CHAPTER II

But he whom Munson had regarded as the public executioner was but the barber to the tribe; the formidable-looking knife had no more terrible work to perform than that of shaving the unfortunate man’s head, and this in token that henceforth he was the chief’s bond-slave.

So much relieved that he laughed loudly at himself for his idle fears, the sergeant was then liberated, and taken to a wigwam where he found a fellow-slave, a Crow Indian, who had been captured some few weeks earlier; and both occupied the tent that night, by no means cheered by the fact that an armed redskin stood at the entrance all night long.

Apart from his anxiety to let his friends know of his whereabouts, the young man was not unhappy among the Cherokees. For the first month or two of his captivity a very close watch was kept upon him, and, even later, it was at all times difficult for him to be away from observation for many consecutive minutes; but gradually he was given more liberty, was allowed to go fishing and hunting within certain limits, and was not again subjected to the disgrace of having his head shaved. His principal duties were to carry water from the lake, collect firewood, tend the fires, and do such other menial work as the squaws were not strong enough for, and as the men were too proud to do. Having no one to converse with in his own language, he rapidly picked up theirs, more rapidly indeed than they realised, for they would often talk of their war plans in his presence as though he would not understand their talk. From the more approachable of the Cherokees he occasionally learned news of the outside27world; heard that General Wayne was still fighting against their people, and that “they themselves didn’t care a button for him.” He never saw, among them, any of the horrible scenes of blood and torture which other captives among Indians have described; they were ignorant and superstitious, but neither lazy nor drunken nor particularly cruel. Sometimes the “war-arrow” was brought into the camp by some fleet messenger, and then the majority of the braves would gallop away or set off in their canoes, and, after an absence of hours or days, would return—often laden with spoil taken from the Sioux or the whites, and sometimes leaving some of their number behind.

We may be sure that, all this while, Munson had worked out a good many schemes for effecting his escape; but, like a wise man, he knew that one unsuccessful attempt would infallibly result in prolonging his captivity and rendering it more severe, if not actually in his death. When he started, there must be no half-measures; all hindrances and difficulties must be foreseen and allowed for. He practised assiduously the art of following a trail, whether by land or water; already he had become very handy with a bow and arrow, for he was never allowed firearms; he did his best to become an expert canoeman, and lost no opportunity, in fact, of learning to outwit the enemy with their own weapons, all the while telling himself that, sooner or later, the golden opportunity must come.

It did come, but not till he had been in the Cherokee camp for nearly eight months. One morning, in the28summer of 1794, three Indians whom he had never seen before and who, he learned, were of the Huron tribe, rode into the camp and held a short parley with the chief. Very soon the place was in an uproar, and Munson was easily able to find out the news. The Iowas had spied out this camp and that of some neighbouring Hurons, had betrayed the secret to the Yankee general, and he was now on his way to attack the Hurons’ stronghold. In an hour’s time all the men, save three aged braves, had left the wigwams and were on the war-path.

For a while the sergeant hesitated. If the soldiers really knew how to find the camp they would force their way to it before long, cost them what it might; and he would be set at liberty. But the chances were that he might be either shot down before he could make himself known to them, or be killed by the Indians the moment he endeavoured to do so. He would never get a better opportunity of escaping than this, for the weather was warm, there was no one to stop him from going, and the canoes were all at his service, as the braves had gone in the opposite direction to the water.

He waited five days, for the old men left behind had shown a certain amount of suspicion of him for the first day or two. Then, with a plentiful supply of food, arrows, and fish-spears, he stole away soon after sundown, crept into a canoe and paddled away from the shore. His object was to reach Buffalo if possible, but that was over a hundred miles away, and he could not paddle day and night without rest. Knowing that he must husband his strength, he29confined himself to an easy rate of about three miles an hour; and even then, by the time he had gone thirty miles, he could hardly keep his eyes open.

He had recourse to the good old specific of cold water, took a header into the lake and, after a short swim, returned to his post, ate a cold but hearty breakfast, and began again, all the while keeping his eyes open for any white men’s boat that might come along. But the hours went by and he saw nothing, and the desire for sleep became as pressing—and just now as much to be dreaded—as though he had been lost in a snow-drift. He took a second dip and, clambering back into the canoe, began paddling again, though his muscles were now so stiff that he could scarcely move his arms.

