"Wal!" says the old sealer, with an air of relief, when he sees that
danger past, "I guess we've gi'n 'em the slip. But what a close shave!
Ef I hedn't contrived to dicker 'em out o' the sling fixin's, they mout
'a' broke some o' our skulls."
"Ah! that's why you bought them," rejoins the skipper; he, as all the
others, had hitherto been wondering at the acquisition of such worthless
things, with more than their value given for them; for the spears were
but tough poles pointed with flint or bone, and the slings a bit of
seal-skin. "I perceive now what you were up to," he adds, "and a good
bargain you made of it, Chips."
"But why should we have cared?" asked Henry Chester, his English blood
roused, and his temper ruffled by the fright given Leoline. "What had
we to fear from such miserable wretches? Only three men of them, and
five of us!"
"Ay, Mister Henry, that's all true as to the numbers. But ef they war
only _one_ to our five, he wouldn't regard the odds a bit. They're like
wild animals, an' fight jest the same. I've seed a Feweegin, only a
little mite uv a critter, make attack on a whale-boat's crew o' sealers,
an' gi'e sev'ral uv 'em ugly wounds. They don't know sech a thing as
fear, no more'n a trapped badger. Neyther do thar weemen, who fight
jest the same's the men. Thar ain't a squaw in that canoe as cudn't
stan' a tussle wi' the best o' us. 'Sides, ye forgit thet we haven't
any weepens to fight 'em with 'ceptin' our knives." This was true;
neither gun, pistol, nor other offensive arm having been saved from the
sinking _Calypso_. "An' our knives," he continues, "they'd 'a' been o'
but little use against their slings, wi' the which they kin send a stone
a good hundred yards. [Note 1.] Ay, Mister Henry, an' the spears too.
Ef we hedn't got holt o' them, some uv 'em mout be stickin' in us now.
Ez ye may see, they're the sort for dartin'."
The English youth, exulting in the strength and vigour of growing
manhood, is loth to believe all this. He makes no response, however,
having eased his feelings, and being satisfied with the display he has
made of his gallantry by that well-timed blow with the oar.
"In any case," calmly interposes the skipper, "we may be thankful for
getting away from them."
"Yis, Capting," says Seagriff, his face still wearing an anxious
expression, "ef we hev got away from 'em, the which ain't sartin yit.
I've my fears we haven't seen the last o' that ugly lot."
While speaking, his eyes are fixed on the canoe in an earnest,
interrogating gaze, as though he sees something to make him uneasy.
Such a thing he does see, and the next instant he declares, in excited
tones, "No! Look at what they're doin'!"
"What?" asks the Captain.
"Sendin' up a signal smoke. Thet's thar trick, an' ne'er another."
Sure enough, a smoke is seen rising over the canoe, quite different from
that previously observed--a white, curling cloud more like steam or what
might proceed from straw set on fire. But they are not left long
conjecturing about it, ere their attention is called to another and
similar smoke on the land.
"Yonder!" exclaims Seagriff. "Thar's the answer. An' yonder an'
yonder!" he adds, pointing to other white puffs that shoot up along the
shore like the telegraphy of a chain of semaphores. [Note 2.]
"'Tair lookin' bad for us now," he says in undertone to the Captain, and
still gazing anxiously toward the shores. "Thar's Feweegins ahead on
both sides, and they're sure to put out fur us. Thet's Burnt Island on
the port bow, and Cath'rine to starboard, both 'habited by Ailikoleeps.
The open water beyant is Whale-boat Soun'; an' ef we kin git through the
narrer atween, we may still hev a chance to show 'em our starn. Thar's
a sough in the soun', that tells o' wind thar, an' oncet in it we'll get
the help o' the sail."
"They're putting out now," is the Captain's rejoinder, as through his
glass he sees canoe after canoe part from the shore, one shooting out at
every point where there is a smoke.
When clear of the fringe of overhanging trees, the canoes are visible to
the others; fifteen or twenty of them leaving the land on both sides,
and all making toward the middle of the strait, where it is narrowest,
evidently with the design of heading off the boat.
"Keep her well to starboard, Capting!" sings out the old sealer, "near
as may be to the p'int o' Cath'rine Island. Ef we kin git past thet
'fore they close on us, we'll be safe."
"But hadn't we better put about and put back? We can run clear of them
that way."
"Cl'ar o' the canoes ahead, yis! But not o' the others astarn. Look
yonder! Thar's more o' 'em puttin' out ahint--the things air
everywhar!"
"'Twill be safer to run on, then, you think?"
"I do, sir. B'sides, thar's no help for 't now. It's our only chance,
an' it ain't sech a bad un, eyther. I guess we kin do it yit."
"Lay out to your oars, then, my lads," cries the skipper, steering as he
has been advised. "Pull your best, all!"
A superfluous command that, for already they are straining every nerve,
all awake to the danger drawing nigh. Never in their lives were they in
greater peril, never threatened by a fate more fearful than that
impending now. For, as the canoes come nearer, it can be seen that
there are only men in them; men of fierce aspect, every one of them
armed.
"Nary woman nor chile!" mutters Seagriff, as though talking to himself.
"Thet means war, an' the white feathers stickin' up out o' thar skulls,
wi' thar faces chalked like circus clowns! War to the knife, for
sartin!"
