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“I was looking down at the sounding-pole, and feeling much annoyed to see
at each try a little more of it stick out of that river, when I saw my
poleman give up on the business suddenly, and stretch himself flat on the
deck, without even taking the trouble to haul his pole in. He kept hold on
it though, and it trailed in the water. At the same time the fireman, whom I
could also see below me, sat down abruptly before his furnace and ducked his
head. I was amazed. Then I had to look at the river mighty quick, because
there was a snag in the fairway. Sticks, little sticks, were flying
about—thick: they were whizzing before my nose, dropping below me, striking
behind me against my pilot-house. All this time the river, the shore, the
woods, were very quiet—perfectly quiet. I could only hear the heavy
splashing thump of the stern-wheel and the patter of these things. We
cleared the snag clumsily. Arrows, by Jove! We were being shot at! I stepped
in quickly to close the shutter on the landside. That fool-helmsman, his
hands on the spokes, was lifting his knees high, stamping his feet, champing
his mouth, like a reined-in horse. Confound him! And we were staggering
within ten feet of the bank. I had to lean right out to swing the heavy
shutter, and I saw a face amongst the leaves on the level with my own,
looking at me very fierce and steady; and then suddenly, as though a veil
had been removed from my eyes, I made out, deep in the tangled gloom, naked
breasts, arms, legs, glaring eyes—the bush was swarming with human limbs in
movement, glistening of bronze colour. The twigs shook, swayed, and rustled,
the arrows flew out of them, and then the shutter came to. ‘Steer her
straight,’ I said to the helmsman. He held his head rigid, face forward; but
his eyes rolled, he kept on lifting and setting down his feet gently, his
mouth foamed a little. ‘Keep quiet!’ I said in a fury. I might just as well
have ordered a tree not to sway in the wind. I darted out. Below me there
was a great scuffle of feet on the iron deck; confused exclamations; a voice
screamed, ‘Can you turn back?’ I caught sight of a V-shaped ripple on the
water ahead. What? Another snag! A fusillade burst out under my feet. The
pilgrims had opened with their Winchesters, and were simply squirting lead
into that bush. A deuce of a lot of smoke came up and drove slowly forward.
I swore at it. Now I couldn’t see the ripple or the snag either. I stood in
the doorway, peering, and the arrows came in swarms. They might have been
poisoned, but they looked as though they wouldn’t kill a cat. The bush began
to howl. Our wood-cutters raised a warlike whoop; the report of a rifle just
at my back deafened me. I glanced over my shoulder, and the pilot-house was
yet full of noise and smoke when I made a dash at the wheel. The fool-nigger
had dropped everything, to throw the shutter open and let off that
Martini-Henry. He stood before the wide opening, glaring, and I yelled at
him to come back, while I straightened the sudden twist out of that
steamboat. There was no room to turn even if I had wanted to, the snag was
somewhere very near ahead in that confounded smoke, there was no time to
lose, so I just crowded her into the bank—right into the bank, where I knew
the water was deep.
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“I was watching with annoyance as the water got shallower and shallower,
when I noticed that the man holding the pole we used to tell the depth had
decided to lie down on the deck. He didn’t even bother to haul in the pole,
which was still in his hand but dragging in the water. Then I saw the man in
charge of the boiler sit down and cover his head. I had no idea what was
going on. I thought we’d hit some of the overhanging branches, because
little sticks were falling all over the deck. The river, the shore, and the
woods were completely quiet. All I could hear was the thump of our
paddlewheel and the sound of those little sticks falling. Then it hit me:
arrows! We were being shot at! I stepped into my cabin and closed the
shutter facing the shore. That fool helmsman had his hands on the wheel but
was stamping his feet up and down like a horse. Damn him! And we were less
than ten feet from the shore. As I leaned out to close the shutter, I saw a
face among the leaves. It was staring fiercely at me. And then I could see
clearly all sorts of arms and legs and eyes in the dark trees. The bush was
swarming with them. The leaves rustled and arrows flew out of them. I
managed to close the shutter and said to the helmsman, ‘Steer her straight.’
He kept his head perfectly still but his eyes rolled and he was practically
foaming at the mouth in fear. ‘Calm down!’ I said angrily. I may as well
have told a tree not to sway in the wind. I ran out onto the deck. I heard a
voice scream, ‘Turn back!’ and I saw another snag in the river up ahead. The
agents were blasting their rifles, squirting lead into the bush. Their guns
were smoking so much that I couldn’t see ahead anymore. The little arrows
came in swarms. They may have been poisoned, but they looked like they
couldn’t kill a cat. There was howling from the bush, and then a roar of
gunfire in my ear. I turned around and saw that the helmsman had let go of
the wheel and was blasting away with the machine gun. I grabbed the wheel
and saw that there wasn’t time to turn us away from the snag, so I steered
the boat straight toward the bank, where I knew the water was
deepest.
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