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 stillbeating.
"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 aconvict, who aiming at him, sent a ball through his hat. In a fewseconds, 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 overthe palisade, leaped into the enclosure, threw down the props whichsupported the inner door, ran into the empty house, and soon, poorHerbert was lying on Ayrton's bed. In a few moments, Harding was by hisside.
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 themselveswere choked with emotion. They could not speak.
However, they knew that it depended on them to rescue from death thepoor boy who was suffering beneath their eyes. Gideon Spilett had notpassed through the many incidents by which his life had been checkeredwithout acquiring some slight knowledge of medicine. He knew a littleof everything, and several times he had been obliged to attend to woundsproduced 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 whichHerbert lay, a stupor owing either to the hemorrhage, or to the shock,the ball having struck a bone with sufficient force to produce a violentconcussion.
Herbert was deadly pale, and his pulse so feeble that Spilett only feltit 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 withhandkerchiefs, it was bathed with cold water.
The contusion, or rather the contused wound appeared,--an oval below thechest between the third and fourth ribs. It was there that Herbert hadbeen hit by the bullet.
Cyrus Harding and Gideon Spilett then turned the poor boy over; as theydid so, he uttered a moan so feeble that they almost thought it was hislast sigh.
Herberts back was covered with blood from another contused wound, bywhich the ball had immediately escaped.
"God be praised!" said the reporter, "the ball is not in the body, andwe 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 pulsestill beats. He has even uttered a moan. But for your boy's sake, calmyourself. 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 downhis cheeks.
In the meanwhile, Gideon Spilett endeavored to collect his ideas, andproceed methodically. After his examination he had no doubt that theball, entering in front, between the seventh and eighth ribs, had issuedbehind between the third and fourth. But what mischief had the ballcommitted in its passage? What important organs had been reached? Aprofessional surgeon would have had difficulty in determining this atonce, and still more so the reporter.
However, he knew one thing, this was that he would have to prevent theinflammatory strangulation of the injured parts, then to contend withthe local inflammation and fever which would result from the wound,perhaps mortal! Now, what styptics, what antiphlogistics ought to beemployed? By what means could inflammation be prevented?
At any rate, the most important thing was that the two wounds shouldbe dressed without delay. It did not appear necessary to Gideon Spilettthat a fresh flow of blood should be caused by bathing them in tepidwater, and compressing their lips. The hemorrhage had been veryabundant, and Herbert was already too much enfeebled by the loss ofblood.
The reporter, therefore, thought it best to simply bathe the two woundswith cold water.
Herbert was placed on his left side, and was maintained in thatposition.
"He must not be moved." said Gideon Spilett. "He is in the mostfavorable position for the wounds in his back and chest to suppurateeasily, 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 amenacing manner.
"Pencroft!" said Cyrus Harding.
Gideon Spilett had resumed his examination of the wounded boy. Herbertwas still so frightfully pale, that the reporter felt anxious.
"Cyrus," said he, "I am not a surgeon. I am in terrible perplexity. Youmust aid me with your advice, your experience!"
"Take courage, my friend," answered the engineer, pressing thereporter's hand. "Judge coolly. Think only of this: Herbert must besaved!"
These words restored to Gideon Spilett that self-possession which he hadlost in a moment of discouragement on feeling his great responsibility.He seated himself close to the bed. Cyrus Harding stood near. Pencrofthad torn up his shirt, and was mechanically making lint.
Spilett then explained to Cyrus Harding that he thought he ought firstof all to stop the hemorrhage, but not close the two wounds, or causetheir 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 shouldbe dressed without attempting to close them by immediate coaptation.
And now did the colonists possess an efficacious agent to act againstthe inflammation which might occur?
Yes. They had one, for nature had generously lavished it. They had coldwater, that is to say, the most powerful sedative that can be employedagainst inflammation of wounds, the most efficacious therapeutic agentin grave cases, and the one which is now adopted by all physicians.Cold water has, moreover, the advantage of leaving the wound in absoluterest, and preserving it from all premature dressing, a considerableadvantage, since it has been found by experience that contact with theair is dangerous during the first days.
