At these words Pencroff and Spilett looked again at the object lying on the ground. In fact, it was not an ape, but a human being—a man! But what a man! He was a savage, in all the horrible acceptation of the word; and, what was more frightful, he seemed to have fallen to the last degree of brutishness. Matted hair, tangled beard descending to his waist, his body naked, save for a rag about his loins, wild eyes, long nails, mahogany-colored skin, feet as hard as if they had been made of horn; such was the miserable creature which it was, nevertheless, necessary to call a man. But one might well question whether this body still contained a soul, or whether the low, brutish instinct alone survived. “Are you perfectly sure that this is what has been a man?” questioned Pencroff of the reporter. “Alas! there can be no doubt of it,” replied Spilett. “Can he be the person shipwrecked?” asked Herbert “Yes,” responded the reporter, “but the poor creature is no longer human.” Spilett was right. Evidently, if the castaway had ever been civilized, isolation had made him a savage, a real creature of the woods. He gave utterance to hoarse sounds, from between teeth which were as sharp as those of animals living on raw flesh. Memory had doubtless long ago left him, and he had long since forgotten the use of arms and tools, and even how to make a fire. One could see that he was active and supple, but that his physical qualities had developed to the exclusion of his moral perception. Spilett spoke to him, but he neither understood nor listened, and, looking him in the eye, the reporter could see that all intelligence had forsaken him. Nevertheless, the prisoner did not struggle or strive to break his bonds. Was he cowed by the presence of these men, whom he had once resembled? Was there in some corner of his brain a flitting remembrance which drew him towards humanity? Free, would he have fled or would he have remained? They did not know, and they did not put him to the proof. After having looked attentively at the miserable creature, Spilett said:— “What he is, what he has been, and what he will be; it is still our duty to take him to Lincoln Island.” “Oh yes, yes,” exclaimed Herbert, “and perhaps we can, with care, restore to him some degree of intelligence.” “The soul never dies,” answered the reporter, “and it would be a great thing to bring back this creature of God’s making from his brutishness.” Pencroff shook his head doubtfully. “It is necessary to try at all events,” said the reporter, “humanity requires it of us.” “It was, indeed, their duty as civilized and Christian beings, and they well knew that Smith would approve of their course. “Shall we leave him bound?” inquired the sailor. “Perhaps if we unfasten his feet he will walk,” said Herbert. “Well, let us try,” replied the sailor.