The Collected Works of Jules Verne: 36 Novels and Short Stories (Unexpurgated Edition) (Halcyon Classics)

by Jules Verne

  "But!" exclaimed Pencroft, "who in the world can he be? The fellow knows us and we know nothing about him! If he is a simple castaway, why should he conceal himself? We are honest men, I suppose, and the society of honest men isn't unpleasant to any one. Did he come here voluntarily? Can he leave the island if he likes? Is he here still? Will he remain any longer?"

  Chatting thus, Pencroft, Gideon Spilett, and Herbert got on board and looked about the deck of the Bonadventure. All at once, the sailor having examined the bitts to which the cable of the anchor was secured--

  "Hallo," he cried, "this is queer!"

  "What is the matter, Pencroft?" asked the reporter.

  "The matter is, that it was not I who made this knot!"

  And Pencroft showed a rope which fastened the cable to the bitt itself.

  "What, it was not you?" asked Gideon Spilett.

  "No! I can swear to it. This is a reef knot, and I always make a running bowline."

  "You must be mistaken, Pencroft."

  "I am not mistaken!" declared the sailor. "My hand does it so naturally, and one's hand is never mistaken!"

  "Then can the convicts have been on board?" asked Herbert.

  "I know nothing about that," answered Pencroft, "but what is certain, is that some one has weighed the Bonadventure's anchor and dropped it again! And look here, here is another proof! The cable of the anchor has been run out, and its service is no longer at the hawse-hole. I repeat that some one has been using our vessel!"

  "But if the convicts had used her, they would have pillaged her, or rather gone off with her."

  "Gone off! where to--to Tabor Island?" replied Pencroft. "Do you think they would risk themselves in a boat of such small tonnage?"

  "We must, besides, be sure that they know of the islet," rejoined the reporter.

  "However that may be," said the sailor, "as sure as my name is Bonadventure Pencroft, of the Vineyard, our Bonadventure has sailed without us!"

  The sailor was so positive that neither Gideon Spilett nor Herbert could dispute his statement. It was evident that the vessel had been moved, more or less, since Pencroft had brought her to Port Balloon. As to the sailor, he had not the slightest doubt that the anchor had been raised and then dropped again. Now, what was the use of these two manoeuvres, unless the vessel had been employed in some expedition?

  "But how was it we did not see the Bonadventure pass in sight of the island?" observed the reporter, who was anxious to bring forward every possible objection.

  "Why, Mr Spilett," replied the sailor, "they would only have to start in the night with a good breeze, and they would be out of sight of the island in two hours."

  "Well," resumed Gideon Spilett, "I ask again, what object could the convicts have had in using the Bonadventure, and why, after they had made use of her, should they have brought her back to port?"

  "Why, Mr Spilett," replied the sailor, "we must put that among the unaccountable things, and not think anything more about it. The chief thing is that the Bonadventure was there, and she is there now. Only, unfortunately, if the convicts take her a second time, we shall very likely not find her again in her place!"

  "Then, Pencroft," said Herbert, "would it not be wisest to bring the Bonadventure off to Granite House?"

  "Yes and no," answered Pencroft, "or rather no. The mouth of the Mercy is a bad place for a vessel, and the sea is heavy there."

  "But by hauling her up on the sand, to the foot of the Chimneys?"

  "Perhaps yes," replied Pencroft. "At any rate, since we must leave Granite House for a long expedition, I think the Bonadventure will be safer here during our absence, and we shall do best to leave her here until the island is rid of these blackguards."

  "That is exactly my opinion," said the reporter. "At any rate in the event of bad weather, she will not be exposed here as she would be at the mouth of the Mercy."

  "But suppose the convicts pay her another visit," said Herbert.

  "Well, my boy," replied Pencroft, "not finding her here, they would not be long in finding her on the sands of Granite House, and, during our absence, nothing could hinder them from seizing her! I agree, therefore, with Mr Spilett, that she must be left in Port Balloon. But, if on our return we have not rid the island of those rascals, it will be prudent to bring our boat to Granite House, until the time when we need not fear any unpleasant visits."

  "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 harbour 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 acclimatise 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 had 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 endeavour 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 neighbouring 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 dragoniners 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 smallest 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 for
midable.

  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 expended. However, at that moment the engineer observed that the wire appeared to be slack, and on arriving at post Number 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 a 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, whilst 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 SEVEN.

  THE REPORTER AND PENCROFT IN THE CORRAL--HERBERT'S WOUND--THE SAILOR'S DESPAIR--CONSULTATION BETWEEN THE REPORTER AND THE ENGINEER--MODE OF TREATMENT--HOPE NOT ABANDONED--HOW IS NEB TO BE WARNED--A SURE AND FAITHFUL MESSENGER--NEB'S REPLY.

  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, leapt 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 chequered 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 haemorrhage, 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 staunched 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.

  Herbert's 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 endeavoured 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 stiptics, 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 haemorrhage had been very abundant, and Herbert was alre
ady 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 favourable 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 haemorrhage, but not close the two wounds, or cause their immediate cicatrisation, 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.