THE DUNGEON.
However brave a man may be it is not without a feeling of instinctive
terror that he finds himself suddenly cut off from society and shut
up far from the company of other men, deprived of light and almost of
the vital air necessary for the due play of the lungs. Darkness brings
with it sad and despairing thoughts; and however powerfully a man's
character may be tempered the first moments he passes in a dungeon,
whatever may be the cause that has led him there, are crushing; but,
fortunately, hope is the last feeling that breaks down in a man's
heart. His thoughts, constantly directed to the future, promptly recall
to his heart the courage which had deserted it, and in a few hours,
growing accustomed to his dungeon, he shakes off the prostration which
had seized upon him, regards the position calmly, and only dreams of
the means by which to regain the liberty he has lost, for that is the
sole object of his thoughts, desires, and efforts.
The adventurer experienced all the feelings we have attempted to
describe; but as he was an energetic man, accustomed for many years to
a life of struggle, mixed up with strange episodes, he did not allow
himself to be overcome by the horror of his situation, but, on the
contrary, regarded it with considerable calmness and philosophy. When
he had succeeded in restoring some order in his ideas, which had been
upset by such rapidly succeeding events, he prepared to inspect his
dungeon, which did not appear so dark as when he entered. In fact,
on leaving the daylight his eyes had been at first blinded by the
darkness, but they gradually grew accustomed to the obscurity, and now,
though he could not see clearly, he was able to distinguish objects
sufficiently to walk about without groping his way.
"Well," he said, talking to himself, after the fashion of men
accustomed to live alone, "thanks to my good idea of not letting
myself be touched, I have not been stripped of anything I possessed,
and, spite of throwing the pistols on the ground, I could in case of
need defend myself bravely with the weapons which I still possess. Let
me reflect a little on what I had better do; and in the first place,
according to the Indian fashion, I will smoke a pipe, for there is
nothing like tobacco to clear the brain."
The Canadian's position was far from being desperate, and he saw this
now that he was cool. In the matter of arms he still possessed a brace
of pistols, and a knife with a long, sharp blade, a powder flask, a
bullet bag, tobacco, and everything requisite for striking a light, if
he wanted it. These different articles, hidden beneath the wide folds
of his zarapé, which fell from his shoulders to his knees, had escaped
the notice of his guards, who, moreover, acting in conformity with the
orders the general had himself given, had not attempted to approach the
prisoner.
As he had resolved, the Canadian seated himself as comfortably as he
could, with his back against the wall, lit his pipe, and fell into a
deep reverie. He smoked thus for a few minutes with all the beatitude
of an Indian sachem, when he gave a start of surprise, almost of
terror, on hearing a sarcastic voice say, two paces from him--
"Ah, ah! The paleface escaped the redskins, but his own brothers have
seized him."
"Is there another prisoner in this dungeon?" the hunter asked.
"Yes," the stranger said, laconically.
"Who may you be, comrade; and why do you seem to rejoice so greatly at
my misfortune?"
"Running Water is a chief," the voice answered. "His heart is glad when
he sees a paleface suffer."
"Much good may it do you, chief; but I don't exactly see what profit
you can derive from my sufferings."
"Running Water is an enemy of the Yoris."
"In the first place, redskin, let us settle facts; I am not a Yori, but
a Canadian hunter, which I take some pride in informing you is by no
means the same thing."
"Does my brother speak truly? Is he really a great heart of the east?"
"I fancy that you can recognize that fact from my way of speaking
Spanish. But where the deuce are you stowed away, chief, for I cannot
see you?"
"I am close to my brother, seated on his right hand."
The hunter looked carefully in the direction which the strange speaker
indicated, and at length distinguished a human form crouched in a
corner of the wall.
"On my word," he continued, "I am not sorry to have someone to talk to,
for time passes more quickly. Tell me, chief, what have you done to be
here?"
"Are not the Indians hunted like wild beasts by the Yoris?" he
answered, bitterly. "Is a pretext wanted to kill a redskin?"
"That is true, chief. You are right. It is unhappily but too true. And
have you been a prisoner long?"
"Running Water fell into the trap he set for others. The sun was level
with the lowest branches at the moment when his enemies threw him into
this hole like an unclean beast."
"That is a sad thing for you, chief; the more so, as in all probability
you will only leave it to march to your death."
"It will be welcome," the Indian said in a hollow voice, "since Running
Water's vengeance has escaped him."
