KNOWLEDGE IS POWER.
The old Medicine of the Sioux, when he came to reflect upon the manner
in which the prisoner had repeatedly untied himself, was mystified, and
though he determined to have no rival yet he believed he might learn
some things he could turn to account before the white man was put to
death by holding out false ideas of safety and life. To that end he had
the prisoner brought to his wigwam, and to his great joy he found his
chest there and uninjured.
"Is the pale-face a medicine?" asked the red one.
"A little," was the cautious reply.
"And the spirits taught him to untie ropes and set himself free?"
"Yes."
"Do they whisper other things in his ears?"
"Many."
"Will he tell them to his red brother?"
"They are the gift of the great Manitou, the same as in life."
"The life of the pale-face is in the hands of the Medicine of the
Sioux. One word from his lips, and death would follow--another and the
path would be open for him to return to his people. Which shall it be?
What would the pale-face give for freedom?"
"Very much."
"Will he teach the wonders that were whispered to him by the lips of
the departed and the unseen voices of the winds?"
"What he may he will tell."
"It is well. The ears of the red-man are open. He will drink in the
words as the dry ground the warm spring rains. Let the fetters be taken
from his tongue."
"First he must go and bring the skull of one who has long slumbered in
death. It is the only means by which the secrets of the grave and the
other world can be told."
"My brother, for he shall be as a brother to me, will wait?"
"As he now is, even so shall he be found."
With his greatest speed the old trickster departed, and returned after
the lapse of a few minutes with the desired article. But, long before,
the white man had opened the coveted chest and secured several small
bottles and other things about him--things valuable in chemistry and
scientific experiments, but far beyond the comprehension of the nomadic
children of the wilderness. Time also had been given him to somewhat
arrange the plan he intended to follow, and when the Indian entered
with the grinning skull, he held it for a few moments, then placed it
at the further end of the wigwam, and drew the curtains so as to secure
almost total darkness.
"Now," he continued, "let the Medicine of the Sioux look and ask what
he would know."
The Indian turned his eyes upon the skull and shrunk back with a groan
of horror and intense alarm--shrunk back, and had not the white man
held him, would have fled shrieking, for never had his superstitious
mind dreamed of any thing one half as horrible.
Around the fleshless lips--from the long, yellow, rattling teeth--from
the cavernous sockets of the eyes--dropping from the threads of hair
that still clung to the moldering bone, pale blue flames appeared to
creep and dance and drip, and sulphurous fumes to fill the air! And
even as he gazed in terror, out from the hollow skull resounded the
words in echo to those of the white man:
"Let the Medicine speak."
The result would have been just the same if a stone had been commanded
to give utterance to words, for the trickster was beaten, awed,
incapable of either motion or sound. He could not do any thing more
than gasp.
The affrighted victim motioned to his companion to do so for him, and
the physician asked:
"What would the dead?"
"In the dark caverns of the earth where the worm crawls, and the
spotted toad breeds, where bones molder, and the scaly serpent distills
poison--in the far-away country of souls the wish of the red-man was
heard, and we have come at his bidding. Let him answer!" came in still
more startling tones from within the flaming skull.
"You must answer," whispered the doctor. "Must ask what you wish to
know."
Still the old man was dumb--sat with open mouth and staring eyes,
shivering in every limb and vainly endeavoring to command himself.
"Will you not speak?" questioned the voice. "Then pale-face come
hither."
Obey the red-man could not, and the white one stepped forward, raised
the skull, and after holding it for a moment, held it toward the
Medicine, who saw that the unnatural light had faded away, but reeled
back again as from the fleshless lips came the words:
"Coward, you have lost the opportunity to learn wisdom. Take me back
and bury me. Never again will I come at your bidding. But remember
this, and if you dare to disobey me I will come in the red forked
lightning and earth-rocking thunder--remember, the pale-face must be
free."
The Medicine bowed his head, took with trembling hands the ghastly
skull that was held toward him, and with all possible speed restored it
to the earth. But as soon as relieved from what he believed to be great
danger, the humiliation he had passed through in the presence of the
prisoner awoke all his enmity against him, and stopping upon his way he
urged the chiefs to immediately put him to torture.
To that they were more than willing, and as the doctor issued from
the wigwam where he had been amusing himself at the expense of the
old Medicine, he was seized, dragged forward and bound to a post of
torture. But he had no intention to give up life without a struggle,
and the articles he had taken from his chest having prepared him in a
great measure, he believed he could so awe them that no one would dare
to lay violent hands upon him, or at least so lengthen the time that
the scout would be able to come to his relief and eventually save him.
