Cyrus and Top, living or dead, is an inexplicable and improbable thing.”
“I wish I could think like you, Mr. Spilett,” replied Pencroff, “but, unfortunately, my mind is made up.”
That said, the sailor returned to the Chimneys. A good fire crackled on the hearth. Harbert threw an armful of dry wood on it, and the flames shed light into the gloomy parts of the passageway. Pencroff occupied himself at once with preparing dinner. It seemed best to introduce some “pièce de résistance” into the menu because everyone needed to renew his strength. The strings of couroucous were saved for the next day but they plucked two grouse, and soon the gallinules were roasting on a spit in front of a blazing fire.
At seven o’clock Neb had not yet returned. This prolonged absence only made Pencroff uneasy about the Negro. He feared that he had either met with some accident on this unknown land or that the poor wretch had given in to some act of despair. But Harbert drew totally different conclusions from this absence. In his opinion, if Neb had not yet returned, it was due to some new circumstance which caused him to prolong his search and anything new could only be to Cyrus Smith’s advantage. Why had Neb not returned unless some hope detained him? Perhaps he had found some indication, a footprint or the remains of a wreck which put him on the track. Perhaps, at this very moment, he was following a solid clue. Perhaps he was even near his master …
So the lad reasoned. His companions let him speak of it. The reporter alone approved with a gesture. But, for Pencroff, it was likely that Neb had gone further than the previous day in his search along the coast and that he could not yet return.
However, Harbert was agitated by vague premonitions, and several times he wanted to go to meet Neb. Pencroff made him understand that it would be a useless course of action, that in this darkness and deplorable weather, he would find no trace of Neb, and it would be better to wait. If, by the next day, Neb had not reappeared, Pencroff would not hesitate to join Harbert in searching for him.
Gideon Spilett agreed that they must not separate, and Harbert had to give up his plan; but two large tears fell from his eyes. The reporter could not refrain from embracing the noble lad.
Bad weather had now definitely broken out. A windstorm of unparalleled violence passed over the coast from the southeast. They heard the sea, then at low tide, roaring against the leading edge of rocks on the beach. The rain, whipped by the storm, rose up like a wet mist. Ragged masses of fog swept along the shore where pebbles rattled noisily like cartloads of stone being emptied. Sand, lifted by the wind, became mixed with the rain, making the storm’s attack invincible. There was just as much mineral dust in the air as water vapor. Large whirlwinds swirled between the mouth of the river and the face of the wall, and strong gusts of air escaping from this maelstrom could find no exit other than through the narrow valley whose river was churned up with an irresistible violence. The smoke from the hearth, restricted by the narrow passageway, backed up frequently, filling the corridors and rendering them uninhabitable.
That is why, as soon as the grouse were roasted, Pencroff let the fire die down, conserving nothing but the embers buried under the cinders.
At eight o’clock Neb still had not reappeared. They could now assume that the awful weather alone prevented his return and that he had found refuge in some hollow to wait out the end of the storm or at least the return of day. To attempt to find him under these conditions was impossible.
The game formed the only dish for supper, and they gladly ate this excellent meat. Pencroff and Harbert, whose appetites were excited by their long excursion, were ravenous.
Everyone retired to the corner where he had rested the previous night. Harbert soon fell asleep near the sailor who stretched out along the hearth. Outside, as the night advanced, the storm took on formidable proportions. It was a windstorm comparable to the one that carried the prisoners from Richmond to this land in the Pacific. Tempests are frequent during the seasons of the equinox. They produce terrible catastrophes throughout this vast area where no obstacles oppose their fury. One can therefore understand how a coast so exposed, in direct line with the storm and struck headlong, was battered by a force that cannot be described.
Pencroff crawled to the opening.
Fortunately, the pile of rocks which formed the Chimneys was sturdy. It was composed of enormous slabs of granite though a few, slightly off-balance, seemed to tremble at their base. Pencroff sensed this and, pressing his hand against the walls, felt the rapid vibrations. But he finally convinced himself, and rightly so, that there was nothing to fear and that his improvised retreat would not cave in. Nevertheless, he heard the clatter of the rocks which, detached from the summit of the plateau and uprooted by the swirling wind, fell on the beach. A few even rolled as far as the upper part of the Chimneys or broke into fragments when they fell straight down. Twice the sailor got up and crawled to the opening of the passageway to look outside. But these falling rocks did not constitute any danger and he returned to his place in front of the fire whose embers were sputtering under the cinders. Despite the furies of the storm, the roar of the tempest, and the thunder of the storm, Harbert was in a deep sleep. Even Pencroff finally closed his eyes in slumber, since a seaman’s life had accustomed him to such violent weather. Gideon Spilett alone was kept wide awake by his worries. He reproached himself for not having accompanied Neb. One could see that he too had not abandoned all hope and that he shared Harbert’s premonitions. His thoughts were concentrated on Neb. Why had Neb not returned? He tossed on his bed of sand hardly giving a thought to the battle of the elements. At times his eyes, heavy with fatigue, closed for an instant but some passing thought reopened them at once. The night advanced, however, and it must have been two o’clock in the morning when Pencroff, then in a deep sleep, was shaken vigorously.
“What is it?” he shouted, awakening and recollecting himself with the rapidity typical of seamen.
The reporter was leaning over him and said to him:
“Listen Pencroff, listen!”
The sailor cocked his ear but could not distinguish any sound other than the squall.
“It’s the wind,” he said.
“No,” replied Gideon Spilett, listening again. “I thought I heard …”
“What?”
“A dog barking!”
“A dog!” shouted Pencroff, getting up in a single bound.
“Yes … barking …”
“That isn’t possible!” replied the sailor. “And besides, how with the roar of the storm …”
“Wait … Listen …” said the reporter.
Pencroff listened more attentively and in fact he thought he heard a distant barking in a quiet moment.
“Well? …” said the reporter, pressing the sailor’s hand.
“Yes … Yes! …” replied Pencroff.
“It’s Top! … It’s Top! …” shouted Harbert, just awakening, and all three dashed toward the entrance to the Chimneys.
They went outside with extreme difficulty. The wind drove them back. They finally succeeded, although they could not stand erect without leaning against the rocks. They saw but they could not speak.
The darkness was absolute. The sea, the sky, the ground were
