Adventures Among the Red Indians Part 3

One of the enemy's bullets had pierced her breast and the poor girl lay dead.

From that time Ascencion knew little or nothing of what happened; she had an indistinct recollection of an all-night ride, then of resting, once in green woods, and once on a burning, sandy plain; then of a second long march in the dark; but that was all. For she was in a fever which did not leave her till some days after their arrival at the river _tolderia_; and, when next she left her hut, the first thing she saw was the remainder of the tribe returning from the long battle.

They had been beaten, but nevertheless had inflicted such a blow on the victors as crippled all attempts at pursuit of them.

Then began again the same wearisome life as before, only more intolerable now that Ascencion had lost her sister. But one afternoon, when most of the men were away hunting, the cacique came up to her as she was preparing for her daily task of fetching water from the river, and showing his knife threateningly, observed:

"There is a boat's crew of white men making for the sh.o.r.e. Stay here till they are gone. If you speak to one of them you shall die."

The caution seemed needless enough, for by this time the poor girl had become so cowed and dest.i.tute of hope, that she had little heart to attempt escape. Moreover, it was quite possible that men of her own race might be no more desirable neighbours than the Indians. And so she sat down where she was, under a tree, feeling but little interest in the coming of the sailors. Looking listlessly towards the row of trees that hid the river from her view, she presently caught sight of the cacique ushering two white men towards his _toldos_, and evidently bearing himself with great obsequiousness towards them. The taller of the two entered, but the other began idly to walk about the camp, exchanging cheery words with the women at work there. Very soon he was standing by Ascencion's side. She was hesitating whether to answer a civil greeting of his, when he said quickly:

"But you are not an Indian girl, surely?"

Then she forgot all caution and all indifference to her condition. She had heard her own language spoken by one of her own people!

"No; I am Portuguese. I am a prisoner," she whispered eagerly.

"Why not escape then?"

"Alas; they would kill me. No one will help me."

"I'll find someone who will," said the young man, who wore a naval commander's uniform; and he ran to the cacique's tent, Ascencion following him more slowly. In another minute both strangers reappeared, talking earnestly in a language which the girl could only suppose to be English, as the second sailor was very tall and of fair complexion. When they had almost reached her, the Portuguese officer suddenly touched his cap and set off running full speed back towards the river. The other beckoning to her, and addressing her gently in tolerable Portuguese, said:

"Is it true that you are a prisoner, my poor la.s.s?"

The girl hesitated, for the cacique, who had guessed something of the import of the white men's conversation, was laying his hand on the haft of his knife. But the Englishman noticed the action, and immediately began to finger his sword-hilt.

"Speak up," he said; "there is nothing to be afraid of."

Then, interrupted every now and then by indignant remonstrance or denial from the chief, Ascencion told her story.

"Very well," said the sailor at length. "Come on board my ship; I shall take you up the river to Corrientes, and leave you with some English ladies till your friends can be communicated with."

"Not so fast, Senor," said the cacique, a.s.suming a more bullying tone.

"Of course you can take her--if you like to pay the price I----"

The officer whipped out his sword. "This is the only price I pay," he said curtly.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A PLUCKY RESCUE

The Indians surrounded the officer and the shrinking Portuguese girl. The Cacique threatened him with his hatchet, but a touch of the Englishman's sword-point at his throat made him reconsider his designs. Another Indian made at him with a knife, only to receive such a blow across the ear with the flat of the sword as knocked him to the ground.]

The cacique laughed contemptuously, and with a single shout summoned the couple of dozen men who happened to be within hearing, and who surrounded the Englishman and the shrinking girl in an instant, swinging their war-hatchets, and yelling one against the other.

"Oh, stop that din, do," said the officer with good-humoured impatience. "Listen to me, my lads. I am Commandante Don Pedro--or plain Peter Campbell, if you like that better. I've got a cutter and twenty men a few yards away, to say nothing of a ten-gun brig with sixty hands aboard of her, in the stream. Now, are you going to stand clear?"

Brigs and cutters were meaningless to the Indians; but what they did understand was the sudden appearance from among the trees of Don Edwardo, the Portuguese captain, followed by a dozen st.u.r.dy seamen--English, Yankee, and Portuguese, armed with muskets and cutla.s.ses.

The cacique re-echoed his war-cry and threatened Campbell with his hatchet; but a touch of the Englishman's sword-point at his throat made him reconsider his designs. Another Indian made at the "admiral"

with a knife--only to receive such a blow across the ear with the flat of the sword as knocked him to the ground. The tramp of the seamen stopped, and, at the command, muskets were slung and cutla.s.ses drawn.

The cacique bade his men drop their arms--almost a needless recommendation.

"Take her," he said sullenly.

Campbell pointed to the man whom he had knocked down. "Take away his knife," he said, addressing his boatswain, a burly Yankee. "Now--you have attempted to kill an Englishman, and you shall die." Don Pedro felt the edge of the knife and gave it a final "strop" on his palm.

