RESCUED.
In spite of their utmost efforts, Mr. Hardy's party had made slower
progress than they had anticipated. Many of the horses had broken down
under fatigue; and as they had no spare horses to replace them, as the
Indians had in like case done from those they had driven off from Mr.
Mercer, they were forced to travel far more slowly than at first. They
gained upon the Indians, however, as they could tell by the position of
the camping-ground for the night.
At three o'clock on the afternoon of the last day they passed the place
their enemy had left that morning; but although they kept on until long
after sunset, many of them having led their horses all day, they were
still more than thirty miles away from the mountains among which they
knew that the Indian village was situated.
None of the Guachos had ever been there, but they knew its situation and
general features by report. There had been no difficulty in following
the trail since they had struck it. The broad line of trodden ground,
and the frequent carcases of sheep, sufficiently told the tale.
That was a night of terrible anxiety to all. They knew that already
Ethel was in the Indian village, and they thought with a sickening dread
of what might happen the next day. Nothing, however, could be done. Many
of the party were already exhausted by their long day's walk under a
burning sun. It was altogether impossible to reach the village that
night.
Before lying down for the night, Mr. Hardy asked all the party to join
in a prayer for the preservation of his daughter during the following
day; and it was a strange and impressing sight to see the group of
sunburnt, travel-worn men standing uncovered while their leader offered
up an earnest prayer.
Mr. Hardy then said for that night it was unnecessary to keep watch as
usual. The Indians had pushed on, and could no longer dread pursuit, and
therefore there was no risk of a night attack. Besides which, there was
little chance of his sleeping. This proposition was a most acceptable
one, and in a very short time a perfect silence reigned in the camp.
Before daybreak they were again on the march, all on foot and leading
their horses, in order to spare them as much as possible should they be
required at night. Speed was now no object. It was, they knew, hopeless
to attack in broad daylight, as the Indians would be probably more than
a match for them, and Ethel's life would be inevitably sacrificed. They
walked, therefore, until within six or seven miles of the gorge, nearer
than which they dared not go, lest they might be seen by any straggling
Indian.
Their halting-place was determined by finding a stream with an abundance
of fresh grass on its banks. They dared not light a fire, but chewed
some of the tough charqui, and watched the distant cleft in the hills
which led to the ardently wished-for goal.
As evening fell they were all in the saddle, and were pleased to find
that the horses were decidedly fresher for their rest. They did not draw
rein until the ground became stony, and they knew that they must be at
the mouth of the gorge. Then they dismounted and picketed the horses.
Two of the Guachos were stationed with them as guards, and the rest went
stealthily forward,--the rockets being entrusted to the care of Terence,
who fastened them tightly together with a cord, and then hung them by a
loop, like a gun, over his shoulder, in order that he might have his
hands free.
It was still only eight o'clock,--dangerously early for a surprise; but
the whole party were quite agreed to risk everything, as no one could
say in what position Ethel might be placed, and what difference an hour
might make. Their plan was to steal quietly up to the first hut they
found, to gag its inmates, and compel one of them, under a threat of
instant death, to guide them to the hut in which Ethel was placed.
Suddenly Mr. Hardy was startled by a dark figure rising from a rock
against which he had almost stumbled, with the words, 'White man good.
Tawaina friend. Come to take him to child.'
Then followed a few hurried questions; and no words can express the
delight and gratitude of Mr. Hardy and his sons, and the intense
satisfaction of the others, on finding that Ethel was alive, and for the
present free from danger.
It was agreed to wait now for two hours, to give time for the Indians to
retire to rest; and while they waited, the Raven told them all that had
happened up to the arrival at the village, passing over the last day's
proceedings by saying briefly that Ethel had run a great risk of being
put to death, but that a delay had been obtained by her friends. Having
told his story, he said, 'Tawaina friend to great white chief. Gave
signal with arrow; save little White Bird to-day. But Tawaina
Indian,--not like see Indian killed. White chief promise not kill Indian
women and children?'
Mr. Hardy assured the Indian that they had no thought of killing women
and children.
'If can take little White Bird without waking village, not kill men?'
Tawaina asked again.
'We do not want to wake the village if we can help it, Tawaina; but I do
not see any chance of escaping without a fight. Our horses are all dead
beat, and the Indians will easily overtake us, even if we get a night's
start.'