He was nodding over his now almost useless labour when a light splash, like the bob of a fish, made him look round him. The splash had been caused by an arrow. Behind him, two canoes, each with three Indians in it, were coming along at a speed that he could not have beaten even had he been perfectly fresh. For just one second there was the hope that the redskins might be of some tribe hostile to the Cherokees, who would be willing to help him in return for promises of money, which he could easily obtain from some charitable person at Buffalo. But he knew the build, the costume, the very method of using the paddles, too well; these men were Cherokees. He turned round to pick up his bow, and, in so doing, looked over the side. Floating within a yard or two of him was an arrow, lying perfectly horizontal! He stared at it open-mouthed; an arrow, if the30weight of its head did not sink it entirely, must float perpendicularly, showing but very little of its length.

But this particular arrowhadno head; a token that it had not been shot in any unfriendly spirit. He looked back at his pursuers again; one of them was waving his hand, and, as his canoe came almost within touching distance, shouted:

“We have some fish; will you give us bread in exchange for some? We have no bread, and very little tobacco.” The words sounded very much like an excerpt from Somebody or Other’s “French Exercises,” not the less so in that they were uttered in French-Canadian—a language which Munson understood perfectly well. He could almost have cried with relief.

The Cherokees were Ontario fishermen; Christians, and the sons of Christians, and no more likely to interfere with the soldier than if they had been his fellow-countrymen. On finding that he spoke not only French but their own Iroquoian as well, they became exceedingly friendly; but Munson (perhaps he did them grave injustice) had become far too cautious to tell them the circumstances under which he had learned their language. He confined himself to the statement that he wished to reach Buffalo, and would reward them amply if they would put him ashore there; he had been robbed of his money, he said—which was perfectly true—but could easily get some in the town; he was too tired to use his paddles; would they take him there?

The next thing he knew was that the Indians were waking him at the quay outside Buffalo; he had fallen asleep even while trying to strike a bargain with them,31and now they refused to take any other payment than the tobacco and provisions with which he had stored his boat; and, bidding him good-bye, they landed him and paddled away again.

He went to the nearest military depôt and reported himself, and of course had no difficulty in obtaining the means to reach his home.

32CHAPTER IITHE INVASION OF CORRIENTES

The South American Indian, as a soldier, is a being about whom we English know very little. Of course we know that, centuries ago, he was a force to be reckoned with locally; we know that when his civilisation was stamped out of him he became a mere savage, ignorant, dirty, brutal and crafty; but it is something of a surprise to us to learn that, during the first quarter of the nineteenth century, he occasionally shook off much of his savagery, and showed himself the equal of the white soldier in discipline, generalship, staying-power and chivalry. A case in point is that of Andresito Artegas, one of the most striking figures in modern South American history.

Andresito, who belonged to the Guaycuru branch of the great Guaranian tribe, was the adopted son of the celebrated insurgent leader, Artegas, who seems to have given him some education and to have developed in him the great natural foresight and controlling power which he was to exhibit later in the war between the Guaranians and the Portuguese of Argentina.

This petty war, which lasted roughly from 1818 to 1820, was largely a “coming to a head” of the constant bickerings, forays, and persecutions which, for years,33had been interchanged between the white man and the red; and though, in the end, the Indians were badly beaten and the tribe almost annihilated, in the early and middle stages of the contest there seemed every likelihood of the Portuguese being driven out of La Plata. In 1819, emboldened by a train of minor successes, Andresito, with a force of seven hundred Guaycurus, determined to seize the city of Corrientes.

Next to Buenos Ayres, this was the wealthiest and most important of the Argentine towns, and much of the commerce was in the hands of British merchants, such as the well-known brothers Robertson, and their friend and sometime patron Thomas Postlethwaite. To men like this the news of Andresito’s advance was alarming enough, for it would probably mean financial ruin, if nothing worse; but to the more excitable Portuguese residents it was absolute paralysis. People went stark mad with panic; the seven hundred Indians became seven, and even seventy, thousand. Tales went from mouth to mouth of massacres unspeakable in every village and town on Andresito’s line of march, and it was said that the Paraguay boundary and the Parana River—the only means of safety hitherto open to fugitives—were already in Indian hands.

Mr. Postlethwaite, disappointed in the hopes of being able to send his two daughters down the river to Buenos Ayres, resolved to take matters into his own hands as far as possible, and saw that all the Europeans were armed and ready to band together in self-defence. But before anything in the way of concerted effort could be agreed upon, rumour became fact; Andresito and his Indian cavalry were within half a mile of the34city. Two Portuguese men dropped dead in the street with fright; Francisco Bedoya, commandant of the colonial troops, lost his head altogether; collected all the money and plate he could lay his hands on and buried it in the garden, then began to run about the streets like a rat in a trap.

