The Island of Gold: A Sailor's Yarn

Next day, and just after breakfast, on looking towards the hill-top, behold the red British ensign afloat on the flag-pole!

Shortly after this the signalman himself ran in.

“They are coming!” he cried; “they are coming!”

“And their strength?” asked Halcott calmly.

“Five great war-canoes, and each one of them contains at least thirty armed warriors.”

“And there may be more to follow. Humph! Well, we shall have to reckon with between two and three hundred at least. What about making overtures of peace to them, brother James?”

Now brother James, as has already been said, was a very practical kind of a Christian.

“Well,” he said, slowly and thoughtfully, “I think, Charlie Halcott, that in this case our duty lies straight and clear before us, and we’ve got to go for it. We shall just be content to make war first, and leave the peace to follow.”

Every man heard him, and the hearty British cheer they gave was re-echoed even from the hill itself.

It was agreed by all, however, that to fight these savages in the open would be but to court death and destruction to all hands.

Other tactics must be adopted. The enemy would no doubt land on the beach, and so the big gun was dragged towards the cliff-top. Here they would make their first stand, and, if possible, sink some of the war-canoes before they had a chance to land.

In savage warfare cover is considered of very great importance. It was determined, therefore, to deprive the invaders of this at any cost, so heaps of withered branches and foliage were collected and placed here and there all around the bay and close to the edge of the wood; and not only there, but on the table-land itself, between the encampment and Observatory Hill.

One of the most active young men was told off to fire those heaps, beginning at the farther side of the bay. His signal to do so would be a rifle, not the gun, fired from the top of the cliff.

In less than three hours’ time the great war-canoes were quite in view, slowly approaching the land. They were still ten miles away, however, and it was evident to every one that they meant to time themselves so as to land on the beach at Treachery Bay about an hour after sunset.

Another hour went slowly by. Through the glasses now a good view could be had of the cannibal warriors. One and all were painted in a manner that was as hideous as it was grotesque. In the first boat, standing erect in the bows, with a huge spear in his hand, the head of which was evidently of gold, for it glittered yellow in the sun’s rays, was a stalwart savage, whom James Malone at once pronounced to be the king. Beside him squatted two deformed and horrible-looking savages, and they also were far too well-known to James. They were the king’s chief medicine-men.

At the bow of each war-canoe, stuck on a pole, was a ghastly human head, no doubt those of prisoners taken in battles fought with tribes living on other islands. There was no doubt, therefore, that their intentions in visiting the Crusoes were evil and not good, and that James Malone’s advice to fight first and make peace afterwards was wise, and the only one to be pursued.

At sunset they were within two miles of the land, and lying-to, ready to make a dash as soon as darkness fell.

The gun belonging to the Sea Flower was a small breechloader of good pattern, and could carry a shell quite as far as the boats.

It was trained upon them, and great was the terror of the king when in the air, right above his head, the shell burst with a terrible roar.

They put about and rowed further off at once.

And now, after a short twilight, the night descended quickly over land and sea.

It was very still and starry, and in a very short time the thumping and noise of the oars told those on watch that the boats were rapidly approaching. And now the rifle was fired.

Sackbut, the young sailor, had been provided with a can of petroleum and matches, and hardly had the sound of the rifle ceased to reverberate from the rocks ere those on the cliff saw the first fire lighted. Running from heap to heap he quickly set fire to them one by one. Up on to the table-land he came next, and so in less than twenty minutes the whole of this part of the island presented a barrier of rolling fire towards the sea.

The fire lit up the whole bay until it was as bright almost as if the sun were shining on it. But the savages were not to be deterred or denied, and so on swept the great war-canoes towards the coral beach.

Yet, although they succeeded at last in effecting a landing, they had paid dear for their daring.

Seven rifles played incessantly on them, and the howls and yells that rose every now and then on the night air told that the firing was not in vain.

Only a few shots were fired from the gun, there being no time, but a shell crashed into the very midst of one of the war-canoes, and the destruction must have been terrible. She sank at once, and probably not more than ten out of the thirty succeeded in swimming ashore.