'Mustn't go out on plain,' the Raven said earnestly. 'If go out on
plain, all killed. Indian two hundred and fifty braves,--eat up white
men on plain.'
'I am afraid that is true enough, Tawaina, though we shall prove very
tough morsels. Still we should fight at a fearful disadvantage in the
open. But what are we to do?'
'Come back to mouth of Canon,--hold that; can keep Indians off as long
as like. Indians have to make peace.'
'Capital!' Mr. Hardy said delightedly; for he had reviewed the position
with great apprehension, as he had not seen how it would be possible to
make good their retreat on their tired horses in the teeth of the
Indians. 'The very thing! As you say, we can hold the gorge for a month
if necessary, and, sooner or later, they will be sick of it, and agree
to let us retreat in quiet. Besides, a week's rest would set our horses
up again, and then we could make our retreat in spite of them.'
'One more thing,' the Raven said. 'When great chief got little White
Bird safe, Tawaina go away,--not fight one way, not fight other way.
When meet again, white chief not talk about to-night. Not great Indian
know Tawaina white chief's friend.'
'You can rely upon us all, Tawaina. They shall never learn from us of
your share in this affair. And now I think that it is time for us to be
moving forward. It will be past ten o'clock before we are there.'
Very quietly the troop crept along, Tawaina leading the way, until he
approached closely to the village. Here they halted for a moment.
'Only six of us will go in,' Mr. Hardy said; 'there will be less chance
of detection,--Jamieson, Percy, Herries, my boys, and myself. The others
take post close to the hut we see ahead. If you find that we are
discovered, be in readiness to support us. And Farquhar, two or three of
you get matches ready, and stick a blue-light into the straw roof of
the hut. We must have light, or we lose all the advantage of our
firearms. Besides, as we retreat we shall be in darkness, while they
will be in the glare.'
Thus speaking, Mr. Hardy followed his guide, the men he had selected
treading cautiously in his rear. Presently they stopped before one of
the huts, and pointing to the door, Tawaina said, 'Little White Bird
there;' and then gliding away, he was lost in the darkness.
Mr. Hardy cautiously pushed aside the skin and entered, followed by his
friends. It was perfectly dark, and they stood for a moment uncertain
what to do. Then they heard a low voice saying, 'Papa, is that you?'
while at the same instant they saw a gleam of light in the other corner
of the tent, and heard a rustling noise, and they knew that an Indian
had cut a slit in the hide walls and had escaped; and as Mr. Hardy
pressed his child to his heart, a terrific war-whoop rose on the air
behind the hut.
'Come,' Mr. Hardy said, 'keep together, and make a run of it.'
Ethel had laid down without taking off even her shoes, so strong had
been her hope of her father's arrival. She was therefore no impediment
to the speed of their retreat. For a short distance they were
unopposed.
The Indians, indeed, rushed from their huts like swarms of bees
disturbed by an intruder. Ignorant of the nature of the danger, and
unable to see its cause, all was for a minute wild confusion; and then,
guided by the war-whoop of the Indian who had given the alarm, all
hurried toward the spot, and as they did so, several saw the little
party of whites. Loud whoops gave the intimation of this discovery, and
a rush towards them was made.
'Now, your revolvers,' Mr. Hardy said. 'We are nearly out of the
village.'
Not as yet, however, were the Indians gathered thickly enough to stop
them. A few who attempted to throw themselves in the way were instantly
shot down, and in less time than it has occupied to read this
description they reached the end of the village. As they did so, a
bright flame shot up from the farthest hut, and the rest of the party
rushed out and joined them.
The Indians in pursuit paused at seeing this fresh accession of strength
to their enemies, and then, as they were joined by large numbers, and
the flame shooting up brightly enabled them to see how small was the
body of whites, they rushed forward again with fierce yells.
But the whites were by this time a hundred and fifty yards away, and
were already disappearing in the gloom.
'Stop!' Mr. Hardy cried. 'Steady with your rifles! Each man single out
an Indian. Fire!'
A yell of rage broke from the Indians as fourteen or fifteen of their
number fell, and a momentary pause took place again. And then, as they
were again reinforced, they continued the pursuit.
But the two hundred yards which the whites had gained was a long start
in the half a mile's distance to be traversed, and the whites well knew
that they were running for their lives; for once surrounded in the
plain, their case was hopeless.
