The contusion, or rather the contused wound appeared,--an oval below the
chest between the third and fourth ribs. It was there that Herbert had
been hit by the bullet.
Cyrus Harding and Gideon Spilett then turned the poor boy over; as they
did so, he uttered a moan so feeble that they almost thought it was his
last sigh.
Herberts back was covered with blood from another contused wound, by
which the ball had immediately escaped.
“God be praised!” said the reporter, “the ball is not in the body, and
we shall not have to extract it.”
“But the heart?” asked Harding.
“The heart has not been touched; if it had been, Herbert would be dead!”
“Dead!” exclaimed Pencroft, with a groan.
The sailor had only heard the last words uttered by the reporter.
“No, Pencroft,” replied Cyrus Harding, “no! He is not dead. His pulse
still beats. He has even uttered a moan. But for your boy’s sake, calm
yourself. We have need of all our self-possession.”
“Do not make us lose it, my friend.”
Pencroft was silent, but a reaction set in, and great tears rolled down
his cheeks.
In the meanwhile, Gideon Spilett endeavored to collect his ideas, and
proceed methodically. After his examination he had no doubt that the
ball, entering in front, between the seventh and eighth ribs, had issued
behind between the third and fourth. But what mischief had the ball
committed in its passage? What important organs had been reached? A
professional surgeon would have had difficulty in determining this at
once, and still more so the reporter.
However, he knew one thing, this was that he would have to prevent the
inflammatory strangulation of the injured parts, then to contend with
the local inflammation and fever which would result from the wound,
perhaps mortal! Now, what styptics, what antiphlogistics ought to be
employed? By what means could inflammation be prevented?
At any rate, the most important thing was that the two wounds should
be dressed without delay. It did not appear necessary to Gideon Spilett
that a fresh flow of blood should be caused by bathing them in tepid
water, and compressing their lips. The hemorrhage had been very
abundant, and Herbert was already too much enfeebled by the loss of
blood.
The reporter, therefore, thought it best to simply bathe the two wounds
with cold water.
Herbert was placed on his left side, and was maintained in that
position.
“He must not be moved.” said Gideon Spilett. “He is in the most
favorable position for the wounds in his back and chest to suppurate
easily, and absolute rest is necessary.”
“What! can’t we carry him to Granite House?” asked Pencroft.
“No, Pencroft,” replied the reporter.
“I’ll pay the villains off!” cried the sailor, shaking his fist in a
menacing manner.
“Pencroft!” said Cyrus Harding.
Gideon Spilett had resumed his examination of the wounded boy. Herbert
was still so frightfully pale, that the reporter felt anxious.
“Cyrus,” said he, “I am not a surgeon. I am in terrible perplexity. You
must aid me with your advice, your experience!”
“Take courage, my friend,” answered the engineer, pressing the
reporter’s hand. “Judge coolly. Think only of this: Herbert must be
saved!”
These words restored to Gideon Spilett that self-possession which he had
lost in a moment of discouragement on feeling his great responsibility.
He seated himself close to the bed. Cyrus Harding stood near. Pencroft
had torn up his shirt, and was mechanically making lint.
Spilett then explained to Cyrus Harding that he thought he ought first
of all to stop the hemorrhage, but not close the two wounds, or cause
their immediate cicatrization, for there had been internal perforation,
and the suppuration must not be allowed to accumulate in the chest.
Harding approved entirely, and it was decided that the two wounds should
be dressed without attempting to close them by immediate coaptation.
And now did the colonists possess an efficacious agent to act against
the inflammation which might occur?
Yes. They had one, for nature had generously lavished it. They had cold
water, that is to say, the most powerful sedative that can be employed
against inflammation of wounds, the most efficacious therapeutic agent
in grave cases, and the one which is now adopted by all physicians.
Cold water has, moreover, the advantage of leaving the wound in absolute
rest, and preserving it from all premature dressing, a considerable
advantage, since it has been found by experience that contact with the
air is dangerous during the first days.
Gideon Spilett and Cyrus Harding reasoned thus with their simple good
sense, and they acted as the best surgeon would have done. Compresses
of linen were applied to poor Herbert’s two wounds, and were kept
constantly wet with cold water.
The sailor had at first lighted a fire in the hut, which was not wanting
in things necessary for life. Maple sugar, medicinal plants, the same
which the lad had gathered on the banks of Lake Grant, enabled them to
make some refreshing drinks, which they gave him without his taking any
notice of it. His fever was extremely high, and all that day and night
passed without his becoming conscious.
Herbert’s life hung on a thread, and this thread might break at any
moment. The next day, the 12th of November, the hopes of Harding and his
companions slightly revived. Herbert had come out of his long stupor.
