《The Mysterious Island 神秘岛》Book 2 Chapter 16（在线收听）

Yes! the unfortunate man had wept! Some recollection doubtless had flashed across his brain, and to use Cyrus Harding's expression, by those tears he was once more a man.

The colonists left him for some time on the plateau, and withdrew themselves to a short distance, so that he might feel himself free; but he did not think of profiting by this liberty, and Harding soon brought him back to Granite House. Two days after this occurrence, the stranger appeared to wish gradually to mingle with their common life. He evidently heard and understood, but no less evidently was he strangely determined not to speak to the colonists; for one evening, Pencroft, listening at the door of his room, heard these words escape from his lips:--

"No! here! I! never!"

The sailor reported these words to his companions.

"There is some painful mystery there!" said Harding.

The stranger had begun to use the laboring tools, and he worked in the garden. When he stopped in his work, as was often the case, he remained retired within himself, but on the engineer's recommendation, they respected the reserve which he apparently wished to keep. If one of the settlers approached him, he drew back, and his chest heaved with sobs, as if overburdened!

Was it remorse that overwhelmed him thus? They were compelled to believe so, and Gideon Spilett could not help one day making this observation,--

"If he does not speak it is because he has, I fear, things too serious to be told!"

They must be patient and wait.

A few days later, on the 3rd of November, the stranger, working on the plateau, had stopped, letting his spade drop to the ground, and Harding, who was observing him from a little distance, saw that tears were again flowing from his eyes. A sort of irresistible pity led him towards the unfortunate man, and he touched his arm lightly.

"My friend!" said he.

The stranger tried to avoid his look, and Cyrus Harding having endeavored to take his hand, he drew back quickly.

"My friend," said Harding in a firmer voice, "look at me, I wish it!"

The stranger looked at the engineer, and seemed to be under his power, as a subject under the influence of a mesmerist. He wished to run away. But then his countenance suddenly underwent a transformation. His eyes flashed. Words struggled to escape from his lips. He could no longer contain himself! At last he folded his arms; then, in a hollow voice,--"Who are you?" he asked Cyrus Harding.

"Castaways, like you," replied the engineer, whose emotion was deep. "We have brought you here, among your fellow-men."

"My fellow-men!. . . . I have none!"

"You are in the midst of friends."

"Friends!--for me! friends!" exclaimed the stranger, hiding his face in his hands. "No--never--leave me! leave me!"

Then he rushed to the side of the plateau which overlooked the sea, and remained there a long time motionless.

Harding rejoined his companions and related to them what had just happened.

"Yes! there is some mystery in that man's life," said Gideon Spilett, "and it appears as if he had only re-entered society by the path of remorse."

"I don't know what sort of a man we have brought here," said the sailor. "He has secrets--"

"Which we will respect," interrupted Cyrus Harding quickly. "If he has committed any crime, he has most fearfully expiated it, and in our eyes he is absolved."

For two hours the stranger remained alone on the shore, evidently under the influence of recollections which recalled all his past life--a melancholy life doubtless--and the colonists, without losing sight of him, did not attempt to disturb his solitude. However, after two hours, appearing to have formed a resolution, he came to find Cyrus Harding. His eyes were red with the tears he had shed, but he wept no longer. His countenance expressed deep humility. He appeared anxious, timorous, ashamed, and his eyes were constantly fixed on the ground.

"Sir," said he to Harding, "your companions and you, are you English?"

"No," answered the engineer, "we are Americans."

"Ah!" said the stranger, and he murmured, "I prefer that!"

"And you, my friend?" asked the engineer.

"English," replied he hastily.

And as if these few words had been difficult to say, he retreated to the beach, where he walked up and down between the cascade and the mouth of the Mercy, in a state of extreme agitation.

Then, passing one moment close to Herbert, he stopped and in a stifled voice,--

"What month?" he asked.

"December," replied Herbert.

"What year?"

"1866."

"Twelve years! twelve years!" he exclaimed.

Then he left him abruptly.

Herbert reported to the colonists the questions and answers which had been made.

"This unfortunate man," observed Gideon Spilett, "was no longer acquainted with either months or years!"

"Yes!" added Herbert, "and he had been twelve years already on the islet when we found him there!"

"Twelve years!" rejoined Harding. "Ah! twelve years of solitude, after a wicked life, perhaps, may well impair a man's reason!"

"I am induced to think," said Pencroft, "that this man was not wrecked on Tabor Island, but that in consequence of some crime he was left there."

