Donalblane of Darien

CHAPTER IX

IN PERILOUS PLIGHT

Donalblane's paralysing panic was only for the moment. The power of action presently returned to him, and, grasping his gun, he aimed at the diabolical eyes, while he shouted to his companions: "Up wi' ye! – up wi' ye! We're in danger!"

So heavy was their slumber, however, that neither of them stirred at his call; but when the report of the gun rang out, they both bounded to their feet just in time to see a great dark body fly through the air with a fearful scream, and light upon poor Donalblane, who fell back beneath it! They realised at once what had happened, and Mr. Sutherland, seizing his musket, and the Indian his spear, sprang to the boy's assistance.

So completely did the panther cover him that Mr. Sutherland dared not fire, lest the bullet should penetrate both bodies; but he sought a chance to use the butt of his musket on the brute's head, while the Indian made play with his spear, stabbing it into the creature's side. Meantime Donalblane, into whose shoulder the terrible teeth had sunk while the merciless claws were tearing his clothes to ribbons, fighting for his life, with both hands buried in the soft, thick fur, strove frantically to throttle his mighty assailant.

Had he been alone there could have been no doubt as to the issue of the struggle – the panther must have done him to death; but the stunning blows from Mr. Sutherland and the repeated stabs of the Indian's spear soon began to tell.

They had not only weakened the brute's strength, but they turned his attention from Donalblane to his other opponents, and, after a space of time that seemed an eternity to the boy, but was in reality barely a minute, the panther, giving a hideous growl, relaxed both teeth and claws in order to prepare for a spring at Mr. Sutherland.

This gave the latter the opportunity for which he had been waiting. He was an expert shot, and never had had more need of his skill than at this moment. Quickly throwing his gun to his shoulder, and aiming full at the panther's breast, he pulled the trigger.

Happily the musket did not miss fire, and the heavy charge sped straight to its mark, going clean through the animal's heart. With one last fiendish scream the fearful creature sprang straight up into the air, and fell back a limp, lifeless mass of fur. Not waiting to look at his quarry, Mr. Sutherland rushed to Donalblane, who lay senseless on the sward, with the blood streaming from nearly a score of wounds.

"My poor boy," he exclaimed, as he took Donald's head upon his knees, "surely that black brute has not killed you!" Then to the Indian, who was wonderingly examining the panther, he called indignantly, "Leave that thing alone, and get me some water – quick!"

When the Indian returned with the water Mr. Sutherland tenderly washed the boy's wounds, which he was glad to find were none of them very deep – those made by the teeth on the shoulder being the worst – and did his best to bind them up with handkerchiefs and what other linen was available, the Indian proving a very helpful assistant. Before it was quite done Donalblane recovered consciousness, and at first was so dazed that he had no idea as to what had happened.

"What's the matter?" he asked, starting to put his hand to his head, and then dropping it because of the pain in his shoulder. "I'm verra sore. Ah! I ken – I ken – that awfu' black thing. I fair thought it wad kill me." And he groaned deeply, for his sufferings were keen.

"Not a bit of it, my boy," responded Mr. Sutherland cheerily, as he patted his pale cheek. "You're not even half killed, and that awful black thing is killed completely. But you've had a very narrow escape, and you've got some nasty wounds, and you must keep very quiet here until we can get you back to St. Andrews."

Mr. Sutherland was a man of thought as well as of action, and it did not take him long to arrange matters. The Indian was dispatched to the settlement with a note telling what had happened, and asking that a litter be sent back for the sufferer. In the meantime he himself would stay by the wounded boy until the litter arrived.

Happily they were not at the time a very great distance from St. Andrews. Another Indian, having been promised liberal payment if he was very quick, ran the whole way thither, and the litter party lost not a moment in making the return trip. It was indeed well for Donalblane that they were so prompt, for he presently began to be feverish, and to require the utmost skill of the physicians who had accompanied the expedition to combat the effect of the serious wounds he bore. There was great sympathy felt for him, as he was a general favourite, owing to his bright, frank, manly ways; and both Mr. Paterson and Mr. Sutherland were as concerned about him as if he had been their own child.

