THE INTERFERENCE OF THE JESUIT
I could look no longer on that hellish scene. It seemed as if all
strength, all manhood, had deserted me before the utter helplessness of
our position. There was nothing left except useless sacrifice--a
moment's hopeless struggle, the sole reward death under the war-club or
by torture. God knows it was not myself I considered, but Eloise. It
was thought of her which so unnerved me, so paralyzed body and mind.
The Puritan dropped his heavy hand on my shoulder.
"Great Jehovah," he muttered, "look there!"
How he ever made it I know not; how he ever crept on tortured stumps
down those rude steps, and along the dark, rocky tunnel; how he ever
succeeded in penetrating unscathed that howling mob of savages--yet
there, in the very midst of them, fully revealed in the torch glare,
his pallid, girlish face uplifted, but concealed beneath the shadow of
his cowl, the silver cross gleaming in the light, beside Eloise, knelt
the black-robed Jesuit. Amid the sudden hush of surprise I overheard
his voice, fearless, calm, unfaltering, as he gave the weeping woman
sacrament of the Church. A great brute struck at him; the frail figure
reeled sideways to the force of the blow, but the words of prayer did
not cease, nor his grasp on her hand relax. Rallying from their
astonishment, the warriors crowded in upon them, and a fanatical priest
hurled the _père_ headlong to the floor. I saw a brandishing of clubs,
a glitter of spears, yet the poor fellow came erect once more, his arm
resting for support on the woman's shoulder. It was all in a flash of
time, like some swift transformation on the stage we could scarcely
comprehend. At the instant a voice spoke, ringing above the babel,
which ceased suddenly. I glanced involuntarily toward Naladi. She
stood leaning forward, her hands gripping the stone parapet,
conflicting emotions playing across her face.
As the torches, uplifted, gleamed brighter upon the motionless Queen,
they revealed a look of perplexity, almost fear, in her cold eyes.
What held her speechless? Was it remembrance of another life, when the
stern word of the Church had been law? or was she merely troubled by so
mysterious an appearance, her guilty soul swayed by superstitious
terror? She was all too strange a riddle for my reading, but some
occult power held her helpless, silent. The vengeful cries of her
savage followers died away into threatening murmurs; the _père_
remained motionless, one hand on Eloise's bowed head, his white face
shadowed by the hood, calmly fronting her who had commanded quiet.
Slowly he lifted one arm, the loose sleeve lending dignity and power to
the simple gesture, his white extended hand seeming to have in it the
authority of command. A moment, heedless of the scowling, painted
faces all about, the slight figure stood erect and firm, the dark eyes
bearing witness to his earnestness, and never wavering from Naladi's
scornful face.
"Woman," he said calmly, even as I imagine Christ may have spoken of
old, "release this prisoner, and make thy peace with God."
She endeavored to laugh mockingly, yet only a hollow semblance came
from between her white lips. "Pah!" she cried nervously, "you speak
bravely; pray, who gave you authority to give orders to the Daughter of
the Sun?"
"One greater than the Sun, woman," he answered. "I speak to you in the
name of Jesus of Nazareth, and by authority of the Holy Catholic
Church."
She leaned yet farther forward, as though seeking to penetrate the
shadow concealing his face, a perceptible tremor apparent in her voice.
"Who are you? Answer me!"
"I am called Father Ignatius, a priest of the Order of Jesuits."
"And what do you suppose I care for your Romish orders? They have no
power here; a single wave of my hand would condemn you to the place of
yonder slaves." Her color rose in the wave of passion, sweeping fear
aside. "I have nothing but hatred for your black robe, and your
interference only intensifies my purpose. Mark you now what I say; if
it be the will of my people to put this cringing French woman to the
torture, I lift not so much as a finger to change her fate. More,
because of your insolence I give you also into their hands. We take no
orders from the Church of Rome."