The sharks had scented the battle from afar, and were soon on the field enjoying a horrid feast.

With that bursting shell the war might be said to have commenced in earnest, and it was to be a war à outrance, knife to knife, and to the death.

The yelling of the savages now, and their frantic gestures as they rushed in mass to the shelter of the rocks, mingling with the crackling and roaring of the flames and the frightened screams of myriads of sea-gulls, was fearful – a noise and din that it would be difficult indeed to describe.

All haste was now made to get the gun inside the first line of defence, load it with canister, and place it where it would be most handy.

And nothing more could be done now until the savages should once more put in an appearance. So Tandy hurried on board, a sadly anxious man indeed. His anxiety was, of course, centred in his little daughter.

Janeira was the first to meet him.

“Miss Nelda?” he said quickly; “where is she, and how is she, Jane?”

“Oh,” replied Jane, “she cry plenty at fuss, sah, cry and dance, but now she done go to bed, sah; come, sah, come.”

And down below she ran.

Poor Nelda! There she lay in her bunk, pale and frightened-looking.

No tears now though; only smiles and caresses for her father. She had one arm round Bob, who was stretched out beside the child, as if to guard her from threatened danger.

But strange and earnest were the questions she had to ask.

Were the savages all killed, and shot, and drowned? Would they come back again? Would Ransey, and Bob, and the ’Rallie, and poor daddie be killed and roasted if the awful men came with their spears and knives, and their bows and arrows?

Tandy did all he could to assure her, and if in doing so he had to equivocate a little, surely he would be forgiven.

As they were still talking, in at the door stalked the Admiral himself. He looked more solemn than any one had ever seen him before. Poor fellow! he too had received a terrible fright, and I suppose he felt that he would never, never care to dance again.

The child called to him, and he came to the bunk-side at once, and lowering his long, beautiful neck, laid his beak across her neck. This was ’Rallie’s way of showing affection.

Then he went slowly and sadly away to the other end of the cabin, and “trussed” himself in a corner.

Tandy stopped for two whole hours with Nelda. She promised to be very good, and not to cry, even if the bad men did come back again.

Then she fell soundly asleep, holding her father’s finger.

He kissed her now and quietly left the cabin, and Janeira herself slipped in and took the camp-stool Tandy had just vacated.

The fire was by this time a long distance away, only the trees that had not been destroyed stood at one moment like black spectres in the starlight, but like rugged pillars of crimson and gold when a puff of wind swept through the woods.

Waiting and watching! Ah, what a weary thing it is! Hours and hours passed by, and if the men of this little garrison slept at all, it was on the bare ground, and with only their elbows for pillows.

But not until far on in the morning watch did the enemy show signs of activity, or give a single token of their presence.

The fire was now too far back for the crackling of the flames to be heard, though its red glare and the cloud of rolling smoke that obscured the sky told that it was still blazing fiercely. The sea-birds had gone to rest once more in the rocks, and everything around the encampment was as silent as the grave. A dread silence – a stillness like that which precedes the outbreaking of some fearful storm!

And all too soon the storm burst.

Book Three – Chapter Ten.

“An Eye for an Eye, and a Tooth for a Tooth.”

With a yell that once more scared the sea-birds, and sent them screaming in terror across the waves, a yell that seemed to awaken the echoes in every rock and hill from end to end of the island, the savages sprang to their feet, and rushing towards the palisade, made their first fearful onset.

Not twenty yards away were they when they had given voice. So quickly, too, did they rush across the intervening ground, that scarce was there time to fire a rifle volley, far less to train the gun upon the spear-armed mass, before it was close alongside and had surrounded the stockade.

In their hundreds, these fearsome savages attempted to scale it; but their bodies were frightfully torn with the spikes, and cries of pain now mingled with those of anger. The defenders ran from one part of the stockade to another, firing from the loopholes; and so densely massed together was the foe that every bullet must have found a billet. In spite of all this, several managed to get over, but were immediately shot down with revolvers, or cut down with sword or cutlass.

