The pirate attack had been a
complete surprise: a sure proof
that the unscrupulous Hook had
conducted it improperly, for
to surprise redskins fairly is
beyond the wit of the white man.
By all the unwritten laws of
savage warfare it is always the
redskin who attacks, and with
the wiliness of his race he does
it just before the dawn, at which
time he knows the courage of
the whites to be at its lowest
ebb. The white men have in the
meantime made a rude stockade
on the summit of yonder undulating
ground, at the foot of which
a stream runs, for it is destruction
to be too far from water. There
they await the onslaught, the
inexperienced ones clutching
their revolvers and treading
on twigs, but the old hands sleeping
tranquilly until just before
the dawn. Through the long black
night the savage scouts wriggle,
snake-like, among the grass without
stirring a blade. The brushwood
closes behind them, as silently
as sand into which a mole has
dived. Not a sound is to be heard,
save when they give vent to a
wonderful imitation of the lonely
call of the coyote. The cry is
answered by other braves; and
some of them do it even better
than the coyotes, who are not
very good at it. So the chill
hours wear on, and the long suspense
is horribly trying to the paleface
who has to live through it for
the first time; but to the trained
hand those ghastly calls and
still ghastlier silences are
but an intimation of how the
night is marching.
That this was the usual procedure
was so well known to Hook that
in disregarding it he cannot
be excused on the plea of ignorance.
The Piccaninnies, on their
part, trusted implicitly to his
honour, and their whole action
of the night stands out in marked
contrast to his. They left nothing
undone that was consistent with
the reputation of their tribe.
With that alertness of the senses
which is at once the marvel and
despair of civilised peoples,
they knew that the pirates were
on the island from the moment
one of them trod on a dry stick;
and in an incredibly short space
of time the coyote cries began.
Every foot of ground between
the spot where Hook had landed
his forces and the home under
the trees was stealthily examined
by braves wearing their mocassins
with the heels in front. They
found only one hillock with a
stream at its base, so that Hook
had no choice; here he must establish
himself and wait for just before
the dawn. Everything being thus
mapped out with almost diabolical
cunning, the main body of the
redskins folded their blankets
around them, and in the phlegmatic
manner that is to them, the pearl
of manhood squatted above the
children's home, awaiting the
cold moment when they should
deal pale death.
Here dreaming, though wide-awake,
of the exquisite tortures to
which they were to put him at
break of day, those confiding
savages were found by the treacherous
Hook. From the accounts afterwards
supplied by such of the scouts
as escaped the carnage, he does
not seem even to have paused
at the rising ground, though
it is certain that in that grey
light he must have seen it: no
thought of waiting to be attacked
appears from first to last to
have visited his subtle mind;
he would not even hold off till
the night was nearly spent; on
he pounded with no policy but
to fall to [get into combat].
What could the bewildered scouts
do, masters as they were of every
war-like artifice save this one,
but trot helplessly after him,
exposing themselves fatally to
view, while they gave pathetic
utterance to the coyote cry.
Around the brave Tiger Lily
were a dozen of her stoutest
warriors, and they suddenly saw
the perfidious pirates bearing
down upon them. Fell from their
eyes then the film through which
they had looked at victory. No
more would they torture at the
stake. For them the happy hunting-grounds
was now. They knew it; but as
their father's sons they acquitted
themselves. Even then they had
time to gather in a phalanx [dense
formation] that would have been
hard to break had they risen
quickly, but this they were forbidden
to do by the traditions of their
race. It is written that the
noble savage must never express
surprise in the presence of the
white. Thus terrible as the sudden
appearance of the pirates must
have been to them, they remained
stationary for a moment, not
a muscle moving; as if the foe
had come by invitation. Then,
indeed, the tradition gallantly
upheld, they seized their weapons,
and the air was torn with the
war-cry; but it was now too late.
