“It’s not possible!” replied the sailor. “And besides, how, in the roaring of the storm—”
“Stop—listen—” said the reporter.
Pencroft listened more attentively, and really thought he heard, during a lull, distant barking.
“Well!” said the reporter, pressing the sailor’s hand.
“Yes—yes!” replied Pencroft.
“It is Top! It is Top!” cried Herbert, who had just awoke; and all three rushed towards the opening of the Chimneys. They had great difficulty in getting out. The wind drove them back. But at last they succeeded, and could only remain standing by leaning against the rocks. They looked about, but could not speak. The darkness was intense. The sea, the sky, the land were all mingled in one black mass. Not a speck of light was visible.
The reporter and his companions remained thus for a few minutes, overwhelmed by the wind, drenched by the rain, blinded by the sand.
Then, in a pause of the tumult, they again heard the barking, which they found must be at some distance.
It could only be Top! But was he alone or accompanied? He was most probably alone, for, if Neb had been with him, he would have made his way more directly towards the Chimneys. The sailor squeezed the reporter’s hand, for he could not make himself heard, in a way which signified “Wait!” then he reentered the passage.
An instant after he issued with a lighted fagot, which he threw into the darkness, whistling shrilly.