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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
?
"
"
No
,
Pencroft
,
it
was
Mr.
Spilett
.
"
"
Mr.
Spilett
!
"
exclaimed
the
sailor
,
seizing
the
reporter
,
and
clasping
him
to
his
breast
with
such
a
squeeze
that
he
had
never
felt
anything
like
it
before
.
"
Oh
Pencroft
,
"
said
Spilett
,
recovering
his
breath
at
last
,
"
a
truce
for
one
moment
.
You
must
share
your
gratitude
with
Herbert
,
who
recognized
the
plant
,
with
Cyrus
,
who
prepared
it
,
and
with
Neb
,
who
took
a
great
deal
of
trouble
to
keep
our
secret
.
"
"
Well
,
my
friends
,
I
will
repay
you
some
day
,
"
replied
the
sailor
.
"
Now
we
are
friends
for
life
.
"
