Chapter Ninety One.
The Enemy in Sight.
There was no debating the question as to the course they should take. This was opposite to the direction in which lay the malocca. In other words, they struck out for the open water, almost in the same track by which they had come from the other bide while navigating the tree-trunk.
Trevannion had suggested keeping “in shore” and under the shadow of the tree-tops.
“No use,” said the tapuyo; “in ten minutes more there will be light over the water. We’ll be seen all the same, and by following the line of the forest we should give our pursuers the advantage; they, by keeping straight across, would easily overtake us. The trees go round in a circle, don’t you see?”
“True,” replied Trevannion; “I did not think of that. It is to be hoped we shall not have pursuers.”
“If we have they will soon come up with us, for they have more paddles, and are better skilled in the use of them; if they come after us at all, they will be sure to overtake us.”
“Then we shall be captured,—perhaps destroyed.” This was spoken in a whisper in the ear of the tapuyo.
“It don’t follow,—one or the other. If it did, I shouldn’t have much hope in handling this bit of a stick. We may be pursued, overtaken, and still get off in the end. They may not like close quarters any more than we. That, you see, depends on how many of their vessels are gone to the bottom, and how many are still afloat. If more than half that were scuttled have sunk, we may dread their arrows more than their oars. If more than half are above water, we shall be in more danger from their speed.”
Notwithstanding the enigmatical character of the tapuyo’s speeches, Trevannion, as well as the others, was able to understand them. He simply meant that, if the enemy were left without a sufficient number of canoes to pursue them in large force, they would not think of boarding, but would keep at a distance, using their arrows in the attack.
It was by no means a pleasant prospect; still, it was pleasanter than the thought of coming to close quarters with a crowd of cannibal savages, and being either hacked to pieces with their knives, clubbed to death with their macanas, or dragged overboard and drowned in the lagoa.
“In five minutes more,” continued the tapuyo, “we shall know the best or the worst. By that time it will be light enough to see in under the trees yonder. By that time, if they have a single igarité above water, she’ll be baled out. By that time they should be after us. If we don’t see them in five minutes, we need never look for them again.”
A minute—another—a third elapsed, and still no appearance of pursuers or pursuit. Slower still seemed the fourth, though it too passed, and no movement on the water. Every heart beat with hope that the time would transpire without any change. But, alas! it was not to be so. The black line was broken by the bow of a canoe, and in an instant after the craft itself was seen gliding out from under the shadow of the trees. The tapuyo’s prediction was fulfilled.
“The big igarité!” he exclaimed. “Just what I had fears of; I doubted its going down in time. Eight in it! Well, that’s nothing, if the others have sunk.”
“But stay a moment,” returned Richard; “see yonder! Another coming out, farther down to the right!”
“That’s the cockle-shell we took from the harpooner. There are two in it, which is all it will hold. Only ten, as yet. Good! if that’s their whole strength, we needn’t fear their coming to close quarters. Good!”
“I can make out no more,” said the young Paraense, who had suspended paddling to get a better view of the pursuers. “I think there are no more.”
“Just my thoughts,” rejoined the tapuyo. “I had that idea all along. I was sure the small craft had gone down. You remember we heard a splashing before we got well off,—it was caused by the sinking of the igarités. Our hope is that only the big one has kept afloat. As yet I see no others.”
“Nor I,” added Richard. “No, there are but the two.”
“Thank Heaven for that!” exclaimed Trevannion. “There will be but ten against us. Though we are not equal in numbers, surely we should be a match for such puny savages as these. O that we only had arms!”
As he said this, the ex-miner looked into the bottom of the canoe to see what there was available in the way of weapons. There was the pashuba spear, which Munday had pitched in along with the strips of charqui; and there was another weapon equally effective in hands skilled in its use. It was a sort of barbed javelin or harpoon, the one with which the manatee-hunter had struck the juarouá. During the day, while doing nothing else, Munday had amused himself by completing the conquest of the peixe-boi, which he found, by the line and float, had got entangled among the tree-tops. Its carcass had been left where it was killed, for it was the weapon only which he coveted. In addition to these, there were the paddles,—those manufactured from the shoulder-blades of the cow-fish,—looking like weapons that it would be awkward to have come in contact with one’s skull in a hostile encounter. Last, and not least to be depended upon, there was the tapuyo’s own knife, in the use of which he had already given proofs of his skill. In a hand-to-hand contest with ten savages, armed as these might be, there was not so much to be dreaded.
But Munday assured them that there would be no danger of a close fight. There were no more canoes in sight. Twenty minutes had now elapsed since the two had shot out from the trees, and if there had been others they would long since have declared themselves. Arrows or javelins were the only weapons they would have to dread; and with these they would most certainly be assailed.
“They’ll be sure to overtake us,” said he; “there are six of them at the paddles, and it’s easy to see that they’re already gaining ground. That’s no reason why we should wait till they come up. When the fight takes place, the farther we’re away from their village the better for us; as who knows but they may fish up some of their swamped canoes, and come at us with a reserve force. To the paddles, then, and pull for our lives!”