CHARLEY BLACK'S ADVENTURES.
"Now then," said Jack, when breakfast was fairly begun, "tell us all
about it, Charley."
"Well," replied Charley, "you know we're Robinson Crusoes."
"Oh! stop your nonsense and tell your story," said Ned, who was wildly
impatient to hear of Charley's adventures.
"That's just what I am telling," answered Charley. "As I said, we're
Robinson Crusoes and I've seen the savages."
"What _do_ you mean?" asked Jack.
"Why, Friday, of course, but that's a mistake too. His real name must be
Thursday, and he isn't tame either. Really I begin to believe Robinson
Crusoe fibbed."
"Have you gone crazy, Charley, or what is the matter?" asked Ned,
beginning now to be really alarmed lest his comrade's experience,
whatever it had been, had unsettled his mind.
"I never was more rational in my life," replied the boy, with a smile;
"but you won't let me tell my story in my own way. Listen now and don't
interrupt. You remember how frightened Crusoe was when he discovered the
footprint in the sand?"
"Yes, certainly."
"And how he afterward found the savage who made it, and how disturbed he
was to learn that he was not really monarch of all he surveyed?
"Yes; well?"
"Well, I've been through a similar experience, only more so. This island
is not uninhabited as we supposed. There are savages on it, and they are
not tame savages either, like Crusoe's man Friday, but decidedly savage
savages. My man Thursday is, at any rate. You see I call him Thursday
because I first saw him yesterday, and that was Thursday. That's the way
Crusoe hit upon a name for his savage, you remember?"
"Yes, but tell us about it," said Jack.
"Listen, then. You know I went out to the rice patch and brought in one
load. Then I went for another, and after I filled the trowsers, I
concluded that I'd walk down toward the shore and return by that route.
As I went along by the edge of the rice patch about sunset, I saw a
footprint, just as Crusoe did, but I didn't study it long, for presently
its owner appeared. He was a big savage, and black as night, and not in
the least peaceful. Indeed he seemed very angry with me for some reason,
for he came running toward me, jabbering in his strange language and
setting his dog on me. I ran as fast as I could toward that piece of
woods over beyond the rice swamp--more than a mile away from here, you
remember, and on the other side of the island. I had a good start, but
it was a close shave. As I approached the woods I picked out the tree I
meant to climb, and when I got to it I went up faster than I ever
climbed before, for the big ugly dog was close behind me. He jumped up
after me, but I drew up my leg and he missed the foot he wanted.
"I was tired, and was awfully out of breath; but I thought I had only to
wait until the big negro should come up--I could see him coming. Then I
would argue the matter with him and get him to be reasonable and call
off his dog. You see I took him for a negro, and didn't suspect that he
was a savage. I soon found out my mistake, however, for when he came up
and began swearing at me--I'm sure it was swearing, though, of course, I
couldn't understand a word of it--I found that he talked Savage and
didn't understand a word of English.
"I was in a fix. My tree was about a mile and a half from camp, even if
you measure the distance in a bee line, so there was no use in shouting
for assistance. There stood the raving savage jabbering at me, and
threatening me with his club; and, worse still, there stood his dog at
the foot of the tree waiting for a dish of Charley Black for supper. I
reasoned with the savage, but he didn't understand me any more than I
understood him. The more I talked the madder he got. Then I remembered
having read somewhere something about the 'eloquent language' of
gestures, signs, and all that, which all human beings are supposed to
understand, so I tried that awhile. I shrugged my shoulders, waved my
hands about, motioned to him to call off his dog and go home, and did
other things of the sort; but it wasn't of the least use. That savage
persisted in misunderstanding me, and his dog got madder and madder.
Finally, just to see if the benighted idiot could understand sign
language at all, I put my thumb to my nose and twiddled my fingers at
him, at the same time shaking my other fist. He understood that, and
took further offence at it. In his rage he tried to climb my tree to get
at me, but he was a rather clumsy climber and made little head-way. When
he got within reach I struck him a sudden blow with your trowsers, Jack,
which, being filled chock full of rice, made a pretty good club. He
dropped like a shot squirrel, and his dog, thinking that I had fallen,
made a rush for him. For a moment I flattered myself that now I should
get away while the savage and the dog were explaining matters to each
other; but in that I was disappointed. The dog found out his mistake
instantly, and the savage got up, madder than ever. It was getting dark
by that time, but the savage thought he would have a game of bat and
ball with me while the light lasted, anyhow, so he took good aim and
threw his club at me. I caught it a sharp blow with your trowsers, and
knocked it back to him. He threw again with the same result. The third
throw went wide of the mark, and so I missed, but it didn't matter, for
there was no catching out to be done in that game--I suppose the savage
don't understand the rules of bat and ball.
