Before they set out the following morning, the canoes were completely finished, and oars and paddles added: thus their progress was safe and easy, and for three days no accident arrested their course; but on the fourth day they were compelled to land, to repair a rent in one of the canoes, and were startled at their labor by the sound of the "coo-ee" and an alarming rustling among the trees. Without delay the canoes were carried to the water, and all embarked; nor had they proceeded twenty yards before a large opening appeared in the wooded bank, which had evidently been cleared by fire. Here they beheld the first permanent settlement of the natives they had yet met with. Many large huts stood round, formed of boughs, and thatched with bark. Several fires were burning, around which the women and children were gathered, and a number of men, armed with spears and clubs, advanced to the bank with threatening aspect, when they saw the canoes.
Loud and angry words were heard, which Baldabella interpreted to be,—"What for white men come here? Go away! go away!" And the way in which they waved their clubs and stone tomahawks was very intimidating.
"Best take no notish of their antics, Mr. Arthur," said Wilkins; and, all agreeing in the wisdom of the counsel, they rowed forward, the men still uttering defiance against the strange invaders, and apparently amazed that their threats were received with indifference. But Ruth, whom Jenny had been ineffectually endeavoring to calm, at last could no longer control her terror, and poured forth such a succession of shrieks, that the savages seemed encouraged, and immediately directed a volley of spears against the canoes.
The swift motion happily discomfited their attempt, and but one spear took effect, seriously wounding the right arm of Ruth, which she had held up to shield her face.
A few moments carried the boats beyond the reach of the weapons, and they continued their voyage, till they believed themselves safe from the pursuit of the assailants. Mr. Mayburn and Margaret bound up the wound of Ruth, which bled profusely, and was very painful, and she could not be persuaded that she should ever recover. She declared that she was killed, and she earnestly begged that she might be buried in a church-yard, till Jenny, out of patience with her cowardice, said,—
"Be quiet, ye silly wench; where think ye we're to find a church-yard among these heathens?"
"Then they'll eat me, Jenny!" she cried, in great horror.
"Be comforted, Ruth," said Margaret; "you are under the protection of a merciful God; and as long as we are spared, we will take care of you, and even bury you if it be His will that you die before us. But, believe me, Ruth, though your wound must be painful, there is no danger for your life, unless you cry and fret yourself into a fever; so pray be patient."
"I will, Miss Marget," sobbed she. "Indeed I will, if you will feed my hens, and gather corn, whiles, for 'em. Shame on them black savages as burned down all that good corn."
The fretfulness and timidity of Ruth, however, inflamed the wound greatly; and before the next day ended, they thought it prudent to disembark at some quiet spot, where she could have shelter and rest. The banks of the river had now become rocky, gradually sloping upwards to rugged and irregular mountains, amongst which they trusted to find the shelter they desired. A sloping bank offered them a landing-place, and they disembarked, and the men bearing the light canoes on their shoulders, they left the river. Jack carried Ruth, now quite unfit for exertion, in his arms, and they were soon plunged into a maze of mountains, cut apart by narrow ravines, some of which were choked with fallen stones, and through others clear streams of water poured between rocks covered with new and graceful ferns, some of which were of gigantic size.