It is no part of ours to describe
what was a massacre rather than
a fight. Thus perished many of
the flower of the Piccaninny
tribe. Not all unavenged did
they die, for with Lean Wolf
fell Alf Mason, to disturb the
Spanish Main no more, and among
others who bit the dust were
Geo. Scourie, Chas. Turley, and
the Alsatian Foggerty. Turley
fell to the tomahawk of the terrible
Panther, who ultimately cut a
way through the pirates with
Tiger Lily and a small remnant
of the tribe.
To what extent Hook is to blame
for his tactics on this occasion
is for the historian to decide.
Had he waited on the rising ground
till the proper hour he and his
men would probably have been
butchered; and in judging him
it is only fair to take this
into account. What he should
perhaps have done was to acquaint
his opponents that he proposed
to follow a new method. On the
other hand, this, as destroying
the element of surprise, would
have made his strategy of no
avail, so that the whole question
is beset with difficulties. One
cannot at least withhold a reluctant
admiration for the wit that had
conceived so bold a scheme, and
the fell [deadly] genius with
which it was carried out.
What were his own feelings
about himself at that triumphant
moment? Fain [gladly] would his
dogs have known, as breathing
heavily and wiping their cutlasses,
they gathered at a discreet distance
from his hook, and squinted through
their ferret eyes at this extraordinary
man. Elation must have been in
his heart, but his face did not
reflect it: ever a dark and solitary
enigma, he stood aloof from his
followers in spirit as in substance.
The night's work was not yet
over, for it was not the redskins
he had come out to destroy; they
were but the bees to be smoked,
so that he should get at the
honey. It was Pan he wanted,
Pan and Wendy and their band,
but chiefly Pan.
Peter was such a small boy
that one tends to wonder at the
man's hatred of him. True he
had flung Hook's arm to the crocodile,
but even this and the increased
insecurity of life to which it
led, owing to the crocodile's
pertinacity [persistance], hardly
account for a vindictiveness
so relentless and malignant.
The truth is that there was a
something about Peter which goaded
the pirate captain to frenzy.
It was not his courage, it was
not his engaging appearance,
it was not --. There is no beating
about the bush, for we know quite
well what it was, and have got
to tell. It was Peter's cockiness.
This had got on Hook's nerves;
it made his iron claw twitch,
and at night it disturbed him
like an insect. While Peter lived,
the tortured man felt that he
was a lion in a cage into which
a sparrow had come.
The question now was how to
get down the trees, or how to
get his dogs down? He ran his
greedy eyes over them, searching
for the thinnest ones. They wriggled
uncomfortably, for they knew
he would not scruple [hesitate]
to ram them down with poles.
In the meantime, what of the
boys? We have seen them at the
first clang of the weapons, turned
as it were into stone figures,
open-mouthed, all appealing with
outstretched arms to Peter; and
we return to them as their mouths
close, and their arms fall to
their sides. The pandemonium
above has ceased almost as suddenly
as it arose, passed like a fierce
gust of wind; but they know that
in the passing it has determined
their fate.
Which side had won?
The pirates, listening avidly
at the mouths of the trees, heard
the question put by every boy,
and alas, they also heard Peter's
answer.
"If the redskins have won," he
said, "they will beat the tom-
tom; it is always their sign
of victory."
Now Smee had
found the tom-tom, and was
at that moment sitting
on it. "You will never hear the
tom-tom again," he muttered,
but inaudibly of course, for
strict silence had been enjoined
[urged]. To his amazement Hook
signed him to beat the tom-tom,
and slowly there came to Smee
an understanding of the dreadful
wickedness of the order. Never,
probably, had this simple man
admired Hook so much.
Twice Smee beat upon the instrument,
and then stopped to listen gleefully.
"The tom-tom," the miscreants
heard Peter cry; "an Indian victory!" The
doomed children answered with
a cheer that was music to the
black hearts above, and almost
immediately they repeated their
good-byes to Peter. This puzzled
the pirates, but all their other
feelings were swallowed by a
base delight that the enemy were
about to come up the trees. They
smirked at each other and rubbed
their hands. Rapidly and silently
Hook gave his orders: one man
to each tree, and the others
to arrange themselves in a line
two yards apart.
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