CHAPTER VII.NED AND THE MULE-DRIVER.
Wehad two sets of native auxiliaries. One consisted of a fine lot of Spanish baggage-mules, strong hardy beasts, thoroughly acclimatized, and remarkably sure-footed; and the other a little bevy of guides, interpreters, and spies, without whose aid we could have accomplished little or nothing, for we were entirely ignorant of the country we were about to traverse, and our knowledge of Spanish was confined to about a dozen words or so.
The spies, some of whom were negroes and the others half-castes, assured us that they had tracked the mutineers for some distance, and were well acquainted with the route they had taken, which was a beaten track leading straight into the interior. These swarthy fellows also asserted that a body of insurgents had accompanied the lawless crew of theFlying-fishin their retreat. We questioned them asto any knowledge they might have acquired with regard to the whereabouts of the valuable cargo which it was the object of our expedition to recover. About that they declared that they knew nothing whatever, although they confessed to having heard rumours that large bodies of men were passing and repassing between the shores of the creek and the spurs of the inland hills during the whole of the day before theRattler’sarrival upon the scene.
“’Tis a good thing we’ve no field-guns and limber-waggons with us,” said Ned Burton to me as we marched along; “they’d have delayed us terribly, and prevented our making forced marches.”
“You think we’ll soon come up with them then?” said I. “For my own part I hope the fun won’t be over too soon. If we returned victorious in a couple of days, the fellows left on board would be sure to jeer at us, and say we had only gone for a sort of picnic into the mountains.”
“Ah, ’twill take more than a couple of days even under the most favourable circumstances,” answered Ned. “I take it these merchant-service fellows haven’t got marching-legs, so to speak, and are perhaps encumbered with wounded men, but still they’ve got a pretty fair start, you see, and that ain’t a thing to be sneezed at.”
“The difficulty will be to find where they have hidden away the booty,” I said; “no doubt the insurgents have put them up to a wrinkle or two, knowing every inch of the country as they do.”
“Doesn’t theRattlerlook jolly?” exclaimed an enthusiastic voice at my elbow.
I turned and beheld Fitzgerald, who still had a slight limp as a legacy from the morning’sfracas.
“Poor old ‘hop-and-go-one,’ what’s he trying to say?” I asked in a jocose tone, and clapping him on the shoulder rather harder than was altogether necessary.
“‘Do you bite your thumb at me, sir?’” demanded Fitzgerald, tapping his sword-hilt with his left hand, and trying hard but very unsuccessfully not to laugh.
“‘I do bite my thumb, sir,’” I answered promptly, and trying to put on a swashbuckler air; “but I need not say that I should infinitely prefer to bite yours or even Mr. Triggs’s.”
“Then old ‘hop-and-go-one’ and old ‘hop-o’-my thumb’ would be sworn chums for ever and ever,” laughed Fitzgerald; “but at this moment I don’t want to fall out with you, honour bright! I want you to look back at that magnificent view, and the dear oldRattlerin the middle of it. I never saw a more lovely picture!”
Fitz was an artist of no mean capacity, and I strongly suspected that he had at that moment a paint-box and brushes in his pocket. Hand-cameras would have enchanted him, but they had not then been invented.
It certainly was a lovely view, and I felt grateful to my brother-middy for calling my attention to it.
We had been winding gradually along the summit of a low range of hills, on the outermost spur of which was situated the fort we had just evacuated. The gradient was upwards, though in no place steep, and we had now reached a somewhat extensive plateau covered with short springy sward. From this point of vantage we had a full and extensive view of the winding tortuous creek; the hills, clad with palm groves, which enclosed it; and the broad blue sea beyond, glittering in the sunshine, and here and there barred with purple cloud-shadows. For the primrose streaks of colour in the sky had melted away as if by magic, and the glorious sun had recalled a sleeping world to life. In the roadstead our beautiful frigate lay calmly and serenely at anchor, her guns frowning from the portholes, and her shapely hull and taut spars and rigging reflected with extraordinary fidelity in the waters which appeared to sleep in the warmrays of the sun. Astern lay theFlying-fish, which, though a well-built vessel, lacked the trim appearance and impressiveness of the British man-of-war. Above, the blue vault of heaven stretched away into limitless infinity, its tint of deepest azure only broken here and there by a few sluggishly-moving clouds and the white wings of innumerable sea-gulls.
As we gazed admiringly at our floating home we saw the proud white ensign slowly ascend to her gaff, drooping listlessly in the stagnant air; and the distant strains of “God save the Queen” came faintly to our ears through the still, clear atmosphere of a Cuban early morning.
“Eight bells!” I cried. “If we were on board the old hooker, Fitz, we should be just sitting down to eat salt-junk and swill gunroom catlap.”
“Instead of which we’re out upon the war-path,” said Fitzgerald, “and, like Fenimore Cooper’s Indian braves, are dying to scalp the enemy.”
A halt was called just at this moment on account of a stampede amongst some of the baggage-mules.
The gunnery lieutenant, who was very anxious to push on and find traces of the enemy, was exceedingly angry at this unlooked-for delay.