Well was it, then, that Ethel was so accustomed to an out-of-door life.
Hope and fear lent speed to her feet, and running between her father and
brothers, she was able to keep up a speed equal to their own.
Scarce a word was spoken, as with clenched teeth and beating hearts they
dashed along. Only once Mr. Jamieson said, 'Can Ethel keep up?' and she
gasped out 'Yes.'
The whites had this great advantage in the race, that they knew that
they had only half a mile in all to run, and therefore put out their
best speed; whereas, although a few of the Indians saw the importance of
overtaking the fugitives on the plain, the greater portion believed that
their prey was safe in their hands, and made no great effort to close
with them at once. The whites, too, had the advantage of being
accustomed to walking exercise, whereas the Indians, almost living on
horseback, are seldom in the habit of using their feet. Consequently the
whites reached the narrow mouth of the gorge a full hundred and fifty
yards ahead of the main body of the pursuers, although a party of their
fastest runners was not more than half that distance in their rear.
There was a general ejaculation of thankfulness as the parties now
halted and turned to face the enemy.
It was now that the full advantage of Mr. Hardy's precaution of firing
the Indian hut had become manifest.
The fire had communicated to the next two or three dwellings, and a
broad flame rose up, against the glare of which the Indians stood out
distinctly, while the whites were posted in deep gloom.
'Now, boys,' Mr. Hardy said, 'pick off the first lot with your carbines,
while we load our rifles. Ethel, get behind that rock. Take shelter all
till the last moment. The arrows will soon be amongst us.'
Steadily as if firing at a mark the boys discharged their five shots
each; and as the enemy was not more than fifty yards off, every shot
told.
The rest of the leading band hesitated, and throwing themselves down,
waited until the others came up. There was a momentary pause, then a
volley of arrows and musket balls was discharged in the direction of
their hidden foe, and then, with a wild yell, the whole mass charged.
Not till they were within thirty yards was there a return shot fired;
but as they entered the narrow gorge, the whites leapt to their feet
with a cheer, and poured in a volley from twenty-four rifles.
The effect was terrible; and those in front who were unwounded
hesitated, but, pressed on from behind, they again rushed forward. Then,
as they closed, a desperate combat began.
The boys had hastily handed their carbines to Ethel to fit in the spare
chamber, and had taken their place by their father's side. The gorge was
so narrow that there was not room to stand abreast, and by previous
arrangement those who had no revolvers placed themselves in front,
clubbing their rifles, while those with revolvers fired between them.
Mr. Percy, one of the Jamiesons, and Herries stood a pace or two in the
rear, with their revolvers in hand, as a reserve.
For a few minutes the contest was terrific. The rush of the Indians
partially broke the line, and the whirl of gleaming hatchets, the heavy
crash of the blows with the rifles, the sharp incessant cracks of the
revolvers, the yells of the Indians, the short shouts of encouragement
from the English, and the occasional Irish cry of Terence, made up a
total of confusion and noise which was bewildering.
Scarce a shot of the whites was thrown away, and a heap of dead lay
across the pass.
Still the Indians pressed on.
The fight was more silent now, the cracks of the revolvers had ceased,
and the whites were fighting silently and desperately with their rifles.
They had not given way a foot, but the short panting breath told that
the tremendous exertion was telling, as they stood in a line at short
intervals, and their weapons rose and fell with a force and might that
the Indian hatchets could seldom stem or avert.
Not bloodless on their part had the fight been up to this time. Most of
them had received gashes more or less severe, and Martinez the Guacho
and Cook lay dead at their feet.
Charley and Hubert, upon emptying their revolvers, had fallen back and
taken their carbines, and now stood with the reserve upon a flat rock a
few paces in the rear, all burning with impatience to take part in the
strife.
At this moment they were joined by the two Guachos who had been left
with the horses, but who now, hearing the firing, had arrived to take
part in the fray.
At last Mr. Hardy judged that the time had come, and shouted,
'Take aim into the middle of the mass, and fire as quick as you can,
then all charge together. Now!'
In less than half a minute the four barrels of the Guachos' guns, and
the thirty shots from the revolvers, had been discharged into the
densely-packed throng; then the seven men leapt from the rock, and with
a cheer the whites threw themselves upon the Indians, already recoiling
and panic-struck by the tremendous and deadly fire.
