THE GANTLET
Timmendiquas and Heno left the lodge, but in about ten minutes Heno
returned, bringing with him Hainteroh.
"Well, how's your arm, Raccoon?" said Henry, wishing to be friendly.
Raccoon did not know his English words, but he understood Henry's
glance, and he smiled and touched his arm. Then he said something in
Wyandot.
"He say arm soon be well," said old Heno. "Now you come out and see
council, great talk, me on one side of you, Hainteroh on the other."
"Yes, I know you've got to guard me," said Henry, "but I won't try to
run."
They loosed his bonds, and he stepped out with them, once more to see
all the people pouring toward the meadow as they had done at the time of
the ball game. The crowd was greatly increased in numbers, and Henry
surmised at once that many warriors had come with the chiefs from the
other tribes. But he noticed, also, that the utmost concord seemed to
exist among them.
When they reached the meadow they stopped at the edge, and Heno and
Hainteroh stood on either side of him. The people were gathered all
about, four square, and the chiefs stood on the meadow enclosed by the
square.
"Now they speak to the Wyandot nation and the visiting warriors," said
Heno.
A chief of ripe years but of tall and erect figure arose and stood
gravely regarding the multitude.
"That Kogieschquanohel of the clan of the Minsi of the tribe of the
Lenni Lenape," said Heno, the herald. "His name long time ago Hopocan,
but he change it to Kogieschquanohel, which mean in language of the
Yengees Maker of Daylight. He man you call Captain Pipe."
"So that is Captain Pipe, is it?" said Henry.
Captain Pipe, as the whites called him, because his later Indian name
was too long to be pronounced, was a Delaware chief, greatly celebrated
in his day, and Henry regarded him with interest.
"Who is that by the side of Captain Pipe?" he asked, indicating another
chief of about the same height and age.
"That Koquethagaaehlon, what you call Captain White Eyes," replied Heno.
"He great Delaware chief, too, and great friend of Captain Pipe."
Henry's eyes roamed on and he saw two other chiefs whom he knew well.
They were Yellow Panther, head chief of the Miamis, and Red Eagle, head
chief of the Shawnees. He had no doubt that Braxton Wyatt would tell
them who he was, and he knew that he could expect no mercy of any kind
from them. Timmendiquas stood not far away, and in a group, as usual,
were the renegades.
Captain Pipe stretched forth a long arm, and the multitude became
silent. Then he spoke with much strong simile drawn from the phenomena
of nature, and Henry, although he knew little of what he said, knew that
he was speaking with eloquence. He learned later that Captain Pipe was
urging with zeal and fire the immediate marching of all the tribes
against the white people. They must cut off this fleet on the river, and
then go in far greater force than ever against the white settlements in
Kain-tuck-ee.
He spoke for half an hour with great vigor, and when he sat down he was
applauded just as a white speaker would be, who had said what the
listeners wished to hear.
His friend, Captain White Eyes, followed, and the gist of his speech,
also, Henry learned somewhat later from Heno. He was sorry to differ
from his friend, Captain Pipe. He thought they ought to wait a little,
to be more cautious, they had already suffered greatly from two
expeditions into Kain-tuck-ee, the white men fought well, and the allied
tribes, besides losing many good warriors, might fail, also, unless they
chose their time when all the conditions were favorable.
The speech of Captain White Eyes was not received with favor. The
Wyandots and nearly all the visiting warriors wanted war. They were
confident, despite their previous failures, that they could succeed and
preserve their hunting grounds to themselves forever. Other speeches,
all in the vein of Captain Pipe, followed, and then Girty, the renegade,
spoke. He proclaimed his fealty to the Indians. He said that he was one
of them; their ways were his ways; he had shown it in the council and on
the battle field; the whites would surely hang him if they caught him,
and hence no red man could doubt his faith. The tribes should strike now
before the enemy grew too strong.
Great applause greeted Girty. Henry saw that he stood high in the esteem
of the warriors. He told them what they wished to hear, and he was of
value to them. The boy's teeth pressed down hard on his lips. How could
a white man fight thus against his own people, even to using the torch
and the stake upon them?