"You must be right, Pencroft," replied the reporter, "and if it is so it is not impossible that those who left him on the island may return to fetch him some day!"

"And they will no longer find him," said Herbert.

"But then," added Pencroft, "they must return, and--"

"My friends," said Cyrus Harding, "do not let us discuss this question until we know more about it. I believe that the unhappy man has suffered, that he has severely expiated his faults, whatever they may have been, and that the wish to unburden himself stifles him. Do not let us press him to tell us his history! He will tell it to us doubtless, and when we know it, we shall see what course it will be best to follow. He alone besides can tell us, if he has more than a hope, a certainty, of returning some day to his country, but I doubt it!"

"And why?" asked the reporter.

"Because that, in the event of his being sure of being delivered at a certain time, he would have waited the hour of his deliverance and would not have thrown this document into the sea. No, it is more probable that he was condemned to die on that islet, and that he never expected to see his fellow-creatures again!"

"But," observed the sailor, "there is one thing which I cannot explain."

"What is it?"

"If this man had been left for twelve years on Tabor Island, one may well suppose that he had been several years already in the wild state in which we found him!"

"That is probable," replied Cyrus Harding.

"It must then be many years since he wrote that document!"

"No doubt," and yet the document appears to have been recently written!

"Besides, how do you know that the bottle which enclosed the document may not have taken several years to come from Tabor Island to Lincoln Island?"

"That is not absolutely impossible," replied the reporter.

"Might it not have been a long time already on the coast of the island?"

"No," answered Pencroft, "for it was still floating. We could not even suppose that after it had stayed for any length of time on the shore, it would have been swept off by the sea, for the south coast is all rocks, and it would certainly have been smashed to pieces there!"

"That is true," rejoined Cyrus Harding thoughtfully.

"And then," continued the sailor, "if the document was several years old, if it had been shut up in that bottle for several years, it would have been injured by damp. Now, there is nothing of the kind, and it was found in a perfect state of preservation."

The sailor's reasoning was very just, and pointed out an incomprehensible fact, for the document appeared to have been recently written, when the colonists found it in the bottle. Moreover, it gave the latitude and longitude of Tabor Island correctly, which implied that its author had a more complete knowledge of hydrography than could be expected of a common sailor.

"There is in this, again, something unaccountable," said the engineer, "but we will not urge our companions to speak. When he likes, my friends, then we shall be ready to hear him!"

During the following days the stranger did not speak a word, and did not once leave the precincts of the plateau. He worked away, without losing a moment, without taking a minute's rest, but always in a retired place. At meal times he never came to Granite House, although invited several times to do so, but contented himself with eating a few raw vegetables. At nightfall he did not return to the room assigned to him, but remained under some clump of trees, or when the weather was bad crouched in some cleft of the rocks. Thus he lived in the same manner as when he had no other shelter than the forests of Tabor Island, and as all persuasion to induce him to improve his life was in vain, the colonists waited patiently. And the time was near, when, as it seemed, almost involuntarily urged by his conscience, a terrible confession escaped him.

On the 10th of November, about eight o'clock in the evening, as night was coming on, the stranger appeared unexpectedly before the settlers, who were assembled under the veranda. His eyes burned strangely, and he had quite resumed the wild aspect of his worst days.

Cyrus Harding and his companions were astounded on seeing that, overcome by some terrible emotion, his teeth chattered like those of a person in a fever. What was the matter with him? Was the sight of his fellow-creatures insupportable to him? Was he weary of this return to a civilized mode of existence? Was he pining for his former savage life? It appeared so, as soon he was heard to express himself in these incoherent sentences:--

"Why am I here?.... By what right have you dragged me from my islet?.... Do you think there could be any tie between you and me?.... Do you know who I am--what I have done--why I was there--alone? And who told you that I was not abandoned there--that I was not condemned to die there?.... Do you know my past?.... How do you know that I have not stolen, murdered--that I am not a wretch--an accursed being--only fit to live like a wild beast, far from all--speak--do you know it?"

The colonists listened without interrupting the miserable creature, from whom these broken confessions escaped, as it were, in spite of himself. Harding wishing to calm him, approached him, but he hastily drew back.

"No! no!" he exclaimed; "one word only--am I free?"

"You are free," answered the engineer.

"Farewell, then!" he cried, and fled like a madman.

Neb, Pencroft, and Herbert ran also towards the edge of the wood--but they returned alone.