"Your people!" the words rang forth with such clearness as almost to
bring me to my feet. "You foul fiend of hell, do you think thus to
impose your vile imposture on me? I fear neither your power nor the
cruelty of your savage satellites. My life is in the hands of my
Master, who will give me strength to mock your torture. Two months ago
I was bound to a stake in the valley below. Ask these fiends, who do
your bidding, whether I shrank back in terror, or made outcry as the
flame ate into my flesh. Gaze on these stumps blackened by fire, and
learn how I value your threats. Peace, woman, and no longer mock the
faith of your childhood."
"My childhood? You know nothing of that!"
"Do I not? Look upon my face, and judge."
He flung back his cowl, and the light fell full upon his countenance.
Upon the silence broke a sharp cry, in which fear and surprise were
strangely blended:
"André Lafossier!"
"Right, woman; you have not forgotten. Sunk as you are in shame and
evil deeds, conscience yet lives and haunts you. What do I know of
you? Enough to justify calling you joint heir with all the fiends of
hell, unless, like the thief on the Cross, repentance make white your
black soul. Yet, 'tis in my heart that yours is the sin against the
Spirit for which there is no forgiveness. Nothing in your face tells
me of an awakening soul. You are a Queen, you say? Ay, of evil, of
devils incarnate. I would rather be this poor woman bound to the stake
than you upon a throne. Do your worst with us, but know that André
Lafossier has nothing for you save disgust; still, as priest of Holy
Church, I hold open the door of salvation through Jesus Christ."
Evidences of struggle marked Naladi's face, yet by now she had
outwardly conquered the first shock of recognition, and stood a cold,
stately statue, with glittering eyes on the slender figure of the
priest.
"I care as little for your Romish mummery," she said sneeringly, "as I
do for the senseless rites of these savages. But I am glad it is you I
have in my power. If I am the queen of devils, they serve me well.
You are to die, André Lafossier. I might have spared you had you kept
your tongue, but after those words you die. I shall stand here and
mock you to the last breath. You say I have no soul; to-night you
shall know it true while I laugh at your agony."
She paused as if seeking to mark the effect of her words, but the
_père_ merely stooped slightly, whispering some message of comfort into
the ear of Eloise. Then he stood erect again.
"As you will, woman; to die for Christ is gain."
The face of Naladi, which had been pale and drawn, flushed, her eyes
fairly blazing.
"So you dare mock me, you hireling priest!" she hissed. "'T is not for
long; I am no snivelling French girl, afraid of blood. And now I give
you a taste of my power."
As the words fell from her thin lips, she flung up one hand, exhibiting
with a peculiar gesture a glittering metallic substance shining in the
light. It must have been a signal for unrestrained sacrifice, for it
was greeted with fierce howls of delight, the savage herd pressing in
upon the prisoners, so that I lost sight of them an instant in the
crush.
"Wait, woman!" rose the priest's voice above the uproar. "I admit your
power here to take physical life; I expect no mercy from such as you.
But, if you be not lost to all shame, grant me one favor, Marie
Fousard."
"What?"
"A moment of time in which I may give absolution to this child of God
before we die."
"Pish! is that all? Go on with your fool mummery. I will hold back
the savages till that be done, though the sight of it will but anger
them."
Eloise had sunk down against the altar, with face buried in her hands.
The _père_ dropped upon his knees beside her. About them surged the
glistening forms of the savages, maddened with blood-lust, but Naladi
clapped her hands, with voice and gesture bidding them wait her further
word. An instant they swayed passionately back and forth, their
fanatical priests clamoring in opposition to this halting of vengeance.
Then Naladi shook loose her hair, permitting its wealth to fall in a
golden-red shower, until it veiled her from head to foot. The silenced
crowd stared as if in worship of the supernatural. I know not what she
said, uplifting her white arms from out that red-gold canopy, yet I can
guess.
"Natchez, I dare you to disobey the Daughter of the Sun!"
