THE BATTLE OF RIO HONDO
The battle of Rio Hondo will probably never be recorded on the printed
pages of the history of Honduras or Mexico, but to the last day of his
life it will remain indelibly stamped on Pant’s memory.
As he caught the white gleam of machetes against the morning sky, many
searching questions invaded his mind. He was about to engage in a battle
that might mean the death of some faithful Carib. Was there yet an
opportunity for parley, for compromise? No! It was too late. Yet, in
their previous actions had there been blunders? Had he been too hasty?
Could the fight have been avoided? These questions he could not fully
answer; all he could say was that he had believed himself to be acting
for the good of all.
“As for compromise,” he told himself stoutly, “there can be no compromise
with evil. This man Daego hesitates at nothing that he may gain a little
more wealth, wealth for which he has no need. The men we must fight have
sold their souls to him.” Having thus put himself at peace with his own
mind, he set calmly about the task of posting his men.
The purpose of the raiders was to break up his raft. If they could but
sever the encircling boom, his logs would be set free, each to find its
separate way to the ocean. They would then be lost to him forever.
One anxious glance he cast toward the approaching boats. One thing he
feared most of all,—firearms.
“He wouldn’t dare,” Pant told himself, as no rifle or pistol appeared in
the uplifted hands. “A fight between crews is one thing; wholesale
slaughter quite another. The laws of Great Britain are strict, her
officers tireless.”
His eyes gleamed with a touch of pride as he surveyed his small army of
defense. What stalwart fellows they were! How their dark arms gleamed in
the sun! From the belt of each hung a machete. These they had been
ordered to use only as a last resort. By the side of each, grounded like
a rifle, was a stout six-foot mahogany pike-pole. He had taught them the
last trick of offense and defense with these weapons.
So they waited as on came the invading host. In the hands of some he saw
the white gleam of sapodilla axe handles. With these axes they would
attempt to loosen a chain of the boom or chop a log of it in two. Others
balanced heavy sledges on the edge of their boats. With these they hoped
to sever the chains. Their machetes were for defense. They waved them to
intimidate the Caribs.
“Not so easily done,” Pant smiled grimly as his Caribs sent back a
ringing cry of defiance.
“Don’t let a man of them board us,” was the last word Pant passed along
the line. “If they gain a footing on the raft we’re lost. If one gets
aboard, double on him and pitch him overboard.”
As the dark line advanced it spread out fan-shape; then, with every
wild-eyed Spaniard of them all splitting his lungs in a savage yell, they
shot their crafts alongside.
With drawn machetes they leaped for the first mahogany logs that lay
against the boom. But what was this? As they swung their machetes
threateningly, they received a rain of blows that sent many a machete
whirling through space to find its watery grave beneath the black waters.
Against such an offensive they were not able to stand. Seizing their
paddles, they backed away to a respectful distance, there to hold a
council of war.
The result of this council Pant read as if it were an open book. With
machetes sheathed, but with axes and sledges at hand, the enemy spread
out to advance upon the raft from every side. By this Pant judged that
they hoped to scatter his men and to effect a break in the boom that
would not only set his logs free, but throw his Caribs into the river,
there to fight for their lives against pitching, grinding logs and
lurking alligators.
One move he had not anticipated became apparent soon enough. The instant
their boats touched, as the Caribs rushed at them with their mahogany
pikes, the Spaniards who were not armed with sledges and axes did their
best to seize the pikes and wrest them from the Caribs. In this, here and
there, they were successful, and always in the corner where this
occurred, the tide began to turn. It was one thing to prod and beat a
Spaniard; quite another to be prodden and beaten by him. In the meantime,
keen oars flashed here and there. There came the disheartening chop-chop
of axes and the thud of sledges that told that at any moment the boom
might be broken, the battle lost.
Heroic work was going on at every point. Outnumbered almost two to one,
the Caribs fought valiantly. With their wild shouts forever on their
lips, they seized fresh pikes when one was lost and fought with renewed
vigor.
Tivoli, their chief, seemed everywhere at once. His great strength served
him well. Here, where a sledge was battering dangerously at a chain, he
made a mighty thrust, swinging his pike sidewise at a Spaniard’s head.
The sledge splashed into the water. Danger at this point was at an end.
Here an axe swung in air to meet with Tivoli’s well aimed pike and go
spinning through air to join the sledge.