Acting upon this plan he watched his opportunity, and, with little
difficulty, loosened his bonds so that he could throw them off at any
time, and waited until the fagots were piled around him ready for
the lighting. And, even as the grim old Medicine gave orders for the
consummation of his wishes, the same voice that he had heard in the
wigwam came once more to his ears as if from the bowels of the earth,
and made him tremble again.
"Has the Medicine of the Sioux forgotten," it said, "that I commanded
him to let the prisoner go free?"
"Such is my orders," replied the red liar, shrinking back out of the
circle, though secretly motioning that the torture should continue.
"Then why is it not done?" questioned the voice, and its deep tones
startled even the most hardy of the warriors, while the squaws fled
screaming away.
"Ask of the chiefs. I--I have nothing to do with it."
"Beware! If any harm should come to him, my wrath would fall upon you
as it never has done before."
There was a brief council, and then the great war-chief of the nation
took command, and having heard a garbled story from the Medicine of
what had transpired, and seeing nothing in it to excite particular
terror, especially as the old humbug had intimated that the voice was
his own work, he stepped forward, and striking his broad hand upon his
breast in defiance, exclaimed:
"The great Manitou is ever the friend of the red-man, and when a
pale-face dies his laughter can be heard shaking the hills. It is no
good spirit that would have him go free, but an evil one that wishes
harm to the Sioux."
The speech was received with applause, and those who had trembled saw
in it a solution of the difficulty and became tenfold as anxious for
the torture to begin. But, before the fiendish work could be commenced,
the voice was heard again in contradiction:
"The words of the chief are false. His tongue is traveling a crooked
trail. It is the good spirit--the friend of the nation that speaks.
He would save them from lightning and tempest, the ice and snow, from
famine and the black death."
"Then he can save the pale-face as well!" was the sneering reply.
"He can."
"Let him release him."
"It is done!"
"And save him from fire?"
"Fire can not harm him."
"That shall be seen."
A dozen brands were hauled into the pile that had been cast around the
prisoner, but, before the inflammable material could ignite, he kicked
them aside and walked forth unharmed!
"What said the Great Spirit?" he asked of the wondering savages. "Was
it not that no bands could ever fetter him?"
"But," grunted the chief, "fire would have burned had he not got out of
the way."
"No more than ice would have done. See!"
He stepped back to where the flames were now burning rapidly, picked
up the most intense coals, held them in his naked hands until they
went out, and then procured others and tossed them into his mouth, and
chewed them down with as much ease as if they had been pleasant food.
"What do you think now?" he asked.
What could they think? They knew that fire sorely burned their
own flesh, and why should it not his? Still they urged each other
on--whispered of trickery, and relying upon the supposed supernatural
power of the Medicine, demanded that he should exercise his
enchantments, and try if he could not light a fire that would burn the
white devil, as it was beginning to be believed he in reality was.
"Will the Medicine dare disobey my commands?" thundered the mysterious
voice.
He most certainly would not, had he not been so well backed up and
literally driven forward, and was about to raise a burning brand to
hurl into the face of the prisoner, when he stepped directly in front
of him and asked:
"Will the great Medicine of the red-man show me the arm he would dare
to raise contrary to the will of the Manitou?"
Scarcely knowing what he did, the wrinkled, skinny arm was thrust out,
and the prisoner looked at it attentively--made a few mysterious passes
over it and retreated. But even as he did so, the awful voice, coming
from whence no one could tell, was heard yet again:
"Now let him light a fire around the pale-face, if he can."
That was impossible. The hitherto supple arm, that had ever worked the
diabolical will of the owner, was completely paralyzed--had become as
iron. He had no more power to bend it than if it belonged to another
man thousands of miles away. And thus he stood until the pale-faced man
took pity upon him, released him, and hoped he had made a friend.
Though this was not the case--never could be--yet he had completely
subdued him, and the warriors gathered in groups, wondering what kind
of a man this could be who handled living fire as if it had been cold
clay. And very long would have been their council had not the renegade
Parsons obtained means to summon the chief privately to him, and
explain, as far as he was able, the mysteries that had transpired--that
such things were not uncommon among the white men--that he had seen
many do the same--that he was simply cheating them--had no more power
than any other man, and that the voice they had heard was not that of
any spirit, but simply a gift of nature that enabled him to disguise
his own, so that it sounded as if coming from a distance.