He opened his eyes, he recognized Cyrus Harding, the reporter, and
Pencroft. He uttered two or three words. He did not know what had
happened. They told him, and Spilett begged him to remain perfectly
still, telling him that his life was not in danger, and that his wounds
would heal in a few days. However, Herbert scarcely suffered at all,
and the cold water with which they were constantly bathed, prevented any
inflammation of the wounds. The suppuration was established in a regular
way, the fever did not increase, and it might now be hoped that this
terrible wound would not involve any catastrophe. Pencroft felt the
swelling of his heart gradually subside. He was like a sister of mercy,
like a mother by the bed of her child.
Herbert dozed again, but his sleep appeared more natural.
“Tell me again that you hope, Mr. Spilett,” said Pencroft. “Tell me
again that you will save Herbert!”
“Yes, we will save him!” replied the reporter. “The wound is serious,
and, perhaps, even the ball has traversed the lungs, but the perforation
of this organ is not fatal.”
“God bless you!” answered Pencroft.
As may be believed, during the four-and-twenty hours they had been in
the corral, the colonists had no other thought than that of nursing
Herbert. They did not think either of the danger which threatened them
should the convicts return, or of the precautions to be taken for the
future.
But on this day, while Pencroft watched by the sick-bed, Cyrus Harding
and the reporter consulted as to what it would be best to do.
First of all they examined the corral. There was not a trace of Ayrton.
Had the unhappy man been dragged away by his former accomplices? Had he
resisted, and been overcome in the struggle? This last supposition was
only too probable. Gideon Spilett, at the moment he scaled the palisade,
had clearly seen some one of the convicts running along the southern
spur of Mount Franklin, towards whom Top had sprung. It was one of those
whose object had been so completely defeated by the rocks at the mouth
of the Mercy. Besides, the one killed by Harding, and whose body was
found outside the enclosure, of course belonged to Bob Harvey’s crew.
As to the corral, it had not suffered any damage. The gates were closed,
and the animals had not been able to disperse in the forest. Nor could
they see traces of any struggle, any devastation, either in the hut,
or in the palisade. The ammunition only, with which Ayrton had been
supplied, had disappeared with him.
“The unhappy man has been surprised,” said Harding, “and as he was a man
to defend himself, he must have been overpowered.”
“Yes, that is to be feared!” said the reporter. “Then, doubtless, the
convicts installed themselves in the corral where they found plenty of
everything, and only fled when they saw us coming. It is very evident,
too, that at this moment Ayrton, whether living or dead, is not here!”
“We shall have to beat the forest,” said the engineer, “and rid the
island of these wretches. Pencroft’s presentiments were not mistaken,
when he wished to hunt them as wild beasts. That would have spared us
all these misfortunes!”
“Yes,” answered the reporter, “but now we have the right to be
merciless!”
“At any rate,” said the engineer, “we are obliged to wait some time,
and to remain at the corral until we can carry Herbert without danger to
Granite House.”
“But Neb?” asked the reporter.
“Neb is in safety.”
“But if, uneasy at our absence, he would venture to come?”
“He must not come!” returned Cyrus Harding quickly. “He would be
murdered on the road!”
“It is very probable, however, that he will attempt to rejoin us!”
“Ah, if the telegraph still acted, he might be warned! But that is
impossible now! As to leaving Pencroft and Herbert here alone, we could
not do it! Well, I will go alone to Granite House.”
“No, no! Cyrus,” answered the reporter, “you must not expose yourself!
Your courage would be of no avail. The villains are evidently watching
the corral, they are hidden in the thick woods which surround it, and if
you go we shall soon have to regret two misfortunes instead of one!”
“But Neb?” repeated the engineer. “It is now four-and-twenty hours since
he has had any news of us! He will be sure to come!”
“And as he will be less on his guard than we should be ourselves,” added
Spilett, “he will be killed!”
“Is there really no way of warning him?”
While the engineer thought, his eyes fell on Top, who, going backwards
and forwards seemed to say,--
“Am not I here?”
“Top!” exclaimed Cyrus Harding.
The animal sprang at his master’s call.
“Yes, Top will go,” said the reporter, who had understood the engineer.
“Top can go where we cannot! He will carry to Granite House the news of
the corral, and he will bring back to us that from Granite House!”
“Quick!” said Harding. “Quick!”
Spilett rapidly tore a leaf from his note-book, and wrote these words:--
“Herbert wounded. We are at the corral. Be on your guard. Do not leave
Granite House. Have the convicts appeared in the neighborhood? Reply by
Top.”
This laconic note contained all that Neb ought to know, and at the same
time asked all that the colonists wished to know. It was folded and
fastened to Top’s collar in a conspicuous position.
“Top, my dog,” said the engineer, caressing the animal, “Neb, Top! Neb!
Go, go!”
Top bounded at these words. He understood, he knew what was expected of
him. The road to the corral was familiar to him. In less than an hour he
could clear it, and it might be hoped that where neither Cyrus Harding
nor the reporter could have ventured without danger, Top, running among
the grass or in the wood, would pass unperceived.
The engineer went to the gate of the corral and opened it.
“Neb, Top! Neb!” repeated the engineer, again pointing in the direction
of Granite House.