As a last resource, Mr. Postlethwaite sent one of his servants to Andresito with a letter, warning him that our Government might mete out a terrible punishment if British life and property were not respected; and, to his great relief, the man soon came riding back with a courteous message from the young chief, to the effect that no violence was intended to anyone, least of all to British subjects.

The Englishman was imparting this message to his friends when the steady trot of a large body of horse was heard, and everyone either rushed to hiding-places or swarmed into the streets. Postlethwaite and his daughters reached thePlazain time to see the Indian soldiers take possession of it. Nothing could less resemble a horde of uncivilised invaders than these seven hundred men. Headed by the handsome young Andresito and his Spanish-Peruvian secretary, Mexias, the Guaycurus halted and dismounted at the sound of the bugle, and it could be seen that they were a set of well-trained fellows, armed like a European cavalry troop, dressed like civilised people, and apparently no more ready for outrage than if they had been loyalist soldiers come to rescue the town.

The rear of the procession was certainly remarkable, being composed of four hundred boys of from six to fourteen years, half of them the children of white35people, round whom thronged a mixed group of farmers and their wives, screaming, threatening, and entreating. The Indian boys were liberated slaves, and it appeared that wherever Andresito had found a native child in captivity, he had freed him and taken a white boy prisoner. It is interesting to know that, not many days later, the Indian chief gathered together the distressed parents who had been able to keep up with or to follow his march, and handed the white children over to them.

“I have given you a lesson, he said. In future, try to remember that Indian parents have hearts as well as you.”

Andresito’s first act on arriving at thePlazawas certainly not that of a bloodthirsty tyrant; for, marshalling his men on foot, he led them straight into the cathedral to hear Mass, and as soon as the service was ended, began to converse amicably with the principal inhabitants of the town. The cowardly commandant, Bedoya, had found a place of concealment; perhaps his conscience pricked him, for only a few weeks before he had instigated the massacre of an entire Indian village. At any rate, he would not face the Guaycurus, and in imitation of their valiant leader, the whole garrison deserted their barracks, leaving them at the new-comers’ disposal.

In Mr. Postlethwaite, Andresito speedily recognised a far-seeing, wise, and courageous old man, whose advice would be worth listening to; and after a few days, the Englishman’s influence over him became so great that, during the young leader’s occasional outbursts of ungovernable temper or drunkenness, his36followers would invariably send for the tactful merchant and beg him to manage their chief for them.

No doubt this peaceful state of things might have lasted indefinitely but for two unpleasant factors; the first of which was the spite and jealousy of Mexias, the Indian chief’s secretary—a vulgar toady and adventurer who could not be loyal to white man or red, and who, alarmed at the willingness with which Andresito listened to Postlethwaite’s counsels, lost no opportunity of poisoning his mind against the honest merchant.

The second probable cause of trouble was the ill-bred conduct of the Spanish and Portuguese residents towards the Indian chiefs. We all know, either from history or experience, that it is dangerous and unwise to ignore the natural barrier that exists between the white and the coloured races; but that is no reason why a man should be gratuitously insulted because he is an Indian; and when Andresito found himself regarded socially with contempt and ridicule by people who, a fortnight earlier, would have knelt and grovelled to him for their lives, he was not unnaturally out of temper.

From these two causes, relations became more and more strained, and one morning a file of soldiers appeared at Postlethwaite’s house, arrested him on a variety of stupid and trumped-up charges, and lodged him in the common prison among criminals of the lowest type. His elder daughter at once went to Andresito’s hotel, but could not obtain an interview with him till the next day. Then the chief happened to be in a good humour, and after some little argument,37admitted that the arrest was due to Mexias’ having told him that her father meditated escaping to Buenos Ayres to warn the Portuguese; and on the girl’s indignantly denying this, the prisoner was set at liberty.

As a peace-offering for this affront to the Europeans, Andresito gave a great dinner-party to the chief residents, which was to be followed by a display of picturesque Indian dances. Very few of the Spaniards or Portuguese accepted the invitation, and those who did were particularly offensive in their comments on the dancing. Andresito left the hall in a towering rage.

The following morning the Postlethwaite household was again disturbed by a visit from Indian soldiers.

“What now?” asked the merchant, losing patience.

