where one is far from his kindred and without possible means of communicating with them. They talked about their country, of their friends at home, of the grandeur of the republic, whose influence must increase; and Smith, who had had much to do with the affairs of the Union, entertained his hearers with his stories, his perceptions and his prophecies.
One evening as they had been sitting talking in this way for some time, they were interrupted by Top, who began barking in that peculiar way which had previously attracted the attention of the engineer, and running around the mouth of the well which opened at the end of the inner corridor.
“Why is Top barking that way again?” asked Pencroff.
“And Jup growling so?” added Herbert.
Indeed, both the dog and the orang gave unequivocal signs of agitation, and curiously enough these two animals seemed to be more alarmed than irritated.
It is evident,” said Spilett, “that this well communicates directly with the sea, and that some animal comes to breathe in its depths.”
“It must be so, since there is no other explanation to give. Be quiet, Top! and you, Jup! go to your room.”
The animals turned away, Jup went to his bed, but Top remained in the hall, and continued whining the remainder of the evening. It was not, however, the question of this incident that darkened the countenance of the engineer.
During the remainder of the month, rain and snow alternated, and though the temperature was not as low as during the preceding winter, there were more storms and gales. On more than one occasion the Chimneys had been threatened by the waves, and it seemed as if an upraising of the sea, caused by some submarine convulsion, raised the monstrous billows and hurled them against Granite House.
During these storms it was difficult, even dangerous, to attempt using the roads on the island, as the trees were falling constantly. Nevertheless, the colonists never let a week pass without visiting the corral, and happily this enclosure, protected by the spur of the mountain, did not suffer from the storms. But the poultry-yard, from its position, exposed to the blast, suffered considerable damage. Twice the pigeon-house was unroofed, and the fence also was demolished, making it necessary to rebuild it more solidly. It was evident that Lincoln Island was situated in the worst part of the Pacific. Indeed, it seemed as if the island formed the central point of vast cyclones which whipped it as if it were a top; only in this case the top was immovable and the whip spun about.
During the first week in August the storm abated, and the atmosphere recovered a calm which it seemed never to have lost. With the calm the temperature lowered, and the thermometer of the colonists indicated 8° below zero.
On the 3d of August, an excursion, which had been planned for some time was made to Tadorn’s Fen. The hunters were tempted by the great number of aquatic birds which made these marshes their home, and not only Spilett and Herbert, but Pencroff and Neb took part in the expedition. Smith alone pleaded some excuse for remaining behind at Granite House.
The hunters promised to return by evening. Top and Jup accompanied them. And when they had crossed the bridge over the Mercy the engineer left them, and returned with the idea of executing a project in which he wished to be alone. This was to explore minutely the well opening into the corridor.
Why did Top run round this place so often? Why did he whine in that strange way? Why did Jup share Top’s anxiety? Had this well other branches beside the communication with the sea? Did it ramify towards other portions of the island? This is what Smith wanted to discover, and, moreover, to be alone in his discovery. He had resolved to make this exploration during the absence of his companions, and here was the opportunity.
It was easy to descend to the bottom of the well by means of the ladder, which had not been used since the elevator had taken its place. The engineer dragged this ladder to the opening of the well, and, having made fast one end, let it unroll itself into the abyss. Then, having lit a lantern, and placing a revolver and cutlass in his belt, he began to descend the rungs. The sides of the well were smooth, but some projections of rocks appeared at intervals, and by means of these projections an athlete could have raised himself to the mouth of the well. The engineer noticed this, but in throwing the light of the lantern on these points he could discover nothing to indicate that they had ever been used in that way.
Smith descended deeper, examining every part of the well, but he saw nothing suspicious. When he had reached the lowermost rung, he was at the surface of the water, which was perfectly calm. Neither there, nor in any other part of the well, was there any lateral opening. The wall, struck by the handle of Smith’s cutlass, sounded solid. It was a compact mass, through which no human being could make his way. In order to reach the bottom of the well, and from thence climb to its mouth, it was necessary to traverse the submerged passage under the shore, which connected with the sea, and this was only possible for marine animals. As to knowing whereabouts on the shore, and at what depth under the waves, this passage came out, that was impossible to discover.
Smith, having ended his exploration, remounted the ladder, covered over again the mouth of the well, and returned thoughtfully to the great hall of Granite House, saying to himself:—
“I have seen nothing, and yet, there is something there.”
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