'TWIXT BEAR AND PANTHER
Ominous indeed were all the faces around us now. For the denunciation
was terrible; if true, it could mean nothing but death for Roderick
St. Amande. And that an awful death. Near the circle there stood a
Cross which we who dwelt in the colonies knew well the meaning and use
of. That holy symbol, so out of place amongst a band of savages, was
not reared here with reverence, but because, being the token of the
white man's faith, the token to which he bowed his knee and poured out
his soul, their devilish minds had devised it as the instrument of his
execution. And white men, we knew from all hearsay and gossip of those
who had escaped, had often suffered on the cross; there was not an
encampment of Shawnee Indians, of Manahoacs, of Powhattans,
Nanticokes, or Doegs--all of which tribes surrounded Virginia--in
which there was not one erected for their torture and execution. Only,
in those executions their tortures and their sufferings were greater
far than any which had ever been devised outside the colonies. Those
whose fate led them to these Crosses suffered not only crucifixion,
but worse, far worse. As they hung upon them, their poor hands and
feet nailed to the beams, while their bare bodies were tortured by all
the insects that abound in the region, they served also as marks for
the arrows and, sometimes, the bullets of their savage foes. Happy
indeed, were those to whom a vital wound was dealt early in their
suffering, happy those who died at once and did not linger on, perhaps
from one day to the other, expiring slowly amidst the jeers of those
amongst whom they had fallen.
Such was one form of revenge practised by the Indian on the white man,
and, alas! there were many others. There was death by fire and death
by burying alive, the body being in the earth, the head outside, a
prey for the vultures to swoop down upon and to tear to pieces,
beginning with the eyes; there was the death of thirst, when the
victim sat gasping in the hot sun while all around him, but beyond his
reach, were placed gourds of cool water.
It was to such deaths as these that we had feared our men might come
if they fell into the hands of the enemy--the women, be it said, were
never subjected to such torture, there were _other_ things reserved
for them--it was one of such deaths as these that Roderick St. Amande
might now fear if the band believed the denunciation of Anuza.
That they did believe it seemed not open to doubt. They muttered and
gesticulated, they hurled opprobrious names at him, they even beat
their breasts and bemoaned the disgrace which had fallen on them by
being deceived by one who had been a "slave." This, to these free,
untrammelled creatures of the forest, seemed the worst of all, far
worse even than their having been tricked into believing that he, who
was nothing but a poor mortal like themselves, could be a god and the
Child of the great Sun God.
Senamee alone seemed to still believe in the villain; he alone at this
moment raised his voice on behalf of their denounced priest. Rising to
his feet, while his cruel features were convulsed with passion and the
great scars upon his face stood out strangely beneath the paint upon
it, he addressed the members of his tribe thus:
"Children of my race, warriors of our various bands, listen to me and
be not swayed too easily by the voice of Anuza the Bear, the chief who
ever opposes me and gnaws at his heart-strings because of my rule and
authority." Here the Bear cast a disdainful glance at him, while he
went on, "Easy enough are these charges to be made; less easy,
however, is the proof of them. Because the Bear has learned now that
he has attacked the house of one by whose kin his father was
succoured, he has readily lent his ear to the tales told him by the
pale faces, all of whom are liars, as we and those who have gone
before us know only too well and to our cost. Yet, against such lying
tales let us remember what the Child of the Sun has done for us--even
before our own eyes, which do not deceive us. He has brought our
cattle from the mouth of death, he has caused all our herds to
increase tenfold, he has blessed our lands and, where before naught
but the serpent and the wolf could live, has made the maize and the
corn to grow. Yet we, but mortal men, could do naught like unto this.
And has he not ruled the heavens! Rain to refresh the earth has come
to us at his bidding; when the moon and the sun have disappeared
before our eyes, without cloud to obscure them, he has conjured them
back again by waving his hands."
"It requires no sharp eye," muttered Mr. Kinchella to us, "to tell
when an eclipse is drawing to an end. If he could have foretold its
coming it would have been more wonderful."
"He has made trees and shrubs," went on Senamee, "to grow before our
eyes, and objects he held in his hands to vanish away into the air."
"Yes, curse him," now muttered Buck, who, unhappily, rarely spoke
without an oath, "I taught him to. I would they had looked under his
thumb or up his sleeve."
"And, above all, is it not he who bade us go forward on the warpath
towards the home of the pale faces, telling us success should come to
us, as it has truly come?"
Once more the Indians were roused, but this time it was towards the
adoption of the chief's views. Hating ingratitude as they did, they
seemed to think now--judging by the ejaculations of many of them--that
there was danger of their testifying it to the medicine chief by
turning so suddenly against him. Poor, ignorant savages! 'Twas easy to
see that they believed, as doubtless their chief believed, that to
this mean creature was owing the fact that their crops and their
cattle had thrived so. They could not guess, their simple, unformed
minds could not tell them, that it was to their own exertions,
suggested by him, and not to his mumblings and gibberish over those
crops and cattle, that their increase and fatness was due.
But no sooner had Senamee finished than Buck, who could be neither
repressed nor subdued, lifted up his voice and, addressing him,
exclaimed, "Sir! Chief! Listen to me a spell. What this fellow has
done I taught him when he was a bought slave, as I was a transported
one, to this our young lady here, whom you call the pale face woman.
And what he can do I can do better, as I'll show you if you'll give me
the chance. You say he can make objects vanish? Why, look here"; with
which he picked up three stones from the earth, placed them on his
open palm, clenched his hand and blew upon it, and, opening it again,
showed to the astonished surrounders that it was empty. Then he
approached an Indian squaw standing near, and putting out his finger
drew each stone one by one from her long, matted hair, while her dusky
skin turned white and she shrunk away from him muttering. Then he
continued:
"Is that it? Well, 'tis simple enough--there hain't a conjuror or Jack
Pudding at Bartholomew Fair, nor any other, that can't do better nor
that, and they ain't children o' the Sun, nor more am I. No! not no
more than _he_ is"--pointing his finger at the now trembling Roderick.
"Children of the Sun, ha! ha! children born in a ditch more like; or
in a prison." Whereupon, after laughing again, he stooped down once
more and, seizing some larger stones, began to hurl them in the air
one after the other and catch them as they descended. Yet, when he had
caught them all, his hands were empty.
Doubtless the Indians understood not his strange jargon and his talk
about Bartholomew Fair. But they could witness his mysterious tricks,
at which, in truth, I was myself appalled, having never seen the like.
And while once more the simple savages veered round into denunciations
of Roderick St. Amande, muttering that he could be no god if this
other slave could do such things, and some of them turned Buck round
and made him show them his hands and open his mouth so that they might
see if the stones were there, Anuza rose again from his seat and spake
as follows:
"Senamee, from you, a chief of the Shawnee tribe and of the noble
Manahoac blood also, have lies issued forth to-day. Nay, start not,
but hear me; I will maintain my words with my arm later. From you, I
say, have lies issued forth; nay, worse; not only were they lies, but
you knew that they were lies and yet coldly spake them."
"I will kill you," hissed Senamee, "kill you with my own hand."
