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
“Not they; they have just gone down to the mouth of the river to see
whether that boat came from a ship lying off the shore or whether it was
alone. There, do you hear those yells? They have got out of the canoes,
and found the place where we camped last night. We walked about there a
good bit, and it ain’t likely they will be able to find out whether there
was seven or nine of us. Besides, I don’t think they will look much, for
they would take it for certain we should all go up the river together; and
so we should have done if it had not been that you and I were left behind
to look out for a sail.”
In half an hour the two canoes came back again. They both kept well over
to the opposite side of the river to avoid the full force of the current,
and the sailor and Stephen attempted to count the heads in their sterns.
They could not make out the number, but were inclined to agree that the
two dark masses were about the same size.
“I think there can only be three in each boat,” Steven said. “In that case
one man may have been made prisoner; at any rate, Wilcox, we will go on
and see.”
As soon as the canoes had gone round the bend of the river, they proceeded
on their way. The ground presently became exceedingly swampy, and they
could see by the pieces of dead wood and litter caught among the bushes,
that in times of flood the river must overflow its banks and extend a long
distance into the forest. From time to time they had to wade waist-deep
across channels by which the water from the marsh was draining slowly into
the river. Before crossing these, at Wilcox’s suggestion they each cut
down a bush and beat the water with it.
“I expect there are no end of alligators in this swamp,” the sailor said;
“and I know that the natives, before they cross streams where the brutes
are likely to be hiding, beat the water with sticks or bushes to frighten
them away.”
It was hard work walking, for they often sunk knee-deep in the wet soil,
but after toiling for nearly an hour they heard a confused noise ahead,
and could ere long make out the beating of drums and the wild shouts of
Malays, mingled with a deep roaring sound made by horns. They now went on
more cautiously, and presently could make out through the trees a large
native village standing upon rising ground by the side of the river.
Creeping cautiously to the edge of the bush they could see that a large
number of men, women, and children were assembled in an open space between
the houses and the water. The women were bringing bundles of wood, and a
column of smoke rising in the centre of the crowd showed that the
preparation for a feast had begun.
“If we had but one of our ten-pounders loaded with grape with us,” Wilcox
said, “I would pour a volley into those black devils if it cost me my life
afterwards.”
“What do you think they are going to do, Wilcox?”
“I reckon there ain’t much doubt about it,” the sailor replied; “they are
going to make a feast of our mess-mates.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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