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 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
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.
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 recognised 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, whilst 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?"
Whilst 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!"