“All those who received invitations to the General’s entertainment last night are to come and report themselves; the gentlemen at thePlazaand the ladies at the barracks,” said a soldier civilly.

The two English girls followed their conductors to the barracks, and there found all the best-known white women of Corrientes guarded by a troop of soldiers. Andresito soon made his appearance.

“Ladies, he said, I understand that you disapprove of Indian dances; therefore I have invited you here to teach us better. When each lady has condescended to dance with an Indian soldier she will be set at liberty.”

Miss Postlethwaite and her sister had the good sense to regard the affair as one of humour rather than of humiliation, and not stopping to point out38that they were being punished for the misdeeds of others, they readily yielded to the chief’s whim, and were the first to be dismissed. They hurried at once to thePlaza, and here a very unlooked-for sight awaited them.

Guarded by a hundred soldiers under Mexias, all the well-to-do men of the town were at work on their hands and knees, weeding the square, rooting out, with fingers or penknives, the tufts of shabby grass that grew plentifully between the cobble-stones! The heat was so suffocating that their father and other elderly men were well-nigh fainting; but there all were obliged to remain till the task was finished, shortly before sundown.

This indignity so enraged Postlethwaite that he was tempted to persuade the white men to combine against their persecutors and rid the town of them, but was deterred by the irresolution and petty jealousies of the Corrientes men, and by the thought of the terrible amount of bloodshed for which he would be making himself responsible. Abandoning that idea, he fell back on plans for escape. This would be difficult, if not impossible, for Indians were said to be in possession of the country all round, and flight by water was out of the question, because all the boats had been destroyed or sent adrift, and the larger craft from Buenos Ayres seldom came farther north than Goya.

By way of lulling any suspicions on Andresito’s part as to his schemes, he invited him and his staff to dinner one evening. The Indians conducted themselves with great dignity and politeness, and were very loud in their praise of British fare—particularly39of the “plom puddin Ingles” with which the host regaled them. Andresito’s bearing towards his young hostesses was gallantry itself; he even styled them hispaysanitasor countrywomen, as well asIndias rubias(fair Indians.)

“But what makes you think we are your compatriots, Señor?” asked the younger girl.

“Ah, Señorita,” said Andresito, “I fear you have not studied the history of England as I have done. Did you not know thatallthe people in your country were Indians till the Spanish king, Julius Cæsar, conquered it?”

The dinner passed off very brightly and merrily, and at last the English merchant proposed the health of the Indian chief. This was drunk heartily; but Mexias, who had much of the mischief-maker and still more of the cad in him, having emptied his glass, broke it and threw the pieces over his shoulder, calling on the Indians to do the same. Now this was not at all an uncommon Spanish custom; but Miss Postlethwaite had strong objections to seeing every glass in the house broken, at a time when communication with the capital was cut off, and even the simplest household necessaries difficult to procure. She whispered a hint to Andresito, at which the hot-headed fellow sprang up, drew his sword, and vowed that he would kill the next man who broke a glass.

In revenge for this snub, the Peruvian asked the Postlethwaite ladies and others to a dinner; and when all had partaken of and commended the soup and entrées, he took occasion to inform his guests with great insolence that the substance of all the40savouries was horse-beef. This elegant practical joke was his last. The following evening he was met by the brother of one of the Spanish ladies, who promptly avenged the insult in a manner not unusual among people of Latin blood—by plunging a knife into his back.

This incident was the beginning of general anarchy. Indians and Argentines alike took the law into their own hands, the latter emboldened by rumours that white armies were marching on the city, the former restless and demoralised through their leader’s inability to press on to further conquests till he was reinforced by the troops of Indians, half-castes, or insurgent whites for which he was waiting. To Mr. Postlethwaite there now seemed no more risk in flight than in remaining in the city; so, secreting his portable wealth, and sending his daughters forward with horses and two armed menservants as occasion offered, he managed to join them at nightfall near the river and well beyond the town.

They made excellent pace, and soon after daybreak had reached the strip of desolate, hilly country that runs along the west bank of the Parana. Then Postlethwaite called a halt, and had decided that they would rest themselves and their horses for a few hours, when Juan, his Spanish cook, pointed back to some moving objects at the foot of the long hill whose summit they had just reached—Indians, from the way they sat their horses, though the distance was too great for the watchers to distinguish whether they were the half-naked savages of the country or the better-dressed, better-armed cavalry of Andresito.

