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Chapter Sixteen
A State of Siege
We hastened back to give Ritchie the news.
If we had expected he would exhibit any surprise we were mistaken.
“It’s no more’n I expected,” he said quietly.
“Perhaps,” I hazarded, “these are friendly Fuegians?”
“I never met ’em,” he replied. “Must be some new tribe. All that ever I saw could be friendly enough when driving a good bargain, and scraping the butter all to their own side of the dish. Their motto is, ‘Take all we can get, and take it anyhow.’ My dear lad,” he continued, “could anything be handier for these savages than to collar a white man. He is dressed, and has nick-nacks in his pocket; well, they want the dress and the nick-nacks, for you see they don’t have any clothes of their own worth mentioning; then the body of the white man comes in handy for a side-dish. They think no more of killing a white man than they do of sending an arrow through the heart of a guanaco. No, never trust a Fuegian farther than you can fling him, and that’d be over the cliff if I had all my will.”
Hark! There was a crashing sound among the bushes not far off. I ran to my gun. So did Jill. But Ritchie never moved step nor muscle, at which I was at first a little surprised. Not, however, when a guanaco appeared in the clearing not far off, and had a long-necked look at us.
“Don’t fire!” he cried. “We’re not ready for the niggers yet.”
“Didn’t you fancy,” I asked, “that the savages were on us when you heard the bushes crackling?”
“That I didn’t. They don’t come like that. You don’t see them, and you never hear them. No, they’re all from home. That fire was lit last night, and left burning. But they’ll come back. So now to get ready. You see, young gentlemen, the gentry very likely look upon the glen and woods round here as a kind of happy hunting-ground. There is fish in the river, too, and fish in the bay. So, though it may be days before they come, we may as well cook their dinner in time.”
“But surely we won’t be here for days?”
“Maybe not. But it’s just as likely to be days as not. It all depends.”
As he spoke, Ritchie advanced some little distance to the right, beckoning us to follow.
He drew the bushes aside from the foot of the rock, and lo! the entrance to a large cave.
“It’s still there, you see,” said Ritchie. “Not a bit altered since I was here before. No; caves are like keyholes, they never fly away.”
He entered, and we followed, the men holding the branches aside to admit the light. The place was large and roomy, and evidently constantly inhabited. Here were the remains of a fire, here a heap of bones, and here again a bed of dry leaves.
The most of the forenoon was spent in preparing our fortifications. The bushes were cut down from the front, admitting light and air, and a bulwark of small tree trunks was built in front, the boat being hauled inside. There was plenty of fallen wood about, so that our work was by no means difficult.
After all had been done that could be done, we had nothing to do but watch and wait.
Watch and wait for the wind to change and give us a chance, or for the foe to come.
I do not know anything more irksome than such a position. When there is danger ahead, it is human nature to wish to face it at once and be done with it. But in this case we did not know whence the danger would come, nor what would be its precise character when it did come.
All that day – and a dreary one it was – the wind blew steadily from the east, whitening the waves, and moaning mournfully through the trees in the forest around us. We kept a good outlook on the Reach for any steamer or ship that might be passing, but none appeared.
The sun set in a gloomy sky to-night, and the moon failed to show. This was no disadvantage. Our sentry was set, and beside him the two dogs kept watch and ward. We lay down armed all in the dark, Jill and I side by side, on our couches of leaves. I think Ritchie began to tell a story, and I set myself to listen, but exhausted Nature would assert herself, and I was soon hard and fast asleep. Nor did I waken till broad daylight was streaming in at the mouth of the cave.
Another day went slowly past, without any alteration in the wind, and without our friend the foe appearing.
About sundown Jill bantered Ritchie about the Pacific and Atlantic fighting for mastery, and the frequent changes in the wind; but Ritchie took it very good-naturedly.
“It is evident,” Jill said, “the Atlantic has it all its own way this time, Ritchie.”
Night fell again, as dark and wild as ever. About ten o’clock, just as we were thinking of settling, one of the dogs uttered a low and ominous growl, but was at once muzzled by the sentry’s hand.
A canoe had suddenly glided into the little creek or river’s mouth, but it passed on. Another and another followed, till we had counted seven in all; but from the constant jabbering they kept up it was evident they had not observed us.
“That makes the fleet,” whispered Ritchie. “Seven is a magic number with many savages.”