"So be it," answered the other, "if you have the power, but the Bear
is not weak." "Lies," he went on, "lies knowingly told when you said
that I opposed you and was jealous of your rule and authority. For you
know well such words can have no truth in them. In my wigwam hang more
scalps than in yours, the scalps of Cherokees who dispute the
mountains with us, of Yamasees who dwell near unto the deep waters, of
Muskogees; ay, even of the fierce Southern Seminoles who dwell in the
tents of the blood-stained poles. And in my veins runs blood as pure
as yours, while I yield not to you as my ruler, but as my equal only,
except in years. But let this pass; later on you shall kill me or I
you. Now, there is other killing to be done. For not only has this
man," pointing to Buck, who was now showing some other tricks, truly
marvellous, to the Indians, "who is by his own word a slave, proved to
you that the jugglings of the false medicine man are no miracles, but
things which slaves can do; but also have I to add my word against
him. And, oh! my people," he said, turning round and addressing all
there, "you, my kinsmen and friends of the Shawnees, the Manahoac, and
the Doeg tribes, what will you say shall be done to the false priest,
the pale-faced slave, who has imposed on us, when I tell you all? When
I tell you that, in this white woman's house, I heard him speak of us
who have sheltered him and succoured him, as 'credulous red fools'--as
'credulous red fools,' those were his words. And more," he went on,
putting forth his arm with a gesture as though to stay the angry
murmurs that now arose, while Roderick St. Amande sat shaking with
fear in his seat, "the dark maiden here, the sister of the white
woman, denounced him to his face and before me, though he knew not I
heard. She taunted him with having had his lost ear smitten off by his
owner--the ear that he told us often his father, the Sun God, took
from him so that he should be less than he--oh! fools that we were to
believe it! And--and she called him 'thief' and 'lover of fire waters'
and 'cowardly, crawling dog'--think of it, oh! my kinsmen; the Shawnee
warriors and the Manahoacs and the Doegs to be imposed on by such as
this! A slave, a thief, a drunkard, a cowardly dog! Think of it! Think
of it! And for me, Anuza, worse, far worse than this, for at his
commands have I wrecked the house in which he who gave me life was
tended and succoured; at his commands have I made war on and injured
the child's child of her who succoured him."
He paused a moment and looked round, his eye falling on the angry,
muttering crowd of savages of the three allied tribes; upon Roderick
St. Amande trembling there, making no defence and burying his face in
his mantle, from which he sometimes withdrew it to cast imploring
glances on Senamee. Senamee, who sat scowling on all about him while
his fingers clutched the great dagger in his wampum belt. Then Anuza
went on again, while the muttering of the crowd rose to yells, and
that crowd pressed forward ominously to where the unhappy victim sat.
"For all this, my brethren, he must die. For the inoffensive blood he
has caused us to shed, he must die--for the lies he has told us, 'the
credulous red fools,' he must die--for all that he has done, he must
die. And there, upon the Cross which he himself selected as the death
to be dealt out to the white men, he shall die to-night."
With a how! that was almost like to the dreaded war cry, they all
rushed at Roderick, while high above even the noise of their fierce
threats went forth a piercing shriek from their intended victim, who
clung to Senamee's arm, crying, "Save me, save me," in the Indian
tongue.
That the chief would have dreamt of doing so--seeing that, since he
was head of all, he had been more fooled perhaps than any of them--had
it not been for the hatred and antagonism he bore to the Bear, none of
us who were present have ever been able to bring ourselves to believe.
Yet now, to the astonishment of all, both red and white, he did
actually intercede in his behalf.
As the crowd surged up to where the wretch sat, men and women being
indiscriminately mixed, braves and warriors jostling their servants
and inferiors, while their gaily-bedecked wives--for this was to have
been a feast day--pushed against almost nude serving-women, the chief
sprang to his feet, threw one arm about Roderick St. Amande, and,
brandishing his tomahawk before their eyes, thundered forth an order
to them to desist.
"Back!" he roared in his deep tones, "back, I say. What! is Senamee
dead already that others usurp his place and issue orders to his
people? Who is your chief? I, or Anuza, the rebel?" and he struck at
two or three of the foremost with his tomahawk as he spoke.
"You are," they acknowledged, though with angry glances at him, "yet
shall not the false priest shelter himself behind your shield. We will
have his life in spite of you."
"His life you shall have when we are sure of his guilt. At present we
have nothing but the word of Anuza, who has said I lie. But what if he
has lied himself?"
"He has not lied," they called out. "He has not lied. Anuza never
lies. And his words are proved. The other slave of the white woman can
do more than he. He is no medicine priest. Give him to us that we may
slay him."
"Not yet," answered Senamee. "Not yet. For ere I give him to you I am
about to prove Anuza to be a liar in spite of your belief."
"How can you prove it?" they demanded, while Anuza himself stood
motionless, his eyes fixed on his rival.
"My brethren and followers, you speak either like children who know
nothing or old men who have forgotten what once they knew. Anuza has
told me that I lie. To him I say the same thing. He lies. He lies out
of his spite and envy of me. And have you, oh! ye children or dotards,
forgotten how, when one of our race thinks thus of another, they
decide who is the truthful man and who the liar?"
"We have not forgotten," they all exclaimed; "we have not forgotten.
It must be by the death of one or the other. Both cannot live."
"It is well," Senamee exclaimed, "it is well. And of Anuza, the rebel,
and of me your chief, one of us must die by the hand of the other. As
that death is dealt out so shall it be decided what the fate of this
one is," pointing to the impostor shivering by his side. "If I defeat
the Bear he shall not suffer, for then it will be known that Anuza is
the liar and has wrongly accused him; if Anuza slays me then must you
do with the medicine chief as is his will. But," descending from his
seat and advancing towards where that warrior stood, "that he will
kill me I do not fear. Those of the house of Senamee dread not those
of the race of the crawling Bear."
And then, advancing ever nearer unto Anuza until he stood close in
front of him, he made a defiant gesture before him and exclaimed:
"Anuza, the time has come."
While Anuza, returning his glance with equally contemptuous ones,
replied:
"You have spoken well, Senamee. The time has come."
PART III
THE NARRATIVE OF
LORD ST. AMANDE CONTINUED
CHAPTER XXV
THE SHAWNEE TRAIL
He who has been stunned by a heavy blow comes to but slowly, and so it
was with me and slowly also my understanding and my memory returned,
while gradually my dazed senses began to comprehend the meaning of all
around me. I remembered at last why the handsome saloon in which my
beloved one, my sweet Joice, took ever such pride, should now resemble
the deck of a ship after a fierce sea fight more than a gentlewoman's
withdrawing-room. It dawned upon me minute by minute why the
harpsichord and spinet should both be shattered, the bright carpet
drenched and stained with blood, the window-frame windowless, with, by
it, a heap of dead, formed of red and white men and the mastiffs, and
why my own white silk waistcoat and steinkirk should be stained with
the same fluid. Nor was I, ere long, astonished to see the fontange
which Miss Mills had worn lying on the spinet, nor to perceive
O'Rourke seated by a table near me eating some bread and meat slowly
and in a ruminative manner, while he washed the food down with a
beaker of rum and water and shook his head sadly and meditatively all
the while.
