Chapter XXXI

“They have blown up!” cried Herbert.

“But what has happened?” said Spilett.

They ran to the beach. Not a sign of the brig could be seen, not even the masts. Some waifs were floating on the surface of the sea.

“And the six convicts who landed on the right bank of the Mercy?” said Herbert.

“We will see after them later,” said Smith. “They may still be dangerous, for they are armed; but with six to six, we have an even chance.”

Ayrton and Pencroff jumped into the canoe and pulled vigorously out to the wreck. The sea was quiet now. They picked up the chicken coops, barrels, and casks which were floating in the water, and brought them to the Chimneys.

A few dead bodies were also floating on the surface. Among them Ayrton recognized that of Bob Harvey, and pointed it out to his companion, saying with emotion:

“That’s what I was, Pencroff.”

For two hours Smith and his companions were wholly occupied with the brig. What a fortune was the possession of the brig, or rather of the brig’s contents!

Soon Smith and his companions allowed themselves a few minutes for breakfast. Fortunately the kitchen was not far off, and Neb could cook them a good breakfast very fast.

“Miraculous is the word,” repeated Pencroff, “for these pirates were blown up just in time! Granite House was becoming rather uncomfortable.”

“How did it happen that the brig blew up?” asked the reporter.

“Mr. Smith,” said Herbert. “The detonation was not loud, and the ship seems rather to have sunk than to have blown up.”

“That astonishes you, does it, my boy?” asked the engineer.

“Yes, sir.”

“And it astonishes me too, Herbert,” replied the engineer; “but when we examine the hull of the brig, we will find some explanation of this mystery.”

At about half past 1, the colonists got into the canoe, and pulled out to the stranded brig. It had turned almost upside down.

“Let us try to get into the hold,” said the engineer. “Perhaps that will help us to discover the cause of the disaster.”

Access to the hold was now easy. Smith and his companions, axe in hand, walked along the shattered deck. They could not resist the desire of examining some of the chests.

“Now we are too rich,” cried Pencroff. “What will we do with all these things?”

Barrels of molasses and rum, hogsheads of tobacco, muskets and side-arms, bales of cotton, agricultural implements, carpenters’ and smiths’ tools, and packages of seeds of every kind!

They remembered that six survivors of the Speedy’s crew were now on the island. The night passed, however, without any attack from the convicts. Jup and Top were the guards.

The three days which followed, the 19th, 20th, and 21st of October, were employed in carrying on shore everything of value.

But they could not understand the mystery of the ship’s strange destruction. One day Neb, rambling along the beach, found a piece of a thick iron cylinder. Neb took it to the engineer. Smith examined it carefully, and then turned to Pencroff.

“What will you say, my friend, if they struck against this piece of iron?” said the engineer, showing the broken cylinder.

“What, that pipe stem!” said Pencroff, incredulously.

“Well, this was the cause of the destruction,” said Smith, holding up the broken tube. “This cylinder is all that is left of a torpedo!”

“A torpedo!” cried the men.

“And who put a torpedo there?” asked Pencroff.

“That I cannot tell you,” said Smith, “but there it was, and you witnessed its tremendous effects!”

Chapter XXXII

The colonists wished to achieve the complete exploration of the island. First, they wanted to discover the mysterious creature whose existence was no longer a matter of doubt; and, at the same time, to find out what had become of the pirates. Ayrton had to go back to the corral to take care of their domesticated animals. It was settled that he should stay there two days. So Ayrton drove off in the twilight, about 9 o’clock, and two hours afterwards the electric wire gave notice that he had found everything in order at the corral. Pencroff, Spilett, and Herbert found time for an expedition to Port Balloon. The sailor was anxious to know if their boat was in order, too.

So off the three went in the afternoon of November 10. The little band walked straight for the south coast. The distance was only three miles and a half, but they took two hours to walk it. They searched on both sides of the way, but they found no trace of the fugitives. Arriving at Port Balloon, they saw with great satisfaction that the boat was all right.

“The rascals haven’t been here,” said Pencroff.

“And it’s a fortunate thing,” added Herbert.

Talking thus, they got on board and walked about the deck. On a sudden the sailor cried:

“Hallo! This is a bad business!”

“What’s the matter, Pencroff?” asked the reporter.

“The matter is that that knot was never tied by me.”

And Pencroff pointed to a rope.

“How, never tied by you?” asked Spilett.

“No, I can swear to it. I never tie a knot like that.”

“Then have the convicts been on board?” asked Herbert.

“I don’t know,” said Pencroff, “but somebody has certainly raised and dropped this anchor!”

“But,” said Spilett, “why did the convicts – who used the boat – bring it back to port?”

“Hell knows,” said the sailor.

When they returned to Granite House, they told Smith what had happened. On the same evening they sent a telegram to Ayrton. Strange to say, Ayrton did not answer, as was his custom to do. The engineer concluded that Ayrton was not at the corral at the moment, and perhaps had started on his way back to Granite House. When 6 o’clock in the evening came, and there was no sign of Ayrton, they agreed to send another message, asking for an immediate answer. The wire at Granite House remained silent.

“Perhaps,” said Herbert, “some accident has happened to the wires.”

“That may be,” said the reporter.