About an hour after, Ritchie stole quietly out of the little fort. He soon returned and asked me to come. I obeyed. Jill wanted to accompany me, but I forbade him.
We stole quietly up the river, keeping well in under the shade of the trees, and ere long saw the light of a fire glimmering through the bush ahead. We crept on still more silently now, careful not even to snap a twig.
We reached high ground just a little way above the clearing, and gradually drew near the glimmering light. Then Ritchie cautiously lifted a branch of evergreen.
A more fantastic and horrible sight I never saw. The fire was fiercely hot, and evidently made of hard dry old wood. Around it, but at a goodly distance, sat, crouched, or lay fully a score of semi-naked savages, all men, all armed – at least their weapons lay near them – and all silent. Many had hats and garments of our men on; woollen shirts or linen ones, some bloodstained. But their legs and arms were all bare. Every eye was turned towards the fire, where, spitted against the tree up which the red flames were now roaring, were huge masses of flesh that a glance told me was human. There was a hideous grotesqueness about the whole scene that made me draw back and shudder. But some movement on the part of the cannibals made me look again. The feast was about to begin.
Ritchie and I drew back and cautiously took our departure.
We never spoke till near the creek side, and then only in whispers.
“Those are the fellows from the Salamander,” said Ritchie. “The very flesh they are now gorging on is part of their companions that were blown in pieces.”
The Fuegians evidently set no sentries, so their canoes, which we soon came upon drawn up in a row, were entirely at our mercy.
Our mercy was excessively meagre in this instance.
These canoes are merely planks of wood fashioned with knives and fire, and lashed together by means of pieces of skin.
It took us no great length of time to dismember them, nor to launch the pieces into the stream afterwards.
“And now,” said Ritchie, “the forest itself is our principal danger. These chaps’ll be all about us to-morrow morning early, like bluebottles round a dead mouse: more’ll come to help them, and the bush ’ll be their cover. We’ll fire it. The wind is favourable.”
“It really is a pity,” I remarked, half seriously, “to spoil this scenery.”
“Come,” was all my companion added.
So well and willingly did we both work, that in less that half an hour we had fired the forest in five different places. The amount of underwood and of fallen decayed trees was very great, so that the very earth itself would undoubtedly smoulder and burn for days, thus affording us protection from the savages.
I have seen many a conflagration in my time, but none, I think, so awful as that.
So closely did the fire rage around us at one time and so great was the heat, that we were considering whether we should not launch our boat and put out to sea. From the high cliff above us burning branches ever came toppling down, but these were easily removed.
Then the fire receded, and attacked the glen above and around the bay, the crackling and roaring of the flames became indescribable; tongues of fire seeming also to be carried away with the clouds of rolling smoke, as if even that itself were ablaze. Ritchie and I both stood appalled to behold the vastness of the ruin our work had effected.
Long after the flames had left them, and gone over the hill and high up the valley towards the snow-line, the sturdy arms of the beech-trees stretched out red against a background of black, and every now and then a limb would fall with a loud report, sending up volumes of ashes, smoke, and sparks.
Whether or not on the first outbreak of the fire, the savages had left their fearful orgies and made a rush to the spot where they had left their canoes can never be known. It was evident enough by next morning, nevertheless, that they had found out we were in the bay, and had managed even that night to communicate by signal fires to their companions on other shores and on islands, that white men were about; for as early as dawn canoes were seen off the coast – more and more came, till there was quite a swarm.
We were besieged. The wind might change if it liked, or remain where it was, it could make no difference to us now. To have ventured to run out against such odds would have been to throw our lives recklessly away. But our position was good.
As we expected, the decayed mould of which, the bottom of the glen and hills was composed – centuries old, perhaps – kept on smouldering, and would do so for weeks. Then the bay was in our front and to our right the open sea.
No, we were safe for a time. But how long would our provisions last?
We made a careful survey, and found that with great economy we had enough for a week or even longer.
When we first appeared in the open, the yelling and menacing of the savages in their canoes was dreadful to hear and behold. For a time Ritchie thought they would cast prudence to the winds and attempt to force a landing.
Two boats did come near enough to fire arrows at us, but they dearly paid for their rashness, and three at least of the Indians would never fire an arrow more.
Long before sundown the enemy had drawn off, and there was not a canoe to be seen anywhere.
“Now would be a chance,” said Jill, “if the wind would only change.”
Ritchie looked at him and smiled.