And so, in a moment, there came back to me all that happened but a
little time before, as I thought, and with a great shout I called to
him and asked him where my dear one was.
The old adventurer sprang to his feet as I did so, and came towards me
muttering that he thought for an instant that the red devils were
coming back again; and then, kneeling down by me, he asked me how I
did and if I thought I had taken any serious hurt.
"Though well I know, my lord," he said, "that 'twas nothing worse than
a severe crack o' the skull; yet, being a poor chirurgeon, I could not
tell how deep the crack was. But since you can speak and understand,
and know me, it cannot be so serious. Try, my lord, if you can rise."
Taking his arm I made the attempt, succeeding fairly. But when on my
feet I still felt dizzy, while a great nausea came over me, so that I
was obliged to seat myself at the table and to observe O'Rourke's
counsel to partake of some of the liquor he had by him, if not some of
the bread and meat.
"'Tis fortunate," he said, "that I could induce those squealing
negroes to come forth after all the others had gone, or else----"
"Gone!" I exclaimed. "Who are gone?" And then, in an instant, perhaps
owing to the draught of liquor, I remembered that the others were not
here; that, above all, my dear one was not by my side. "Gone!" I
exclaimed again; "they are gone! Where to?"
"With the savages," he replied. "They had no other resource."
"Therefore let us follow them at once. With the savages! And they are
two defenceless women. With the savages! And I lying there like a log
unable to help them! Oh, Joice! Oh, Joice, my darling!"
"Nay," said O'Rourke, "distress not yourself so much. While you lay
senseless with that fair young thing's arms around you much happened
that you cannot dream of. Much! Much! Indeed such marvellous things
that even I, who have seen many surprising occurrences, could not
conceive----"
"In heaven's name out with them!" I exclaimed. "Man, have you not
tortured me enough already in my life and been pardoned for it, that
you must begin again. Out with your tale, I say, if you would not
drive me to distraction."
He cast a sad look towards me which, with my recollection of all he
had done last night on our behalf, made me to regret speaking so to
him even under such pressure. Then, after saying there was no further
wish in his heart, God He knew, to ever do aught to me but make
atonement, he commenced his narrative of all that had occurred while I
lay senseless and he lay apparently so.
What a narrative it was! What a story! To think of that vile Roderick
being there in command of all the others; to think of that spiteful,
crawling wretch having at last got those two innocent creatures into
his power and able to do what he would with them! Oh! 'twas too
horrible--too horrible to think upon. Nay, I dare not think, I could
only prepare for immediate action.
"We must follow them," I said. "I must follow them at once, even if
the Indians tear me to pieces as I enter their midst. And what matter
if they do? 'Twill be best so if she, my own darling, has become their
prey. O'Rourke, for heaven's sake cease eating and drinking, and lend
me your assistance."
"That will I cheerfully," he replied, "and if they have but left a
brace of nags in the stables we will be a dozen leagues on our way ere
nightfall. But as to eating and drinking, well--well! I am too old a
campaigner of all kinds not to take my rations when they fall in my
way. And you, too, my lord, a sailor, should know 'tis bad to go
a-fighting on an empty stomach. Even Corporal John, who loved better
to pouch the ducats than to provision the army, always sent his men
into battle with their stomachs full."
"But every moment is precious--every instant. Think of the girls in
the hands of those ruthless savages, in the hands of my villainous
cousin."
"Ay, I do think on't. Yet will I wager all my hopes of future
pardon--heaven knows I stand in need of it--that the girls are safe
enough. Have I not told you that the great Indian, the gigantic chief,
heard all. All! He heard Mistress Mills denounce your cousin, and he
heard him call all the tribe superstitious or ignorant fools, or words
of a like import. And, what's more, he knew that neither you nor I
were dead, nor like to die, and yet he left us here unharmed. My lord,
I tell you," he continued, slapping down the bowl he had just emptied,
"that no harm is coming to those young maids, nor do I think to any of
the other prisoners. And more I tell you also, the one who will come
worst out of this fray will be your cousin Roderick."
I would have answered him and said how devoutly I trusted such might
be the case, when we heard a clatter in the courtyard behind and the
shoutings of many men, and voices all talking at once, some
exclaiming, "At least they've left this house standing." "What of the
women folk?" "What of Mistress Bamfyld?" and so forth. And then, as we
rushed to the back windows, I recognised many of the other residents
of the place whose acquaintance I possessed, with, at their head, her
cousin Gregory.
"Where is Joice?" he called out as he dismounted, seeing me. "Where is
she? Is she safe? Yet she must be since you and this other gentleman
are here alive."
It took not long to tell them all, nor to learn that which had
befallen all the other houses and manors around. Some, we learnt, were
burnt to the ground; some were spared simply because they were so well
defended that the Indians had drawn off at daybreak without achieving
any victory; at some every inhabitant had been killed even to the
women and children; at others every creature had escaped. Many, too,
were the deeds of daring that had been done on this night of horror.
Women had stoutly helped their husbands, brothers, and sons in
fighting for their homes, one woman having killed near a score
of the Indians with her own musket. Another, who was alone in her
house--her husband being away at the newly re-constructed town of
Richmond--having none about her but her babes and some worthless
negroes, also defended her house both skilfully and valorously. She
appeared at different windows dressed in her husband's clothes,
changing the wig, or the coat, or other garments as she passed from
one room to another, so that the savages were led to think that the
house was full of men. She shouted orders to imaginary servants and
friends as though they were there to assist her, and every time she
fired she brought down her man so that, by daybreak, her little house
was of those saved. And this was but one of the many gallant actions
performed that night which I cannot here stop to narrate.
All who had now ridden into the courtyard of my dear one's house were
there with but one impulse to stir them. That impulse was revenge and
the rescue of the many prisoners whom they knew to have been carried
off. Yet, when they heard that Joice was gone--who amongst all the
girls in that part of the colony was, perhaps, the most beloved--and,
with her, Miss Mills, that impulse was stirred more deeply still, so
that when Gregory, addressing them, said:
"Gentlemen, she is my cousin, as you know, and, with Miss Mills, is
the only woman captured; therefore must I beg that the leadership of
this party is given to me," they willingly accorded him his desire.
But this I could not permit, so I, too, made a speech to them, saying:
"Yet must I put in my claim against Mr. Haller. Mistress Bampfyld is,
indeed, his cousin, but to me she is more--she is my promised wife.
Therefore, no matter who heads this party, I alone must go as the
chief seeker after her. I would have saved her with my life last night
had it been granted me to do so; I must claim the right to rescue her
now, or to die in attempting it."
"Your promised wife!" poor Gregory said, looking mournfully at me.
"Oh, Joice! Oh, Joice!"
But he alone was the one who did not heartily receive my statement,
all the others shouting lustily "for the future Lady St. Amande," and
saying that none was so worthy of such an honour as she.
"Nay," I said, "nay. 'Tis she who honours me by giving me her love,
and therefore must I be the first to risk my life for her."
