Several times he pressed Gideon Spilett, but the latter, fearing, with good reason, that Herbert’s wounds, half healed, might reopen on the way, did not give the order to start.

However, something occurred which compelled Cyrus Harding and his two friends to yield to the lad’s wish, and God alone knew that this determination might cause them grief and remorse.

It was the 29th of November, seven o’clock in the evening.  The three settlers were talking in Herbert’s room, when they heard Top utter quick barks.

Harding, Pencroft, and Spilett seized their guns and ran out of the house.  Top, at the foot of the palisade, was jumping, barking, but it was with pleasure, not anger.

“Some one is coming.”

“Yes.”

“It is not an enemy!”

“Neb, perhaps?”

“Or Ayrton?”

These words had hardly been exchanged between the engineer and his two companions when a body leaped over the palisade and fell on the ground inside the corral.

It was Jup, Master Jup in person, to whom Top immediately gave a most cordial reception.

“Jup!” exclaimed Pencroft.

“Neb has sent him to us,” said the reporter.

“Then,” replied the engineer, “he must have some note on him.”

Pencroft rushed up to the orang.  Certainly if Neb had any important matter to communicate to his master he could not employ a more sure or more rapid messenger, who could pass where neither the colonists could, nor even Top himself.

Cyrus Harding was not mistaken.  At Jup’s neck hung a small bag, and in this bag was found a little note traced by Neb’s hand.

The despair of Harding and his companions may be imagined when they read these words:—­

“Friday, six o’clock in the morning.

“Plateau invaded by convicts.

“Neb.”

They gazed at each other without uttering a word, then they re-entered the house. what were they to do?  The convicts on Prospect Heights! that was disaster, devastation, ruin.

Herbert, on seeing the engineer, the reporter, and Pencroft re-enter, guessed that their situation was aggravated, and when he saw Jup, he no longer doubted that some misfortune menaced Granite House.

“Captain Harding,” said he, “I must go; I can bear the journey.  I must go.”

Gideon Spilett approached Herbert; then, having looked at him,—­

“Let us go, then!” said he.

The question was quickly decided whether Herbert should be carried on a litter or in the cart which had brought Ayrton to the corral.  The motion of the litter would have been more easy for the wounded lad, but it would have necessitated two bearers, that is to say, there would have been two guns less for defense if an attack was made on the road.  Would they not, on the contrary, by employing the cart leave every arm free?  Was it impossible to place the mattress on which Herbert was lying in it, and to advance with so much care that any jolt should be avoided?  It could be done.