What cares were lavished on him to bring him back to life! He smiled for
a moment on finding himself in his room, but could scarcely even murmur a
few words, so great was his weakness. Gideon Spilett examined his wounds. He
feared to find them reopened, having been imperfectly healed. There was
nothing of the sort. From whence, then, came this prostration? why was
Herbert so much worse? The lad then fell into a kind of feverish sleep, and
the reporter and Pencroft remained near the bed. During this time, Harding
told Neb all that had happened at the corral, and Neb recounted to his
master the events of which the plateau had just been the theater.
It was only during the preceding night that the convicts had appeared on
the edge of the forest, at the approaches to Creek Glycerine. Neb, who was
watching near the poultry-yard, had not hesitated to fire at one of the
pirates, who was about to cross the stream; but in the darkness he could
not tell whether the man had been hit or not. At any rate, it was not
enough to frighten away the band, and Neb had only just time to get up to
Granite House, where at least he was in safety.
But what was he to do there? How prevent the devastations with which the
convicts threatened the plateau? Had Neb any means by which to warn his
master? And, besides, in what situation were the inhabitants of the corral
themselves? Cyrus Harding and his companions had left on the 11th of
November, and it was now the 29th. It was, therefore, nineteen days since
Neb had had other news than that brought by Top--disastrous news: Ayrton
disappeared, Herbert severely wounded, the engineer, reporter, and sailor,
as it were, imprisoned in the corral!
What was he to do? asked poor Neb. Personally he had nothing to fear, for
the convicts could not reach him in Granite House. But the buildings, the
plantations, all their arrangements at the mercy of the pirates! Would it
not be best to let Cyrus Harding judge of what he ought to do, and to warn
him, at least, of the danger which threatened him?
Neb then thought of employing Jup, and confiding a note to him. He knew
the orang's great intelligence, which had been often put to the proof. Jup
understood the word corral, which had been frequently pronounced before
him, and it may be remembered, too, that he had often driven the cart
thither in company with Pencroft. Day had not yet dawned. The active orang
would know how to pass unperceived through the woods, of which the
convicts, besides, would think he was a native.
Neb did not hesitate. He wrote the note, he tied it to Jup's neck, he
brought the ape to the door of Granite House, from which he let down a long
cord to the ground; then, several times he repeated these words,--
"Jup Jup! corral, corral!"
The creature understood, seized the cord, glided rapidly down the beach,
and disappeared in the darkness without the convicts' attention having been
in the least excited.
"You did well, Neb," said Harding, "but perhaps in not warning us you
would have done still better!"
And, in speaking thus, Cyrus Harding thought of Herbert, whose recovery
the removal had so seriously checked.
Neb ended his account. The convicts had not appeared at all on the beach.
Not knowing the number of the island's inhabitants, they might suppose that
Granite House was defended by a large party. They must have remembered that
during the attack by the brig numerous shot had been fired both from the
lower and upper rocks, and no doubt they did not wish to expose themselves.
But the plateau of Prospect Heights was open to them, and not covered by
the fire of Granite House. They gave themselves up, therefore, to their
instinct of destruction,--plundering, burning, devastating everything,--and
only retiring half an hour before the arrival of the colonists, whom they
believed still confined in the corral.
On their retreat, Neb hurried out. He climbed the plateau at the risk of
being perceived and fired at, tried to extinguish the fire which was
consuming the buildings of the poultry-yard, and had struggled, though in
vain, against it until the cart appeared at the edge of the wood.
Such had been these serious events. The presence of the convicts
constituted a permanent source of danger to the settlers in Lincoln Island,
until then so happy, and who might now expect still greater misfortunes.
Spilett remained in Granite House with Herbert and Pencroft, while Cyrus
Harding, accompanied by Neb, proceeded to judge for himself of the extent
of the disaster.
It was fortunate that the convicts had not advanced to the foot of
Granite House. The workshop at the Chimneys would in that case not have
escaped destruction. But after all, this evil would have been more easily
reparable than the ruins accumulated on the plateau of Prospect Heights.
Harding and Neb proceeded towards the Mercy, and ascended its left bank
without meeting with any trace of the convicts; nor on the other side of
the river, in the depths of the wood, could they perceive any suspicious
Besides, it might be supposed that in all probability either the convicts
knew of the return of the settlers to Granite House, by having seen them
pass on the road from the corral, or, after the devastation of the plateau,
they had penetrated into Jacamar Wood, following the course of the Mercy,
and were thus ignorant of their return.
In the former case, they must have returned towards the corral, now
without defenders, and which contained valuable stores.
In the latter, they must have regained their encampment, and would wait
on opportunity to recommence the attack.
It was, therefore, possible to prevent them, but any enterprise to clear
the island was now rendered difficult by reason of Herbert's condition.
Indeed, their whole force would have been barely sufficient to cope with
the convicts, and just now no one could leave Granite House.
The engineer and Neb arrived on the plateau. Desolation reigned
everywhere. The fields had been trampled over; the ears of wheat, which
were nearly full-grown, lay on the ground. The other plantations had not
The kitchen-garden was destroyed. Happily, Granite House possessed a
store of seed which would enable them to repair these misfortunes.
As to the wall and buildings of the poultry-yard and the onagers stable,
the fire had destroyed all. A few terrified creatures roamed over the
plateau. The birds, which during the fire had taken refuge on the waters of
the lake, had already returned to their accustomed spot, and were dabbling
on the banks. Everything would have to be reconstructed.
Cyrus Harding's face, which was paler than usual, expressed an internal
anger which he commanded with difficulty, but he did not utter a word. Once
more he looked at his devastated fields, and at the smoke which still rose
from the ruins, then he returned to Granite House.