Top sprang forwards, then almost immediately disappeared.
“He will get there!” said the reporter.
“Yes, and he will come back, the faithful animal!”
“What o’clock is it?” asked Gideon Spilett.
“Ten.”
“In an hour he may be here. We will watch for his return.”
The gate of the corral was closed. The engineer and the reporter
re-entered the house. Herbert was still in a sleep. Pencroft kept the
compresses always wet. Spilett, seeing there was nothing he could do
at that moment, busied himself in preparing some nourishment, while
attentively watching that part of the enclosure against the hill, at
which an attack might be expected.
The settlers awaited Top’s return with much anxiety. A little before
eleven o’clock, Cyrus Harding and the reporter, rifle in hand, were
behind the gate, ready to open it at the first bark of their dog.
They did not doubt that if Top had arrived safely at Granite House, Neb
would have sent him back immediately.
They had both been there for about ten minutes, when a report was heard,
followed by repeated barks.
The engineer opened the gate, and seeing smoke a hundred feet off in the
wood, he fired in that direction.
Almost immediately Top bounded into the corral, and the gate was quickly
shut.
“Top, Top!” exclaimed the engineer, taking the dog’s great honest head
between his hands.
A note was fastened to his neck, and Cyrus Harding read these words,
traced in Neb’s large writing:--“No pirates in the neighborhood of
Granite House. I will not stir. Poor Mr. Herbert!”
Chapter 8
So the convicts were still there, watching the corral, and determined to
kill the settlers one after the other. There was nothing to be done but
to treat them as wild beasts. But great precautions must be taken, for
just now the wretches had the advantage on their side, seeing, and not
being seen, being able to surprise by the suddenness of their attack,
yet not to be surprised themselves. Harding made arrangements,
therefore, for living in the corral, of which the provisions would last
for a tolerable length of time. Ayrton’s house had been provided with
all that was necessary for existence, and the convicts, scared by
the arrival of the settlers, had not had time to pillage it. It was
probable, as Gideon Spilett observed, that things had occurred as
follows:
The six convicts, disembarking on the island, had followed the southern
shore, and after having traversed the double shore of the Serpentine
Peninsula, not being inclined to venture into the Far West woods, they
had reached the mouth of Falls River. From this point, by following the
right bank of the watercourse, they would arrive at the spurs of Mount
Franklin, among which they would naturally seek a retreat, and they
could not have been long in discovering the corral, then uninhabited.
There they had regularly installed themselves, awaiting the moment
to put their abominable schemes into execution. Ayrton’s arrival had
surprised them, but they had managed to overpower the unfortunate man,
and--the rest may be easily imagined!
Now, the convicts,--reduced to five, it is true, but well armed,--were
roaming the woods, and to venture there was to expose themselves to
their attacks, which could be neither guarded against nor prevented.
“Wait! There is nothing else to be done!” repeated Cyrus Harding. “When
Herbert is cured, we can organize a general battle of the island, and
have satisfaction of these convicts. That will be the object of our
grand expedition at the same time--”
“As the search for our mysterious protector,” added Gideon Spilett,
finishing the engineer’s sentence. “And it must be acknowledged, my dear
Cyrus, that this time his protection was wanting at the very moment when
it was most necessary to us!”
“Who knows?” replied the engineer.
“What do you mean?” asked the reporter.
“That we are not at the end of our trouble yet, my dear Spilett,
and that his powerful intervention may have another opportunity of
exercising itself. But that is not the question now. Herbert’s life
before everything.”
This was the colonists’ saddest thought. Several days passed, and the
poor boy’s state was happily no worse. Cold water, always kept at a
suitable temperature, had completely prevented the inflammation of the
wounds. It even seemed to the reporter that this water, being slightly
sulphurous,--which was explained by the neighborhood of the volcano,
had a more direct action on the healing. The suppuration was much
less abundant, and thanks to the incessant care by which he was
surrounded!--Herbert returned to life, and his fever abated. He was
besides subjected to a severe diet, and consequently his weakness was
and would be extreme; but there was no want of refreshing drinks, and
absolute rest was of the greatest benefit to him. Cyrus Harding, Gideon
Spilett, and Pencroft had become very skilful in dressing the lad’s
wounds. All the linen in the house had been sacrificed. Herbert’s
wounds, covered with compresses and lint, were pressed neither too much
nor too little, so as to cause their cicatrization without effecting any
inflammatory reaction. The reporter used extreme care in the dressing,
knowing well the importance of it, and repeating to his companions that
which most surgeons willingly admit, that it is perhaps rarer to see a
dressing well done than an operation well performed.
In ten days, on the 22nd of November, Herbert was considerably better.
He had begun to take some nourishment.
The color was returning to his cheeks, and his bright eyes smiled at
his nurses. He talked a little, notwithstanding Pencroft’s efforts, who
talked incessantly to prevent him from beginning to speak, and told him
the most improbable stories. Herbert had questioned him on the subject
of Ayrton, whom he was astonished not to see near him, thinking that
he was at the corral. But the sailor, not wishing to distress Herbert,
contented himself by replying that Ayrton had rejoined Neb, so as to
defend Granite House.