"We must let him alone!" said Cyrus Harding.

"He will never come back!" exclaimed Pencroft.

"He will come back," replied the engineer.

Many days passed; but Harding--was it a sort of presentiment? --presentiment in the fixed idea that sooner or later the unhappy man would return.

"It is the last revolt of his wild nature," said he, "which remorse has touched, and which renewed solitude will terrify."

In the meanwhile, works of all sorts were continued, as well on Prospect Heights as at the corral, where Harding intended to build a farm. It is unnecessary to say that the seeds collected by Herbert on Tabor Island had been carefully sown. The plateau thus formed one immense kitchen-garden, well laid out and carefully tended, so that the arms of the settlers were never in want of work. There was always something to be done. As the esculents increased in number, it became necessary to enlarge the simple beds, which threatened to grow into regular fields and replace the meadows. But grass abounded in other parts of the island, and there was no fear of the onagers being obliged to go on short allowance. It was well worth while, besides, to turn Prospect Heights into a kitchen-garden, defended by its deep belt of creeks, and to remove them to the meadows, which had no need of protection against the depredations of quadrumana and quadrapeds.

On the 15th of November, the third harvest was gathered in. How wonderfully had the field increased in extent, since eighteen months ago, when the first grain of wheat was sown! The second crop of six hundred thousand grains produced this time four thousand bushels, or five hundred millions of grains!

The colony was rich in corn, for ten bushels alone were sufficient for sowing every year to produce an ample crop for the food both of men and beasts. The harvest was completed, and the last fortnight of the month of November was devoted to the work of converting it into food for man. In fact, they had corn, but not flour, and the establishment of a mill was necessary. Cyrus Harding could have utilized the second fall which flowed into the Mercy to establish his motive power, the first being already occupied with moving the felting mill, but, after some consultation, it was decided that a simple windmill should be built on Prospect Heights. The building of this presented no more difficulty than the building of the former, and it was moreover certain that there would be no want of wind on the plateau, exposed as it was to the sea breezes.

"Not to mention," said Pencroft, "that the windmill will be more lively and will have a good effect in the landscape!"

They set to work by choosing timber for the frame and machinery of the mill. Some large stones, found at the north of the lake, could be easily transformed into millstones, and as to the sails, the inexhaustible case of the balloon furnished the necessary material.

Cyrus Harding made his model, and the site of the mill was chosen a little to the right of the poultry-yard, near the shore of the lake. The frame was to rest on a pivot supported with strong timbers, so that it could turn with all the machinery it contained according as the wind required it. The work advanced rapidly. Neb and Pencroft had become very skilful carpenters, and had nothing to do but to copy the models provided by the engineer.

Soon a sort of cylindrical box, in shape like a pepper-pot, with a pointed roof, rose on the spot chosen. The four frames which formed the sails had been firmly fixed in the center beam, so as to form a certain angle with it, and secured with iron clamps. As to the different parts of the internal mechanism, the box destined to contain the two millstones, the fixed stone and the moving stone, the hopper, a sort of large square trough, wide at the top, narrow at the bottom, which would allow the grain to fall on the stones, the oscillating spout intended to regulate the passing of the grain, and lastly the bolting machine, which by the operation of sifting, separates the bran from the flour, were made without difficulty. The tools were good, and the work not difficult, for in reality, the machinery of a mill is very simple. This was only a question of time.

Every one had worked at the construction of the mill, and on the 1st of December it was finished. As usual, Pencroft was delighted with his work, and had no doubt that the apparatus was perfect.

"Now for a good wind," said he, "and we shall grind our first harvest splendidly!"

"A good wind, certainly," answered the engineer, "but not too much, Pencroft."

"Pooh! our mill would only go the faster!"

"There is no need for it to go so very fast," replied Cyrus Harding. "It is known by experience that the greatest quantity of work is performed by a mill when the number of turns made by the sails in a minute is six times the number of feet traversed by the wind in a second. A moderate breeze, which passes over twenty-four feet to the second, will give sixteen turns to the sails during a minute, and there is no need of more."

"Exactly!" cried Herbert, "a fine breeze is blowing from the northeast, which will soon do our business for us."

There was no reason for delaying the inauguration of the mill, for the settlers were eager to taste the first piece of bread in Lincoln Island. On this morning two or three bushels of wheat were ground, and the next day at breakfast a magnificent loaf, a little heavy perhaps, although raised with yeast, appeared on the table at Granite House. Every one munched away at it with a pleasure which may be easily understood.