“Mr. Darcy,” he sang out to me, “ascertain atonce the cause of that stampede among the mules; and if it was due in any way to the cruelty of the Spanish drivers, have the delinquents brought before me, and I’ll give them a lesson they won’t forget in a hurry.”
I touched my cap and ran off to the rear to make inquiries, expecting endless difficulties in having to conduct an investigation with native mule-drivers who were most probably as ignorant of the English language as I was of Spanish.
Meanwhile about a dozen of the mules were careering about wildly in the neighbouring ravines, pursued by their shouting and screaming owners. Some of the frightened animals had already rid themselves of their burdens, and the ground was strewn with bags of biscuit, preserved provisions, and cases of ammunition.
The worthy Mr. Triggs proved to be a friend in need to me, for on reaching the spot where the main body of the baggage-animals was collected, I found him firmly holding a swarthy Cuban by the scruff of the neck and administering to another portion of his body some hearty kicks.
“This is the rascal that caused all the mischief with the mules, Mr. Darcy,” he exclaimed in ratherbreathless tones as I ran up. “The cruel brute broke several sticks over the back of a poor mule that had gone dead lame, and the wretched animal was in such pain and so frightened that it broke away, and seems to have infected a lot of the others with its terror.”
I promptly seized the culprit by one arm.
“You come along with me,” I said; “our chief is going to have you tried by a drumhead court-martial, and perhaps shot, according to the regulations of war.”
I do not know if the wretch understood what I was saying, but he commenced to struggle and shout defiantly in his native tongue.
Mr. Triggs, however, seized him by the other arm in an iron grip, and, in spite of his writhings and kickings, we hurried him forward to the spot where the gunnery lieutenant was standing awaiting events.
The gunner related to his superior in a few words how he had caught the culprit in the very act of brutally ill-treating a helpless lame mule.
“Is there an interpreter there?” demanded Mr. Thompson.
A respectable-looking elderly Spaniard stepped forward and took off his sombrero with a sweeping bow.
“Be good enough to tell this fellow that he is a heartless cowardly brute,” said the lieutenant sternly,and pointing to the still defiant-looking mule-driver; “ask him what he means by such conduct.”
The Spaniard interpreted the officer’s words, but the culprit obstinately and sullenly refused to answer a word.
“Where is the stick with which he belaboured the poor mule?” demanded the gunnery lieutenant.
“Here it is, sir,” said Ned Burton, coming up at that moment with a long, business-like cane in his hand.
“We’ll now give him a taste of what the poor mule felt,” said the lieutenant. “A couple of you smart blue-jackets tie the fellow up to that stump of a tree.”
The culprit resisted with all his strength, and attempted to bite, scratch, and kick; but the two brawny seamen made short work of his struggles, and soon had him securely lashed to the tree.
“One dozen,” said Mr. Thompson, nodding to Ned Burton significantly.
My coxswain touched his cap, grinned, and rolled up his sleeve in a workmanlike manner.
“Trust me to polish him off!” I heard him mutter to himself; “I can’t abide them furriners that wreaks their bad temper on dumb animals that can’t ’it you back agin—smother me if I can!”
As soon as the fellow’s flogging was over, he wasturned out of the camp and told that his services were no longer required. Then, the scattered mules having been secured again, we once more set out on our march towards the interior.
The sun had now attained to a considerable altitude in the heavens, and as there was an absence of wind, even upon the heights, the heat and glare became intense. Not a single grumble was heard, however, the men being much too gay and light-hearted to care whether they were baked like salamanders or not. Our spirits were kept up by the novelty and excitement of active service on shore and the assurances of the guides that ere long we should reach the outskirts of a forest, which it would be necessary to traverse, and where plenty of shade would shield us from the sun’s overpowering rays.
“Give me old Father Sol and an open country,” observed Ned Burton to me, “in preference to jungle and the shade of trees. I’d sooner chance a sunstroke than the ambush of a skulking enemy!”
“You think they may lie in wait for us,” I said. “If they do we shall give them a drubbing.”
“I wouldn’t put it past them,” said my coxswain. “These Cubans, I believe, are as wily as sarpents; and as to drubbing them and their mutinous pals, it’s justa question of whether they’ve the sperrit to meet us in the open or not. If theyhave, well, we shall just eat ’em up. Trust theRattlerboys for an out-and-out shindy, Mr. Darcy.”
I was on the point of replying to my coxswain, when my attention was entirely absorbed by the sudden apparition of a large and compact cloud of horsemen emerging from behind some steep scarped rocks immediately in front, and some four or five hundred yards distant from the head of our column. They appeared to be about to charge us.
“Cavalry, as I’m a living sinner!” exclaimed Ned, slipping a cartridge into his rifle. “I’m jiggered if that don’t beat everything!”
It was certainly strange to find that the enemy had already secured some mounted allies. It looked as if we should find this expedition no child’s play—in fact, a great deal more like catching a Tartar.
“Prepare for cavalry!” thundered the gunnery lieutenant. “Keep steady, men, and we’ll soon send them to the right about.”
The horsemen were evidently provided with carbines, for as they wheeled up into position they fired a wild volley at us, and then dashed forward at full gallop straight in our direction.