The Indians in front, surprised and confused, were mown down by the long
rifles like grass before the mower, and those behind, after one moment's
hesitation, broke and fled; in another two minutes the fight was over,
and the Indians in full flight to their village.
After a few words of hearty congratulation, the whites threw themselves
on the ground, panting and exhausted, after their tremendous exertions.
Their first care, upon recovering a little, was to load their revolvers;
as for the rifles, there was not one, with the exception of those of the
three men who had formed the reserve, and the boys' carbines, which were
not disabled. The stocks were broken, the hammers wrenched off, and the
barrels twisted and bent.
The party now crowded round Ethel, with whom not a single word had yet
been exchanged since her rescue, and warm and hearty were the
congratulations and welcome bestowed upon her. There was then an
examination of wounds.
These had been many, and in some cases severe. Mr. Farquhar was
completely disabled by a deep wound in the shoulder. Mr. Percy had
received a fearful gash on the arm. Charley had one ear nearly cut off,
and the side of his face laid completely open with a sweeping blow. Four
others were seriously wounded, and six had less important wounds. All,
however, were too much elated with their success to make anything but
light of their hurts.
'You seem fated to have your beauty spoilt, Charley,' Mr. Hardy said, as
he bandaged up his son's face. 'A few more fights, and you will be as
seasoned with scars as any Chelsea pensioner.'
Charley joined in the general laugh at his own expense.
'Yes, papa, if I go on like this, I shall certainly get rid of my
looking-glass.'
'You have not lost the rockets, I hope, Terence?' Mr. Hardy asked.
'Sure and I've not, your honour. I put them down behind a big rock
before the little shindy began.'
'We will fire them off,' Mr. Hardy said. 'They will heighten the
impression, and make the Indians more anxious to come to terms, when
they see that we can reach their village. We will not let them off all
at once; but as we have four of each sort, we will send off a pair every
half-hour or so, as they may think, if we fire them all at once and then
stop, that we have no more left. We may as well give them a few shots,
too, with our carbines and the rifles that remain serviceable. They will
carry as far as half a mile if we give them elevation enough, and it is
well to impress them as much as possible.'
Mr. Hardy's suggestion was carried out. The first signal rocket showed
the village crowded with Indians, over whose heads the cracked rocket
slowly whizzed. The light of the next rocket did not disclose a single
person, and it was apparent that the place was deserted. The third
rocket happened to strike one of the roofs, and exploding there, set the
thatch on fire.
'Good!' Mr. Percy said. 'We shall have them asking for terms to-morrow.'
Four of the unwounded men were now placed as a guard at the mouth of the
gorge, the others retiring further into it, so as to be beyond the dead
Indians, who lay there literally in piles.
The morning broke over the white men occupied in the burial of their
two fallen companions, and upon the Indians assembled at a short
distance beyond the village. The men sat upon the ground in sullen
despair; the women wailed and wrang their hands.
Now that it was day, they could see how terrible had been their loss.
Upwards of sixty of their number were missing. The Stag had fallen, as
had several of the most valiant braves of the tribe.
Presently the Raven rose from the midst of the warriors. His absence the
preceding evening had not been noticed; and although all knew that he
had taken no part in the fight, this was considered natural enough, when
his advice to give up the captive had been rejected.
'My brothers,' he began, 'the Great Spirit is very angry. He has hidden
his face from his children. Yesterday he blinded their eyes and made
them foolish; last night he made them as water before the white men. Why
were the ears of the chiefs closed to the words of the Raven? If the
Raven had set out with the little White Bird, the great white chief
would have been glad, and the hatchet would have been buried in peace.
But the chiefs would not hear the words of the Raven. The Stag said,
Kill! and the war chiefs shouted, Kill! and where are they now? Their
wigwams are empty, and their women have none to bring in the deer for
food. The Great Spirit is angry.'
The Raven then took his seat; but, as he anticipated, no one rose to
speak after him. The depression was too general; and the fact that, had
the Raven's advice been followed, the evils would have been avoided, was
too manifest for any one to attempt to utter a word.
After a profound silence of some minutes' duration, the Raven again
rose.
