A GREAT CHANGE IN OUR FORTUNE, WHEREBY I HEAR THE MOST JOYFUL, PLEASING
NEWS HEART COULD DESIRE.
The jagoaretes being gone, I advanced towards the place where they had
been lying, to see what body they had dragged apart from the rest to
devour. But ere I had made half a dozen paces I stopped, and the cold
sweat burst out again upon my brow on observing, amidst the crushed and
blood-blackened fertile plants, a fair pale body that had been stripped
of clothing. At a glance I perceived that it was too slight and delicate
for the corse of a man, nor could I for a moment think it was the body
of a arquebusier and a Portugal. "'Tis she," thinks I, "'tis she. The
savages have stripped her sweet body for their vile pleasure, or for the
sake of her pretty gown; why else should this one be singled from the
other bodies?" I covered my eyes with my hands to shut out the sight of
that poor mangled body; yet I saw it still. All hope was gone from me,
so that I had no desire to prove the truth of my conviction. Yet
presently I felt that I must do my last duty by her and carry her
whither those carrion birds and foul beasts might not further mutilate
her mortal remains. So with my gorge rising I stepped forward again and
uncovered my eyes. One arm had been torn from the trunk, but the head
was untouched, and, as I turned my reluctant eyes upon it, my bitter
feeling towards Providence for thus cruelly bereaving me of my darling
was of a sudden changed to gratitude and thankfulness, for I perceived
the face was none but that of the little Portugal boy Don Lewis had
given my lady for her page.
Yet I had still my dear lady to find, and so once more I turned me round
to scan once more the grizzly scene of havoc. And thus was I standing
benumbed with despair when Matthew came briskly to my side, and, taking
me by the arm, drew me rapidly on, saying in a low voice:
"Quick, master. Let us get back to the rocks, where we may at least have
something to hurl for our defense. For though I count we have not an
hour to live, yet will we sell our lives dearly, and die as becomes
men."
Saying this he drew me towards a tree, and from that to another, and so
to a third, as if seeking the shelter of their trunks. Yet, at the same
time, edging away towards the scattered rocks at the foot of the
precipice.
"Nay, friend," says I, "what is there to fear? You have scared off the
ounces with your hallooing."
"Ay," says he, "and I wish to Heaven I had let 'em sleep on, and played
no such silly trick; for in scaring away one enemy I have roused up
another, with a plague to me. Behind that tree, master," shoving me to
the right, and then adds he, "The ounces were surfeited with their meal;
but these others have only had their appetite whetted for carnage."
"Which others?" says I, greatly perplexed, yet going forward as he would
have me.
"The Ingas," says he; "I spied one of the naked wretches as I turned
about to come back to you. He was squatting amidst the herbage at the
back of us; but I reckon they have shifted their place as quick as we,
and Lord knows whether we shall get amidst the rocks before they get a
fair aim at us with their arrows."
Scarcely had these words passed his lips when an arrow flew past us and
stuck in the tree we were about to pass.
"That's a nigh squeak," says Matthew. "Take no notice, master. Push on.
If we get to yonder rock we shall have the mountain at our back for a
comfort."
Another arrow flew past and stuck in a tree before us.
"That's odd," says Matthew; "they don't use to miss their mark in this
manner."
Still making our way towards the rocks, a third arrow flew past with the
same effect as before.
"Thrice they've missed us, and thrice hit a tree before us," says
Matthew, "and every time on a level with our breasts. If this happens
again, 'twill be a sign they are aiming at the trees, and not at us,
though with what intent I know not."
As if his words had been heard, a fourth arrow flew by, straight to a
tree a dozen paces ahead.
"We must look at that arrow, master," says Matthew. "'Tis on your side;
drag it out or break it off as you pass."
Now this business had taken longer in the doing than I have spent in
telling, for the rock we were making for lay at some distance, and we
made a crooked way thither by reason of bobbing from one tree to
another, which was labor we might have spared ourselves, for it only
enabled our pursuer to arm his bow the more frequently. I make this
explanation because it is the vicious practice of some men to cast doubt
upon very true history since it is not of their writing; while others,
by reason of their short sight, must have everything pointed out and
magnified ere they will believe of its existence; but, Lord, I should
never come to an end of this matter were I to set about satisfying every
silly caviler. This by the way: now to continue my history.
Going to do Matthew's bidding, I stretched out my hand to lay hold of
the arrow sticking in the tree; but ere my fingers touched it I stopped
short with a cry of joy.
"Lord love you, master, what's the matter?" cries Matthew.
"Look," says I, pointing to the head of the arrow buried in the soft
bark. "Do you see this shred of black lace bound to the shaft?"
"Ay," says he, "and 'tis the first time I ever saw an arrow feathered in
that fashion."
"'Tis part of my dear lady's gown," cries I, snatching the arrow away,
and pressing the lace to my lips, with a mad hope that she lived, and
that this was a token sent by her.
Another arrow, being the fifth thus discharged, shot into the trunk
close by the head of the fourth; and now I gave another joyful shout,
for round the head of this was bound a little lock of hair that shone in
the sun like burnished copper.
"'Tis a lock of her dear hair. My dearest lady, my darling lives! she
lives--she lives!" says I, with the same extravagant joy as before.
"'Tis a message from her."