“My dear lad,” he said, “we wouldn’t be two hundred yards beyond the bar before they would be on us. We wouldn’t be able to get back, and we’d never get far on in this world. No, that’s only a trick, and a very transparent one; just the same as pussy plays with a mouse. But I’m too old for ’em. Drat ’em! Oh, I do love ’em, don’t I just?”
He did not look as if he did.
Day after day – two, three, five, went hopelessly by. The weather kept fine, and the wind was now favourable for a sortie if we were at length compelled to run the gauntlet.
We had hoisted a signal on the cliff top in the hopes that passing ships might see it and perhaps send to our assistance. But the ships we saw were a long way off, and noticed not our signal, for we were some distance out of the usual track of vessels.
On the fifth day Jill and I went up stream some little distance through the burnt forest, and Ossian, the dog, found near the bank a guanaco half-roasted. This was indeed a blessing, and we dined more heartily that evening than we had done for a week. We tried fishing, hoping thereby to add to our larder, but were only indifferently successful. Having neither lines nor bait, we were reduced to the plan called “guddling” by Scottish schoolboys, where you wade and catch the trout with your hands.
Affairs grew desperate on the seventh day, not so much for want of food as from the fact that the ground had ceased to burn, and cooled sufficiently to permit one to walk over the ashes.
A combined attack by land and sea was therefore hourly expected by us, all the more so in that the canoes seemed more active than usual, flitting about hither and thither, but apparently paying no heed to us.
“They’re too silent to please me,” said Ritchie; “they’ll be on us to-night as sure as shot.”
On the same afternoon far away out in the Reach we noticed a noble steamer.
Jill and I stood looking at her until she had gone down out of sight on the horizon. We could easily fancy ourselves on board of her. We could see in imagination the orderly, clean white decks, the burnished brass and wood, the sailors and officers in their smart uniforms, the chairs on deck where lounged the passengers reading, talking, and quietly napping, the officer on the bridge and the sturdy seaman at the wheel. It was so sad; and we waiting – to sell our lives as dearly as possible. That is the last consolation of the brave. And Jill and I had promised ourselves so much, at least.
Jill put such a strange question to Ritchie this afternoon, but I knew what the poor lad was thinking about.
“Ritchie,” he said, “do these horrid Indians torture their prisoners if they take any alive?”
“I’ve never heard they did,” was the quiet reply. “And indeed I don’t think they have the sense – drat ’em.”
The time, we thought, wore all too quickly to a close, and almost as soon as the sun went down in the west, up rose the full moon in the east, and then everything – if not as bright as day – was light enough at all events for the work so soon to commence.
Chapter Seventeen
Fighting in Terrible Earnest – Our Last Sortie – Back to Back in Cornish Fashion
Long before the sun had set, we had strengthened our bulwarks, and put our little citadel into as good a state of defence as possible, with the materials at our command.
Knowing that sooner or later an attack would come, unless we could communicate with some passing ship, Ritchie had been busy for days, and our fortifications now consisted of an outer and an inner rampart of trees. But neither were of great extent, there being but eight of us altogether to defend them; unless, indeed, we counted the dogs, and they were hardly dogs of war. Ossian, however, was an immensely powerful animal, with the strength almost of a young mastiff, and all the agility of the English greyhound. Bruce, on the other hand, made up in sagacity and courage what he lacked in brute force.
Jill had become inordinately fond of the animals; I would not therefore have had a hair of their honest heads touched in anger for all the world. It was evident to me, nevertheless, that as soon as the mêlée commenced they would join in, unless prevented, and get speared beyond a doubt. I therefore had one of the men to make them secure to the boat early in the evening.
Behind that boat our last stand was to be made, if the worst should come to the worst. It was therefore drawn up opposite to and guarding the entrance to the cave.
We had plenty of ammunition, rifles, revolvers, and boarding pikes, part of a cargo which, as I hinted before, we were taking out to Honolulu.
Short though the time we had been thus closely thrown together, I think we – the men and Jill and I – loved each other like a band of brothers. There is nothing like danger for cementing the ties of social equality. Then, we all looked up to Ritchie as to a father almost. As to our captain, at all events, for that he was in reality if not by actual rating.
