The Mississippi Bubble Part 25

"Where is your big peace?" asked Teganisoris of Pembroke. "Where are the head men of Corlaer? Who brings presents to the Iroquois, and who is to tell us that Onontio has carried the pipe of peace to Corlaer? Here are our villages as when we left them, and here again are we, save for the absent ones who have been killed by your young men. It is no wonder that my people are displeased."

Indeed those of the Iroquois who had remained at home clamored continually that some of the prisoners should be given over to them.

Thus, in doubt, uncertainty and terror the party pa.s.sed through the villages, moving always eastward, until at length they arrived at the fortified town where Teganisoris made his home, a spot toward the foot of Lake Ontario, and not widely removed from that stupendous cataract which, from the beginning of earth, had uplifted its thunderous diapason here in the savage wilderness--Ontoneagrea, object of superst.i.tious awe among all the tribes.

Time hung heavy on the hands of the savages. It was winter, and the parties had all returned from the war trails. The mutterings arose yet more loudly among families who had lost most heavily in these Western expeditions. The shrewd mind of Teganisoris knew that some new thing must be planned. He announced his decision at his own village, after the triumphal progress among the tribes had at length been concluded.

"Since they have sent us no presents," said he, with that daring diplomacy which made him a leader in red statesmanship, "let those who stayed at home be given some prisoner in pay for those of their people who have been killed. Moreover, let us offer to the Great Spirit some sacrifice in propitiation; since surely the Great Spirit is offended."

Such was the conclusion of this head man of the Onondagos, and fateful enough it was to the prisoners.

The great gorge through which poured the vast waters of the Northern seas was a spot not always visited by those pa.s.sing up the Great Lakes for the Western stations, nor down the Lakes to the settlements of the St. Lawrence. Yet there was a trail which led around the great cataract, and the occasional _coureurs de bois_, or the pa.s.sing friars, or the adventurous merchants of the lower settlements now and again left that trail, and came to look upon the tremendous scene of the great falling of the waters. Here where the tumult ascended up to heaven, and where the white-blown wreaths of mist might indeed, even in an imagination better than that of a savage, have been construed into actual forms of spirits, the Indians had, from time immemorial, made their offerings to the genius of the cataract--strips of rude cloth, the skin of the beaver and the otter, baskets woven of sweet gra.s.ses, and, after the advent of the white man, pieces of metal or strings of precious beads. Such valued things as these were in rude adoration placed upon rocks or uplifted scaffolds near to the brink of the abyss. This was the spot most commonly chosen by the medicine man in the pursuit of his incantations.

It was the church, the wild and savage cathedral of the red men.

Following now the command of their chieftain, the Iroquois left their stationary lodges and moved in a body, pitching a temporary camp at a spot not far from the Falls. Here, in a great council lodge, the older men sat in deliberation for a full day and night. The dull drum sounded continually, the council pipe went round, and the warriors besought the spirits to give them knowledge. The savage hysteria, little by little, yet steadily, arose higher and higher, until at length it reached that point of frenzy where naught could suffice save some terrible, some tremendous thing.

Enforced spectators of these curious and ominous ceremonies, the prisoners looked on, wondering, imagining, hesitating and fearing.

"Monsieur," said Pierre Noir, turning at last to Law, "it grieves me to speak, yet 'tis best for you to know the truth. It is to be you or Monsieur Pembroke. They will not have me. They say that it must be one of you two great chiefs, for that you were brave, your hearts were strong, and that hence you would find favor as the adopted child of the Great Spirit who has been offended."

Law looked at Pembroke, and they both regarded Mary Connynge and the babe. "At least," said Law, "they spare the woman and the child. So far very well. Sir Arthur, we are at the last hazard."

"I have asked them to take me," said Pierre Noir, "for I am an old man and have no family. But they will not listen to me."

Pembroke pa.s.sed his hand wearily across his face. "I have behind me so long a memory of suffering," said he, "and before me so small an amount of promise, that for myself I am content to let it end. It comes to all sooner or later, according to our fate."

