“You had a lens, sir?” Harbert asked Cyrus Smith.
“No, my child,” he replied, “but I made one.”
And he showed him the apparatus that he had used as a magnifying glass. It was simply two glass crystals that he had removed from his watch and the reporter’s. After filling them with water and sealing their edges by means of a little clay, he had thus manufactured a real lens which, concentrating the sun’s rays on some very dry moss, produced combustion.
The sailor examined the apparatus, then he looked at the engineer without saying a word although his look spoke volumes. Yes, as far as he was concerned, if Cyrus Smith was not a god, he was assuredly more than a mere man. His speech finally returned, and he shouted:
“Note that, Mr. Spilett, note that in your book!”
“It’s noted,” replied the reporter.
Then, with Neb helping, the sailor arranged the spit, and the capybara, properly dressed, was soon roasting like a suckling pig over a bright and sparkling flame.
The Chimneys once more became habitable, not only because the corridors were warmed by the fire from the hearth but also because the partitions of stones and sand were once again put in place.
The engineer and his companion had employed their day well. Cyrus Smith had almost completely recovered his strength which he tested by climbing to the upper plateau. From this point, his eye, accustomed to evaluating heights and distances, had gazed for several minutes at the mountain whose summit he wanted to reach the next day. The mountain, situated about six miles to the northwest, appeared to him to measure 3500 feet above sea level. Consequently, an observer posted at the summit would be able to see the surrounding area with a radius of at least fifty miles. It was probable that Cyrus Smith would easily resolve this question of “continent or island” which he justifiably gave precedence over all others.
They ate in style. The cabybara meat was excellent, and the seaweed and pine kernel almonds completed the meal admirably. But the engineer spoke little. He was preoccupied with the next day’s projects.
Once or twice, Pencroff mentioned some ideas about things it would be convenient to make, but Cyrus Smith, who evidently had a methodical mind, only shook his head.
“Tomorrow,” he repeated, “we’ll know what we’re up against, and we’ll act accordingly.”
The meal finished, some additional armfuls of wood were thrown on the fire and the guests of the Chimneys, including the faithful Top, fell into a deep sleep. No incident disturbed this peaceful night, and the next day, March 29th, they woke up fresh and hearty, ready to undertake this excursion which would decide their fate.
All was ready for the departure. The remains of the capybara would provide nourishment for Cyrus Smith and his companions for the next twenty four hours. Besides, they hoped to find provisions along the way. Since the glass crystals were now back on the engineer’s and the reporter’s watches, Pencroff burnt a little linen to serve as tinder. As to flint, there would be no shortage of that on terrain that was of volcanic origin.
It was seven thirty in the morning when the explorers, armed with clubs, left the Chimneys. Following Pencroff’s advice, it seemed best to take the road already used through the forest and to use another route on the return trip. It was also the most direct way to reach the mountain. They turned the south corner and followed the left bank of the river which they then left at the point where it curved toward the southwest. The footpath, already frayed under the green trees, was found and, at nine o’clock, Cyrus Smith and his companions reached the western edge of the forest. The ground, which was not too hilly up to that point, marshy at first, dry and sandy later, gradually sloped upward as they went from the coast toward the interior. Several fleeing animals had been glimpsed in the forest. Top promptly began to chase them, but his master immediately called him back because the time had not come to pursue them. Later they would see. The engineer was not a man to let himself be distracted from his goal. He did not observe the country, neither its physical features nor its natural flora. His only objective was this mountain which he aspired to climb, and he made straight for it.
At ten o’clock, they halted for a few minutes. On leaving the forest, they could now see the orographical nature of the region.1 The mountain was composed of two cones. The first, truncated at a height of about 2500 feet, was supported by winding foothills which seemed to spread out like immense claws gripping the ground. Between these foothills were narrow valleys, bristling with trees, the latter rising in clusters up to truncated summit. However, the vegetation seemed less abundant on the side of the mountain exposed to the northeast, and they could see there deep stripes made by flowing lava.
A second cone rested on the first cone, slightly rounded at the top, standing a bit askew. It was like a large hat cocked over the ear. It seemed to be formed of bare terrain punctuated in many spots by reddish rocks.
They agreed to reach the summit of the second cone and the ridge of the foothills offered the best way to get there.
“We’re on volcanic terrain,” said Cyrus Smith. His companions, following him, began to climb little by little up the side of a foothill whose winding path ended at the first plateau.
The ground was irregular and there was evidence of much volcanic activity. Random blocks, basaltic debris, pumice rocks, and volcanic glass were strewn all about. Several hundred feet below grew conifers, in thick isolated clusters, at the bottom of narrow gorges scarcely touched by the sun’s rays.
During the first part of this climb on the lower slopes, Harbert saw prints which indicated the recent passage of large animals.
“Perhaps these beasts won’t willingly give up their territory to us,” said Pencroff.
“Well,” replied the reporter, who had already hunted tigers in India and lions in Africa, “we’ll see about getting rid of them but, in the meantime, we must be on our guard.”
They gradually went higher. The route was long, made longer by the many detours and obstacles that could not be crossed directly. Also, at times, the ground suddenly fell away, and they found themselves at the edge of deep crevices that had to be skirted. Continually having to retrace their steps in order to find a more negotiable path took much time and energy. At noon, when the small troupe halted for lunch at the foot of a large cluster of spruce trees near a cascading brook, they found themselves still only half way to the first plateau, which they would not reach till nightfall.
The climbers struggled up a steep slope.
From this altitude, the sea’s horizon was much broader but, on the right, their view was blocked by a sharp promontory in the southeast, and they could not determine whether the coastline was connected to some land beyond. To the left, their line of sight extended several miles to the north; but their view to the northwest was cut off by the ridge of an unusually-shaped spur which formed a powerful abutment to the central cone. They were still, thus, unable to answer the question that Cyrus Smith wanted above all to resolve.
At one o’clock, the climb was resumed. It was necessary to angle toward the southwest and move once again through thick brushwood. There, under the cover of the trees, several pairs of gallinules2 of the pheasant family were flying about. They were “tragopans,”3 adorned by fleshy wattles which hang from their throats and by two slender cylindrical horns set behind their eyes. Among this species, which are the size of a rooster, the female is uniformly brown while the male glitters in his red plumage sprinkled with small white teardrop shapes. Gideon Spilett, with a stone thrown skillfully and vigorously, killed one of these tragopans which Pencroff, now hungry, could not look at without coveting.
Upon leaving the brushwood, the climbers, by mounting on each other’s shoulders, struggled up a steep hundred foot