“Let us wait until tomorrow,” said Smith.

They waited. At daylight on the 11th of November, Smith sent a message across the wires, but received no answer.

“Let us go at once to the corral,” said he.

It was agreed that Granite House must not be deserted, so Neb was left. At 6 o’clock in the morning the engineer and his three companions took the direct route to the corral. They carried their guns on their shoulders, ready to fire at the first sign of hostility.

The colonists walked on rapidly without a word. Top preceded them, but not appearing to suspect anything unusual. But soon Herbert, who was ahead of the others, cried:

“The wire is broken!”

His companions hastened forward. There the overturned post was lying across the path. It was evident that the dispatches from Granite House could not have been received at the corral.

“It can’t be the wind that has overturned this post,” said Pencroff.

“No,” answered the reporter, “there are marks of footsteps on the ground.”

“Besides, the wire is broken,” added Herbert, showing the two ends of the wire.

“To the corral! To the corral!” cried the sailor.

The colonists were then midway between Granite House and the corral, and had still two miles and a half to go. They hurried on, with fear for their comrade, to whom they were sincerely attached.

At last the fenced enclosure appeared behind the trees. They saw no signs of devastation. The door was closed as usual; a profound silence reigned at the corral.

“Let us go in,” said Smith, and the engineer advanced.

Smith raised the inner latch, and began to push back the door, when Top barked loudly. There was a shot from behind the fence, followed by a cry of pain, and Herbert, pierced by a bullet, fell to the ground!

Chapter XXXIII

“They have killed him!” cried Pencroff. “My boy! They have killed him!”

Smith and Spilett rushed forward. The reporter put his ear to the boy’s heart to see if it were still beating.

“He’s alive,” said he.

“One moment,” said Smith, and he rushed to the left around the fence. There he saw a convict, who fired at him and sent a ball through his cap. An instant later he fell, struck to the heart by Smith’s poniard.

While this was going on, the reporter and Pencroff made their way into the empty house, and laid Herbert gently down on Ayrton’s bed.

A few minutes afterwards Smith was at his side. At the sight of Herbert, pale and unconscious, the grief of the sailor was intense. He sobbed and cried bitterly; neither the engineer nor the reporter could calm him.

The boy lay in a complete stupor. He was very pale, and his pulse beat only at long intervals, as if every moment about to stop. The ball had entered between the third and fourth rib, and there they found the wound. Smith and Spilett turned the poor boy over. There was another wound on his back, for the bullet had gone clean through.

“Thank Heaven!” said the reporter. “The ball is not in his body; we will not have to extract it.”

“But the heart?” asked Smith.

“The heart has not been touched, or he would be dead.”

“Dead!” cried Pencroff, with a groan. He had only heard the reporter’s last word.

“No, Pencroff,” answered Smith. “Herbert is not dead; his pulse still beats. For his sake, now, you must be calm.”

Pencroff was silent, but large tears rolled down his cheeks. They bathed Herbert’s wounds with cold water and placed him upon his left side and held in that position.

“He must not move,” said Spilett.

“Cannot we take him to Granite House?” asked Pencroff.

“No, Pencroff,” said the reporter.

Spilett was examining the boy’s wounds again with close attention. Herbert was frightfully pale.

“Cyrus,” said the reporter, “I am no doctor. You must help me with your advice and assistance.”

“Calm yourself, my friend,” answered the engineer. “Try to judge coolly. Think only of saving Herbert.”

The first thing to do was to check the hemorrhage. It was decided therefore to dress the two wounds, but not to press them together. The sailor had lighted a fire in the chimney, and the house fortunately contained all the necessaries of life. They had maple-sugar and the medicinal plants which the boy had gathered on the shores of Lake Grant. From these they made a refreshing drink for the sick boy. His fever was very high, and he lay all that day and night without a sign of consciousness. His life was hanging on a thread.

On the next day, November 12, his consciousness returned, he opened his eyes and recognized them all. He even said two or three words, and wanted to know what had happened. Spilett told him, and begged him to keep perfectly quiet. Pencroff was the best of nurses, like a tender mother watching over her child.

“Tell me again that you have hope, Mr. Spilett,” said Pencroff; “tell me again that you will save my boy!”

“We will save him,” said the reporter. “The wound is a serious one, and perhaps the ball has touched the lung; but a wound in that organ is not mortal.”

They first searched the corral. There was no trace of Ayrton.

“The poor fellow was taken by surprise,” said Smith.

“But what about Neb?” asked the reporter. “He must not come here. He will be murdered on the way!”

“Ah! If the telegraph was working, 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!” said Smith

“No, no, Cyrus,” said the reporter, “it’s very dangerous.”

The engineer’s gaze fell upon Top.

“Top!” cried Smith.

The dog sprang up at this master’s call.

“Yes, Top will go!” cried the reporter. “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 note-book and wrote these lines:

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

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

Top 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 dog!”

“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.

The colonists awaited Top’s return with much anxiety. A little before 11 o’clock Smith and Spilett stood with their carbines behind the door, ready to open it at the dog’s first bark.

They had waited about ten minutes, when they heard loud barking. The engineer opened the door.

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

No pirates near Granite House. I will not go away. Poor Mr. Herbert!