[Illustration: THE ELOQUENT LANGUAGE OF GESTURE.]
"Finally, after he had thrown a good many times, his club lodged in the
tree, and I climbed up and got it. It was a good stout club--there it
lies by the fire--and I thought I might have use for it, so I didn't
throw it back at the savage's head, as I at first intended, but kept it
for future use.
"Night came on and the savage seated himself to watch me. He kept very
quiet, and made his dog stop growling and snarling. At first I didn't
understand this. I began to think that he was going to offer me terms,
but he didn't. At last I saw what he was at. He was waiting for me to
fall asleep and drop down!
"There was nothing for it but to keep awake, and as it was very cold I
had to climb about a little to keep myself comfortable, and that kept me
me from falling asleep.
"The worst of it all was that I could see the big fire you fellows made,
and knew what anxiety you were suffering. I sat there in the dark, hour
after hour, worrying and wondering if the daylight had forgotten to
come, and it was an awful time. The rain came on at last, and I was
quickly wet through. The savage couldn't sit long on the ground when the
floods came, so he got up and moved uneasily about, but he wouldn't go
away. His persistence was 'worthy of a better cause.' After a little
while he began to collect bushes to make himself a shelter, I suppose,
or to sit on, or stand on--I don't know what. It was slow work in the
dark, and he had to go away some little distance to get what he wanted.
While he was away on one of these little trips an idea occurred to me,
but as he was already on his way back I could not act upon it at once,
so I sat still and waited. He went away again, fifty or seventy-five
yards into the woods--I could tell by the noise he made breaking bushes.
Then I tried my plan. Climbing down to the lowest limb of the tree, I
could see the dog, dark as it was, standing ready to receive me.
Grasping the club in my right hand, I dropped a pair of trowsers full of
rice. The dog, mistaking the bundle for me, was on it in an instant, and
the next instant I was on him. I dropped on him purposely, and luckily
my left foot struck his neck. Of course I could not hold him long in
that way, but still it gave me a moment's advantage, and during that
moment I managed to deal the brute two or three blows over the head
which, I think, must have crushed his skull. At any rate he grew limber
under me and never uttered a sound. Hurriedly picking up the trowsers
and swinging them around my neck, I was about to run when Mr. Savage
came running out of the woods. I still had the club in my hand, and
quick as lightning I struck him with it and took to my heels. How badly
I hurt him I don't know, but not so badly as could have been wished, for
he paused only for a few seconds. Then he gave chase. I ran with all my
might, with him just behind. Presently I struck something with my
foot--a grape-vine I suppose--and came very near to falling, but managed
to save myself. Mr. Savage Thursday was not so lucky. He struck the vine
fairly and came down like a big tree trunk. For a second he uttered no
sound. Then I could hear him swearing in Savage, but by this time I was
fifty yards ahead of him, and by the time that he decided whether to
resume the chase or not I was too far away to inquire what his decision
was. It was so dark that if he had followed he couldn't have found me,
so I slackened my pace, and not long afterward dropped into a walk,
listening occasionally to hear if he was coming. Hearing nothing, I
plodded on. I didn't know just where I was, so I thought my best plan
was to keep straight on until I struck the shore. I passed a group of
huts about a mile from my tree, and I suppose the savages live there, as
I heard dogs barking, but I didn't stop to inquire. Finally I came to
the beach, and, believing that I was more than half way round the
island, I turned to the right and followed the shore till I got to camp.
There, that's the whole story of the strange adventures of Master
Charles Black, of his exploration of Bee Island, his encounter with the
savage, and his fortunate escape and return to his companions. How did
you hurt your foot, Ned?"
Ned, who had risen and was limping about the fire, explained his mishap,
and in their turn he and Jack told Charley of the events of the night as
seen from their point of view. Their story was less exciting than
Charley's, but he was deeply interested in it.