Martin Rattler by R. M. Ballantyne (classic novels .TXT) 📕

comical frown when he came to this and saw the leader of the party rest his weight in the loop, and, in clinging with hands and legs to the long rope, work himself slowly across.

"Arrah! it's well for us, Martin, that we're used to goin' aloft," said he, "or that same bridge would try our narves a little."

"So it would, Barney. I've seldom seen a more uncomfortable-looking contrivance. If we lost our hold we should first be dashed to pieces on the rocks, and then be drowned in the river."

Difficult though the passage seemed, however? it was soon accomplished by the active savages in safety. The only one of the party likely to be left behind was Grampus; whom his master, after much entreaty in dumb-show, was permitted to carry over by tying him firmly to his shoulders. Marmoset crossed over walking, like a tight-rope dancer, being quite au fait at such work. Soon after they came to another curious bridge over a ravine. It had been constructed by simply felling two tall trees on the edge of it in such a manner that they fell across. They were bound together with the supple vines that grew there in profusion. Nature had soon covered the whole over with climbing plants and luxuriant verdure; and the bridge had become a broad and solid structure over which the whole party marched with perfect ease. Several such bridges were crossed, and also a few of the rope kind, during the journey.

After many weeks' constant travelling, the Indians came to a beautiful valley one evening just about sunset, and began to make the usual preparations for encamping. The spot they selected was a singular one. It was at the foot of a rocky gorge, up which might be seen trees and bushes mingled with jagged rocks and dark caverns, with a lofty sierra or mountain range in the background. In front was the beautiful valley which they had just crossed. On a huge rock there grew a tree of considerable size, the roots of which projected beyond the rock several yards, and then, bending downwards, struck into the ground. Creeping plants had twined thickly among the roots, and thus formed a sort of lattice-work which enclosed a large space of ground. In this natural arbour the chiefs of the Indians took up their quarters and kindled their fire in the centre of it, while the main body of the party pitched their camp outside. The three prisoners were allotted a corner in the arbour; and, after having supped, they spread their ponchos on a pile of ferns, and found themselves very snug indeed.

"Martin," said Barney, gravely, as he smoked his pipe and patted the head of his dog, "d'ye know I'm beginning to feel tired o' the company o' thim naked rascals, and I've been revolvin' in my mind what we should do to escape. Moreover, I've corned to a conclusion."

"And what's that?" inquired Martin.

"That it's unposs'ble to escape at all, and I don't know what to do."

"That's not a satisfactory conclusion, Barney. I, too, have been cogitating a good deal about these Indians, and it is my opinion that they have been on a war expedition, for I've noticed that several of them have been wounded; and, besides, I cannot fancy what else could take them so far from home."

"True, Martin, true. I wonder what they intind to do with us. They don't mean to kill us, anyhow; for if they did they would niver take the trouble to bring us here. Ochone! me heart's beginnin' to go down altogether; for we are miles and miles away from anywrhere now, and I don't know the direction o' no place whatsumdiver."

"Never mind, Barney, cheer up," said Martin with a smile; "if they don't kill us that's all we need care about. I'm sure we shall manage to escape somehow or other in the long-run."

While they thus conversed the old trader spread his poncho over himself and was soon sound asleep; while the Indians, after finishing supper, held an animated conversation. At times they seemed to be disputing, and spoke angrily and with violent gesticulations, glancing now and then at the corner where their prisoners lay.

"It's my belafe," whispered Barney, "that they're spakin' about us. I'm afeard they don't mean us any good. Och, but if I wance had my pistol and the ould cutlass. Well, well, it's of no manner o' use frettin'. Good-night, Martin, good-night!"

The Irishman knocked the ashes out of his pipe, turned his face to the wall, and, heaving a deep sigh, speedily forgot his cares in sleep. The Indians also lay down, the camp-fires died slowly out; and the deep breathing of the savages alone betokened the presence of man in that lone wilderness.

Barney's forebodings proved to be only too well founded; for next morning, instead of pursuing their way together, as usual, the savages divided their forces into two separate bands, placing the Irishman and the old trader in the midst of one, and Martin Rattler with the other.

"Surely they're niver goin' to part us, Martin," said Barney with a care-worn expression on his honest countenance that indicated the anxious suspicions in his heart.

"I fear it much," replied Martin with a startled look, as he watched the proceedings of the Indians. "We must fight now, Barney, if we should die for it. We must not be separated."

Martin spoke with intense fervour and gazed anxiously in the face of his friend. A dark frown had gathered there. The sudden prospect of being forcibly torn from his young companion, whom he regarded with almost a mother's tenderness, stirred his enthusiastic and fiery temperament to its centre, and he gazed wildly about, as if for some weapon. But the savages anticipated his intention; ere he could grasp any offensive weapon two of their number leaped upon him, and at the same moment Martin's arms were pinioned in a powerful grasp.

"Och, ye murderin' blackguards!" cried Barney, hitting out right and left and knocking down a savage at each blow. "Now or niver! come on, ye kangaroos!"