“Humph!” said Pencroft, “these pirates! they are gentlemen who have
no right to any consideration! And the captain wanted to win them by
kindness! I’ll send them some kindness, but in the shape of a good
bullet!”
“And have they not been seen again?” asked Herbert.
“No, my boy,” answered the sailor, “but we shall find them, and when
you are cured we shall see if the cowards who strike us from behind will
dare to meet us face to face!”
“I am still very weak, my poor Pencroft!”
“Well! your strength will return gradually! What’s a ball through the
chest? Nothing but a joke! I’ve seen many, and I don’t think much of
them!”
At last things appeared to be going on well, and if no complication
occurred, Herbert’s recovery might be regarded as certain. But what
would have been the condition of the colonists if his state had been
aggravated,--if, for example, the ball had remained in his body, if his
arm or his leg had had to be amputated?
“No,” said Spilett more than once, “I have never thought of such a
contingency without shuddering!”
“And yet, if it had been necessary to operate,” said Harding one day to
him, “you would not have hesitated?”
“No, Cyrus!” said Gideon Spilett, “but thank God that we have been
spared this complication!”
As in so many other conjectures, the colonists had appealed to the logic
of that simple good sense of which they had made use so often, and once
more, thanks to their general knowledge, it had succeeded! But might not
a time come when all their science would be at fault? They were alone
on the island. Now, men in all states of society are necessary to each
other. Cyrus Harding knew this well, and sometimes he asked if some
circumstance might not occur which they would be powerless to surmount.
It appeared to him besides, that he and his companions, till then so
fortunate, had entered into an unlucky period. During the two years and
a half which had elapsed since their escape from Richmond, it might
be said that they had had everything their own way. The island had
abundantly supplied them with minerals, vegetables, animals, and as
Nature had constantly loaded them, their science had known how to take
advantage of what she offered them.
The wellbeing of the colony was therefore complete. Moreover, in certain
occurrences an inexplicable influence had come to their aid!... But all
that could only be for a time.
In short, Cyrus Harding believed that fortune had turned against them.
In fact, the convicts’ ship had appeared in the waters of the island,
and if the pirates had been, so to speak, miraculously destroyed, six of
them, at least, had escaped the catastrophe. They had disembarked on the
island, and it was almost impossible to get at the five who survived.
Ayrton had no doubt been murdered by these wretches, who possessed
firearms, and at the first use that they had made of them, Herbert had
fallen, wounded almost mortally. Were these the first blows aimed by
adverse fortune at the colonists? This was often asked by Harding. This
was often repeated by the reporter; and it appeared to him also that the
intervention, so strange, yet so efficacious, which till then had served
them so well, had now failed them. Had this mysterious being, whatever
he was, whose existence could not be denied, abandoned the island? Had
he in his turn succumbed?
No reply was possible to these questions. But it must not be imagined
that because Harding and his companions spoke of these things, they were
men to despair. Far from that. They looked their situation in the face,
they analyzed the chances, they prepared themselves for any event, they
stood firm and straight before the future, and if adversity was at last
to strike them, it would find in them men prepared to struggle against
it.
Chapter 9
The convalescence of the young invalid was regularly progressing. One
thing only was now to be desired, that his state would allow him to be
brought to Granite House. However well built and supplied the corral
house was, it could not be so comfortable as the healthy granite
dwelling. Besides, it did not offer the same security, and its tenants,
notwithstanding their watchfulness, were here always in fear of some
shot from the convicts. There, on the contrary, in the middle of that
impregnable and inaccessible cliff, they would have nothing to fear, and
any attack on their persons would certainly fail. They therefore waited
impatiently for the moment when Herbert might be moved without danger
from his wound, and they were determined to make this move, although the
communication through Jacamar Wood was very difficult.
They had no news from Neb, but were not uneasy on that account. The
courageous Negro, well entrenched in the depths of Granite House, would
not allow himself to be surprised. Top had not been sent again to him,
as it appeared useless to expose the faithful dog to some shot which
might deprive the settlers of their most useful auxiliary.
They waited, therefore, although they were anxious to be reunited at
Granite House. It pained the engineer to see his forces divided, for it
gave great advantage to the pirates. Since Ayrton’s disappearance they
were only four against five, for Herbert could not yet be counted, and
this was not the least care of the brave boy, who well understood the
trouble of which he was the cause.
The question of knowing how, in their condition, they were to act
against the pirates, was thoroughly discussed on the 29th of November
by Cyrus Harding, Gideon Spilett, and Pencroft, at a moment when Herbert
was asleep and could not hear them.
“My friends,” said the reporter, after they had talked of Neb and of the
impossibility of communicating with him, “I think,--like you, that to
venture on the road to the corral would be to risk receiving a gunshot
without being able to return it. But do you not think that the best
thing to be done now is to openly give chase to these wretches?”
