“I see a small brook …”

      The volcano did not occupy the central part of the island. It stood in the northwest region and seemed to mark the boundary between the two zones. Toward the southwest, the south, and the southeast, the lower levels of the foothills disappeared under masses of vegetation. In the north, on the contrary, one could follow their contours which gradually faded into the plains of sand. It was also on this coast, during the time of volcanic eruptions, that the discharges had opened up a passage, and one broad path of lava extended to this narrow jaw forming a gulf in the northeast.

      Cyrus Smith and his companions stayed for an hour on the summit of the mountain. The island revealed itself under their eyes like a relief map with various tints, greens for the forests, yellows for the sands, blues for the waters. They saw it in its entirety. The ground hidden under the immense vegetation, the bottom of the shaded valleys, the interior of the narrow sunken gorges which extended to the foot of the volcano, these alone escaped their searching eyes.

      One serious question remained to answer which would singularly influence the future of the castaways.

      Was the island inhabited?

      It was the reporter who posed this question. It seemed they could already give a negative response after their minute examination of the island’s diverse regions.

      Nowhere could be seen the work of human hands, no conglomeration of cabins, not an isolated hut, not a fishery on the shore. No smoke rose to betray the presence of man. It is true that a distance of approximately thirty miles separated the observers from the furthest points of the island, and it would be difficult even for Pencroff’s eyes to discover a habitation there. Neither could they lift up the screen of foliage which covered three quarters of the island to see if it did or did not hide some village. But the islanders of these narrow lands that emerge from the Pacific tend to live along the shore, and the shore appeared to be absolutely deserted.

      Until a more complete exploration, they would have to admit that the island was uninhabited.

      But was it visited, at times, by natives from neighboring islands? It was difficult to answer this question. No land appeared within a radius of approximately fifty miles. But fifty miles could easily be crossed, either by Malaysian proas or by large Polynesian canoes. All depended on the position of the island, its isolation in the Pacific, and its proximity to the archipelagos. Would Cyrus Smith later be able to determine their latitude and longitude without instruments? That would be difficult. It would be best to take certain precautions against a possible visit from neighboring natives.

      The exploration of the island was complete, its configuration determined, its outline noted, its area calculated, its hydrography and orography accounted for. The disposition of the forests and the plains were roughly sketched in on the map by the reporter. There was nothing left to do but descend the slopes of the mountain and explore the land for its mineral, vegetable and animal resources.

      But before giving his companions the signal to depart, Cyrus Smith said to them in a calm and serious voice:

      “Here, my friends, is the small corner of the world on which the hand of the Almighty has thrown us. It’s here that we’re going to live a long time perhaps. Maybe unexpected help will arrive if some vessel passes by chance … I say by chance because this island is not very important. It offers nothing which can serve as a port of call for ships, and I fear that it’s situated outside the ordinary shipping lanes. It’s too far south for the vessels which frequent the archipelagos of the Pacific, too far north for those that go to Australia by doubling Cape Horn. I wish to conceal nothing from you.”

      “And you are right, my dear Cyrus,” the reporter replied eagerly. “You are dealing with men. They have confidence in you and you can count on them. Isn’t that so, my friends?”

      “I will obey you in everything, Mr. Cyrus,” said Harbert.

      “My master, always and everywhere!” said Neb.

      “As for me,” said the sailor, “may I lose my name if I shirk my work. If you wish, Mr. Smith, we’ll make this island a Little America! We’ll build towns, railroads, telegraphs, and one fine day when it is transformed and civilized we’ll offer it to the government of the Union! I ask only one thing.”

      “What’s that?” asked the reporter.

      “That we no longer think of ourselves as castaways but as colonists, here to colonize.”

      Cyrus Smith could not restrain a smile and the sailor’s motion was adopted. Then he thanked his companions and added that he counted on their energy and on the blessing of Heaven.

      “Well then, on to the Chimneys!” said Pencroff.

      “One moment, my friends,” said the engineer. “It seems best to give a name to this island, and its capes, its promontories, and the watercourses that we saw below.”

      “Very good,” said the reporter. “In the future, this will simplify the instructions that we’ll have to give or follow.”

      “In fact,” replied the sailor, “it’s already something to be able to say where you’ve been and where you’re going. At least you have the feeling of having been somewhere.”

      “The Chimneys, for example,” said Harbert.

      “Right!” replied Pencroff. “This name was the most convenient, and it was the only one that came to me. Shall we keep this name for our first camp, Mr. Cyrus?”

      “Yes, Pencroff, since you so baptized it.”

      “Good! As to the others, that will be easy,” the sailor replied in good spirits. “Let’s use names like the Robinsons did. Harbert read their story to me more than once; ‘Providence Bay,’ ‘Cachalots Point,’ ‘Cape of Deceived Hope’ …”

      “Or rather the names of Mr. Smith,” replied Harbert, “of Mr. Spilett, of Neb! …”

      “My name!” said Neb, showing his sparkling white teeth.

      “Why not?” replied Pencroff. “‘Port Neb’ would be very good. And ‘Cape Gideon.’”

      “I would prefer names borrowed from our country” replied the reporter, “which would remind us of America.”

      “Yes, for the main features,” said Cyrus Smith, “for those of the bays or the seas, I fully agree. We could give to this vast bay in the east the name Union Bay for example, to this large indentation in the south that of Washington Bay, to the mountain on which we’re now standing that of Mount Franklin, to the lake which extends beneath us that of Lake Grant;² nothing could be better, my friends. These names will remind us of our country and those great citizens who have honored it. But for the rivers, the gulfs, the capes, and the promontories which we see from the top of this mountain, let’s choose names which will recall their particular configuration. It will make them easier to remember, and it will be more practical at the same time. The shape of the island is strange enough so we’ll have no difficulty in imagining names by which to remember it. As to the watercourses that we don’t know, the various parts of the forest that we’ll explore later, the creeks that will be discovered in due time, we’ll name those when we