Kitabı oku: «O'er Many Lands, on Many Seas», sayfa 7
Chapter Thirteen
“Here roams the wolf, the eagle whets his beak.
Birds, beasts of prey, and wilder men appear.”
Byron.
My friend Ben paused for a moment.
A sheet of lightning almost blinded us. It was followed instantaneously by one of the most terrific peals of thunder I have ever heard in this country.
“It was in just such a storm as this,” said Captain Roberts, “that we took shelter in the ruins of an old fort. We tethered our mules outside, and we had not even the heart to keep the Indians from sharing our quarters. For once, and it was the last time, we ate with them, drank with them, and talked to them. How little we suspected them of treachery!
“We found plenty of dry wood in the old fort and soon had a roaring fire with which to warm up our soup and cook our vegetables.
“‘Who goes sentry to-night?’ I said to the mate.
“‘Well,’ replied the mate, ‘I guess we’d better draw for it. He’ll have a wet skin whoever does it.’
“It was just after dinner when this conversation took place.
“‘But,’ continued the mate, stretching himself before the fire, ‘I expect it will be between you and me, for, look, the other fellows have all gone to sleep, and I feel so drowsy I really – don’t – know – how long – ’
“He said no more; he was asleep.
“‘Poor fellows,’ I said to myself, as I took up my gun and prepared to leave the room, ‘they’re tired. I’ll station myself here by the door, where I can be in the dry and still see all that is going on.’
“The storm continued with unabated violence. The rain came down in sheets; the thunder seemed to rend the old fort and shake it to its very foundation, while the lightning was everywhere; the whole world looked as if on fire. Night was coming on, and rude though our shelter was, I felt thankful we were not out in the gloom of the forest.
“‘How soundly they sleep!’ I said to myself about half an hour after when I went to heap more wood on the five. ‘How I envy them! I’ll sit a moment and think. The Indians are not so bad as they look. First impressions are not always – the – best.’
“The next thing I was conscious of was hearing voices close beside me. It was the Indians bending over me and over my companions, and seeming to listen for our breathing.
“‘They’re dead,’ one said.
“‘Better make sure,’ said another.
“Then with half-open eyes I could see drawn daggers gleaming in the fire-light; but I was unable to stir hand or foot; I felt like one in some dreadful nightmare. I tried to shriek, but my voice failed me. Then, ‘O God, be merciful to us!’ I inwardly prayed, ‘for our hour is come.’
“Two Indians advanced, knives in hand, towards the mate. One pulled his head back, the other had his arm uplifted to strike, when suddenly he sprang back appalled.
“Was it sent as in answer to my prayer? I know not; yet I firmly believe nothing happens by chance. The electric fluid had entered by the roof, shattering the masonry and scattering the fire. It gleamed on the uplifted knife of the would-be assassin; he dropped it, and with arm paralysed and hanging by his side fled shrieking from the building. The others uttered exclamations of terror and surprise, and quickly followed the first.
“I remember no more then. Daylight was shimmering in through the broken roof of the building, and the fire had long gone out, when I awoke shivering, and started to my feet.
“Almost at the same moment the mate jumped up. He was the first to speak.
“‘We have been drugged,’ he cried, pressing his hand to his aching head.
“‘Drugged?’ I answered. ‘Yes, fools that we were to trust those scoundrels; we’ve been drugged, and, doubtless, robbed.’
“The mate looked very pale and ghastly in the early light of the morning; probably I myself looked little better. My surmise was right: the Indians had gone. They had taken all our goods and our pack-mules with them, and driven away the spare animals. Thank goodness, they had left us our arms and ammunition.
“Not even on the morning after the shipwreck did we poor fellows feel so miserable as we did now, seated round a meagre meal of bananas and gourds.
“But we were intent on regaining our goods.
“Clever though these Indians might be if alone and unencumbered, they could hardly go fast, nor far at a time, through forest and jungle with horses and laden mules. Nor could they go anywhere without leaving a trail that even a white man could pick up and follow.
“The rain of the previous night favoured us. We soon found the trail, and, better still, we had not gone very far ere a sound fell upon our ears that caused us to pause and listen. It was soon repeated – the neighing of a horse. I sprang into the jungle, and there, to my joy, found not only the horse I had ridden, but two others and some mules besides. The poor brutes were quietly browsing on the herbage and the tender leaves of young palm-trees, but were evidently delighted to see us.
“We went on now with more comfort, and had good hope of speedily coming up with the pillaging Indians, of whom we never doubted we could give a good account.
