THE PRICE OF TREACHERY.
Little Fox had remained all night in the white village, and as it was
noised about that he had betrayed the plans of Black-Hawk, he had no
lack of his favorite beverage, and morning found him as drunk as ever.
Captain Melton sent a man with a canoe to carry the price of the
information to the point above the island, and as the son of Black-Hawk
was crossing the river, Little Fox was sitting in drunken state upon his
keg, dreaming of the glorious times he would have when he broached it in
the seclusion of his lodge. He remembered indistinctly that some one had
promised to help him across the river with his prize, but for his life
could not remember who it was, and it almost sobered him when he saw
Na-she-eschuck crossing from the other shore, and he fumbled with the
lock of his rifle, and was half inclined to warn the Sac to keep off.
But the fumes of the liquor were still in his brain, and the young chief
landed and came toward him.
“The Pottawatomie did not lie to Na-she-eschuck,” said he. “Let us put
the fire-water into the canoe.”
“You put him in,” said the owner. “Me watch.”
He looked on while Na-she-eschuck placed the keg in the canoe and then
followed, and, drunk as he was, managed to seat himself safely in the
light craft. The Sac followed, and obeying the orders he had received,
headed up the river, rounded the point of the island, and made toward
the other shore. There was something in the stern, steadfast look of
Na-she-eschuck which struck a chill into the heart of the traitor
Pottawatomie, and almost sobered him, and twice he laid his hand upon
his rifle, as if tempted to use it upon his companion. But, as often as
he did so, the countenance of the Sac took on a pleasant air of good
fellowship, which made it impossible to be angry with him.
“Why does not Na-she-eschuck go to the bank?” said Little Fox. “We will
make a hole in the fire-water tub and drink.”
The canoe was now headed directly for the point of the woodland which
came down to the water’s edge, and after drawing the light bark up the
bank, they took the keg between them and carried it up to the first
opening, where it was placed upon its end, while Little Fox, by the aid
of his knife, succeeded in drawing out the bung.
“Wagh!” he cried. “Smell good, don’t he, Na-she-eschuck? Now s’pose you
get straws, we drink much, good deal.”
The Sac went down to the water’s edge and quickly cut two long, slender
reeds, one of which he gave to Little Fox, and the two sat down over the
keg, inserted the reeds, and began to imbibe after the manner of boys
over a barrel of cider. But, although Na-she-eschuck went through all
the motions of drinking rapidly, it is doubtful if he took as much as
Little Fox, whose fiery eyes began to light up as he took in the burning
fluid, and in five minutes he was more drunk than before he crossed the
stream.
“E-yah! Little Fox is the friend of the white man. Who would not serve
them when he can earn such drink?”
“Tell Na-she-eschuck what to do and he will get fire-water from the
white man.”
Drunk as he was, Little Fox looked at the speaker in astonishment. That
the Sac youth would betray his father seemed impossible to him, and yet
knowing how strong his own love of liquor was, and that he would betray
a nation to obtain it, his surprise faded away.
“Will Na-she-eschuck do this? He can get more fire-water than Little
Fox, for he knows more.”
“What must I do?”
“Go to the white men and tell them all that Black-Hawk is doing, and my
brother will be very rich.”
“Has Little Fox done this?”
“He has done what he could, but he did not know much,” replied the
traitor. “Na-she-eschuck has been in the lodge of his father and heard
his words.”
“Na-she-eschuck will do any thing for fire-water,” said the young chief,
seeming to reel as he sat. “Did the white men give all this for the
message which was brought them by Little Fox?”
The Pottawattomie nodded, and again applied his mouth to the reed. But,
at this moment the expression of drunken gravity passed away from the
face of Na-she-eschuck. He bounded to his feet, with a look of wild rage
upon his dark face and his hand upon his hatchet, and drunk as Little
Fox was, he could see that he was deceived and that Na-she-eschuck was
perfectly sober. He would have seized his rifle, but the foot of the
young Sac was firmly planted upon it and he found it impossible to raise
it, and the threatening action of Na-she-eschuck caused him to draw back
in alarm.
“Dog—traitor!” hissed the chief. “You have betrayed our people into the
hands of the enemy and you shall die. Black-Hawk, Napope and
Wa-be-ke-zhick, appear.”
As he spoke, the three chiefs, accompanied by Will Jackwood, appeared
from the bushes upon the right. Every face was black with fury, and the
traitorous savage knew that his doom was fast approaching. He would have
fled, but the strong hands of Na-she-eschuck and Napope were upon him,
and in the twinkling of an eye his hands were bound behind him and
Black-Hawk stood regarding him with a steadfast look, which had no pity
in it.
