Brutal alike in deed and word,
With callous heart and hand of strife.
How like a fiend may man be made,
Plying the foul and monstrous trade
Whose harvest-field is human life.
--WHITTIER.
A veil like that of oblivion dropped before the form of the missionary.
The pious persons who had sent him forth to preach to the heathen,
never knew his fate; a disappearance that was so common to that class of
devoted men, as to produce regret rather than surprise. Even those who
took his life felt a respect for him; and, strange as it may seem, it
was to the eloquence of the man who now would have died to save him,
that his death was alone to be attributed. Peter had awakened fires that
he could not quench, and aroused a spirit that he could not quell. In
this respect, he resembled most of those who, under the guise of reform,
or revolution, in moments of doubt, set in motion a machine that is
found impossible to control, when it is deemed expedient to
check exaggeration by reason. Such is often the case with even
well-intentioned leaders, who constantly are made to feel how much
easier it is to light a conflagration, than to stay its flames when
raging.
Corporal Flint was left seated on the log, while the bloody scene of the
missionary's death was occurring. He was fully alive to all the horrors
of his own situation, and comprehended the nature of his companion's
movements. The savages usually manifested so much respect for
missionaries, that he was in no degree surprised. Parson Amen had been
taken apart for his execution, and when those who had caused his removal
returned, the corporal looked anxiously for the usual but revolting
token of his late companion's death. As has been said, however, the
missionary was suffered to lie in his wild grave, without suffering a
mutilation of his remains.
Notwithstanding this moderation, the Indians were getting to be incited
by this taste of blood. The principal chiefs became sterner in their
aspects, and the young men began to manifest some such impatience as
that which the still untried pup betrays, when he first scents his
game. All these were ominous symptoms, and were well understood by the
captive.
Perhaps it would not have been possible, in the whole range of human
feelings, to find two men under influences more widely opposed to each
other than were the missionary and the corporal, in this, their last
scene on earth. The manner of Parson Amen's death has been described. He
died in humble imitation of his Divine Master, asking for blessings on
those who were about to destroy him, with a heart softened by Christian
graces, and a meekness that had its origin in the consciousness of his
own demerits. On the other hand, the corporal thought only of vengeance.
Escape he knew to be impossible, and he would fain take his departure
like a soldier, or as he conceived a soldier should die, in the midst of
fallen foes.
Corporal Flint had a salutary love of life, and would very gladly
escape, did the means offer; but, failing of these, all his thoughts
turned toward revenge. Some small impulses of ambition, or what it is
usual to dignify with that term, showed themselves even at that serious
moment. He had heard around the camp-fires, and in the garrisons, so
many tales of heroism and of fortitude manifested by soldiers who had
fallen into the hands of the Indians, that a faint desire to enroll his
own name on the list of these worthies was beginning to arise in his
breast. But truth compels us to add that the predominant feeling was
the wish to revenge his own fate, by immolating as many of his foes
as possible. To this last purpose, therefore, his thoughts were mainly
directed, during that interval which his late companion had employed in
prayers for those under whose blows he was about to fall. Such is the
difference in man, with his heart touched, or untouched, by the power of
the Holy Spirit.
It was, however, much easier for the corporal to entertain designs of
the nature mentioned than to carry them out: unarmed, surrounded by
watchful enemies, and totally without support of any sort, the chances
of effecting his purpose were small indeed. Once, for a minute only,
the veteran seriously turned his thoughts to escape. It occurred to him,
that he might possibly reach the castle, could he get a little start;
and should the Indians compel him to run the gauntlet, as was often
their practice, he determined to make an effort for life in that mode.
Agreeably to the code of frontier warfare, a successful flight of this
nature was scarcely less creditable than a victory in the field.
