But there was method in their madness. To have run between the shelly host and the river, so as to cut off its retreat, would have been sheer lunacy, at which Luna herself—by that time shining superbly—would have paled with horror, for the men would have certainly been overthrown and trampled under foot by the charging squadrons. What the Indians did was to rush upon the flanks of the host, seize the animals’ tail, and hurl them over on their backs, in which position they lay flapping helplessly. Before the retreating “miserables” reached the river, hundreds of captives were thus obtained.
You may be sure that Lawrence and Pedro and Spotted Tiger acted their part well that night, and that Quashy was not long in learning his lesson!
The first tail the negro grasped slipped through his hands, so mighty was his effort, and, as a consequence, he sat down with that sudden involuntary flop which one associates irresistibly with nurseries. Jumping up, and rendered wise, he took a better grip next time, turned the turtle over, and fell on the top of it, receiving a tremendous whack on the cheek from its right flipper as a reward for his clumsiness. But practice makes perfect. Even in the brief space of time at his disposal, Quashy managed to turn ten turtles with his own hands, besides turning himself over six times, if not more.
Rendered wild by success, and desperate with anxiety, as the fugitives neared the river, the negro fixed his glittering eyes on a particularly huge turtle, which was scuttling along in almost drunken haste. With an impromptu war-howl, Quashy charged down on it, and caught it by the tail. With a heave worthy of Hercules he lifted his foe some inches off the sand, but failed to turn it. Making a second effort, he grasped the edge of the creature’s shell with his left hand, and the tail more firmly with the right.
“Huyp!” he shouted, and made a Herculean heave. A second time he would have failed, if it had not been that he was on the edge of a part of the trench which the turtles had not had time to fill up. The weight of the creature caused a fore-leg to break off part of the edge, and over it went, slowly, on its side,—almost balancing thus, and flapping as it went. To expedite the process Quashy seized it by the neck and gave another heave and howl. Unfortunately, the edge of the trench again gave way under one of his own feet, and he fell into it with a cry of distress, for the turtle fell on the top of him, crushing him down into the soft watery sand!
Well was it for Quashy that night that Lawrence Armstrong had good ears, and was prompt to respond to the cry of distress, else had he come to an untimely and inglorious end! Hearing the cry, Lawrence looked quickly round, guessed the cause, shouted to Pedro, who was not far-off, and was soon on the spot,—yet not a moment too soon, for poor Quashy was almost squashy by that time. They dragged the turtle off, dug the negro out, and found that he had become insensible.
Raising him gently in their arms, they bore him up to the camp, where they found Manuela ready to minister to him.
“Dead!” exclaimed the horrified girl when she saw the negro laid down, and beheld the awful dirty-green colour of his countenance.
“I hope not,” replied Lawrence, earnestly.
“I’s sh–—squeesh!—sure not!” exclaimed Quashy himself, with a sneeze, as he opened his eyes.