NIGHT AND THE SAVAGES
The hours of waiting dragged terribly. We conversed little, all alike
nervous, irritable under the strain of our desperate situation. The
Jesuit was much in prayer; but Cairnes fell asleep and twisted about
uneasily, his head pillowed on his arm. I could only pace the rock
floor, harassed by bitter, useless thoughts. What a memory picture it
is!--the great bare cavern, with black interior only partially revealed
by the gleam of the altar flame; the old savage huddled in his bonds,
his baleful eyes glowing in the firelight as he watched every movement;
the slender _père_ close beside him upon his knees, his frayed black
gown rendering more conspicuous the rapt, upraised face, his white
fingers clasping the crucifix; beyond, Cairnes outstretched on the hard
stone, his bulky figure motionless but for nervous twitching, his red
hair glaring like a spot of paint. I rejoiced that the fellow slept,
for he rasped me with his ceaseless, senseless attacks on the Roman
Church. Yet the gentle-voiced priest had tamed his open hatred
somewhat; so before he lay down the sectary sat long in moody silence
staring at the other with glinting eyes, as though fit speech failed
him.
As the sun sank to the horizon I went forth again upon the platform,
waving a blazing signal torch to the expectant groups below. The sky
overhead was blue, but to the north and east, as far as I could see for
overhanging cliff, great masses of black cloud were showing ominously,
their ragged edges emitting lightning flashes, although too distant for
me to distinguish the thunder. Below, in the valley, the approaching
storm would not yet be visible; but from my aerie I prayed for a dark
night, the swift approach of a battle of the elements.
Arousing Cairnes, who was already awake but lying glowering at the
unconscious priest, I despatched him to the jutting platform, with
instructions to keep close watch on all movements in the village. Then
I busied myself with final preparations for our desperate sortie. The
earliest shades of evening would have to be utilized, for then only
could we hope for a clear path. Before those wild fanatics swarmed
upward to their monthly sacrifice, we must traverse that narrow cliff
path and penetrate the tunnel beyond as far as the underground altar.
Nowhere between the cave entrance and that spot could I recall any
place of concealment. Inspired by this necessity, so soon as darkness
began to blot the mouth of the cave, I bore the priest that way in my
arms, although he begged earnestly to be left behind, saying he was a
useless burden. The slowly advancing clouds had not yet mounted high
enough to obscure the moon, but hung densely massed across half the
sky, low thunder echoing among the rocks, and jagged streaks of
lightning tearing the gloom asunder. The burly Puritan lay, a black
silhouette against the silvered rocks, leaning far over, staring down
into the void. As I touched him, he turned his face toward me,
pointing below with one hand.
"We are securely blocked, Master Benteen," he asserted gruffly. "A fit
reward for associating with papists."
"Blocked?" failing to comprehend. "How? Are the savages already
astir?"
"Look for yourself. See yonder; lights are on the pathway as high as
the tree-bridge."
I dropped upon my knees, clinging to a bowlder, and peered over. He
spoke truth, and my heart rose choking into my throat. Resembling
innumerable fireflies tiny flames were gleaming along the entire front
of the cliff--torches borne by human hands. Breathless the three of us
clung there staring down, each realizing the utter futility of our
efforts at escape, yet none reckless enough to give the thought
utterance. The Puritan first found speech.
"The spawn of hell!" he growled savagely, shaking his great fist,
remembering the indignities of the altar-house. "Good Lord, deliver us
from this iniquity; lead us through the waters dry-shod, even as Thou
didst Thy people of old from the land of Egypt."
"Come," I said, "we must seek whatever hiding-place is within, and
trust God for it."
The priest looked at me pleadingly, his eyes like stars.
"I would at such an hour you were of my faith, Monsieur."
"I might do worse," I admitted, watching intently the lights on the
cliff-path, "but it was not the teaching of my childhood. There is one
below whose prayers are as yours."
"Madame de Noyan?"
I bowed my head in gesture of reverence.
"Yes, Monsieur, and whatever she loves is not far from my heart. But
come, we have scant time for preparation; no, do not endeavor to walk;
your weight is nothing to my arms."