Half an hour passed after the execution of the missionary before the
chiefs commenced their proceedings with the corporal. The delay was
owing to a consultation, in which The Weasel had proposed despatching
a party to the castle, to bring in the family, and thus make a common
destruction of the remaining pale-faces known to be in that part of the
Openings. Peter did not dare to oppose this scheme, himself; but he so
managed as to get Crowsfeather to do it, without bringing himself into
the foreground. The influence of the Pottawattamie prevailed, and it
was decided to torture this one captive, and to secure his scalp, before
they proceeded to work their will on the others. Ungque, who had gained
ground rapidly by his late success, was once more commissioned to state
to the captive the intentions of his captors.
“Brother,” commenced The Weasel, placing himself directly in front of
the corporal, “I am about to speak to you. A wise warrior opens his
ears, when he hears the voice of his enemy. He may learn something it
will be good for him to know. It will be good for you to know what I am
about to say.
“Brother, you are a pale-face, and we are Injins. You wish to get our
hunting-grounds, and we wish to keep them. To keep them, it has become
necessary to take your scalp. I hope you are ready to let us have it.”
The corporal had but an indifferent knowledge of the Indian language,
but he comprehended all that was uttered on this occasion. Interest
quickened his faculties, and no part of what was said was lost. The
gentle, slow, deliberate manner in which The Weasel delivered himself,
contributed to his means of understanding. He was fortunately prepared
for what her heard, and the announcement of his approaching fate did not
disturb him to the degree of betraying weakness. This last was a
triumph in which the Indians delighted, though they ever showed the
most profound respect for such of their victims as manifested a manly
fortitude. It was necessary to reply, which the corporal did in English,
knowing that several present could interpret his words. With a view to
render this the more easy, he spoke in fragments of sentences, and with
great deliberation.
“Injins,” returned the corporal, “you surrounded me, and I have been
taken prisoner--had there been a platoon on us, you mightn't have made
out quite so well. It's no great victory for three hundred warriors to
overcome a single man. I count Parson Amen as worse than nothing, for
he looked to neither rear nor flank. If I could have half an hour's work
upon you, with only half of our late company, I think we should lower
your conceit. But that is impossible, and so you may do just what you
please with me. I ask no favors.”
Although this answer was very imperfectly translated, it awakened a good
deal of admiration. A man who could look death so closely in the face,
with so much steadiness, became a sort of hero in Indian eyes; and
with the North American savage, fortitude is a virtue not inferior to
courage. Murmurs of approbation were heard, and Ungque was privately
requested to urge the captive further, in order to see how far present
appearances were likely to be maintained.
“Brother, I have said that we are Injins,” resumed The Weasel, with an
air so humble, and a voice so meek, that a stranger might have supposed
he was consoling, instead of endeavoring to intimidate, the prisoner.
“It is true. We are nothing but poor, ignorant Injins. We can only
torment our prisoners after Injin fashion. If we were pale-faces, we
might do better. We did not torment the medicine-priest. We were afraid
he would laugh at our mistakes. He knew a great deal. We know but
little. We do as well as we know how.
“Brother, when Injins do as well as they know how, a warrior should
forget their mistakes. We wish to torment you, in a way to prove that
you are all over man. We wish so to torment you that you will stand up
under the pain in such a way that it will make our young men think your
mother was not a squaw--that there is no woman in you. We do this for
our own honor, as well as for yours. It will be an honor to us to have
such a captive; it will be an honor to you to be such a captive. We
shall do as well as we know how.
“Brother, it is most time to begin. The tormenting will last a long
time. We must not let the medicine-priest get too great a start on the
path to the happy hunting-grounds of your--”
Here, a most unexpected interruption occurred, that effectually put a
stop to the eloquence of Ungque. In his desire to make an impression,
the savage approached within reach of the captive's arm, while his
own mind was intent on the words that he hoped would make the prisoner
quail. The corporal kept his eye on that of the speaker, charming him,
as it were, into a riveted gaze, in return. Watching his opportunity, he
caught the tomahawk from The Weasel's belt, and by a single blow, felled
him dead at his feet. Not content with this, the old soldier now bounded
forward, striking right and left, inflicting six or eight wounds on
others, before he could be again arrested, disarmed, and bound. While
the last was doing, Peter withdrew, unobserved.
