I was awakened by the low growling, and short bark of the dog. The night
was far spent; the tiny sparks of the fire-flies that were glancing in the
doorway, began to grow pale; the chirping of the crickets and lizards, and
the _snore_ of the tree-toad waxed fainter, and the wild cry of the
tiger-cat was no longer heard. The _terral_, or land-wind, which is
usually strongest towards morning, moaned loudly on the hillside, and came
rushing past with a melancholy _sough_, through the brushwood that
surrounded the hut, shaking off the heavy dew from the palm and cocoa nut
trees, like large drops of rain.
The hollow tap of the woodpecker; the clear flute note of the _Pavo del
monte_; the discordant shriek of the macaw; the shrill _chirr_ of the wild
Guinea fowl; and the chattering of the paroquets began to be heard from
the wood. The ill-omened _gallinaso_ was sailing and circling round the
hut, and the tall flamingo was stalking on the shallows of the lagoon, the
haunt of the disgusting alligator, that lay beneath, divided from the sea
by a narrow mud bank, where a group of pelicans, perched on the wreck of
one of our boats, were pluming themselves before taking wing. In the east,
the deep blue of the firmament, from which the lesser stars were fast
fading, all but the "Eye of Morn," was warming into magnificent purple,
and the amber rays of the yet unrisen sun were shooting up, streamer-like,
with intervals between, through the parting clouds, as they broke away
with a passing shower, that fell like a veil of silver gauze between us
and the first primrose-coloured streaks of a tropical dawn.
"That's a musket shot," said the lieutenant. The Indian crept on his belly
to the door, dropped his chin on the ground, and placed his open palms
behind his ears. The distant wail of a bugle was heard, then three or four
dropping shots again, in rapid succession. Mr. Splinter stooped to go
forth, but the Indian caught him by the leg, uttering the single word
"_Espanoles_."
On the instant a young Indian woman, with a shrieking infant in her arms,
rushed to the door. There was a blue gunshot wound in her neck, from which
two or three large black clotting gouts of blood were trickling. Her long
black hair was streaming in coarse braids, and her features were pinched
and sharpened, as if in the agony of death. She glanced wildly behind, and
gasped out, "_Escapa, Oreeyue, escapa, para mi soi, muerto ya_." Another
shot, and the miserable creature convulsively clasped her child, whose
small shrill cry I often fancy I hear to this hour, blending with its
mother's death-shriek, and, falling backwards, rolled over the brow of the
hill out of sight. The ball had pierced the heart of the parent through
the body of her offspring. By this time a party of Spanish soldiers had
surrounded the hut, one of whom kneeling before the low door, pointed his
musket into it. The Indian, who had seen his wife and child thus cruelly
shot down before his face, now fired his rifle, and the man fell dead.
"_Sigi mi Querida Bondia--maldito_." Then springing to his feet, and
stretching himself to his full height, with his arms extended towards
heaven, while a strong shiver shook him like an ague fit, he yelled forth
the last words he ever uttered, "_Venga la suerte, ya soi listo_," and
resumed his squatting position on the ground. Half-a-dozen musket balls
were now fired at random through the wattles, while the lieutenant, who
spoke Spanish well, sung out lustily, that we were English officers who
had been shipwrecked. "_Mentira_," growled the officer of the party,
"_Piratas son ustedes_." "Pirates leagued with Indian bravoes; fire the
hut, soldiers, and burn the scoundrels!" There was no time to be lost; Mr.
Splinter made a vigorous attempt to get out, in which I seconded him, with
all the strength that remained to me, but they beat us back again with the
buts of their muskets.
"Where are your commissions, your uniforms, if you be British officers?"
We had neither, and our fate appeared inevitable.
The doorway was filled with brushwood, fire was set to the hut, and we
heard the crackling of the palm thatch, while thick stifling wreaths of
white smoke burst in upon us through the roof.
"Lend a-hand, Tom, now or never, and kick up the dark man there," but he
sat still as a statue. We laid our shoulders to the end wall, and heaved
at it with all our might; when we were nearly at the last gasp it gave way,
and we rushed headlong into the middle of the party, followed by Sneezer
with his shaggy coat, that was full of clots of tar blazing like a torch.
He unceremoniously seized "_par le queue_," the soldier who had throttled
me, setting fire to the skirts of his coat, and blowing up his cartouch
box. I believe under Providence, that the ludicrousness of this attack
saved us from being bayonetted on the spot. It gave time for Mr. Splinter
to recover his breath, when being a powerful man, he shook off the two
soldiers who had seized him, and dashed into the burning hut again. I
thought he was mad, especially when I saw him return with his clothes and
hair on fire, dragging out the body of the captain. He unfolded the sail
it was wrapped in, and pointing to the remains of the naval uniform in
which the mutilated and putrifying corpse was dressed, he said sternly to
the officer, "We are in your power, and you may murder us if you will; but
_that_ was my captain four days ago, and you see, _he_ at least was a
British officer--satisfy yourself." The person he addressed, a handsome
young Spaniard, with a clear olive complexion, oval face, small brown
mustachios, and large black eyes, shuddered at the horrible spectacle, but
did as he was requested.
