Some broken blow-guns and spears lay about, but otherwise there was scarcely any evidence of a struggle. The attack must have been made at the dead of night; and from the dreadful way the victims had been cut and hacked about, the probability is that revenge had instigated the attack quite as much as the hopes of plunder.
Close to the village, at a bend of the river, they came upon several boats drawn up on the beach. They had evidently been used very shortly before this, as evidenced by the number of fresh banana skins lying here and there. The hostile Indians must have come in these war-canoes therefore; and it was certain they had not gone. Indeed, from the care with which the paddles were secured, and the boats themselves shaded by bushes from the sun, it appeared certain they meant to return. Where were they now? In all probability they had gone farther inland, bent on plundering other peaceful villages; and Tom shuddered as he thought of the awful deeds that might be enacted in that lovely, still, forest land before the sun now declining towards the west should again rise and shine over the greenery of the woods.
What must now be done? was the next question to be considered. Savages on the war-path, their knives and hands still red with the fresh-drawn blood of fellow-savages, are but little likely to brook the presence of strangers in their midst. Tom knew he could not expect to gain anything by fair means. He must be on the defensive; and there was no time to lose.
So he held a council of war.
Tom proposed instant embarkation in the canoes, and a passage down the river. But wiser and more wary Samaro vetoed such a plan. They knew the dangers around them now, but to drop down an unknown river at night would almost certainly expose them to worse, not the least of which might be perils from rapids and cataracts.
But a sand bank or spit ran out into the river some distance down, and this could easily be fortified, and held against a whole cloud of hostile Indians. To decide was to act with Tom. The packages and stores were therefore immediately transferred to the boats, and landed on the spit; and at the land-side thereof a long trench was dug, where a kind of fort, formed of the bamboo fences dragged from the village, had been formed. Behind this they would be safe against even poisoned darts, for luckily there was no cover for the enemy anywhere very close at hand.
The sun was almost set, and Tom was having one final run round the village, to find out if there were not some poor wretch still alive that he might render assistance to. He came upon a footpath that led him for some distance directly away from the river, through the bush, to the very gates of an Indian compound of far greater pretensions than any he had yet seen. It must be a kind of palace, Tom thought. As he listened before pushing open the door of the hut, he heard the unmistakable moaning of someone in pain. He hesitated no longer, and next moment stood in the inner compartment. Here on a kind of raised wicker couch lay the insensible form of a woman, who, a glance told him, was certainly no Indian belonging to this land of Ecuador. Her face, though sadly racked by anguish, was very fair and finely chiselled. Her hair—long, dark, and straight, though now dishevelled—and her dress betokened her a kind of princess of the tribe.
She raised herself on her elbow as Tom entered, and looked at him for a moment wildly and wistfully.
“O,” she exclaimed, “an Englishman! You are not my boy, Bernard?”
“No, no,” cried Tom advancing excitedly. “I am not Bernard. I have come to seek him. O, it is awful to find you thus! You were the ayah on board the Southern Hope. Speak! tell me quickly where I can find Bernard.”