When Wilderness Was King Part 30

"You mean that?" I asked, dimly recalling something I had once heard.

She shook the heavy coiled ma.s.s loose from its bondage, until it rippled in gleaming waves of color over her shoulders, and smiled back at me, yet not without traces of deep sadness in her eyes.

"'T is an Indian thought," she explained softly, "that such hair as mine is a special gift of the Great Spirit, and renders its wearer sacred. What was often spoken most lightly about in other days has in this dread wilderness proved my strongest defence. G.o.d uses strange means, Monsieur, to accomplish His purpose with the heathen."

She paused, listening intently to a sudden noise behind us.

"Creep in here, Monsieur," she whispered, quickly lifting an edge of the skin-covering of the lodge. "A party is returning from the Fort, perchance with more prisoners. Lie quiet there until I return; it will not be long."

I crawled through the slight opening into that black interior, turning to hold open the flap sufficiently to peer forth once more. I knew not where she vanished, as she faded away like a shadow; but I had hardly secured refuge, when a dozen painted warriors trooped by, shouting their fierce greeting. In the midst of them, half-stripped, and bleeding as if from freshly inflicted wounds, staggered a white man; and as the firelight fell full upon his haggard face, I recognized De Croix.

CHAPTER XXIX

A SOLDIER OF FRANCE

What followed was so extraordinary and incredible that I hesitate to record it, lest there be those who, judging in their own conceit, and knowing little of savage Indian nature, may question the truth of my narration, Yet I am now too old a man to permit unjust criticism to swerve me from the task I have a.s.sumed.

The extreme of misery that overwhelmed me at the moment when I beheld my comrade driven forward like a trapped beast to a death by torture, found expression in a sudden moan, which, fortunately for me, was unnoted amid the shouts of greeting that arose around the fire when those gathered there caught sight of the new-comers. Instantly all was confusion and uproar; a scene of savage debauchery, unrelieved by a redeeming feature or a sign of mercy. It was as if poor De Croix had been hurled, bound and gagged, into a den of infuriated wolves, whose jaws already dripped with the blood of slaughter. Gleaming weapons, glaring and l.u.s.tful eyes, writhing naked bodies, pressed upon him on every side, hurling him back and forth in brute play, every tongue mocking him, in every up-lifted hand a weapon for a blow.

The fierce animal nature within these red fiends was now uppermost, fanned into hot flame by hours of diabolical torture of previous victims, in which they had exhausted every expedient of cruelty to add to the dying agony of their prey. To this, fiery liquor had yielded its portion; while the weird incantations of their priests had transformed the most sober among them into demons of malignity. If ever, earlier in the night, their chiefs had exercised any control over them, that time was long since past; and now the inflamed warriors, bursting all restraint, answered only to the war-drum or made murderous response to the superst.i.tion of their medicine-men.

The entire centre of the encampment was a scene of drunken orgy, a phantasmagoria of savage figures, satanic in their relentless cruelty and black barbarity. Painted hundreds, bedecked with tinkling beads and waving feathers, howled and leaped in paroxysms of fury about the central fire, hacking at the helpless bodies of the dead victims of earlier atrocities, tearing their own flesh, beating each other with whips like wire, their madly brandished weapons flashing angrily in the flame-lit air.

Squaws, dirty of person and foul of mouth, often more ferocious in appearance and cruel in action than their masters, were everywhere, dodging amid the writhing bodies, screaming shrilly from excitement, their long coa.r.s.e hair whipping in the wind. Nor were they all Pottawattomies: others had flocked into this carnival of blood,---Wyandots and Sacs, even Miamis, until now it had become a contest for supremacy in savagery. 'T was as if h.e.l.l itself had opened, to vomit forth upon the prairie that blood-stained crew of dancing demons and shock the night with crime.

A dead white man,--the poor lad whose early torture we had witnessed,--his half-burnt body still hanging suspended at the stake, was in the midst of them, a red glare of embers beneath him, the curling smoke creeping upward into the black sky from about his head like devil's incense. In front of this hideous spectacle, regardless of the mutilated body, sat the ferocious old demon I had seen the evening previous, his head crowned with a bison's horns, his naked breast daubed with red and yellow figures to resemble crawling snakes, his face the hideous representation of a grinning skull. Above all other sounds rang out his yells, inciting his fellows to further atrocities, and accompanied by the dull booming of his wooden drum.