"You speak," said Law, "as though it were determined. Yet Pierre says it will not be both of us, but one."

Pembroke smiled sadly. "Why, sir," said he, "do you think me so sorry a fellow as that? Look!" and he pointed to Mary Connynge and the child.

"There is your duty."

Law followed his gaze, and his look was returned dumbly by the woman who had played so strange a part in the late pa.s.sages of his life. Never a word with her had Law spoken regarding his plans or concerning what he had learned from Pembroke. As to this, Mary Connynge had been afraid to ask, nor dare ask even now.

"Besides," went on Pembroke later, as he called Law aside, "there is something to be done--not here, but over there, in England, or in France. Your duty is involved not only with this woman. You must find sometime the other woman. You must see the Lady Catharine Knollys."

Law sunk his head between his hands and groaned bitterly.

"Go you rather," said he, "and spend your life for her. I choose that it should end at once, and here."

"I have not been wont to call Mr. Law a coward," said Pembroke, simply.

"I should be a coward if I should stand aside and allow you to sacrifice yourself; nor shall I do so," replied the other.

"They say," broke in Pierre Noir, who had been listening to the excited harangues of first one warrior and then another, "that both warriors are great chiefs, and that both should go together. Teganisoris insists that only one shall be offered. This last has been almost agreed; but which one of you 'tis to be has not yet been determined."

Dawn came through the narrow door and open roof holes of the lodge. The rising of the sun seemed to bring conviction to the Iroquois. All at once the savage council broke up and scattered into groups, which hurried to different parts of the village. Presently these reappeared at the central lodge. There sounded a concerted savage chant. A ragged column appeared, whose head was faced toward the cataract. There were those who bore strings of beads and strips of fur, even the prized treasures of the tufted scalp locks, whose tresses, combed smooth, were adorned with colored cloth and feathers.

Pierre Noir was silent; yet, as the captives looked, they needed no advice that the sacrificial procession was now forming.

"They said," began Pierre Noir, at length, with trembling voice, turning his eyes aside as he spoke, "that it could not be myself, that it must be one of you, and but one. They are going to cast lots for it. It is Teganisoris who has proposed that the lots shall be thrown by--" Pierre Noir faltered, unwilling to go on.

"And by whom?" asked Law, quietly.

"By--by the woman--by madame!"

CHAPTER XIII

THE SACRIFICE

There was sometimes practised among the Iroquois a game which bore a certain resemblance to the casting of dice, as the latter is known among civilized peoples. The method of the play was simple. Two oblong polished bones, of the bigness of a man's finger, were used as the dice.

The ends of these were ground thin and were rudely polished. One of the dice was stained red, the other left white. The players in the game marked out a line on the hard ground, and then each in turn cast up the two dice into the air, throwing them from some receptacle. The game was determined by the falling of the red bone, he who cast this colored bone closer to the line upon the ground being declared the winner. The game was simple, and depended much upon chance. If the red die fell flat upon its face at a point near to the line, it was apt to lie close to the spot where it dropped. On the other hand, did it alight upon either end, it might bound back and fall at some little distance upon one side of the line.

It was this game which, in horrible fashion, Teganisoris now proposed to play. He offered to the clamoring medicine man and his ferocious disciples one of these captives, whose death should appease not only the offended Great Spirit, but also the unsated vengeance of the tribe. He offered, at the same time, the spectacle of a play in which a human life should be the stake. He used as practical executioner the woman who was possessed by one of them, and who, in the crude notions of the savages, was no doubt coveted by both. It must be the hand of this woman that should cast the dice, a white one and a red one for each man, and he whose red die fell closer to the line was winner in the grim game of life and death.

Jean Breboeuf and Pierre Noir stood apart, and tears poured from the eyes of both. They were hardened men, well acquainted with Indian warfare; they had seen the writhings of tortured victims, and more than once had faced such possibilities themselves; yet never had they seen sight like this.