Many were the “hughs” and other exclamations of admiration that
succeeded this display of desperate manhood! The body of The Weasel was
removed, and interred, while the wounded withdrew to attend to their
hurts; leaving the arena to the rest assembled there. As for the
corporal, he was pretty well blown, and, in addition to being now bound
hand and foot, his recent exertions, which were terrific while they
lasted, effectually incapacitated him from making any move, so long as
he was thus exhausted and confined.
A council was now held by the principal chiefs. Ungque had few friends.
In this, he shared the fate of most demagogues, who are commonly
despised even by those they lead and deceive. No one regretted him
much, and some were actually glad of his fate. But the dignity of the
conquerors must be vindicated. It would never do to allow a pale-face
to obtain so great an advantage, and not take a signal vengeance for
his deeds. After a long consultation, it was determined to subject the
captive to the trial by saplings, and thus see if he could bear the
torture without complaining.
As some of our readers may not understand what this fell mode of
tormenting is, it may be necessary to explain.
There is scarcely a method of inflicting pain, that comes within, the
compass of their means, that the North American Indians have not essayed
on their enemies. When the infernal ingenuity that is exercised on these
occasions fails of its effect, the captives themselves have been heard
to suggest other means of torturing that THEY have known practised
successfully by their own people. There is often a strange strife
between the tormentors and the tormented; the one to manifest skill in
inflicting pain, and the other to manifest fortitude in enduring it.
As has just been said, quite as much renown is often acquired by the
warrior, in setting all the devices of his conquerors at defiance, while
subject to their hellish attempts, as in deeds of arms. It might be more
true to say that such WAS the practice among the Indians, than to say,
at the present time, that such IS; for it is certain that civilization
in its approaches, while it has in many particulars even degraded the
red man, has had a silent effect in changing and mitigating many of his
fiercer customs--this, perhaps, among the rest. It is probable that the
more distant tribes still resort to all these ancient usages; but it is
both hoped and believed that those nearer to the whites do not.
The “torture by saplings” is one of those modes of inflicting pain that
would naturally suggest themselves to savages. Young trees that do not
stand far apart are trimmed of their branches, and brought nearer to
each other by bending their bodies; the victim is then attached to both
trunks, sometimes by his extended arms, at others by his legs, or by
whatever part of the frame cruelty can suggest, when the saplings are
released, and permitted to resume their upright positions. Of course,
the sufferer is lifted from the earth, and hangs suspended by his limbs,
with a strain on them that soon produces the most intense anguish. The
celebrated punishment of the “knout” partakes a good deal of this same
character of suffering. Bough of the Oak now approached the corporal, to
let him know how high an honor was in reserve for him.
“Brother,” said this ambitious orator, “you are a brave warrior. You
have done well. Not only have you killed one of our chiefs, but you have
wounded several of our young men. No one but a brave could have done
this. You have forced us to bind you, lest you might kill some more.
It is not often that captives do this. Your courage has caused us to
consult HOW we might best torture you, in a way most to manifest your
manhood. After talking together, the chiefs have decided that a man of
your firmness ought to be hung between two young trees. We have found
the trees, and have cut off their branches. You can see them. If they
were a little larger their force would be greater, and they would give
you more pain--would be more worthy of you; but these are the largest
saplings we could find. Had there been any larger, we would have let
you have them. We wish to do you honor, for you are a bold warrior, and
worthy to be well tormented.
“Brother, look at these saplings! They are tall and straight. When they
are bent by many hands, they will come together. Take away the hands,
and they will become straight again. Your arms must then keep them
together. We wish we had some pappooses here, that they might shoot
arrows into your flesh. That would help much to torment you. You cannot
have this honor, for we have no pappooses. We are afraid to let our
young men shoot arrows into your flesh. They are strong, and might kill
you. We wish you to die between the saplings, as is your right, being so
great a brave.
