The Mysterious Island - Jules Verne (beach read .txt) 📗

“I think you’re wrong, Pencroff,” said Spilett, “the eucalyptus wood is beginning to be extensively used in cabinet work.”

“And I am sure,” added Herbert, “that it belongs to a most useful family,” and thereupon the young naturalist enumerated many species of the plant and their uses.

Everyone listened to the lad’s lesson in botany, Smith smiling, Pencroff with an indescribable pride. “That’s all very well, Herbert,” answered the sailor, “but I dare swear that of all these useful specimens none are as large as these!”

“That is so.”

“Then, that proves what I said,” replied the sailor, “that giants are good for nothing.”

“There’s where you are wrong, Pencroff,” said the engineer, “these very eucalypti are good for something.”

“For what?”

“To render the country healthy about them. Do you know what they call them in Australia and New Zealand?”

“No sir.”

“They call them ‘fever’ trees.”

“Because they give it?”

“No; because they prevent it!”

“Good. I shall make a note of that,” said the reporter.

“Note then, my dear Spilett, that it has been proved that the presence of these trees neutralizes marsh miasmas. They have tried this natural remedy in certain unhealthy parts of Europe, and northern Africa, with the best results. And there are no intermittent fevers in the region of these forests, which is a fortunate thing for us colonists of Lincoln Island.”

“What a blessed island!” cried Pencroff. “It would lack nothing⁠—if it was not⁠—”

“That will come, Pencroff, we will find it,” answered the reporter; “but now let us attend to our work and push on as far as we can get with the canoe.”

They continued on through the woods two miles further, the river becoming more winding, shallow, and so narrow that Pencroff pushed along with a pole. The sun was setting, and, as it would be impossible to pass in the darkness through the five or six miles of unknown woods which the engineer estimated lay between them and the coast, it was determined to camp wherever the canoe was obliged to stop.

They now pushed on without delay through the forest, which grew more dense, and seemed more inhabited, because, if the sailor’s eyes did not deceive him, he perceived troops of monkeys running among the underbrush. Sometimes, two or three of these animals would halt at a distance from the canoe and regard its occupants, as if, seeing men for the first time, they had not then learned to fear them. It would have been easy to have shot some of these quadrumanes, but Smith was opposed to the useless slaughter. Pencroff, however, looked upon the monkey from a gastronomic point of view, and, indeed, as these animals are entirely herberiferous, they make excellent game; but since provisions abounded, it was useless to waste the ammunition.

Towards four o’clock the navigation of the Mercy became very difficult, its course being obstructed by rocks and aquatic plants. The banks rose higher and higher, and, already, the bed of the stream was confined between the outer spurs of Mount Franklin. Its sources could not be far off, since the waters were fed by the southern watershed of that mountain.

“Before a quarter of an hour we will have to stop, sir,” said Pencroff.

“Well, then, we will make a camp for the night.”

“How far are we from Granite House?” asked Herbert.

“About seven miles, counting the bends of the river, which have taken us to the northwest.”

“Shall we keep on?” asked the reporter.

“Yes, as far as we can get,” answered the engineer. “Tomorrow, at daylight, we will leave the canoe, and traverse, in two hours I hope, the distance which separates us from the coast, and then we will have nearly the whole day in which to explore the shore.”

“Push on,” cried Pencroff.

Very soon the canoe grated on the stones at the bottom of the river, which was not more than twenty feet wide. A thick mass of verdure overhung and descended the stream, and they heard the noise of a waterfall, which indicated that some little distance further on there existed a natural barrier.

And, indeed, at the last turn in the river, they saw the cascade shining through the trees. The canoe scraped over the bottom and then grounded on a rock near the right bank.

It was five o’clock, and the level rays of the setting sun illuminated the little fall. Above, the Mercy, supplied from a secret source, was hidden by the bushes. The various streams together had made it a river, but here it was but a shallow, limpid brook.

They made camp in this lovely spot. Having disembarked, a fire was lighted under a group of micocouliers, in whose branches Smith and his companions could, if need be, find a refuge for the night.

Supper was soon finished, as they were very hungry, and then there was nothing to do but to go to sleep. But some suspicious growling being heard at nightfall, the fire was so arranged as to protect the sleepers by its flames. Neb and Pencroff kept it lit, and perhaps they were not mistaken in believing to have seen some moving shadows among the trees and bushes; but the night passed without accident, and the next day⁠—the 31st of October⁠—by five o’clock all were on foot ready for the start.

Going toward the coast⁠—Troops of monkeys⁠—A new watercourse⁠—Why the tide was not felt⁠—A forest on the shore⁠—Reptile promontory⁠—Spilett makes Herbert envious⁠—The bamboo fusilade.

It was six o’clock when the colonists, after an early breakfast, started with the intention of reaching the coast by the shortest route. Smith had estimated that it would take them two hours, but it must depend largely on the nature of the obstacles in the way. This part of the Far West was covered with trees, like an immense thicket composed of many different species. It was, therefore, probable that they would have to make a way with hatchets in hand⁠—and guns also, if they were to judge from the cries heard over night.

The exact position of the camp had been determined by