“By gracious! stars and garters! &c.! &c.! This is a new way of
introducing one’s self!” exclaimed Seth, as he sprawled out among the
savages around the council fire.
The consternation of the Indians at this sudden apparition among
them may well be imagined. The crackling of the undergrowth above,
had aroused them, yet the advent of Seth was so sudden and almost
instantaneous, that ere they could form a suspicion of the true nature
of things, he was among them. Their habitual quickness of thought came
to them at once. Graham was seen as he wheeled and fled, and as has
been shown, a number sprang at once in pursuit, while a dozen leaped
upon Seth, and as many tomahawks were raised.
“Now jest hold on,” commanded Seth; “there ain’t any need of being in a
hurry. Plenty time to take my hair. Fact, by gracious.”
His serio-comical manner arrested and amused his captors. They all
paused and looked at him, as if expecting another outburst, while he
contented himself with gazing at them with a look of scornful contempt.
Seeing this, one sprang forward, and clenching his hair in a twist,
hissed--
“Oh! cuss Yankee! we burn him!”
“If you know what’s best, ole chap, you’ll take yer paw off my head in
a hurry. Ef you don’t you mought find it rather convenient to.”
The savage, as if to humor him, removed his hand, and Seth’s rifle
too. Seth gazed inquiringly at him a moment, and then with an air of
conscious superiority, said:
“I’ll lend that to you awhile, provided you return it all right. Mind,
you be keerful now, ’cause that ar gun cost something down in New
Hampshire.”
From what has just been written, it will doubtless be suspected that
Seth’s conduct was a part which he was playing. When thrown into peril
by the impatience of his companion, he saw at once that an attempt at
flight was useless. Nothing was left but to submit to his misfortune
with the best grace possible; and yet there was a _way_ in which this
submission could be effected which would result better for himself
than otherwise. Had he offered resistance, or submitted despairingly,
as many a man would have done, he would doubtless have been tomahawked
instantly. So, with a readiness of thought, which was astonishing, he
assumed an air of reckless bravado. This, as we have shown, had the
desired result thus far. How it succeeded after, will be seen in the
remaining portion of this history.
Seth Jones was a man whose character could not be read in an hour, or
day. It required a long companionship with him to discover the nicely
shaded points, and the characteristics which seemed in many cases so
opposite. United with a genial, sportive humor and apparent frankness,
he was yet far-seeing and cautious, and could read the motives of a
man almost at a glance. With a countenance which seemed made expressly
to veil his soul, his very looks were deceptive; and, when he chose
to play a certain _role_, he could do it to perfection. Had one seen
him when the conversation above recorded took place, he would have
unhesitatingly set him down as a natural-born idiot.
“How you like to burn, eh, Yankee?” asked a savage, stooping and
grinning horribly in his face.
“I don’t know; I never tried it,” replied Seth with as much
_nonchalance_ as though it was a dinner to which he was referring.
“E-e-e-e! you will try it, Yankee.”
“Don’t know, yet; there are various opinions about that p’raps. When
the thing is did I mought believe it.”
“You, _sizzle_ nice--nice meat--good for burn!” added another savage,
grasping and feeling his arm.
“Just please to not pinch, my friend.”
The savage closed his fingers like iron rods, and clenched the member
till Seth thought it would be crushed. But, though the pain was
excruciating, he manifested not the least feeling. The Indian tried
again and again, till he gave up and remarked, expressive of his
admiration of the man’s pluck.
“Good Yankee! stand pinch well.”
“Oh! you wan’t pinching me, was you? Sorry I didn’t know it. Try again,
you mought p’raps do better.”
The savage, however, retired, and another stepped forward and grasped
the captive’s hand.
“Soft, like squaw’s hand--let me feel it,” he remarked, shutting his
own over it like a vice. Seth winced not in the least; but, as the
Indian in turn was about to relinquish his attempt at making sport for
his comrades, Seth said:
“Your paws don’t appear very horny,” and closed over it with a
terrific grip. The savage stood it like a martyr, till Seth felt the
bones of his hand actually displacing, and yielding like an apple. He
determined, as he had in reality suffered himself, to be revenged,
and he closed his fingers tighter and more rigid till the poor wretch
sprang to his feet, and howled with pain!