It was into this pack of ravening beasts that poor De Croix staggered from the surrounding shadows; and they surged about him, clamoring for place, greeting their new-found victim with jeers and blows and hoots of bitter hatred, viciously slashing at him with their knives, so that the very sight of it turned me sick, and made me sink my head upon my arms in helplessness and horror. A sudden cessation in the infernal uproar led me to peer forth once more. They had dragged the charred and blackened trunk of the dead soldier down from the post where it had hung suspended, and were fastening De Croix in its place, binding his hands behind the support, and kicking aside the still glowing embers of the former fire to give him s.p.a.ce to stand. It was brutally, fiendishly done, with thongs wound about his body so tightly as to lift the flesh in great welts, and those who labored at it striking cruel blows at his naked, quivering form, spitting viciously into his face, with taunting words, seeking through every form of ferocious ingenuity to wring from their helpless victim some sign of suffering, some shrieking plea for mercy. Once I marked a red devil stick a sharpened sliver of wood into the Frenchman's bare shoulder, touched it with fire, and then stand back laughing as the bound victim sought vainly to dislodge the torturing brand.

Whatever of shrinking fear De Croix may have exhibited an hour before, however he may have trembled from ghostly haunting and been made coward by contact with the dead, he was a man now, a soldier worthy of his uniform and of his manhood. Merciful G.o.d! but it made my heart swell to see the lad, as he faced those dancing devils and looked coolly into the eyes of death. His face was indeed ghastly white in the fire-glow, save where the red stains of blood disfigured it; but there was no wavering in the bold black eyes, no cowardly shrinking from his fate, no moan of weakness from between his tightly pressed lips. Scarce could I think of him then as being the same gentle exquisite that rode on the westward trail in powdered hair and gaudy waistcoat, worrying lest a pinch of dust might soil his faultless linen,--this begrimed, blood-stained, torn figure, naked to the waist, his small-clothes clinging in rags from his thighs, his head bare and with long black locks streaming to his shoulders. Yet it was now, not then, he won my respect and honor.

Once I saw him strain desperately at the cords in a mad endeavor to break free, his flashing eyes on the demons who were torturing him beyond endurance. Well I knew how he longed to lay hand on any weapon, and thus die, battling to the end; had he succeeded, I doubt not I should have been at his side, forgetful of all else in the struggle.

The deer-skin thongs, as unyielding as iron, held him fast. I ground my teeth and dug my nails into the earth to hold me from leaping forward in hopeless attempt at rescue, as a huge brute struck him savagely with clinched hand across the lips.

Suddenly, as if in response to some low spoken order, the jostling horde fell aside from before him, leaving a narrow s.p.a.ce unoccupied. I had no time to wonder at this movement before a tomahawk, whirling rapidly and flashing like a ruby in the red glare, went hurling forward, and buried its shining blade deep in the post an inch from the prisoner's head, the handle quivering with the force of impact. Again and again, amid yells of derision and encouragement, they threw, twice bringing token of blood from the grazed cheek and once cleaving the ear nearest me as if by a knife-blow. In spite of all, De Croix sneered at them, mocked their efforts, taunted them with their lack of skill, no doubt seeking to infuriate them and cause the striking of a merciful death-blow.

I trembled as I gazed, held there by a fascination I could not overcome, shading my eyes when I saw an arm uplifted to make a cast, and opening them in dread unspeakable as I heard the dull impact of the blow. Never in my life have I seen such marvellous nerve as this French gallant displayed in those awful moments; standing there motionless, with never a tremor, no twitching of a muscle, his scornful eyes following the deadly steel, his lips jeering at the throwers, as he coolly played the game whose stake was death. At last some savage cast from farther back amid the ma.s.s of howling contestants; I failed to see the upraised hand that grasped the weapon, but caught its sudden gleam as it sped onward, and De Croix was pinned helpless, the steel blade wedging his long hair deep into the wood.

