Real Gold: A Story of Adventure

Chapter Thirty
Trapped

Hungry and faint, it was a dreary time passed during that halt; but in spite of all, it was restful, though the stones were hard, and there were moments when Cyril felt as if he could go off fast asleep, and dream of banquets, as hungry people are said to do.

But there was no sleeping, and, as nearly as could be guessed, at the end of two hours the colonel rose, and gave the word “Forward.”

Then began the journey down the long zigzag, every turn bringing them nearer to the spot where the river took its great plunge into the gulf. The roar grew deeper and louder, though still smothered by the dense mist, and as they drew nearer, there was the damp odour of water, breathed in the smallest of vesicles, as it was churned and then whirled upward to battle with the breeze descending the gorge.

The last turn of the descending path at last, and then the colonel stopped, for they were face to face with the great black veil of mist.

“Now,” he said, with his lips close to each one’s ear in turn, “you first, Perry, take a grip of the stock of my gun, and pass your own backward as I do mine for Cyril to take hold. Then Cyril will do the same for John Manning to grasp, and we shall be linked together and well in touch. I shall lead, of course. Courage, boys, and no hesitation. We shall soon be through. Now, forward.”

In half-a-dozen steps the darkness, which had been relieved by the faint gleaming of the stars peering down into the gorge, became intense, for they were once more in the mist, and guided only by the gentle drag upon the guns, as without hesitation the colonel led on, keeping close to the wall upon his left.

The noise of the water thundering down was more confusing than ever, the mist more stifling; but the boys gathered confidence as they went on, and Perry was too much occupied in following his father’s steps, to think much about the horrible slip into the gulf below; while Cyril, as he stepped on manfully, kept trying to recall how far the way was through, and calculated that they must be fully half-way.

He had just arrived at this conclusion, when he turned angrily to resent what he looked upon as absurd behaviour on the part of John Manning, who suddenly grasped him tightly, pinning his arms down to his sides, and flinging him up against the rock-wall as far as possible from the edge of the gulf.

“How stupid!” he cried aloud, though not a word was heard. “I’m all right. Now you’ve broken the chain.”

He had arrived at this point, when he felt a rope passed rapidly round him, binding his arms to his sides. Then he was thrown upon his back, and in spite of his struggles, his legs were treated in the same way, after which a cloth was bound over his face, so tightly as to be almost suffocating. Lastly, he felt himself lifted head and heels, and borne forward, dizzy, confused, and wondering what had happened to his companions, and finally bound to conclude that they must have been treated precisely in the same way. He felt that this must be so, and that the Indian cunning had been too much for the colonel’s strategy, a party having remained in waiting in full knowledge that they were pursued, and ready to pounce upon them, just in a spot where an attack would be least expected and surest of success.

All at once, as the boy was borne along, feeling satisfied that it was useless to struggle and folly to exert himself and shout, it occurred to him that his bearers were going closer to the edge of the gulf, for the roar of the water seemed to be more deafening. There could only be one reason for this, he argued – it was his turn to be thrown in, and the others must be gone.

The horrible thought made him begin to struggle with all his might, but at the first writhe a strong additional arm was passed over his body, gripping him tightly to its owner’s side, and in this fashion he became helpless, and was carried forward, to grow calmer, for he awoke to the fact that his life was certainly for the present safe.

Then a curious feeling of faintness came over him, the heat of the cloth over his mouth was suffocating, bright specks of light danced before his eyes, there was a singing in his ears, and then everything seemed to be at an end, till the stars were looking down at him from far on high, and above the low distant booming of the fall he could hear the pleasant silvery gurgle of water, and the heavy breathing of sleepers close at hand.

By degrees the boy’s head grew clearer, but at the expense of his body, for as the power of thinking brightened, his limbs grew heavier, numb, and helpless, and the effort he made to turn over upon one side proved to be in vain. He felt that the cloth which bound his lips was gone, but there was no inclination to cry for help, and he lay perfectly still, wondering whether his companions were near, and then utterly exhausted, all passed away again, but this time he slept.

It must have been near morning once more, when Cyril awoke with a feeling of something warm touching his ear, and a voice whispered:

“Careful, my lad. I’ve cut you free, and I’m going to cut the colonel and Master Perry clear. Now try and rub your legs gently. We must make a dash for it, as soon as you’re ready. Don’t speak.”

The lips were removed from his ear, and there was a faint rustling, that was all.

