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神秘岛|The Mysterious Island

Book 1 第5章|Book 1 Chapter 5

属类： 双语小说 【分类】魔幻小说 -[作者: 儒勒-凡尔纳] 阅读：[11287]
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潘克洛夫把木筏上的干柴卸下来以后，首先就忙着要把那些灌风的窟窿堵上，使山洞能够住人。用沙土、石头、弯枝、烂泥，封闭了面迎着南风的洞口。旁边留下了一道弯曲的细缝，既能通烟，又能拔火。这个洞窟就这样分成了三四间房（假如还配得上称房间的话），这里面光线黑暗，野兽才满意哩。但是洞里却很干燥，中央的主要房间还可以站直身子。他们在地上又铺了一层细沙。这一切布置妥当之后，他们认为非常满意，因为除此以外再也找不到更好的地方了。

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“也许我们的伙伴已经找到比这儿更好的地方了。”赫伯特一面帮着潘克洛夫工作，一面说。

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“很可能，”水手说，“但是既然我们不知道，就必须照常进行工作。备而不用总比要用没有强！”

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“啊！”赫伯特大声说，“要是他们能把史密斯先生找回来，那多好啊！”

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“是的，一点也不错！”潘克洛夫说，“他活着的话，真是个了不起的人。”

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“活着！”赫伯特大声说，“你认为不可能再看见他了吗？”

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“谁说的？”水手说。他们的工作很快就结束了，潘克洛夫表示非常满意。

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“现在，”他说，“现在我们的朋友回来。他们有一个很好的地方安身了。”

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他们目前只差造个炉子生火做饭了。这事情非常容易。他们在保留下来的细缝口下面铺了几块平板石。只要烟不把热气带出去，就可以使里面保持适当的温度。他们的木柴贮存在另一间里，水手在生火的地方摆了一些木柴和树枝。水手正忙得起劲，突然赫伯特问他有没有火柴。

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“当然有啦，”潘克洛夫说，“我可以作为一个好消息告诉你，因为要是没有火柴或火绒，那我们就没有办法了。”

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“我们还是可以象土人那样擦木取火的。”赫伯特说。

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“好，你试试吧！孩子，除了能使你的胳膊活动活动之外，看你能不能磨出火来。”

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“嘿，这太简单了，太平洋海岛上的土人常用这个办法。”

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“这一点我承认，”潘克洛夫回答说，“不过我试过好几次都弄不出火来，大概土人有什么特别的方法，要不然就是用的木头不一样。我看还是火柴好用。哎呀，我的火柴上哪儿去了？”

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潘克洛夫是个烟鬼，他平时总是把火柴盒放在坎肩口袋里，他伸手去摸，没有摸到，摸遍了裤子口袋，哪儿也没有火柴盒，他不禁吃了一惊。

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“糟糕！”他看着赫伯特说。“口袋里的火柴盒一定是丢了！赫伯特，你总有火绒盒什么的能生火吧？”

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“不，我没有，潘克洛夫。”

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孩子跟着水手往外跑去，他们在沙滩上、石缝里和河岸上仔细找。火柴盒是铜的，本来很容易看见，但是到处都找遍了，还是找不到。

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“潘克洛夫，”赫伯特问道，“你没有从吊篮里把它扔出去吗？”

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“我记得清清楚楚没有扔掉，”水手回答说，“不过这么小的东西是很容易在忙乱中丢失的。真要丢的话，我宁可丢烟斗！真糟糕！火柴盒哪儿去了？”

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“你瞧，现在退潮了，”赫伯特说，“到我们着陆的地方去看看吧。”

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要想找到火柴盒恐怕是不太可能了，在涨潮的时候，沙滩上的鹅卵石都被海浪冲过了，但是，试一下也好。赫伯特和潘克洛夫急忙走到昨天着陆的地点，这里离山洞大约有二百步。他们在砾石堆和岩缝里乱找，但是什么也没有找到。假如丢在这个地方，那么它一定被海浪冲走了。退潮以后，他们找遍了每一个缝隙，但还是白费力气。在他们当时的情况下说来，这真是莫大的损失，而且这个损失还是没法弥补的。潘克洛夫隐藏不住自己的不安，皱着眉头，急得一句话也说不出来。赫伯特只好安慰他说，即使找到火柴，也一定被海水浸湿，不能使用了。