When he saw the crown and anchor, and his majesty's cipher on the
appointments of the dead officer, he became convinced of our quality, and
changed his tone--"_Es verdat, son de la marina Englesa_;" "But gentlemen,
were there not three persons in the hut?" There were indeed--the flames
had consumed the dry roof and walls with incredible rapidity, and by this
time they had fallen in, but Oreeque was no where to be seen. I thought I
saw something move in the midst of the fire, but it might have been fancy.
Again the white ashes heaved, and a half-consumed hand and arm were thrust
through the mouldering mass, then a human head, with the scalp burnt from
the skull, and the flesh from the chaps and cheek-bones; the trunk next
appeared, the bleeding ribs laid bare, and the miserable Indian, with his
limbs like scorched rafters, stood upright before us, like a demon in the
midst of the fire. He made no attempt to escape, but reeling to and fro
like a drunken man, fell headlong, raising clouds of smoke and a shower of
sparks in his fall. Alas! poor Oreeque, the newly risen sun was now
shining on your ashes, and on the dead bodies of the ill-starred Bondia
and her child, whose bones, ere his setting, the birds of the air, and
beasts of the forest, will leave as white and fleshless as your own. The
officer, who belonged to the army investing Carthagena, now treated us
with great civility; he heard our story, and desired his men to assist us
in burying the remains of our late commander.
We remained all day on the same part of the coast, but towards evening the
party fell back on the outpost to which they belonged--after travelling an
hour or so we emerged from a dry river course, in which the night had
over-taken us, and came suddenly on a small plateau, where the post was
established on the promontory of "_Punto Canoa_." There may be braver
soldiers at a charge, but none more picturesque in a _bivouac_ than the
Spanish. A gigantic wild cotton-tree, to which our largest English oaks
were but as dwarfs, rose on one side, and overshadowed the whole level
space.
The bright beams of the full moon glanced among the topmost leaves, and
tipped the higher branches with silver, contrasting strangely with the
scene below, where a large watch-fire cast a strong red glare on the
surrounding objects, throwing up dense volumes of smoke, which eddied in
dun wreaths amongst the foliage, and hung in the still night air like a
canopy, leaving the space beneath comparatively clear.
A temporary guard-house, with a rude verandah of bamboos and palm leaves,
had been built between two of the immense spurs of the mighty tree, that
shot out many yards from the parent stem like wooden buttresses, whilst
overhead there was a sort of stage made of planks laid across the lower
boughs, supporting a quantity of provisions covered with tarpaulins. The
sentries in the back ground with their glancing arms, were seen pacing on
their watch; some of the guard were asleep on wooden benches, and on the
platform amongst the branches, where a little baboon-looking old man, in
the dress of a drummer, had perched himself, and sat playing a Biscayan
air on a sort of bagpipe; others were gathered round the fire cooking
their food, or cleaning their arms.
It shone brightly on the long line of Spanish transports that were moored
below, _stem on_ to the beach, and on the white sails of the armed craft
that were still hovering under weigh in the offing, which, as the night
wore on, stole in, one after another, like phantoms of the ocean, and
letting go their anchors with a splash, and a hollow rattle of the cable,
remained still and silent as the rest.
Farther off, it fell in a crimson stream on the surface of the sheltered
bay, struggling with the light of the gentle moon, and tinging with blood
the small waves that twinkled in her silver wake, across which a guard
boat would now and then glide, like a fairy thing, the arms of the men
flashing back the red light.
Beyond the influence of the hot smoky glare, the glorious planet reassumed
her sway in the midst of her attendant stars, and the relieved eye
wandered forth into the lovely night, where the noiseless sheet lightning
way glancing, and ever and anon lighting up for an instant some fantastic
shape in the fleecy clouds, like prodigies forerunning the destruction of
the stronghold over which they impended; while beneath, the lofty ridge of
the convent-crowned Popa, the citadel of San Felipé bristling with cannon,
the white batteries and many towers of the fated city of Carthagena, and
the Spanish blockading squadron at anchor before it, slept in the
moonlight.
We were civilly received by the captain, who apologized for the discomfort
under which we must pass the night. He gave us the best he had, and that
was bad enough, both of food and wine, before showing us into the hut,
where we found a rough deal coffin lying on the very bench that was to be
our bed. This he ordered away with all the coolness in the world. "It was
_only_ one of his people who had died that morning of _vomito_, or yellow
fever." "Comfortable country this," quoth Splinter, "and a pleasant
morning we have had of it, Tom!"
_Blackwood's Magazine._
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