He tried to obey the orders he had received, but for some minutes there was scarcely any sense of feeling in his hand, or in the part he touched, but he worked on, feeling hopeful now. John Manning was fighting for their freedom, and the others must be close at hand, but he felt that if they were as helpless as he, they would not be of much use in an attempt to escape from their captors.

And as Cyril went on softly rubbing circulation into his numbed and swollen legs once more, a faint point of light high up in the clouds, where an ice peak was catching the first rays of the coming morn, shone out like a hopeful sign to tell him that all was not yet lost.

For quite half an hour he kept up the gentle friction, bringing back circulation, but with it intense pain. Then his heart bounded, and he forgot his agony, for John Manning crept close to him again.

“Been rubbing?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

“Can you fight?”

“I’ll try.”

“All right then, boy; the others are ready, and I think the Indians are asleep. We must make a dash for it now, before they make up their minds to put us out of our misery, for I am afraid it’s that they mean.”

“What do we do first?” whispered Cyril, who felt the power rapidly coming back into his legs.

“Wait till the colonel joins us with Master Perry. They’re coming as soon as they feel it safe, and then we dash back for the falls, and retreat up the gorge. When we jump up, keep together and run. Hit out, lad, at anybody who tries to stop you. They’re only cowards after all, but the colonel’s coming. Now get up softly. Ready?”

“Yes.”

At that moment there was a fierce yell, and Cyril was dashed back upon the ground, three Indians flinging themselves upon him; there was a dull blow, a groan, and John Manning cried aloud:

“They’ve done for me, lad; run for it, if you can get free. Tell the colonel I did my duty to the last.”

Almost at the same moment Cyril, as he fiercely struggled, heard a shrill cry of agony from Perry, a shout from the colonel, and the reports of half-a-dozen guns fired in rapid succession.

Then all was blank, for a heavy blow on the side of the head made the lad insensible to what was passing around.

Chapter Thirty One
Father and Son

When Cyril opened his eyes and began to look about, his head was aching violently, and a swimming sensation made everything near him look misty and indistinct. But he was conscious that the sun was shining brightly all around, and that he was lying in the shade cast by a tree, whose foliage was so familiar that he closed his eyes again to think and wonder whether he was dreaming.

For that was unmistakably a cinchona tree, one of those he had thought about so much of late.

He opened his eyes again, and looked round to see that there were several mules about grazing on the rich grass, and there was a peculiar odour in the air which he knew to be caused by burning wood.

A low buzz of conversation was going on, too, somewhere close behind him, and he tried to look round, but the movement gave him so much pain that he let his head sink down, uttering a weary sigh, which was evidently heard, for there was a rustling sound behind him, and some one came and bent down and took his hand, at the same time laying another upon his forehead and gazing into his eyes.

For some moments nothing was said; Cyril, with his heart beating heavily, gazing up into the eyes that looked down into his, while he wondered more than ever what it all meant.

“Don’t you know me, my boy?” was said at last, and a half-hysterical cry escaped the lad’s lips as he clung to the hand which grasped his.

“Yes, father! But – but what does it all mean?”

“That you must lie still and rest for a bit. You have had a nasty blow on the head, but you will soon be better.”

“But – where are we? – where is Perry, and where is the colonel? I can’t think, but I don’t understand why you are here.”

“You can ask yourself that last question by-and-by, my lad.”

Cyril shrank a little, for those words were more potent than any reproach, and Captain Norton went on:

“You were asking about your friends. They are all here, but have been hurt more or less. We only came up just in time.”

“You came up – just in time? Oh, I remember now. We were fighting and trying to escape, and somebody fired. Was it you, father?”

“Yes, my lad, my friends and I. If we had not arrived as we did, I’m afraid that there would have been a tragedy here in this valley, for the Indians were roused, and I believe that you would none of you have lived to see another day.”

“And the Indians: where are they now?”

“Far away, my lad. They will not face firearms.”

“But you came, father – after me?”

“Of course, as soon as I grasped the fact that you had followed Colonel Campion. At first I would not think it possible that my son could treat us at home as you had; but when, from a man who had come over the mountains with a llama train, I learned that he had seen you, I did what I felt it to be my duty to do for your mother’s sake.”

Cyril’s hands went up to his face for a few moments, and then they were gently pressed aside.