Even with the best of care some weeks must elapse before he would regain his former vigour, and while he lay in his hammock, a not too docile and submissive patient, affairs went on not at all prosperously at St. Andrews.

Although absent only a week, Mr. Paterson found on his return that a spirit of discontent and dissension had already broken out in the colony. All the men were not workers. Some were useless drones, and those who had toiled hard laying the foundation of the new city began to grumble and protest. There was no settled or acknowledged authority. Once the novelty of the situation had passed away, Mr. Paterson ceased to be looked up to and obeyed, and it seemed impossible for any one to be agreed upon as supreme governor.

The settlement certainly presented a curious appearance at this time. Over a thousand persons, all foreign to the soil, were lodged in rude wooden huts roofed with palmetto leaves, the inside furnishing of which were of the simplest description. Chests and lockers did duty for seats and tables; tartan shawls of brilliant hues, hung up as curtains, formed the only partitions; spades, mattocks, axes, and hatchets littered the walls, while carefully disposed in the dryest corners were the claymores and muskets which formed their weapons of defence.

One large building was set apart for public worship, and here services were daily held by the Presbyterian ministers, several of whom had accompanied the expedition, and were much given to lengthy sermons. Another building was the storehouse, to which the provisions brought out by the ships were removed. Now, mention has already been made of advantage being taken by those who supplied the expedition to palm off much inferior stuff than they had contracted to furnish; and this rascality became revealed when it was discovered that the greater part of the stores, upon which the colonists must depend until they had raised their own harvests, was absolutely unfit for human food, and had to be cast into the sea, where it attracted swarms of sharks that henceforth infested the harbour, rendering its waters full of danger.

This was a terrible blow to the hopes of the settlers, who were already disappointed at the failure of their expectations in the matter of gold, which they had counted upon being able to obtain in abundance, whereas all the gold they had seen were the ornaments of the King of Darien.

It was determined to dispatch one of the ships to the island of Jamaica for a fresh supply of provisions, and in the meantime, through the influence of Mr. Paterson, the King of Darien placed the services of a large body of Indian hunters at his disposal, and these men, through their knowledge of the country and their skill, were able to secure game and fish in abundance when the Scotsmen could get nothing.

As soon as Donalblane had recovered from his wounds, nothing daunted by his thrilling experience, he devoted himself to hunting, as that suited his taste far better than tilling the ground or working on the fortifications.

Keen of eye, quick of ear, light of foot, long of wind, and well-nigh tireless, he set himself to learn from the Indians their hunting wiles and devices, and was so apt a pupil that ere long he became a match for the best of them, particularly as his musket and pistols, always kept in perfect order, were immensely superior weapons to their spears and arrows.

The magnificent region round about afforded a hunting-field vast and varied enough to satisfy the most exacting sportsman. The forests were full of animals, from the amusing, harmless monkeys up to the fierce wild boar or the terrible jaguar; while the waters fairly teemed with fish, from the delicious mullet up to the gigantic manatee, or sea-cow – if this can be properly called a fish. The first time Donalblane saw a manatee he was filled with amazement – it seemed so huge, so hideous, so extraordinary a monster; but when he got over his first surprise, he became possessed with the notion of adding one to his list of trophies.

"Do so, by all means," said Mr. Paterson, when he mentioned his purpose to him. "The manatee's flesh, in spite of the creature's ugly appearance, is equal to the best pork, and we cannot have too much of it for our hungry people."

"Then I'll just do my verra best to get ye one, and maybe two, for they tell me they are in plenty up yon river," said Donalblane, pointing towards the so-called Golden River.

"Good luck to you, my lad," rejoined Mr. Paterson, patting him on the shoulder. "Be sure that the chief hunter goes with you, for the manatee can give plenty of trouble, if you do not know how to handle him."