“The ears of Black-Hawk have heard the words which have been spoken by
the mouth of a traitor. Away with him to the sacred wood and then call
the warriors to witness his fate.”
Napope and Na-she-eschuck dragged him away, and Black-Hawk uttered a
signal whoop which quickly brought four stalwart Indians to the spot,
who, at the command of Black-Hawk, fastened up the keg, and making a
sort of cradle of strong boughs, carried the liquor away toward the
sacred forest, being solemnly warned not to touch it on their lives.
After them marched the remaining chiefs and Black-Hawk, taking a
sequestered path through the wood. Half an hour’s walk brought them to a
deep glen in the midst of the solemn woods, where a sort of rude altar
was erected, and where the mystic ceremonies of their strange religion
were nearly always observed. A solitary tree of small size, with a
blackened trunk, the scene of many a sacrifice, was standing in the
center of the glade, and there, tightly bound with green withes, stood
Little Fox awaiting his fate.
The Indian was sober enough now, for nothing brings a man to his senses
so quickly, no matter how much stupefied by drink, as the presence of
danger. His eyes roved from face to face for some sign of relenting or
pity, but he found none.
“Why has Black-Hawk brought a Pottawattomie here?” he said. “He dare not
shed the blood of the son of Na-bo-lish.”
“Na-bo-lish was a great chief but his son is a dog,” he said.
“Black-Hawk will not shed his blood, and a coward’s death he shall die.”
“Little Fox knows how to die, if die he must,” replied the Indian,
proudly. “He will speak no more and he dares Black-Hawk to do his
worst.”
The summons had gone forth, and one by one the chiefs and warriors began
to enter the sacred wood. Every face was clouded, for they knew that
they would not have been called to this place but to witness some great
sacrifice. A single glance at the prisoner was all they gave, and then,
man by man, they seated themselves in a great circle and waited for the
coming of others. In less than an hour from the time when Little Fox was
taken, five hundred grim warriors were seated within the glade, and then
Black-Hawk arose.
“Chiefs and warriors,” he cried—“children of the same great Father,
although our tribes are many—listen to Black-Hawk. He is getting old,
his hair is gray, but he weeps for the sorrows of the poor Indian. Once,
all these great hunting-grounds, in which the white man plants his corn,
were the property of the Indian. There he lived—there he died, and there
he lies buried. The steel of the white man’s plow is among the bones,
and he builds his lodge in the villages which once were ours.
“This should make an Indian very sad, and he should do all he can to
help his people. But there are some who are so base that for the
fire-water of the white man they would sell their fathers’ bones. It
grieves the heart of Black-Hawk that this should be so, for he loves the
Indian. Now, when we have risen for our rights, and to protect our once
happy homes, Indians of the pure blood stand ready to give us up a prey
to the white man, that they may drink the strong water which makes men
mad.
“Look upon this man. He is a son of the great Na-bo-lish, the
Pottawattomie. Once, he was a man and a mighty warrior. His foot was
quick upon the war-path, and his hand ready to shed the blood of his
enemies. The white men came and brought the strong water to the
villages. Little Fox was no longer a man when he had taken it into his
mouth. Let Na-she-eschuck speak, and tell the warriors what Little Fox
has done, and then let them speak. I have done.”
He sat down amid a strange murmuring, and Na-she-eschuck arose. The
young chief was well known for his strict honesty, and they were assured
that he would not lie to save his life.
“My father has spoken good words. Little Fox has sold us to the white
men for a rifle, two blankets and this fire-water,” striking the keg
with his foot. “Out of his own mouth condemn him. Let him die.”
Napope arose.
“I heard the words which came from the lips of Little Fox, and the Sac
has spoken the truth. Let Little Fox die like a dog.”
“And I heard it,” cried the Prophet. “I—Wa-be-ke-zhick, the Prophet. He
sold us to the white men and he deserves to die. Now let the chiefs and
warriors speak.”
There was a sudden movement among the listening warriors. They arose as
one man, and every voice pealed out the solemn sentence: “He is a
traitor; let him die!”
“You are women,” shrieked the Pottawottamie, fiercely. “Do your worst;
Little Fox will show you how to die.”
“It is well,” said Black-Hawk, slightly inclining his head. “We will not
deny that Little Fox has been a great brave, but he is now a dog. Let
the chiefs come about me, and we will have a talk.”
