The horrors of war are neither agreeable to write about nor to reflect
upon. However much, therefore, it may disappoint those readers whose
minds delight to wallow in the abominations of human cruelty, we will
refrain from entering into the full particulars of the sanguinary fight
that ensued just after the arrival of Wandering Will and his friends in
the island. It is sufficient to say that many lives were lost. Of
course the loss of life bore no proportion to that which occurs in
civilised warfare. One roar from the throats of our terrific engines of
destruction will sometimes send more souls into eternity in one moment
than all the fierce fury of a hundred savages can accomplish in an hour.
But what the savage lacks in power he more than makes up for in cruelty
and brutality. During the few days in which the fight raged, the sights
that met the eyes of the white men, and the appalling sounds that filled
their ears, turned their hearts sick, and induced a longing desire to
escape.
The war was carried on chiefly in the way of bush fighting. Our sailors
found this mode of warfare convenient, for it enabled them to act very
much as spectators. Passing over the details of the brief campaign, we
touch only on those points which affected the subsequent movements of
the whites.
Bukawanga, who virtually acted the part of commander-in-chief, although
all the chiefs considered themselves above him, moved about actively at
all times to make sure that the village was properly guarded at every
point. While thus employed he had, on one occasion, to pass through a
piece of scrub, or thick bush, in which he heard the shriek of a woman.
Turning aside he came to an opening where a man was endeavouring to kill
a little boy, whose mother was doing her best to defend him. He
evidently wished to kill the child and to spare the woman, but she
stooped over the child and warded off the blows with her arms so
cleverly, that it was still uninjured, although the poor mother was
bleeding profusely from many wounds. Bukawanga instantly rushed to the
rescue, and raised his club to deal the savage a deadly blow.
Unobserved by him, however, another savage had been attracted to the
spot, and, seeing what was about to happen, he ran up behind Bukawanga
and felled him with a blow of his club. During the scuffle the woman
snatched up her boy and escaped. The two savages then began to dispute
as to which had the best right to cut off the head of their fallen foe
and carry it away in triumph. Both of them were much fatigued with
fighting, so they sat down on the back of the prostrate seaman to
conduct the discussion more comfortably. The point was still undecided
when Bukawanga recovered consciousness, felt the heavy pressure on his
back and loins, and heard part of the interesting dialogue!
It chanced, at this point, that Will Osten and Larry O'Hale, who, from
natural affinity or some other cause, always kept together, came to the
spot and peeped through the bushes. Seeing two men sitting on the body
of a third and engaged in an animated dispute, they did not see cause to
interfere, but remained for a few minutes almost amused spectators of
the scene, being utterly ignorant, of course, as to the purport of their
dispute. Suddenly, to their great surprise, they beheld the two men
leap into the air; the supposed dead body sprang up, and, before either
savage could use his weapons, each received a strong British fist
between his eyes and measured his length on the sward, while the
conqueror sprang over them into the bush and disappeared.
"Man alive!" exclaimed Larry, "if it isn't Bukkie Whangy himself! Och,
the murtherin' daimons!"
With that Larry leaped over the bushes flourishing his club and yelling
like a very savage. But Will Osten was before him. Both savages had
risen immediately after being knocked down, and now faced their new
enemies. They were no match for them. Being expert in all athletic
exercises, young Osten found no difficulty in felling the first of the
men, while Larry disposed of the other with equal celerity. The
Irishman's blood had fired at the thought of the narrow escape of his
deliverer, and, still whirling his club round his head, he looked about
eagerly as if desirous of finding another foe on whom to expend his
fury. At that moment he caught sight of a pair of savage eyes gleaming
at him from the bushes.
"Hah! ye dirty polecat," he cried, throwing his club at the eyes with
all his force.
Never was there a worse aim or a better shot! The club flew high into
the air and would have fallen some fifty yards or more wide of the mark,
had it not touched the limb of a tree in passing. It glanced obliquely
down, and, striking the owner of the eyes between the shoulders felled
him to the earth.
Larry sprang upon him with a yell of triumph, but the yell was changed
into a howl of consternation when he made the discovery that he had
knocked down, if not killed, one of the principal chiefs of the village!