“Somewhat to our surprise we found they were taking a westerly direction, instead of going east and by north, as they had been leading us. They were either then bent upon returning to their own village, or making their way to some seaport where they could sell their plunder. If this latter surmise was the correct one, we were comparatively safe; if the former, any chance we had of recapturing our goods lay in our being able to come up with them before they were reinforced by members of their own tribe. This thought made us redouble our exertions. But we were weak for want of food and from the effects of the drug that had been administered to us on the previous evening, so that our progress was not so great as we wished it to be.
“The trail continued all day to lead us through the jungle; but before sunset we found ourselves out in the open, on the brow of a hill that overlooked a vast, almost treeless, swamp. It was bounded on the further horizon by a chain of mountains – spurs, no doubt, of the ubiquitous Andes. Away to the left, and just under the hills, we could see smoke rising, and had no doubt that here our friends were encamped.
“We speedily held a council of war, at which we discussed the best plan for attacking the Indians.
“We stirred not then till long past nine o’clock, when the moon rose and flooded all the landscape. Then we took to the swamp. It was a terrible ride: at times our horses floundered in the quagmires, at other times they had to swim, to our imminent danger of being devoured by the huge alligators with which the place seemed to swarm. We startled the birds from their beds in the reeds, the wild beasts from their lairs in the patches of jungle, and herds of fleet-footed creatures fled, bounding away towards the forest at sight of us. It was a dangerous ride. But we cared for nothing now; it was life or death with us. We must reach the camp of the Indians, conquer them, or die in the attempt.
“All night we rode, struggling and fighting against fearful odds; but at five o’clock in the morning, or about one hour before sunrise, we left the plain and entered the forest, determined to take our foes by surprise. The ride through the tangled forest, without any pathway save that made by the beasts, was one of extreme difficulty. But we were free at last; and tethering our horses, we prepared for the attack. We could see the Indians on a small plateau not three hundred yards beneath us, asleep by their smouldering fires. But we were on the brow of a hill, they much nearer the plain; beneath was a precipice, overhung with trailing shrubs and creepers, fully five hundred feet in depth, which it was impossible to descend without risk of being seen.
“The place the Indians had chosen for a camping-ground was fortified by nature. Probably that is the reason they had not troubled to set a sentry. We saw our advantage at once; it was to make a détour, gain the level of the plain, then creep up the hill upon them, attacking both in flank and rear.
“We carried out our plans most successfully. Few but sailors could have climbed up the rocks which led to the plateau. So steep were they that in some places the loosening of a stone or one false step might mean death.
“Just as we were at the very brink of this precipice, and within twenty yards of where the enemy lay, a bough snapped with a loud report, and next moment they were all up and on the alert.
“There was no need for further concealment; we speedily showed ourselves, poured a volley into their bewildered ranks, and before they could recover from their surprise we were on them with our muskets, which we used as clubs.
“They were nearly three to one. They fought like fiends. So did we, and the battle for a time was desperate. They were beaten at last, and the few who remained alive ran shrieking away towards the rocks. We cared but little how they fared.
“Our mate and another man were wounded, but not severely, and in two days’ time we were able to resume our journey.
“Providence was kind to us. We came upon a broad old war-road that led through the forest and jungles and plains towards the setting sun, and in one week more we were overjoyed to find ourselves standing on a hill-side overlooking a verdant plain, with a river and a town, and beyond it the blue sea itself, studded with the ships of many nations.
“And those who climb the hills in Greenland in spring-time to catch the first rays of the returning sun, were not more joyful than we were now. We laughed and shouted, and I believe the tears rolled down over our cheeks.
“But we did not forget to kneel down there, and, with our faces on the ground, thank in silence the kind Father who had led us through so many troubles and dangers. And now, Nie, the storm is gone. We must thank these good people for their kind hospitality, and start.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Some say, that ever ’gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated,
The bird of dawning singeth all night long:
And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad.
The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike.
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm;
So hallow’d and so gracious is the time.”
Shakespeare.
It was Christmas Eve. It was going to be an old old-fashioned Christmas, too, there was no mistake about that. And to-night the snow lay fully two feet deep on the lawn in front of Rowan Tree Villa. The sky was overspread with masses of darkest cloud that were being continually driven onward on the wings of a fierce north wind, seldom permitting even one solitary star to peep out. The storm roared through the leafless elm trees, and shrieked and moaned among the giant poplars. It was indeed a wild and wintry night.
Ah! but it didn’t prevent my old and faithful Ben from making his appearance, though what with his long white beard, his snow-clad coat, and his round, rosy, laughing face, when I went myself to open the hall door to him, I really took him for King Christmas himself.