But for all this, the battle was going badly. Here and there a chain was
badly battered and in several places a log of the boom was half cut
through. Seeing his men outnumbered where ten Spaniards crowded a single
dugout, Pant, whose slight strength had lost him his pike at the very
onset, seized a pike aimed at his head and, gripping hard, executed a
flying pole vault right over the heads of the enemy and into the booming
waters.
The result was all that could be hoped for. The Spaniard, who still clung
to the pike, was dragged half out of the dugout, whereupon that unstable
craft promptly capsized, pitching ten lusty attackers, axes, sledges and
all, into the river.
Tivoli, too, lost his pike. Angered at this victory on the part of an
enemy, he watched his chance and when the Spaniard swung his pike to one
side, with bare hands and unarmed, Tivoli rushed at him and rained such
blows on his head as drove him to drop his pike and leap into the river.
This much for scattered conflicts. Victory here and there along the line;
more than one Spaniard in the river; but for all that, here and there the
boom was being dangerously weakened. The battle was going badly.
“Only a matter of time,” thought Pant, as he struggled back to the raft.
“A half hour; perhaps less. Then our work is all undone!”
* * * * * * * *
Just as the storm came to an end and morning broke, Johnny Thompson,
still blindfolded and riding among the Mayas, felt his boat swerve
sharply to the right and enter a small creek where overhanging branches
swept the awnings over the boats.
They had not gone far up this stream before their boat bumped the bank
and they were helped to disembark.
Imagine their surprise and joy when someone, very short, very laughingly
tugged away the cloths that blinded them and permitted them for the first
time in two days to see.
“See!” exclaimed the princess, for it was she who had unbound their eyes.
“See what a beautiful world we have brought you to!”
It was indeed a beautiful world. All a-glitter with raindrops flashing in
the sun, palms and giant tropical ferns had never seemed so lovely as
now.
Birds sang their best. Even the screaming parrots, that they might not be
entirely out of harmony, appeared to soften their discordant notes.
But into this symphony there crept a wildly disturbing sound. Dim,
indistinct, yet unmistakable, there came the noise of battle.
At the first sound of it, Johnny Thompson glanced wildly about him. Then,
having sighted down the creek a familiar bend in the river, he exclaimed:
“It’s Daego. The battle is on! They are not a mile from here. I must go!”
Seizing the prow of a boat, he pushed it into the stream, sprang in,
seized a paddle, and would have been away, single-handed, to enter the
conflict.
They dragged him back. The old chief tried to learn, from Johnny’s wild
flinging arms, what it was all about. In the end he appeared to
understand, for, after instructing his men to look to their weapons, he
ordered them into their boats. Once more the Mayas, a hundred strong,
swept down the river, grim, silent, determined.
So it happened that a second time that day Pant saw the river above his
raft lined with boats.
“Friends or enemies?” he thought. “Let them come. Without aid we lose.
More of the enemy cannot matter.”
As for Daego’s men, they watched the on-coming fleet with consternation.
Daego had no men up the river. They knew that. Who, then, were these?
As the fleet came closer, a figure standing in the prow of the foremost
boat became plainly visible. He was waving his arms and shouting wildly.
It was Johnny.
One of Daego’s keen-eyed Spaniards was the first to recognize him. With a
wild cry of fear he dashed for his pit-pan.
“There is the man who has died,” he shouted. “His ghost has been seen
many times above the treetops. Now he comes back. He is a ghost. Who are
these with him? They have gleaming spears. They, too, are ghosts.” So he
thought, and prepared to flee.
So thought they all. To a man they dropped oar, maul, pike, pole or
machete, and turned to flee.
When Johnny’s boat bumped the raft there was not a Spaniard within
gunshot.
But what was this? As he turned about to look at his companions in the
boat he saw only Roderick and Jean. By some skillful trick of boatmanship
or swimming, the Maya paddlers had left the boat. Now, some distance
away, the Maya princess was waving them farewell as the remaining boats
went speeding back up the river.
“That’s funny,” said Johnny.
“How—how strange and ghost-like!” murmured Jean.
“Nothing ghost-like about this,” said Johnny, as he patted his pack which
held the rare Maya god.