'What will my brothers do? The flying fires will burn down our village,
and there is no retreat. The guns that shoot without loading carry very
far. We are as water before them. We are in the hands of the white
chief, and our bones will feed the crows. What will my brothers do?'
There was still a profound silence, and then he continued: 'The Raven is
a great chief, and he will tell them what to do. The Raven has stood by
the side of the little White Bird, and the great white chief will listen
to his voice. He will say, Let there be peace between us. The men who
would have harmed the little White Bird are dead; there is no more cause
of quarrel. Let us bury the hatchet. Take horses and cattle for your
journey, and forgive us if we have done wrong. If the white men were on
the plains, the Raven would say, Let my young man charge; but they hold
the pass, and the guns that shoot without loading are too strong. Have I
spoken well?'
There was a low murmur of applause. The feeling that the position of the
white men was impregnable was general; and they all felt convinced that
those terrible enemies would devise some unknown scheme which would end
in the total annihilation of the tribe.
The Raven's proposition was therefore unanimously assented to.
The Raven then laid aside his arms, and, attended by six of the
principal chiefs, carrying green boughs in token of amity, advanced
towards the mouth of the gorge. Mr. Hardy, with five of the whites, and
with Perez to interpret, advanced to meet him.
When the two groups met, the Raven commenced gravely, in the Indian
language: 'The white chief of the flying fire is mighty, and the Great
Spirit has blinded his children. They carried off the little White Bird,
but they did not harm her. Bad men would have harmed her, but the Raven
stood by her side. The great white chief has taken back his little White
Bird, and he has killed the men whom the Great Spirit blinded. Why
should there be any more war? The Indians are brave; they have cattle,
and sheep, and water. They can live out of reach of the white chiefs
guns, and can fight if the white chief comes out against them. The white
chief is strong, and he can defend the pass, but he cannot venture out
to attack. They are equal. There is no cause of quarrel any longer. Let
us bury the hatchet. The white chief's young men can take horses,--for
the Indians have many,--to take them back to their homes. They can take
cattle to eat. Let there be peace.'
This address of the Raven was a very politic one. He already knew that
Mr. Hardy was willing to grant terms, but he wished to show the other
chiefs that he supported the honour of the tribe by boasting of their
power and resources, and by making the peace as upon equal terms.
When the Guacho had translated their proposal, Mr. Hardy spoke, using
the phraseology which would be most intelligible to the Indians.
'The Raven is a great chief; he has spoken wisely. The little White Bird
has sung in the white chief's ear that the Raven stood by her side when
bad Indians would have hurt her. The bad Indians are dead. The Great
Spirit frowned upon them. The white chief has no quarrel with the Raven
and his friends. Let there be peace.'
A general expression of satisfaction pervaded both parties when it was
known that peace was arranged; and one of each side hurrying back with
the news, the rest went into the village, where, sitting down before
the principal hut, the pipe of peace was solemnly smoked.
The two parties then mingled amicably, mutually pleased at the
termination to the hostilities; and no one would have guessed that a few
hours before they had met in deadly strife. The Raven courteously
invited the whites to stop for a night at the village; but the
invitation was declined, as all were very anxious to return home.
Some Indians were despatched by the Raven, who had now naturally assumed
the position of chief of the tribe, to catch horses to take the place of
those which had broken down upon the journey. The offer of cattle was
declined, as they were confident that they should be able to procure
game. They took, however, as large a supply of fresh meat as their
horses could carry.
Mr. Hardy saw that the Raven wished to avoid any private conversation
with him. He therefore drew the boys aside, and made a proposal to them,
to which they cordially agreed.
As the horses were brought up, and the whole tribe assembled, he
advanced towards the Raven with one of the boys' carbines in his hand.
'The Raven is a great chief,' he said. 'He has a great heart, and stood
by the side of the little White Bird. But he has not a good rifle. The
white chief gives him a rifle which will shoot many times. Let him
promise that he will never use it in fight against the white men.'
This gift the Raven received with great pleasure, and readily gave the
required promise, adding, on behalf of his tribe, that the hatchet which
was buried should never again be dug up against the whites. An extra
chamber and all the spare ammunition was given to him, and a further
supply promised when he chose to send for it; instructions were also
given to him in the use of the weapon, then a solemn farewell was
exchanged, and the party of whites turned their faces towards home.