He was a little, active, and very athletic man, and with a trusty weapon in his hand, I never doubted that he would prove a terrible enemy among even a score of these not over-wholesome Fuegians, or Firelanders, as they are often called. Not but what these savages are hardy enough. Passing ships can scarcely judge of the whole race from the miserable and often puny creatures that are sent out to beg and sell curiosities. No, if it be any credit to him, I will admit that the Fuegian Indian is as fierce and warlike in his own way as any savage ever I met with. He can be either a lamb or a wild beast, as it suits his purpose. He has but one aim or object in the world, and but one motto: “Kill and eat.” Nor is he a whit particular what he does kill and eat. Is there nothing good to be said for these Indians? Yes, they are fond of their offspring and careful of their comforts, until the children can run. After that they must look out for themselves, and pick up a dead mouse or a dead bird, wherever they can find it, till they learn to use their bows and arrows. And a Fuegian boy is quite a little warrior by the time he has reached his sixth or seventh year.
The Fireland warrior full grown is not a giant, but sometimes very powerful, and far more hardy than could be believed possible, going almost stark naked even in winter – when at work, at all events; that is, when hunting, fishing, rowing, or running.
This is a digression, but it is necessary to show the kind of enemy we had so soon to meet in battle. I must digress further to the extent of a few words, and tell you that Jill was an excellent swordsman. We had a good tutor in our father, and my brother and I were always at sword exercise when at home and not doing either work or mischief. Many a hard knock we had given each other, but I rejoice to add we never lost our tempers.
“You feel sure we’ll have a go at these niggers to-night, Mr Ritchie, if I may make so bold?”
This was a question put to our captain shortly after the moon had risen.
“As sure as that I’m looking at the moon,” said Ritchie.
“And what think you will be the upshot?”
“It’ll be a down-shot to begin with,” replied Ritchie, by way of making a grim joke.
“But, Lawlor lad, I’m half afraid the Fuegians will have the upper hand, drat ’em!”
“And we’ll all be scuppered?”
“We’re all in the hands of Providence,” said Ritchie.
“’Cause I’ve a sweetheart,” said Lawlor.
“And I’ve a mother,” said another man.
“And I,” said another, “have a wife and the prettiest baby ever opened blue eyes.”
“I have neither kith nor kin,” said Wrexham, a tall young giant of a fellow. “I’m going to lay about me a bit by and by; and look here, lads, I wouldn’t mind dying for the lot of you.”
“Don’t talk thus,” said Ritchie. “Let each of us now say a bit of a prayer to himself.”
There was silence for the space of five minutes; then we all stood up, and there and then, as if by one common impulse, we shook hands all round. We felt better now. We even wished the foe would come, but we knew also that when they did commence the attack, it would be in silence and with suddenness.
A whole hour went by. No one spoke much. We just hung about the cave mouth, occasionally giving a look to see our arms were in perfect order and array. Now and then Jill went into the cave and talked with the dogs as if they were human beings. I think he did so simply to pass the time.
I was wondering in what particular way the battle would commence, and what would be the peculiar incidents connected with it, when Ritchie suddenly clutched my arm and gazed seawards. A bright light was visible far out in the offing. A bright white light. Could it be that assistance was at hand?
Presently all was dark on the sea again, except for the quivering lines of moonlight on the waters. But next minute a bright crimson glare was thrown over the water. They were burning a red light. It was a signal undoubtedly.
“Can we make them hear, I wonder?” said Ritchie. “I think we can. The night is still, and the wind is off the shore.”
We waited till the red light had quite burned out, then fired a volley, that went reverberating away up among the hills and rocks like thunder, and must have been heard far and near.
The savages must have seen that signal too, for now came a shower of arrows, which we fain would have replied to had we seen an object to fire at. We took shelter within the inner rampart, well knowing they would soon appear in the outer.
We were not disappointed. Heads and spears were seen above our first line of defence.
“Steady, men!”
The volley we gave them must have been effective. There was silence among the foe no longer, but the wildest and most unearthly yells. Again and again did they try to storm our outer defence. Again and again were they hurled down and back.
Our little fort seemed impregnable. Hope was in our hearts now. We had only to hold our position, and assistance would soon be with us.
The attack was renewed again and again, but with the same results. I began almost to feel sorry for the carnage our guns and revolvers must undoubtedly have been creating. But it was no fault of ours. We were but acting on the defensive.
Then there came a lull in the storm, and we found time to bind up a wound in Lawlor’s left wrist. It had been caused by an arrow, and was bleeding profusely. The rest of us were as yet unscathed.