When Girty sat down, Timmendiquas himself stood up. His was the noblest
figure by far that had faced the crowd. Young, tall, splendid, and
obviously a born leader, he drew many looks and murmurs of approval and
admiration. He made a speech of great grace and eloquence, full of fire
and conviction. He, too, favored an immediate renewal of the war, and he
showed by physical demonstration how the tribes ought to strike.
He spread a great roll of elm bark upon the ground, extending it by
means of four large stones, one of which he laid upon each corner. Then
with his scalping knife he drew upon it a complete map of the white
settlements in Kain-tuck-ee and of the rivers, creeks, hills, and
trails. He did this with great knowledge and skill, and when he held it
up it was so complete that Henry, who could see it as well as the
others, was compelled to admire. He recognized Wareville and its river
perfectly, and Marlowe, too.
"We know where they are and we know how to reach them," said
Timmendiquas in the Wyandot tongue, "and we must fall upon them in the
night and slay. We must send at once to Tahtarara (Chillicothe, the
greatest of the Indian towns in the Ohio Valley) for more warriors, and
then we must wait for this fleet. Tuentahahewaghta (the site of
Cincinnati, meaning the landing place, where the road leads to the
river) would suit well, or if you do not choose to wait that late we
might strike them where Ohezuhyeandawa (the Ohio) foams into white and
runs down the slope (the site of Louisville). This fleet must be
destroyed first and then the settlements, or the buffalo, the deer and
the forest will go. And when the buffalo, the deer, and the forest go,
we go, too."
Great applause greeted the speech of Timmendiquas, and the question was
decided. Captain White Eyes, who had a melancholy gift of foresight, was
in a minority consisting of himself only, and swift runners were
dispatched at once to the other tribes, telling the decision. Meanwhile,
a great feast was prepared for the visiting chiefs that they might
receive all honor from the Wyandots.
Escorted by Heno and Hainteroh, Henry went back to his prison lodge, sad
and apprehensive. This was, in truth, a formidable league, and it could
have no more formidable leader than Timmendiquas. He had seen, too, the
boastful faces of the renegades, and he was not willing that Braxton
Wyatt or any of them should have a chance to exult over their own
people.
Timmendiquas came to him the next morning and addressed him with
gravity, Henry seeing at once that he had words of great importance to
utter.
"I was willing for you to see the council yesterday, Ware," said White
Lightning, "because I wished you to know how strong we are, and with
what spirit we will go forth against your people. I have seen, too, that
many of our ways are your ways. You love the forest and the hunt, and
you would make a great Wyandot."
He paused a moment, as if he would wait for Henry to speak, but the boy
remained silent.
"You are also a great warrior for one so young," resumed Timmendiquas.
"The white youth, Wyatt, says that it is so, and the great chiefs,
Yellow Panther of the Miamis, and Red Eagle of the Shawnees, tell of
your deeds. They are eager to see you die, but the Wyandots admire a
brave young warrior, and they would make you an offer."
"What is your offer, Chief?" asked Henry, knowing well that, whatever
the offer might be, Timmendiquas was the head and front of it--and
despite his question he could surmise its nature.
"It is this. You are our prisoner. You are one of our enemies, and we
took you in battle. Your life belongs to us, and by our laws you would
surely die in torture. But you are at the beginning of life. Manitou has
been good to you. He has given you the eye of the eagle, the courage of
the Wyandot, and the strength of the panther. You could be a hunter and
a warrior more moons than I can count, until you are older than Black
Hoof, who led the Shawnees before you were born, to the salt water and
back again.
"Is death sweet to you, just when you are becoming a great warrior?
There is one way, and one only to escape it. If a prisoner, strong and
brave like you, wishes to join us, shave his head and be a Wyandot,
sometimes we take him. That question was laid before the chiefs last
night. The white men, Girty, Blackstaffe, Wyatt, and the others, were
against it, but I, wishing to save your life and see you my brother in
arms, favored it, and there were others who helped me. We have had our
wish, and so I say to you: 'Be a Wyandot and live, refuse and die.'"
It was put plainly, tersely, but Henry had expected it, and his answer
was ready. His resolution had been taken and could not be altered.
"I choose death," he said, adopting the Wyandot's epigrammatic manner.