“This is no time for blaming you, Cyril,” said the captain gently; “you are injured. Get well, my boy. But you asked me how I came here. As soon as I knew that you were with Colonel Campion, I got the help of two or three friends, and our servants, and we obtained mules and came on in search of you. I did so, for, in addition to my duty to you, I repented letting a brother-officer come upon what I felt more and more was an exceedingly risky expedition. It has proved so, has it not?”

“I’m afraid so, father,” sighed Cyril. “Would the Indians have killed us?”

“It seems so. You were utterly outnumbered, and from what I can gather, I suppose they believe you were hunting for and had found some of the old treasures buried here in the mountains.”

“Oh no,” cried Cyril; “they were quite wrong.”

And he explained the object of the colonel’s mission.

“They would not believe that, my boy, though they would have been just as ready to stop anything of the kind. I found, on tracing you to their camp, that you had come down in this direction, and the man who acted as our guide gathered that there was some trouble on the way, and thus made me hurry on after you. I should have come up with your party sooner, only three times over we were tricked into following another track, our guide proving perfectly untrustworthy directly after he had been in communication with the people at the back camp. However, I came up with you in time, just as a fierce fight was going on, and your party were being worsted. A few shots drove the Indians off, and for the present we are safe.”

“And the mules and their loads?”

“There are our mules,” said the captain quietly.

“No, no; I mean ours,” cried Cyril.

“I have seen no others. There are none here.”

“But they’ve taken the kinia seed that the colonel came to collect. We must go and attack them at once.”

“We must get from here on to the regular track through the mountains as soon as we can, my boy,” said the captain sternly. “We do not know whether we may not ourselves be attacked by a strong body of the Indians. I cannot do as I like, for I must study my friends; but if I could, I would not run any risk in the face of such odds: so if Colonel Campion can by any possibility sit a mule, we shall begin our retreat at once. What? Can you stand?”

“Yes, father. Only a little giddy; and I want to see the colonel and John Manning.”

For Cyril had raised himself to his feet, and his father led him at once to where his companions lay close by, where their rescuers had formed their temporary camp, and were now making a hearty meal.

Perry was lying back with his head bandaged, John Manning was suffering from a severe knife wound, and the colonel lay looking very hollow of cheek, for he also in the fight had received a bad knife thrust, and to Cyril it seemed that it would be impossible for the party to begin their retreat for some days to come.

But as soon as he awoke, the colonel declared himself able to sit a mule, and John Manning insisted upon the hurt he had received being merely a scratch; so, as the case was urgent, a start was made that same afternoon, and a few miles made before they were overtaken by night, and encamped, setting a careful watch in case of attack.

But none came, the lesson given by Captain Norton quelling all present desire for a closer acquaintance with the firearms; and soon after daybreak they were once more in motion, the leader retracing the way taken by his friends in their attempted escape till they were close up to the cinchona camp, which they found deserted.

A long halt was necessary here on account of the injured party, but two days later they were on their way again, after a long consultation between Colonel Campion and their friends.

“Did you hear what was said?” asked Perry, as he and Cyril rode side by side wherever the track would allow.

“Yes, everything; your father wanted to stay here for a bit and make an expedition or two in search of the Indians, so as to try and recover the baggage and mules.”

“Of course,” said Perry. “It’s horrible to go back like this, regularly beaten. But they wouldn’t?”

“No: my father said he was willing, but the rest would not. They said they had come to help to save all our lives, and bring me back, but they were not going to risk their own any more to satisfy – ”

“Well, satisfy what?” said Perry, for his companion checked himself.

“Like to know?”

“Of course.”

“Satisfy your father’s mad-brained ideas.”

“Mad-brained indeed!” cried Perry indignantly. “And didn’t father say they must go?”

“No,” replied Cyril, laughing, “because he had no authority, and he was perfectly helpless. You see he couldn’t go himself.”

“I only wish he was strong enough,” cried Perry. “He would soon show some of them.”

“Hasn’t he shown them enough? My father’s right.”

“What, in giving up?” cried Perry indignantly.

“No, in behaving like a good soldier, and drawing off his forces when he is beaten. Father told him that it was folly to go on now in his helpless state. That, injured as he was, he would kill himself and you and your man too, for you had neither mules, provisions, nor weapons, and that the only thing to do was to go back.”

“And what did my father say?” cried Perry hotly.

“Nothing. He only held out his hand without speaking, and they stood for half a minute.”

