Chapter XXIV

At 7 o’clock the next morning the boat touched the shore at the mouth of the Mercy. Smith and Neb had climbed, at daylight, to Prospect Plateau, and had perceived the sloop in the distance.

“Thank Heaven! There they are,” exclaimed Smith.

The engineer and Neb were on the beach at the moment the sloop arrived, and Smith said:

“We have been very anxious about you, my friends. Did anything happen to you?”

“No, indeed; everything went finely,” replied Spilett. “We will tell you all about it.”

“Have you found that person?”

“Yes.”

“And brought him back?”

“Yes.”

“Living? Where is he, and what is he, then?”

“He is, or rather, he was a human being; and that is all, Cyrus, that we can say.”

The engineer was informed of everything that had happened.

“This poor man will not be incurable,” said the engineer. “Despair has made him what he is. But we will save him.”

The man was brought up from the cabin of the sloop. Smith approached him, laid his hand authoritatively upon his shoulder and looked at him with infinite tenderness. The poor wretch made no resistance.

“Poor shipwrecked sailor,” murmured the reporter.

It was decided that the Unknown, as his new companions called him, should stay in one of the rooms of Granite House, from which he could not escape.

“You expect to make him a man again?” asked the reporter.

“Yes,” replied Smith.

All began unloading the sloop; and the engineer examined the arms and tools, but found nothing to establish the identity of the Unknown.

The two barrels of powder and shot and the caps were a great acquisition, and it was determined to make a small powder magazine in the upper cavern of Granite House, where there would be no danger of an explosion.

Little by little the Unknown grew quieter, and was allowed to move about without restraint. Every day Smith worked beside him, and occupied himself in various ways to attract his attention. The poor creature was very calm and sad. At times the Unknown gave a sort of vague attention to what was said, and soon the colonists began to think that he partly understood them.

They followed with strong interest all the phases of this cure undertaken by Smith. All aided him in it.

The Unknown had begun to do some little chores, and to work in the garden. One day he was working on the plantation, when, of a sudden, he stopped and let his spade fall, and Smith, who was watching him from a distance, saw that he was weeping. The engineer touching the poor fellow’s arm lightly

“My friend,” said Smith, with decision, “I wish you to look at me.”

The Unknown obeyed, raising his eyes. Suddenly he crossed his arms, and said in a hollow voice:

“Who are you?”

“Men shipwrecked, as you have been,” replied the engineer. “We have brought you here. You are among friends…”

“Friends! I! Friends!” cried the Unknown, hiding his face in his hands. “Oh, no! Never! Leave me! Leave me!” and he rushed to the brink of the plateau, and stood there, motionless, for a long time.

Smith had rejoined his companions and had related to them what had happened.

“There certainly is a mystery in this man’s life,” said Spilett.

“I don’t understand what kind of a man we have brought back,” said the sailor. “He has secrets…”

“Which we will respect,” answered the engineer, quickly.

For two hours the Unknown remained upon the shore, then he returned to the engineer. His eyes were red with tears, and his face wore an expression of deep humility.

“Sir,” said he, “are you and your companions English?”

“No,” replied Smith, “we are Americans.”

“Ah!” murmured the Unknown, “I am glad of that.”

“And what are you, my friend?” asked the engineer.

“English,” he responded. He rushed to the shore in a state of extreme agitation.

One day he met Herbert and accosted him:

“What month is it?”

“November,” replied the lad.

“And what year?”

“1866.”

“Twelve years! Twelve years!” he cried, and then turned quickly away.

Herbert related this incident to the others.

“The poor creature had been on the island for twelve years,” remarked Spilett.

“Twelve years,” said Smith. “Twelve years of isolation!”

“I am sure,” observed Pencroff, “that this man was not wrecked on that island, but that he has been left there for some crime.

“You may be right, Pencroff,” replied the reporter, “and if that is the case, his companions may return for him some day.”

“Do not let us urge our new companion to speak,” said the engineer. “When he wishes it we will be ready to listen.”

