Chapter Seven.

       Table of Contents

      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!”