But half an hour afterwards, when the crimson curtains were closely drawn, when the table was laden with good cheer, the two great Newfoundlands sleeping on the ample hearthrug, old Polly asleep on her perch, the cat singing on the footstool, and the kettle on the hob, with Ben at one side of the fire, his pipe in full blast, and myself at the other, you would have admitted we looked just as snug and jolly as there was any occasion to be.
“Well, Nie, lad,” said Ben, “this is what I call the quintessence of comfort. Heave round with a yarn.”
“Just the thing,” said I; “but what shall it be?”
“Well, we’re cosy enough here, that’s certain, Nie, and as contrasts are pleasant sometimes, why, let’s hear of some doings of yours in the ice and snow.”
“So let it be, Ben; I will tell you of a Christmas I once spent in the Arctic Ocean.”
“Not a very jolly one, I suppose,” Ben replied.
“Not so dull as you might imagine, I can tell you. Ours was a brave brig, as strong as iron and oak could make us. It seemed to me that there were no icebergs big enough to hurt us. We had spent the summer whaling in Baffin’s Bay. The sport we had, so far as birds and bears and seals and foxes were concerned, was as good as anyone could have wished; while the wild grandeur of the scenery, and the very desolation of some of it, are painted on the tablets of my memory, and will remain for ever. But we had not the fortune to kill a single whale.
“Then winter came on us all at once, and we found ourselves frozen in, in one of the dreariest packs of ice it has ever been my lot to lie in. The days got shorter and shorter, till the sun at last went down to rise no more for months. We had the glorious aurora, though, and moonlight and stars, but sometimes for weeks together snows fell and storms raged, and we were enveloped in total darkness and a silence deep and awful as that of the very vaults of death. We managed, despite the weather, to give Christmas a welcome, and were gay enough for a time. Perhaps it was our very gaiety at this season that caused us to be so gloomy and disheartened afterwards.
“Sickness came, the black death almost decimated our crew, and when, in the cold bleak spring-time, the sun returned, and the ice opened and allowed us to stagger southwards, though the whales were plentiful, there were not men enough to man the boats, and hardly enough to set the sails.
“I had been an invalid; indeed, I had barely escaped with life, and it would be long ere I was fit again for the wild roving existence and wild sports in which my soul was so much bound up.
“‘Come with me, sir,’ said our captain when we reached New York at last. ‘I’m going south for the good of my health, and I have cousins near San Francisco, and it is right welcome we both shall be.’
“‘Are they ladies?’ I asked.
“‘Ay, and dear good sisterly girls at that,’ he answered.
“My savage nature rather rebelled against the society of ladies, Ben; bears and wolves were more in my line. But I could not offend my kind friend, so consented to go.
“‘We’ll take it easy,’ he said, ‘and have a look at the land as we go south.’
“We did take it easy. We visited all the lovely and enchanting scenery of the Adirondacks, then went slowly south and west; we lingered for weeks in the Yellowstone Park. It was summer, all the woods and forests were astir with life, the prairies gay with gorgeous flowers; there was joy all around us; we drank in health in every breath we breathed.
“I felt myself no longer an invalid when we arrived at the home of my captain’s cousins, an old-fashioned log mansion, with verandahs and porticoes around which gigantic creepers flower-laden trailed and twined, and cooled the sun’s rays that sifted through their leaves, ere they entered the beautifully-furnished rooms. There were wide, grassy, park-like lawns, terraces, and fountains, and everything that wealth could bestow or luxury suggest adorned this lovely spot. The owner was a retired planter. His servants were still slaves, but the master was kindness itself to even the meanest of them.
“I would now fain have resumed my old life, and gone with rod or gun in hand to the forest, the mountain, and stream. But I was not to be permitted to do so. I must still consider myself an invalid. Such were the orders of my captain’s cousins. So I became a willing captive, and did all that the dear kind-hearted girls told me.
“And, indeed, sitting under the shade of a cool and leafy orange-tree, the air perfumed with its delightful scent, with Letitia quietly sewing beside me, and Miriam reading ‘The Lady of the Lake,’ was as good a way, Ben, of passing a drowsy summer’s afternoon as any I ever tried.”
“Didn’t you fall in love?” asked Ben slyly.
“Don’t ask any questions,” I replied. “Stir the fire, my boy; just hear how the wind is roaring, and the hail rattling against the panes.”
“Ugh!” said Ben, with a little shudder as he applied the poker to the blazing coals. “Well, go on, Nie.”
“When I got still a little stronger, we, the captain’s cousins and I, used to go for long rambles to the hills and woods, and sometimes south to a picnic or dance.
“There are giants in the forests of California, Ben. Once, I remember, our ball-room was the stump of an old tree, the lofty pines its walls, and the blue sky its roof.
