The Mysterious Island (48 page)

The calm of the stranger was deep, as has been said, and he even showed
a sort of attachment for the engineer, whose influence he evidently
felt. Cyrus Harding resolved then to try him, by transporting him
to another scene, from that ocean which formerly his eyes had been
accustomed to contemplate, to the border of the forest, which might
perhaps recall those where so many years of his life had been passed!

"But," said Gideon Spilett, "can we hope that he will not escape, if
once set at liberty?"

"The experiment must be tried," replied the engineer.

"Well!" said Pencroft. "When that fellow is outside, and feels the fresh
air, he will be off as fast as his legs can carry him!"

"I do not think so," returned Harding.

"Let us try," said Spilett.

"We will try," replied the engineer.

This was on the 30th of October, and consequently the castaway of Tabor
Island had been a prisoner in Granite House for nine days. It was
warm, and a bright sun darted its rays on the island. Cyrus Harding and
Pencroft went to the room occupied by the stranger, who was found lying
near the window and gazing at the sky.

"Come, my friend," said the engineer to him.

The stranger rose immediately. His eyes were fixed on Cyrus Harding, and
he followed him, while the sailor marched behind them, little confident
as to the result of the experiment.

Arrived at the door, Harding and Pencroft made him take his place in
the lift, while Neb, Herbert, and Gideon Spilett waited for them before
Granite House. The lift descended, and in a few moments all were united
on the beach.

The settlers went a short distance from the stranger, so as to leave him
at liberty.

He then made a few steps toward the sea, and his look brightened with
extreme animation, but he did not make the slightest attempt to escape.
He was gazing at the little waves which, broken by the islet, rippled on
the sand.

"This is only the sea," observed Gideon Spilett, "and possibly it does
not inspire him with any wish to escape!"

"Yes," replied Harding, "we must take him to the plateau, on the border
of the forest. There the experiment will be more conclusive."

"Besides, he could not run away," said Neb, "since the bridge is
raised."

"Oh!" said Pencroft, "that isn't a man to be troubled by a stream like
Creek Glycerine! He could cross it directly, at a single bound!"

"We shall soon see," Harding contented himself with replying, his eyes
not quitting those of his patient.

The latter was then led towards the mouth of the Mercy, and all climbing
the left bank of the river, reached Prospect Heights.

Arrived at the spot on which grew the first beautiful trees of the
forest, their foliage slightly agitated by the breeze, the stranger
appeared greedily to drink in the penetrating odor which filled the
atmosphere, and a long sigh escaped from his chest.

The settlers kept behind him, ready to seize him if he made any movement
to escape!

And, indeed, the poor creature was on the point of springing into the
creek which separated him from the forest, and his legs were bent for an
instant as if for a spring, but almost immediately he stepped back, half
sank down, and a large tear fell from his eyes.

"Ah!" exclaimed Cyrus Harding, "you have become a man again, for you can
weep!"

Yes! the unfortunate man had wept! Some recollection doubtless had
flashed across his brain, and to use Cyrus Harding's expression, by
those tears he was once more a man.

The colonists left him for some time on the plateau, and withdrew
themselves to a short distance, so that he might feel himself free; but
he did not think of profiting by this liberty, and Harding soon brought
him back to Granite House. Two days after this occurrence, the stranger
appeared to wish gradually to mingle with their common life. He
evidently heard and understood, but no less evidently was he strangely
determined not to speak to the colonists; for one evening, Pencroft,
listening at the door of his room, heard these words escape from his
lips:—

"No! here! I! never!"

The sailor reported these words to his companions.

"There is some painful mystery there!" said Harding.

The stranger had begun to use the laboring tools, and he worked in the
garden. When he stopped in his work, as was often the case, he remained
retired within himself, but on the engineer's recommendation, they
respected the reserve which he apparently wished to keep. If one of the
settlers approached him, he drew back, and his chest heaved with sobs,
as if overburdened!