“But it’s horrid to be beaten and go back like this, robbed of all our belongings, and just too when we had succeeded so well. The cowards! All that party against us. I feel as if I couldn’t go back to San Geronimo.”

“So do I,” said Cyril dolefully.

“You? What have you got to mind?”

“What have I got to mind? All that my father will say when we get back, though I don’t worry about that so much.”

“What, then?”

“I’ve got to meet my mother.”

“Well, but she won’t say anything unkind to you.”

“No,” said Cyril sadly, “not a word; but she’ll look at me as I often seem to see her looking at me now, and asking me how I could behave so cruelly to her. It half killed her, father says, for my boat was missing for a fortnight. One of the fishermen had taken it away, and she thought I had gone out in her, and was drowned.”

Perry was silent, and soon after the boys had to separate, and ride in single file about the middle of the little line, Captain Norton and two of his friends forming the rearguard, in case of attack.

But though the return journey was very slow, on account of the weakness of the injured part of the little caravan, and there was every opportunity for the Indians to fall upon them had they been so disposed, they went on, day after day, unmolested, and their nights were undisturbed.

Those long narrow shelves of rock at the sides of the defiles seemed as if they would never end, but the clear crisp mountain air was wonderful in its curative effects; and while Perry was quite well again, and Cyril had about forgotten his injury, Colonel Campion and John Manning, though both thin of face, and generally a good deal pulled down, were strong enough to walk down – at the close of the last day’s journey – the long slope which led to Captain Norton’s house on its platform high above the sea.

“Where’s Cyril?” said Perry suddenly to Captain Norton. “I haven’t seen him these two hours.”

Captain Norton stopped at the edge of the narrow path, and pointed down to the dry-looking garden at the back of his house, where the tall, tapering flagstaff stood up, with the British colours fluttering in the sea-breeze.

Perry shaded his eyes, and through the clear evening air he could distinctly see his companion standing by a lady, and looking up at the little mule train filing down the slope.

“Why, he has run on home!”

“Yes,” said the captain. “I sent him on to meet his mother alone. Perry, my lad, for the sake of all who hold you dear, never be guilty of such a selfish, thoughtless act as his.”

“I’ll try not,” replied the boy thoughtfully; and then in an animated way: “But, I say, Captain Norton, if it had not been for his thoughtless act, where would we three have been now?”

The captain smiled and looked at the colonel, who had heard all that had been said.

“That’s a question I would rather not try to answer, my lad. There, no more: I’ve promised Cyril to bury the past.”

Weak as he still was from his injuries, and smarting from the bitter disappointment of his failure, Colonel Campion seized the first opportunity which occurred of getting a passage up to Panama, the two boys parting with many promises of keeping up a correspondence, which were none too faithfully fulfilled. Perry wrote from Panama, and again from Barbadoes on the way home. Then three years elapsed before Cyril had a letter, though Captain Norton had heard again and again from his friend the colonel.

Here is a portion of the letter Cyril received:

“I don’t suppose they will do it, but I think they ought to make my father F.L.S. and F.R.S. and F.G.S., and all the rest of it, besides knighting him. For only think, in spite of all the disappointment of losing the packages of seed we so carefully made up, the little lots we had in our pockets, including those you gave me at San Geronimo out of yours – I mean that day on board the packet, when you said, ‘You may as well take these, for they’re no use to me – ’ I say, all these were distributed and set, and with the exception of one lot, pretty well all grew, and they have made small plantations in Java, Ceylon, India, and one or two other places, so that in the course of time there’ll be quinine in plenty in hot places all over the world. Which lot do you think it was failed? You, in your modesty, will say your own. Not it, but mine; and I’ll tell you how it was – through my fall down into that horrid place. The seed was of course soaked, and it went off mouldy, I suppose. At all events, none of it grew.”

“Hah!” exclaimed Captain Norton as he heard the letter read. “It was a daring thing to do – a brave soldier’s deed. How many poor wretches in the future who struggle back from some deadly fever will ever hear of or bless his name? Hardly one.”

“But we shall have the satisfaction, father, of knowing that we helped to save them all the same.”

“Right, boy,” cried the captain, bringing his hand heavily down upon his son’s shoulder. “You did your share, and it would be a poor world indeed if we did all our good actions for the sake of the reward.”

“But mine was not a good action, father,” said Cyril gravely.

“Ah, well,” said his father, “it is a matter of the past. I made you a promise then, and we will not argue that.”

The End.