THE ATTACK ON THE VILLAGE.
Forty Englishmen, with Indian carriers and scouts, stole out from the
river-side camp under the clear light of the tropical stars. The
villagers on the hills slept in a false security. Spies had hung about
the river all day; but the preparations had no meaning for them, except
that they probably signalized an early departure. They had witnessed
the arrival of the other boat, and had sped to their chieftain with the
news. But the idea of a night attack on their stronghold never
occurred to them. This newest type of white man, they had been told
and really believed, fought with their own kind only. The Indians shut
and barred their great gate, curled themselves up on couch of skins or
reed matting, and fell into the deep sleep of the tired savage.
The friendly scouts had so learned every turn and obstacle in the
upward path from the river that they could have walked it in the
blackest darkness, and the metallic light from the clear heavens was
more than sufficient for the keen-eyed mariners. One torch was carried
for the firing of the big gun and for the lighting of the matches of
the arquebusiers, but its yellow glare was shrouded in a soldier's
helmet.
The strip of forest was passed, and the men filed out on the plateau.
A breeze from the neighbouring heights stirred the green patches of
corn. A scout came back, and whispered that the way was clear. The
band moved forward.
The dull, gray mass of the village loomed dimly ahead. No light was
visible, but a thin column of smoke from the communal fire rose above
the walls and bent away before the wind.
The adventurers were within gunshot of the gate. The big gun was
silently fitted to its carriage, loaded and shotted; and the native
allies 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 echoing
thunder from the hills, the crash of the iron ball against the gate.
The villagers started from sleep, and looked around in dismay. Another
flash, another roar, another crash, a pealing of strange thunder. Then
a shout in a strange tongue: "For England! Mother England!" The
children of the sun, the wielders of the thunder and lightning, were
through the broken gate.
Then arose a mad stampede of terror. The arquebusiers were within the
rampart, and death-fire and nauseous smoke spurted from a dozen
different places. With squeals and shrieks, as from a mob of terrified
brutes, men, women, and children dashed for the walls and the farther
outlets in mad flight for the hills.
"Make for the chief's house. Kill no man unless he opposes you," was
the order; and a shouting band soon surrounded the great house in the
centre of the village. Some fired the thatched roofs, and a red glare
shot up to the blue sky. The cries and screams of the scurrying tribe
grew fainter and fainter. But the sturdy headman was not with them.
Spear in hand, and alone, he faced his terrible foes, eyes and teeth
fiercely gleaming--a bronze Hector. He lunged at the foremost man, and
Master Jeffreys knocked him down with the flat of his sword. Instantly
Morgan and three or four others threw themselves upon him. He writhed
and 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's
practised 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 to
the river. No spoil was taken.
[Illustration: The odds were hopelessly against him.]
The next morning the rank and file of the prisoners were set at
liberty. A present was given to each one, and it was impressed upon
them that the white strangers bore them no ill-will, and would not
again molest the village if its inhabitants conducted themselves with
due deference and friendliness. They had punished them for their
churlishness and disrespect, and had no thought of doing them further
mischief 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 the
mountains and woods, and set stolidly to work repairing their homes.
One of the released prisoners ventured to come down to the white men
and 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 him
as ever they had been; and some of the adventurers cut rushes
themselves, and told the fellow to let the people know that a supply
awaited them.
These wise measures went far to conciliate the natives. They had
learned that they must not oppose the strangers, but they also were
fairly assured that the white men were not the robbers and destroyers
that rumour had represented them to be. Some of them came freely
enough into the camp, bartering produce for gaudy trinkets; but, to the
intense disappointment of the company, none seemed to know anything
about the "Gilded One" or the marvellous city in which he dwelt.
The expedition moved on--rapids, rocks, gorges, and waterfalls impeding
the way. The heat was intense; and when at times long marches were
necessary, in order to avoid obstacles in the river, the labour of
tugging the boats was alike heartbreaking and limb-breaking. More than
once the wisdom of leaving the river and marching overland was
discussed. But the river was at least a sure path, according to all
reports. It led to Lake Parimé and its golden sands and wondrous city.
The men grew feverish and unbalanced with anxiety and disappointed
hopes. Night after night they were to be found in groups, listening to
Yacamo or the Indians from the delta as they retold for the thousandth
time the story of "El Dorado;" others would sit beside Master Jeffreys
whilst he read and translated Dan's papers; and any words that fell
from the Johnsons, and others who had sailed the Spanish Main before,
and heard the Spanish stories of fabulous Indian treasures, were stored
up as precious oracles.
And yet the mysterious region never seemed to come nearer; rather it
receded as the adventurers advanced, a yellow will-o'-the-wisp that had
led them through tangled forest and pestilential swamp only to mock
them in the end. The natives grew fiercer and more threatening; the
guides began to murmur at the length of the way--their river homes
seemed so far behind them. Savage faces peered out from bush and rock
upon the company of wearied, ragged, dispirited men. One soldier went
mad, raved of gold and jewels, and jumped into a whirlpool to seek
both. Two others--one a Cornish squire who had sold his little all to
join the expedition--were stricken by the sun, and dropped dead as they
were pulling at the boat ropes. A jaguar pounced upon another man as
he stooped to get water from a stream. An Indian arrow found the heart
of another. The sun, fatigue, fevers, bruises, and the endless racking
of limbs and brains, reduced the spirits and strength of the men. They
became gaunt, hollow-eyed, tattered, unshorn, uncombed, unkempt, yet
they toiled on, silent--save when they cursed and railed at
fate--dogged, fiercely purposeful, resolved to die rather than turn
back. Song and jest were rarely heard in any boat; haggard fellows
tugged at the oars, or lay dreamily watching the sail as it filled with
the welcome breeze. Their patience being sapped by disappointment and
privation, they were no longer the kindly "white brother" to the
Indians; they estranged their friends and made foes at every
halting-place.
One man saw this. Since the attack on the hill village the chief of
that place had been dragged along with the expedition by way of
punishment. Sullenly he had tugged at his oar, carried his load, or
pulled at his rope; he neither forgot anything nor forgave anything.
He rarely spoke to the Indians from the delta and the plain, and when
he did his words were full of contempt. One night, when the
adventurers were lodged on the land in a cleft of the mountains, he
disappeared. The natives who slept on either side of him as guard were
both stabbed to the heart. The sight still further dulled the spirits
of all.