Books: The Mysterious Island

J >> Jules Verne >> The Mysterious Island

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"That's settled. Let us be off," said the reporter.

Pencroft, Herbert, and Gideon Spilett, on their return to Granite House,
told the engineer all that had passed, and the latter approved of their
arrangements both for the present and the future. He also promised the
sailor that he would study that part of the channel situated between the
islet and the coast, so as to ascertain if it would not be possible to make
an artificial harbor there by means of dams. In this way, the
"Bonadventure" would be always within reach, under the eyes of the
colonists, and if necessary, under lock and key.

That evening a telegram was sent to Ayrton, requesting him to bring from
the corral a couple of goats, which Neb wished to acclimatize to the
plateau. Singularly enough, Ayrton did not acknowledge the receipt of the
despatch, as he was accustomed to do. This could not but astonish the
engineer. But it might be that Ayrton was not at that moment in the corral,
or even that he was on his way back to Granite House. In fact, two days had
already passed since his departure, and it had been decided that on the
evening of the 10th or at the latest the morning of the 11th, he should
return. The colonists waited, therefore, for Ayrton to appear on Prospect
Heights. Neb and Herbert even watched at the bridge so as to be ready to
lower it the moment their companion presented himself.

But up to ten in the evening, there were no signs of Ayrton. It was,
therefore, judged best to send a fresh despatch, requiring an immediate
reply.

The bell of the telegraph at Granite House remained mute.

The colonists' uneasiness was great. What had happened? Was Ayrton no
longer at the corral, or if he was still there, had he no longer control
over his movements? Could they go to the corral in this dark night?

They consulted. Some wished to go, the others to remain.

"But," said Herbert, "perhaps some accident has happened to the
telegraphic apparatus, so that it works no longer?"

"That may be," said the reporter.

"Wait till to-morrow," replied Cyrus Harding. "It is possible, indeed,
that Ayrton has not received our despatch, or even that we have not
received his."

They waited, of course not without some anxiety.

At dawn of day, the 11th of November, Harding again sent the electric
current along the wire and received no reply.

He tried again: the same result.

"Off to the corral," said he.

"And well armed!" added Pencroft.

It was immediately decided that Granite House should not be left alone
and that Neb should remain there. After having accompanied his friends to
Creek Glycerine, he raised the bridge; and waiting behind a tree he watched
for the return of either his companions or Ayrton.

In the event of the pirates presenting themselves and attempting to force
the passage, he was to endeavor to stop them by firing on them, and as a
last resource he was to take refuge in Granite House, where, the lift once
raised, he would be in safety.

Cyrus Harding, Gideon Spilett, Herbert, and Pencroft were to repair to the
corral, and if they did not find Ayrton, search the neighboring woods.

At six o'clock in the morning, the engineer and his three companions had
passed Creek Glycerine, and Neb posted himself behind a small mound crowned
by several dragon trees, on the left bank of the stream.

The colonists, after leaving the plateau of Prospect Heights, immediately
took the road to the corral. They shouldered their guns, ready to fire on
the slightest hostile demonstration. The two rifles and the two guns had
been loaded with ball.

The wood was thick on each side of the road and might easily have
concealed the convicts, who owing to their weapons would have been really
formidable.

The colonists walked rapidly and in silence. Top preceded them, sometimes
running on the road, sometimes taking a ramble into the wood, but always
quiet and not appearing to fear anything unusual. And they could be sure
that the faithful dog would not allow them to be surprised, but would bark
at the least appearance of danger.

Cyrus Harding and his companions followed beside the road the wire which
connected the corral with Granite House. After walking for nearly two
miles, they had not as yet discovered any explanation of the difficulty.
The posts were in good order, the wire regularly extended. However, at that
moment the engineer observed that the wire appeared to be slack, and on
arriving at post No. 74, Herbert, who was in advance stopped, exclaiming,--

"The wire is broken!"

His companions hurried forward and arrived at the spot where the lad was
standing. The post was rooted up and lying across the path. The unexpected
explanation of the difficulty was here, and it was evident that the
despatches from Granite House had not been received at the corral, nor
those from the corral at Granite House.