So it was agreed that we should set forth at once on the trail, there
being many skilful trappers and hunters in the party who could take it
up as easily as an Indian himself, while, for commander, there should
be no one, each doing his best with the knowledge he possessed of the
savages' habits. Of this knowledge I myself had none, yet was I
recognised as the one most to be considered because I was the
affianced husband of Joice, the "Virginian Rose," as I had heard her
called ere now.
It needs not that I should set down aught that befel us on the
expedition; I know now that my love has written a description of the
journey she made. Nor is it necessary that I tell all that O'Rourke
narrated to us of the arrival of Roderick St. Amande on the scene of
slaughter after I was struck senseless, for that, too, you know. But,
as he informed us of all that had transpired at that time, and as he
told us that, had not it been for this execrable villain, there could
be little doubt that Pomfret and all the countryside round would have
been left as secure from attack by the Indians as it had been hitherto
left for many years, the rage of all in our party was supreme and
terrible.
"I hope," said one of the Pringles, uncle to the young man now a
prisoner, as I learnt, "I hope that, if the gigantic chief you speak
of is going to wreak his vengeance on the scoundrel, I may be in some
way witness of it."
"And I! And I!" exclaimed several others. "If we could see that, or if
they would but deliver him back into our hands, we would almost
forgive them all that they have done for our houses and families."
Travelling quickly, urging the poor beasts that they lent us onwards
as much as possible, walking by their sides to relieve them, and
carrying sometimes the saddles ourselves so that they might have
greater ease, we reached the spur of hills to which the trail had led
us on the morning of the third day after the raid on Pomfret. Thus, as
we knew afterwards, by not sleeping at night, or by sleeping only for
an hour or so at a time, we had arrived at the very period when the
exposure of Roderick St. Amande took place.
That we had proceeded with caution you may be sure. One would as soon
put their head in the lion's mouth as approach an Indian encampment
without due care. Our horses had by this time been left behind,
tethered in a glade and with their heads enveloped in blankets so that
they should not neigh, and one by one the whole of our party, which
consisted of some forty persons, crept slowly round the bluff of the
mountain, leaving the encampment to what I, as a sailor, may describe
as the leeward. Our plan, suggested by an old colonist who had been
engaged in fighting and contending with Indians and wild animals since
far back into the days when William of Orange ruled, was to creep
round this bluff, to ascend it a little, and then, from the elevation,
to look down upon the Indians' town and concoct our method of attack.
And, to the surprise of those who understood the Indian method of
warfare, this we were enabled to do without being discovered. We
encountered no outposts, such as these savage warriors invariably
throw out in a circle round their encampment. We saw no naked breast
or plumed head of Indian sentry gleaming through the pines and
sassafras, laurels and sumachs; no hideously painted face glaring at
us from behind the muscadine vines or maple trees that grew in rich
profusion at the mountain's base, ere its owner launched his poisoned
arrow at us. The reason was, as we learnt later, that none in that
encampment believed that the white avengers could travel twice as fast
as they themselves had travelled. None believed there could possibly
be a pale face within twenty miles of their town; and, more, there
was that taking place in their midst which was enough to distract even
the wary Indian from his duties of watchfulness.
What was happening we ourselves saw a few moments later.
CHAPTER XXVI
AS FOEMEN FIGHT
It was when we had climbed the spur, or bluff, one by one, crawling
like Indians or snakes ourselves, and when we lay prone and gazing
down upon the open space in the encampment that we saw that which
astonished us so.
This it was.
In the middle of that open space there stood, or rather fought, two
men, each contending for the other's life. Each also was a splendid
example of the Indian race, great in height, muscular and sinewy; yet
the one who seemed the younger of the two was the tallest and the best
favoured, the elder having a fierce and cruel face. Both wielded that
dreadful instrument, the tomahawk, the weapon that, while so small and
harmless-looking, is, in the hands of those accustomed to its use, so
deadly; both were bare from the waist upwards, their breasts painted
with emblems or devices--a bear on one, a panther on the other. Yet
more dreadful, perhaps, than to know that this was a combat to the
death, was to see the manner in which the struggle took place. It was
no battle of blow against blow, of one blow struck only to be warded
off and another given; it was a fight in which craft was opposed to
craft and skill to skill, such as no Italian swordsman perhaps knew
better how to exhibit. Round and round what once would have been
called the lists, or, as we now term it, the arena, those two stole
after each other, first one creeping like a tiger at his foe and then
his opponent doing the same; while, as they came within striking
distance, the tomahawk would rise in the attacker's hand only to sink
again as its wielder recognised that it must surely be skilfully
parried or fall ineffectually. It was weird, horrible--nay,
devilish--to see these two great types of humanity creeping at one
another like tigers, yet never meeting in a great shock, as one might
well have looked for.
But those below who sat there caused us as much surprise and agitation
as did these combatants. There I saw my sweet Joice with, on her fair
face, the greatest agitation depicted while she watched every movement
of the contending foemen, her excitement being intense as the one who
bore the emblem of the bear advanced as though to strike the other,
and her look of disappointment extreme when he drew back foiled. What
did it mean? What did it portend?
And there, too, was Mary Mills, her hand in Kinchella's as they sat
side by side, while on both their faces was the same eager look, the
same evident desire for the victory of the younger champion; the same
look of regret when he was forced to draw back. But, more marvellous
even than this, was what we further saw, yet could not comprehend.
_All_ in the crowd of spectators, save one who sat huddled on a great
chair or bench, his face covered with a mantle from which he peeped
furtively, seemed possessed with the same desire as they; all their
sympathy was with him who bore the emblem of the bear. It was so with
the dusky warriors who watched every cat-like footstep that the
antagonists took; so with the humbler Indians round; so with the
richly-bedizened Indian women, whom we deemed the wives or squaws of
the braves, and so with the almost nude Indian girls, servants
probably. And with all the other white people it was equally the
same. Buck and Mr. Pringle, and Mr. Byrd, as well as the other
prisoners--though none seemed like prisoners, being unshackled and
quite free--applauded and shouted in English fashion as the younger
warrior attacked the elder. One would have thought the former was
their dearest friend! They winced when the elder attacked in his turn,
and looked black and anxious if for a moment the fight seemed to go
against the Bear. Strange! all were for him--all; Indians, white
people, even my own dear sweetheart and her friends, Mary and
Kinchella--all, all, excepting that one shrouded, unknown creature who
sat apart by himself. Who could he be? What did it mean? O'Rourke was
able to inform me.
When he had told me that the Indian who was the desired victor of all
who regarded the combat was the one who had been the chief in command
of the attack on my sweet one's house, and had heard Roderick St.
Amande not only exposed by Miss Mills but also by his own tongue, he
said:
"And, my lord, remembering this, 'tis not difficult to draw therefrom
a conclusion that shall, I think, be near the mark. He has denounced
the villain Roderick--see how he cringes in his chair."
"In his chair? Is that creature Roderick?"
"It is, indeed, and I will wager that on this conflict his life
depends. And, look, look! The Bear presses the other hard. See how he
drives him back. Ah, God! he stumbles, he is--no, no! See, see, my
lord, see! Ah, heavens! it is too dreadful!" And he placed his hands
before his eyes. Even he, who had fought so well and risked his life a
score of times three nights ago, could not witness the end of this
fray.