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“不，孩子，”水手说，“火柴是装在盖得严严的铜盒子里的，现在我们该怎么办呢？”

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“我们一定有办法生火的！”赫伯特说。“史密斯先生和史佩莱先生是不会没有火柴的。”

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“不错，”潘克洛夫答道，“可是远水不解近渴呀，他们回来也吃不到好东西了。”

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“那么，”赫伯特很快地说，“你看他们会不会没有洋火或火绒吗？”

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“我看不一定有，”水手摇着头回答说，“纳布和史密斯都不抽烟，史佩莱是宁愿扔掉火柴盒也得留下他那个笔记本的。”

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赫伯特没有回答。丢了火柴盒的确令人感到遗憾，但是少年还是相信能用别的方法生出火来。潘克洛夫的经历比较丰富，他从来也不自寻苦恼，但是他的想法却和少年不一样。不管怎样，他们只好等纳布和通讯记者回来，只好放弃煮蛋的计划。不论对他们自己或是对别人来说，生吞活咽总不是一件舒服的事。

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火肯定是弄不到了，水手和赫伯特就又捡了些蛤蜊，然后默默地回“石窟”去。

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潘克洛夫两眼紧盯着地面，还在继续寻找他的火柴盒。他甚至爬上河的左岸，从河口一直找到停靠木筏的河湾。他又回到高地上去四下搜索，森林边缘的深草丛中也找遍了，但还是没有。

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傍晚五点钟的时候，他和赫伯特回到“石窟”里。不用说，他们把洞里最黑暗的角落都摸索遍了，这才死了心不再去找。大约六点钟，太阳正在落山的时候，在海滨漫步的赫伯特报告纳布和史佩莱回来了。

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他们没有找到史密斯！……少年心里很失望；水手并没有猜错，工程师赛勒斯·史密斯果然没有找到！

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通讯记者回来之后，一言不发，往石头上一坐。他已经筋疲力竭，肚子又饿，连说话的气力也没有了。

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纳布哭得两眼通红，他的眼泪还在不住地往下掉，显然他已经完全绝望了。

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通讯记者叙述了他们尽力寻找赛勒斯·史密斯的经过。他和纳布沿着海岸一直找到八英里以外，远远走过气球最后一次降落的地方，那次降落以后，工程师和托普就失踪了。海岸上冷清清地没有一个人，没有任何痕迹。鹅卵石完全没有动过，沙滩上没有迹象，那一带的海滨连一个脚印也没有。显然，从来也没有人到那段海岸上去过。大海和陆地同样荒凉，工程师一定是在离岸几百英尺的地方淹死了。

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史佩莱说完之后，纳布还抱着希望，他跳起身来大声说，”不！他没有死！他是不可能死的！别人也许会，但是他决不会死！什么灾难他都能逃脱！”接着他喃喃地说：“啊！我受不了！”

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“纳布，”赫伯特跑过去对他说，“我们一定能找到他！老天爷会把他还给我们的！现在你饿了，吃点东西吧！”

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他一面说，一面递了几把蛤蜊给这可怜的黑人。这些食物实在是既难吃，又不够饱。纳布已经饿了好几个钟头，但还是不肯吃。他失去了主人就不能生活，而且也不愿意一个人活下去。

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吉丁·史佩莱狼吞虎咽地吃了些蛤蜊肉，然后倒在岩石脚下的沙土上睡觉了。他很疲倦，情绪也还安定。赫伯特走到他的身旁，握着他的手说：“先生，我们找到一个住处，比躺在这儿强多了。天已经黑了，走，去睡吧！明天我们再到更远的地方去找。”

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通讯记者站起身来，跟着孩子往“石窟”走去。在路上，潘克洛夫非常自然地问他身上有没有火柴，哪怕是一两根也好。

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通讯记者停下脚步，摸摸他的口袋，但是没有找到，他说，“原先是有的，大概被我扔掉了。”

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水手又问了问纳布，他也没有。

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“该死！”水手喊道。

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通讯记者听见以后，一把抓住他的胳膊问道：“难道你没有火柴吗？”

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“一根也没有，因此没法生火！”

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“唉！”纳布喊道，“要是主人在这儿，他准有办法的！”

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四个遇难的人一动也不动地站在那里，互相不安地观望着。赫伯特首先打破了沉默：“史佩莱先生，你是抽烟的，平时老是带着火柴，大概你没仔细找，再找找看，能有一根就行了！”