A shade of sadness appeared for a moment on the face of Timmendiquas.
"You cannot change?" he asked.
"No," replied Henry. "I belong to my own people. I cannot desert them
and go against them even to escape death. Such a temptation was placed
in my way once before, Timmendiquas, but I had to refuse it."
"I would save your life," said the chief.
"I know it, and I thank you. I tell you, too, that I have no fancy for
fire and the stake, but the price that you ask is too much."
"I cannot ask any other."
"I know it, but I have made my choice and I hope, Timmendiquas, that if
I must go to the happy hunting grounds I shall meet you there some day,
and that we shall hunt together."
The eyes of the chief gleamed for a moment, and, turning abruptly, he
left the lodge.
There was joy among the renegades when the decision of Henry was made
known, and now he was guarded more closely than ever. Meanwhile, all the
boys about to become warriors were being initiated, and the customs of
the Ohio Valley Indians in this particular were very different from the
ways of those who inhabited the Great Plains.
Every boy, when he attained the age of eight, was left alone in the
forest for half a day with his face blackened. He was compelled to fast
throughout the time, and he must behave like a brave man, showing no
fear of the loneliness and silence. As he grew older these periods of
solitary fasting were increased in length, and now, at eighteen, several
boys in the Wyandot village had reached the last blackening and fasting.
The black paint was spread over the neophyte's face, and he was led by
his father far from the village to a solitary cabin or tent, where he
was left without weapons or food. It was known from his previous fasting
about how long he could stand it, and now the utmost test would be
applied.
The father, in some cases, would not return for three days, and then the
exhausted boy was taken back to the village, where his face was washed,
his head shaved, excepting the scalp lock, and plentiful food was put
before him. A small looking-glass, a bag of paint, and the rifle,
tomahawk, and knife of a warrior were given to him.
While these ceremonies were going on Henry lay in the prison lodge, and
he could not see the remotest chance of escape. He listened at night for
the friendly voice among the leaves, but he did not hear it.
Timmendiquas did not come again, and two old squaws, in place of Heno,
brought him his food and drink. He had no hope that the Wyandots would
spare him after his refusal to leave his own people and become an
Indian. He knew that their chivalry made no such demand upon them. The
hardest part of it all was to lie there and wait. He was like a man
condemned, but with no date set for the execution. He did not know when
they would come for him. But he believed that it would be soon, because
the Wyandots must leave presently to march on the great foray.
The fourth morning after the visit of Timmendiquas the young chief
returned. He was accompanied by Heno and Hainteroh, and the three
regarded the youth with great gravity. Henry, keen of intuition and a
reader of faces, knew that his time had come. What they had prepared for
him he did not know, but it must be something terrible. A shiver that
was of the spirit, but not of the muscles, ran through him. Torture and
death were no pleasant prospect to him who was so young and so strong,
and who felt so keenly every hour of his life the delight of living, but
he would face them with all the pride of race and wilderness training.
"Well, Timmendiquas," he said, "I suppose that you have come for me!"
"It is true," replied Timmendiquas steadily, "but we would first prepare
you. It shall not be said of the Wyandots that they brought to the
ordeal a broken prisoner, one whose blood did not flow freely in his
veins."
Henry's bonds were loosened, and he stood up. Although he had been bound
securely, his thongs had always allowed him a little movement, and he
had sought in the days of his captivity to keep his physical condition
perfect. He would stretch his limbs and tense his muscles for an hour at
a time. It was not much, it was not like the freedom of the forest, but
pursued by one as tenacious and forethoughtful as he, it kept his
muscles hard, his lungs strong, and his blood sparkling. Now, as he
stood up, he had all his strength, and his body was flexible and alert.
But Heno and Hainteroh seized him by each hand and pulled strongly. He
understood. They were acting in a wholly friendly manner for the time
being, and would give him exercise. He tried to guess from it the nature
of the first ordeal that awaited him, but he could not. He pulled back
and felt his muscles harden and tighten. So strong was he that both
warriors were dragged to his side of the wigwam.
"Good!" said Timmendiquas. "Prison has not made you soft. You shall
prove to all who see you that you are already a great warrior."