“That is just what I was thinking,” answered Pencroft. “I believe we’re
not fellows to be afraid of a bullet, and as for me, if Captain Harding
approves, I’m ready to dash into the forest! Why, hang it, one man is
equal to another!”
“But is he equal to five?” asked the engineer.
“I will join Pencroft,” said the reporter, “and both of us, well-armed
and accompanied by Top--”
“My dear Spilett, and you, Pencroft,” answered Harding, “let us reason
coolly. If the convicts were hid in one spot of the island, if we knew
that spot, and had only to dislodge them, I would undertake a direct
attack; but is there not occasion to fear, on the contrary, that they
are sure to fire the first shot?”
“Well, captain,” cried Pencroft, “a bullet does not always reach its
mark.”
“That which struck Herbert did not miss, Pencroft,” replied the
engineer. “Besides, observe that if both of you left the corral I should
remain here alone to defend it. Do you imagine that the convicts will
not see you leave it, that they will not allow you to enter the forest,
and that they will not attack it during your absence, knowing that there
is no one here but a wounded boy and a man?”
“You are right, captain,” replied Pencroft, his chest swelling with
sullen anger. “You are right; they will do all they can to retake the
corral, which they know to be well stored; and alone you could not hold
it against them.”
“Oh, if we were only at Granite House!”
“If we were at Granite House,” answered the engineer, “the case would be
very different. There I should not be afraid to leave Herbert with one,
while the other three went to search the forests of the island. But we
are at the corral, and it is best to stay here until we can leave it
together.”
Cyrus Harding’s reasoning was unanswerable, and his companions
understood it well.
“If only Ayrton was still one of us!” said Gideon Spilett. “Poor fellow!
his return to social life will have been but of short duration.”
“If he is dead,” added Pencroft, in a peculiar tone.
“Do you hope, then, Pencroft, that the villains have spared him?” asked
Gideon Spilett.
“Yes, if they had any interest in doing so.”
“What! you suppose that Ayrton finding his old companions, forgetting
all that he owes us--”
“Who knows?” answered the sailor, who did not hazard this shameful
supposition without hesitating.
“Pencroft,” said Harding, taking the sailor’s arm, “that is a wicked
idea of yours, and you will distress me much if you persist in speaking
thus. I will answer for Ayrton’s fidelity.”
“And I also,” added the reporter quickly.
“Yes, yes, captain, I was wrong,” replied Pencroft; “it was a wicked
idea indeed that I had, and nothing justifies it. But what can I do? I’m
not in my senses. This imprisonment in the corral wearies me horribly,
and I have never felt so excited as I do now.
“Be patient, Pencroft,” replied the engineer. “How long will it be, my
dear Spilett, before you think Herbert may be carried to Granite House?”
“That is difficult to say, Cyrus,” answered the reporter, “for any
imprudence might involve terrible consequences. But his convalescence
is progressing, and if he continues to gain strength, in eight days from
now--well, we shall see.”
Eight days! That would put off the return to Granite House until the
first days of December. At this time two months of spring had already
passed. The weather was fine, and the heat began to be great. The
forests of the island were in full leaf, and the time was approaching
when the usual crops ought to be gathered. The return to the plateau of
Prospect Heights would, therefore, be followed by extensive agricultural
labors, interrupted only by the projected expedition through the island.
It can, therefore, be well understood how injurious this seclusion in
the corral must have been to the colonists.
But if they were compelled to bow before necessity, they did not do so
without impatience.
Once or twice the reporter ventured out into the road and made the
tour of the palisade. Top accompanied him, and Gideon Spilett, his gun
cocked, was ready for any emergency.
He met with no misadventure and found no suspicious traces. His dog
would have warned him of any danger, and, as Top did not bark, it might
be concluded that there was nothing to fear at the moment at least, and
that the convicts were occupied in another part of the island.
However, on his second sortie, on the 27th of November, Gideon Spilett,
who had ventured a quarter of a mile into the woods, towards the south
of the mountain, remarked that Top scented something. The dog had no
longer his unconcerned manner; he went backwards and forwards, ferreting
among the grass and bushes as if his smell had revealed some suspicious
object to him.
Gideon Spilett followed Top, encouraged him, excited him by his voice,
while keeping a sharp look-out, his gun ready to fire, and sheltering
himself behind the trees. It was not probable that Top scented the
presence of man, for in that case, he would have announced it by
half-uttered, sullen, angry barks. Now, as he did not growl, it was
because danger was neither near nor approaching.
Nearly five minutes passed thus, Top rummaging, the reporter following
him prudently when, all at once, the dog rushed towards a thick bush,
and drew out a rag.
It was a piece of cloth, stained and torn, which Spilett immediately
brought back to the corral. There it was examined by the colonists,
who found that it was a fragment of Ayrton’s waistcoat, a piece of that
felt, manufactured solely by the Granite House factory.
