Wild Life in the Land of the Giants Part 27

We had landed, as I have said, in a cove off the bay, and this was really the mouth of a little river, very silent here and very deep, but a little more inland hurrying along over its stony bed with a noise like thunder. It was doubtless fed by the melting snows of the Cordilleras.

Jill and I left the men to draw up the boat while we took a little ramble into the interior, promising Ritchie not to go beyond hail. We wanted to stretch our legs and get fully awakened.

Jill was his old self again, so I was happy accordingly.

"How's all this going to end, Jill?" I said.

"I don't know," replied Jill; "but I suppose we might as well be here as anywhere else."

"Certainly; if those interesting savages do not give us more trouble."

"Oh, bother take them; never mind. We gave them such a dose yesterday they'll hardly want another."

"Jill," I said, "look!"

We had come to a bit of clearing on the banks of the river, and close by a huge tree were the remains of a fire. The ground round it, too, was well beaten down, as if people had lately been round it.

"Strange!" said Jill, "and no one seems about."

I took up two half-burned branches. The ends were covered with ashes and looked cold. I struck them together, _sparks flew out_!

"Jill," I said, "we'll go back now. The Indians are near us now."

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 sc.r.a.ping the b.u.t.ter 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 n.i.g.g.e.rs 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 pa.s.sing, 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 a.s.sert 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 pa.s.sed 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 ma.s.ses 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.