by Tom Bevan
Chapter XXXVI.
THE ATTACK ON THE VILLAGE.
Forty Englishmen, with Indian carriers and scouts, stole out from theriver-side camp under the clear light of the tropical stars. Thevillagers on the hills slept in a false security. Spies had hung aboutthe river all day; but the preparations had no meaning for them, exceptthat they probably signalized an early departure. They had witnessedthe arrival of the other boat, and had sped to their chieftain with thenews. But the idea of a night attack on their stronghold neveroccurred to them. This newest type of white man, they had been toldand really believed, fought with their own kind only. The Indians shutand barred their great gate, curled themselves up on couch of skins orreed matting, and fell into the deep sleep of the tired savage.
The friendly scouts had so learned every turn and obstacle in theupward path from the river that they could have walked it in theblackest darkness, and the metallic light from the clear heavens wasmore than sufficient for the keen-eyed mariners. One torch was carriedfor the firing of the big gun and for the lighting of the matches ofthe arquebusiers, but its yellow glare was shrouded in a soldier'shelmet.
The strip of forest was passed, and the men filed out on the plateau.A breeze from the neighbouring heights stirred the green patches ofcorn. A scout came back, and whispered that the way was clear. Theband moved forward.
The dull, gray mass of the village loomed dimly ahead. No light wasvisible, but a thin column of smoke from the communal fire rose abovethe walls and bent away before the wind.
The adventurers were within gunshot of the gate. The big gun wassilently fitted to its carriage, loaded and shotted; and the nativeallies ran back into the corn and hid themselves, quaking with terror.
There was a flash of red flame, a loud roar that came back in echoingthunder from the hills, the crash of the iron ball against the gate.The villagers started from sleep, and looked around in dismay. Anotherflash, another roar, another crash, a pealing of strange thunder. Thena shout in a strange tongue: "For England! Mother England!" Thechildren of the sun, the wielders of the thunder and lightning, werethrough the broken gate.
Then arose a mad stampede of terror. The arquebusiers were within therampart, and death-fire and nauseous smoke spurted from a dozendifferent places. With squeals and shrieks, as from a mob of terrifiedbrutes, men, women, and children dashed for the walls and the fartheroutlets in mad flight for the hills.
"Make for the chief's house. Kill no man unless he opposes you," wasthe order; and a shouting band soon surrounded the great house in thecentre of the village. Some fired the thatched roofs, and a red glareshot up to the blue sky. The cries and screams of the scurrying tribegrew fainter and fainter. But the sturdy headman was not with them.Spear in hand, and alone, he faced his terrible foes, eyes and teethfiercely gleaming--a bronze Hector. He lunged at the foremost man, andMaster Jeffreys knocked him down with the flat of his sword. InstantlyMorgan and three or four others threw themselves upon him. He writhedand twisted like a limbed snake, and bit and tore with teeth and hands.But the odds were hopelessly against him; a rope in a sailor'spractised hands wound about his body, and he lay, a panting prisoner,across his own threshold. A few others of the villagers were seized,the rest of the roofs were fired, and the adventurers marched back tothe river. No spoil was taken.
The odds were hopelessly against him.]
The next morning the rank and file of the prisoners were set atliberty. A present was given to each one, and it was impressed uponthem that the white strangers bore them no ill-will, and would notagain molest the village if its inhabitants conducted themselves withdue deference and friendliness. They had punished them for theirchurlishness and disrespect, and had no thought of doing them furthermischief if they profited by the lesson given them. The men departed,astonished at the clemency shown them.
During the day the major portion of the villagers came back from themountains and woods, and set stolidly to work repairing their homes.One of the released prisoners ventured to come down to the white menand beg permission to cut rushes for the rethatching of his dwelling.He was quickly told that the river and its rushes were as free to himas ever they had been; and some of the adventurers cut rushesthemselves, and told the fellow to let the people know that a supplyawaited them.
These wise measures went far to conciliate the natives. They hadlearned that they must not oppose the strangers, but they also werefairly assured that the white men were not the robbers and destroyersthat rumour had represented them to be. Some of them came freelyenough into the camp, bartering produce for gaudy trinkets; but, to theintense disappointment of the company, none seemed to know anythingabout the "Gilded One" or the marvellous city in which he dwelt.
The expedition moved on--rapids, rocks, gorges, and waterfalls impedingthe way. The heat was intense; and when at times long marches werenecessary, in order to avoid obstacles in the river, the labour oftugging the boats was alike heartbreaking and limb-breaking. More thanonce the wisdom of leaving the river and marching overland wasdiscussed. But the river was at least a sure path, according to allreports. It led to Lake Parime and its golden sands and wondrous city.The men grew feverish and unbalanced with anxiety and disappointedhopes. Night after night they were to be found in groups, listening toYacamo or the Indians from the delta as they retold for the thousandthtime the story of "El Dorado;" others would sit beside Master Jeffreyswhilst he read and translated Dan's papers; and any words that fellfrom the Johnsons, and others who had sailed the Spanish Main before,and heard the Spanish stories of fabulous Indian treasures, were storedup as precious oracles.
And yet the mysterious region never seemed to come nearer; rather itreceded as the adventurers advanced, a yellow will-o'-the-wisp that hadled them through tangled forest and pestilential swamp only to mockthem in the end. The natives grew fiercer and more threatening; theguides began to murmur at the length of the way--their river homesseemed so far behind them. Savage faces peered out from bush and rockupon the company of wearied, ragged, dispirited men. One soldier wentmad, raved of gold and jewels, and jumped into a whirlpool to seekboth. Two others--one a Cornish squire who had sold his little all tojoin the expedition--were stricken by the sun, and dropped dead as theywere pulling at the boat ropes. A jaguar pounced upon another man ashe stooped to get water from a stream. An Indian arrow found the heartof another. The sun, fatigue, fevers, bruises, and the endless rackingof limbs and brains, reduced the spirits and strength of the men. Theybecame gaunt, hollow-eyed, tattered, unshorn, uncombed, unkempt, yetthey toiled on, silent--save when they cursed and railed atfate--dogged, fiercely purposeful, resolved to die rather than turnback. Song and jest were rarely heard in any boat; haggard fellowstugged at the oars, or lay dreamily watching the sail as it filled withthe welcome breeze. Their patience being sapped by disappointment andprivation, they were no longer the kindly "white brother" to theIndians; they estranged their friends and made foes at everyhalting-place.
One man saw this. Since the attack on the hill village the chief ofthat place had been dragged along with the expedition by way ofpunishment. Sullenly he had tugged at his oar, carried his load, orpulled at his rope; he neither forgot anything nor forgave anything.He rarely spoke to the Indians from the delta and the plain, and whenhe did his words were full of contempt. One night, when theadventurers were lodged on the land in a cleft of the mountains, hedisappeared. The natives who slept on either side of him as guard wereboth stabbed to the heart. The sight still further dulled the spiritsof all.