“You see, Pencroft,” observed Harding, “there has been resistance on the
part of the unfortunate Ayrton. The convicts have dragged him away in
spite of himself! Do you still doubt his honesty?”
“No, captain,” answered the sailor, “and I repented of my suspicion a
long time ago! But it seems to me that something may be learned from the
incident.”
“What is that?” asked the reporter.
“It is that Ayrton was not killed at the corral! That they dragged him
away living, since he has resisted. Therefore, perhaps, he is still
living!”
“Perhaps, indeed,” replied the engineer, who remained thoughtful.
This was a hope, to which Ayrton’s companions could still hold. Indeed,
they had before believed that, surprised in the corral, Ayrton had
fallen by a bullet, as Herbert had fallen. But if the convicts had not
killed him at first, if they had brought him living to another part of
the island, might it not be admitted that he was still their prisoner?
Perhaps, even, one of them had found in Ayrton his old Australian
companion Ben Joyce, the chief of the escaped convicts. And who knows
but that they had conceived the impossible hope of bringing back Ayrton
to themselves? He would have been very useful to them, if they had been
able to make him turn traitor!
This incident was, therefore, favorably interpreted at the corral, and
it no longer appeared impossible that they should find Ayrton again.
On his side, if he was only a prisoner, Ayrton would no doubt do all
he could to escape from the hands of the villains, and this would be a
powerful aid to the settlers!
“At any rate,” observed Gideon Spilett, “if happily Ayrton did manage to
escape, he would go directly to Granite House, for he could not know
of the attempted assassination of which Herbert has been a victim, and
consequently would never think of our being imprisoned in the corral.”
“Oh! I wish that he was there, at Granite House!” cried Pencroft, “and
that we were there, too! For, although the rascals can do nothing to our
house, they may plunder the plateau, our plantations, our poultry-yard!”
Pencroft had become a thorough farmer, heartily attached to his crops.
But it must be said that Herbert was more anxious than any to return
to Granite House, for he knew how much the presence of the settlers
was needed there. And it was he who was keeping them at the corral!
Therefore, one idea occupied his mind--to leave the corral, and when!
He believed he could bear removal to Granite House. He was sure his
strength would return more quickly in his room, with the air and sight
of the sea!
Several times he pressed Gideon Spilett, but the latter, fearing, with
good reason, that Herbert’s wounds, half healed, might reopen on the
way, did not give the order to start.
However, something occurred which compelled Cyrus Harding and his
two friends to yield to the lad’s wish, and God alone knew that this
determination might cause them grief and remorse.
It was the 29th of November, seven o’clock in the evening. The three
settlers were talking in Herbert’s room, when they heard Top utter quick
barks.
Harding, Pencroft, and Spilett seized their guns and ran out of the
house. Top, at the foot of the palisade, was jumping, barking, but it
was with pleasure, not anger.
“Some one is coming.”
“Yes.”
“It is not an enemy!”
“Neb, perhaps?”
“Or Ayrton?”
These words had hardly been exchanged between the engineer and his two
companions when a body leaped over the palisade and fell on the ground
inside the corral.
It was Jup, Master Jup in person, to whom Top immediately gave a most
cordial reception.
“Jup!” exclaimed Pencroft.
“Neb has sent him to us,” said the reporter.
“Then,” replied the engineer, “he must have some note on him.”
Pencroft rushed up to the orang. Certainly if Neb had any important
matter to communicate to his master he could not employ a more sure or
more rapid messenger, who could pass where neither the colonists could,
nor even Top himself.
Cyrus Harding was not mistaken. At Jup’s neck hung a small bag, and in
this bag was found a little note traced by Neb’s hand.
The despair of Harding and his companions may be imagined when they read
these words:--
“Friday, six o’clock in the morning.
“Plateau invaded by convicts.
“Neb.”
They gazed at each other without uttering a word, then they re-entered
the house. What were they to do? The convicts on Prospect Heights! that
was disaster, devastation, ruin.
Herbert, on seeing the engineer, the reporter, and Pencroft re-enter,
guessed that their situation was aggravated, and when he saw Jup, he no
longer doubted that some misfortune menaced Granite House.
“Captain Harding,” said he, “I must go; I can bear the journey. I must
go.”
Gideon Spilett approached Herbert; then, having looked at him,--
“Let us go, then!” said he.
The question was quickly decided whether Herbert should be carried on a
litter or in the cart which had brought Ayrton to the corral. The motion
of the litter would have been more easy for the wounded lad, but it
would have necessitated two bearers, that is to say, there would have
been two guns less for defense if an attack was made on the road. Would
they not, on the contrary, by employing the cart leave every arm free?
Was it impossible to place the mattress on which Herbert was lying in
it, and to advance with so much care that any jolt should be avoided? It
could be done.
The cart was brought. Pencroft harnessed the onager. Cyrus Harding and
the reporter raised Herbert’s mattress and placed it on the bottom of
the cart. The weather was fine. The sun’s bright rays glanced through
the trees.
