Chapter Eight.
Several days passed quietly away, most of the party going out for a few hours at a time to endeavour to shoot any animals or birds which might serve to vary their diet. At length, however, they fancied themselves strong enough to prosecute their journey, and a day was fixed on which to commence it. One morning the party, as was their custom, went out in pairs to hunt. Jack accompanied Sambo. They were later than usual, but on their return they saw no signs of a fire at their hut, nor any sounds from their companions. Jack’s heart sunk within him. On reaching the hut his apprehensions were verified. It was stripped almost of everything. The articles too bulky to be carried off were broken in pieces. What had become of their companions? “Me fear killed,” said Sambo, who had been looking anxiously about. He beckoned to Jack, and penetrating through the wood to a short distance they found the dead bodies of two of their late companions. Sambo, after examining the marks on the ground, declared it his belief that their other two companions had been carried off by the Indians, Jack’s first impulse was to run away from the fatal spot, but on consulting with Sambo they agreed that the Indians, having carried off every thing, were not likely to return: besides, without the mate to guide them, they were unable to find their way to the European settlements. He, with the other man, had probably been carried away by the Indians. All they could hope for was that some vessel might visit that part of the coast and take them off.
They had guns, but a very small supply of powder, and this they determined to keep to make a signal should it be necessary. As, however, Sambo knew a variety of methods of trapping both birds and beasts and of catching fish, and also what roots and fruits were wholesome and unwholesome, they were not likely to want food. Day after day, and week after week, and month after month passed away, till Jack lost all count of time and began to fear that no vessel would ever come to take them off. Several times in the summer they met with traces of Indians, but Sambo was always able to avoid them. Numberless were the adventures they met with and the risks they ran. Jack had reason to be thankful that he had so intelligent a companion and faithful a friend as Sambo, though they had not much power of interchanging ideas. “What matters the colour of our skin?” thought Jack. “The same God made us both, and I love him as a brother.” At length Jack began to be very anxious to get away. He thought that he might have to live there for ever. Sambo was much more contented with his lot.
Some twenty months or so had passed away since the shipwreck, when one morning, as Jack went to the top of a cliff to take his usual look for a vessel, he saw a large brig standing along the shore about a mile to the northward. He hurried back to the cave to call Sambo, and to get their musket with the few rounds of ammunition they had left. The two returned to the shore. Jack’s heart beat quicker than it had ever before done. Off he set, followed by Sambo along the beach in the direction of the brig. He was afraid she might stand off shore again without any on board observing them. At length they came abreast of the brig. They shouted and waved their handkerchiefs; still no notice was taken of them. “We must fire,” said Jack. But the powder flashed in the pan. He tried again. “Make haste! make haste!” shouted Sambo. They were standing on the summit of a rock which lay on the beach, with a wide extent of open country which sloped up from the shore behind them. There, galloping towards them at full speed, were a band of mounted Indians. Jack again primed the musket. It went off. He loaded and fired again. The signal was observed on board the brig, and a gun was fired in return. The reports of the firearms had the effect of making the Indians rein in their steeds and look about them. At the same time a boat put off from the brig. She was immediately perceived by the Indians, and again they advanced, but more cautiously than before. Jack and Sambo looked anxiously at the boat. It was doubtful whether she or the Indians would reach them first. They rushed down to the beach and waded into the water. The crew of the boat saw their danger. On came the Indians with terrific yells, flourishing their lassoes high above their heads. Jack and Sambo saw that narrow indeed was their chance of escape. The brig had been standing in shore. Just then she brought her broadside to bear, and opening her ports sent a shower of round shot among the Indians. Two or three of their saddles were emptied and they again halted. The delay enabled Jack and Sambo to spring into the boat. Scarcely had her head been pulled round, when the Indians, again galloping on, dashed into the water and endeavoured to throw their lassoes over their heads. One man was very nearly caught, but he had a sharp knife ready to cut the rope as it reached his neck. Others among the Indians shot arrows at them, but the boat’s crew having no arms could not retaliate, and Jack’s musket had got wet. By smart pulling they were soon safe on board the brig.