“As I happened one day to let out rather inadvertently that I was, virtually speaking, a homeless man, a wanderer over the wide, wide world, my good host said bluntly, but kindly:
“‘Then, my dear sir, you are a prisoner here for the next six months. Come, I won’t take a word of denial.’
“Well, I had to give in, if only for the simple reason that both the girls added their influence to that of their father; I promised to stay, and didn’t repent it.
“Though I say it myself, Ben, I was soon a favourite with all the slaves about the old estate. I daresay I had my favourites among them; it is only natural. One of these was Shoe-Sally, another was Shoe-Sally’s little brother Tom. They were both characters in their way, and both oddities. Shoe-Sally was quite a personage about the old mansion. She seemed to do anything and everything, and to be here, there, and everywhere all at the same time. Shoe-Sally also knew everything, or appeared to do so, and she was just as black and shiny as the shoes she polished. Sally was bound up in a little brother of hers called Tom.
“‘Leetle tiny Tom,’ she told me one day, ‘is so cleber, sah. He read de good Book all same’s one parson, sah. Make parson hisself one o’ dem days. Sure he will, sah.’
“But Tom had a deadly enemy in the person of Joliffe the overseer, a perfect brute of a fellow, with slouching gait and murderous eye. How his master retained him so long I don’t know, but he had been overseer for more than ten years, I was told. Well, he might have been useful in some ways, but he was terribly cruel. He did not dare to let his master see him with a whip in his hand, but he had a short thick one in his pocket with which he flogged the poor slaves most unmercifully.
“Once Shoe-Sally came running to me; I was playing with a little pet dog belonging to Tom:
“‘Oh! for mussy sake, come quick, sah!’ she shrieked; ‘Massa Joliffe he done whip my pooh brudder most to death.’
“I followed her quickly enough, and I never want to see again what I saw then. Joliffe had stripped the poor black boy, tied him up in the stable, and was lashing him across the face and shoulders. He had injured one eye badly, and the blood was flowing everywhere about.
“‘You cowardly savage!’ I roared.
“Ben, I have a hard fist. That wretch’s head was under my arm in a moment, and I simply punched it till I was tired, then I threw him into the stall and let him have a bucket of water over him by way of a reviver. Joliffe’s face was a sight to see for some weeks. I told my host what I had done, and the verdict was, ‘Serve Joliffe right!’
“Poor Shoe-Sally came to thank me with the tears streaming over her honest black cheeks.
“‘For what you hab done dis day,’ sobbed Sally, ‘Hebbin will bress you ebery hour in your life. And, oh, sah!’ she added, ‘Sally will die for you!’
“I shudder even now, Ben, my friend, when I think of how true, how terribly true, the latter part of this little grateful speech turned out.
“Time passed, and I felt happier far in that old Californian home than I believe I ever did anywhere before. I never once, however, met Joliffe the overseer, but he scowled a dreadful scowl at me, and I knew he was inwardly vowing deep revenge. As for the little boy, Tom, he was taken entirely out of the overseer’s charge, and became message-boy and ‘buttons’ about the house.
“It was before the tremendous civil war had broken out in America, Ben, and I was very young and just a bit romantic. Perhaps I really was in love with dear Miriam. At all events, there was nothing I would not have done for her, and I was never so perfectly, so serenely happy as when in her sweet presence. But everyone loved Miriam, ay, every slave about the place, and every beast and every bird. The wandering Indians that occasionally came around looked upon her as some being better than themselves, and I believe that even when they were on the war-path she might have gone to their camps, or to their fastnesses in the wilderness, and need have dreaded nought of ill.
“It came to pass that Miriam was invited to spend a week at the house of a friend who lived some twenty miles from the old mansion.
“Her father took her over, and – for sake of the drive we shall say, Ben – I went along with him. I never enjoyed any drive so much, at all events. At the end of the week, as my host was not over well, I boldly volunteered to go alone for Miriam, and my proposition was accepted.
“I should sleep one night at the house where she had gone, and together we should drive home next day. I knew every foot of the road and every feature of the scenery; even should we be belated, there would be bright moonlight. At any time, a ride through the forests and hills of the far West, when the full moon is shining down from a clear sky, is a treat to be remembered, but with such companionship as I should enjoy, why, it is bliss, Ben, and nothing less.
“Now, something out of the common occurred on the very day I left to bring Miriam home. It was this: both Joliffe and Shoe-Sally were missed. Poor Tom was disconsolate in the extreme, and went about all the forenoon with tears coursing along his nose, almost as big as the silver buttons he wore on his jacket.
