Cyrus Smith and Gideon Spilett knew each other only by reputation[14], but the two soon learned to appreciate each other.
Cyrus Smith had a devoted servant. This man was black, born of slave parents, whom Smith had freed. But the servant had no desire to leave his master, for whom he would have given his life. He was a man of thirty years, vigorous, agile, adroit, intelligent, quick, and self-possessed, sometimes ingenuous, always smiling, ready and honest. He was named Nebuchadnezzar[15], but he answered to the nickname of Neb.
All these people were in Richmond[16], and it was very difficult to get out. Nothing indicated an early release to the prisoners. The reporter had but one idea; to get out of Richmond at any risk. Many times, indeed, he tried the experiment, and was stopped by obstacles.
Meanwhile, the siege continued, and the prisoners were anxious to escape in order to join the army of Grant[17]; and among these was a certain Jonathan Forster[18], who was a violent Southerner. This Jonathan Forster had conceived the idea of passing over the lines of the besiegers in a balloon.
So a balloon was made and placed at the disposal of Forster and five of his companions. They were provided with arms and food. The departure of the balloon had been fixed for the 18th of March. However, on the morning of the 18th the tempest broke forth.
The balloon, inflated in the great square of Richmond, was all ready, but the weather was terrible. The night of the 19th and 20th passed, but the storm only developed in intensity, and departure was impossible.
On that day Cyrus Smith in one of the streets of Richmond met a man whom he did not know. It was a sailor named Pencroff[19], aged from thirty-five to forty years, strongly built, much sun-burnt, his eyes bright and glittering. This Pencroff had sailed every sea, and had experienced every kind of extraordinary adventure that a man could encounter. It is needless to say that he was of an adventurous nature. Pencroff, in the early part of this year, had come to Richmond on business, having with him Herbert Brown[20], of New Jersey[21], a lad fifteen years old, the son of Pencroff’s captain, and an orphan whom he loved as his own child. He also had but one idea: to get out. He did not hesitate to address Mr. Smith without ceremony:
“Mr. Smith, have you had enough of[22] Richmond?”
The engineer looked fixedly at the man who spoke thus, and who added in a low voice:
“Mr. Smith, do you want to escape?”
“How?” answered the engineer, quickly. “Who are you?” he demanded, in a cold voice.
Pencroff made himself known[23].
“Well,” replied Smith. “And by what means do you propose to escape?”
“By this idle balloon which is doing nothing, and is ready to take us!”
The engineer seized Pencroff by the arm and hurried him to his house. There the sailor explained his project, which, in truth, was simple enough. They risked only their lives in carrying it out. The storm was terrible, it is true; but a skilful and daring engineer like Smith would know well how to manage a balloon. He had seen many storms and he thought nothing of them.
Cyrus Smith listened to the sailor without saying a word, with glistening eyes. This was the opportunity! The project was very dangerous, but it could be accomplished. During the night, in spite of the guards, they might reach the balloon, creep into the basket, and then cut the lines which held it!
“I am not alone,” said Smith.
“How many would you want to take?” demanded the sailor.
“Two; my friend Spilett, and my man Neb.”
“That would be three,” replied Pencroff; “and, with Herbert and myself, five. Well, the balloon can carry six.”
“Very well. We will go!” said the engineer.
“Tonight, then,” said Pencroff.
“Tonight, at ten o’clock,” replied Smith.
Pencroff returned to his lodging, where he found young Herbert Brown. This brave boy knew the plans of the sailor, and he was ready to go with him.
The storm did not abate, the journey would be terrible. The engineer feared but one thing; that the balloon, held to the ground and beaten down under the wind, would be torn into a thousand pieces.
Evening arrived. Thick masses of fog passed like clouds low down over the earth. Rain mingled with snow fell. The weather was cold. A sort of mist enveloped Richmond. The streets of the city were deserted; it had not even seemed necessary, in such weather, to guard the square in which swung the balloon. Everything favored the departure of the prisoners!
“Bad weather,” said Pencroff, holding his hat, which the wind was trying to take off, firmly to his head.
At half past 9, Cyrus Smith and his companions came together at the basket. They had not been discovered. Without saying a word, four of them took their places in it, while Pencroff, under the direction of the engineer, unfastened the bundles of ballast. It took but a few moments, and then the sailor joined his companions. Then, a dog leaped with a bound into the basket. It was Top, the dog of the engineer, who had followed his master.
The storm burst upon them with frightful violence. The engineer did not dare to descend during the night. It was not until five days later that the breaking of the clouds enabled them to see the vast sea extending below them.
So of these five men, who started on the 20th of March, four were thrown, four days later, on a desert coast, more than 6,000 miles from this country. And the one who was missing was their leader, Cyrus Smith.
Chapter III
The engineer had been swept away by a wave. His dog had disappeared at the same time. The faithful animal tried to rescue its master.
“Forward!” cried the reporter, and all four, forgetting weakness and fatigue, began their search. Poor Neb wept with grief and despair. But Smith’s companions hoped to find him.
“Look for him!” cried Neb.
“Yes, Neb, and we will find him,” replied Spilett.
“Alive?”
“Alive!”
“Can he swim?” demanded Pencroff.
“Oh, yes”, responded Neb. “And, besides, Top is with him.”
The sailor, looking at the roaring sea, shook his head.
It was nearly 6 o’clock. The fog had risen and made the night very dark. The men went northward along the shore of that land upon which chance had thrown them. A land unknown, whose geographical situation they could not guess. They walked upon a sandy soil, mixed with stones. The little party was searching all the windings of the shore.
After a walk of twenty minutes the four men were suddenly stopped by a rock. They found themselves upon the extremity of a sharp point upon which the sea broke with fury.
“This is a promontory,” said the sailor, “we must turn back.”
“But if he is there!” cried Neb, pointing towards the ocean.
“Well, let us call again.”
And all together, uniting their voices, they uttered a vigorous cry, but without response. They waited, and tried once more. And again there was no answer.
Then they turned back, following the opposite side of the promontory over ground equally sandy and rocky. However, Pencroff observed that the shore was bold there, and the birds were less numerous.
But by following this direction they were walking towards the south, which was going away from that place where Smith had landed. Soon they found themselves again arrested by the sea, upon a high promontory of slippery rocks.
“We are on an island,” exclaimed Pencroff.
The words of the sailor were true. The castaways had been thrown, not upon a continent, but upon an island not more than two miles long.