Small though the loopholes were, spears were several times thrust through, and as each of them was poisoned, a single scratch would have resulted in the agonised death of the receiver.

Dark enough it was, and with nothing now but the stars to direct their aim, yet the little band fought well and determinedly, and at last the foe retired, leaving scores of their dead behind – drew off, dragging the wounded away.

At that black mass, just as it was nearing the woods, and while the rifles still played upon it, the breechloader, grape-loaded, was trained and fired.

So close together were the natives that the carnage must have been terrible.

But twice again ere morning they attacked the fort, receiving the same treatment, and being obliged at last to withdraw.

When morning broke, the defenders were completely wearied out, and so the little garrison, after two sentries were set, lay down to snatch a few hours’ much needed rest. There was no fear of the attack being renewed before sunset, for darkness seemed best to suit the tactics of these sable warriors.

In the afternoon of this first day of siege a sally was made from the great gate, and seven men stood ready with their rifles, while four began to remove the dead. Each was dragged to the edge of the cliff and thrown over into the sea. When all were cleared away the gate was once more shut and barred. But though the burial must have been witnessed, no rush was made by the savages to attack them. The afternoon was spent in taking pot-shots at every figure that could be seen in the burned bush.

The next attack was made at midnight, and in a manner quite as determined as the first.

One of the Sea Flower’s men was killed by a spear. It had been thrust with tremendous force through a loophole, and pierced the poor fellow’s brain.

Tandy himself had a narrow escape. He was about to fire, but, stumbling, fell, and next moment a poisoned arrow whizzed past and over him. There was surely a Providence in this, for only fools believe in blind chance.

With the exception of the death of poor Ross, who was an able seaman, there was no other casualty that night.

The savages withdrew, but when, next day, the men of the Sea Flower sallied forth to remove the enemy’s dead, which they succeeded in doing, it was noticed that many of the spike-nails had, during the fight, been removed. These, however, were easily replaced by others, and many more were added.

There was no attack this evening. The savages had determined to endeavour once more to propitiate their “fiend of war,” and an immense fire could be seen burning at midnight in the centre of their camp, not more than half a mile from the stockade. The big gun was trained upon this, and a shell planted right in the centre of the dusky mob seemed to work great destruction, and quickly put an end to the orgie.

The terrible siege was kept up for three whole weeks, and, harassed beyond measure with the constant night attacks, affairs were becoming very desperate indeed, and the little garrison was already almost worn out. Day after day it was becoming more apparent to all that utter annihilation was merely a question of time.

A council of war was held now, at which every man was present, and various proposals were made, but few indeed were feasible.

The number of the defenders was so small, compared to the hundreds of armed savages opposed to them, that a “sally in force,” as Tom Wilson who proposed this called it, was out of the question.

To attempt to make peace would only be to give themselves away. The savage king would be ready enough to promise anything, but in a few weeks afterwards not one of the poor Crusoes would be left alive.

Should they get the largest boat ready, provision her, and put to sea? Surely the ocean itself would be less cruel at its very wildest than those bloodthirsty savages.

The question had been put by Tandy himself. He was hoping against hope; he was like a drowning man clutching at straws. For himself he had no thought. He was brave almost to a fault, and, like any other brave man, was willing to die, sword in hand, fighting the foe.

“And where can man die better,

Than in facing fearful odds?”

But his children, especially innocent wee Nelda – ah! that was what softened that heart of his.

“My dear Tandy,” said Halcott, “the idea of being once more away out on yonder beautiful and peaceful ocean, even if only in an open boat, is one that commends itself to us all, but, alas, it would in this case be but a choice of death. Even if we should succeed in eluding the savages and escaping, which I believe would be almost impossible, we could never reach the mainland.”

So the council ended, and the little garrison remained precisely as before.

It was evident to all, however, that the end could not be far distant, for not only provisions, but ammunition itself, would soon give out. All hands saving Nelda were therefore put on short allowance. Coals were carefully saved, no more being used than was necessary to make steam to be condensed and used as drinking water; and not an unnecessary shot was to be fired.

