The Mysterious Island by Jules Verne (uplifting books for women txt) 📕

“The poor fellow was taken by surprise,” said Smith, “and as he was a man to show fight, no doubt they made an end of him.”

“Yes,” replied the reporter, “and then, no doubt, they took possession here, where they found everything in great plenty, and took to flight only when they saw us coming.”

“We must beat the woods,” said the engineer, “and rid the island of these wretches. But we will have to wait some time in the corral, till the day comes when we can safely carry Herbert to Granite House.”

“But Neb?” asked the reporter.

“Neb’s safe enough.”

“Suppose he becomes anxious and risks coming here?”

“He must not come,” said Smith sharply. “He would be murdered on the way!”

“It’s very likely he will try.”

“Ah! if the telegraph was only in working order, we could warn him! But now it’s impossible. We can’t leave Pencroff and Herbert here alone. Well, I’ll go by myself to Granite House!”

“No, no, Cyrus,” said the reporter, “you must not expose yourself. These wretches are watching the corral from their ambush, and there would be two mishaps instead of one!”

“But Neb has been without news of us for twenty-four hours,” repeated the engineer. “He will want to come.”

While he reflected, his gaze fell upon Top, who, by running to and fro, seemed to say, “Have you forgotten me?”

“Top!” cried Smith.

The dog sprang up at this master’s call.

“Yes, Top shall go!” cried the reporter, who understood in a flash. “Top will make his way where we could not pass, will take our message and bring us back an answer.”

“Quick!” said Smith, “quick!”

Spilett tore out a page of his notebook and wrote these lines:⁠—

“Herbert wounded. We are at the corral. Be on your guard. Do not leave Granite House. Have the convicts shown themselves near you? Answer by Top!”

This laconic note was folded and tied in a conspicuous way to Top’s collar.

“Top, my dog,” said the engineer, caressing the animal, “Neb, Top, Neb! Away! away!”

Top sprang high at the words. He understood what was wanted, and the road was familiar to him. The engineer went to the door of the corral and opened one of the leaves.

“Neb, Top, Neb!” he cried again, pointing towards Granite House.

Top rushed out and disappeared almost instantly.

“He’ll get there!” said the reporter.

“Yes, and come back, the faithful brute!”

“What time is it?” asked Spilett.

“Ten o’clock.”

“In an hour he may be here. We will watch for him.”

The door of the corral was closed again. The engineer and the reporter re-entered the house. Herbert lay in a profound sleep. Pencroff kept his compresses constantly wet with cold water. Spilett, seeing that just then there was nothing else to do, set to work to prepare some food, all the time keeping his eye on that part of the inclosure which backed up against the spur, from which an attack might be made.

The colonists awaited Top’s return with much anxiety. A little before eleven o’clock Smith and Spilett stood with their carbines behind the door, ready to open it at the dog’s first bark. They knew that if Top got safely to Granite House, Neb would send him back at once.

They had waited about ten minutes, when they heard a loud report, followed instantly by continuous barking. The engineer opened the door, and, seeing smoke still curling up among the trees a hundred paces off, he fired in that direction. Just then Top bounded into the corral, whose door was quickly shut.

“Top, Top!” cried the engineer, caressing the dog’s large, noble head. A note was fastened to his collar, containing these words in Neb’s sprawling handwriting:⁠—

“No pirates near Granite House. I will not stir. Poor Mr. Herbert!”

The convicts in the neighborhood of the corral⁠—Provisional occupation⁠—Continuation of Herbert’s treatment⁠—Pencroff’s jubilation⁠—Review of the past⁠—Future prospects⁠—Smith’s ideas.

So, then, the convicts were close by, watching the corral, and waiting to kill the colonists one after another. They must be attacked like wild beasts, but with the greatest precaution, for the wretches had the advantage of position, seeing and not being seen, able to make a sudden attack, yet not themselves to be surprised.

So Smith made his arrangements to live at the corral, which was fully provisioned. Ayrton’s house was furnished with all the necessaries of life, and the convicts, frightened away by the colonists’ arrival, had not had time to pillage. It was most likely, as Spilett suggested, that the course of events had been this:⁠—The convicts had followed the southern coast, and after getting over into Serpentine Peninsula, and being in no humor to risk themselves in the woods of the Far West, they had reached the mouth of Fall River. Then, walking up the right bank of the stream, they had come to the spur of Mount Franklin; here was their most natural place of refuge. And they had soon discovered the corral. They had probably installed themselves there, had been surprised by Ayrton, had overcome the unfortunate man, and⁠—the rest was easily divined!

Meanwhile the convicts, reduced to five, but well armed, were prowling in the woods, and to pursue them was to be exposed to their fire without the power either of avoiding or of anticipating them.

“There is nothing else to do but wait,” repeated Smith. “When Herbert is well again, we will beat the island, and have a shot at these rascals; while at the same time⁠—”

“We search for our mysterious protector,” added Spilett, finishing the sentence. “Ah! we must confess, dear Cyrus, that, for once, his protection has failed us.”

“We don’t know about that,” answered the engineer.

“What do you mean?” asked the reporter.

“We are not at the end of our troubles, my dear Spilett, and his powerful interference may still be exercised. But now we must think of Herbert.”

Several days passed, and the poor boy’s condition was happily no worse; and to gain time was a great thing. The cold water, always kept at the proper temperature, had absolutely prevented the inflammation of the wounds. Nay, it seemed to