"It wasn't the wind that blew down this post," observed Pencroft.

"No," replied Gideon Spilett. "The earth has been dug up round its foot,
and it has been torn up by the hand of man."

"Besides, the wire is broken," added Herbert, showing that the wire had
been snapped.

"Is the fracture recent?" asked Harding.

"Yes," answered Herbert, "it has certainly been done quite lately."

"To the corral! to the corral!" exclaimed the sailor.

The colonists were now half way between Granite House and the corral,
having still two miles and a half to go. They pressed forward with
redoubled speed.

Indeed, it was to be feared that some serious accident had occurred in
the corral. No doubt, Ayrton might have sent a telegram which had not
arrived, but this was not the reason why his companions were so uneasy,
for, a more unaccountable circumstance, Ayrton, who had promised to return
the evening before, had not reappeared. In short, it was not without a
motive that all communication had been stopped between the corral and
Granite House, and who but the convicts could have any interest in
interrupting this communication?

The settlers hastened on, their hearts oppressed with anxiety. They were
sincerely attached to their new companion. Were they to find him struck
down by the hands of those of whom he was formerly the leader?

Soon they arrived at the place where the road led along the side of the
little stream which flowed from the Red Creek and watered the meadows of
the corral. They then moderated their pace so that they should not be out
of breath at the moment when a struggle might be necessary. Their guns were
in their hands ready cocked. The forest was watched on every side. Top
uttered sullen groans which were rather ominous.

At last the palisade appeared through the trees. No trace of any damage
could be seen. The gate was shut as usual. Deep silence reigned in the
corral. Neither the accustomed bleating of the sheep nor Ayrton's voice
could be heard.

"Let us enter," said Cyrus Harding.

And the engineer advanced, while his companions, keeping watch about
twenty paces behind him, were ready to fire at a moment's notice.

Harding raised the inner latch of the gate and was about to push it back,
when Top barked loudly. A report sounded and was responded to by a cry of
pain.

Herbert, struck by a bullet, lay stretched on the ground.

Chapter 7

At Herbert's cry, Pencroft, letting his gun fall, rushed towards him.

"They have killed him!" he cried. "My boy! They have killed him!"

Cyrus Harding and Gideon Spilett ran to Herbert.

The reporter listened to ascertain if the poor lad's heart was still
beating.

"He lives," said he, "but he must be carried--"

"To Granite House? that is impossible!" replied the engineer.

"Into the corral, then!" said Pencroft.

"In a moment," said Harding.

And he ran round the left corner of the palisade. There he found a
convict, who aiming at him, sent a ball through his hat. In a few seconds,
before he had even time to fire his second barrel, he fell, struck to the
heart by Harding's dagger, more sure even than his gun.

During this time, Gideon Spilett and the sailor hoisted themselves over
the palisade, leaped into the enclosure, threw down the props which
supported the inner door, ran into the empty house, and soon, poor Herbert
was lying on Ayrton's bed. In a few moments, Harding was by his side.

On seeing Herbert senseless, the sailor's grief was terrible.

He sobbed, he cried, he tried to beat his head against the wall.

Neither the engineer nor the reporter could calm him. They themselves
were choked with emotion. They could not speak.

However, they knew that it depended on them to rescue from death the poor
boy who was suffering beneath their eyes. Gideon Spilett had not passed
through the many incidents by which his life had been checkered without
acquiring some slight knowledge of medicine. He knew a little of
everything, and several times he had been obliged to attend to wounds
produced either by a sword-bayonet or shot. Assisted by Cyrus Harding, he
proceeded to render the aid Herbert required.

The reporter was immediately struck by the complete stupor in which
Herbert lay, a stupor owing either to the hemorrhage, or to the shock, the
ball having struck a bone with sufficient force to produce a violent
concussion.

Herbert was deadly pale, and his pulse so feeble that Spilett only felt it
beat at long intervals, as if it was on the point of stopping.

These symptoms were very serious.

Herbert's chest was laid bare, and the blood having been stanched with
handkerchiefs, it was bathed with cold water.

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 antiphiogistics 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
compresser 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. "An, 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.