Was it remorse that overwhelmed him thus? They were compelled to believe
so, and Gideon Spilett could not help one day making this observation,—

"If he does not speak it is because he has, I fear, things too serious
to be told!"

They must be patient and wait.

A few days later, on the 3rd of November, the stranger, working on the
plateau, had stopped, letting his spade drop to the ground, and Harding,
who was observing him from a little distance, saw that tears were again
flowing from his eyes. A sort of irresistible pity led him towards the
unfortunate man, and he touched his arm lightly.

"My friend!" said he.

The stranger tried to avoid his look, and Cyrus Harding having
endeavored to take his hand, he drew back quickly.

"My friend," said Harding in a firmer voice, "look at me, I wish it!"

The stranger looked at the engineer, and seemed to be under his power,
as a subject under the influence of a mesmerist. He wished to run away.
But then his countenance suddenly underwent a transformation. His eyes
flashed. Words struggled to escape from his lips. He could no longer
contain himself! At last he folded his arms; then, in a hollow
voice,—"Who are you?" he asked Cyrus Harding.

"Castaways, like you," replied the engineer, whose emotion was deep. "We
have brought you here, among your fellow-men."

"My fellow-men!.... I have none!"

"You are in the midst of friends."

"Friends!—for me! friends!" exclaimed the stranger, hiding his face in
his hands. "No—never—leave me! leave me!"

Then he rushed to the side of the plateau which overlooked the sea, and
remained there a long time motionless.

Harding rejoined his companions and related to them what had just
happened.

"Yes! there is some mystery in that man's life," said Gideon Spilett,
"and it appears as if he had only re-entered society by the path of
remorse."

"I don't know what sort of a man we have brought here," said the sailor.
"He has secrets—"

"Which we will respect," interrupted Cyrus Harding quickly. "If he has
committed any crime, he has most fearfully expiated it, and in our eyes
he is absolved."

For two hours the stranger remained alone on the shore, evidently under
the influence of recollections which recalled all his past life—a
melancholy life doubtless—and the colonists, without losing sight of
him, did not attempt to disturb his solitude. However, after two hours,
appearing to have formed a resolution, he came to find Cyrus Harding.
His eyes were red with the tears he had shed, but he wept no longer.
His countenance expressed deep humility. He appeared anxious, timorous,
ashamed, and his eyes were constantly fixed on the ground.

"Sir," said he to Harding, "your companions and you, are you English?"

"No," answered the engineer, "we are Americans."

"Ah!" said the stranger, and he murmured, "I prefer that!"

"And you, my friend?" asked the engineer.

"English," replied he hastily.

And as if these few words had been difficult to say, he retreated to the
beach, where he walked up and down between the cascade and the mouth of
the Mercy, in a state of extreme agitation.

Then, passing one moment close to Herbert, he stopped and in a stifled
voice,—

"What month?" he asked.

"December," replied Herbert.

"What year?"

"1866."

"Twelve years! twelve years!" he exclaimed.

Then he left him abruptly.

Herbert reported to the colonists the questions and answers which had
been made.

"This unfortunate man," observed Gideon Spilett, "was no longer
acquainted with either months or years!"

"Yes!" added Herbert, "and he had been twelve years already on the islet
when we found him there!"

"Twelve years!" rejoined Harding. "Ah! twelve years of solitude, after a
wicked life, perhaps, may well impair a man's reason!"

"I am induced to think," said Pencroft, "that this man was not wrecked
on Tabor Island, but that in consequence of some crime he was left
there."

"You must be right, Pencroft," replied the reporter, "and if it is so
it is not impossible that those who left him on the island may return to
fetch him some day!"

"And they will no longer find him," said Herbert.