“I don’t like this silence,” said Ritchie. “They’re up to some devilment, or my name isn’t Ted. Let us get over and see.”
We, Ritchie and I, scaled our first defence and mounted the second, only to see “Birnam wood” advancing, so to speak.
“All hands here, quick?” cried Ritchie.
In a few minutes, nay moments, we were firing at the advancing wood. It was too late. The pile was made and speedily lighted, and the smoke and sparks went rolling over us.
This was their plan, then. We were to be burned out or smoked out, like rats from a hole.
In this battle betwixt civilisation and savagery, the former had hitherto got the advantage. Was all this to be changed? It would seem so.
The natives retreated now. They had but to wait till our position became untenable, and slay us as we sought safety in flight. Flight? Yes, but whither?
The fire began to burn fiercely. In a few moments more the ramparts had caught, and now it was time for action.
We determined to hold our fort as long as possible, then make our last – our final sortie. We tore down the lee side of the inner bulwark, and crouched on the ground close to the rock; and it is well we did, for just then a whole shower of arrows flew over our heads.
“That is good, men,” cried Ritchie. “The arrows come from the direction of the creek. Stand by to rush out when I give the order.”
I missed Jill from my side. The kindly boy, even in the midst of the fire and fighting, had not forgotten the dogs, and had gone to let them loose.
Now in a fight or battle of any kind it is very little any single individual can tell of it. We only knew in the present instance that the order was given to “Charge,” and out we rushed from our fiery den.
Ritchie and Wrexham led, keeping the smoke as a cover as long as they could. Jill and I, shoulder to shoulder, followed. I know little else; I only thought of Jill.
Hitherto, I must own, I had considered that in many ways I was my brother’s superior, and more than once, I fear, I treated him as a child. After his bravery this night, and his coolness in this terrible mêlée, I always looked upon him as a man, and my equal – except, of course, in age.
The savages would have done well had they scattered and poured upon us their clouds of arrows. For some reason or another they did not, but waited our charge by the creek side, all in a mass, and with spears and yells. Savages as a rule put no end of value on their yelling and whooping qualities, and at times, it must be admitted, these war cries are very confusing and startling. We fired one rifle volley into their midst; one or two volleys from the revolver. Then we met and mixed. I cannot tell now, nor could I ever tell, their numbers. They seemed like a huge dark cloud.
“Back to back, Jill!” I cried.
“Hurrah!” shouted my brother. “Back to back, Jack, in good old Cornish fashion! Hurrah!”
And back to back we fought in the midst of those fiends, who went down wherever we charged. Back to back, and wielding with terrible effect two long supple Arab swords we had bought at the Cape.
Back to back, as brothers should in an engagement like this. But for how long I know not. A mist came over my eyes, a strange white smoke-like mist. Then I remembered no more.
But I was lying there by the creek side when I came to, with Jill bending over me. Lying in the moonlight, and not far off, talking to Ritchie, was Peter himself, who came towards us as soon as he heard Jill saying, “Are you better now, brother?”
So we were saved. I had merely been stunned with a blow from a stone. I had fallen about the very time Peter with his boat’s crew had leapt on shore, and the savages began to fly, and Jill had caught me up in his arms and staggered with me to meet them.
That is all I know of this fight with the Firelanders.
Ritchie was unscathed. Poor Wrexham was stark and stiff, with, an arrow sticking in his heart, and two of the others were wounded, but not severely. It is unnecessary to add that the natives had suffered severely.
“Peter,” I said, as soon as I could gasp out a word or two, “I’m so glad to see you.”
“I thought you wouldn’t mind my paying you a visit,” said Peter, smiling.
“I dare say I’m talking a bit strange,” I said. “I feel rather dazed. I fainted, didn’t I? So foolish to faint!”
“True, it’s very foolish to faint, old man, but when a fellow gets hit behind the ear with a pebble as big as an ostrich’s egg, then fainting and folly are not quite synonymous terms.”
“Well, thank you,” I muttered. “I’m obliged, really. How’s – ”
“How’s things?” said Peter, helping me out.
“Yes, how – are you all at home?”
“Poor Jack!” said Peter. “Why they’ve knocked you a kind of silly. You’ll be better when you’ve had a sleep.”
They carried me to the boat. I remember the motion of it, and I remember the bright moonlight on the water, but nothing else for another day.