Swept by a superstition stronger than hate, they flung themselves at
her feet, prostrating their faces to the rock, grovelling like worms,
heedless of all except her presence and her supremacy. She was a
goddess, one whose will was destruction. Gazing down upon them,
conscious of her power, her thin lips smiled in contempt. 'T was so I
saw her last; so I shall always picture her in memory--a motionless,
statuesque figure, covered with a veil of red-gold hair, her eyes like
diamonds, her bare, white arms gleaming, her lips curved in proud
disdain; a queen of savages, a high priestess of Hell.
The sudden cessation of noise was awesome, uncanny. It rendered
manifest the ceaseless roar of thunder without. Directly in front of
me yawned the cave entrance, plainly illuminated by vivid lightning.
Dreadful as was the spectacle, it yielded me a flash of hope--here
opportunity pointed a path of escape. With no pause for thought I
whirled to arouse the Puritan, every nerve a-tingle with desperation.
His deep-set eyes glowed like two coals, his square jaw projecting like
that of a fighting bulldog.
"Cairnes," I muttered, almost heedless of what I said in the necessity
for haste. "If we could attain the tree-bridge, we might hold the
devils. See! the way is clear! What say you to the trial? Will you
bear the priest?"
His grip tightened about the war-club, as he half rose to his feet like
a maddened bear.
"Saints of Israel! yes," he growled, "the Jesuit is a man."
"Then come!"
With one leap I was upon the floor; almost at the same second he landed
beside me. Twice I struck savagely at some obstructing figure, and in
five strides was at the side of Eloise. One shrill cry of warning from
the lips of Naladi echoed through the chamber, and was answered by the
yell of the warriors. I was already clasping Eloise against my breast,
and speeding toward the opening. Not a savage stood between, and now,
all hope centred upon the desperate race, I dashed forward down the
rocky path, rendered hideous by the lightning. All the fires of hell
seemed swirling about us, writhing serpents of flame leaping from the
sky, while fierce crashes of thunder echoed from rock to rock. I
scarcely heard or saw. Below yawned the abyss, black with night; above
stretched solid, overhanging stone, painted by green and yellow flames.
I realized nothing except that ribbon of a path, the need of haste, the
white, upturned face in my arms. God! was ever such a race as that run
before? Did ever men dash headlong over such a path of death? No one
need ask how it was done; how speeding feet clung to the narrow rock.
I know not; I never knew. Twice I stumbled, sobbing in despair, yet
ran on like a madman. Under the glare of the lightning I leaped
downward where I had crept in climbing; protruding splinters of rock
tore my clothes, bruised my body; my forehead dripped with
perspiration, my breath came panting, yet I ran still, her form crushed
against my breast. I shudder now in the recollection; then I scarcely
knew. Ahead loomed black the tree-bridge; but I recall no shrinking
fear, only exultation, as I bore down recklessly upon it. It must be
crossed, upright, swiftly, with no thought of the yawning depth. If
death came we should go down together.
"Eloise, steady me with hand against the cliff," I panted, and stepped
forth boldly upon the trunk. My moccasoned feet gripped the rough bark
firmly, yet I swayed horribly under my burden, as I footed the
treacherous way. Again and again I felt myself swaying wildly, yet
some power held us, until, at last, I stood on solid rock, utterly
unable to essay another yard. Panting for breath, my arms yet clasping
the motionless figure of Eloise, I glanced backward in apprehension. I
could perceive Cairnes footing the log, the head of the priest showing
black and distinct above his broad shoulder; beyond, a medley of dark
figures appeared to dance dizzily along the cliff face. I staggered to
my knees. With a growl of relief the Puritan dropped his burden. The
next instant he had one great shoulder under the tree root. Heaving
with all his mighty strength he slowly moved the great trunk, and I saw
it topple over into the abyss; I saw his burly figure tottering on the
very brink--then one awful flash lit up the sky, so blinding me that I
sank face downward on the rock. The cliff shook as if riven from crest
to valley, a single peal of thunder reverberating like the report of a
thousand guns.