“Are the guns ready?” asked Cyrus Harding.
They were. The engineer and Pencroft, each armed with a double-barreled
gun, and Gideon Spilett carrying his rifle, had nothing to do but start.
“Are you comfortable, Herbert?” asked the engineer.
“Ah, captain,” replied the lad, “don’t be uneasy, I shall not die on the
road!”
While speaking thus, it could be seen that the poor boy had called up
all his energy, and by the energy of a powerful will had collected his
failing strength.
The engineer felt his heart sink painfully. He still hesitated to
give the signal for departure; but that would have driven Herbert to
despair--killed him perhaps.
“Forward!” said Harding.
The gate of the corral was opened. Jup and Top, who knew when to be
silent, ran in advance. The cart came out, the gate was reclosed, and
the onager, led by Pencroft, advanced at a slow pace.
Certainly, it would have been safer to have taken a different road than
that which led straight from the corral to Granite House, but the cart
would have met with great difficulties in moving under the trees. It was
necessary, therefore, to follow this way, although it was well known to
the convicts.
Cyrus Harding and Gideon Spilett walked one on each side of the cart,
ready to answer to any attack. However, it was not probable that the
convicts would have yet left the plateau of Prospect Heights.
Neb’s note had evidently been written and sent as soon as the convicts
had shown themselves there. Now, this note was dated six o’clock in
the morning, and the active orang, accustomed to come frequently to the
corral, had taken scarcely three quarters of an hour to cross the five
miles which separated it from Granite House. They would, therefore, be
safe at that time, and if there was any occasion for firing, it would
probably not be until they were in the neighborhood of Granite House.
However, the colonists kept a strict watch. Top and Jup, the latter
armed with his club, sometimes in front, sometimes beating the wood at
the sides of the road, signalized no danger.
The cart advanced slowly under Pencroft’s guidance. It had left the
corral at half-past seven. An hour after, four out of the five miles
had been cleared, without any incident having occurred. The road was
as deserted as all that part of the Jacamar Wood which lay between the
Mercy and the lake. There was no occasion for any warning. The wood
appeared as deserted as on the day when the colonists first landed on
the island.
They approached the plateau. Another mile and they would see the bridge
over Creek Glycerine. Cyrus Harding expected to find it in its place;
supposing that the convicts would have crossed it, and that, after
having passed one of the streams which enclosed the plateau, they
would have taken the precaution to lower it again, so as to keep open a
retreat.
At length an opening in the trees allowed the sea-horizon to be seen.
But the cart continued its progress, for not one of its defenders
thought of abandoning it.
At that moment Pencroft stopped the onager, and in a hoarse voice,--
“Oh! the villains!” he exclaimed.
And he pointed to a thick smoke rising from the mill, the sheds, and the
buildings at the poultry-yard.
A man was moving about in the midst of the smoke. It was Neb.
His companions uttered a shout. He heard, and ran to meet them.
The convicts had left the plateau nearly half-an-hour before, having
devastated it!
“And Mr. Herbert?” asked Neb.
Gideon Spilett returned to the cart.
Herbert had lost consciousness!
Chapter 10
Of the convicts, the dangers which menaced Granite House, the ruins
with which the plateau was covered, the colonists thought no longer.
Herbert’s critical state outweighed all other considerations. Would the
removal prove fatal to him by causing some internal injury? The reporter
could not affirm it, but he and his companions almost despaired of
the result. The cart was brought to the bend of the river. There some
branches, disposed as a liner, received the mattress on which lay the
unconscious Herbert. Ten minutes after, Cyrus Harding, Spilett, and
Pencroft were at the foot of the cliff, leaving Neb to take the cart
on to the plateau of Prospect Heights. The lift was put in motion, and
Herbert was soon stretched on his bed in Granite House.
What cares were lavished on him to bring him back to life! He smiled for
a moment on finding himself in his room, but could scarcely even murmur
a few words, so great was his weakness. Gideon Spilett examined his
wounds. He feared to find them reopened, having been imperfectly healed.
There was nothing of the sort. From whence, then, came this prostration?
why was Herbert so much worse? The lad then fell into a kind of feverish
sleep, and the reporter and Pencroft remained near the bed. During this
time, Harding told Neb all that had happened at the corral, and Neb
recounted to his master the events of which the plateau had just been
the theater.
It was only during the preceding night that the convicts had appeared on
the edge of the forest, at the approaches to Creek Glycerine. Neb, who
was watching near the poultry-yard, had not hesitated to fire at one of
the pirates, who was about to cross the stream; but in the darkness he
could not tell whether the man had been hit or not. At any rate, it was
not enough to frighten away the band, and Neb had only just time to get
up to Granite House, where at least he was in safety.
