WE ESCAPE ANNIHILATION
Meantime we nine, trapped as we were, prepared for defense against an
army of natives.
“Won’t it be better to use the electrites, sir?” inquired Joe. “There
must be three or four hundred of those fellows, at least, and if they
rush us we won’t stand much show.”
“I fear even the electrites wouldn’t save us in that event,” replied
Allerton, whose face showed anxiety for the first time. “I think we
should stand ready to inflate our gas-jackets, however, so if the worst
happens we may escape by rising into the air. Fortunately the pool will
supply us with water to generate the themlyne crystals. But let us wait
until all other means fail and our lives are actually in danger.” He
turned to Chaka, who still lay upon his face, and said: “My brother must
resume his outfit, so as to be able to fight with us.”
The Maya made no reply, nor did he rise or attempt to resume the clumsy
garments he had discarded.
At Paul’s suggestion we hastily cut a quantity of the thick bushes and
piled them high in a circle surrounding our position—so high that we
could just stand erect and aim our rifles over the top of the frail
barricade. The bushes were no protection, but they prevented the savages
from aiming at our bodies. The task was quickly accomplished and then we
arranged our ammunition handily and prepared to fight as long as
fighting was possible.
“Don’t volley,” counseled Allerton; “fire in steady, regular order,
according to the numbers I will give you. Such a continual discharge is
likely to be the most effectual.”
He had scarcely finished speaking when the Mopanes came from the forest.
Depending upon their great numbers they did not rush us, but advanced
deliberately across the clearing, chanting a war song as they came. As
soon as they were well within range we opened fire, and nearly every
shot took effect because we were cool and cautious. The Indians were not
deterred, however, and I remember thinking, even during the battle, that
they were especially brave in their absolute disregard for death.
This last band of Mopanes was better armed than the first. They bore
battle axes and war clubs in addition to their spears. Not a missile was
sent in our direction in response to our fusillade, although we
continued to pepper them so persistently that the front ranks fell like
grain before a scythe, only to be trampled upon indifferently by those
following. Their plan seemed to involve a great sacrifice of numbers
that they might finally accomplish their purpose.
Pedro, who had proved a poor shot, devoted himself to recharging our
repeating rifles and revolvers, so we had no need to relax our defense
to reload. It was certainly a most dangerous predicament in which we now
found ourselves, but I am glad to say none of us weakened or showed
nervousness. Chaka, to my surprise, took no part in the fight at first,
but as the enemy drew nearer he sprang up and began firing with the rest
of us.
On came the savages, and we kept as busy as possible stopping all we
could. Now they were a hundred yards off; now seventy; now fifty. We had
dropped an amazing lot of them, yet still they advanced.
Then a diversion occurred of so startling a character that for a time we
were utterly unable to comprehend it. The Mopanes abruptly stopped,
turned half around until they faced the south, from whence they had
come, and without paying any further heed to us began jabbering and
gesticulating in wild excitement.
“Keep it up, boys!” cried Allerton. “They’re getting demoralized at
last.”
That was evident; yet I knew we had had no hand in demoralizing them.
The band was now separating, darting this way and that about the
clearing as if in a panic. But the fugitives, after a wild scramble here
and there, quickly massed again in the center of the clearing and faced
outward, their backs forming the inner part of a great circle.
Next moment the mystery was explained. From behind every tree that
bordered the open space stepped a stalwart warrior, copper skinned and
naked save for a loin cloth. They were taller than the Mopanes, more
dignified in demeanor, more deliberate in action. Each man was quickly
followed by another, and still another, until fully a thousand had
closed in and formed a circle around the terrified Mopanes—as well as
around us.
As the first man stepped from the forest Chaka uttered a wild cry and
threw down his weapons. Then he stood as if turned to stone, watching as
one in a dream the tragedy that ensued.
“That settles our case,” exclaimed Archie, desperately. “We might have
tipped over a few hundred of those fellows, but a few thousand is too
many.”
We had stopped firing and Paul was watching Chaka’s face.
“I think we are saved,” said he in a low voice. “These men are the
Itzaex, who have followed the Mopanes to seek revenge for the murder of
their atkayma.”
“Oh!” said Archie; and more than one breath of relief was drawn at this
explanation.
It was not hard to understand why the Itzaex nation had remained
unconquered and supreme through all the centuries. In strong contrast to
the chattering Mopanes they uttered no sound as they advanced, and every
warrior seemed but a part of one great machine.
So far as I could determine by watching the confused scene there was
little resistance on the part of the surprised and greatly outnumbered
Mopanes. Some made a dash for the forest, only to be cut down; others
stood their ground and fought doggedly until an Itzaex battle-axe or a
spear thrust put an end to their further interest in the affair.
In scarcely more time than I have taken to write it the murderers of the
old atkayma were virtually annihilated. Then the victors calmly formed
ranks and faced toward us—half curiously, half expectantly. They seemed
to realize they had interfered in our fight with the Mopanes, but as yet
they did not know whether to regard us as foes or allies.
But now Chaka awoke to action. With a hasty word he pressed Paul’s hand
and leaped the barrier, advancing alone and with majestic strides toward
his people.
We were near enough to observe the scene closely; almost near enough to
hear every word spoken.