It was, indeed, too dreadful. The end of the combat had come. Even as
O'Rourke had been speaking, the Bear, creeping ever forward towards
the other, had prepared to make a spring at him when, his foot
catching against some unevenness in the baked earth, he stumbled and
nearly fell. And then, indeed, it looked as though he were lost. In an
instant his antagonist was at him; on high he whirled the dreadful
tomahawk, we saw its gleam as it descended, we heard Joice and Mary
scream and clasp their hands--and we saw that it had missed its mark.
It had overshot the other's shoulder; as it descended the Panther's
great forearm alone struck on the shoulder of the Bear, the deadly axe
itself cut into nothing but empty space. So the latter had lost the
one chance given him in the fray.
But now his own doom was sealed--now at the moment that O'Rourke
called out in terror. As the Bear recovered himself from what was in
itself a terrible blow given by the muscular arm of the other savage,
so he seized that arm with his left hand,--it closed upon that other's
limb as a vice closes when tightly screwed!--he wrenched the arm
round, dragging with it its owner's body, and then, high, swift, and
sudden, his own tomahawk flashed in the air and, descending, cleft his
antagonists head in half, he falling quivering and dead.
From us, lying up there on the rise of the bluff, there came a gasp, a
sigh of relief that the horrid combat which had caused us all to hold
our breath was finished; from the Indians below there arose dreadful
whoops and yells. They rushed into the great circle, they shouted and
they screamed; their noted impassiveness gone now, for a time at
least. They jeered at the great dead carcase lying there, a pool of
blood around it, and with the weapon still in its sinewy hand; they
even dabbled their fingers in that blood as the cried: "Anuza is now
our chief. The Bear shall rule over us. Senamee was unworthy, and he
has met his fate."
Now, as we prepared to descend into their midst, we saw Anuza, as they
termed him, turn towards the prisoners. Looking principally, it seemed
to me, towards Joice, we heard him say:
"White woman, and you, her kin, have I atoned somewhat for the sin
that I have done to you! The dead whom we slew in your houses we
cannot bring back, but one of those who urged us most to the fray has
answered for it. Now shall the other--the cheat, the false medicine
man--be punished also." And he turned towards where my cousin had sat
but a moment before.
"What!" he exclaimed, rushing towards the bench, "what, gone! Gone!
Where is he?"
But this none could answer for, in the few moments of intense
excitement that had followed the death of him whom they called
Senamee, he had disappeared.
As they set forth to find him, as braves shouted orders to inferior
warriors to track and discover him but on no account to take his life
till it was offered up before them all, I rushed down the declivity of
where we had lain and, heedless of the excitement our appearance
caused, approached my darling and clasped her in my arms. Ah! what joy
it was to have that fair young form enfolded in them, to hear her
murmured words of love and happiness, to be with her once again, even
though our meeting took place in such a scene as this!
But, ere we could do more than exchange hurried whispers one with
another, the victorious chief was by our side and he was addressing
me:
"Beloved of the white woman," he said, "though I know not how you and
yours came here so swiftly," pointing to all my companions who stood
around, some shaking hands with the gentlemen who had been captured,
some regarding the dead body of Senamee which lay where it had fallen,
and some talking to the bond-servants who, with Buck for their chief
spokesman, were giving an excited description of what had happened to
them. "Beloved of the white woman, for such I know you to be, have you
come here simply to carry her back to her own dwelling house, or to
demand vengeance for the wrong done on her and all of you and your
servants and slaves? Answer, so that we shall know."
I cast my eyes down on Joice, who, poor maid, was now sobbing on my
breast, while some of the Virginian gentlemen who knew not of our
recently avowed love gazed with somewhat of an amazed look at us; and
then I replied:
"As yet I can make no answer to you. Amongst all these white men whom
you see here I am of the least standing, being but a stranger in the
land with no tie to it but this maiden's love. Yet since you address
me, and if they will have me for their spokesman at this moment," and
casting my eyes around on our friends I saw that they were willing it
Should be so, "I say that, ere we reply to you, we must be given some
time for conference between ourselves on the wrong which you have done
towards those who never harmed you nor yours."
Here to my amazement, though I learnt the reason directly afterwards,
the great chief heaved a profound sigh, and, indeed, groaned, while I
went on.
"And also must we know in what position we are here within your camp.
Do you still regard us as at war or peace? Are all free to go as they
desire, or are those here prisoners still?"
Amidst the calls of the Indians who were seeking for Roderick to one
another from the thickets and groves, and the continued shouts which
told us that as yet their quest had been unsuccessful, the chief
answered:
"I, too, speak as the mouth of my tribe, almost all of whom can
understand my words; nay, some there are whose fathers and fathers'
fathers were of your blood. Even so," he said, hearing our murmurs of
astonishment and, in the case of some, their murmurs of disgust. "Even
so. But for all of my tribe, whether of the noble Shawnee and Doeg
races which hath spread here from the great river to the north, or the
Manahoacs, or Monacans, or Tucaroras, Catawbas, or Cherokees, of all
of which races we are composed, and also for those of white blood who
have become of us, I speak, since he who now lies there is dead. All
are free to go, nay, shall be escorted back in safety to their homes.
For the war which we have made on you has been a sinful one, ordered
by the lying false medicine man whom we believed in. And, or
atonement, this I offer, being, though I knew it not then, myself the
worst of all my tribe. For the injuries I have done to the white woman
whose people were good to my father I offer my life, having naught
else to give. Here on this spot I offer it, now and at once."
And to my amazement, as well, indeed, as that of all around, Anuza
came forward to where Joice and I stood, and, kneeling down before
her, stretched out his arms and went on: "Take it now, either with
your own hands or by the hands of this your beloved, or the hands of
these your slaves and servants. What more can I offer than this,
unless also you desire that I shall die a death of torture? And, if
that be so, then that will I also endure."
My love had raised her head from my breast to gaze at him as he spoke
thus; around us had gathered the gentlemen of Pomfret who had been
taken prisoners; near us, looking on with strange and curious looks,
were those who but recently had been her bond-servants. 'Twas a
strange scene and one that would well have become a painter's
brush had any been there to limn it. The noble form of the huge
chief prostrate before the golden-haired girl who clung to her
lover--himself a sorry sight in his soiled and stained finery, which
he had worn from the evening that had begun so happily and ended so
horribly in her house; the dead body of the other chief lying there
close by her feet; the forms of Indian men and women all around, some
clad in gorgeous bravery and some nearly naked; also the other white
men of different degree--all looking on. Nor would the background have
been unworthy of so strange a set of characters. The green glade
dotted with its tents and wigwams, set off in contrast the
blood-smeared arena where the dead man lay; behind began the ascent of
the mountain range, clad with the verdure of the white magnolia, the
tulip tree and laurel, with, peeping through, the darker green of the
bay tree. Glinting through their branches and many-hued leaves were
seen the colours of the blue jay and blue birds, the golden orioles
and the scarlet cardinals, with, distinct from all and horrible to
see, the dusky forms of the foul vultures who had been gathered to the
spot by the warm, sickly scent of the dead man's blood.