“Brother, we think much better of you since you killed The Weasel, and
hurt our young men. If all your warriors at Chicago had been as bold
as you, Black-Bird would not have taken that fort. You would have saved
many scalps. This encourages us. It makes us think the Great Spirit
means to help us, and that we shall kill all the pale-faces. When we get
further into your settlements, we do not expect to meet many such braves
as you. They tell us we shall then find men who will run, and screech
like women. It will not be a pleasure to torment such men. We had
rather torment a bold warrior, like you, who makes us admire him for his
manliness. We love our squaws, but not in the warpath. They are best
in the lodges; here we want nothing but men. You are a man--a brave--we
honor you. We think, notwithstanding, we shall yet make you weak. It
will not be easy, yet we hope to do it. We shall try. We may not think
quite so well of you, if we do it; but we shall always call you a brave.
A man is not a stone. We can all feel, and when we have done all that is
in our power, no one can do more. It is so with Injins; we think it must
be so with pale-faces. We mean to try and see how it is.”
The corporal understood very little of this harangue, though he
perfectly comprehended the preparations of the saplings, and Bough of
the Oak's allusions to THEM. He was in a cold sweat at the thought, for
resolute as he was, he foresaw sufferings that human fortitude could
hardly endure. In this state of the case, and in the frame of mind he
was in, he had recourse to an expedient of which he had often heard,
and which he thought might now be practised to some advantage. It was to
open upon the savages with abuse, and to exasperate them, by taunts and
sarcasm, to such a degree as might induce some of the weaker members
of the tribe to dispatch him on the spot. As the corporal, with the
perspective of the saplings before his eyes, manifested a good deal of
ingenuity on this occasion, we shall record some of his efforts.
“D'ye call yourselves chiefs and warriors?” he began, upon a pretty high
key. “I call ye squaws! There is not a man among ye. Dogs would be the
best name. You are poor Injins. A long time ago, the pale-faces came
here in two or three little canoes. They were but a handful, and you
were plentier than prairie wolves. Your bark could be heard throughout
the land. Well, what did this handful of pale-faces? It drove your
fathers before them, until they got all the best of the hunting-grounds.
Not an Injin of you all, now, ever get down on the shores of the great
salt lake, unless to sell brooms and baskets, and then he goes sneaking
like a wolf after a sheep. You have forgotten how clams and oysters
taste. Your fathers had as many of them as they could eat; but not one
of YOU ever tasted them. The pale-faces eat them all. If an Injin asked
for one, they would throw the shell at his head, and call him a dog.
“Do you think that my chiefs would hang one of you between two such
miserable saplings as these? No! They would scorn to practice such
pitiful torture. They would bring the tops of two tall pines together,
trees a hundred and fifty feet high, and put their prisoner on the
topmost boughs, for the crows and ravens to pick his eyes out. But you
are miserable Injins! You know nothing. If you know'd any better, would
you act such poor torment ag'in' a great brave? I spit upon ye, and call
you squaws. The pale-faces have made women of ye. They have taken out
your hearts, and put pieces of dog's flesh in their places.”
Here the corporal, who delivered himself with an animation suited to his
language, was obliged to pause, literally for want of breath. Singular
as it may seem, this tirade excited great admiration among the savages.
It is true, that very few understood what was said; perhaps no one
understood ALL, but the manner was thought to be admirable. When some of
the language was interpreted, a deep but smothered resentment was felt;
more especially at the taunts touching the manner in which the whites
had overcome the red men. Truth is hard to be borne, and the individual,
or people, who will treat a thousand injurious lies with contempt, feel
all their ire aroused at one reproach that has its foundation in fact.