In the meanwhile, the stranger had not reappeared. Several times Gideon Spilett and Herbert searched the forest in the neighborhood of Granite House, without meeting or finding any trace of him. They became seriously uneasy at this prolonged absence. Certainly, the former savage of Tabor island could not be perplexed how to live in the forest, abounding in game, but was it not to be feared that he had resumed his habits, and that this freedom would revive in him his wild instincts? However, Harding, by a sort of presentiment, doubtless, always persisted in saying that the fugitive would return.

"Yes, he will return!" he repeated with a confidence which his companions could not share. "When this unfortunate man was on Tabor Island, he knew himself to be alone! Here, he knows that fellow-men are awaiting him! Since he has partially spoken of his past life, the poor penitent will return to tell the whole, and from that day he will belong to us!"

The event justified Cyrus Harding's predictions. On the 3rd of December, Herbert had left the plateau to go and fish on the southern bank of the lake. He was unarmed, and till then had never taken any precautions for defense, as dangerous animals had not shown themselves on that part of the island.

Meanwhile, Pencroft and Neb were working in the poultry-yard, while Harding and the reporter were occupied at the Chimneys in making soda, the store of soap being exhausted.

Suddenly cries resounded,--

"Help! help!"

Cyrus Harding and the reporter, being at too great a distance, had not been able to hear the shouts. Pencroft and Neb, leaving the poultry-yard in all haste, rushed towards the lake.

But before then, the stranger, whose presence at this place no one had suspected, crossed Creek Glycerine, which separated the plateau from the forest, and bounded up the opposite bank.

Herbert was there face to face with a fierce jaguar, similar to the one which had been killed on Reptile End. Suddenly surprised, he was standing with his back against a tree, while the animal gathering itself together was about to spring.

But the stranger, with no other weapon than a knife, rushed on the formidable animal, who turned to meet this new adversary.

The struggle was short. The stranger possessed immense strength and activity. He seized the jaguar's throat with one powerful hand, holding it as in a vise, without heeding the beast's claws which tore his flesh, and with the other he plunged his knife into its heart.

The jaguar fell. The stranger kicked away the body, and was about to fly at the moment when the settlers arrived on the field of battle, but Herbert, clinging to him, cried,--

"No, no! you shall not go!"

Harding advanced towards the stranger, who frowned when he saw him approaching. The blood flowed from his shoulder under his torn shirt, but he took no notice of it.

"My friend," said Cyrus Harding, "we have just contracted a debt of gratitude to you. To save our boy you have risked your life!"

"My life!" murmured the stranger. "What is that worth? Less than nothing!"

"You are wounded?"

"It is no matter."

"Will you give me your hand?"

And as Herbert endeavored to. seize the hand which had just saved him, the stranger folded his arms, his chest heaved, his look darkened, and he appeared to wish to escape, but making a violent effort over himself, and in an abrupt tone,--

"Who are you?" he asked, "and what do you claim to be to me?"

It was the colonists' history which he thus demanded, and for the first time. Perhaps this history recounted, he would tell his own.

In a few words Harding related all that had happened since their departure from Richmond; how they had managed, and what resources they now had at their disposal.

The stranger listened with extreme attention.

Then the engineer told who they all were, Gideon Spilett, Herbert, Pencroft, Neb, himself, and, he added, that the greatest happiness they had felt since their arrival in Lincoln Island was on the return of the vessel from Tabor Island, when they had been able to include among them a new companion.

At these words the stranger's face flushed, his head sunk on his breast, and confusion was depicted on his countenance.

"And now that you know us," added Cyrus Harding, "will you give us your hand?"

"No," replied the, stranger in a hoarse voice; "no! You are honest men! And I--"

是的！这个不幸的人流泪了！他的脑子里准是回想起什么事情，用赛勒斯·史密斯的话来说，这几滴眼泪又使他变成一个人了。

移民们退到不远的地方，让他独自在高地上呆着，使他感到自由；然而他并没有打算利用这种自由，过了一会儿，史密斯就把他带回"花岗石宫"。又过了两天，陌生人似乎逐渐愿意和大家共同生活在一起了。肯定地说，他在听别人说话，而且听得懂，然而奇怪的是，他坚决不和移民们说话，这一点同样可以肯定，因为有一天傍晚，潘克洛夫在他的房门口听见他在自言自语：

"不！在这儿！我！决不！"