And now my beloved, drying her eyes, spoke softly to the man kneeling
before her, saying in her sweet, clear voice:
"Nay, nay, speak not to me of death; there has been too much already.
God He knows I seek not your life--no, not more than she who succoured
your father sought his. But, oh! if this last conflict might end for
ever the encounters between your people and mine I would ask no more."
From the Indians around there came a murmur that seemed born of
surprise. "She forgives," they whispered to each other. "The white
woman forgives the evil the Bear has done to her." And still they
murmured, "She forgives."
"Oh, yes! oh, yes!" Joice cried, hearing their words, while she
stretched out her fair young arms so that, indeed, I thought she
looked more like unto an angel than before. "Yes, if forgiveness rests
with me, then do I indeed forgive. And you, my friends," turning to
those of our own race who stood around, "will you not forgive too;
will you not make this day one that shall end all strife between them
and us? Oh! if thus we could forget the wrongs that each has done to
the other, if the red man will forget the white man's attacks on him
and the white men forget the Indian's revenge, how happily we might
all dwell together in peace for ever."
I looked round that strange gathering as she spoke, and, doing so, I
saw that which might well give good augury of the coming to pass of
what she desired. For in the eyes both of Indian and of colonist, of
savage warrior and of almost equally savage backwoodsman and hunter,
there were tears to be seen. It was not only from the clear young eyes
of Joice that they fell.
CHAPTER XXVII
A LONG PEACE
An hour later those who had been such deadly enemies sat at peace
together, engaged in a consultation. In a circle, side by side, were
the sachems and sagamores of the tribe, the settlers of Pomfret who
had come forth with me to rescue our friends, the late prisoners
themselves, and Joice seated by me. Apart, and taking no share in the
proceedings, were Kinchella and Mary Mills; above, and seated in
Senamee's great chair, was Anuza, now chief over all. Farther off were
the late bondsmen and many other of the Indians, while in the centre
of them was Buck, showing a variety of cheats and delusions, and
endeavouring to teach them how to perform them themselves--though this
they seemed unable to do.
And now an old paw-wah, or sachem, passed the pipe he had been smoking
to another sitting by his side, and spake as follows:
"Chiefs and braves of the tribe who are ever now allies, and you, the
pale faces who dwell to the east of us, hearken unto me. For ere the
sun sets to night it shall be, perhaps, that peace is settled between
us for ever; ay! until the sun shall rise no more and the moon shall
be darkened always."
"Speak," said one of the tribe, while others gave the peculiar grunt
of the Indian and those of our party also bade him speak.
"It is good," he answered, "and I will speak of the far-off days when
first the pale face came amongst us, though not then as a foe, until
even now when, if the great Spirit so wills it, he shall never more be
one. For the wrongs that have been done by the one to the other may be
atoned for ever now."
He paused a moment to collect his thoughts, as it seemed, and then
again he went on: "When first the great waterhouses brought the pale
face to our land they brought not enemies but friends. This all know.
They came among us and they were welcome. We gave them of the fish of
our streams and the beasts of our forests and the fruits of the earth,
and in return they gave us the fire-weapons with which to slay the
beasts. They taught us also how to prepare them in better ways than we
knew, they showed us how to build houses that should be more secure
against the sun's heat and the winter's cold than those we made of the
red cedar's bark. All was well between us; we were friends. Nay, as
all know, we were brothers. We lay on the white man's hearth and he
cherished us; he slept in our cabins and wigwams and he was safe. Why
remained it not so? Hear me, and I will tell you.
"The white man spake not always truth to us. He told us that our lands
were worthless, and he bought them from us for nothing, unless it was
the accursed fire-drink which made us mad, or for fire-weapons that in
our hands would slay nothing. Yet the lands thrived in his grasp and
he possessed them and we had lost them. And when we reproached him he
used fire-weapons that slew us without failure, and our prisoners whom
he took he sent away for ever across the deep waters.[5] So he took
our lands and our men, and got all, and we had nothing. And the Indian
never forgets. Thus, while we drew away from where the pale face
dwelt, some coming to these mountains and some going even farther
towards the unknown land of the setting sun, we had naught to cherish
but our revenge, and naught to comfort us but the exercise of that
revenge."
"Yet," interrupted young Mr. Byrd, "in the days of my grandfather you
made a peace with us, and took gifts from us, and fire-weapons that
would kill of a surety, and agreed to attack us no more. But even that
peace you did not keep, though you made no raids upon us such as this
you have now made."
"Yet were we never the aggressors," the sachem replied. "Never was an
attack made by us until evil was done to us. But the Indian forgives
not. If one of our race was slain by one of the white race then must
one of his kin be slain by us; if our women were outraged, as has
often been, or insulted, then must a white woman or a child be carried
away by us. It is the law of our gods; it must be obeyed. For a life a
life, for a hand a hand, for an Indian woman's honour a white woman's,
or the carrying off of children."
"But," said Gregory, "there was naught to inspire such desire for
revenge as to cause this last attack. None in Pomfret have harmed you
or yours for many moons. What had she," pointing to Joice, "done; she,
this innocent woman, scarce more than a girl even now, that thus you
should attack and ruin her and seek her life and that of those by whom
she was surrounded?"
The sachem was about to answer when whatever he would have said was
interrupted by Anuza, who, speaking quickly, said:
"Because we were deceived by a lying, false, medicine man it was done.
Because he told us lies, even as he has lied to us ever since he dwelt
amongst us. And for those lies he shall die. He cannot escape us long.
Yet, since it is due to the white men that they should know how that
crawling snake worked upon us, so that we believed in him and did his
bidding and attacked their houses, tell them all--tell them all," and
he motioned to the sachem as he spoke.
That all of us were eager to hear this recountal, you may be well
sure, for there was scarcely one amongst us who had not known the
wretch. The gentlemen had met him as an equal--for all believed his
tale--he had caroused with the (now freed) bondsmen, and he had even
gone a-hunting with the backwoodsmen and trappers. So we bent our ears
to the narrative and listened greedily.
"He was found," said the paw-wah, "lying in the forest by Lamimi, the
young daughter of Owalee, a chief of the Powhattans, and she, because
her heart was tender, succoured him. But because Owalee hated the pale
faces with a great hatred she kept him secret from her father for many
days, hiding him in a cave she knew of and going to visit him often.
Yet she believed him to be no pale face, but rather a god sent from
another world, so wonderful were his doings. Food he refused at her
hands, making signs to her (and knowing, too, some words of her
tongue, as she knew some of his, by which they conversed) that meat
was brought to him by some unseen power. And of this he gave her
proof, showing her bones of fishes and of animals and birds which he
had devoured. Later on she learnt that he could marvellously snare all
creatures, making them captive to him even though he had no weapons,
but this she told us not until to-day. Nor told she until to-day--when
she, who had been his squaw and loved him, learned that she was to be
cast out and the white maiden here and her dark sister made to take
her place--of all his own deceptions and crafts. But, to-day, because
she hates him now as once she loved him, she has told all--all! She it
was who taught him the history of our braves and their deeds and the
deeds of their forefathers, which we thought the Sun God only could
have taught him so wonderful did his knowledge seem. She it was who
carried to him the news of what the tribes were deciding on doing,
either in war with other tribes, or in hunting, or in sacrificing, so
that, when he told us that he had learned all our future intentions,
again we believed that his father, the Sun, gave him the knowledge.