Donalblane promised to be sure of having Raymon, whose heart he had already won by various little kindnesses, and hastened off to make arrangements for a start the following morning. He had no difficulty in securing the co-operation of Raymon, who was only too glad to join him, and who undertook to procure a canoe and two of the best paddlers in his tribe. Accordingly, at dawn of the next day Donalblane set out on his hunt for a manatee.

CHAPTER X

THE CHASE OF THE MANATEE

Several hours' steady paddling brought the hunting party, ere the full heat of the day, to a part of the river where the banks were densely clothed with mangroves, broken here and there by bayous, whose shallow bottoms were lush with rank vegetation.

"We get him there," said Raymon, pointing to one of these bayous. "When sun going down. Plenty of manatee in dat place."

Donalblane was impatient to begin the hunt right away; but Raymon knew his business better, and so they sought a landing in one of the cool, dark recesses of the mangrove forest, and, after eating their lunch, lay down for the inevitable siesta.

It was well on in the afternoon before Raymon pronounced it time to get to work, and, thrilling with eagerness, Donalblane took his place in the stern of the canoe, his musket ready for a quick shot, while Raymon crouched in the bow, holding a harpoon to which was attached a long, thin rope. Noiselessly the expert paddlers sent the canoe over the bosom of the bayou, turning this way and that, in accordance with whispered directions from Raymon, whose keen eyes searched the still waters in front.

Several times Donalblane thought he saw ripples which suggested the presence of their prey, but Raymon took no notice of them, and he was beginning to grow impatient, when, at a signal from the Indian, the paddlers suddenly plied their blades with tremendous energy, and the light craft shot ahead at an amazing pace.

Donalblane could perceive nothing to explain this action, but rejoiced at it nevertheless, and held his musket in readiness to fire.

On dashed the canoe, and presently Raymon rose in the bow, harpoon in hand, and poised himself for a throw. Still Donalblane could make out nothing, and he marvelled at the keenness of the Indian's vision, until suddenly, not twenty yards in front of the canoe, the smooth surface of the water was broken by the emergence of the hideous head and broad shoulders of a monstrous manatee.

"Hurrah!" shouted the boy, quivering with excitement. "There he is; and, my sakes, what a big fellow! Shall I fire at him, Raymon?"

But Raymon, without turning round, intimated by a warning gesture of his free hand that Donalblane was to keep still, and the latter was accordingly fain to curb his impatience.

In spite of his clumsy form, the manatee had a wonderful turn of speed, and the sinewy paddlers strained every nerve to bring Raymon within striking distance. The creature was evidently making for the deeper waters, and if he succeeded in doing this before the harpoon struck him, there was a good chance of his effecting his escape. For a few minutes the issue of the race seemed much in doubt, and then, to Donalblane's delight, the canoe began to gain. Yard by yard it drew nearer, until at last, raising the harpoon as high as he could, Raymon, with the whole strength of his arm, hurled it at the manatee.

It was a splendid throw, and the keen barb buried itself deep in the thick, wrinkled grey hide, while at the same moment the stricken creature sank out of sight, leaving a stain of blood upon the water.

"Grand! – grand!" cried Donalblane, putting down his gun for a moment that he might clap his hands enthusiastically. "Ah! I wad like fine to be able to do that."

Raymon's usually sombre countenance lit up with a pleased smile, as he replied —

"We got him all right, if rope no break."

When, a moment later, the manatee, having recovered from the first shock of the wound, set off through the water at a rapid pace, towing the well-laden canoe as though it was a trifle, Donalblane began to wonder if the rope, which was only a thin one, would stand the strain. But Raymon did not appear at all anxious about it.

Straight out towards the deep water went the manatee, and as the canoe ploughed through the water in its wake, Donalblane thought that this must be something like the whale-hunting about which some of his sailor friends at Leith had told him such thrilling tales.

For a full half-mile the powerful creature kept on, rising every now and then to the surface for breath, and sinking again as soon as relieved. But presently its speed began to slacken, and Raymon was able to get a pull upon the rope, which brought the canoe nearer.