水手把这些话告诉了伙伴们。

"这里头准有什么令人心酸的秘密！"史密斯说。

陌生人开始使用工具，在菜园里干活了。他在干活中停顿的时候，总是独自呆在一旁，由于工程师事先嘱咐过，所以大家没有打扰他，显然他是愿意保持孤独的，如果有人走到他的眼前，他就会倒退几步，胸前起伏不停地喘着气，好象挑着重担子似的！

是过分的悔恨使他变成这样的吗？他们只好这样想。有一天，吉丁·史佩莱不由地说：“他所以不说话，恐怕是因为问题太严重了，说不出口的缘故！”

他们必须耐心等待。

又过了几天，那是11月3日，陌生人正在高地上干活，忽然停了下来，手里的铁铲也掉在地上了；史密斯离他不远看着他，只见他又流起泪来。一种遏止不住的同情心使他向这个不幸的人走去，他轻轻地碰了一下陌生人的胳膊。

“朋友！”工程师说。

陌生人想避开他的眼睛，赛勒斯·史密斯去握他的手，他很快地缩回去了。

“朋友，”史密斯坚定他说，“我希望你能看我一眼！”

陌生人看着工程师，好象铁片被磁石吸住似的，在史密斯的力量下屈服了。他想逃跑。可是这时候他的表情突然一变。他的眼睛闪耀着亮光。许多话争着要从他的嘴里迸出来。他再也控制不住自己了！……终于，他叉起两手，用沉重的嗓音向赛勒斯·史密斯问道：

“你们是谁？”

“和你一样，一群遇难的人，”工程师充满感情地说。“我们把你带到这儿来，带到你的同胞中间来了。”

“我的同胞！……我没有！”

“你的周围都是朋友。”

“朋友！……我的朋友！”陌生人双手捂着脸叫道。“不……决不……离开我！离开我！……”

然后他跑到俯临大海的高地边缘去，在那里一动也不动地站了很久。

史密斯回到伙伴们身边去，把刚发生的情况告诉大家。

“是的！这个人一生准有什么秘密，”吉丁·史佩莱说，“看起来好象是个经过忏悔重新做人的人。”

“我们带回来的是个什么样人呢，”水手说。“他有秘密……”

“我们不要问这些秘密，我们要尊重他。”赛勒斯·史密斯很快地打断了他。“即使他犯了什么罪，他也已经用最痛苦的方式赎清了，我们应该把他看作是无罪的。”

陌生人在海岸上独自呆了两个钟头，他一定是在回忆过去整个的一生--这一生无疑是悲惨的--移民们眼睛始终没有离开他，然而也没有打扰他。两个钟头以后，他似乎下定了决心，终于来找赛勒斯·史密斯了。他哭得两眼通红，但是这时候已经不再流泪。他的表情极度谦卑。他显得焦急、腼腆、羞惭，眼睛始终没有离开地面。

“先生，”他对史密斯说，“你和你的伙伴们是英国人吗？”

“不，”工程师答道，“我们是美国人。”

“啊！”陌生人应了一声，接着小心地说，“还好！”

“你呢，朋友？”工程师问道。

“英国人。”他急忙答道。

他仿佛说这几个字很费劲似的，说完以后，就退到海滩上，在瀑布和慈悲河口之间十分不安地走来走去。

走过赫伯特身边的时候，他突然站住脚，压低了嗓子问道：

“几月了？”

“11月。”赫伯特回答说。

“哪一年？”

“1866年。”

“十二年，十二年！”他叫道。

然后他突然离开了赫伯特。

赫伯特把他们的问答告诉了大家。

“这个不幸的人，”吉丁·史佩莱说，“连哪年哪月都不知道了！”

“是的！”赫伯特补充道，“我们在小岛上找到他的时候，他已经在那里呆了十二年了！”

“十二年！”史密斯接着说。“啊！经过一段堕落的生活，再独居十二年，这会严重地摧残一个人的理智的！”

“我这么想，”潘克洛夫说，“这个人不是遇难流落在达抱岛上，而是由于犯了什么罪，被放逐在那儿的。”

“准是象你说的那样，潘克洛夫，”通讯记者说，“如果真是这样，那么把他放在海岛上的人也许有一天会来接他回去的！”

“那时候他们就找不到他了。”赫伯特说。

“可是，”潘克洛夫接着说，“既然他们一定会回来，那么……”