There was a silence, during which the two men reflected.--
"If you succeeded in getting out of this hole, as you term it so
correctly," the Canadian presently continued, "and your liberty were
restored you, would you be grateful to the man who did you so great a
service?"
"My life would belong to him," the Indian exclaimed eagerly; but
quickly recovering himself, he added, "Why should I believe such words?
All the palefaces have crooked tongues; moreover, is not my brother a
prisoner also?"
"That is true; but I may possibly find means to aid your escape. I
have my plan; although my detention ought to be short, I have but
very slight confidence in the word of a man who, contrary to the
law of nations, put me here; and, perhaps, instead of waiting for a
problematical tomorrow, I shall attempt to escape with you tonight. I
am not at all anxious to dance at the end of a rope."
The greater part of this explanation was thrown away on the redskin,
who did not understand it in spite of the great attention he paid to
the hunter.
"Hence," the latter continued, "if you will let me act in my own way,
we shall probably go away together, the more so because I have no
reason to owe you a grudge, as you never did me any harm."
"Running Water is a chief," the redskin replied emphatically; "he will
not lie to save his life."
"Good. I know the principles of you Indians, and that when you
believe yourself at death's door you seem to forget your system of
dissimulation, so explain yourself. I shall put faith in your words
whatever you may say."
"Let my brother listen. He was attacked two nights ago by the
redskins."
"True, chief. It would be droll had you been among the Indians who
attacked us."
"Running Water was there, but was ignorant of my brother's presence. He
only attacked the Yoris."
"What you say seems to me tolerably probable. Still, White Crow came to
my camp and I had a rather long interview with him."
"My brother's words are true, but at that time the attack was resolved
on."
"In that case, I have nothing more to say. It was all right, for war
has its laws. Still, listen to me, chief, your words have caused me to
reflect."
"Ah!" the Indian said bitterly, "Has the paleface changed his opinion
now?"
"Not positively, chief. Still, I confess frankly to you that, after the
avowal you have made, I feel a certain repulsion to joining my fortunes
to yours."
"What do the palefaces care for an Indian's life? He is not a man."
"You wrong me, chief; but I know that misfortune makes men unjust, and
I forgive you."
"My brother is generous," the chief remarked ironically.
"More so than you imagine; if you will be pleased to listen without
interruption you shall have a proof of it."
"My brother can speak, my ears are open."
"I repeat that for certain present reasons I prefer remaining here, and
running the risk of what may happen to trying to escape with you; but,
for all that, I will not desert you, and, on the contrary, give you the
means to attempt a flight."
"Good, what are the means?"
The Canadian drew his knife from the sheath.
"It is probable," he continued, "that a gaoler will soon come to bring
us food, for I do not suppose that they intend us to die of hunger.
Take this knife; notice, by the by, that it is a most valuable weapon
for a prisoner, and that I give up mine for your sake. When the man
to whom I refer appears, you will see what you have to do. Still,
avoid killing him if you can, for we must never kill even an enemy
unnecessarily."
The Indian seized the knife which the Canadian handed him, brandished
it round his head with a laugh of savage joy, and then passed it
through his belt.
"Thanks, paleface," he said with an accent of profound gratitude. "You
have done more for me than I ever could have expected from a man of
your colour. To you I shall owe my escape from death, liberty, and
the accomplishment of the vengeance I have so long been pursuing. My
life belongs to you, henceforth you are the master of it. Remember
that you have a brother among the Comanches; the redskins never forget
an insult, and always retain the memory of a kindness. Now, I am
certain that you are not a Yori. May the Wacondah protect and be ever
favourable to you. You have caused my heart a sensation of happiness
such as it has not felt for many years."
After uttering these words with all the emphasis natural to his race,
the Indian chief crouched down facing the door, and awaited with
feverish impatience the arrival of the gaoler. The Canadian laughed
inwardly at the trick he was about to play the general. In his opinion,
what he had done was quite fair; he had no consideration to maintain
for individuals who had disregarded the law of nations in their
treatment of him, and after threatening to hang him, cast him like a
dog into a filthy dungeon. Besides, he had for the Indians generally
that instinctive pity which strong men feel for those whom they
believe intellectually inferior to them. And then, was not the Indian
a prisoner like himself? He, therefore, regarded him as an ally, and
in favouring his flight, he secured himself a valuable friend for the
future in the event of his falling into the hands of the redskins.
