Their hair was jet black, but instead of being long, was
short and curly--though not woolly--somewhat like the hair of a young
boy. While we gazed with interest and some anxiety at these poor
creatures, the big chief advanced to one of the elder females and laid
his hand upon the child. But the mother shrank from him, and clasping
the little one to her bosom, uttered a wail of fear. With a savage
laugh, the chief tore the child from her arms and tossed it into the
sea. A low groan burst from Jack's lips as he witnessed this atrocious
act and heard the mother's shriek, as she fell insensible on the sand.
The rippling waves rolled the child on the beach, as if they refused to
be a party in such a foul murder, and we could observe that the little
one still lived.
The young girl was now brought forward, and the chief addressed her;
but although we heard his voice and even the words distinctly, of
course we could not understand what he said. The girl made no answer to
his fierce questions, and we saw by the way in which he pointed to the
fire that he threatened her life.
"Peterkin," said Jack in a hoarse whisper, "have you got your knife?"
"Yes," replied Peterkin, whose face was pale as death.
"That will do. Listen to me, and do my bidding quick.--Here is the
small knife, Ralph.--Fly both of you through the bush, cut the cords
that bind the prisoners, and set them free. There! quick, ere it be too
late.
Pages:
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199