“朋友们，”赛勒斯·史密斯说，“在没有进一步了解以前，先不要讨论这个问题吧。我相信，这个不幸的人受尽了苦难，不管他犯了什么错误，他已经用最可怕的方式，赎清了罪恶，由于想摆脱这副重担，他感到郁闷。我们不要逼他把过去的历史告诉我们！毫无疑问，到时候他一定会告诉我们的，等到我们知道以后，我们就可以决定采取什么行动了。再说，只有他能告诉我们他对将来能回祖国是不是还抱着希望和信心，可是对于这一点我表示怀疑！”

“为什么？”通讯记者问道。

“因为，如果他肯定有一天可以被救回去，他就要等待那一天，就不会往海里扔纸条了。那是不会的，比较可能的是，他被判处老死在小岛上，他再也没想到会重新看见同类！”

“可是，”水手说，“有一件事我不明白。”

“什么事？”

“如果这个人流落在达抱岛上已经十二年，那么可以料想得到，当我们看见他的时候，他成为野人已经有好几年了！”

“那也可能。”赛勒斯·史密斯说。

“照这么说，纸条一定是他多年以前写的了！”

“当然，不过看起来纸条却象是最近才写的！”

“还有，你怎么知道装纸条的瓶子不是经过好几年才从达抱岛漂到林肯岛来的呢？”

“是啊，那并不是完全不可能。”通讯记者说。

“它会不会已经在林肯岛的岸上搁了很久呢？”史密斯说。

“不，”潘克洛夫答道，“因为当我们捡到它的时候，它还在漂。我们决不能认为瓶子在岸上搁了一个时期以后，还会被海水冲走，因为南岸一带到处都是岩石，在那里一定会被撞得粉碎的！”

“不错。”赛勒斯·史密斯若有所思地说。

“还有，”水手接着说，“如果纸条是老早写下的，已经在瓶子里封了好几年，那它一定会受潮的。可是现在完全不是那样，我们发现它保藏得很好。”

水手的论证非常正确，他指出一个不可思议的事实，因为当移民们在瓶子里发现纸条的时候，看起来它还是最近才写的。并且，纸条上还正确地写着达抱岛的经纬度，可见写这张纸条的人和一般的水手不同，具有相当丰富的水文学知识。

“这里面还有没法解释的问题，”工程师说，“可是我们不要急着要我们的伙伴讲话。等他愿意的时候，朋友们，我们再听他说！”

接着一连几天，陌生人一句话也不说，也没有离开高地的周围。他不断地干活，一刻也不停，一分钟也不休息，不过总是在僻静的地方自己干。他从来也不回“花岗石宫”吃饭，虽然一再邀请，他还是不去，只是独自吃一些生蔬菜。晚上，他也不回指定给他的房间，总是呆在丛生的树木下，天气不好的时候，就蜷缩在岩石缝里。他还是和以前在达抱岛的时候一样，住在森林里！移民们费尽了口舌劝他改善生活，他还是不肯，于是大家只好耐心地等待。时机接近成熟了，他受了良心的驱使，几乎是不由自主地作了一次可怕的自白。

那是11月10日，晚上八点钟，天快黑的时候，陌生人突然到居民们的面前来了，当时大家正集聚在平台上。他的眼睛发着异样的光芒，他又完全恢复了堕落时代的野蛮面貌。

赛勒斯·史密斯和他的伙伴们见了他都大吃一惊。在一种可怕的感情支配下，陌生人的牙齿发出一阵阵的响声，好象发高烧的病人似的。他怎么了？他看到同类以后感到难以忍受吗？他不愿意恢复文明的生活方式吗？他还在留恋从前的野蛮生活吗？看样子是的，因为他断断续续地说：

“我为什么要到这儿来？……你们有什么权利硬要我离开我的小岛？……你们认为我和你们能有什么关系吗？……你们知道我是谁，我干过什么，我为什么一个人在那儿？谁告诉你们我不是被遗弃在那儿，而是被判决要老死在那儿的？……你们知道我的过去吗？……你们怎么知道我过去没有偷盗、杀人，怎么知道我不是一个恶棍——一个该死的东西——只配远远地离开人类，象野兽似的生活着呢？说！你们知道吗？”

移民们静静地倾听着，没有打断这个可怜的人的话，这些断断续续的自白，好象是不由自主地从他嘴里迸出来似的。史密斯向他走去，打算安慰他几句，可是他急忙倒退几步。

“不！不！”他叫道，“只问你一句话——我有没有自由？”