There was no spot within where, even for a short period, we might hope
to avoid discovery, except the rock gallery. Here, crouching behind
the parapet, we could see without being seen, unless some savage
chanced to stray that way. At my order the sullen, psalm-quoting
preacher dragged the helpless old chief priest after him, and so we
went groping forward through the darkness of the short passage, until
we attained the stone steps. Stumbling blindly upward, our hearts
throbbing in realization of the peril that was closing us in, we flung
our bodies flat behind the concealing rocks, peering fearfully forth
into the great deserted chamber. Even amid that lonely silence it was
a sight to chill the heart; and to us, comprehending something of what
it would soon reveal of savage orgy. It was like gazing down into the
mouth of the Pit. The single touch of color in the drear picture came
from the crimson drapery hanging over the edge of the raised platform.
Seeing all this at one glance my anxious eyes sought the deeper gloom
shrouding the tunnel leading toward the entrance. As I stared that way
a sudden flash of fierce lightning illumined it. So brilliant it burst
forth from the opaque night, I hid my blinded eyes, every nerve of my
body quivering.
"Great God!" burst forth Cairnes, his voice so close as to startle me.
"'T is like the end of the world!"
"Be still," I commanded hastily, pressing him flat, "there they come."
A dozen flaming torches rounded the rock projection the lights
glistening over the half-naked bodies of the bearers. Saint Andrew! it
was a weird sight, one to strike terror to the soul! With gritted
teeth, my heart pounding, I looked out upon it. The leader was a
priest, black from head to heel, his face showing devilish in the torch
flare, his coarse hair matted high in horrid resemblance to some wild
beast. Behind surged a mob of warriors, women, and children, half-nude
bodies striped with red and yellow, a malignant demoniacal crew,
yelling and pushing under the flaming lights, rushing tumultuously
forward to fling themselves prostrate before the altar. It seemed they
would never cease pouring forth from the narrow tunnel, a struggling,
gesticulating stream. Behind them lightning played in jagged streaks
across the little patch of sky, and the black smoke of the torches
curled upward to the roof. Their appearance was not human, but that of
demons incarnate; some ran upon all fours like wolves, gnashing their
teeth and howling; many yelped in fiendish chorus; others brandished
weapons aloft in the yellow flame, or lay, writhing like glistening
snakes on the rock floor. It was a pandemonium, a babel, an
unspeakable hell. To count was impossible, but the great room was
filled with bodies, and rang with guttural, inarticulate cries. The
busily flitting priests stirred up the wood until the blaze leaped
nearly to the roof, mumbling as they worked, the incessant moaning of
the tribesmen deepening into a weird chant. The frenzied singers leapt
into the air, flinging their limbs about in wild contortion, their
movements increasing in violence, their grotesquely painted faces
becoming hellish from awakening passion. They became brutes, fiends,
whose only thought was cruelty. I saw them strike each other with
stone knives, slashing the flesh till blood ran. Heartsick and
trembling, I glanced aside at my companions. The _père_ lay clasping
the stone, his eyes wide with horror, his countenance death-like;
Cairnes was upon his knees, his great hands gripped, staring straight
down like some animal crouching for a spring.
It was when I turned back, loathing the sight yet unable to resist
facing it, that I beheld for the first time those I sought--Eloise, De
Noyan, and the Queen Naladi. An instant I blinded my eyes with
uplifted arm, half believing that the horror had turned my brain, that
all this was vision. Yet, as I ventured to look again, they were there
before me in the flesh--Naladi all in red, a wondrous figure amid that
spectral glow, tall, straight, with proud, imperious face, crowned by
the brilliant hair, radiant and sparkling in the flame. Beside her
loitered De Noyan, like one who enjoyed a spectacle arranged for his
pleasure, his face darkening somewhat as though the sight were not
altogether to his liking, yet debonair and careless, his waxed
moustaches standing forth conspicuous, his fingers in his waist-belt.
About the two were ranged a fringe of warriors, their flint-headed
spears rising an impenetrable wall, while farther behind, separated and
alone, the light of the fire barely revealing her presence, stood
Eloise, a savage guard on either side of her. I caught the outline of
her face, imprinted with horror, the lips moving as if in supplication;
then I perceived something else--_her hands were bound_! Smothering an
oath, I crept back to the pile of weapons in the corner, gripped a
war-club, and, returning as silently, thrust a second into the
unconscious hands of Cairnes. Our eyes met, the sectary nodding
grimly, his jaws set like a steel trap. If need should arise we would
die fighting like cornered rats.