A dozen screaming squaws now hustled forward the materials for a fire; I saw branches, roots, and leaves, piled high about his knees, and marked with a shudder the film of blue smoke as it soared upward ere the flame caught the green wood. Then suddenly some one kicked the pile over, hurling it into the faces of those who stooped beside it; and the fierce clamor ceased as if by magic.

I staggered to my knees, wondering what it could mean,--this strange silence after all the uproar. Then I saw. Out from the shadows, as if she herself were one, the strange girl who had been my companion glided forward into the red radius of the flame, and faced them, her back to De Croix.

Never shall I fail to recall her as she then appeared,--a veritable G.o.ddess of light fronting the fiends of darkness. With cheeks so white as to seem touched with death, her dark eyes glowed in consciousness of power, while her long, sweeping tresses rippled below her waist, gleaming in a wild red beauty almost supernatural. How womanly she was, how fair to look upon, and how unconscious of aught save her mission! One hand she held before her in imperious gesture of command; with the other she uplifted the crucifix, until the silver Christ sparkled in the light. "Back!" she said clearly. "Back! You shall not torture this man! I know him. He is a soldier of France!"

CHAPTER x.x.x

THE RESCUE AT THE STAKE

The word uttered by the strange woman was one to conjure with even then in the Illinois country. Many a year had pa.s.sed since the French flag ruled those prairies, yet not a warrior there but knew how the men of that race avenged an injury,--how swift their stroke, how keen their steel.

I watched the startled throng press closely backward, as if awed by her mysterious presence, influenced insensibly by her terse sentence of command, each dusky face a reflex of its owner's perplexity. Drunken as most of them were, crazed with savage blood-l.u.s.t and hours of remorseless torture of their victims, for the moment that sweet vision of womanly purity held them motionless, as if indeed the figure of the Christ she uplifted before their faces had taught them abhorrence of their crimes.

But it was not for long. To hundreds of those present she was merely an unknown white woman; while even to those who knew her best, the Pottawattomies, she appeared only as one who came to balk them of their revenge. They may have held her person inviolate amid their lodges, and even have countenanced her strange teaching; but now she had ventured too far in attempting thus to stand between them and their victim. They held back a single moment, halted by her fearlessness, rendered cowardly by vague superst.i.tions regarding her religious power; but after the first breathless pause of dumb astonishment and irresolution, voice after voice arose in hoa.r.s.e cries of rage and shouts of disapproval. There was a surging forward of the straining red line, while in their front howled and gesticulated the hideous old medicine-man, his painted face distorted by pa.s.sion, eager to grasp this auspicious moment to cast down forever one who had sought to end his superst.i.tious rule among the tribe. I marked how she drew back as they advanced, retreating step by step,--not, indeed, as if she feared them, but rather as if some definite purpose led her movement. Her eyes never wavered, her hand still uplifted the gleaming cross, as she retreated slowly, until she stood directly before De Croix, where he hung helplessly staring at her with an expression of fear in his face strangely at variance with his late show of desperate courage.

"Back!" she cried again, but now in a deeper and fuller voice that sounded like a clear-toned bell above the uproar. "I tell you I will kill this man with my own hand before I permit you to put further torture upon him!"

An instant only did this threat halt the gathering rush. Some one voiced an Indian insult, and there came a fierce surging forward, although no warrior among them seemed eager to lead in the attack. I saw the woman lift her hand, and caught the glimmer of a steel blade; and even as I sprang erect, partially flinging aside the obstructing flap of the lodge, an Indian, stalking silently forth from the shadows, faced the mob, standing motionless within a foot of the desperate girl, and with his back toward her. One glance at that tall thin figure, the stern face, the long white hair, told me it was the great war-chief of the Pottawattomies, Gomo; and I sank back trembling from the reaction of that moment's strain.

His words were calm, deliberate, commanding; but the angry roar with which they were greeted made me fear the horde he faced so resolutely was now beyond control. He smiled, his thin lips curling in derision as he gazed with contempt into the threatening faces pressing closer upon every side.