Fools! fools that we were! Yet we never thought of the girl, Lamimi,
though we knew she was his squaw. Nor would she have told him all she
did had he not ruled her by terror as much as by love. For he made her
believe that he could cause her to vanish for ever off the earth, even
as he made things to vanish from his hands and be no more seen; or as
he made stones to fly into the air and descend no more. Yet now she
knows, as we know, that all was but trickery, and that many others can
do the same, even as that one there," pointing to Buck, "who says he
is the child of no god, can do such things.
"So the false one worked upon us, doing that which no medicine man had
ever done before; and so, at last, he got supreme control over us,
making us obey his every word. And ever did he tell us that, if we
would please the great Sun God, then must we make war upon and destroy
all the pale faces who dwelt between these mountains and the waters,
directing more particularly our vengeance towards the spot where you,
ye white people, live. This we at first would not do, because for many
moons there had been peace between us with neither little nor great
war; yet, as moon followed moon, and leaf was followed by barrenness
and then withered and fell to the earth, still did he press us. When
the thunder rolled and the lightning blasted our cattle, he told us
the Sun was angry because we obeyed him not; when many of our horses
were killed by reptiles and venomous insects he said ever the same;
when our women bore dead children still spake he of the Sun God's
anger. And yet we would not hearken unto him, for since the pale faces
no longer came against us we went not against them.
"But lo! one day, when all the earth was dark, yet with no cloud
beneath the sky, he stood forth here on this spot where now we sit,
and, stretching out his arms which were bare, he said that ere long
upon his hands should appear a message from the Sun telling us of the
god's anger. And soon the message came, though now we know that it was
a cheat. Upon his open palm, which had been empty ere he clenched it,
there appeared a scroll of skin with, on it, mystic figures which none
could decipher but he. And the figures said, he told us, that never
more should the heavens be light again and that there should be
darkness over all the land, if we would not make war upon the white
men and save ourselves. For they, he said, were arming to attack us,
from over the deep waters their great king, who dwelt beyond them, was
sending more fearful fire-weapons than we had known with which to
destroy us for ever, and, ere another moon had passed, they would have
come. So, at last, in the darkness of the day, and with great fear in
the hearts of all the warriors and braves of the tribe, they said if
he would cause the Sun God to show his face again, then they would
promise to make the war. And so he stretched his hands to the Sun and
spake some words, and slowly his rays came forth again one by one and
light appeared again upon the world. Yet this we also know now was
false, and that the rays would have come and also the light even
though the promise had been withheld. I have spoken."
At first none of us uttered a word when the sachem concluded. In
truth, all were surprised that, even among these poor, ignorant
savages, such credulity could have existed. And, I think, most of us
were pondering on what they would have done to the impostor had the
promise not been forthcoming by the time that the eclipse--for it was,
naturally, of such a thing the sachem spake--had passed away.
Yet a spokesman had to be put forward on our part, and so we drew away
a little to consult. And having chosen one, which was Kinchella, we
returned and he addressed the Indians thus:
"Warriors, braves, and people of the assembled tribes. We have thought
upon all your sachem has said, and we wish that the only true God had
inspired your hearts so that you should not have listened to the false
prophet who deceived you. Yet, since you have done so, and have made
war upon those who in their generation have never harmed you, what
reparation can you offer us?"
"Ask what you will," said Anuza, "and if it is in our power it shall
be given."
"'Tis well. Listen, therefore. These are our demands. Firstly, all
those who dwell with you and have our blood, the blood of the white
men, in their veins, shall be brought here, so that we may speak with
them and implore them to return with us to their own people. Also that
I, who am a humble minister of the true God, may endeavour to bring
them back to His service and, if I can prevail upon them, then you
shall let them accompany us."
"If you can prevail upon them," said Anuza, "they shall accompany you.
But that you cannot do," and the tone in which he spoke seemed to us
one of most marvellous confidence.
"At least we will attempt it. Next, we call upon you all here
assembled to make vows, the most solemn to which you can pledge
yourselves, that never again shall you make war upon the white man, or
his houses or property, nor attempt aught against him until he first
attacks you, and that none of your tribes shall come within a day's
ride of our lands either by stealth or openly."
"Children of these our tribes," exclaimed Anuza, "you hear this
demand. Will you agree to it so that evermore there shall be unbroken
peace between them and us? Answer."
To this there were many who cried out that they would agree to it,
while one, an older man than Anuza, coming forward, said:
"A peace is no peace unless it binds both alike who agree to it. Will
the pale faces agree also that, if we advance not into the lands they
have possessed themselves of, they will come no further into ours?
Will they do this?"
All of our side said they would promise this, while they recalled to
the Indians that 'twas more than fifty summers and winters since they
had made any encroachments on the Indians' territories, or taken one
rood of land from them except by barter at a price agreed upon. And so
at last the compact was made--the peace (which hath ever since that
day, so far as my knowledge serves, been kept in His Majesty's loyal
colony of Virginia) was entered into. It was ratified by the white men
calling upon heaven to witness their agreement to it, and by the
Indians swearing upon their wounds and scars, and calling upon their
gods to inflict most dreadful vengeance on them, and their children
afterwards, if they failed in their part. And also was it sealed by
the passing round of a pipe of peace, at which all smoked silently for
a few moments. But still one other promise was extorted from them--the
promise that the sacred symbol of our faith, the Cross, should be
taken down and nevermore used for the horrid rites to which hitherto
it had been put. This we saw done ere we left them.
Now, as we sat smoking gravely with those who had so lately been our
bitter foes, there came in the Indians who had been sent to find the
villain Roderick, who reported that nowhere could any traces of him be
discovered. He had vanished as mysteriously as he had come--all trace
and trail of him was lost.
And what disturbed these grave savages almost as much--nay, I think,
more, was that Lamimi, the daughter of Owalee, who had been Roderick's
squaw and had loved him once, was gone too. And white and red man
both asked themselves the same question--had that love awakened once
more in her bosom and forced her to fly with him; or--dreadful
thought!--had he in some way been able to wreak his vengeance on her
for having told the story of his imposture to her own people?
We were soon to know.
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE REWARD OF A TRAITOR
One thing there was to be done ere we quitted the Indian encampment.
It was to try and bring away with us those who, alas! poor souls, had
come there as white prisoners and had remained of their own free will,
becoming savages in all but complexion. We knew that it would be hard
to tear them from those to whom they had attached themselves. We knew
that girls, who should have grown up to become the wives of sturdy
English colonists or trappers, had stayed willingly with the Indians
to become their squaws and the mothers of their dusky children. We
remembered Anuza's air of confidence when he told us how he doubted of
our being able to persuade them to return with us. Yet we hoped. How
our hopes succeeded you shall see.
