With Cochrane the DauntlessHenty, G. A. (George Alfred)
General
With Cochrane the Dauntless
Henty, G. A. (George Alfred)
Biographical fiction; Dundonald, Thomas Cochrane, Earl of, 1775-1860
The struggle was continued in the water, the men stabbing each other
fiercely, while the Indian on board endeavoured in vain by his shouts to
induce them to abandon the strife. Presently one of them, struck to the
heart, threw up his arms and sank; the other turned to swim back to the
boat, but after one or two feeble strokes he too sank lower and lower, and
the water soon closed over his head. The remaining Indian stood, for a
time immovable, with terror and consternation in his face, and then he
shook his fist threateningly at Stephen, whom he evidently regarded as
being in some way the author of their misfortune, and then, taking up his
paddle, proceeded to row. His manner, however, was indecisive. He had lost
all confidence, and turned aside whenever the way was barred by creepers,
instead of trying to cut through them. At times he ceased paddling
altogether, and sat gazing restlessly around him, at other times he
paddled with feverish energy. Some water had come in over the gunwale
during the struggle between the Indians, and Stephen managed to turn
round, face downwards, to take a hearty drink.
When evening came on, the Indian was paddling almost mechanically, when
from a branch of a tree above something dropped down. For a moment Stephen
could not discern its nature. There was a swift, rapid movement, a
piercing cry from the Indian, followed by the sound of cracking bones, and
then the man was lifted bodily out of the boat. Stephen could now see two
great coils wrapped round his body, and the head of a gigantic python;
then, overcome by the horror of the scene he became unconscious. When he
recovered he found that the canoe had drifted away from the tree. He now
set to work desperately to loose his bonds, and after great efforts and
suffering severe pain, succeeded in getting one hand loose. After that the
rest was easy, and in a few minutes he was free. Seizing the paddle he
rowed away from the scene of the tragedy, and presently tied up to a young
sapling, whose head was just above the water.
His next step was to examine the contents of the canoe. It contained,
however, nothing but two or three fish dried in the sun, and some cakes,
of whose composition he was ignorant, save that they were certainly not
made of flour. Having satisfied his hunger and taken a long drink from the
water alongside, he fired his rifle three times, but no answering sound
came back. Knowing that he might only be paddling away from the river, he
stretched himself in the bottom of the canoe, and resolutely postponing
all thought of his position until daybreak, fell asleep. He awoke as soon
as it was light again, loaded and fired his gun three times, and again
listened for a response.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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