Harding, Neb, and Herbert?
But Pencroft, excited at feeling himself so near the corral where he supposed the convicts had taken refuge, was about to press forward, when the reporter held him back with a grasp of iron.
“In a few minutes it will be quite dark,” whispered Spilett in the sailor’s ear; “then will be the time to act.”
Pencroft, convulsively clasping the butt-end of his gun, restrained his eagerness, and waited, swearing to himself.
Soon the last of the twilight faded away. Darkness, which seemed as if it issued from the dense forest, covered the clearing. Mount Franklin rose like an enormous screen before the western horizon, and night spread rapidly over all, as it does in regions of low latitudes. Now was the time.
The reporter and Pencroft, since posting themselves on the edge of the wood, had not once lost sight of the palisade. The corral appeared to be absolutely deserted. The top of the palisade formed a line, a little darker than the surrounding shadow, and nothing disturbed its distinctness. Nevertheless, if the convicts were there, they must have posted one of their number to guard against any surprise.
Spilett grasped his companion’s hand, and both crept towards the corral, their guns ready to fire.
They reached the gate without the darkness being illuminated by a single ray of light.
Pencroft tried to push open the gate, which, as the reporter and he had supposed, was closed. However, the sailor was able to ascertain that the outer bars had not been put up. It might, then, be concluded that the convicts were there in the corral, and that very probably they had fastened the gate in such a way that it could not be forced open.
Gideon Spilett and Pencroft listened. Not a sound could be heard inside the palisade. The musmons and the goats, sleeping no doubt in their huts, in no way disturbed the calm of night.
The reporter and the sailor hearing nothing, asked themselves whether they had not better scale the palisades and penetrate into the corral. This would have been contrary to Cyrus Harding’s instructions.
It is true that the enterprise might succeed, but it might also fail. Now, if the convicts were suspecting nothing, if they knew nothing of the expedition against them, if, lastly, there now existed a chance of surprising them, ought this chance to be lost by inconsiderately attempting to cross the palisade?
This was not the reporter’s opinion. He thought it better to wait until all the settlers were collected together before attempting to penetrate into the corral. One thing was certain, that it was possible to reach the palisade without being seen, and also that it did not appear to be guarded. This point settled, there was nothing to be done but to return to the cart, where they would consult.
Pencroft probably agreed with this decision, for he followed the reporter without making any objection when the latter turned back to the wood.
In a few minutes the engineer was made acquainted with the state of affairs.
“Well,” said he, after a little thought, “I now have reason to believe that the convicts are not in the corral.”
“We shall soon know,” said Pencroft, “when we have scaled the palisade.”
“To the corral, my friends!” said Cyrus Harding.
“Shall we leave the cart in the wood?” asked Neb.
“No,” replied the engineer, “it is our waggon of ammunition and provisions, and, if necessary, it would serve as an intrenchment.”
“Forward, then!” said Gideon Spilett.
The cart emerged from the wood and began to roll noiselessly towards the palisade. The darkness was now profound, the silence as complete as when Pencroft and the reporter crept over the ground. The thick grass completely muffled their footsteps.
The colonists held themselves ready to fire. Jup, at Pencroft’s orders, kept behind. Neb led Top in a leash, to prevent him from bounding forward.
The clearing soon came in sight. It was deserted. Without hesitating, the little band moved towards the palisade. In a short space of time the dangerous zone was passed. Not a shot had been fired. When the cart reached the palisade, it stopped. Neb remained at the onagas’ heads to hold them. The engineer, the reporter, Herbert, and Pencroft, proceeded to the door, in order to ascertain if it was barricaded inside. It was open!
“What do you say now?” asked the engineer, turning to the sailor and Spilett. Both were stupefied.
“I can swear,” said Pencroft, “that this gate was shut just now!”
The colonists now hesitated. Were the convicts in the corral when Pencroft and the reporter made their reconnaissance? it could not be doubted, as the gate then closed could only have been opened by them. Were they still there, or had one of their number just gone out?
All these questions presented themselves simultaneously to the minds of the colonists, but how could they be answered?
At that moment, Herbert, who had advanced a few steps into the enclosure, drew back hurriedly, and seized Harding’s hand.
“What’s the matter?” asked the engineer. “Alight!”
“In the house?”
“Yes!”
All five advanced and indeed, through the window fronting them, they saw glimmering a feeble light. Cyrus Harding made up his mind rapidly. “It is our only chance,” said he to his companions, “of finding the convicts collected in this house, suspecting nothing! They are in our power! Forward!” The colonists crossed through the enclosure, holding their guns ready in their hands. The cart had been left outside under the charge of Jup and Top, who had been prudently tied to it.
Cyrus Harding, Pencroft, and Gideon Spilett on one side, Herbert and Neb on the other, going along by the palisade, surveyed the absolutely dark and deserted corral.
In a few moments they were near the closed door of the house.
Harding signed to his companions not to stir, and approached the window, then feebly lighted by the inner light. He gazed into the apartment.
On the table burned a lantern. Near the table was the bed formerly used by Ayrton.
On the bed lay the body of a man.
Suddenly Cyrus Harding drew back, and in a hoarse voice—
“Ayrton!” he exclaimed.
Immediately the door was forced rather than opened, and the colonists rushed into the room.
Ayrton appeared to be asleep. His countenance showed that he had long and cruelly suffered. On his wrists and ankles could be seen great bruises.
Harding bent over him.
“Ayrton!” cried the engineer, seizing the arm of the man whom he had just found again under such unexpected circumstances.
At