But if fire would not harm him, what would? To what torture could they
put him that would be equal to it, and how could they secure him beyond
the possibility of escape, when he could untie knots as rapidly as they
fastened them?
The renegade, prompted by his master, the devil, was equal to the
occasion--soon settled the difficulty, and the prisoner was led--driven
on by sharp knives and spears to a distance from the village into a
deep valley, whose huge walls of rock arose abruptly upon either side.
It was a dismal place as could be conceived--enough to make a man
shudder of itself, but the physician did still more so when he saw a
man swinging between heaven and earth, suspended by one foot, head
downward, with hundreds of foul birds pecking at and no doubt tearing
his eyes out.
"Thus perish the enemies of the Sioux," said the old Medicine,
triumphantly.
"Great heaven! is it--can it be the scout?" gasped the prisoner, who
knew far better than any one not of his profession, how the blood would
settle into the head and a most slow and horrible death follow.
"It is the dog of a pale-face!" was the savage response. "He thought
to escape from the red-man, but the great Manitou brought swift
destruction."
"May the fall have instantly deprived him of life!"
It was the only and best wish the prisoner could breathe for one in so
desperate a situation, but to increase his mental agony and without
knowing any thing of the matter, the Medicine replied:
"While he was yet alive, he was devoured piecemeal by buzzards and
crows--is yet alive, see."
The prisoner strained his eyes and was certain he could see the arms
uplifted as of one struggling in pain, and it made his very flesh creep
to think of such a death. But the Medicine quickly recalled him to a
sense of his own situation by saying:
"The torture of the pale-face will be no better. He will wish for death
for hours and days before it comes--will not even have carrion birds to
help bring it, and though wolves will howl around and serpents hiss,
they will not come near enough to destroy, beg as he may the Manitou
for them to do so."
But there was a single morsel of comfort--a single ray of sunshine amid
all the darkness. His darling Olive was spared the pain of knowing his
fate. Her sufferings, heaven be thanked, were ended. She could never be
tortured more, in mind or body, and would be standing a bright-winged
angel, to welcome him to the shining shore.
But the last drop of agony was quickly distilled into his cup of
life. Dragged along still deeper into the noisome valley, a cavern
was reached, and even as he was about to enter it he saw the renegade
seated at a little distance holding his loved one in his arms and
forcing her to submit to his hateful caresses.
To mourn her as dead would have been heaven when compared to this,
and the fancied torture of hell could not, he believed, be more an
incarnation of suffering. The cries of the wretched girl came to his
ears, mingled with the hoarse, triumphant laugh of the renegade, and
he struggled like a mad-man to get free--struggled until the leathern
thongs cut deeply into his flesh and the blood started from beneath
them.
But it was useless. His every effort was pleasure to the savages--his
curses music to their ears. Yet, regardless of what terrors were in
store for him, he shouted forth his never-dying love as he was hurried
into the cavern and flung rudely upon the stone floor a helpless
prisoner, and yet comparatively at liberty to what he soon would be.
The heart-wrecked girl had fainted. The swift-coming death of her
lover, and the horror of her own fate, was far too much. But with
fiendish malice, the black-hearted white man carried her along until
he stood by the side of the prisoner, and kissing the pure, pale
lips--contaminating them with his touch, hurled into the shrinking ears:
"Your wife, that was to be, will now be mine! May the thought of it
make your dying moments supremely happy. Ha! ha! how very happy! Think
of her as being mine alone while lying here in the darkness and slowly
starving--dying of thirst, with cool water trickling down within reach
of your hand, and yet unable to get a single drop. Oh! how I envy you
the pleasure!"
"Devil!" burst from the lips of the physician, and then, as if sorry
that he had been betrayed into saying even that much, he resolutely
closed them, and nothing could induce him to open them again.
It was in vain the brute taunted him both by words and actions. The
blood surged from his heart as if it would burst through every vein,
and it would have been mercy had it done so, and at once put an end
to his unequaled suffering. But for an hour he was forced to endure.
Then the Indians became impatient, and, dropping the girl heavily, the
renegade assisted them in placing the fettered form of the prisoner and
piling stones around and upon him, so as to prevent movement.
Then the entrance was walled up with massive rocks, and the prisoner
left to darkness and the slow, accumulated, never-surpassed horrors of
hunger and thirst!