The Mysterious Island (64 page)

"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!"

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.