Nevertheless, the anger that the corporal's words did, in truth, awaken,
was successfully repressed, and he had the disappointment of seeing that
his life was spared for the torture.
“Brother,” said Bough of the Oak, again placing himself before the
captive, “you have a stout heart. It is made of stone, and not of flesh.
If our hearts be of dog's meat, yours is of stone. What you say is true.
The pale-faces DID come at first in two or three canoes, and there were
but few of them. We are ashamed, for it is true, A few pale-faces drove
toward the setting sun many Injins. But we cannot be driven any further.
We mean to stop here, and begin to take all the scalps we can. A great
chief, who belongs to no one tribe, but belongs to all tribes, who
speaks all tongues, has been sent by the Great Spirit to arouse us. He
has done it. You know him. He came from the head of the lake with you,
and kept his eye on your scalp. He has meant to take it from the first.
He waited only for an opportunity. That opportunity has come, and we now
mean to do as he has told us we ought to do. This is right. Squaws are
in a hurry; warriors know how to wait. We would kill you at once, and
hang your scalp on our pole, but it would not be right We wish to do
what is right. If we ARE poor Injins, and know but little, we know what
is right. It is right to torment so great a brave, and we mean to do
it. It is only just to you to do so. An old warrior who has seen so many
enemies, and who has so big a heart, ought not to be knocked in the
head like a pappoose or a squaw. It is his right to be tormented. We are
getting ready, and shall soon begin. If my brother can tell us a new way
of tormenting, we are willing to try it. Should we not make out as well
as pale-faces, my brother will remember who we are. We mean to do our
best, and we hope to make his heart soft. If we do this, great will be
our honor. Should we not do it, we cannot help it. We shall try.”
It was now the corporal's turn to put in a rebutter.
This he did without any failure in will or performance. By this time he
was so well warmed as to think or care very little about the saplings,
and to overlook the pain they might occasion.
“Dogs can do little but bark; 'specially Injin dogs,” he said. “Injins
themselves are little better than their own dogs. They can bark, but
they don't know how to bite. You have many great chiefs here. Some
are panthers, and some bears, and some buffaloes; but where are your
weasels? I have fit you now these twenty years, and never have I known
ye to stand up to the baggonet. It's not Injin natur' to do THAT.”
Here the corporal, without knowing it, made some such reproach to the
aboriginal warriors of America as the English used to throw into the
teeth of ourselves--that of not standing up to a weapon which neither
party possessed. It was matter of great triumph that the Americans would
not stand the charge of the bayonet at the renowned fight on Breed's,
for instance, when it is well known that not one man in five among the
colonists had any such weapon at all to “stand up” with. A different
story was told at Guildford, and Stony Point, and Eutaw, and Bennington,
and Bemis' Heights, and fifty other places that might be named, after
the troops were furnished with bayonets. THEN it was found that the
Americans could use them as well as others, and so might it have proved
with the red men, though their discipline, or mode of fighting, scarce
admitted of such systematic charges. All this, however, the corporal
overlooked, much as if he were a regular historian who was writing to
make out a case.
“Harkee, brother, since you WILL call me brother; though, Heaven be
praised, not a drop of nigger or Injin blood runs in my veins,” resumed
the corporal. “Harkee, friend redskin, answer me one thing. Did you ever
hear of such a man as Mad Anthony? He was the tickler for your infernal
tribes! You pulled no saplings together for him. He put you up with 'the
long-knives and leather-stockings,' and you outrun his fleetest horses.
I was with him, and saw more naked backs than naked faces among your
people, that day. Your Great Bear got a rap on his nose that sent him to
his village yelping like a cur.”
Again was the corporal compelled to stop to take breath. The allusion to
Wayne, and his defeat of the Indians, excited so much ire, that several
hands grasped knives and tomahawks, and one arrow was actually drawn
nearly to the head; but the frown of Bear's Meat prevented any outbreak,
or actual violence. It wa's deemed prudent, however, to put an end to
this scene, lest the straightforward corporal, who laid it on heavily,
and who had so much to say about Indian defeats, might actually succeed
in touching some festering wound that would bring him to his death at
once. It was, accordingly, determined to proceed with the torture of the
saplings without further delay.