A Narrow EscapeWhen Corrientes was seized by Andresito and his Indians Mr. Postlethwaite and his daughters succeeded in escaping to the banks of the Parana. A pursuing body of Indians almost captured them, but the boat’s crew of a ship which happened to be lying in the river kept them at bay with oars and boat-stretchers.

“In either case we must not risk falling into their hands,” said Postlethwaite. “Up with you all again.”

“But the horses are so beaten,” urged his elder daughter.

“Not more so than theirs, probably,” he said. “And they have a good mile or more of hill to climb.”

The jaded beasts were hastily mounted again, and, always keeping the river in sight, the party made what speed they could towards the nearest white station or landing-stage. The hill which their pursuers had yet to climb would double the value of the start they had of them, to be sure; but there would be no means of hiding from them when they again reached the high level, and unless the Indians’ horses were extraordinarily fatigued, it was to be feared that they would soon make up for lost time.

For the next half-hour there was no sign of redskins. Then one head, then another, straggled into view, but still so far distant that the fugitives could not see whether they were moving or stationary. Their own horses were on their last legs, so much so that it was becoming sheer brutality to urge them on. The two girls dismounted and turned their poor beasts loose and the servants followed their example—as did also Postlethwaite himself when, on looking back once more, he could see at least ten figures—moving now, beyond all doubt—not much more than a mile behind.

“We shall have to run for it,” he said.

“A ship, Señor; a ship!” cried one of the men hysterically, pointing ahead; and sure enough there42were the two naked topmasts of a brig, a mile or more farther down the river.

No one else remarked on the sight; no one had breath to spare for anything but running.

Five minutes went by, and they seemed no nearer. The Englishman glanced behind him; the Indians had not appreciably lessened the distance between them. Another five minutes, and then voices were becoming distinctly audible, though whether those of seamen or pursuers it was difficult to say. Postlethwaite began to stumble.

“I’m—done for,” he panted. “You must go on—and send help back.”

“No, no, give me your hand,” cried his elder daughter. “Look; look behind you!”

He obeyed. The two foremost Indians had abandoned their horses and come within gunshot; and one was coolly taking aim at them with his musket.

“Only another minute or two,” said the girl soothingly.

“Where are you going? Where are you going?” cried a voice in Spanish.

They were running exactly parallel to the river, but about thirty yards from the water-edge. Looking to their left they saw for the first time that one of the brig’s boats had drawn up as close as possible to the bank and that her coxswain was beckoning to them.

They needed no further warning, but made a dash for the boat. As they did so a bullet whistled past their ears, and the younger girl sank down on the dry grass.

“She is wounded; she is killed,” shouted Postlethwaite.

“No, Señor; only faint and frightened,” panted the stalwart cook, and, hastily picking his young mistress up in his arms, he caught up the others, who were dragged on board as a second bullet flew over their heads. Juan handed in his burden and was about to vault over the gunwale, when his foot slipped on the mud and he fell sideways into the water.

With drawn swords the two Indians—emissaries of Andresito—made a dash at him, but were kept aloof by oars and boat-stretchers; and as one of them drew a pistol, Juan’s fellow-servant did likewise and sent a bullet through his arm, just as the plucky cook was dragged into safety and the boat pushed into the stream.

Not long afterwards a strong Portuguese force drove the Guaycurus out of Corrientes and took Andresito prisoner. He was conveyed to the coast and eventually liberated; but he died not long after, and with him the hopes of independence which the Guaranian Indians had been cherishing.

44CHAPTER IIIA CAPTIVE AMONG ARGENTINE INDIANS

Till the beginning of the nineteenth century, the Guaranian Indians (with the Abipons and other sub-tribes) were in possession of a great part of Southern Brazil, Paraguay, and Eastern Argentina. They were one of the strongest of the Indian peoples, unusually tall and athletic, and, so long as they had reliable leaders, well able to hold their own against the Portuguese. But owing to internal dissensions, intermarriages with Europeans, and more especially to the crushing defeat by the colonists, in 1820, of their great chief Andresito Artegas, they had become, by the middle of the century, a negligible quantity.

Much of their trouble with the Portuguese was of their own seeking; for, not content with beating off their attacks, they were perpetually making unprovoked raids upon peaceful farmsteads, carrying off not only cattle, but European boys and girls, of whom they not infrequently made slaves. A typical instance of this sort of thing came under the notice of Mr. Peter Campbell, better known as Don Pedro,Commandante de Marinos, or Admiral of the Fleet, who from 1819 onwards was in the employ of the Argentine Government.