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通讯记者又在裤子、大衣和坎肩的口袋里搜寻了一遍，没有想到竟在坎肩的里层摸到一根小木棒。潘克洛夫不禁大喜过望，他隔着衬里捏着它，但是拿不出来。假如这真是火柴，那么这就是唯一的一根，必须非常小心，千万不能碰掉火柴头。

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“让我试试看，好吗？”孩子说。于是他灵巧地把小木棒拿了出来，并没有把它弄断，这根火柴本身虽然不值一文钱，但是对这些可怜的人说起来，却是非常宝贵的。这根火柴还没有用过。

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“哈哈！”潘克洛夫喊道，“有一根就跟有一整船火柴一样！”

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他拿着火柴，领着他的同伴们，往洞里走去。

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在有人居住的地方，这样的火柴被随意浪费的太多了，那值不了多少钱；但是这一根在使用的时候，却必须极度小心。

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水手首先确定它是干燥的，然后说：“必须预备好引火纸。”

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史佩莱犹豫了一下，然后从笔记本上撕下一页来，说：“拿去。”

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潘克洛夫从通讯记者手里把纸接过来，跪在柴堆前面，架起木柴，下面垫了一些枯草、树叶和干燥的地苔，这样使空气流通，就容易把干柴点着了。

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于是潘克洛夫把纸卷成一个圆锥形筒，象在有风的地方吸烟似的，把纸筒插到地苔里去。然后他捡了一小块粗糙的石头，仔细地擦了擦，他屏住气，心头乱跳，轻轻地在石头上划火柴，划了一下没有划着。原来潘克洛夫怕碰掉火柴头，不敢使劲。

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“不成，我干不了这个活，”他说，“我的手直发抖，火柴划不着。不行，我不干了！”于是他站起来，要赫伯特代替他。

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的确，这孩子有生以来也没有这么紧张过。当日普罗米修斯上天偷火的时候也不会比他更紧张。然而，他并没有犹豫，拿起火柴来就划。

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火柴哧的一声响，接着就燃起一小团蓝色的火苗，冒出一股呛人的烟来。赫伯特不慌不忙地使火柴向下倾斜，这样它就着得更旺了。然后他把火柴放在纸筒里，几秒钟以后，纸筒和地苔都点着了。

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水手用嘴使劲吹气，一分钟以后，干柴发出爆炸的声音，一堆熊熊的烈火在黑暗中燃烧起来了。

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“谢天谢地！”潘克洛夫站起身来喊道，“我从来也没有这样紧张过！”

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平板石构成一个极妙的火炉。炉里的烟很容易地通到狭缝外边去，烟囱拔着火，不一会儿，“石窟”里就温暖舒适了。

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现在他们必须十分小心不让篝火熄灭，永远要留一些红火炭。他们有大量的木柴，而且随时可以补充新的燃料，因此只要随时注意就行了。

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潘克洛夫首先就想利用炉火做一顿比生蛤蜊富于营养的晚餐。赫伯特拿了两打蛋来。通讯记者倚在一个角落里，一言不发地瞧着他们做饭。他脑子里旋绕着三个问题。赛勒斯还活着吗？要是还活着，那么他在什么地方呢？如果没有摔死，怎么他没有想法子表示他还在这儿呢？这时纳布在海滩上独自徘徊。他简直象丢了魂似的。

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潘克洛夫知道五十种做蛋的方法，但是这一回却不能由他任意选择了，他只能把蛋焖在火灰里。五六分钟以后饭就做得了，水手把通讯记者喊过来吃他的那一份晚餐。这就是遇难的人在这无名的海岸上吃到的第一顿美味。焖蛋非常好吃，加上蛋里含有人们不可缺少的各种养料，于是这些可怜的人感到心满意足，吃了以后也觉得有精神了。要是吃一顿团圆饭该多好啊！如果从里士满逃出来的五个人一个也不少，都坐在“石窟”的干沙地上，围在噼啪作响的旺盛的篝火前，他们会怎样感谢上苍啊！然而他们一致公认的领袖，最博学多才的赛勒斯·史密斯竟失踪了！他死后连个坟地也没有。

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3月25日就这样过去了。夜色已经来临。洞外狂风怒号，惊涛拍岸，发出单调的声音。波涛来回卷刷沙石，发出震耳欲聋的巨响。