We had remarked from our first arrival that there were no signs of any
white people amongst the Indians of the various tribes who dwelt here
together. Yet they had been eagerly sought for. Men from Pomfret and
the small holdings round about it had scanned the stained and painted
faces they gazed down upon while the fight between Anuza and Senamee
had been taking place, in the hopes--perhaps, in some cases, the
fears--that underneath those dreadful pigments the might recognise the
features of some long lost kinsman or kinswoman. And even I, knowing
the stories of those who had been carried off at various periods and
had never returned, had whispered to Joice, asking her if she could
see any whom she had ever known as children dwelling near her? But she
had only shaken her head and answered that she could see none, and
that she almost prayed she should not do so. And I knew why she thus
hoped none would be forthcoming; I knew that, to her tender heart, it
would be more painful to see these renegades than to gaze upon those
who were born savages and had never known the blessings of dwelling in
a Christian community.
Yet now she had to see them.
At a sign from Anuza an Indian servant went forth amongst the tents
and wigwams, returning presently followed by three women--white! Yes,
white, in spite of the stained skin, the Indian trappings of fringed
moccasins and gaiters, of quills and beads and feathers, and of
dressed fawn-skin tunics. Who could doubt it who saw above two of
their heads the fair yellow hair of the northern European woman--was
it some feminine vanity that had led them to keep this portion of
their original English beauty untampered with?--and above that of the
other the chestnut curls which equally plainly told that in her veins
there ran no drop of savage blood.
As they stepped towards us, casting glances of no friendly nature at
those of their own race, one of the women, young and comely and
leading by her hand a child, went directly towards Anuza and,
embracing him, disposed herself at his feet while the child played
with the great hand that, but a few hours ago, had slain Senamee.
Her form was lithe and graceful--in that she might have been Indian
born--upon her head glistened her yellow hair which the Bear softly
stroked; her garb was rich though barbaric. It consisted of a
fawn-skin, bleached so white that it might have been samite, that
reached below the knee, and it was fringed with beads and white
shells. Her leggings were also of some white material but softer; her
moccasins were stained red and fringed also with shells.
She turned her eyes up at Anuza--we saw that they were hazel ones,
soft and clear--and spake some words to him in a whisper, and then was
heard his answer:
"My beloved," he said, "those whom you see around us are of your race,
and we have sworn but now eternal peace with them--a peace that must
never more be broken. Yet to ensure that peace we have granted one
request to the pale faces; we have consented that, if those who dwell
with us, yet are of their land, desire to leave us and go back with
them, they are free to do so. Do you desire thus to return?"
"To return!" she said, looking first with amazement at him and then at
us, "to return and leave you? Oh! Anuza, Anuza! My heart's dearest
love!" while, as she spoke, she embraced the knee against which she
reclined.
"You see," he said to us, "you see. And as it is with her so will it
be with the others. Yet make your demand if you will."
Alas! all was in vain. In vain that Joice and Miss Mills pleaded with
them as women sometimes can plead with their sisters for their
good--what could they hope to effect? If they implored them to return
to their own people they were answered that they could not leave their
husbands, for so they spoke of the chiefs to whom they were allied. If
they asked them to return to Christianity the reply was that their
husbands' faith was their faith. It was hopeless, and soon we knew it
to be so. The lives they led now were the only lives they had any
knowledge of--their earlier ones at home, amongst their own people,
were forgotten if they had ever understood them; their very parents,
they told us, were but the shadow of a memory.
"Why, therefore," asked the fairest complexioned of them all, she who
was the squaw of the Bear and the mother of his child, "should we go
back to those we know not of, even though they be still alive? Will
your faith, which preaches that a woman shall leave all to cleave unto
her husband, ask me to leave mine and my child and go back to I know
not what?"
"In truth," I heard one old colonist whisper to O'Rourke, who stood by
his side, "there would be none for her to go back to. I do think she
is the child of Martin Peake, who was stolen when a babe, and, if so,
her father has been long since dead. Her mother lived until a year ago
hoping ever that she might return, looking up the lane that led to the
woods with wistful eyes, as though she might perhaps see her coming
back at last; even keeping her little room ready against her coming.
Yet it was never to be, and she died with her longing ungratified,"
and the man dashed his rough hand across his eyes as he spoke, while I
saw that those of the old adventurer also filled with tears as he
listened. Then he said softly: "I can understand. I once had a
daughter whom I loved dearly and--and she is dead and gone from me.
Yet better so, far better than to be like this."
Therefore it was not to be! They refused to come with us, and set the
love for their savage mates against all entreaties on our part. Nor
could we find it in our hearts to blame them. We remembered other
marriages that had taken place in earlier days between red and white;
we recalled the union of John Rolfe with the Princess Pocahontas, as
well as many more, and we knew that most of them had been happy. What
could we do but cease to plead and go in peace?
Thus we set out again on our road to Pomfret, and, although some of
the party were going back to ruined homes, I think that even so they
were content. For, in so rich and wooded a land as this fertile
Virginia, houses might soon be repaired and made whole again, crops
easily brought to bear once more, and cattle replaced. And, against
any loss that had been incurred, there was always the great set-off of
peace with the Indians and security. All knew in that band--for well
were they acquainted with their foes of old--that, during at least the
present generation, the tribes would keep their word; if they made war
again it would not be during our time. The Indian had not yet learned
the art of lying--he was still uncivilised!
These did endeavour to offer some reparation for the wrong they had
done the colony; they brought forth skins and furs, ornaments such as
they deemed might prove acceptable, weapons, and, in some few
instances, trinkets, gold, and precious stones--got we knew not
whence--which they piled on the ground and bade us take, saying they
had no more. But no man took aught from them, and so, after Kinchella
had offered up a prayer of thanksgiving for our release and another
that, if not now, at least at some future date, these poor heathens
might be gathered into the true fold, we set forth. And never more did
one of our party lay eyes upon any of those tribes again. As they had
vowed, so the vow was kept.
As we rode on we could not but wonder what would be the fate of my
wretched cousin, the author of all the woe that had recently befallen
the, until now, happy little settlement.
"That they will find him and slay him," said Gregory, who knew much of
their ways, "is certain. It is impossible he should escape or they
forgive. Well, vile as he is, God help him!"
"Amen," said Joice, as she rode by my side. "Amen."
"Perhaps," said the old hunter, who had recognised Anuza's squaw, "he
may strike the southern trail and make for the Seminoles; they hate
all the Alleghany tribes like poison. If he could get them to listen
to him, and promised to lead them up to their encampment, he might yet
join on to them."
"Never," said Mr. Byrd. "He would have to join in the fight not shirk
from it in the garb of a medicine chief. Amongst the Red Sticks[6]
every man fights, and fighting is not his cue."
"What I can't fathom," remarked another, "is how the white girls never
found him out. They should have known their own kind."
"It may be," Gregory said, "that he kept himself ever apart. His squaw
was Indian, and, for his knowledge of our tongue, why! that he would
attribute to a gift from his precious Sun God. Doubtless he told them
he knew all tongues."