Chapter 50
Chapter 8
7 min read · 1,396 words
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.
Jules Verne — text from Project Gutenberg (eBook #1268)
Comments
Loading comments…