"Now, senor, you fire when I call," he said to Donalblane, who nodded back at him joyfully, for he was burning to take part in the hunt, instead of sitting idle.

Little by little the rope came back, until soon there were not more than ten yards of it separating the canoe and the manatee.

"Next time he come up, you fire," was Raymon's next order; and Donalblane, every nerve thrilling with excitement, braced himself in the stern of the canoe for a careful shot.

With a swirl and splash the manatee appeared, and as Raymon excitedly shouted, "Now, señor – now!" Donalblane pulled the trigger. But alas, for the pride of youth! The prized musket, hitherto so trusty, played him false. It flashed in the pan. There was no report, and its intended victim sank out of sight unharmed.

Just how it happened Donalblane never understood. Perhaps either he or Raymon, in their chagrin at the failure of the shot, made some sudden movement; but, however it was, the next instant the canoe overturned, and all the four of its occupants were tumbled into the water, Donalblane holding on to his gun, although the additional weight helped to deepen his involuntary dive into the turbid current.

Up he came, gasping and angry, to find that the Indians had happily been quick enough to secure the canoe and to cut the harpoon line, which otherwise would have torn it away from them. Still grasping his gun, which he was determined to save if possible, Donalblane struck out for the others, and when he neared Raymon, the latter said cheeringly, "Me help you – they get canoe all right," and, taking the heavy firearm from the boy, swam as easily with it as if it were a walking-stick.

Meanwhile the paddlers, with a skill that astonished Donalblane, proceeded to right the canoe, free it of water, and clamber in, Raymon following their example and then assisting the young Scotsman to do likewise. Donalblane took it for granted that the untoward upset put an end to the manatee hunt, but Raymon had no such notion.

"Manatee soon die – we go after him," he said, and, after a keen scrutiny of the surrounding water, he gave directions to the paddlers, who resumed their work as stolidly as if nothing had happened. Donalblane thought it would be very much like hunting for a needle in a hay-stack, but kept his own counsel while the canoe sped shoreward.

They were more than half-way thither when Raymon, who had fastened the remainder of the rope on to a small spear, showed signs of excitement.

"Me see him!" he exclaimed in a stage whisper. "We get him this time."

Sure enough, just as he spoke, the ugly grey head of the manatee rose above the water, and it was evident from the slowness of its movements that its strength was fast failing.

Steadily the canoe gained, until once more it was within striking distance, and Raymon hurled his spear with no less accuracy than he had the harpoon. The poor manatee made one furious plunge forward as the sharp steel reached a vital part, and then all motion ceased. The hunt was ended.

One of the paddlers instantly sprang into the water and caught the end of the severed harpoon line, which was at once secured to the canoe, for otherwise the great body would sink and all the trouble be in vain. Then the bulky prize was towed ashore, and Donalblane had the satisfaction of having taken part in a successful manatee hunt, even if he had been denied the privilege of getting a shot.

The Indians had good reason to be proud of their quarry, for he was a monster of his kind, and would afford a fine supply of excellent meat. As he would prove altogether too heavy a cargo for the light canoe, the paddlers were dispatched to the settlement for assistance, while Donalblane and Raymon remained on guard, the former taking the opportunity to dry his dripping clothes, and feeling very well pleased with the success of the hunt.

Indeed, he had enjoyed it so keenly that he went again and again in the weeks that followed, Mr. Sutherland sometimes joining him, and many a plump monster was thereby secured for the benefit of the colonists.

It was well for him that he could thus divert himself, as the state of affairs at St. Andrews was rapidly growing worse. Not only were the Scotsmen threatened with famine, but with disease also. The hot, damp climate, so different from that to which they were accustomed, bred deadly fever. Every day the number of the men who strove to complete the fortifications and to till the ground for the harvest they were destined never to reap grew less. Many of the pale, gaunt, but still resolute labourers passed quickly from their work to the overcrowded hospital, and thence with little delay to their graves, until the burial-ground came to have more occupants than the huts.

