The cold season was now almost at an end, and it appeared as if this second winter was to pass without any unusual occurrence, when on the night of the 11th August, the plateau of Prospect Heights was menaced with complete destruction. After a busy day the colonists were sleeping soundly, when towards four in the morning they were suddenly awakened by Top's barking.
The dog was not this time near the mouth of the well, but at the threshold of the door, at which he was scratching as he wished to burst it open. Jup was also uttering piercing cries.
"Hallo, Top!" cried Neb, who was the first awake. But the dog continued to bark more furiously than ever.
"What's the matter now?" asked Harding.
And all dressing in haste rushed to the windows.
Beneath their eyes was spread a sheet of snow which looked gray in the dim light. The settlers could see nothing, but they heard a singular yelping noise away in the darkness. It was evident that the beach had been invaded by a number of animals which could not be seen.
"What are they?" cried Pencroft.
"Wolves, jaguars, or apes?" replied Neb.
"They have nearly reached the plateau," said the reporter.
"And our poultry-yard," exclaimed Herbert, "and our garden!"
"Where can they have crossed?" asked Pencroft.
"They must have crossed the bridge on the shore," replied the engineer, "which one of us must have forgotten to close."
"True," said Spilett, "I remember I left it open."
"A fine job you have made, Mr. Spilett," cried the sailor.
"What is done cannot be undone," replied Cyrus Harding. "We must consult what it will now be best to do."
Such were the questions and answers which were rapidly, exchanged between Harding and his companions. It was certain that the bridge had been crossed, that the shore had been invaded by animals, and that whatever they might be they could by ascending the left bank of the Mercy reach Prospect Heights. They must therefore be advanced against quickly and fought with if necessary.