Still other, if not surer, evidences of hostility are the spears
bristling above their heads, and the slings in their hands, into which
they are seen slipping stones to be ready for casting. Their cries,
too, shrilling over the water, are like the screams of rapacious birds
about to pounce on prey which they know cannot escape them.
And now the canoes are approaching mid-channel, closing in from either
side _en echelon_, and the boat must pass between them. Soon she has
some of them abeam, with others on the bows. It is running the
gauntlet, with apparently a very poor chance of running it safely. The
failure of an oar-stroke, a retarding whiff of wind, may bring death to
those in the gig, or capture, which is the same. Yet they see life
beyond, if they can but reach it,--life in a breeze, the "sough" on the
water, of which Seagriff spoke. It is scarcely two cables' length
ahead. Oh, that it were but one! Still they have hope, as the old
sealer shouts encouragingly, "We may git into it yet. Pull, boys; pull
wi' might an' main!"
His words spur them to a fresh effort, and the boat bounds on, the oars
almost lifting her out of the water. The canoes abeam begin to fall
astern, but those on the bows are forging dangerously near, while the
savages in them, now on their feet, brandish spears and wind their
slings above their heads. Their fiendish cries and furious gestures,
with their ghastly chalked faces, give them an appearance more demoniac
than human.
A stone is slung and a javelin cast, though both fall short. But will
the next? They will soon be at nearer range, and the gig's people,
absolutely without means of protection, sit in fear and trembling.
Still the rowers, bracing hearts and arms, pull manfully on. But
Captain Gancy is appalled as another stone plashes in the water close to
the boat's side, while a third, striking the mast, drops down among
them.
"Merciful Heaven!" he exclaims, despondingly, as he extends a sheltering
arm over the heads of his dear ones. "Is it thus to end? Are we to be
stoned to death?"
"_Yonder's_ a Heaven's marcy, I do believe!" says Seagriff on the
instant, "comin' to our help 'roun' Burnt Island. Thet'll bring a
change, sure!"
All turn their eyes in the direction indicated, wondering what he means,
and they see the water, lately calm, surging and whirling in violent
agitation, with showers of spray dashing up to the height of a ship's
mast.
"It's a _williwaw_!" adds the old sealer, in joyous tone, though at any
other time, in open boat, or even decked ship, it would have sent a
thrill of fear through his heart. Now he hails it with hope, for he
knows that the williwaw [Note 3] causes a Fuegian the most intense fear,
and oft engulfs his crazy craft, with himself and all his belongings.
And at sight of the one now sweeping toward them the savages instantly
drop sling and spear, cease shouting, and cower down in their canoes in
dread silence.
"Now's our chance, boys!" sings out Seagriff. "Wi' a dozen more strokes
we'll be cl'ar o' them--out o' the track o' the williwaw, too."
The dozen strokes are given with a will. Two dozen ere the squall
reaches them, and when it comes up, it has spent most of its strength,
passing alike harmlessly over boat and canoes. But again the other
danger threatens. The Fuegians are once more upon their feet, shaking
their spears and yelling more furiously than ever; anger now added to
their hostility. Yet louder and more vengefully they shout at finding
pursuit is vain, as they soon do, for the diversion caused by the
williwaw has given the gig an advantage, throwing all the canoes so far
astern that there is no likelihood of its being caught. Even with the
oars alone the gig could easily keep the distance gained on the
slowly-paddled craft. It does better, however, having caught the
breeze, and, with a swollen sail it glides on down Whale-boat Sound,
rapidly increasing its advantage. On, still on, till under the
gathering shadows of night the flotilla of canoes appears like tiny
specks--like a flock of foul birds at rest on the distant water.
"Thar's no fear o' them comin' arter us any furrer, I reck'n," says the
old sealer, in a glad voice. "'Tain't likely that their country runs
far in this direction."
"And we may thank the Almighty for it," is Captain Gancy's grateful
rejoinder. "Surely never was His hand more visibly extended for the
protection of poor mortals! Let us thank Him, all!"
And the devout skipper uplifts his hands in prayer, the rest reverently
listening. After the simple thanksgiving, he fervently kisses, first
his wife, then Leoline. Kisses of mutual congratulation, and who can
wonder at their being fervent? For they all have been very near to
their last embrace on earth!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. Seagriff does not exaggerate. Their skill with this weapon is
something remarkable. Captain King thus speaks of it: "I have seen them
strike a cap, placed upon the stump of a tree fifty or sixty yards off,
with a stone from a sling." And again, speaking of an encounter he had
with Fuegians, "It is astonishing how very correctly they throw them,
and to what a distance. When the first stone fell close to us, we all
thought ourselves out of musket-shot!"
Note 2. A kind of telegraph or apparatus for conveying information by
means of signals visible at a distance, and as oscillating arms or flags
by daylight and lanterns at night. A simple form is still employed.
Note 3. The "williwaw," sometimes called the "wooley," is one of the
great terrors of Fuegian inland waters. It is a sort of squall with a
downward direction, probably caused by the warmer air of the outside
ocean, as it passes over the snowy mountains, becoming suddenly cooled,
and so dropping with a violent rush upon the surface of the water, which
surges under it as if struck by cannon shot.