The Itzaex seemed astonished at Chaka’s appearance. They looked upon him
wonderingly, and I now noticed for the first time that Chaka alone wore
a white loin cloth; those of all the others were of some color, green
and yellow predominating.
When the boy had almost reached them he stopped short, lifted one arm
with an imperious gesture and said:
“I am Chaka, returned to you after many days. My father is dead. Itzaex,
salute your atkayma!”
With one accord they knelt and prostrated themselves, old and young
alike. There was no word of question, no display of antagonism. The
people knew and saluted their chief.
Chaka slowly advanced to where the leader of the Itzaex knelt in front
of his followers. Beside him lay the gory head of the old atkayma, the
skin of its face drawn into a horrid grin. The boy knelt to the ghastly
thing and kissed its forehead. Now he plucked from the matted gray hair
a single heron’s feather—the emblem of royalty—and placed it among his
own dark locks. Then he stood erect.
During this scene not an Itzaex moved. Each head touched the ground. The
warriors were silent as well as motionless.
“Rise, my people!” commanded Chaka, in clear, ringing tones. They
obeyed, and now a legion of dark eyes was fixed full upon the youth
confronting them. “The Itzaex are still brave and dauntless,” continued
the young atkayma. “The Mopane cats are punished for their crime. The
murder of the great and noble Tcheltzada, my father, who has ruled you
long and wisely, has been quickly and terribly avenged. I thank you.”
Now the chieftain of the party, an enormous grizzled warrior, stepped
forward and said:
“Tell us, then, O Atkayma, where you have been; why now you are here.”
“Then listen to my words,” was the reply. “It is nine years since I led
a band of young men to the sea. The Mopanes fell upon us and cut my
comrades down. Some, I hope, escaped. I found a boat and fled across the
great water, the enemy following. A ship of the white people—the
powerful Americans—saved me and took me on board, repelling the Mopanes.
I was carried to far lands, with no way to return to my people. Years
passed by. I found a good friend among the white men, a friend who has
now helped me to come back to you. He is yonder, with seven others who
have assisted me. On our journey to Itzlan we were surprised by Mopanes.
You may see how many we have destroyed.”
The warriors glanced around. The ground was literally covered with
bodies. They well knew they had not slain all these themselves.
“My white friends,” continued Chaka, “must become the friends of the
Itzaex nation; my people must become their friends. To them you owe the
safe return of your atkayma.”
This last statement was the first to be received with disfavor. There
were sundry grunts of protest and gestures of dissent. The old chieftain
bowed low and made reply.
“Never, O Atkayma Chaka, has the white man been the friend of the
Itzaex,” said he.
“Time changes many things. These white people have been like brothers to
me,” announced Chaka, in a firm voice. “I know them. In their hearts is
no treachery; they seek no conquest; they are good and true. Tell me,
Gatcha, have they not destroyed many of the enemies of the Itzaex? Have
they not given you back your hereditary atkayma, just as the gods have
permitted my father Tcheltzada to meet his doom? If you fail to greet my
preservers as friends, the gods, from whom I am descended, and for whom
I speak, will surely punish you.”
That seemed to settle the case with the Itzaex. Once more they
prostrated themselves before Chaka in token of obedience, and the
chieftain Gatcha said:
“It is well, O Atkayma. If your uncle, the mighty Datchapa, receives the
white men, we have no objection to offer to them.”
The youth frowned and drew himself up haughtily.
“Who, then, is master; my Uncle Datchapa or Chaka?” he demanded.
There was no response.
Chaka turned and came back to us.
“Do not fear,” he said in English. “My people will obey me. Come; let us
go.”
We gathered up our traps and followed the new atkayma to where his
warriors stood awaiting us. I observed that they regarded us who were
white with a disdain that was scarcely tolerant and decidedly
uncomfortable. Nux and Bryonia, however, won favor immediately—doubtless
because of their color; perhaps for their imposing forms and composed
demeanor. The latter was not unlike a notable characteristic of the
Itzaex warriors.
Paul, who headed us, placed his right hand on the left shoulder of the
chieftain Gatcha, which was the native salutation of peace and
friendship. The old fellow seemed pleased and gravely responded. I
followed suit, understanding this custom was expected, and so we all in
turn saluted the warrior, who we afterward discovered was the most
famous general of the nation.
Then, without more ado, we started away, our party occupying a central
position beside the Atkayma Chaka, who stalked along with a newly
assumed dignity that was rather amusing, although I must admit the boy
had always displayed considerable dignity.
The Itzaex had doubtless seen white men before, or at least heard of
them; yet I am sure the peculiar manner in which we were garbed
astonished them. Not that they allowed themselves to show surprise; they
were too phlegmatic for that; but even this secluded race realized that
no such queer rigging was ever worn by human creatures before, white or
black, and since they had no reason to laugh at us they must have been
impressed with the fact that we were distinctly unusual.
Any present danger to us seemed now eliminated, for with this superb
escort we would surely be able to penetrate to the heart of Itzlan,
where the capital city called Itza was located. Two days’ journey from
here, Chaka had called it; but the Itzaex marched with such long,
swinging strides that they covered the ground more rapidly than we have
been able to do before.