Two Portuguese girls, with their little brother, were returning on horseback to their father’s farm near Cordoba, when a series of frantic yells behind them warned them that savages were in pursuit. A single glance back was sufficient to show how futile all attempts at flight would probably be; the redskins were well mounted and used to riding at breakneck pace, while the girls’ horses, not too spirited at the best of times, were jaded with a long, hot journey.

The cries—rendered more savage and blood-curdling by the Indian practice of simultaneously clapping the lips with the palm of the hand—grew louder and more bewildering. The boy lost control of his horse—the youngest and fastest of the three—and was soon well ahead of his sisters, the younger of whom, Ascencion by name, had the presence of mind to scream to him to ride straight on to Cordoba, if possible, and warn the military authorities there. The words were hardly out of her mouth when a shriek came from her sister, who was a dozen yards behind.

“I am taken. Do not desert me.”

Ascencion turned her head, only to see the chief himself, a splendid-looking elderly man, riding straight for her own bridle.

In another minute both girls were prisoners. Each was dragged from her saddle and lifted to that of her captor; their two horses were handed to some young Indians who rode in the rear, and then they found themselves being whirled away in the direction of the Parana River, which lay some hundred and seventy miles distant. The cavalcade made no halt till long after dark, when it arrived at atolderiaor native46encampment. Here the girls were handed over to the womenfolk, who, after robbing them of all their finery, took them to separate tents and told them what would be their future duties.

Worn out with grief and excitement, Ascencion threw herself on the ground in her wigwam (toldos) and, refusing food, sobbed herself to sleep. When she awoke, it was day; she was alone in the tent, and now had leisure to examine it and its contents. This was soon done. The miserable abode was a pyramidal hut, each side about nine feet long and consisting merely of a few tall slender sticks, across which a rough matting of straw, like a collection of old bottle cases, was laid. Through the matting sufficient daylight struggled to show that the only furniture of thetoldosconsisted of half a dozen bows of great length, and a few gourds, fashioned into drinking-cups.

She was creeping to the entry in the hope of finding out her sister’s whereabouts, when agitated shouts resounded through the camp.

“Flee, flee! The Cordoban soldiers are coming.”

Those shouts were the sweetest music she had ever heard. Heedless of the danger she might incur, she rushed into the open, calling loudly for her sister.

What followed was very like a nightmare. Redskinned, half-naked figures flitted backwards and forwards, screaming incoherently, in her tongue and their own. Then all of a sudden the tents round about seemed to rise up of themselves and collapse. A lengthy, rumbling chorus of shouts came from a hundred yards away, followed by a carbine volley whose bullets knocked up the dust all round her, and47one of which laid a young Indian dead, almost within a yard of her. Then she caught sight of her sister being lifted into a saddle, and while she endeavoured to attract her attention, a hand was pressed over her own mouth and strong arms swung her on to a horse which seemed to come from nowhere. She knew nothing more till she found herself being borne at a tearing speed across the plain, lashed inextricably to the cacique’s body.

She stole a glance over her shoulder. Less than half a mile away she could see, through a cloud of dust, a string of straggling mounted figures, half a dozen riding ahead, and seven or eight more trying in vain to keep up with them; and from the flash of the sun-rays on their scabbards and metal horse-furniture, she knew them to be white men. But would they overtake her captors? The distance increased, then lessened considerably, then began slowly to increase again. She heard a few shots fired by the pursuers, but these took no effect. The space between them grew greater than ever, for even while the Cordobans’ horses slackened their speed and flagged, those of the Indians seemed only to gain fresh strength; and at last she looked away, again losing all heart. For the soldiers had come to a dead stop, and in a few minutes she would be carried out of all sight of them. A howl of triumph and derision rose from the Abipons; nevertheless, they did not draw bridle till they came in sight of anothertolderia, whose occupants would form such a reinforcement as would enable them to defy any but a very strong company of white men.

Ascencion had eaten nothing for twenty-four hours48and had held no communication with her sister since their separation. She was now handed over to the care of a motherly old body who was a relative of the cacique, and presumably a person of some importance in the tribe. Not only did she at once supply the girl with food and drink, but she promised to make interest for her sister to be placed with her.