"That may be," says Matthew cheerily; "but one thing is certain--the
Ingas mean us no harm; for they might have riddled us like so many
colanders by this, had they been so minded, for all our care."
Casting our eyes about, we now spied a young Inga (as naked as Adam)
standing beside a tree at about a dozen yards off, with a bow in his
hand, and a sheaf of arrows, in a long wallet, slung to his shoulder. He
cried out something in his own tongue, upon which Matthew (who had got
the language by one of his wives) turns to me and says:
"I don't know what this fellow means, master, for he wants to know which
of us saved his wife from the Portugals. However, 'tis no good to stand
nice about fibs at this time, so I shall tell him you did."
"That you may with truth," says I; "for though 'twas Lady Biddy who
enabled the poor woman to get free, yet I struck up the arquebuse which
was leveled to shoot her down," as it suddenly came home to my mind that
this Indian's wife must be that poor slave my dear lady had set free and
I had saved from the shot of the arquebusier. This history I gave to
Matthew now, and he gave it again to the Inga, who, not liking this sign
of hesitation, asked sternly (still with his arrow on the bow) why he
had not answered at once before consulting me.
"Lord love you, master," says Matthew (as he afterwards told me),
"Englishmen are so used to practising charity that we had to think a
moment to recollect such a trifle as that. I'm an Englishman," he adds
hastily, for fear the Inga might be minded to despatch him as having no
personal call on his gratitude.
"Ask him," says I, "if Lady Biddy, who had his wife freed from her yoke,
lives." When, in response to this question, the Inga bowed his head, I
rushed forward with my arms wide to embrace him, for my joy knew no
bounds. He let me take his hand in mine, and smiled kindly to see how I
was moved; for he also had lost and found, being, as I say, the husband
of that poor slave my Lady Biddy had saved. Then from the bottom of his
wallet he drew out a piece of the lace my dear lady had given him, and
also a thick tress of her hair; showing me that he had yet half a dozen
arrows in his sheaf bound like those already shot.
"Master," says Matthew, who had moved up to my side, and was still in a
mighty taking lest the Inga should do him a mischief, "while he is in a
good humor do you put in a sign or two to signify I am your friend."
So I turned about, and grasped Matthew's hand without pretense (for I
felt that I owed him my life and happiness), to show that I loved him
much.
The Inga ceased to smile, and regarded Matthew from top to toe in
silence; for these hunted Indians have need of all precautions, being so
frequently tricked by treacherous Portugals; and he was the more
doubtful of Matthew because he spoke the Inga tongue in the manner of
those accursed Portugals.
"Oh, Lord!" says Matthew, "he don't like the look of me."
Then the Inga put many searching questions to him sharply, and might
more readily have believed his replies but that poor Matthew, being of a
quake of his life, did rub his hands together as if he were a-washing
them, cringing and smiling like any chandler, which was altogether the
wrong way to win over an Inga; for they are a proud race, but not
sycophants. However, in the end this Inga laid his hand on Matthew's
breast (as he had on mine) for a sign of faith and friendship, which
brought a huge sigh of content from the bottom of the honest fellow's
heart.
"For," says he, "if we are to go amongst these Indians, I shall stand in
need of a friend, lest one of 'em knows me for having married into his
family without consent of the parents."
"Ask," says I, "where Lady Biddy lies, and when I shall see her."
When Matthew had put the question, the Inga pointed to the southwest;
and then turning his hand towards the sun lowered it to the horizon, to
indicate that we should not overtake her before sunset. After looking
around him once more searchingly, he bade Matthew be silent, and so led
the way down the hillside. But for all this warning Matthew could not
help communicating his thoughts to me in a low tone now and then, for he
was a generous-hearted fellow in all things, and was as fond of the
sound of his own voice as any starling.
"Look you, master," says he, "how gentleness does rule the world above
all the craft and cunning of the wicked; for while these sinful
Portugals could not compass the ruin of an unprotected maid with all
their might, one act of love on her part has brought about their
overthrow, and saved us from the arrows of this Inga."
"Ay, Matthew," says I; "and if we take Lady Biddy home to her friends,
'twill be due to your mercy when I lay a prisoner in the guardhouse."
"Mercy!" says he; "'twas nothing of the sort; 'twas but a yearning to
hear honest English once more, for not one of my wives could I ever
bring to speak it."
In this manner we whispered our thoughts when the difficulty of getting
to the bottom of that valley did not interfere.
At length we came down to the side of that river we had passed upon our
way to Valetta; and here Matthew begged the Inga to stay awhile and eat
a bit of cold roast mutton and a crust of bread with us, as we were
pretty nigh spent one way and another, having taken no food since
daybreak. The Inga agreed to this, and we shared what was left of our
food, and drained the wine-skin.
"Master," says Matthew to the Inga, "are we going to cross the river?"
The Inga nodded.
"I thought as much," says Matthew. "And we're to swim it?"
Again the Inga nodded.
"Now should I be in a bad way but for this wine-skin," says Matthew,
"for I can swim no further than a frog may fly."
"And how is your wine-skin to help you, friend?" says I.
He winked his roguish eye, and putting his lips to the empty skin blew
into it until it was full of his breath and tight as any blown bladder.
"There," says he, tying up the mouth, "with that in my arms I'll kick
myself to the other shore for a wager."