The three hunters were before a crackling fire

Too Long; Didn't Read

In a few minutes the three hunters were before a crackling fire. The captain and the reporter were there. Pencroft looked from one to the other, his capybara in his hand, without saying a word. “Well, yes, my brave fellow,” cried the reporter. “Fire, real fire, which will roast this splendid pig perfectly, and we will have a feast presently!” “But who lighted it?” asked Pencroft. “The sun!” Gideon Spilett was quite right in his reply. It was the sun which had furnished the heat which so astonished Pencroft. The sailor could scarcely believe his eyes, and he was so amazed that he did not think of questioning the engineer. “Had you a burning-glass, sir?” asked Herbert of Harding. “No, my boy,” replied he, “but I made one.” And he showed the apparatus which served for a burning-glass. It was simply two glasses which he had taken from his own and the reporter’s watches. Having filled them with water and rendered their edges adhesive by means of a little clay, he thus fabricated a regular burning-glass, which, concentrating the solar rays on some very dry moss, soon caused it to blaze. The sailor considered the apparatus; then he gazed at the engineer without saying a word, only a look plainly expressed his opinion that if Cyrus Harding was not a magician, he was certainly no ordinary man. At last speech returned to him, and he cried,— “Note that, Mr. Spilett, note that down on your paper!” “It is noted,” replied the reporter.