The joyful reunion that followed was cut short by the pressing business
of getting the log boom started down the river. The motor boat was
brought around, the Carib sail boats hitched on behind, and they were
away.
Hardgrave, who knew Jean’s father and the location of his camp, advised
her and Roderick to go with them down the river. This advice was not
unwelcome, especially to Johnny, who felt that he could never see too
much of the bonny Scotch girl.
They had made their slow way down two-thirds of the distance when a
strange procession caught up with and passed them. Motor boats, launches,
flatboats, and pit-pans moved by. Each was loaded to capacity with the
strangest cargoes. Here were four tractors on a flat-boat; there many
wheels that might have belonged to cannons, but did belong to logging
wagons; here a pit-pan loaded high with great vats and kettles that had
once held the boiling sap of the sapodilla tree. So they drifted by. It
was like the passing of a defeated army. And so it was. The defeated king
of the Black River was leaving the Rio Hondo forever.
Two weeks later, with his treasure of red lure safely piled at the
waterfront in Belize, Johnny met his millionaire friend, Roderick
Grayson, at the dock as a United Fruit steamer’s launch came in. Three
days later, in Johnny’s room at the hotel, Grayson met the Governor of
Quintanaroo and together they drew up contracts which were to mean much,
not only to Quintanaroo and Grayson, but to Johnny and Pant as well. In
each contract it was agreed that Grayson’s company was to pay the boys a
royalty, a wee bit of a royalty on their entire output and, though the
percentage is small, the output is destined to be large, and there is no
reason to believe that the two boys will lack for funds for travel and
adventure in the future.
The rare Maya god found its way to a museum in London. The proceeds from
its sale Johnny insisted upon dividing with Jean. There was talk of
spending the whole of it in a visit to London and the Old World by Jean
and her family, accompanied by Johnny and Pant.
At about this time, however, Johnny chanced to wander down to the
breakwater, where little boats anchor, and there he met a strange
seafaring man who had a strange tale to tell. And right there began one
of the most unusual adventures that ever befell Johnny Thompson. You will
find it all written down in our next book, “Forbidden Cargoes”.
The Roy J. Snell Books
Mr. Snell is a versatile writer who knows how to write stories that will
please boys and girls. He has traveled widely, visited many
out-of-the-way corners of the earth, and being a keen observer has found
material for many thrilling stories. His stories are full of adventure
and mystery, yet in the weaving of the story there are little threads
upon which are hung lessons in loyalty, honesty, patriotism and right
living.
Mr. Snell has created a wide audience among the younger readers of
America. Boy or girl, you are sure to find a Snell book to your liking.
His works cover a wide and interesting scope.
Here are the titles of the Snell Books:
_Mystery Stories for Boys_
1. Triple Spies
2. Lost in the Air
3. Panther Eye
4. The Crimson Flash
5. White Fire
6. The Black Schooner
7. The Hidden Trail
8. The Firebug
9. The Red Lure
10. Forbidden Cargoes
11. Johnny Longbow
12. The Rope of Gold
13. The Arrow of Fire
14. The Gray Shadow
15. Riddle of the Storm
16. The Galloping Ghost
17. Whispers at Dawn; or, The Eye
18. Mystery Wings
19. Red Dynamite
20. The Seal of Secrecy
21. The Shadow Passes
22. Sign of the Green Arrow
_The Radio-Phone Boys’ Series_
1. Curlie Carson Listens In
2. On the Yukon Trail
3. The Desert Patrol
4. The Seagoing Tank
5. The Flying Sub
6. Dark Treasure
7. Whispering Isles
8. Invisible Wall
_Adventure Stories for Girls_
1. The Blue Envelope
2. The Cruise of the O’Moo
3. The Secret Mark
4. The Purple Flame
5. The Crimson Thread
6. The Silent Alarm
7. The Thirteenth Ring
8. Witches Cove
9. The Gypsy Shawl
10. Green Eyes
11. The Golden Circle
12. The Magic Curtain
13. Hour of Enchantment
14. The Phantom Violin
15. Gypsy Flight
16. The Crystal Ball
17. A Ticket to Adventure
18. The Third Warning
Transcriber’s Notes
--Copyright notice provided as in the original printed text—this e-text
is public domain in the country of publication.
--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and
dialect unchanged.
--Relocated promotional material to the end of the book, and completed
the list of books in the three series (using other sources).