"Fear not," he murmured aside to the watchful woman, and resting one hand upon her arm. "Cut loose the prisoner!"

She turned instantly to her task, while he spoke briefly the names of his chiefs; and as each was called in turn, a warrior came from among the ma.s.s and silently stood beside him. A dozen came forth thus, stalwart, grim-faced braves, many with fresh scalps dangling at their belts.

Gomo now spoke again, using the French tongue, that all present might better grasp his meaning.

"Brothers," he said gravely, "this squaw is Pottawattomie. She was adopted by our people and lives in our lodges. Pottawattomies are friends to Frenchmen; there is no war between us. Why should Wyandots and Sacs wish to burn a Frenchman?"

For a moment no one ventured to reply; the mob stood halted now, robbed of its leaders and its courage, even the noisy medicine-man silenced before this stern array of protecting chiefs. Loose as was Indian discipline and tribal authority, even in drunkenness those desperate warriors dared not openly disregard such a display of power.

"Have the Pottawattomies spoken well?" questioned the old chief, sternly, "or have our words wronged our brothers?"

A giant of a fellow, whose broad face and huge head seemed disproportionate even to his big body, his long coa.r.s.e hair profusely ornamented with sh.e.l.ls and beads flashing gaudily in the firelight, pushed his way out from among the silent ma.s.s.

"Gomo, the great war-chief of the Pottawattomies, has spoken well," he said in a deep voice that rolled like distant thunder. "The Wyandots did not know; they war not with Frenchmen, nor harm the women of the Pottawattomies. The Great Spirit hath made us brothers, and we have smoked together the pipe of peace."

Gomo moved forward with Indian dignity, and exchanged solemn greeting with the new-comer.

"It makes the hearts of the Pottawattomies light to hear the words of Sau-ga-nash," he said gravely. Then he turned and waved his hand to his cl.u.s.tered warriors. "Release the Frenchman, and place him for safety in the council lodge. Pa.s.s the woman free. It is the will of our chiefs."

The council lodge! I glanced about me apprehensively; surely this must be the same tepee in which Captain Heald and I had met the chiefs!

There were no signs of ordinary Indian occupancy, and now as I looked about me the firelight from without revealed clearly the shading of those grotesque figures I recalled as having been sketched upon the outer covering. So it was here that De Croix was to be confined! I crept back hastily, dropping into place the loosened flap through which I had been peering. A skin or two were lying on the gra.s.sy floor; and I grasped the larger of these, drawing it over me while I rolled as closely as possible against the farther wall, hoping desperately that no Indian guards would be posted within.

The uproar outside continued, as if there were still opposition to the commands of the chiefs; but presently, as I peeped through a hole in the skin held over me, I perceived a sudden flash of light as the flap covering the entrance was drawn aside. I saw a number of dark hands thrust within, a savage face or two peering for a moment about the darkened interior; but to my inexpressible relief only one body was thrust inside, with such violence, however, as to cause the man to fall face downward at full length. The next instant the lodge was again wrapped in utter darkness. By G.o.d's mercy I remained undiscovered, and was alone with De Croix.

For a short time, a.s.sured as I was of this fact, I did not venture to creep from my place of concealment, or make my presence known to my companion. What ears might be listening, I knew not; nor dared I trust too much to the Frenchman's already over-taxed nerves. He did not move from the position where he fell; but I could hear him groan and sob, with now and then a broken e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n. Without, the yelling and uproar grew perceptibly less, although an occasional outburst gave evidence that the carousal was not wholly ended. Finally I pushed back the robe that covered me, now grown uncomfortably warm, and crept cautiously toward the place where I knew him to be lying. It was intensely dark, and I was still fearful lest he might cry out if I startled him.

"De Croix," I whispered, "make no alarm; I am Wayland."

"Wayland!" I could mark the amazement in his tone, as he instantly sat upright, peering through the gloom in the direction whence my voice came. "_Mon Dieu_! You are here? You saw all of it?"

"Ay," I answered, reaching out and groping in the darkness until I grasped his hand. "You have had a hard time, my lad; but the worst is over, and hope remains for us both."