"But then," added Pencroft, "they must return, and—"

"My friends," said Cyrus Harding, "do not let us discuss this question
until we know more about it. I believe that the unhappy man has
suffered, that he has severely expiated his faults, whatever they may
have been, and that the wish to unburden himself stifles him. Do not let
us press him to tell us his history! He will tell it to us doubtless,
and when we know it, we shall see what course it will be best to follow.
He alone besides can tell us, if he has more than a hope, a certainty,
of returning some day to his country, but I doubt it!"

"And why?" asked the reporter.

"Because that, in the event of his being sure of being delivered at a
certain time, he would have waited the hour of his deliverance and would
not have thrown this document into the sea. No, it is more probable that
he was condemned to die on that islet, and that he never expected to see
his fellow-creatures again!"

"But," observed the sailor, "there is one thing which I cannot explain."

"What is it?"

"If this man had been left for twelve years on Tabor Island, one may
well suppose that he had been several years already in the wild state in
which we found him!"

"That is probable," replied Cyrus Harding.

"It must then be many years since he wrote that document!"

"No doubt," and yet the document appears to have been recently written!

"Besides, how do you know that the bottle which enclosed the document
may not have taken several years to come from Tabor Island to Lincoln
Island?"

"That is not absolutely impossible," replied the reporter.

"Might it not have been a long time already on the coast of the island?"

"No," answered Pencroft, "for it was still floating. We could not even
suppose that after it had stayed for any length of time on the shore, it
would have been swept off by the sea, for the south coast is all rocks,
and it would certainly have been smashed to pieces there!"

"That is true," rejoined Cyrus Harding thoughtfully.

"And then," continued the sailor, "if the document was several years
old, if it had been shut up in that bottle for several years, it would
have been injured by damp. Now, there is nothing of the kind, and it was
found in a perfect state of preservation."

The sailor's reasoning was very just, and pointed out an
incomprehensible fact, for the document appeared to have been recently
written, when the colonists found it in the bottle. Moreover, it gave
the latitude and longitude of Tabor Island correctly, which implied that
its author had a more complete knowledge of hydrography than could be
expected of a common sailor.

"There is in this, again, something unaccountable," said the engineer,
"but we will not urge our companion to speak. When he likes, my
friends, then we shall be ready to hear him!"

During the following days the stranger did not speak a word, and did not
once leave the precincts of the plateau. He worked away, without losing
a moment, without taking a minute's rest, but always in a retired place.
At meal times he never came to Granite House, although invited several
times to do so, but contented himself with eating a few raw vegetables.
At nightfall he did not return to the room assigned to him, but remained
under some clump of trees, or when the weather was bad crouched in some
cleft of the rocks. Thus he lived in the same manner as when he had no
other shelter than the forests of Tabor Island, and as all persuasion
to induce him to improve his life was in vain, the colonists
waited patiently. And the time was near, when, as it seemed, almost
involuntarily urged by his conscience, a terrible confession escaped
him.

On the 10th of November, about eight o'clock in the evening, as night
was coming on, the stranger appeared unexpectedly before the settlers,
who were assembled under the veranda. His eyes burned strangely, and he
had quite resumed the wild aspect of his worst days.

Cyrus Harding and his companions were astounded on seeing that, overcome
by some terrible emotion, his teeth chattered like those of a person
in a fever. What was the matter with him? Was the sight of his
fellow-creatures insupportable to him? Was he weary of this return to a
civilized mode of existence? Was he pining for his former savage
life? It appeared so, as soon he was heard to express himself in these
incoherent sentences:—

"Why am I here?.... By what right have you dragged me from my islet?....
Do you think there could be any tie between you and me?.... Do you know
who I am—what I have done—why I was there—alone? And who told
you that I was not abandoned there—that I was not condemned to die
there?.... Do you know my past?.... How do you know that I have not
stolen, murdered—that I am not a wretch—an accursed being—only fit to
live like a wild beast, far from all—speak—do you know it?"

The colonists listened without interrupting the miserable creature, from
whom these broken confessions escaped, as it were, in spite of himself.
Harding wishing to calm him, approached him, but he hastily drew back.