Chapter XXV

What was the mystery of the Unknown’s life? Will he speak of it someday? For some days everything went on as usual. Smith and Spilett worked together, sometimes as chemists, sometimes as physicists. As to Neb and Pencroff, the work in the stables and poultry-yard, or at the corral, kept them busy.

The Unknown worked apart from the others. It seemed, indeed, as if the society of those who had saved him was intolerable.

“But why, then,” asked Pencroff, “did he throw this paper in the sea?”

“He will tell us everything,” was Smith’s answer.

“But when?”

“Perhaps sooner than you think, Pencroff.”

And, indeed, on the 10th of December, the Unknown accosted the engineer and in a quiet humble voice said:

“Sir, I have a request to make.”

“What is it?”

“You have, four or five miles from here, at the foot of the mountain, a corral for your animals. Will you permit me to live over there with them?”

“My friend,” said Smith, “the corral has nothing but sheds, only fit for the animals.”

“It will be good enough for me, sir.”

When Smith had told his companions of this proposition, they decided to build a log house at the corral, and to make it as comfortable as possible. On the 20th of December everything was prepared at the corral, and the engineer told the Unknown that his house was ready for him.

The same evening, the colonists were all together in the great hall of Granite House. It was 8 o’clock, the time of their companion’s departure. They had been conversing together in the hall for some minutes, when there was a light knock on the door, the Unknown entered, and said, without further introduction:

“Before I leave you, sirs, said he, I want to tell you my story. This is it.”

The engineer started up.

“My friend,” he said. “It is your right to be silent.”

“It is my duty to speak.”

“Then sit down.”

“I will stand where I am.”

“We are ready to hear what you will say,” said Smith.

“My name is Ayrton, I am a Scottish seaman. I served as quartermaster on board of the three-mast ship Brittania, under the command of Captain Grant. Due to differing opinions and extreme disputes with Grant, I was being expelled from the ship. I began a life of crime, becoming a cunning robber and eventually a notorious gang leader under the name of Ben Joyce. Then I became a pirate leader as well, and took advantage of an opportunity supplied by the arrival of noble Lord Glenarvan’s expedition. I wanted to kill Glenarvan and take his ship, the Duncan. But my evil plans were destroyed. So I was marooned as a castaway on the desolate Tabor Island. I was left there for an indefinite period so as to expiate for my crimes. Lord Glenarvan told me: “Here, Ayrton, you will be far from any country, and without any possible means of communicating with your fellow men. You will not be able to leave this island. You will be alone, under the eye of a God who looks into the depths of our hearts. But you will be remembered. I know where you are, Ayrton, and I know where to find you. I will never forget it”. This was the 18th of March, 1855. Sirs, I was ashamed of my crimes, and I was very unhappy. How I suffered! How I prayed to regenerate myself by prayer! Little by little I became a savage! At last I became the miserable being whom you found.”

Smith and his companions were deeply affected. Such misery, such grief, and such despair!

“Ayrton,” said Smith, “you have been a great criminal, but Heaven has, doubtless, witnessed the expiation of your crimes. Ayrton, you are pardoned! And now, will you be our companion? Here is my hand.”

Ayrton darted forward and seized it, great tears streaming from his eyes.

“Do you desire to live with us?” asked Smith.

“Oh, Mr. Smith, let me have yet a little time,” he answered, “let me remain alone in the house at the corral!”

“Do as you wish, Ayrton,” responded Smith.

The unhappy man was about retiring, when Smith asked him a last question.

“One word more, my friend. Since it is your wish to live in solitude, why did you throw the paper into the sea?”

“A paper?” answered Ayrton, who seemed not to understand what was said.

“Yes, that paper, which we found enclosed in a bottle, and which gave the exact situation of Tabor Island?”

The man put his hand to his forehead, and, after some reflection, said:

“I never threw any paper into the sea!”

“Never!” cried Pencroff.

“Never!”

And then Ayrton left the room.