Then they rubbed his ankles and wrists with bear's oil that any possible
stiffness from the bonds might be removed, and directed him to walk
briskly on the inside circuit of the lodge for about fifteen minutes. He
did readily as they suggested. He knew that whatever their motives--and
after all they were Indians with all the traits of Indians--they wished
him to be as strong as possible for the fate that awaited him outside.
The hardier and braver the victim, the better the Indians always liked
it. Over a half hour was passed in these preparations, and then White
Lightning said tersely and without emotion:
"Come!"
He led the way, and Henry, following him, stepped from the lodge into
the sunlight with Hainteroh and Heno close behind. The boy coming from
the half darkness was dazzled at first by the brilliant rays, but in a
few moments his eyes strengthened to meet them, and he saw everything. A
great crowd was gathered for a third time at the meadow, and a heavy
murmur of anticipation and excitement came to his ears.
Henry felt that everybody in the Wyandot village was looking at him. It
gave him a singular feeling to be thus the center of a thousand eyes,
and the little mental shiver came again, because the eyes were now
wholly those of savages. He felt a cool breath on his face. The wind was
blowing, and from the forest came the faint rustle of the leaves. He
listened a moment that he might hear that hopeful note, the almost human
voice that had spoken to him, but it was not there. It was just an
ordinary wind blowing in the wilderness, and he ceased to listen because
now his crisis was at hand.
Timmendiquas led toward the meadow, and Heno and Hainteroh came close
behind. Now Henry saw what they had prepared for him as the first stage
of his ordeal. He was to run the gantlet.
Two parallel lines had already been formed, running the longest way of
the meadow and far down into an opening of the forest, and all were
armed with switches or sticks, some of the latter so heavy, that,
wielded by a strong hand, they would knock a man senseless. No sympathy,
no kindliness showed in the faces of any of these people. The spirit of
the ball and the dance was gone. The white youth was their enemy, he had
chosen to remain so, and they knew no law but an eye for an eye and a
tooth for a tooth. Children and women were as eager as men for the
sport. It was a part of their teaching and belief.
Henry looked again down the line, and there he saw the renegades, three
on one side and three on the other. It seemed to him that theirs were
the most cruel faces of all. He saw Braxton Wyatt swinging a heavy
stick, and he resolved that it should never touch him. He could bear a
blow from an Indian, but not from Braxton Wyatt.
Then he looked from the cruel face of the renegade to the forest, so
green, so fresh, and so beautiful. What a glorious place it was and how
he longed to be there. The deep masses of green leaves, solid in the
distance, waved gently in the wind. Over this great green wilderness
bent the brilliant blue sky, golden at the dome from the high sun. It
was but a fleeting glance, and his eyes came back to earth, to the
Wyandots, and to his fate.
"I was able to make it the gantlet first," Timmendiquas was saying in
his ear. "Others wished to begin at once with the fire."
"Thank you, White Lightning," said Henry.
He looked for the third time at the line, and he saw that no human
being, no matter how great his strength and dexterity, could reach the
end of it. It was at least a quarter of a mile in length, and long
before he was half way he would be beaten to the earth, limbs broken.
They had not intended that he should have the remotest chance of escape.
Nor, look as he would, could he see any.
Hark! What was that? It was a sound from the forest, a low, sweet note,
but clear and penetrating, the wind among the leaves, the voice, almost
human, that told him to be of good faith, that even yet in the face of
imminent death he would escape. It was no longer an ordinary wind
blowing through the wilderness; it was some voice out of space, speaking
to him. White Lightning saw the face of his prisoner suddenly illumined,
and he wondered.
Henry looked down the line for the fourth time, and then the way came to
him. He knew what to do, and he drew himself together, a compact mass of
muscles, and tense like steel wire. Then, while the clear song from the
forest still sang in his ear, he glanced up once more at the beneficent
heavens, and uttered his wordless prayer:
"O Lord, Thou who art the God of the white man and the Manitou of the
red man, give me this day a strength such as I have never known before!
Give me an eye quick to see and a hand ready to do! I would live. I love
life, but it is not for myself alone that I ask the gift! There are
others who need me, and I would go to them! Now, O Lord, abide with me!"