“That same day at noon a strange meeting took place between two braves, apparently Indians, in one of the deepest and darkest nooks of the great forest. The spot was on the brink of a deep canon almost filled up with fallen trees, the result of some terrible storm.
“One savage, who evidently belonged to the warlike Apaches, and was a chief, sat quietly and meditatively smoking. The other leaned upon his club, and did all the talking, and this most energetically.
“‘Ugh!’ said the sitting chief; ‘but the paleface and I am at peace. I like it not. I care not for his scalp.’
“‘But think of the gold I offer you,’ said his companion; ‘think of the fire-water it will buy you. You will be happy for ever with such wealth and riches, and think of the prize. You are a great chief, this paleface girl will be brighter than the sunshine in your wigwam, sweeter far than the wild bee’s honey. Think.’
“Nearer and nearer to a rifted tree not far from these two men crept a dark figure, moving along low on the ground, and as silently as a snake glides, till their every word became audible, their every gesture visible.
“There was much more that the club-armed savage said which need not be repeated. Suffice it to say that the listener heard all, or heard enough, then retired with the same stealthy gliding motion as it had approached.
“Miriam and I set out about noon next day on our return journey.
“With our spirited horse, and light waggonette, three hours would have taken us home easily. But we did not hurry the horse, and it was two o’clock ere we had accomplished half the distance.
“‘We must be quick,’ cried Miriam, looking at her watch with some degree of anxiety depicted on her lovely face.
“She had hardly spoken these words ere an Indian woman tearing a child on her back in her blanket, suddenly appeared at the bend of the road, and begged for a few coppers. I felt too happy to refuse, and drew up. The woman leaned against the wheel, a silver coin glittered in her hand, and next moment we had driven on.
“Our path now wound along through a beautiful forest, and close by the banks of a lake.
“The view was charming in the extreme, and I could not help stopping for just a moment that we might gaze on it. The day was hot and still; there was silence on the hills, silence on pine wood and lake, broken only by an occasional plash as a fish leaped up, or a bird stirred the glassy waters with glad wing. We were almost close to the edge of a fearful precipice.
“‘Get me that flower,’ murmured Miriam, pointing to a deep crimson anemone that grew by the side of the road.
“I sprang down to get it. I had hardly reached the ground ere one of the front wheels flew off and rolled over the rock; it took all my strength to support that side of the machine, until Miriam should alight.
“My thoughts at once reverted to the Indian woman who had leaned against the wheel. She had doubtless drawn the linch-pin.
“There was treachery of some kind in the wind. But what could it mean? I never for a moment thought of Joliffe and his possible revenge.
“As quickly as fingers could work, I took out the horse and tied him to a tree, then I backed the carriage into a sheltering corner of the rock, and hardly had I done so ere the whole forest resounded with the howling of vengeful savages.
“I had expected no assistance from Miriam, and was surprised to get it. But the dear girl had all the courage and coolness in danger of a true American woman. Armed with a revolver each, we gave those Redskins a warm reception; and though the bullets rattled on the rocks behind us like the hail on our window panes, Ben, they retired discomfited.
“We could hardly expect to remain where we were much longer, and hope itself was sinking in my heart, when the yelling was renewed, and the Indians came on a second time to the attack.
“Ah! but help was at hand. Savages can yell, but there is nothing so blood-stirring as the wild ‘hurrah!’ of a Briton or an American.
“We heard it now, and sent back cheer for cheer.
“I can hardly describe the scene that followed. It was a fierce melée, a hand-to-hand contest, and dreadful while it lasted. But the Redskins were beaten, Ben, at length, as Redskins always have been in the long run who crossed sword or spear against civilised man.
“For the life of me I could never tell how long that fight continued. It might have been but five minutes – it might have been an hour.
“But there, in the midst of the dead and the dying, stood Miriam, locked in her father’s arms.
“Ben,” I continued, after a pause, “the most mournful part of my tale remains to be told. It was poor, droll, innocent Shoe-Sally who had followed Joliffe to the forest that day, dodged him while he disguised himself, and crept after him, and listened to all he had said to the Apache chief. She had hurried home again and exposed his treachery, and as it happened our friends were on the spot barely in time to save our lives.”
“And Shoe-Sally?” said Ben; “what became of her?”
“We found her among the dying.
“‘My brudder, my brudder!’ was all she ever said ere death stepped in and closed the scene.”
There was moisture in my friend’s eyes as he bent down to stir the fire.
“‘Poor Sally!’ he said; ‘and were these her last words? Well, Nie, we are all of us brothers and sisters in this world.’”
Yes, my dear readers, all of us, as Ben said, black or white. Remember that.
