The operation finished, to the great satisfaction of the operators, the remains of the animal were left to the birds, who would soon make every vestige of it disappear, and their usual daily occupations were resumed by the inmates of Granite House.

However, before returning to the dockyard, Cyrus Harding conceived the idea of fabricating certain machines, which greatly excited the curiosity of his companions.  He took a dozen of the whale’s bones, cut them into six equal parts, and sharpened their ends.

“This machine is not my own invention, and it is frequently employed by the Aleutian hunters in Russian America.  You see these bones, my friends; well, when it freezes, I will bend them, and then wet them with water till they are entirely covered with ice, which will keep them bent, and I will strew them on the snow, having previously covered them with fat.  Now, what will happen if a hungry animal swallows one of these baits?  Why, the heat of his stomach will melt the ice, and the bone, springing straight, will pierce him with its sharp points.”

“Well!  I do call that ingenious!” said Pencroft.

“And it will spare the powder and shot,” rejoined Cyrus Harding.

“That will be better than traps!” added Neb.

In the meanwhile the boat-building progressed, and towards the end of the month half the planking was completed.  It could already be seen that her shape was excellent, and that she would sail well.

Pencroft worked with unparalleled ardor, and only a sturdy frame could have borne such fatigue; but his companions were preparing in secret a reward for his labors, and on the 31st of May he was to meet with one of the greatest joys of his life.

On that day, after dinner, just as he was about to leave the table, Pencroft felt a hand on his shoulder.

It was the hand of Gideon Spilett, who said,—­

“One moment, Master Pencroft, you mustn’t sneak off like that!  You’ve forgotten your dessert.”

“Thank you, Mr. Spilett,” replied the sailor, “I am going back to my work.”

“Well, a cup of coffee, my friend?”

“Nothing more.”

“A pipe, then?”

Pencroft jumped up, and his great good-natured face grew pale when he saw the reporter presenting him with a ready-filled pipe, and Herbert with a glowing coal.

The sailor endeavored to speak, but could not get out a word; so, seizing the pipe, he carried it to his lips, then applying the coal, he drew five or six great whiffs.  A fragrant blue cloud soon arose, and from its depths a voice was heard repeating excitedly,—­

“Tobacco! real tobacco!”

“Yes, Pencroft,” returned Cyrus Harding, “and very good tobacco too!”

“O, divine Providence; sacred Author of all things!” cried the sailor.  “Nothing more is now wanting to our island.”

And Pencroft smoked, and smoked, and smoked.

“And who made this discovery?” he asked at length.  “You, Herbert, no doubt?”