They were his thoughts, not his words, but he was the child of religious
parents, who had given him a religious training, and in the crisis he
remembered.
It was the duty of Timmendiquas to give the word, but he waited,
fascinated by the singular look on the face of the prisoner. He saw
confidence, exaltation there, and he still wondered. But the crowd was
growing impatient for its sport. They were bedecked in their gayest for
this holiday scene, and the size and obvious strength of the captive
indicated that it would be continued longer than common.
Timmendiquas glanced at the prisoner again, and for an instant the eyes
of the two met. The chief saw purpose written deep in the mind of the
other, and Henry caught the fleeting glimpse of sympathy that he had
noticed more than once before.
"Are you ready?" asked Timmendiquas in tones so low that no one else
could hear.
"Ready!" replied Henry as low.
"Go!" called Timmendiquas. His voice was so sharp that it cracked like a
pistol.
Henry made a mighty leap forward, and shot down between the lines so
swiftly that the first blows aimed at him fell after he had passed. Then
a switch cut him across the shoulders, a stick grazed his head, another
glanced off his back as he fled, but he was so quick that the sticks and
switches invariably fell too late. This was what he had hoped for; if he
could keep ahead of the shower of blows for forty or fifty yards all
might go well. It would go well! It must go well! Hope flamed high in
him, and he seemed to grow stronger at every leap. The Indians were
shouting with delight at the sport, but so intent was he upon his
purpose that he did not hear them.
Henry looked up for a moment, and he saw near him the face of
Timmendiquas, who had followed him down the line, seeking, it seemed, to
give a blow on his account. Beside him, a warrior held a heavy club
poised to strike. Henry saw that he could not escape it, and his heart
sank, like a plummet in a pool. But the great chief, so sure of foot,
stumbled and fell against the warrior with the poised club. The blow
went wide, and Henry was untouched. He ran on, but he understood.
He had marked a spot in the line, fifty yards on, perhaps, where it
seemed weakest. With the exception of the leader of the renegades,
Girty, it was mostly women and children who stood there. Now he was
nearing them. He saw Girty's cruel, grinning face, and the heavy stick
in his hand poised for a blow.
He could not run in a perfectly straight line, because he was compelled
to dodge right or left to escape the clubs, and he was not always
successful. One, a glancing blow, made his head ring, but in a moment
his will threw off the effect, and the sting of it merely incited him to
greater effort. Now the face of Girty was just before him, and the
shouting of the Indians was so loud that he could not but hear.
He saw Girty raise his club, and, quick as lightning, Henry, turning off
at a right angle, hurled himself directly at Girty, passed within the
circle of the falling club, seized the renegade's arm, and wrenched his
weapon from his grasp.
It was done in a second, but the Indian warriors near instantly sprang
for the pair. The impact of Henry's body knocked Girty to his knees and,
as he fell, the youth made a sweeping blow at him with the captured
club. Had Henry been left time to balance himself for the stroke, the
evil deeds of Simon Girty would have stopped there, and terrible
suffering would have been spared to the border. But he struck as he ran,
and, although Girty was knocked senseless, his skull was not fractured.
Henry darted away at a right angle from the line toward the forest. He
had done what was achieved a few times by prisoners of uncommon strength
and agility. Instead of continuing between the rows he had broken out at
one side, and now was straining every effort to reach the forest, with
the whole Wyandot village yelling at his heels.
Timmendiquas had seen the deed in every detail. He had marked the sudden
turn of the fugitive and the extraordinary quickness and strength with
which he had overthrown Girty, at the same time taking from him his
weapon, and his eyes flashed approval. But he was a Wyandot chief, and
he could not let such a captive escape. After a few moments of
hesitation he joined in the pursuit, and directed it with voice and
gesture.
Henry's soul sang a song of triumph to him. He would escape! There was
nobody between him and the forest, and they would not fire just yet for
fear of hurting their own people. His strength redoubled. The forest
came nearer. It seemed to reach out great green branches and invite him
to its shelter.