But now there came a lull which lasted for three whole days and nights. Two things were evident enough: first, that the enemy were making some change in their mode of warfare; secondly, that the final struggle would soon take place – and indeed, as regards that, many of the men within the little encampment would have preferred to rush forth, cutlass in hand, and finish the fighting at once.

Most of the country was devastated by the fire that had been kindled, with the exception of a patch away south and east at the foot of Observatory Hill, on which the proud ensign was still floating, as if to give the besieged some hope and comfort.

But one day this patch of jungle, like the famous Birnam Wood, seemed to be slowly advancing towards the camp.

Tandy was gazing at it, and looking somewhat puzzled, when Halcott came up.

“That is more of their fiendish tactics,” he said; “and the scheme, I fear, will be only too successful. You see,” he added, “they are piling up heaps of branches; these will defy our rifle bullets, and unfortunately we have no shells left to fire them. Gradually these heaps will be advanced, and under cover of them they will make their next and, I fear, final attack, and it will be made by day.”

Halcott was right, and in a few days’ time the savages were within a hundred yards of the palisade. They no doubt meant to advance as near to it as possible during the hours of darkness, and with might and main attack at sunrise.

It was midnight when the movement on the part of the besiegers began, and the cover was then slowly advanced. A gentle breeze had begun to blow away from the camp, and the night was moonless and dark.

Presently a hand was laid on Halcott’s shoulder. He had been lying near the outer stockade quietly talking with James; while Tandy was in the ship’s state-room keeping his little girl company. The poor child was sadly uneasy to-night, and the father was trying his best to comfort her.

“What! you here, Lord Fitzmantle?” said Halcott.

“I’se heah, sah.”

It was probably well he said so, for excepting his flashing teeth and rolling eyes, there wasn’t much else of him to be seen.

“And you’re pretty nearly naked, aren’t you?”

“I’se neahly altogedder naked, sah. I’se got noddings much on, sah, but my skin. I go on one ’spedition (expedition) all same’s Dabid of old go out to meet de giant Goliah. Dabid hab sling and stone though; Fitz hab no sling, on’y one box ob matches. You open dat gate, sah, and I go crawl, crawl, all same’s one snake, and soon makee one big fire to wahm de hides ob dose black niggahs.”

“Brave and generous little fellow!” cried Halcott, shaking the boy’s hand. “But I fear to risk your life.”

“You no feah foh me, sah, all I do. I jes’ done gone do foh de sake ob dat pooh deah chile Babs.

“Good-night, ge’men. You soon see big fire, and you heah de niggahs fizz. Suppose dey killee me, dey no can kill de soul. Dis chile findee his way to Hebben all the same, plenty quick.”

They let the little lad out.

Whether the acute ears of the savages had heard the bolts drawn or not will never be known. Certain it is, however, that Fitz was discovered and wounded. But wounded as he was, he had the determination to light the pile.

The savages threw themselves at it, and tore at the burning branches, but this only helped to scatter the flames about.

Fitz crawled back, just in time to die inside the stockade.

“I go to Hebben now,” he said faintly to James, who was kneeling beside him holding his hand. “I’se dun my duty I fink – heah below. I see my pooh old mudder to-night – she – she – ”

He said no more, and never spoke again. The noble little fellow had indeed done his duty, and doubtless would receive his reward.

James Malone was like a wild man now.

“Brother Halcott,” he cried, “summon all hands to arras, and let us sally forth and give these fiends a lesson. They have done to death this noble little fellow. Come, Halcott, come. An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth!”

He waved his sword aloft as he spoke.

So sudden and determined was the sally now made by ten resolute men that, taken thus unexpectedly, the savages became at once unmanned and demoralised.

The men of the Sea Flower advanced in a semicircle, and well spread out. After the first volley, the blacks threw a few spears wildly into the darkness, for the terrible conflagration blinded their eyes; but, huddled together as they were, they made an excellent target for the riflemen.

Volley after volley was poured into their midst with terrible effect, increasing their confusion every minute.

“Lay aft here now, lads!” shouted James. “Down with your guns! Charge with cutlass and revolver. Hurrah!”