Gideon Spilett and Cyrus Harding reasoned thus with their simple goodsense, and they acted as the best surgeon would have done. Compressesof linen were applied to poor Herbert's two wounds, and were keptconstantly wet with cold water.
The sailor had at first lighted a fire in the hut, which was not wantingin things necessary for life. Maple sugar, medicinal plants, the samewhich the lad had gathered on the banks of Lake Grant, enabled them tomake some refreshing drinks, which they gave him without his taking anynotice of it. His fever was extremely high, and all that day and nightpassed without his becoming conscious.
Herbert's life hung on a thread, and this thread might break at anymoment. The next day, the 12th of November, the hopes of Harding and hiscompanions slightly revived. Herbert had come out of his long stupor.He opened his eyes, he recognized Cyrus Harding, the reporter, andPencroft. He uttered two or three words. He did not know what hadhappened. They told him, and Spilett begged him to remain perfectlystill, telling him that his life was not in danger, and that his woundswould heal in a few days. However, Herbert scarcely suffered at all,and the cold water with which they were constantly bathed, prevented anyinflammation of the wounds. The suppuration was established in a regularway, the fever did not increase, and it might now be hop
ed that thisterrible wound would not involve any catastrophe. Pencroft felt theswelling 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 meagain 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 perforationof this organ is not fatal."
"God bless you!" answered Pencroft.
As may be believed, during the four-and-twenty hours they had been inthe corral, the colonists had no other thought than that of nursingHerbert. They did not think either of the danger which threatened themshould the convicts return, or of the precautions to be taken for thefuture.
But on this day, while Pencroft watched by the sick-bed, Cyrus Hardingand 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 heresisted, and been overcome in the struggle? This last supposition wasonly too probable. Gideon Spilett, at the moment he scaled the palisade,had clearly seen some one of the convicts running along the southernspur of Mount Franklin, towards whom Top had sprung. It was one of thosewhose object had been so completely defeated by the rocks at the mouthof the Mercy. Besides, the one killed by Harding, and whose body wasfound 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 couldthey see traces of any struggle, any devastation, either in the hut,or in the palisade. The ammunition only, with which Ayrton had beensupplied, had disappeared with him.
"The unhappy man has been surprised," said Harding, "and as he was a manto defend himself, he must have been overpowered."
"Yes, that is to be feared!" said the reporter. "Then, doubtless, theconvicts installed themselves in the corral where they found plenty ofeverything, 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 theisland of these wretches. Pencroft's presentiments were not mistaken,when he wished to hunt them as wild beasts. That would have spared usall these misfortunes!"
"Yes," answered the reporter, "but now we have the right to bemerciless!"
"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 toGranite 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 bemurdered 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 isimpossible now! As to leaving Pencroft and Herbert here alone, we couldnot 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 watchingthe corral, they are hidden in the thick woods which surround it, and ifyou go we shall soon have to regret two misfortunes instead of one!"
"But Neb?" repeated the engineer. "It is now four-and-twenty hours sincehe 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," addedSpilett, "he will be killed!"
"Is there really no way of warning him?"
While the engineer thought, his eyes fell on Top, who, going backwardsand 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 ofthe 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 leaveGranite House. Have the convicts appeared in the neighborhood? Reply byTop."
This laconic note contained all that Neb ought to know, and at the sametime asked all that the colonists wished to know. It was folded andfastened 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 ofhim. The road to the corral was familiar to him. In less than an hour hecould clear it, and it might be hoped that where neither Cyrus Hardingnor the reporter could have ventured without danger, Top, running amongthe 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 directionof 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 reporterre-entered the house. Herbert was still in a sleep. Pencroft kept thecompresses always wet. Spilett, seeing there was nothing he could doat that moment, busied himself in preparing some nourishment, whileattentively watching that part of the enclosure against the hill, atwhich an attack might be expected.
The settlers awaited Top's return with much anxiety. A little beforeeleven o'clock, Cyrus Harding and the reporter, rifle in hand, werebehind 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, Nebwould 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 thewood, he fired in that direction.
Almost immediately Top bounded into the corral, and the gate was quicklyshut.
"Top, Top!" exclaimed the engineer, taking the dog's great honest headbetween 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 ofGranite House. I will not stir. Poor Mr. Herbert!"