“Oh! did I hurt you?” he asked with apparent solicitude, as the
savage’s hand slid from his own with much the appearance of a wet
glove. The discomfited Indian made no reply, but retired amid the
jeers of his comrades. Seth, without moving a muscle, seated himself
deliberately upon the ground, and coolly asked a savage to lend him a
pipe. It is known, that when an Indian sees such hardihood and power,
as their captor had just evinced, he does not endeavor to conceal his
admiration. Thus it was not strange, that Seth’s impudent request was
complied with. One handed him a well-filled pipe, with a grin in which
could be distinctly seen, admiration, exaltation, and anticipated
revenge. From the looks of the others, it was plain they anticipated
an immense deal of sport. Our present hero continued smoking, lazily
watching the volumes of vapor, as they slowly rolled before and around
him. His captors sat around him a moment, conversing in their own
tongue (every word of which we may remark, was perfectly understood by
Seth), when one arose and stepped forward before him.
“White man strong--him pinch well--but me make him cry?”
So saying, he stooped, and removing the captive’s cap seized a long
tuft of yellow hair which had its root at the temple. A stab in the
eye would not have caused an acuter twinge of pain; but, as he jerked
it forth by the roots, Seth gave not the slightest indication, save
a stronger whiff at the pipe. The savages around did not suppress a
murmur of admiration. Seeing no effect from this torture, the tormenter
again stooped and caught another tuft that grew low upon the neck.
Each single hair felt like the point of a needle thrust into the skin,
and as it came forth, the Indians seated around, noticed a livid
paleness, like the track of a cloud, quickly flash over their captive’s
countenance. He looked up in his tormentor’s eyes with an indescribable
look. For a moment, he fixed a gaze upon him, that savage as he was,
caused a strange shiver of dread to run through him.
To say that Seth cared nothing for these inflicted agonies would be
absurd. Had the savage dreamed what a whirlwind of hate and revenge he
had awakened by them, he would have never attempted what he did. It was
only by an almost unaccountable power that Seth controlled the horrible
pains of both body and mind, he suffered. He felt as though it was
impossible to prevent himself from writhing on the ground in torment,
and springing at his persecutor and tearing him from limb to limb. But
he had been schooled to Indian indignities, and bore them unflinchingly.
His temple had the appearance of white parchment with innumerable
bloody points in it, as the blood commenced oozing from the wound, and
his neck seemed as though the skin had been scraped off! His momentary
paleness had been caused by the sickening pain and the intensest
passion. His look at the savage was _to remember him_. After the events
which have just transpired, they remained seated a moment in silence.
At last, one who appeared to be the leader, addressed in an undertone,
the Indian whom we have just seen retire from the post of tormentor.
Seth, however, caught the words, and had he not, it is not probable he
would have successfully undergone the last trying ordeal.
The same savage again stepped forward in the circle before the helpless
captive, and removing the cap which had been replaced, clinched the
long yellow locks in his left hand, and threw the head backward.
Then whipping out his scalping knife, he flashed it a second in the
air, and circled its cold edge around his head with the rapidity of
lightning. The skin was not pierced, and it was only an artifice. Seth
never took his eyes from the Indian during this awful minute.
The tormentor again retired. The savages were satisfied, but Seth was
not. He handed his pipe back, replaced his cap, and rising to his feet,
surveyed for a few seconds the group around. He then addressed the
leader.
“Can the white man now try the red man’s courage?”
The voice sounded like another person’s. Yet the chief noticed it
not, and nodded an assent to the request, while the looks of the
others showed the eagerness and interest they felt in these dreadful
proceedings.
The savage, who had inflicted all this agony, had seated himself
directly beside the chief. Seth stepped to him, and grasping his arm,
pressed it moderately. The Indian gave a scornful grunt. Seth then
stooped and gently took the tomahawk from his belt. He raised it slowly
on high, bent down till his form was like the crouching panther ready
to spring. The glittering blade was seen to flash as it circled through
the air, and the next instant it crashed clean through the head of the
unsuspecting savage!