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通讯记者简短地记录了当天的遭遇，他记下了对这片新土地的初步印象，他们领袖的失踪，探索海岸和生火的事情等等。由于过度疲劳，同时也打算用睡眠来忘掉心头的忧愁，于是他退到一个黑暗的角落去。赫伯特一躺下就睡着了。水手整夜在睡梦中都惦记着篝火，他毫不吝啬地大量加添燃料。但是有一个遇难的人没有睡在“石窟”里，那就是伤心绝望的纳布。不管伙伴们怎么劝他休息，他还是整夜在海滨徘徊，呼唤他的主人。

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Pencroft’s first care, after unloading the raft, was to render the cave habitable by stopping up all the holes which made it draughty. Sand, stones, twisted branches, wet clay, closed up the galleries open to the south winds. One narrow and winding opening at the side was kept, to lead out the smoke and to make the fire draw. The cave was thus divided into three or four rooms, if such dark dens with which a donkey would scarcely have been contented deserved the name. But they were dry, and there was space to stand upright, at least in the principal room, which occupied the center. The floor was covered with fine sand, and taking all in all they were well pleased with it for want of a better.

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"Perhaps," said Herbert, while he and Pencroft were working, "our companions have found a superior place to ours."

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"Very likely," replied the seaman; "but, as we don’t know, we must work all the same. Better to have two strings to one’s bow than no string at all!"

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"Oh!" exclaimed Herbert, "how jolly it will be if they were to find Captain Harding and were to bring him back with them!"

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"Yes, indeed!" said Pencroft, "that was a man of the right sort."

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"Was!" exclaimed Herbert, "do you despair of ever seeing him again?"

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"God forbid!" replied the sailor. Their work was soon done, and Pencroft declared himself very well satisfied.

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"Now," said he, "our friends can come back when they like. They will find a good enough shelter."

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They now had only to make a fireplace and to prepare the supper--an easy task. Large flat stones were placed on the ground at the opening of the narrow passage which had been kept. This, if the smoke did not take the heat out with it, would be enough to maintain an equal temperature inside. Their wood was stowed away in one of the rooms, and the sailor laid in the fireplace some logs and brushwood. The seaman was busy with this, when Herbert asked him if he had any matches.

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"Certainly," replied Pencroft, "and I may say happily, for without matches or tinder we should be in a fix."

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"Still we might get fire as the savages do," replied Herbert, "by rubbing two bits of dry stick one against the other."

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"All right; try, my boy, and let’s see if you can do anything besides exercising your arms."

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"Well, it’s a very simple proceeding, and much used in the islands of the Pacific."

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"I don’t deny it," replied Pencroft, "but the savages must know how to do it or employ a peculiar wood, for more than once I have tried to get fire in that way, but I could never manage it. I must say I prefer matches. By the bye, where are my matches?"

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Pencroft searched in his waistcoat for the box, which was always there, for he was a confirmed smoker. He could not find it; he rummaged the pockets of his trousers, but, to his horror, he could nowhere discover the box.

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"Here’s a go!" said he, looking at Herbert. "The box must have fallen out of my pocket and got lost! Surely, Herbert, you must have something--a tinder-box--anything that can possibly make fire!"

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"No, I haven’t, Pencroft."

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The sailor rushed out, followed by the boy. On the sand, among the rocks, near the river’s bank, they both searched carefully, but in vain. The box was of copper, and therefore would have been easily seen.

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"Pencroft," asked Herbert, "didn’t you throw it out of the car?"

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"I knew better than that," replied the sailor; "but such a small article could easily disappear in the tumbling about we have gone through. I would rather even have lost my pipe! Confound the box! Where can it be?"

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"Look here, the tide is going down," said Herbert; "let’s run to the place where we landed."

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It was scarcely probable that they would find the box, which the waves had rolled about among the pebbles, at high tide, but it was as well to try. Herbert and Pencroft walked rapidly to the point where they had landed the day before, about two hundred feet from the cave. They hunted there, among the shingle, in the clefts of the rocks, but found nothing. If the box had fallen at this place it must have been swept away by the waves. As the sea went down, they searched every little crevice with no result. It was a grave loss in their circumstances, and for the time irreparable. Pencroft could not hide his vexation; he looked very anxious, but said not a word. Herbert tried to console him by observing, that if they had found the matches, they would, very likely, have been wetted by the sea and useless.

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"No, my boy," replied the sailor; "they were in a copper box which shut very tightly; and now what are we to do?"