This promise was fulfilled, and for the next week or two the girls shared the old woman’s hut together at night, being kept by day in attendance on the cacique’s wife, who, if she made them work hard at cooking, corn-grinding, and rough weaving, was at least not unkind to them. But this is not to say that these Indians were not cruel by nature and habit. One day after a foraging party had returned, the cacique approached the two prisoners, and addressing them in Portuguese, said roughly:

“Come with me. Come and see what is in store for any of your friends who attempt to rescue you.”

They followed him tremblingly to the centre of the camp, and there found a young Spaniard, bound hand and foot to pegs that were driven into the ground. He had been caught wandering in the forest, and, being unarmed, was an easy capture.

At a word from the chief, a dozen men stepped back from the prostrate lad, and drawing their bows, each sent an arrow straight at him. Every arrow but one transfixed the body; that one was ceremoniously burnt and its ashes buried; it was in disgrace for having missed its mark.

This murder was the only exhibition of cruelty which Ascencion witnessed at that camp, though49almost every day the cacique threatened her and her sister with death if they made any attempt to escape. As far as they could gather, they were to be kept till the next general meeting of the tribe, and then sold or bartered as wives to the two highest bidders.

When they had been in captivity a little over a fortnight some young men of the tribe rode hastily into the camp one evening and called excitedly for the cacique. They had, said they, been pursued by a strong party of Macabi Indians (one of the Peruvian sub-tribes) who had never altogether lost sight of them, and were even now making a descent on the camp.

Instantly the whole tribe turned out, with bows, spears, hatchets, and some few even with muskets. The alarm was no false one. The Macabis, about eighty in number, badly mounted, but far better armed than were the Abipons, were in sight, and would soon endeavour to surround thetolderia, the inhabitants of which, so far from showing any sign of unreadiness to do battle, or anxiety as to the issue thereof, were quickly and joyously disposing themselves to the best advantage. Indeed, they were the first to open fire; but the harmless volley from the half-dozen ramshackle old muskets was answered by a deadly shower of well-aimed bullets from at least forty guns.

The two slave girls, crouching with some other women in one of the huts, could catch glimpses of the fight through the chinks in the matting. To an outsider it might seem that Ascencion would care little as to the result of the conflict, but the Peruvians were a fierce tribe, far more uncivilised than their enemies—who were, for the most part, Christians—and50to fall into their hands would probably involve far worse treatment than she had undergone at the hands of her original captors.

Presently, as the darkness began to fall, she saw a score of the young men separate themselves from the rest of the defenders, and begin to untether some of the horses. Then one of them hastened into her tent and bade her and those with her hurry out to the horses. The Macabis were steadily gaining the upper hand, and all the women were to be escorted by as many of the tribe as could be spared, towards a small and semi-permanent camp on the river, between Chamorra and Goya. No time was lost in obeying, and Ascencion had already been lifted up behind the cacique’s wife, when her sister, who was waiting to be mounted on the next horse, threw up her arms and fell without a cry. One of the enemy’s bullets had pierced her breast and the poor girl lay dead.

From that time Ascencion knew little or nothing of what happened; she had an indistinct recollection of an all-night ride, then of resting, once in green woods, and once on a burning, sandy plain; then of a second long march in the dark; but that was all. For she was in a fever which did not leave her till some days after their arrival at the rivertolderia; and, when next she left her hut, the first thing she saw was the remainder of the tribe returning from the long battle. They had been beaten, but nevertheless had inflicted such a blow on the victors as crippled all attempts at pursuit of them.

Then began again the same wearisome life as before, only more intolerable now that Ascencion had lost her51sister. But one afternoon, when most of the men were away hunting, the cacique came up to her as she was preparing for her daily task of fetching water from the river, and showing his knife threateningly, observed:

“There is a boat’s crew of white men making for the shore. Stay here till they are gone. If you speak to one of them you shall die.”

The caution seemed needless enough, for by this time the poor girl had become so cowed and destitute of hope, that she had little heart to attempt escape. Moreover, it was quite possible that men of her own race might be no more desirable neighbours than the Indians. And so she sat down where she was, under a tree, feeling but little interest in the coming of the sailors. Looking listlessly towards the row of trees that hid the river from her view, she presently caught sight of the cacique ushering two white men towards histoldos, and evidently bearing himself with great obsequiousness towards them. The taller of the two entered, but the other began idly to walk about the camp, exchanging cheery words with the women at work there. Very soon he was standing by Ascencion’s side. She was hesitating whether to answer a civil greeting of his, when he said quickly:

“But you are not an Indian girl, surely?”