The following days were the saddest of any that the colonists had passed
on the island! Herbert's weakness visibly increased. It appeared that a
more serious malady, the consequence of the profound physiological
disturbance he had gone through, threatened to declare itself, and Gideon
Spilett feared such an aggravation of his condition that he would be
powerless to fight against it!
In fact, Herbert remained in an almost continuous state of drowsiness,
and symptoms of delirium began to manifest themselves. Refreshing drinks
were the only remedies at the colonists' disposal. The fever was not as yet
very high, but it soon appeared that it would probably recur at regular
intervals. Gideon Spilett first recognized this on the 6th of December.
The poor boy, whose fingers, nose, and ears had become extremely pale,
was at first seized with slight shiverings, horripilations, and tremblings.
His pulse was weak and irregular, his skin dry, his thirst intense. To this
soon succeeded a hot fit; his face became flushed; his skin reddened; his
pulse quick; then a profuse perspiration broke out after which the fever
seemed to diminish. The attack had lasted nearly five hours.
Gideon Spilett had not left Herbert, who, it was only too certain, was now
seized by an intermittent fever, and this fever must be cured at any cost
before it should assume a more serious aspect.
"And in order to cure it," said Spilett to Cyrus Harding, "we need a
"A febrifuge--" answered the engineer. "We have neither Peruvian bark,
nor sulphate of quinine."
"No," said Gideon Spilett, "but there are willows on the border of the
lake, and the bark of the willow might, perhaps, prove to be a substitute
"Let us try it without losing a moment," replied Cyrus Harding.
The bark of the willow has, indeed, been justly considered as a
succedaneum for Peruvian bark, as has also that of the horse-chestnut tree,
the leaf of the holly, the snake-root, etc. It was evidently necessary to
make trial of this substance, although not so valuable as Peruvian bark,
and to employ it in its natural state, since they had no means for
extracting its essence.
Cyrus Harding went himself to cut from the trunk of a species of black
willow, a few pieces of bark; he brought them back to Granite House, and
reduced them to a powder, which was administered that same evening to
The night passed without any important change. Herbert was somewhat
delirious, but the fever did not reappear in the night, and did not return
either during the following day.
Pencroft again began to hope. Gideon Spilett said nothing. It might be
that the fever was not quotidian, but tertian, and that it would return
next day. Therefore, he awaited the next day with the greatest anxiety.
It might have been remarked besides that during this period Herbert
remained utterly prostrate, his head weak and giddy. Another symptom
alarmed the reporter to the highest degree. Herbert's liver became
congested, and soon a more intense delirium showed that his brain was also
Gideon Spilett was overwhelmed by this new complication. He took the
"It is a malignant fever," said he.
"A malignant fever!" cried Harding. "You are mistaken, Spilett. A
malignant fever does not declare itself spontaneously; its germ must
previously have existed."
"I am not mistaken," replied the reporter. "Herbert no doubt contracted
the germ of this fever in the marshes of the island. He has already had one
attack; should a second come on and should we not be able to prevent a
third, he is lost."
"But the willow bark?"
"That is insufficient," answered the reporter, "and the third attack of a
malignant fever, which is not arrested by means of quinine, is always
Fortunately, Pencroft heard nothing of this conversation or he would have
It may be imagined what anxiety the engineer and the reporter suffered
during the day of the 7th of December and the following night.
Towards the middle of the day the second attack came on. The crisis was
terrible. Herbert felt himself sinking. He stretched his arms towards Cyrus
Harding, towards Spilett, towards Pencroft. He was so young to die! The
scene was heart-rending. They were obliged to send Pencroft away.
The fit lasted five hours. It was evident that Herbert could not survive
The night was frightful. In his delirium Herbert uttered words which went
to the hearts of his companions. He struggled with the convicts, he called
to Ayrton, he poured forth entreaties to that mysterious being,--that
powerful unknown protector,--whose image was stamped upon his mind; then he
again fell into a deep exhaustion which completely prostrated him. Several
times Gideon Spilett thought that the poor boy was dead.
The next day, the 8th of December, was but a succession of the fainting
fits. Herbert's thin hands clutched the sheets. They had administered
further doses of pounded bark, but the reporter expected no result from it.
"If before tomorrow morning we have not given him a more energetic
febrifuge," said the reporter, "Herbert will be dead."
Night arrived--the last night, it was too much to be feared, of the good,
brave, intelligent boy, so far in advance of his years, and who was loved
by all as their own child. The only remedy which existed against this
terrible malignant fever, the only specific which could overcome it, was
not to be found in Lincoln Island.
During the night of the 8th of December, Herbert was seized by a more
violent delirium. His liver was fearfully congested, his brain affected,
and already it was impossible for him to recognize any one.
Would he live until the next day, until that third attack which must
infallibly carry him off? It was not probable. His strength was exhausted,
and in the intervals of fever he lay as one dead.
Towards three o'clock in the morning Herbert uttered a piercing cry. He
seemed to be torn by a supreme convulsion. Neb, who was near him,
terrified, ran into the next room where his companions were watching.
Top, at that moment, barked in a strange manner.
All rushed in immediately and managed to restrain the dying boy, who was
endeavoring to throw himself out of his bed, while Spilett, taking his arm,
felt his pulse gradually quicken.
It was five in the morning. The rays of the rising sun began to shine in
at the windows of Granite House. It promised to be a fine day, and this day
was to be poor Herbert's last!
A ray glanced on the table placed near the bed.
Suddenly Pencroft, uttering a cry, pointed to the table.
On it lay a little oblong box, of which the cover bore these words:--
"SULPHATE OF QUININE."
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