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"We shall certainly find some way of making a fire," said Herbert. "Captain Harding or Mr. Spilett will not be without them."

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"Yes," replied Pencroft; "but in the meantime we are without fire, and our companions will find but a sorry repast on their return."

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"But," said Herbert quickly, "do you think it possible that they have no tinder or matches?"

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"I doubt it," replied the sailor, shaking his head, "for neither Neb nor Captain Harding smoke, and I believe that Mr. Spilett would rather keep his note-book than his match-box."

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Herbert did not reply. The loss of the box was certainly to be regretted, but the boy was still sure of procuring fire in some way or other. Pencroft, more experienced, did not think so, although he was not a man to trouble himself about a small or great grievance. At any rate, there was only one thing to be done--to await the return of Neb and the reporter; but they must give up the feast of hard eggs which they had meant to prepare, and a meal of raw flesh was not an agreeable prospect either for themselves or for the others.

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Before returning to the cave, the sailor and Herbert, in the event of fire being positively unattainable, collected some more shell-fish, and then silently retraced their steps to their dwelling.

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Pencroft, his eyes fixed on the ground, still looked for his box. He even climbed up the left bank of the river from its mouth to the angle where the raft had been moored. He returned to the plateau, went over it in every direction, searched among the high grass on the border of the forest, all in vain.

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It was five in the evening when he and Herbert re-entered the cave. It is useless to say that the darkest corners of the passages were ransacked before they were obliged to give it up in despair. Towards six o’clock, when the sun was disappearing behind the high lands of the west, Herbert, who was walking up and down on the strand, signalized the return of Neb and Spilett.

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They were returning alone! . . . . The boy’s heart sank; the sailor had not been deceived in his forebodings; the engineer, Cyrus Harding, had not been found!

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The reporter, on his arrival, sat down on a rock, without saying anything. Exhausted with fatigue, dying of hunger, he had not strength to utter a word.

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As to Neb, his red eyes showed how he had cried, and the tears which he could not restrain told too clearly that he had lost all hope.

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The reporter recounted all that they had done in their attempt to recover Cyrus Harding. He and Neb had surveyed the coast for a distance of eight miles and consequently much beyond the place where the balloon had fallen the last time but one, a fall which was followed by the disappearance of the engineer and the dog Top. The shore was solitary; not a vestige of a mark. Not even a pebble recently displaced; not a trace on the sand; not a human footstep on all that part of the beach. It was clear that that portion of the shore had never been visited by a human being. The sea was as deserted as the land, and it was there, a few hundred feet from the coast, that the engineer must have found a tomb.

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As Spilett ended his account, Neb jumped up, exclaiming in a voice which showed how hope struggled within him, "No! he is not dead! he can’t be dead! It might happen to any one else, but never to him! He could get out of anything!" Then his strength forsaking him, "Oh! I can do no more!" he murmured.

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"Neb," said Herbert, running to him, "we will find him! God will give him back to us! But in the meantime you are hungry, and you must eat something."

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So saying, he offered the poor Negro a few handfuls of shell-fish, which was indeed wretched and insufficient food. Neb had not eaten anything for several hours, but he refused them. He could not, would not live without his master.

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As to Gideon Spilett, he devoured the shell-fish, then he laid himself down on the sand, at the foot of a rock. He was very weak, but calm. Herbert went up to him, and taking his hand, "Sir," said he, "we have found a shelter which will be better than lying here. Night is advancing. Come and rest! To-morrow we will search farther."

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The reporter got up, and guided by the boy went towards the cave. On the way, Pencroft asked him in the most natural tone, if by chance he happened to have a match or two.

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The reporter stopped, felt in his pockets, but finding nothing said, "I had some, but I must have thrown them away."

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The seaman then put the same question to Neb and received the same answer.

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"Confound it!" exclaimed the sailor.

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The reporter heard him and seizing his arm, "Have you no matches?" he asked.

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"Not one, and no fire in consequence."

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"Ah!" cried Neb, "if my master was here, he would know what to do!"

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The four castaways remained motionless, looking uneasily at each other. Herbert was the first to break the silence by saying, "Mr. Spilett, you are a smoker and always have matches about you; perhaps you haven’t looked well, try again, a single match will be enough!"