Then she forgot all caution and all indifference to her condition. She had heard her own language spoken by one of her own people!

“No; I am Portuguese. I am a prisoner,” she whispered eagerly.

“Why not escape then?”

“Alas; they would kill me. No one will help me.”

“I’ll find someone who will,” said the young man, who wore a naval commander’s uniform; and he ran to the cacique’s tent, Ascencion following him more slowly. In another minute both strangers reappeared, talking earnestly in a language which the girl could only suppose to be English, as the second sailor was very tall and of fair complexion. When they had almost reached her, the Portuguese officer suddenly touched his cap and set off running full speed back towards the river. The other beckoning to her, and addressing her gently in tolerable Portuguese, said:

“Is it true that you are a prisoner, my poor lass?”

The girl hesitated, for the cacique, who had guessed something of the import of the white men’s conversation, was laying his hand on the haft of his knife. But the Englishman noticed the action, and immediately began to finger his sword-hilt.

“Speak up,” he said; “there is nothing to be afraid of.”

Then, interrupted every now and then by indignant remonstrance or denial from the chief, Ascencion told her story.

“Very well,” said the sailor at length. “Come on board my ship; I shall take you up the river to Corrientes, and leave you with some English ladies till your friends can be communicated with.”

“Not so fast, Señor,” said the cacique, assuming a more bullying tone. “Of course you can take her—if you like to pay the price I——”

The officer whipped out his sword. “This is the only price I pay,” he said curtly.

A Plucky RescueThe Indians surrounded the officer and the shrinking Portuguese girl. The Cacique threatened him with his hatchet, but a touch of the Englishman’s sword-point at his throat made him reconsider his designs. Another Indian made at him with a knife, only to receive such a blow across the ear with the flat of the sword as knocked him to the ground.

The cacique laughed contemptuously, and with a53single shout summoned the couple of dozen men who happened to be within hearing, and who surrounded the Englishman and the shrinking girl in an instant, swinging their war-hatchets, and yelling one against the other.

“Oh, stop that din, do,” said the officer with good-humoured impatience. “Listen to me, my lads. I am Commandante Don Pedro—or plain Peter Campbell, if you like that better. I’ve got a cutter and twenty men a few yards away, to say nothing of a ten-gun brig with sixty hands aboard of her, in the stream. Now, are you going to stand clear?”

Brigs and cutters were meaningless to the Indians; but what they did understand was the sudden appearance from among the trees of Don Edwardo, the Portuguese captain, followed by a dozen sturdy seamen—English, Yankee, and Portuguese, armed with muskets and cutlasses.

The cacique re-echoed his war-cry and threatened Campbell with his hatchet; but a touch of the Englishman’s sword-point at his throat made him reconsider his designs. Another Indian made at the “admiral” with a knife—only to receive such a blow across the ear with the flat of the sword as knocked him to the ground. The tramp of the seamen stopped, and, at the command, muskets were slung and cutlasses drawn.

The cacique bade his men drop their arms—almost a needless recommendation.

“Take her,” he said sullenly.

Campbell pointed to the man whom he had knocked down. “Take away his knife,” he said, addressing his54boatswain, a burly Yankee. “Now—you have attempted to kill an Englishman, and you shall die.” Don Pedro felt the edge of the knife and gave it a final “strop” on his palm. “I’m going to cut his head off, as a warning to the rest of you,” he said, so sternly that the Indians and even the cacique uttered little cries of terror.

Ascencion began to think that Englishmen were no more merciful than other people; for, as the Indian crouched whimpering at Don Pedro’s feet, he stooped and brandished the knife with all the coolness of a butcher. But, to her amazement, when he stood up again, the head was still in its normal position, while, in his left hand, Campbell held the braided pigtail of hair, full five feet long, which had proudly adorned the head of the would-be assassin; and he, still doubting his good fortune in having got off so cheaply, sprang up and made headlong for the woods.

This is but one of the scores of anecdotes told of the celebrated soldier of fortune, Peter Campbell, who, whatever may have been his faults, was never known to show fear, to be disloyal to his employers or unjust to the Indians; indeed, by his unfailing good nature and sense of fairness and fun, he succeeded in adjusting many a tribal or political grievance which in the hands of most men, however well-meaning, would probably have ended in bloodshed.

The Portuguese girl was taken up the river, and when she returned to her parents she was accompanied by a husband, for she married an Irish settler in Corrientes.

Back to Index Next