An old woman suddenly sprang up from the grass and seized him by the
knees. He made a mighty effort, threw her off, and leaped clear of her
clawing hands. But he had lost time, and the warriors had gained. One
was very near, and if he should lay hands upon him Henry knew that he
could not escape. Even if the warrior were able to hold him only a half
minute the others then would be at hand. But he was still keyed up to
the great tension with which he had started down the line. His effort,
instead of reaching the zenith, was still increasing, and, turning
sideways as he ran, he hurled the stick back into the face of the
warrior who was so near. The Wyandot endeavored to dodge it, but he was
not quick enough. It struck him on the side of the head and he fell,
knocked senseless as Girty, the renegade, had been.
Then the fleeing youth made another supreme effort, and he drew clear of
his pursuers by some yards. The forest was very much nearer now. How
cool, how green, and how friendly it looked! One could surely find shade
and protection among all those endless rows of mighty trunks! He heard a
report behind him and a bullet sang in his ear. The Wyandots, now that
he had become a clear target in front of them, began to fire.
Henry, remembering an old trick in such cases, curved a little from side
to side as he ran. He lost distance by it, but it was necessary in order
to confuse the marksmen. More shots were fired, and the Wyandots,
shouting their war cries, began to spread out like a fan in order that
they might profit by any divergence of the fugitive from a straight
line. Henry felt a pain in his shoulder much like the sting of a bee,
but he knew that the bullet had merely nipped him as it passed. Another
grazed his arm, but the God of the white man and the Manitou of the red
to whom he had prayed held him in His keeping. The Wyandots crowded one
another, and as they ran at full speed they were compelled to fire
hastily at a zig-zagging fugitive.
He made one more leap, longer and stronger than all the rest, and gained
the edge of the forest. At that moment he felt a tap on his side as if
he had been struck by a pebble, but he knew it to be a bullet that had
gone deeper than the others. It might weaken him later, but not now; it
merely gave a new impulse to his speed, and he darted among the trees,
spurning the ground like a racing deer.
The bullets continued to fly, but luck made the forest dense, the great
trees growing close to one another, and now the advantage was his. Only
at times was his body exposed to their aim, and then he ran so fast that
mere chance directed the shots. None touched him now, and with a deep
exulting thrill, so mighty that it made him quiver from head to foot, he
felt that he would make good his flight. Only ten minutes of safety from
the bullets, and he could leave them all behind.
Henry's joy was intense, penetrating all his being, and it remained.
Yes, life here in this green wilderness was beautiful! He had felt the
truth of it with all its force when they brought him forth to die,
passing from one torture to another worse, and he felt it with equal
poignancy now that he had turned the impossible into the possible, now
that the coming gift to him was life, not death. His spirit swelled and
communicated itself to his body. Fire ran through his veins.
He took a single fleeting look backward, and saw many brown figures
speeding through the forest. He knew their tactics. The fan would
develop into a half curve, and pursue with all the fleetness and
tenacity with which the Indian--above all the Wyandot--was capable. If
he varied but a single yard from the direct line of his flight some one
in the half curve would gain by it. He must not lose the single yard! He
glanced up through the green veil of foliage at the sun, and noticed
that he was running toward the southeast, the way that he wanted to go.
Other such glances from time to time would serve to keep him straight,
and again he felt the mighty and exultant swell that was in the nature
of spiritual exaltation.
The war cries ceased. The Wyandots now pursued in silence, and it would
be a pursuit long and tenacious. It was their nature not to give up, and
they were filled with chagrin that so notable a prisoner had slipped
from them, breaking through their lines and gaining the forest in the
face of the impossible. Henry knew all these things, too, and he had no
intention of relaxing his speed until he was beyond the range of their
rifles. It was well for him that his muscles and sinews were like woven
wire, and that he had striven so hard to keep himself in physical trim
while he lay a prisoner in the lodge. His breathing was still long and
free, and his stride did not decline in either length or quickness.
The ground rolled slightly, and was free from undergrowth for the first
half mile. Then he came to clumps of bushes, but they did not decrease
his speed, and when he looked back again he saw no Wyandot. The fleetest
among them had not been able to equal him, and before long he heard them
calling signal cries to one another. The chiefs were giving directions,
seeking to place the fugitive, who was now lost to sight, but Henry only
ran the faster. He did not delude himself with any such foolish belief
that they would quit the pursuit because they could no longer see him.