“Yes,” answers young Gancy, “for the officer who took them away called the man York, the boy Jemmy, and the girl Fuegia.”
“That’s so. But how did she ever come to be named Fuegia?”
“That does seem odd; just now—”
“Hark! Hear that? the old fellow has just said ‘Ocushlu!’ That’s the name the other two gave the girl. What can it mean?”
But now the youths’ hurried dialogue is brought to an abrupt end. Annaqua has been out-voted, his authority set at nought, and the council broken up. The triumphant majority is advancing toward the camp, with an air of fierce resolve; women as well as men armed with clubs, flint-bladed daggers, and stones clutched in their closed fists. In vain is it now for Seagriff to call out “Brothers! Sisters!” The savages can no longer be cajoled by words of flattery or friendship; and he knows it. So do the others, all of whom are now standing on the defensive. Even Mrs Gancy and Leoline have armed themselves, and come out of the tent, determined to take part in the life-and-death conflict that seems inevitable. The sailor’s wife and daughter both have braved danger ere now, and, though never one like this, they will meet it undaunted.
It is at the ultimate moment that they make appearance, and seeing them for the first time, the savage assailants halt, hesitatingly—not through fear, but rather with bewilderment at the unexpected apparition. It moves them not to pity, however, nor begets within them one throb of merciful feeling. Instead, the Fuegian hags but seem more embittered at seeing persons of their own sex so superior to them, and, recovering from their surprise, they clamorously urge the commencement of the attack.
Never have the castaways been so near to death with such attendant horrors.
So near to it do they feel, that Captain Gancy groans, under his breath, “Our end is come!”
But not yet is it come. Once more is the Almighty Hand opportunely extended to protect them. A shout interrupts the attack—a joyous shout from one of the women watchers, who now, having forsaken her post, is seen coming down the slope of the spit at a run, frantically waving her arms and vociferating:
“Cabrelua! Cabrelua!” (“They come! they come!”)