They were not long in consultation, and then separated, the chiefs going
about among the men and giving their orders. Then a long-sounding whoop
from Black-Hawk called them into line, and they began to circle about
the tree, pointing their fingers scornfully at the prisoner. Then
Black-Hawk advanced and bared the breast of the prisoner, exposing the
totem of his tribe.
“Look,” he said, “he bears upon his bosom the sign of a great tribe.
This is not well, and it must be removed. Wa-be-ke-zhick, advance, and
cut the totem from his flesh.”
“Cut away the totem of the great tribe,” cried the warriors. “He has no
right to wear it, who is a dog. Cut it away!”
The countenance of Little Fox was distorted with rage more than fear.
Drunken and worthless as he had become, he was a true Indian, and felt
keenly the disgrace about to be put upon him.
“Do not dare to make a chief a dog,” he hissed. “Give me the torture, or
give me death. Have I no friend among this people who will strike a
sharp knife into my breast?”
“Has he a friend among the warriors who will do this?” said Black-Hawk.
“Let him speak.”
No voice replied, and the countenance of Little Fox changed from hope to
fear.
“He has no friend,” cried Black-Hawk. “Advance, Wa-be-ke-zhick; cut away
the totem.”
It was done, and Little Fox, if he lived, was ostracised for ever from
his tribe and death would be to him a happy release. In the mean time, a
great caldron had been placed upon a fire, and in this the keg of rum
was poured, and a great quantity of gourds piled up beside it. The
spirits had now begun to bubble, and taking up a little in a gourd,
Black-Hawk advanced and offered it to the condemned man.
“For this you sold us to the white men, Little Fox. Drink, now that I
give it to you. It is warm—it is good—it will make you strong.”
As he spoke, he dashed the contents of the gourd against the breast of
the doomed man, and Little Fox uttered an appalling shriek which rung
with startling distinctness through the forest. Now ensued a horrible
scene, as Indian after Indian caught up a gourd and dashed a portion of
the boiling spirits upon the naked body of the traitor. Black Will
stopped his ears and turned away his head to shut out the agonizing
sights and sounds which the sacrifice presented. He was a cruel man by
nature, but he found that the Indians could go beyond him in refinement
of torture. At last the caldron was empty, and the victim stood
literally parboiled at the stake, gnawing his lips to keep down the
shrieks which arose in spite of himself. The faces of his stern
executioners did not change, and they were about to commence some new
species of torture, when Black Will sprung between.
“Stop, Black-Hawk; stand back there, Napope. This fellow deserves death.
But you shall not torture him any longer. Kill him, and put him out of
pain.”
“Stand aside, white man!” cried Napope. “Why do you come between the
warriors and a traitor?”
“White man! I am the son of Red-Bird, the Sac, who died in the white
man’s prison; and I say that this shall not go on. Will you kill him?”
“No; let the torture go on.”
Black Will wheeled in his tracks, drew a pistol, and shot Little Fox
through the heart. Bloody as the deed was, it was mercy, compared with
the torture in store for the traitor. He started as the bullet pierced
him, a look of ferocious joy passed over his face, and his head dropped
upon his bosom. There came a wild rush at the immovable figure of Black
Will, but the sonorous voice of Black-Hawk was heard, ordering them to
stand back.
“Touch not the son of Red-Bird, lest you make an enemy of Black-Hawk,”
he cried. “Take down the body and cast it out in the open woods, that
the wolves may eat all that is left of a traitor.”
The work was done, and although there was some grumbling at being robbed
of their victim so early, the bravest among the warriors were inclined
to commend the bold action of Black Will, although, under the
circumstances, none of them would have dared to do the same. The body
was thrown upon the earth to rot, and the warriors on their march back
to the village, when a runner, hot with haste, dashed into the forest
and met Black-Hawk.
“Let the braves take their hatchets,” he cried. “The white men are upon
the march.”
“Ha,” cried Black-Hawk. “Do they come with arms?”
“Major Stillman comes, with many warriors,” replied the runner.
“Let us see if they are friends,” said Black-Hawk. “If they come in
peace it is well. If they harm a hair of one of my young men they shall
all die.”
He sent out five young warriors with a white flag, who did not return.
Later in the day three more went out and reconnoitered in the vicinity
of the advance of the white men. They were pursued and two of them
killed, the first blood shed in the war. The third escaped and brought
the news to Black-Hawk, and they dug up the hatchet and prepared for
war.