Adventures Among the Red Indians. Sidney Harry Wright
Postlethwaite and her sister had the good sense to regard the affair as one of humour rather than of humiliation, and not stopping to point out 38 that they were being punished for the misdeeds of others, they readily yielded to the chief’s whim, and were the first to be dismissed. They hurried at once to the Plaza, and here a very unlooked-for sight awaited them.
Guarded by a hundred soldiers under Mexias, all the well-to-do men of the town were at work on their hands and knees, weeding the square, rooting out, with fingers or penknives, the tufts of shabby grass that grew plentifully between the cobble-stones! The heat was so suffocating that their father and other elderly men were well-nigh fainting; but there all were obliged to remain till the task was finished, shortly before sundown.
This indignity so enraged Postlethwaite that he was tempted to persuade the white men to combine against their persecutors and rid the town of them, but was deterred by the irresolution and petty jealousies of the Corrientes men, and by the thought of the terrible amount of bloodshed for which he would be making himself responsible. Abandoning that idea, he fell back on plans for escape. This would be difficult, if not impossible, for Indians were said to be in possession of the country all round, and flight by water was out of the question, because all the boats had been destroyed or sent adrift, and the larger craft from Buenos Ayres seldom came farther north than Goya.
By way of lulling any suspicions on Andresito’s part as to his schemes, he invited him and his staff to dinner one evening. The Indians conducted themselves with great dignity and politeness, and were very loud in their praise of British fare—particularly 39 of the “plom puddin Ingles” with which the host regaled them. Andresito’s bearing towards his young hostesses was gallantry itself; he even styled them his paysanitas or countrywomen, as well as Indias rubias (fair Indians.)
“But what makes you think we are your compatriots, Señor?” asked the younger girl.
“Ah, Señorita,” said Andresito, “I fear you have not studied the history of England as I have done. Did you not know that all the people in your country were Indians till the Spanish king, Julius Cæsar, conquered it?”
The dinner passed off very brightly and merrily, and at last the English merchant proposed the health of the Indian chief. This was drunk heartily; but Mexias, who had much of the mischief-maker and still more of the cad in him, having emptied his glass, broke it and threw the pieces over his shoulder, calling on the Indians to do the same. Now this was not at all an uncommon Spanish custom; but Miss Postlethwaite had strong objections to seeing every glass in the house broken, at a time when communication with the capital was cut off, and even the simplest household necessaries difficult to procure. She whispered a hint to Andresito, at which the hot-headed fellow sprang up, drew his sword, and vowed that he would kill the next man who broke a glass.
In revenge for this snub, the Peruvian asked the Postlethwaite ladies and others to a dinner; and when all had partaken of and commended the soup and entrées, he took occasion to inform his guests with great insolence that the substance of all the 40 savouries was horse-beef. This elegant practical joke was his last. The following evening he was met by the brother of one of the Spanish ladies, who promptly avenged the insult in a manner not unusual among people of Latin blood—by plunging a knife into his back.
This incident was the beginning of general anarchy. Indians and Argentines alike took the law into their own hands, the latter emboldened by rumours that white armies were marching on the city, the former restless and demoralised through their leader’s inability to press on to further conquests till he was reinforced by the troops of Indians, half-castes, or insurgent whites for which he was waiting. To Mr. Postlethwaite there now seemed no more risk in flight than in remaining in the city; so, secreting his portable wealth, and sending his daughters forward with horses and two armed menservants as occasion offered, he managed to join them at nightfall near the river and well beyond the town.
They made excellent pace, and soon after daybreak had reached the strip of desolate, hilly country that runs along the west bank of the Parana. Then Postlethwaite called a halt, and had decided that they would rest themselves and their horses for a few hours, when Juan, his Spanish cook, pointed back to some moving objects at the foot of the long hill whose summit they had just reached—Indians, from the way they sat their horses, though the distance was too great for the watchers to distinguish whether they were the half-naked savages of the country or the better-dressed, better-armed cavalry of Andresito.
A Narrow Escape
When Corrientes was seized by Andresito and his Indians Mr. Postlethwaite and his daughters succeeded in escaping to the banks of the Parana. A pursuing body of Indians almost captured them, but the boat’s crew of a ship which happened to be lying in the river kept them at bay with oars and boat-stretchers.
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“In either case we must not risk falling into their hands,” said Postlethwaite. “Up with you all again.”
“But the horses are so beaten,” urged his elder daughter.
“Not more so than theirs, probably,” he said. “And they have a good mile or more of hill to climb.”
The jaded beasts were hastily mounted again, and, always keeping the river in sight, the party made what speed they could towards the nearest white station or landing-stage. The hill which their pursuers had yet to climb would double the value of the start they had of them, to be sure; but there would be no means of hiding from them when they again reached the high level, and unless the Indians’ horses were extraordinarily fatigued, it was to be feared that they would soon make up for lost time.
For the next half-hour there was no sign of redskins. Then one head, then another, straggled into view, but still so far distant that the fugitives could not see whether they were moving or stationary. Their own horses were on their last legs, so much so that it was becoming sheer brutality to urge them on. The two girls dismounted and turned their poor beasts loose and the servants followed their example—as did also Postlethwaite himself when, on looking back once more, he could see at least ten figures—moving now, beyond all doubt—not much more than a mile behind.
“We shall have to run for it,” he said.
“A ship, Señor; a ship!” cried one of the men hysterically, pointing ahead; and sure enough there 42 were the two naked topmasts of a brig, a mile or more farther down the river.
No one else remarked on the sight; no one had breath to spare for anything but running.
Five minutes went by, and they seemed no nearer. The Englishman glanced behind him; the Indians had not appreciably lessened the distance between them. Another five minutes, and then voices were becoming distinctly audible, though whether those of seamen or pursuers it was difficult to say. Postlethwaite began to stumble.
“I’m—done for,” he panted. “You must go on—and send help back.”
“No, no, give me your hand,” cried his elder daughter. “Look; look behind you!”
He obeyed. The two foremost Indians had abandoned their horses and come within gunshot; and one was coolly taking aim at them with his musket.
“Only another minute or two,” said the girl soothingly.
“Where are you going? Where are you going?” cried a voice in Spanish.
They were running exactly parallel to the river, but about thirty yards from the water-edge. Looking to their left they saw for the first time that one of the brig’s boats had drawn up as close as possible to the bank and that her coxswain was beckoning to them.
They needed no further warning, but made a dash for the boat. As they did so a bullet whistled past their ears, and the younger girl sank down on the dry grass.
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“She is wounded; she is killed,” shouted Postlethwaite.
“No,