The two men remained silent, for they had nothing more to say to each
other. Several hours elapsed in this way. The redskin, calm, cold,
and motionless, was watching for the arrival of the gaoler, as the
jaguar of his forests does the prey that nourishes it, and the hunter,
careless of what was going on around him, had wrapped himself in his
zarapé, and was leaning half asleep against the wall. Probably, in the
confusion of the festival, the man ordered to supply the prisoners with
food let the hour pass, for the sun had long set, although the denizens
of the dungeon could not perceive the fact, and nothing led to the
supposition that they would be fed.
"The deuce," the Canadian at length said, shaking himself
ill-temperedly, "do these gabachos of Spaniards intend to keep us
without supper? I am dying of hunger, caray! And you, chief, do you not
feel the want of some food, were it only a lump of hard bread?"
"The redskins are not greedy squaws. They can endure hunger without
complaining."
"All that is very fine, but I am not an Indian, and when I have nothing
to eat, deuce take me if I do not become ferocious."
"Silence," the Indian said as he listened attentively, "my brother will
soon eat. I hear footsteps approaching."
The adventurer held his tongue. For a moment he forgot his hunger to
witness the scene that was about to take place. A considerable period
of time elapsed ere the noise which had struck the practised ear of the
savage was perceptible to the hunter. At length he heard the sound of
footsteps, which grew louder and louder. A key turned in the lock, the
bolts were drawn, the door swung back on its rusty hinges, and a man
entered, holding a lantern in one hand and a basket in the other.
At the moment when this individual appeared in the doorway, the Indian
leapt on him with a tiger's bound, threw him down and seized him by the
throat; before the poor fellow so unexpectedly attacked had time to
utter a cry or make the slightest effort in his defence, he was bound
and gagged. The Comanche, leaping over his body, ran down the passage
and disappeared with extraordinary rapidity. All this took place so
hurriedly, that the hunter guessed rather than saw what had occurred.
The gaoler still lay motionless, with half his body inside, the other
half outside, the dungeon. When the Indian had disappeared, the hunter
rose and went up to the gaoler.
"What the deuce are you doing there?" he said, as he bent over him
and freed him with studied slowness from the bonds and the gag which
the chief had driven in so conscientiously that he almost choked his
man. When the gaoler was liberated, and put on his legs again by his
prisoner, he looked around him in alarm, breathed forcibly two or three
times, and then, uttering an exclamation of rage, he dashed down the
passage with shouts and oaths, forgetting in his hurry to lock the cell
door.
"Seek him," the hunter muttered with a cunning look, "you will be very
clever if you catch him. I know not what will come of all this; but the
general will be furious, and that is the main point."
And, without dreaming of imitating the chief's example, he picked up
the lantern, which by a singular chance had not been extinguished,
took the basket, returned to the cell, sat down on the ground with
the light in front of him, and began eating with philosophic ease,
growling from time to time at the parsimony of the Spaniards, who had
hardly given him enough to appease his outrageous hunger. The Canadian
was in the thick of this agreeable operation, when he suddenly heard
in the passage a tremendous tumult of shouts and hurried footsteps,
mingled with the clang of arms. A few minutes after, twenty officers
and soldiers dashed like a whirlwind into the dungeon, among them
being the gaoler, who alone gesticulated and shouted more than all the
rest. On seeing the hunter quietly engaged in eating, they stopped in
amazement, so convinced were they that he would have escaped too. When
the agitation and tumult were slightly appeased, and it became possible
to hear anything, one of the officers at length addressed the hunter.
"What," he asked him, "have you not gone?"
"I?" he replied, looking up stupidly, "Why should I do so, as I shall
be free tomorrow?"
"You helped your companion's flight," the gaoler said, shaking his fist
at him.
"You are an idiot, my friend; the man could not be my companion, as he
is an Indian," he said, with the greatest calmness.
This remark so agreed with the ideas of his hearers, who, in their
Castilian pride, did not admit that an Indian was a man like another,
that the conversation broke off abruptly here; the more so, because
nobody could suppose that a man who had favoured the flight of another,
would not have escaped himself. Hence, instead of reproaching the
hunter, the Spaniards apologized to him, and went away, astonished
at the philosophy of this man, who, when an opportunity for freedom
presented itself, preferred remaining a prisoner. When the door closed
on him again, the Canadian burst into an Homeric laugh, and made his
arrangements to pass the night in the least discomfort possible.