The corporal was removed accordingly, and placed between the two bended
trees, which were kept together by withes around their tops. An arm of
the captive was bound tightly at the wrist to the top of each tree, so
that his limbs were to act as the only tie between the saplings, as soon
as the withes should be cut. The Indians now worked in silence, and the
matter was getting to be much too serious for the corporal to indulge in
any more words. The cold sweat returned, and many an anxious glance
was cast by the veteran on the fell preparations. Still he maintained
appearances, and when all was ready, not a man there was aware of the
agony of dread which prevailed in the breast of the victim. It was not
death that he feared as much as suffering. A few minutes, the corporal
well knew, would make the pain intolerable, while he saw no hope of
putting a speedy end to his existence. A man might live hours in such a
situation. Then it was that the teachings of childhood were revived in
the bosom of this hardened man, and he remembered the Being that died
for HIM, in common with the rest of the human race, on the tree. The
seeming similarity of his own execution struck his imagination, and
brought a tardy but faint recollection of those lessons that had lost
most of their efficacy in the wickedness and impiety of camps. His soul
struggled for relief in that direction, but the present scene was too
absorbing to admit of its lifting itself so far above his humanity.
“Warrior of the pale-faces,” said Bough of the Oak, “we are going to cut
the withe. You will then be where a brave man will want all his courage.
If you are firm, we will do you honor; if you faint and screech, our
young men will laugh at you. This is the way with Injins. They honor
braves; they point the finger at cowards.”
Here a sign was made by Bear's Meat, and a warrior raised the tomahawk
that was to separate the fastenings, His hand was in the very act of
descending, when the crack of a rifle was heard, and a little smoke rose
out of the thicket, near the spot where the bee-hunter and the corporal,
himself, had remained so long hid, on the occasion of the council first
held in that place. The tomahawk fell, however, the withes were parted,
and up flew the saplings, with a violence that threatened to tear the
arms of the victim out of their sockets.
The Indians listened, expecting the screeches and groans;--they
gazed, hoping to witness the writhings of their captive. But they were
disappointed. There hung the body, its arms distended, still holding
the tops of the saplings bowed, but not a sign of life was seen. A small
line of blood trickled down the forehead, and above it was the nearly
imperceptible hole made by the passage of a bullet. The head itself had
fallen forward, and a little on one shoulder. The corporal had escaped
the torments reserved for him, by this friendly blow.
It was so much a matter of course for an Indian to revenge his own
wounds--to alleviate his smarts, by retaliating on those who inflicted
them--that the chiefs expressed neither surprise nor resentment at the
manner of the corporal's death. There was some disappointment, it is
true; but no anger was manifested, since it was supposed that some one
of those whom the prisoner had wounded had seen fit, in this mode,
to revenge his own hurts. In this, however, the Indians deceived
themselves. The well-intentioned and deadly shot that saved the corporal
from hours of agony came from the friendly hand of Pigeonswing, who had
no sooner discharged his rifle than he stole away through the thicket,
and was never discovered. This he did, too, at the expense of Ungque's
scalp, on which he had set his heart.
As for the Indians, perceiving that their hopes of forcing a captive
to confess his weakness were frustrated, they conferred together on the
course of future proceedings. There was an inquiry for Peter, but Peter
was not to be found. Bough of the Oak suggested that the mysterious
chief must have gone to the palisaded hut, in order to get the remaining
scalps, his passion for this symbol of triumphs over pale-faces being
well known. It was, therefore, incumbent on the whole band to follow,
with the double view of sharing in the honor of the assault, and of
rendering assistance.