High above the demoniacal shrieks of the savages and the roaring of the flames rose that wild British cheer. Next moment the revolvers poured upon the foe a rain of death.

Again a cheer. Sword and cutlass flashed in the firelight. Right and left, left and right, the men struck out, and blood flowed like water.

Towering above all was James himself, with flashing eyes and red-stained blade, his long hair streaming behind in the breeze that fanned the flames.

Short but fearful was that onslaught. In the eyes of the terror-stricken savages every man must have seemed a multitude. And no wonder. It was death or victory for the poor Crusoes; and never before did soldier on battlefield, or sailor on slippery battle-deck, fight with greater fury than they did now.

But, lo! James has seen the king himself, with his golden-headed spear, which he tries in vain to poise, so crushed and crowded is he in the midst of his mob of warriors.

“It is I,” shouts James, in the native tongue, “I, whose blood you would have drunk. Drink it now if you dare!”

Nothing can withstand him, and soon he has fought his way towards the chief, and next moment the savage throws up his arms and falls dead where he stands.

As if moved now but by a single thought, the enemy, with a howl of terror, go rushing away and disappear in the darkness. The victors are left alone with the dead!

But, alas! the victory has cost them more than one precious life.

Here, stark and stiff, lies the brave young fellow Sackbut, who had fired the bush on the first landing of the savages.

And not far off poor Tom Wilson himself.

At first they can hardly believe that Tom is dead. He is raised partly on his elbow, and his eyes are fixed on a portrait he has taken from his bosom. Tandy, who found him, had seen that picture before. It was that of his wife.

Ah, well, he had sinned, he had suffered, but his sorrows were all past now.

Another man is wounded – honest Chips himself.

Is this all? Ah, no, for James himself, as he turns to leave the scene of carnage, leans suddenly on his sword, his face looks ghastly pale in the firelight, and Halcott springs forward only in time to prevent him from falling.

Book Three – Chapter Eleven.

Death of James

The morning of the victory was a sad enough one in the camp of the Crusoes.

The enemy was routed, the king was slain. For a time, at least, there would be a cessation of strife. For how long no one troubled himself to consider; sorrow seemed everywhere, on board and in the camp around.

Poor James lay on a mattress on deck. Perhaps he was the only man that smiled or seemed happy. He knew, and Halcott knew too, that he could not last for many days, so grievously was he wounded.

Halcott, I need not say, was constant in his attendance on him, and so too was little Nelda.

The girl would sit for hours beside him, sometimes reading childish stories to him, which she felt certain, in her own mind, would help to make him better. Or she would gently pat his weather-beaten face, saying, as she did so, “Poor uncle James! poor dear uncle! Never mind! never mind!”

The dead were tenderly wrapped in hammocks which were heavily loaded. Theirs would be a sailor’s grave. Halcott himself read the beautiful words of the English Church service, the few that were now left of the brave crew of the Sea Flower kneeling bareheaded beside the bodies of their late comrades; more than one was weeping.

“We commit their bodies to the deep,

And their souls to Him who gave them.”

Their shipmates just patted the hammocks, before they let them slide, in a way that was very pathetic; then down, one by one, over the cliff they dropped —

“To lie where pearls lie deep.”

When Halcott returned one day from the cliff-top, some time after this sad funeral, there was a shade of greater uneasiness than usual on his face.

James was quick to note it.

“They are coming again?” he said quietly.

“You have guessed aright,” said Halcott. “And they are using the same tactics – coming up under cover of brushwood. There is no Fitz now to fire the heap, and our strength is terribly reduced.”

“Be of good cheer, Halcott – be of good cheer; it is God Himself who giveth the victory. But death cometh sooner or later to all.”

“Amen!” said Halcott; “and oh, James, I for one am almost tired of life.”

“Say not so, brother, say not so, ’tis sinful.”

How terrible is war, reader! The accounts that we read of this scourge, in papers or in books, seldom show it up in its true colours. We are told only of its glory – its tinsel show of glory. But that glory is but the gilded shell that hides the hideous kernel, consisting of sorrow, misery, murder, and rapine.