“有，”工程师答道。

“那么，再见！”他大喊一声，就象疯子似的跑开了。

纳布、潘克洛夫和赫伯特也跟着往森林的边缘跑去，可是他们空手回来了。

“我们应该让他去！”赛勒斯·史密斯说。

“他不会回来了！”潘克洛夫叫道。

“他会回来的。”工程师答道。

又过了好几天。可是史密斯总是坚持认为这个不幸的人迟早会回来的。这是不是一种预感呢？

“这是他的野性最后一次发作，”他说，“悔恨的心情触动了它，然而重过孤独的生活，也会压制他的野性的。”

在这一段期间，各种工作都在继续着，畜栏也和眺望岗一样忙碌，因为史密斯想在那里开辟一个农场。不用说，赫伯特从达抱岛上搜集来的种籽已经小心地播种下去了。高地成了一片宽阔的菜园，设计周到，照料仔细，居民们的双手从来也没有闲过。同时工作总是做不完。由于种植的蔬菜愈长愈多，必须扩大园地，这些园地将代替草场，变成一片真正的麦田。好在海岛的其他地方也有大量的野草，不至于饿坏野驴。并且，把深水环抱的眺望岗变成菜园，把牧场迁到山岗以外的地方去，这样要好得多，因为牧场不怕猿猴和野兽侵袭，不需要保护。

11月15日，进行第三次收割了。十八个月以前，他们只种了一粒麦，然而现在麦田变得多么广阔啊！第二次种下去六十万粒，现在收得了四千蒲式耳，也就是有五亿粒麦了!

现在小队里粮食非常充足，每年只要播种十蒲式耳，所得的收成就足够人畜食用了。十一月份的后半个月，收割完毕以后，他们就开始把庄稼变成人的食粮。不错，他们有了小麦，然而这还不是面粉，因此必须有一个磨坊。第一个瀑布已经作为制毡厂的动力来源了，赛勒斯·史密斯打算利用流往慈悲河去的第二个瀑布作为磨坊的动力；经过商量以后，大家决定在眺望岗上建立一个简单的风磨。制造风磨并不比建立磨坊困难，高地面临大海，可以肯定海上经常会有微风吹来。

“不用说，”潘克洛夫说，“风磨比较有意思，还可以便我们周围的景色更加美丽！”

他们开始选择木料，以便制造风磨的骨架和机械。湖的北边有几块大石头，拿来做磨石很容易；至于风翼，那可以用气囊上那些用不完的布料来做。

赛勒斯·史密斯做好模型，磨坊选定在湖岸上，也就是家禽场稍微偏右一些的地方。几根结实的木料支持着一个扇轴，上面安装着风磨的骨架，这样它就可以随着风向带动全部的机械一起转动了。工作进行得很快。纳布和潘克洛夫变成非常熟练的木匠，因为他们只要按照工程师的模型工作就行了。

不久以后，在选定的地点，就树立起一个圆柱形的亭子来，它的样子很象一个胡椒瓶，屋顶尖尖。四根风翼被铁夹子牢牢地固定在中央轴上，和中央轴保持着一定的角度。亭子里的各种机械都毫不困难地制造好了，包括：两块磨石——一块固定的，一块活动的——一只漏斗——这是一只方形的大木槽，上面大，底下小，麦粒从它底下漏到磨石上——一个振荡槽——用来把麦粒慢慢灌入磨眼——以及筛粉机——它可以筛出面粉留下麸皮。他们的工具很趁手，工作又不难——说老实话，磨坊的机械的确是够简单的——问题就在时间了。

全体人员都参加了磨坊的建设工作，12月1日，大功告成了。潘克洛夫和以往一样，对自己的工作感到非常满意，毫无疑问，磨坊的设备是十分完善的。

“现在只等一阵好风，”他说，“我们就可以顺利地磨我们的麦子了！”

“一阵好风，当然，”工程师说，“可是不要刮得太大，潘克洛夫。”

“呸！风愈大我们的风车转得愈快！”

“不必让它转得过快，”赛勒斯·史密斯说。“经验告诉我们，当风翼每分钟转动的次数等于风在每秒钟走过的尺数的六倍时，磨坊就能达到最大的工作量。和风每秒钟走二十四英尺，可以便风翼在一分钟内转动十六次，转得再快就没有必要了。”

“好极了！”赫伯特叫道，“东北方恰好有一阵微风吹过来，马上就可以帮助我们完成任务了。”