"I'm going to cut his head off, as a warning to the rest of you," he said, so sternly that the Indians and even the cacique uttered little cries of terror.

Ascencion began to think that Englishmen were no more merciful than other people; for, as the Indian crouched whimpering at Don Pedro's feet, he stooped and brandished the knife with all the coolness of a butcher. But, to her amazement, when he stood up again, the head was still in its normal position, while, in his left hand, Campbell held the braided pigtail of hair, full five feet long, which had proudly adorned the head of the would-be a.s.sa.s.sin; and he, still doubting his good fortune in having got off so cheaply, sprang up and made headlong for the woods.

This is but one of the scores of anecdotes told of the celebrated soldier of fortune, Peter Campbell, who, whatever may have been his faults, was never known to show fear, to be disloyal to his employers or unjust to the Indians; indeed, by his unfailing good nature and sense of fairness and fun, he succeeded in adjusting many a tribal or political grievance which in the hands of most men, however well-meaning, would probably have ended in bloodshed.

The Portuguese girl was taken up the river, and when she returned to her parents she was accompanied by a husband, for she married an Irish settler in Corrientes.

CHAPTER IV

THE IROQUOIS OF THE CANADIAN BOUNDARY

The Iroquoian branch of the red race is considered by the best authorities to be far superior, mentally and physically, to any other.

Before British rule was definitely established in Canada, they were a power (known as "The Six Nations") duly recognised by English and French alike; and to-day, though less numerous than the Algonquins, they show fewer signs of dying out than the other families. Ontario is, and has ever been, a favourite district of theirs, and it was while living in this province that Dr. John Bigsby, who died in 1881, jotted down the notes concerning them which one often sees quoted in works dealing with the study of races.

Surgeon-Major Bigsby had the good fortune, as a young man, to be appointed geologist and medical officer to the Canadian Boundary Commission, a post decidedly congenial to a zealous student of ethnology, since it brought him in constant touch with the Cherokees, who, with the Hurons, Mohawks, etc., const.i.tute the Iroquoian family.

The inspection of military and native hospitals, together with his geological researches, necessitated frequent journeys north, south, and west from Montreal; and it was on one such journey, in the year 1822, that he met with a string of adventures both comical and exciting.

From Montreal he set out in a light waggon for Kingston, where he fell in with an acquaintance, Jules Rocheblanc, a fur-trader who, like himself, had various calls to make on the sh.o.r.es of Lake Ontario.

Rocheblanc had already arranged to travel with Father Tabeau, the diocesan inspector of missions, and the doctor very willingly joined their party. The mission boat, unlike the birch canoes, was a well-built, roomy craft paddled by eight or ten Indians--Cherokees and Hurons--all of whom spoke Canadian-French fluently. The weather, though cool, was far from severe, and as all three travellers had frequent engagements ash.o.r.e, these made welcome breaks in the journey.

After Toronto was pa.s.sed, the white stations became scarcer, and villages inhabited by Indians more frequent; and, at the first of these, the young army surgeon began to fear that the treachery so often justly imputed to the redskins was going to betray itself.

Three of the Indians had asked leave to go ash.o.r.e for a day's hunting, and, as the meat supply had run short, Pere Tabeau was glad to let them go, on the understanding that they were to await him that evening at a spot below the next Indian village, at which he was to halt for a few hours. Owing to some minor accident, it was well on in the afternoon before the boat came in sight of the village, which stood at the foot of a hill, immediately on the lake sh.o.r.e.

Two or three dozen Indians could be seen on a gra.s.sy s.p.a.ce, engaged in their national ball-play--a mixture of tennis, lacrosse, and Rugby football, which will be more closely described in the next chapter. By the goal nearest the water, the absent canoemen were standing, a goodly heap of game piled at their feet. The moment they caught sight of their boat they drew the attention of the players to it; these immediately abandoned the game and, running to the farther goal, picked up muskets and hastened with them towards the quay.

"This is something new," said Bigsby, "and I don't like the look of it. For whom do they take us?" He took a pistol from his bag, and Rocheblanc did the same; then, looking towards the bank again, they saw that every redskin had pointed his gun-muzzle on the boat.

"I think it is only a salute," said the priest, "though I must confess I have never been so honoured before. They are harmless, hard-working men, and all know me perfectly well."

He had scarcely finished speaking when the guns began to go off in twos and threes and sixes, anyhow, in fact. Then the surgeon put away his pistol and laughed, for there was not a splash on the water anywhere.

"The Father was right; it's only a salute. Do they often do this?" he asked of the nearest of the canoemen. "I've not seen it before."

The Indian looked very knowing and mysterious, and, after a pause, answered:

"It is a royal salute. They only fire like this for a great Iroquois chief, or for a messenger from the white king."

Very soon another succession of reports came, the guns all the while trained so accurately on the boat that even Bigsby, fresh from three years' constant active service at the Cape, began earnestly to hope that no one had, in the excitement of the moment, dropped a bullet into a gun-muzzle by mistake. Before the muskets could be loaded a third time the travellers were safely at the landing-stage.