Their yells reverberating to the vaulted roof, the smoking torches
gyrating wildly above them, the throng of crazed fanatics were now upon
their feet, crowding toward the platform, every tongue clamoring in
incessant demand. All was confusion, a medley of noise and motion,
tossing arms, and painted faces. Finally, I caught a glimpse of
Naladi's red robe scarcely ten feet away, and behind her the
countenance of De Noyan, still contemptuously smiling at that shrieking
rabble. God! my face burned, my grasp tightened on the club. Yet I
lay motionless, knowing well the time of sacrifice was not yet.
The woman stood at the edge of the rock platform, gazing intently down,
a silent, motionless statue, her red robe sweeping to her feet, and
below her the crimson drapery; the flaring torches in the hands of her
barbaric followers cast their light full upon her. I stared at the
strange creature, comprehending something of the power of passion such
as she could exercise over De Noyan, causing him to forget all honor in
her presence. Saint Andrew! she was a witch, a hell-cat, whose smile
was death. Ay! and she was smiling then, a smile of cruel, unrelenting
triumph, gazing down upon the howling slaves who should do her
pleasure. She knew them well, every superstition, every wild impulse,
and she played contemptuously on their savagery. Not fear, but
command, was stamped upon her features; she ruled by legerdemain, by
lie and trick, and she stood, the supreme she-devil, the master spirit
in that raging hell. It seemed to me my heart would burst as I waited,
seeing nothing then of Eloise amid the crush, and compelled to gaze on
that dominant scarlet figure.
[Illustration: The woman gazing intently down, her red robe sweeping to
her feet; below the flaring torches in the hands of her barbaric
followers cast their light full upon her.]
The cries of the multitude ceased, and a black-draped priest shouted
unintelligible words. Naladi listened, extending one hand. Then her
thin lips spoke a single sentence in the sharp tone of command.
Instantly burst forth a fierce roar of disapproval; war-clubs pounded
the floor, spears rattled as they were brandished overhead, while above
the din I caught, again and again, the shriek, "_Français_!
_Français_!" The Queen shook her head, her fair face darkening, and
glanced aside into the questioning eyes of De Noyan. Below them the
tumult increased, the mass surging forward and staring upward, every
voice yelping that one term of hate, "_Français_!" There was no
doubting the dread menace--they were demanding French victims for the
torture of sacrifice; they clamored for white blood with which to
sprinkle the altar. I could dimly perceive now a dozen crouching
slaves against the farther wall, the whites of their eyes showing in
terror, and--oh, God!--there, to the right of them, alone, except for
her burly guards, kneeling on the rock floor, with face hidden in her
hands, was Eloise. I half rose to my feet, my whole body pulsating
with agony. What was to be the ending? What was that mad woman's
purpose? Could she control the fierce blood-lust of those savage
fanatics? If she cared to do so, would she dare test her power in so
desperate a game? If one must be sacrificed which would she spare, De
Noyan or his hapless wife? Looking at her, cold, cynical, lustful, her
eyes still turned on his face, I felt no doubt. Let the foul fiend
choose! by all the gods, Cairnes should brain her where she stood, and,
Heaven helping me to do the deed, the one I loved should never die by
torture!
She took her own time for decision, indifferently ignoring the howls of
rage, her thin lips curling in contemptuous smile, her glance yet upon
the startled Chevalier. Laying her hand upon his sleeve, she said in
French:
"You hear the wolves howl, Monsieur? They are mad for French blood."
He shrugged his shoulders, staring into her expressionless face, then
down upon the surging mob below.
"Saint Giles! give them sufficient of something else," he replied,
striving to pretend indifference, yet with a falter in his voice. "You
pledged us safety if we would accompany you here."
"I pledged _you_ safety, Monsieur," she corrected haughtily. "I gave
no word of promise as to others. Yet circumstances have changed. I
supposed then we had enough of victims to appease even such blood-lust
as yelps yonder."
"You mean the preacher and Benteen?"
"Ay; they would suffice, with plenty of slaves for good measure. But
now, only two remain from which to choose. _Sacre_! there are times
when those dogs break away even from my control, and mock me. I know
not now whether one alone will glut their desire, yet I am of a mind to
try the experiment before the wolves drag me to hell also. Heard you
ever such yelping of wild beasts?"
"You would sacrifice me?" his face whitening from horror. "You would
give me to the knife and fire? _Mon Dieu_! is this the end of all your
vows?"
She smiled, a cold, cruel smile, her eyes burning.
"I did not say you," tauntingly. "There is another here."
He drew away from her grasp, lips ashen, eyes unbelieving.
"Eloise! _Mon Dieu_! not Eloise?"