But what was he to do there? How prevent the devastations with which the
convicts threatened the plateau? Had Neb any means by which to warn
his master? And, besides, in what situation were the inhabitants of the
corral themselves? Cyrus Harding and his companions had left on the 11th
of November, and it was now the 29th. It was, therefore, nineteen days
since Neb had had other news than that brought by Top--disastrous news:
Ayrton disappeared, Herbert severely wounded, the engineer, reporter,
and sailor, as it were, imprisoned in the corral!
What was he to do? asked poor Neb. Personally he had nothing to
fear, for the convicts could not reach him in Granite House. But the
buildings, the plantations, all their arrangements at the mercy of the
pirates! Would it not be best to let Cyrus Harding judge of what he
ought to do, and to warn him, at least, of the danger which threatened
him?
Neb then thought of employing Jup, and confiding a note to him. He knew
the orang’s great intelligence, which had been often put to the proof.
Jup understood the word corral, which had been frequently pronounced
before him, and it may be remembered, too, that he had often driven
the cart thither in company with Pencroft. Day had not yet dawned. The
active orang would know how to pass unperceived through the woods, of
which the convicts, besides, would think he was a native.
Neb did not hesitate. He wrote the note, he tied it to Jup’s neck, he
brought the ape to the door of Granite House, from which he let down a
long cord to the ground; then, several times he repeated these words,--
“Jup Jup! corral, corral!”
The creature understood, seized the cord, glided rapidly down the beach,
and disappeared in the darkness without the convicts’ attention having
been in the least excited.
“You did well, Neb,” said Harding, “but perhaps in not warning us you
would have done still better!”
And, in speaking thus, Cyrus Harding thought of Herbert, whose recovery
the removal had so seriously checked.
Neb ended his account. The convicts had not appeared at all on the
beach. Not knowing the number of the island’s inhabitants, they might
suppose that Granite House was defended by a large party. They must have
remembered that during the attack by the brig numerous shot had been
fired both from the lower and upper rocks, and no doubt they did not
wish to expose themselves. But the plateau of Prospect Heights was
open to them, and not covered by the fire of Granite House. They gave
themselves up, therefore, to their instinct of destruction,--plundering,
burning, devastating everything,--and only retiring half an hour before
the arrival of the colonists, whom they believed still confined in the
corral.
On their retreat, Neb hurried out. He climbed the plateau at the risk
of being perceived and fired at, tried to extinguish the fire which was
consuming the buildings of the poultry-yard, and had struggled, though
in vain, against it until the cart appeared at the edge of the wood.
Such had been these serious events. The presence of the convicts
constituted a permanent source of danger to the settlers in Lincoln
Island, until then so happy, and who might now expect still greater
misfortunes.
Spilett remained in Granite House with Herbert and Pencroft, while
Cyrus Harding, accompanied by Neb, proceeded to judge for himself of the
extent of the disaster.
It was fortunate that the convicts had not advanced to the foot of
Granite House. The workshop at the Chimneys would in that case not
have escaped destruction. But after all, this evil would have been more
easily reparable than the ruins accumulated on the plateau of Prospect
Heights. Harding and Neb proceeded towards the Mercy, and ascended its
left bank without meeting with any trace of the convicts; nor on the
other side of the river, in the depths of the wood, could they perceive
any suspicious indications.
Besides, it might be supposed that in all probability either the
convicts knew of the return of the settlers to Granite House, by having
seen them pass on the road from the corral, or, after the devastation of
the plateau, they had penetrated into Jacamar Wood, following the course
of the Mercy, and were thus ignorant of their return.
In the former case, they must have returned towards the corral, now
without defenders, and which contained valuable stores.
In the latter, they must have regained their encampment, and would wait
on opportunity to recommence the attack.
It was, therefore, possible to prevent them, but any enterprise to clear
the island was now rendered difficult by reason of Herbert’s condition.
Indeed, their whole force would have been barely sufficient to cope with
the convicts, and just now no one could leave Granite House.
The engineer and Neb arrived on the plateau. Desolation reigned
everywhere. The fields had been trampled over; the ears of wheat, which
were nearly full-grown, lay on the ground. The other plantations had not
suffered less.
The kitchen-garden was destroyed. Happily, Granite House possessed a
store of seed which would enable them to repair these misfortunes.
As to the wall and buildings of the poultry-yard and the onagers stable,
the fire had destroyed all. A few terrified creatures roamed over the
plateau. The birds, which during the fire had taken refuge on the waters
of the lake, had already returned to their accustomed spot, and were
dabbling on the banks. Everything would have to be reconstructed.
Cyrus Harding’s face, which was paler than usual, expressed an internal
anger which he commanded with difficulty, but he did not utter a word.
Once more he looked at his devastated fields, and at the smoke which
still rose from the ruins, then he returned to Granite House.
The following days were the saddest of any that the colonists had passed
on the island! Herbert’s weakness visibly increased. It appeared that
a more serious malady, the consequence of the profound physiological
disturbance he had gone through, threatened to declare itself, and
Gideon Spilett feared such an aggravation of his condition that he would
be powerless to fight against it!
In fact, Herbert remained in an almost continuous state of drowsiness,
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503
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