And yet, despite their double danger, the colonists kept up their petty strifes, their jealousies, their mutual antagonisms, and refused to admit of any settled authority. Then came back the ship which had been sent to Jamaica for provisions as empty as she had gone, and bringing the astounding news that, by a royal edict obtained through the evil influence of the rival companies, all the English colonies in America and the West Indies were strictly forbidden to afford any assistance whatever to the struggling Scotch colony at Darien, whose utter ruin now seemed inevitable.

CHAPTER XI

THE MIDNIGHT ATTACK

Donalblane took these difficulties and disasters deeply to heart, not so much on his own account, for, like all brave-spirited boys, he had no doubt that he would pull through all right somehow, but because of his hero, Mr. Paterson, who had won the affection and loyalty of his young heart. He considered him the noblest of men, and more than once had got into trouble by hotly resenting the undeserved slurs and sneers that were too freely cast upon him.

"Ye dinna ken what ye're saying, ye sneakin' loon!" he had once retorted to a lanky youth who was meanly making charges against Mr. Paterson that were no less false than frivolous; and when the other responded with a blow, Donalblane, taking no account of the disparity in size and age, flung himself at him so fiercely and used his fists to such good purpose that the slanderer was soon fain to flee the field.

"Ye lee, ye lee, and ye ken weel ye're leeing!" he cried indignantly on another occasion; but this time, his antagonist being a powerful man, Donalblane did not fare so well – in fact, he got a bad thrashing; but as he nursed his bruises he found comfort in the conviction that they were suffered in a good cause, and that he would never allow Mr. Paterson's reputation to be blackened if he could in any wise help it.

Among the early victims of the fever had been Mrs. Sutherland and her little boy, and, broken in heart and spirit, Mr. Sutherland not long after joined them in the grave, so that Donalblane felt he had only one friend left, for somehow he had not taken kindly to any of the other men. He therefore attached himself closely to Mr. Paterson, and thus had the opportunity of rendering him a supremely important service.

Mr. Paterson had invited him to share his hut – a mark of esteem that made him very pleased and proud, as may be imagined. They had thus lived together for a fortnight, Mr. Paterson devoting himself to the trying difficulties that surrounded him, while Donalblane spent his time in fishing and hunting, so that they might always be supplied with food. One day Donald chanced to overhear a conversation between two of the worst characters in the colony, which made it clear that they had designs upon Mr. Paterson's life. He at once made known his suspicions, but Mr. Paterson treated the matter lightly.

"I am very much obliged to you, my boy," he said, with his rare smile, "but there is nothing to be feared. I understand those fellows. They would be well pleased, no doubt, to have me out of the way, but they'd never have the courage to do what you fear."

This made Donalblane feel a little easier in his mind; nevertheless, he resolved to keep a watch upon the rascals, and to be alert for any danger that might threaten.

"They'll never do Mr. Paterson any harm if I can help it," he said to himself, and certainly no Scottish chieftain ever had a more loving or loyal clansman than he.

One stormy night when the wind blew and the rain fell as though they had combined in an attack upon the hut, which was none too strong or tight, Donalblane felt restless and wakeful.

Mr. Paterson, wearied with toil and trial, was sleeping soundly, but his companion tossed about in his hammock with wide-open eyes. Presently his quick ear caught a sound that he did not think was caused by the storm, but by some person or creature trying to effect an entrance into the hut.

"What can that be?" he asked himself as he sat up in his hammock, and strained both eyes and ears to discover something in the surrounding gloom.

The suspicious sound continued, and Donalblane was just about to waken Mr. Paterson, whose hammock swung on the other side of the hut, when the door gave way, and two men rushed in with manifest evil intent. Had Donalblane not been awake at the moment, the villains might have had easy work; but he was not only awake, but alert, and with a quickness which did great credit to his wits he took instant action. Springing from his hammock, he shouted —