居民们都急着想尝尝林肯岛的第一块面包，因此没有理由再延迟开工了。这天早上他们磨了两三蒲式耳小麦，第二天早饭的时候，“花岗石宫”的餐桌上就出现了一块呱呱叫的面包，唯一的缺点是还不够松，也许是发得不好。人人都吃得咂咂有声，他们的快乐是不难想象的。

在这期间，陌生人一直没有出现。吉丁·史佩莱和赫伯特几次到“花岗石宫”附近的森林里去找，都没有找到他，连他的踪迹也没有发现。因为他长时间不回来，他们感到非常不安。当然，在这鸟兽成群的森林里，过去达抱岛上的野蛮人绝不会不知道应该怎样生活；然而，如果他恢复了原来的习惯，如果由于这种无拘无束的生活促使他的野性复发，那怎么办呢？可是史密斯总是一口咬定，这个亡命之徒是会回来的，毫无疑问，这是一种预感。

“是的，他一定会回来！”史密斯信心十足地重复着说，这一点，别的伙伴们却没有同感。“当这个不幸的人在达抱岛上的时候，他知道他是孤零零的一个人！在这里，他知道同伴们都在等着他！他既然已经谈出一部分过去的生活，那么这个忏悔的人一定会回来把全部经过都告诉我们的，到那时候，他就开始属于我们了！”

事实证明赛勒斯·史密斯的预言是正确的。12月3日，赫伯特离开高地，到湖的南岸去钓鱼。他没有带武器，因为直到当时为止，这部分荒岛还没有出现过猛兽，他们从来不作戒备。

这时候，潘克洛夫和纳布正在家禽场里工作，史密斯和通讯记者在“石窟”里制造小苏打，因为以前剩下的小苏打已经用完了。

突然传来一阵喊叫声。

“救命啊！救命啊！”

赛勒斯·史密斯和通讯记者离得太远，没有听见。潘克洛夫和纳布听见了，急忙离开家禽场，拼命向湖边跑去。

然而，谁也没有想到陌生人却在这里，他在他们的前面跑着，纵身一跳，越过森林和高地之间的甘油河，上了对岸。

赫伯特面前有一只凶猛的美洲豹，样子和上次在爬虫角打死的那只差不多。他猛然吃了一惊，靠在一棵树上，这时候，野兽一蹲身，正要扑过去。

陌生人手里只有一把刀，此外什么武器都没有，然而他却直向猛兽冲过去，野兽看见新的敌人，立刻转身迎上来。

搏斗的时间很短。陌生人十分灵活矫健。他一手有力地掐住美洲豹的喉咙，象用钳子夹住它似的，另一只手攥紧刀子就刺入了野兽的心口，野兽的利爪抓破他的肉他也不管。

美洲豹死了。陌生人一脚踢开它的尸体，正打算溜走，这时候居民们都赶到战场上来；赫伯特缠住他，叫道：

“不，不！你不要走！”

史密斯向他走来，陌生人看见工程师，不禁皱起眉头。他的衬衫撕破了，肩膀上鲜血直往下流，他也不管。

“朋友，”赛勒斯·史密斯说，“我们刚欠下了你一笔人情。你冒着生命的危险，救了我们的孩子！”

“我的生命！”陌生人喃喃地说。“我的生命算得了什么？一个钱也不值！”

“你受伤了吧？”

“不要紧。”

“你能把手伸给我吗？”

赫伯特正打算抓住他那刚刚援救自己的手，陌生人立刻叉起两臂，胸前不住起伏，沉下脸来，看样子他又想逃跑了，经过一番激烈的斗争，他突然问道：

“你们是什么人？说给我听吧！”

他还是第一次要求移民们叙述他们的来历。也许等他们谈过以后，他就要介绍自己的历史了。

史密斯简单地叙述了他们离开里士满以后的全部经过；叙说他们是怎样努力，现在手头有了哪些财富。

陌生人聚精会神地倾听着。

然后工程师向他介绍了大家，吉丁·史佩莱、赫伯特、潘克洛夫、纳布，还有他自己，他接着说，自从他们到达林肯岛以来，最大的安慰就是从达抱岛乘船回来的时候，因为他们新添了一位伙伴。

陌生人听了以后，涨红了脸，把头垂在胸前，满脸显得惶惑不安。

“现在你知道我们是什么人了，”赛勒斯·史密斯接着说，“我们能握握手吗？”

“不，”陌生人沙哑地答道，“不！你们是正经人！可是我呢……”