Abandoning the body of the corporal where it hung, away went these
savages, by this time keenly alive to the scent of blood. Something like
order was observed, however, each chief leading his own particular part
of the band, in his own way, but on a designated route. Bear's Meat
acted as commander-in-chief, the subordinate leaders following his
instructions with reasonable obedience. Some went in one direction,
others in another; until the verdant bottom near the sweet spring was
deserted.
In less than half an hour the whole band was collected around Castle
Meal, distant, however, beyond the range of a rifle. The different
parties, as they arrived, announced their presence by whoops, which were
intended to answer the double purpose of signals, and of striking terror
to the hearts of the besieged; the North American Indians making ample
use of this great auxiliary in war.
All this time no one was seen in or about the fortified hut The gate
was closed, as were the doors and windows, manifesting preparations for
defence; but the garrison kept close. Nor was Peter to be seen. He might
be a prisoner, or he might not have come in this direction. It was just
possible that he might be stealing up to the building, to get a nearer
view, and a closer scout.
Indian warfare is always stealthy. It is seldom, indeed, that the
aboriginal Americans venture on an open assault of any fortified place,
however small and feeble it may be. Ignorant of the use of artillery,
and totally without that all-important arm, their approaches to any
cover, whence a bullet may be sent against them, are ever wary, slow,
and well concerted. They have no idea of trenches--do not possess the
means of making them, indeed--but they have such substitutes of their
own as usually meet all their wants, more particularly in portions of
the country that are wooded. In cases like this before our present band,
they had to exercise their wits to invent new modes of effecting their
purposes.
Bear's Meat collected his principal chiefs, and, after a considerable
amount of consultation, it was determined, in the present instance, to
try the virtue of fire. The only sign of life they could detect about
the hut was an occasional bark from Hive, who had been taken within the
building, most probably to protect him from the bullets and arrows of
the enemy. Even this animal did not howl like a dog in distress; but he
barked, as if aware of the vicinity of strangers. The keenest scrutiny
could not detect an outlet of any sort about the hut. Everything was
tightly closed, and it was impossible to say when, or whence, a bullet
might not be sent against the unwary.
The plan was soon formed, and was quite as rapidly executed. Bough of
the Oak, himself, supported by two or three other braves, undertook to
set the buildings on fire. This was done by approaching the kitchen,
dodging from tree to tree, making each movement with a rapidity that
defeated aim, and an irregularity that defied calculation. In this way
the kitchen was safely reached, where there was a log cover to conceal
the party. Here also was fire, the food for dinner being left, just as
it had been put over to boil, not long before. The Indians had prepared
themselves with arrows and light wood, and soon they commenced sending
their flaming missiles toward the roof of the hut. Arrow after arrow
struck, and it was not long before the roof was on fire.
A yell now arose throughout the Openings. Far and near the Indians
exulted at their success. The wood was dry, and it was of a very
inflammable nature. The wind blew, and in half an hour Castle Meal
was in a bright blaze. Hive now began to howl, a sign that he knew his
peril. Still, no human being appeared. Presently the flaming roof fell
in and the savages listened intently to hear the screeches of their
victims. The howls of the dog increased, and he was soon seen, with his
hair burned from his skin, leaping on the unroofed wall, and thence into
the area within the palisades. A bullet terminated his sufferings as he
alighted.
Bear's Meat now gave the signal, and a general rush was made. No rifle
opposed them, and a hundred Indians were soon at the palisades. To the
surprise of all, the gate was found unfastened. Rushing within, the
door of the hut was forced, and a view obtained of the blazing furnace
within. The party had arrived in sufficient season to perceive fragments
of le Bourdon's rude furniture and stores yet blazing, but nowhere was
a human corpse visible. Poles were got, and the brands were removed, in
the expectation of finding bones beneath them; but without success. It
was now certain that no pale-face had perished in that hut. Then the
truth flashed on the minds of all the savages: le Bourdon and his
friends had taken the alarm in time, and had escaped!