Читать книгу Таинственный остров / Mysterious Island - Жюль Верн, Жуль Верн - Страница 9

Neb did not move. The sailor uttered one word.

“Alive?” he cried.

Neb did not answer. Spilett and Pencroff turned pale[35]. Herbert stood motionless. But it was evident that the poor servant, overcome by grief, had not heard the voice of the sailor.

The reporter knelt down beside the motionless body, and pressed his ear to the chest of the engineer. Then he tried to detect some movement of the heart.

Neb was hardly recognizable. He believed his master dead. Gideon Spilett, however, after a long and attentive examination, rose up.

“He lives!” he said.

Pencroff, in his turn[36], knelt down beside Cyrus Smith; he also detected some heartbeats. Herbert hurried in search of water. A hundred paces off he found a clear brook; so the lad soaked his handkerchief in the stream, and hastened back with it to the cave.

The drops of fresh water produced an instantaneous effect. A sigh escaped from the breast of Smith.

“We will save him,” said the reporter.

Neb removed the clothing from his master to see if his body was wounded anywhere. But neither on his head nor body nor limbs was there a bruise or even a scratch. That was an astonishing circumstance.

“You thought he was dead?” asked the sailor Neb.

“Yes, I thought so,” answered Neb. “And if Top had not found you and brought you back, I would have buried my master and died beside him.”

Then Neb told them what had happened. The day before, Neb had followed along the coast in a direction due north, until he reached that part of the beach. There he searched the shore, the rocks, the sand for any marks that could guide him. He did not hope to find his master living. Then he decided to continue some miles further up the coast. It was possible that the currents had carried the body to some distant point. He followed the shore two miles further, hardly hoping to find anything, when yesterday evening, about 5 o’clock, he discovered footprints upon the sand.

“Footprints?!” cried Pencroff.

“Yes, sir,” replied Neb.

“And did they begin at the water?” demanded the reporter.

“No,” answered Neb, “above high-water mark; below that the tide had washed out the others. The sight of these footprints made me wild with joy. They went towards the downs. I followed them for a quarter of an hour. Five minutes later, as it was growing dark, I heard a dog bark. It was Top. And he brought me here, to my master.”

“So you, Neb,” said the reporter, “did not bring your master to this place?”

“No, it was not I,” answered Neb.

They must wait for the solution of the mystery until the engineer could speak. It was therefore the unanimous opinion that Cyrus Smith must be carried to the Chimneys as soon as possible.

Soon the engineer opened his eyes. Neb and the reporter were leaning over him.

“My master! My master!” cried Neb.

The engineer heard him. He recognized Neb and his companions.

“Is it an island or a continent?” he murmured.

“What the devil do we care[37],” cried Pencroff, unable to restrain the exclamation, “now that you are alive, sir. Island or continent? We will find that out later.”

The engineer seemed to sleep. The sailor was repeating:

“Island or continent! To think of that! What a man!”

Pencroff and his companions constructed a litter, which they covered with leaves and grass. This work occupied some little time, and it was 10 o’clock when the three returned to Smith and Spilett.

The engineer had just wakened from the sleep. The color had come back to his lips. He raised himself slightly, and looked about.

“Well,” said the sailor, “Mr. Smith, your litter is ready, and we will carry you to our house.”

“Thanks, my friend,” replied the engineer. “In an hour or two we will go.”

The reporter related everything that had happened.

“But,” asked Smith, in a feeble voice, “You did not pick me up on the beach?”

“No,” replied the reporter.

“And it was not you who brought me to this hollow?”

“No.”

“How far is this place from the reef?”

“At least half a mile,” replied Pencroff. “And we are very surprised to find you here. But cannot you remember anything that happened after you were washed away by the sea?”

Cyrus Smith tried to think, but he remembered little. The wave had swept him from the net of the balloon. Then Top had sprung to his rescue. Smith found himself in the midst of the tumultuous sea, more than half a mile from shore. He swum vigorously against the waves, and Top sustained him by his garments; but a strong current seized him, carrying him to the north, and, after struggling for half an hour, he sank, dragging the dog with him into the abyss. From that moment he remembered nothing.

“It’s strange,” said the reporter. “If someone had rescued you from the waves, why should he then have abandoned you?”

“That is inexplicable.”

Towards noon, Pencroff asked Smith if he felt strong enough to be carried. Eight miles had to be travelled, and the wind was still strong, but, fortunately, it had ceased raining. At half past 5 the little party reached the Chimneys.