THE TOTEM SAVES DONALD'S LIFE
Exhausted as she was, Edith Hester would hardly have slept that night
had she known that he whose capture was the direct result of her flight
was her own dearly loved brother Donald; but so it was. By strenuous
exertions, he had so expedited the movements of his own party that they
had passed two, and sometimes three, of Cuyler's camping-places in a
day. They always examined these for information concerning those whom
they were so anxious to overtake, and after a while their anxiety was
increased by the finding of traces of Indian scouts in and about every
camping-place. At length the camp sites gave proof of having been so
recently occupied, that it seemed as though they might sight Cuyler's
boats at any time, and Paymaster Bullen, in anticipation of a speedy
meeting with the ladies, devoted so much attention to his personal
appearance that never had such a dandy as he been seen in the
wilderness.
As the paymaster's efforts to enhance his personal attractions
increased, Donald's ever-growing anxiety led him to become more than
ever impatient of such things and eager to hasten forward. He became
provoked at his companion's frivolity, and regretted ever having
consented to travel with him. When he finally discovered the prints of
Indian moccasins about one of Cuyler's fires, the ashes of which were
still hot, he grew so apprehensive of evil, and so impatient to get on,
that he refused to allow his crew even the scanty half-hour of rest at
noon to which they were accustomed. He so urged their labors of this
day, by alternate threats and promises, that the canoe reached the
eastern side of Point au Pelee at the very time of Cuyler's landing on
its western shore. Here Donald informed his men that they might cook
their evening meal, and rest for two hours, at the end of which time
they must be prepared to push on, as he was determined to overtake the
other party before they broke camp on the morrow.
During the preparation of supper, the young man paced restlessly up and
down the beach, casting occasional scornful glances at the dapper
little paymaster, who, with the assistance of the faithful "Tummas,"
was taking his regular evening bath, in his beloved tub.
While matters stood thus, there came a sound so startling and of such
vital import that all paused in their employment and held their breath
to listen. It was the cry of a woman in distress, faint and distant,
but unmistakable. Half uttered, it was cut short by a crash of guns,
mingled with savage war-whoops, that proclaimed as clearly as words the
state of affairs on the opposite side of that narrow neck of land.
In an instant, Donald Hester, so frenzied by his sister's appeal for
aid as to be well-nigh unconscious of his own movements, seized his
rifle, plunged into the forest, and was dashing recklessly in the
direction of the ominous sounds.
The Senecas, whom he thus left to their own devices, and who had long
been expecting some such moment, acted with almost equal promptness in
making prisoners of the two remaining white men. A few minutes of
animated discussion as to what should be done with them ensued. All
were impatient to join their fellow savages, and share in the spoils of
their certain victory, to which they also wished to add their own
trophies. But what should be done with the white medicine man? He was
too fat to be urged at speed through the forest. They feared to kill
him, for they believed him to be of a weak mind, and therefore under
the direct protection of the Great Spirit. Besides, being bald-headed,
he could furnish no scalp, and was therefore not worth killing.
In this dilemma, the Zebra conceived an idea which his companions
greeted with grunts of approval, and immediately proceeded to carry
out. A few minutes later the horrified paymaster, as naked as when he
was born, was seated in his own bathtub, precariously maintaining his
balance, and floating away before a gentle off-shore breeze, over the
vast watery solitude of Lake Erie.
As the Indians watched him, until he was but a white speck in the
gathering gloom, they reasoned that if he were indeed a medicine man he
could take care of himself; if he were crazy, the Great Spirit would
protect him. And if he were merely an ordinary mortal he would surely
be drowned; while, in no case, would blame be attached to them.
Then they gathered up his half-dozen precious wigs, all of which had
been laid out for inspection, that their owner might decide in which
one he should appear before the ladies, but which the Indians only
regarded as so many scalps; concealed the canoe, together with much of
their newly acquired property, and started toward the scene of battle.
Two stalwart warriors, seizing the unfortunate and bewildered "Tummas"
by the shoulders, rushed him along at breathless speed, occasionally
urging him to greater exertions by suggestive pricks from the sharp
points of their knives.
Although Donald had started to the assistance of his imperilled sister
with a recklessness that disregarded all the traditions of woodcraft,
he came to his senses as he drew near the scene of recent conflict, and
thereafter no forest warrior could have proceeded with greater stealth
than he.
The short fight was over, the prisoners were secured, many fires had
been lighted, and the deadly work of the fire-water was already begun.
