“Ah, captain,” replied the lad, “don’t be uneasy, I shall not die on the road!”
While speaking thus, it could be seen that the poor boy had called up all his energy, and by the energy of a powerful will had collected his failing strength.
The engineer felt his heart sink painfully.
He still hesitated to give the signal for departure; but that would have driven Herbert to despair—killed him perhaps.
“Forward!” said Harding.
The gate of the corral was opened.
Jup and Top, who knew when to be silent, ran in advance.
The cart came out, the gate was reclosed, and the onager, led by Pencroft, advanced at a slow pace.
Certainly, it would have been safer to have taken a different road than that which led straight from the corral to Granite House, but the cart would have met with great difficulties in moving under the trees.
It was necessary, therefore, to follow this way, although it was well known to the convicts.
Cyrus Harding and Gideon Spilett walked one on each side of the cart, ready to answer to any attack.
However, it was not probable that the convicts would have yet left the plateau of Prospect Heights.
Neb’s note had evidently been written and sent as soon as the convicts had shown themselves there.
Now, this note was dated six o’clock in the morning, and the active orang, accustomed to come frequently to the corral, had taken scarcely three quarters of an hour to cross the five miles which separated it from Granite House.
They would, therefore, be safe at that time, and if there was any occasion for firing, it would probably not be until they were in the neighborhood of Granite House.
However, the colonists kept a strict watch.
Top and Jup, the latter armed with his club, sometimes in front, sometimes beating the wood at the sides of the road, signalized no danger.
The cart advanced slowly under Pencroft’s guidance.
It had left the corral at half-past seven.
An hour after, four out of the five miles had been cleared, without any incident having occurred.
The road was as deserted as all that part of the Jacamar Wood which lay between the Mercy and the lake. There was no occasion for any warning.
The wood appeared as deserted as on the day when the colonists first landed on the island.
They approached the plateau.
Another mile and they would see the bridge over Creek Glycerine.
Cyrus Harding expected to find it in its place; supposing that the convicts would have crossed it, and that, after having passed one of the streams which enclosed the plateau, they would have taken the precaution to lower it again, so as to keep open a retreat.
At length an opening in the trees allowed the sea-horizon to be seen.
But the cart continued its progress, for not one of its defenders thought of abandoning it.
At that moment Pencroft stopped the onager, and in a hoarse voice,—
“Oh! the villains!” he exclaimed.
And he pointed to a thick smoke rising from the mill, the sheds, and the buildings at the poultry-yard. A man was moving about in the midst of the smoke.
It was Neb.
His companions uttered a shout.
He heard, and ran to meet them.
The convicts had left the plateau nearly half-an-hour before, having devastated it!
“And Mr. Herbert?” asked Neb.
Gideon Spilett returned to the cart.
Herbert had lost consciousness!
Chapter 10
Of the convicts, the dangers which menaced Granite House, the ruins with which the plateau was covered, the colonists thought no longer.
Herbert’s critical state outweighed all other considerations.
Would the removal prove fatal to him by causing some internal injury?
The reporter could not affirm it, but he and his companions almost despaired of the result.
The cart was brought to the bend of the river.
There some branches, disposed as a liner, received the mattress on which lay the unconscious Herbert.
Ten minutes after, Cyrus Harding, Spilett, and Pencroft were at the foot of the cliff, leaving Neb to take the cart on to the plateau of Prospect Heights.
The lift was put in motion, and Herbert was soon stretched on his bed in Granite House.
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.