Near the two men stood Mary Connynge, the bright blood burning in her cheeks, her eyes dry and wide open, looking from one to the other. G.o.d, who gives to this earth the few Mary Connynges, alone knows the nature of those elements which made her, and the character of the conflict which now went on within her soul. Tell such a woman as Mary Connynge that she has a rival, and she will either love the more madly the man whom she demands as her own, or with equal madness and with greater intensity will hate her lover with a hatred untying and unappeasable.

Mary Connynge stood, her eyes glancing from one to the other of the men before her. She had seen them both proved brave men, strong of arm, undaunted of heart, both gallant gentlemen. G.o.d, who makes the Mary Connynges of this earth, only can tell whether or not there arose in the heart of this savage woman, this woman at bay, scorned, rebuked, mastered, this one question: Which? If Mary Connynge hated John Law, or if she loved him--ah! how must have pulsed her heart in agony, or in bitterness, as she took into her hand those lots which were the arbiters of life and death!

Teganisoris looked about him and spoke a few rapid words. He caught Mary Connynge roughly by the shoulder and pulled her forward. The two men stood with faces set and gray in the pitiless light of morn. Their arms were fast bound behind their backs. Eagerly the crowding savages pressed up to them, gesticulating wildly, and peering again and again into their faces to discover any sign of weakness. They failed. The pride of birth, the strength of character, the sheer animal vigor of each man stood him in stead at this ultimate trial. Each had made up his mind to die. Each proposed, not doubting that he would be the one to draw the fatal lot, to die as a man and a gentleman.

Teganisoris would play this game with all possible mystery and importance. It should be told generations hence about the council fires, how he, Teganisoris, devised this game, how he played it, how he drew it out link by link to the last atom of its agony. There was no receptacle at hand in which the dice could be placed. Teganisoris stooped, and without ceremony wrenched from Mary Connynge's foot the moccasin which covered it--the little shoe--beaded, beautiful, and now again fateful.

Sir Arthur smiled as though in actual joy.

"My friend," said he, "I have won! This might be the very slipper for which we played at the Green Lion long ago."

Law turned upon him a face pale and solemn. "Sir," said he, "I pray G.o.d that the issue may not be as when we last played. I pray G.o.d that the dice may elect me and not yourself."

"You were ever lucky in the games of chance," replied Pembroke.

"Too lucky," said Law. "But the winner here is the loser, if it be myself."

Teganisoris roughly took from Mary Connynge's hand the little bits of bone. He cast them into the hollow of the moccasin and shook them dramatically together, holding them high above his head. Then he lowered them and took out from the receptacle two of the dice. He placed his hand on Law's shoulder, signifying that his was to be the first cast.

Then he handed back the moccasin to the woman.

Mary Connynge took the shoe in her hand and stepped forward to the line which had been drawn upon the ground. The red spots still burned upon her cheeks; her eyes, amber, feline, still flamed hard and dry. She still glanced rapidly from one to the other, her eye as lightly quick and as brilliant as that of the crouched cat about to spring.

Which? Which would it be? Could she control this game? Could she elect which man should live and which should die--this woman, scorned, abased, mastered? Neither of these sought to read the riddle of her set face and blazing eyes. Each as he might offered his soul to his Creator.

The hand of Mary Connynge was raised above her head. Her face was turned once more to John Law, her master, her commander, her repudiator.

Slowly she turned the moccasin over in her hand. The white bone fell first, the red for a moment hanging in the soft folds of the buckskin.

She shook it out. It fell with its face nearly parallel to the ground and alighted not more than a foot from the line, rebounding scarce more than an inch or so. Low exclamations arose from all around the thickened circle.

"As I said, my friend," cried Sir Arthur, "I have won! The throw is pa.s.sing close for you."

Teganisoris again caught Mary Connynge by the shoulder, and dragged her a step or so farther along the line, the two dice being left on the ground as they had fallen. Once more, her hand arose, once more it turned, once more the dice were cast.