To say that poor O'Hale wrung his hands, and wished bad luck to
fightin' in general, and to himself in particular, gives but a feeble
idea of the distress of his mind at this untoward event.
"D'ye think I've kilt him intirely, doctor dear?" he asked of Will
Osten, who was on his knees beside the fallen chief examining his hurt.
"No, not quite. See, he breathes a little. Come, Larry, the moment he
shows symptoms of reviving we must bolt. Of course he knows who knocked
him down, and will never forgive us."
"That's true, O murther!" exclaimed Larry, with a mingled look of
contrition and anxiety.
"Depend upon it they'll kill us all," continued Osten.
"And bake an' ait us," groaned Larry.
"Come," said Will, rising hastily as the stunned chief began to move,
"we'll go search for our comrades."
They hurried away, but not before the chief had risen on one elbow and
shaken his clenched fist at them, besides displaying a terrible double
row of teeth, through which he hissed an unintelligible malediction.
They soon found their comrades, and related what had occurred. A
hurried council of war was held on the spot, and it was resolved that,
as a return to the village would ensure their destruction, the only
chance of life which remained to them was to take to the mountains.
Indeed, so urgent was the necessity for flight, that they started off at
once, naked though they were, and covered with blood, paint, and dust,
as well as being destitute of provisions.
All that night they travelled without halt, and penetrated into the
wildest fastnesses of the mountains of the interior. Bukawanga had
already told them, during intervals in the fight when they had met and
eaten their hasty meals together, that the island was a large, well
wooded, and fruitful one--nearly thirty miles in diameter; and that the
highest mountain in the centre was an active volcano. There were
several tribes of natives on it, all of whom were usually at war with
each other, but these tribes dwelt chiefly on the coast, leaving the
interior uninhabited. The fugitives, therefore, agreed that they should
endeavour to find a retreat amongst some of the most secluded and
inaccessible heights, and there hide themselves until a ship should
chance to anchor off the coast, or some other mode of escape present
itself.
The difficulties of the way were greater than had been anticipated.
There was no path; the rocks, cliffs, and gullies were precipitous; and
the underwood was thick and tangled, insomuch that Mr Cupples sat down
once or twice and begged to be left where he was, saying that he would
take his chance of being caught, and could feed quite well on
cocoa-nuts! This, however, was not listened to. Poor Cupples was
dragged along, half by persuasion and half by force. Sailors, as a
class, are not celebrated for pedestrian powers, and Cupples was a
singularly bad specimen of his class. Muggins, although pretty well
knocked up before morning, held on manfully without a murmur. The
captain, too, albeit a heavy man, and fat, and addicted to panting and
profuse perspiration, declared that he was game for anything, and would
never be guilty of saying "die" as long as there was "a shot in the
locker." As for Larry O'Hale, he was a man of iron mould, one of those
giants who seem to be incapable of being worn out or crushed by any
amount of physical exertion. So far was he from being exhausted, that
he threatened to carry Mr Cupples if he should again talk of falling
behind. We need scarcely say that Wandering Will was quite equal to the
occasion. Besides being a powerful fellow for his age, he was lithe,
active, and hopeful, and, having been accustomed to hill-climbing from
boyhood, could have left the whole party behind with ease.
Grey dawn found the fugitives far up the sides of the mountains--fairly
lost, as Muggins said, in a waste howlin' wilderness. It was sunrise
when they reached the top of a high cliff that commanded a magnificent
view of land and sea.
"A good place this for us," said the captain, wiping his forehead as he
sat down on a piece of rock. "The pass up to it is narrow; two or three
stout fellows could hold it against an army of savages."
"Av there was only a cave now for to live in," said Larry, looking round
him.
"Wot's that?" exclaimed Muggins, pointing to a hole in the perpendicular
cliff a short distance above the spot where they stood.--"Ain't _that_ a
cave?"
Will Osten clambered up and disappeared in the hole. Soon after he
re-appeared with the gratifying intelligence that it _was_ a cave, and a
capital dry one; whereupon they all ascended, with some difficulty, and
took possession of their new home.