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The reporter hunted again in the pockets of his trousers, waistcoat, and great-coat, and at last to Pencroft’s great joy, no less to his extreme surprise, he felt a tiny piece of wood entangled in the lining of his waistcoat. He seized it with his fingers through the stuff, but he could not get it out. If this was a match and a single one, it was of great importance not to rub off the phosphorus.

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"Will you let me try?" said the boy, and very cleverly, without breaking it, he managed to draw out the wretched yet precious little bit of wood which was of such great importance to these poor men. It was unused.

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"Hurrah!" cried Pencroft; "it is as good as having a whole cargo!" He took the match, and, followed by his companions, entered the cave.

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This small piece of wood, of which so many in an inhabited country are wasted with indifference and are of no value, must here be used with the greatest caution.

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The sailor first made sure that it was quite dry; that done, "We must have some paper," said he.

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"Here," replied Spilett, after some hesitation tearing a leaf out of his note-book.

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Pencroft took the piece of paper which the reporter held out to him, and knelt down before the fireplace. Some handfuls of grass, leaves, and dry moss were placed under the fagots and disposed in such a way that the air could easily circulate, and the dry wood would rapidly catch fire.

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Pencroft then twisted the piece of paper into the shape of a cone, as smokers do in a high wind, and poked it in among the moss. Taking a small, rough stone, he wiped it carefully, and with a beating heart, holding his breath, he gently rubbed the match. The first attempt did not produce any effect. Pencroft had not struck hard enough, fearing to rub off the phosphorus.

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"No, I can’t do it," said he, "my hand trembles, the match has missed fire; I cannot, I will not!" and rising, he told Herbert to take his place.

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Certainly the boy had never in all his life been so nervous. Prometheus going to steal the fire from heaven could not have been more anxious. He did not hesitate, however, but struck the match directly.

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A little spluttering was heard and a tiny blue flame sprang up, making a choking smoke. Herbert quickly turned the match so as to augment the flame, and then slipped it into the paper cone, which in a few seconds too caught fire, and then the moss.

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A minute later the dry wood crackled and a cheerful flame, assisted by the vigorous blowing of the sailor, sprang up in the midst of the darkness.

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"At last!" cried Pencroft, getting up; "I was never so nervous before in all my life!"

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The flat stones made a capital fireplace. The smoke went quite easily out at the narrow passage, the chimney drew, and an agreeable warmth was not long in being felt.

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They must now take great care not to let the fire go out, and always to keep some embers alight. It only needed care and attention, as they had plenty of wood and could renew their store at any time.

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Pencroft’s first thought was to use the fire by preparing a more nourishing supper than a dish of shell-fish. Two dozen eggs were brought by Herbert. The reporter leaning up in a corner, watched these preparations without saying anything. A threefold thought weighed on his mind. Was Cyrus still alive? If he was alive, where was he? If he had survived from his fall, how was it that he had not found some means of making known his existence? As to Neb, he was roaming about the shore. He was like a body without a soul.

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Pencroft knew fifty ways of cooking eggs, but this time he had no choice, and was obliged to content himself with roasting them under the hot cinders. In a few minutes the cooking was done, and the seaman invited the reporter to take his share of the supper. Such was the first repast of the castaways on this unknown coast. The hard eggs were excellent, and as eggs contain everything indispensable to man’s nourishment, these poor people thought themselves well off, and were much strengthened by them. Oh! if only one of them had not been missing at this meal! If the five prisoners who escaped from Richmond had been all there, under the piled-up rocks, before this clear, crackling fire on the dry sand, what thanksgiving must they have rendered to Heaven! But the most ingenious, the most learned, he who was their unquestioned chief, Cyrus Harding, was, alas! missing, and his body had not even obtained a burial-place.

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Thus passed the 25th of March. Night had come on. Outside could be heard the howling of the wind and the monotonous sound of the surf breaking on the shore. The waves rolled the shingle backwards and forwards with a deafening noise.

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The reporter retired into a dark corner after having shortly noted down the occurrences of the day; the first appearance of this new land, the loss of their leader, the exploration of the coast, the incident of the matches, etc.; and then overcome by fatigue, he managed to forget his sorrows in sleep. Herbert went to sleep directly. As to the sailor, he passed the night with one eye on the fire, on which he did not spare fuel. But one of the castaways did not sleep in the cave. The inconsolable, despairing Neb, notwithstanding all that his companions could say to induce him to take some rest, wandered all night long on the shore calling on his master.

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