Charlie, by some means, had come into possession of a horse pistol, considerably out of order, it is true; but it served to fill the place of one of the two pistols Robinson Crusoe found on board the Spanish ship. He was in daily expectation of finding another; but needing ammunition to store up against a coming fray with the cannibals on the shore, he helped himself frequently to the contents of his father’s powder-horn and bullet-pouch.
“What under the canopy makes my powder go so fast?” his father often exclaimed, as he replenished the mysteriously-wasting stock. The lad also begged ammunition of the free-hearted settlers, and by these means he laid up a surprisingly large amount of warlike munitions, kept securely in an old skin bag. He had also dried venison stowed away, and a good store of nuts, with pop-corn for parching, and potatoes for roasting–all against some coming time of need.
Now, it chanced that Charlie’s tree-cave turned to good account, as it saved his curly scalp; for the afternoon of the Indian outbreak,–with one eye on the Crusoe history, and the other watching 241 to see if any cannibals landed on the shore, taking an occasional sip from an old coffee-pot filled with spring water, which he called goat’s milk,–the whole frightful scene of the massacre passed before him. He saw dear little Bub run to meet Yellow Bank, and he also saw what his mother did not in the panic, that, just as the treacherous savage fired, the little fellow tripped and fell, unharmed by the bullet. He saw, at that instant, his sister Sarah start from the store for the cabin, and that the fiendish savage did not notice Bub’s escape, in his eagerness to intercept the girl; so that Bub, terrified by the report of the gun, and at seeing his sister struck down by Yellow Bank, dragged himself off in the direction of Charlie’s tree, not seeming to know but that he was going towards the cabin.
He saw the door of the cabin closed, and that preparations were made to keep out the savages, and that the whole attention of the Indians was turned on assaulting the house. So, cautiously creeping out, and placing one hand firmly over Bub’s mouth to prevent him from making a sound, he drew him into the tree. He was fully aware that he did this at the risk of his own life; for if the child made an outcry, their hiding-place would be discovered, and they would both be sacrificed. But he had too loving and noble a 242 nature to save his own life by leaving his darling pet brother exposed.
Charlie found it a difficult task to control himself sufficiently in the scenes that were passing before him to keep guard over Bub each instant, as he must, to prevent him from revealing their place of refuge. The little fellow had received a terrible fright, and at first struggled with singular strength to free himself from Charlie’s grasp, and Charlie’s arms ached from the constant strain in holding him; his efforts, however, were rewarded at last by Bub’s beginning to comprehend the case.
“It’s the wicked Indians,” whispered Charlie, “and they’ll kill us if we make any noise.”
Three days and nights came and went. How thankful Charlie was for the provisions and water which he had unwittingly provided for this fearful hour! He had the good sense, however, to be careful of the water; for he knew not how long he must stay there; and he taught Bub to eat very slowly, as he had heard his father say that the hunters did so on the plains to prevent thirst. It was a terrible ordeal for a boy of his tender years to witness the horrid sights transpiring around him; and then, when the neighboring cabins were fired, he was filled with fear, lest the cinders would set the tree ablaze.
Charlie hoped, through all this long watching, 243 for an opportunity to take refuge with his father and mother in the cabin; but the savages lay encamped around him, and several times an Indian crept upon his hands and knees, and fired from behind the tree at the inmates of the cabin.
Three days and nights–how long they were to the children in the tree! And yet there was nothing to indicate that they might not remain there as much longer, provided the defence of the cabin continued as persistently as it had done. There was still a good supply of food, although the potatoes had to be eaten raw. But the water grew nauseating, and if some more could not be obtained, what would they do? Bub began to be tormented with thirst, and once attempted to cry for water. He had borne up like a hero, controlled by his fears, sometimes seeming to forget his own wants and perils in his baby concern for his parents.
“Will the wicked Indians kill father and mother?” he once asked, his blue eyes wide with horror, and voice too loud for prudence, just as a savage was creeping up to take aim from behind the tree, so that Charlie had to guard him with ceaseless vigilance. But thirst–how could he expect that a little boy, like Bub, could long endure its torments without making his agony known? 244