With a heavy heart and a sickening dread, the young soldier crept
noiselessly from one lighted circle to another, narrowly escaping
discovery a dozen times, and scanning anxiously each dejected group of
captives. All were men, nor could he anywhere catch a glimpse of
feminine draperies. At one place he saw a confused group, of what he
fancied might be captives, on the opposite side of a fire-lighted
opening, and made a great circuit through the woods in order to
approach it more closely.
Suddenly there arose a clamor of voices, and, as though aware of his
presence, a score of savages, some of them holding aloft blazing
firebrands, came running through the forest directly toward him. There
was no time for flight, and he could only fling himself flat beside the
trunk of a prostrate tree, up to which he had just crawled, ere they
were upon him. A dozen warriors passed him, leaping over both the log
and the crouching figure behind it. He was beginning to cherish a hope
that all might do so; but such good fortune was not to be his.
Another, who bore a flaming brand, slipped as he bounded over the
obstruction. A shower of blazing embers fell on Donald's head and bare
neck. Maddened by pain, he sprang to his feet, dealt the stumbling
savage a blow that knocked him flat, and turned to fly for his life.
As he did so, he was grappled by two others, and though he struggled so
furiously that he managed to fling them both from him, the delay was
fatal. A moment later he was borne to the earth by overwhelming
numbers.
When again allowed to rise it was as a pinioned prisoner, bruised and
breathless. With exulting shouts, his captors dragged him into the
circle of firelight, and when they saw that he was not one of Cuyler's
men, but a newcomer, they were extravagant in their joy. They were
also furious against him on account of the escape of the women
captives, in which it was supposed he had been instrumental.
Half-crazed with drink as they were, they determined that he should pay
the penalty for this offence then and there.
"Let the palefaced dog roast in the flames!"
"Burn him!"
"Fling him into the fire!"
"He has sought our company; let us give him a warm welcome!"
"It will be a lesson to others of his kind not to meddle with our
prisoners!"
"Let him feel that the vengeance of the Wyandots is sudden and awful!"
These, with many similar cries, rent the night air, and though Donald
understood no word of what was said, he knew from the savage expression
of the faces crowding about him that he was to suffer some dreadful
fate, and nerved himself to bear it.
If he must die, it should be as became one of his race and training.
But, oh! it was hard! He was so young, so full of life and hope.
Could he hold out to the bitter end? Yes, he must. He had chosen to
be a soldier. He was a soldier. Other soldiers had met their death by
savage torture and faced it bravely. What they had done, he must do.
But was there no help for him, none at all? As he searched the
scowling faces of those who thronged about him, reviling, taunting, and
revelling in his despair, he saw no trace of mercy, no pity, no gleam
of hope. He knew that there was no help.
With it all, there was one consolation. He could discover no sign of
his beloved sister. She, at least, would be spared the sight of his
torments. She might even by some miracle have escaped.
They dragged him roughly, and with maudlin shoutings, to a small tree
that stood by itself, and bound him to it with so many lashings that
only his head was free to move. Then they heaped dry wood about him,
piling it up until it was above his waist.
He knew now what he was to be called upon to endure. No words were
needed to tell him that he was to be burned alive, and he prayed that
they would pile the wood higher, that death might come the more
quickly. But some among his tormentors thought it was already too
high, and in their desire to prolong his sufferings they tore away a
portion of the pile. Others insisted that it was not enough, and
attempted to build it higher; and so they wrangled among themselves,
until one, to settle the dispute, ran for a blazing brand and thrust it
among the faggots that still remained.
By this time, news of what was taking place had spread abroad, and many
from other scenes of revelry came running to participate in this new
diversion. As a bright blaze leaped through the crackling wood and
revealed distinctly the pallid face of the victim, there was first a
yell of delight and then a great hush of expectancy, while all watched
eagerly to see how he would bear the first touch of flame.
At this moment, there came a commotion in the crowd. A single figure,
with face hideously painted in narrow stripes, broke from it, sprang
forward, and dashing aside the blazing wood, shouted a few words in a
tongue that was strange to most of them, though some understood. These
translated what was said to the others, and in a few seconds every
warrior was repeating in awed tones to his neighbor:--
"He is of the Metai! He is of the Totem of the Bear! The mark is on
his arm! If he dies at our hands, then shall we feel the wrath of the
magic circle!"
In a moment Donald's hunting-shirt was stripped from him, his left arm
was bared, and at sight of the indelible signet thus exposed a great
fear fell upon the savages. At once those who had been most eager for
the death of the prisoner, became foremost in friendly offices that
they hoped might banish their offence from his mind, and Donald
breathed a prayer of thankfulness for his wonderful deliverance.