A general rush was made upon the Irishman, who was fairly overturned by the mass of men. Martin struggled fiercely to free himself, and would have succeeded had not two powerful Indians hastened to the help of the one who had first seized him. Despite his frantic efforts, he was dragged forcibly up the mountain gorge, the echoes of which rang with his cries as he shouted despairingly the name of his friend. Barney fought like a tiger; but he could make no impression on such numbers. Although at least a dozen Indians lay around him bleeding and stunned by the savage blows of his fists,—a species of warfare which was entirely new to them,—fresh savages crowded round. But they did not wish to kill him, and numerous though they were, they found it no easy matter to secure so powerful a man; and when Martin turned a last despairing glance towards the camp, ere a turn in the path shut it out from view, the hammer-like fists of his comrade were still smashing down the naked creatures who danced like monkeys round him, and the war-like shouts of his stentorian voice reverberated among the cliffs and caverns of the mountain pass long after he was hid from view.

Thus Martin and Barney were separated in the wild regions near the Sierra dos Parecis of Brazil.

CHAPTER XX MARTIN REFLECTS MUCH, AND FORMS A FIRM RESOLVE—THE INDIAN VILLAGE

When the mind has been overwhelmed by some sudden and terrible calamity, it is long ere it again recovers its wonted elasticity. An aching void seems to exist in the heart, and a dead weight appears to press upon the brain, so that ordinary objects make but little impression, and the soul seems to turn inwards and brood drearily upon itself. The spirit of fun arid frolick, that had filled Martin Rattler's heart ever since he landed in Brazil, was now so thoroughly and rudely crushed, that he felt as if it were utterly impossible that he should ever smile again.

He had no conception of the strength of his affection for the rough, hearty sailor, who had until now been the faithful and good-humoured companion of his wanderings. As Barney had himself said on a former occasion, his life up till this period had been a pleasant and exciting dream. But he was now awakened rudely to the terrible reality of his forlorn position; and the more he thought of it the more hopeless and terrible it appeared to be.

He knew not in what part of Brazil he was; he was being hurried apparently deeper into these vast solitudes by savages who were certainly not friendly, and of whose language he knew not a word; and worst of all, he was separated perhaps for ever from the friend on whom, all unconsciously to himself, he had so long leaned for support in all their difficulties and dangers. Even though he and Barney should succeed in escaping from the Indians, he felt—and his heart was overwhelmed at the thought—that in such a vast country there was not the shadow of a chance that they should find each other. Under the deep depression produced by these thoughts Martin wandered on wearily, as if in a dream—taking no interest in anything that occurred by the way. At length, after several days fatiguing journey over mountains and plains, they arrived at the Indian village.

Here the warriors were received with the utmost joy by the wives and children whom they had left behind, and for a long time Martin was left almost entirely to do as he pleased. A few days before, his bonds had been removed, and once or twice he thought of attempting to escape; but whenever he wandered a little further than usual into the woods, he found that he was watched and followed by a tall and powerful savage, whose duty it evidently was to see that the prisoner did not escape. The fearful idea now entered Martin's mind that he was reserved for torture, and perhaps a lingering death; for he had read that many savage nations treated their prisoners in this cruel manner, for the gratification of the women who had lost relations in the war. But as no violence was offered to him in the meantime, and he had as much farina and fruit to eat as he could use, his mind gradually became relieved, and he endeavoured as much as possible to dismiss the terrible thought altogether.

The Indian village occupied a lovely situation at the base of a gentle hill or rising ground, the summit of which was clothed with luxuriant trees and shrubs. The huts were of various shapes and sizes, and very simple in construction. They were built upon the bare ground; some were supported by four corner posts, twelve or fifteen feet high, and from thirty to forty feet long, the walls being made of thin laths connected with wicker-work and plastered with clay. The doors were made of palm-leaves, and the roofs were covered with the same material, or with maize straw. Other huts were made almost entirely of palm-leaves and tent-shaped in form; and, while a few were enclosed by walls, the most of the square ones had one or more sides entirely open. In the large huts several families dwelt together, and each family had a hearth and a portion of the floor allotted to it. The smoke from their fires was allowed to find its way out by the doors and chinks in the roofs, as no chimneys were constructed for its egress.

The furniture of each hut was very simple. It consisted of a few earthen pots; baskets made of palm-leaves, which were filled with Spanish potatoes, maize, mandioca roots, and various kinds of wild fruits; one or two drinking vessels; the hollow trunk of a tree, used for pounding maize in; and several dishes which contained the colours used by the Indians in painting their naked bodies,—a custom which was very prevalent amongst them. Besides these things, there were bows, arrows, spears, and blow-pipes in abundance; and hammocks hung from various posts, elevated about a foot from the ground. These hammocks were made of cotton cords, and served the purpose of tables, chairs, and beds.

The ground in the immediate neighbourhood of the village was laid out in patches, in which were cultivated mandioca roots, maize, and other plants useful for domestic purposes. In front of the village there was an extensive valley, through which a small river gurgled with a pleasant sound. It was hemmed in on all sides by wooded mountains, and was so beautifully diversified by scattered clusters of palms, and irregular patches of undulating