The Mysterious Island, Jules Verne [freenovel24 txt] 📗
- Author: Jules Verne
Book online «The Mysterious Island, Jules Verne [freenovel24 txt] 📗». Author Jules Verne
On the 15th of November they made their third harvest. Here was a field which had indeed increased in the eighteen months since the first grain of corn had been sown. The second crop of 600,000 grains produced this time 4,000 bushels or more than 500,000,000 grains. The colonists were, therefore, rich in corn; as it was only necessary to sow a dozen bushels each year in order to have a supply sufficient for the nourishment of man and beast.
After harvesting they gave up the last fortnight in the month to bread-making. They had the grain but not the flour, and a mill was therefore necessary. Smith could have used the other waterfall which fell into the Mercy, but, after discussing the question, it was decided to build a simple windmill on the summit of the plateau. Its construction would be no more difficult than a water-mill, and they would be sure of always having a breeze on this open elevation.
“Without counting,” said Pencroff, “the fine aspect a windmill will give to the landscape.”
They began the work by selecting timber for the cage and machinery for the mill. Some large sandstones, which the colonists found to the north of the lake, were readily made into millstones, and the inexhaustible envelope of the balloon furnished the cloth necessary for the sails.
Smith made his drawings, and the site for the mill was chosen a little to the right of the poultry-yard, and close to the lake shore. The whole cage rested upon a pivot, held in position by heavy timbers, in such a manner that it could turn, with all the mechanism within it, towards any quarter of the wind.
The work progressed rapidly. Neb and Herbert had become expert carpenters, and had only to follow the plans furnished by the engineer, so that in a very short time a sort of round watch-house, a regular pepper-box, surmounted by a sharp roof, rose upon the site selected. The four wings had been firmly fastened by iron tenons to the main shaft, in such a manner as to make a certain angle with it. As for the various parts of the interior mechanism—the two millstones, the runner and the feeder; the hopper, a sort of huge square trough, large above and small below, permitting the grains to fall upon the millstones; the oscillating bucket, designed to regulate the passage of the grain; and, finally, the bolter, which, by the operation of the sieve, separated the bran from the flour—all these were easily made. And as their tools were good, the work simple, and everybody took part in it, the mill was finished by the 1st of December.
As usual, Pencroff was overjoyed by his work, and he was sure that the machine was perfection.
“Now, with a good wind, we will merrily grind our corn.”
“Let it be a good wind, Pencroff, but not too strong,” said the engineer.
“Bah! our mill will turn the faster.”
“It is not necessary to turn rapidly,” replied the engineer. “Experience has demonstrated that the best results are obtained by a mill whose wings make six times the number of turns in a minute that the wind travels feet in a second. Thus, an ordinary wind, which travels twenty-four feet in a second, will turn the wings of the mill sixteen times in a minute, which is fast enough.”
“Already!” exclaimed Herbert, “there is a fine breeze from the northeast, which will be just the thing!”
There was no reason to delay using the mill, and the colonists were anxious to taste the bread of Lincoln Island; so this very morning two or three bushels of corn were ground, and the next day, at breakfast, a splendid loaf, rather heavy perhaps, which had been raised with the barm of beer, was displayed upon the table of Granite House. Each munched his portion with a pleasure perfectly inexpressible.
Meantime the Unknown had not come back again. Often Spilett and Herbert had searched the forest in the neighborhood of Granite House without finding any trace of him, and all began to be seriously alarmed at his prolonged absence. Undoubtedly the former savage of Tabor Island would not find it difficult to live in the Forests of the Far West, which were so rich in game; but was it not to be feared that he would resume his former habits, and that his independence would revive in him his brutish instincts? Smith alone, by a sort of presentiment, persisted in saying that the fugitive would return.
“Yes, he will come back,” he repeated with a confidence in which his companions could not share. “When this poor creature was on Tabor Island, he knew he was alone, but here, he knows that his kindred await him. Since he half-spoke of his past life, he will return to tell us everything, and on that day he will be ours.”
The event proved the correctness of Cyrus Smith’s reasoning.
On the 3rd of December, Herbert had gone to the southern shore of the lake, to fish, and, since the dangerous animals never showed themselves in this part of the island, he had gone unarmed.
Pencroff and Neb were working in the poultry-yard, while Smith and the reporter were occupied at the Chimneys making soda, the supply of soap being low.
Suddenly sharp cries of help were heard by Neb and Pencroff, who summoned the others, and all rushed towards the lake.
But before them, the Unknown, whose presence in the neighborhood had not been suspected, leapt over Glycerine Creek and bounded along the opposite bank.
There, Herbert stood facing a powerful jaguar, like the one which had been killed at Reptile End. Taken by surprise, he stood with his back against a tree, and the
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