"And if not Eloise, what then, Monsieur?" The low voice hardened,
becoming oddly metallic. "The wolves cry for blood--French blood. Is
it your wish to die together? _Pardi_! if it be between you two, am I
to have no choice which one I deliver? Why should you shrink back like
a baby at first sight of blood? I thought you a soldier, a man. Did
you not tell me you loved her no longer? did you not swear it with your
lips to mine?"
He made no response, staring at her with eyes full of unbelief, the
hideous uproar clanging about them in ceaseless volume. Naladi's face
flushed with rising anger.
"Yet you do! _Mon Dieu_, you do!" she panted, the tiger within
breaking loose. "Your words were a lie! Here, look at me," extending
her arms, the white flesh of her bosom clearly revealed in the parting
of her drapery. "Am I such as she? will I shrink like a coward,
mumbling prayer and fingering rosary? Am I afraid to work my will? Am
I not worth being loved? Am I the kind you think to play with? God's
mercy! I am minded to throw you both to the beasts. No, no, not that;
you dare not front me! I make my own choice of who shall die and who
live." She laughed mockingly. "Bah! I know your sort, Monsieur--'tis
as the wind blows; you love to-day, and forget to-morrow. Yet I keep
you for a plaything--I have no use for her. I care no longer how the
wolves tear her dainty limbs. Before this I have tasted vengeance and
found it sweet."
He shrank before her fury, all conceit and audacity fled, and words
failed him. Not even yet could he believe it true, but she permitted
no recovery.
"You think I lie. You think I threaten, but dare not act. You think
me a soft-hearted fool because I listened to your words of love. By
the gods! you shall learn better. I have heard love words before; none
ever spoke them to my ears without paying the price of deceit. _Mon
Dieu_! and shall you escape? I can hate as well as love; strike as
well as caress. So you played with me, Monsieur? used me to pass a
dull hour in the wilderness? _Sacre_! 't is now my chance to sport
with you. You forget who I am--I, Naladi, Daughter of the Sun, Queen
of the Natchez. Look down! there are hands waiting to rend at my word.
I will give them the girl-face for their blood-lust. Seek to stop me
if you dare!"
Never can I forget the expression on De Noyan's face as he listened.
Incredulity changed to loathing, then to despair. As though the woman
had snatched a mask from off her features he gazed now upon the demon
soul revealed in all its hideousness. Instantly all that was
physically beautiful became loathsome from the foulness within. He
endeavored to speak, to protest, but all his recklessness had deserted
him and he trembled like a leaf. Already the gesticulating priests,
thinking themselves cheated of their victims, were half way up the rude
steps of stone; behind them surged the mob, screaming "_Français_,"
their torches waving madly. Naladi laughed.
"So your nerve fails, Monsieur," she sneered coldly. "'Tis well it
does, for you need expect no mercy from me. I also hate the French."
She turned from him, her arms outspread, the crimson drapery extended
like wings. The glare of a hundred torches reflected on her face, and
her lips spoke one word of stern command. Every voice ceased its
howling, every form became motionless, the silence so sudden it was
painful. The woman stood above them, dominant; every eye was fastened
upon her; the priests were prostrate on the stair. I saw De Noyan
leaning forward, his teeth clinched, his face death-like. From wall to
wall Naladi's gaze wandered; once she looked into his eyes, then down
again upon the mob of savages. Like the sharp hiss of a snake a single
sentence leaped from her thin lips. The effect was magical. I
scarcely realized the transformation, so rapidly was it accomplished.
Confusion filled the chamber, yet out of the tumult I caught sight of
Madame being driven toward the altar, her white face full of pleading,
her hands, now freed, clasping her rosary. De Noyan must have beheld
her at the same instant. With shout of rage he leaped recklessly
forward, hurled aside the scarlet figure, and, uttering an oath, sprang
on the parapet.
"By God! you foul fiend of hell!" he screamed madly. "I 'll fight for
it; fight like a gentleman of France!"
I leaped to my feet, Cairnes beside me. Desperate as the chance was,
we would be with him on that floor, with him smiting to the death. Yet
even as he poised for the leap downward the woman's scarlet arms
struck, and he went over like a stone, crashing into a huddled heap on
the rock floor. Naladi laughed, leaning far out to look down, like a
gloating devil.
"Fight, you poor fool!" she exclaimed in French. "_Sacre_! who struck
hardest?"
Sick, trembling like a frightened child, I dragged the dazed Puritan
down again, crouching behind the stones.