FRIENDS IN CAPTIVITY
Not until the panic-stricken savages had put many miles of water
between them and the scene of their recent discomfiture did they
venture to land and establish a camp in which to attend to their
wounded, repair damaged canoes, and recover as far as possible from the
disaster of the morning. Among the first craft to make a landing was
that in which Donald Hester, after slowly recovering consciousness, had
lain for several hours, nearly blinded with a headache, so intense that
a band of fire seemed to encircle his throbbing temples, vaguely
wondering what had happened and where he was. On reaching the shore,
the other occupants of the canoe disappeared without paying any
attention to him; and, being thus left to his own devices, he proceeded
to quench his feverish thirst as well as bathe his aching head. He
wondered at finding blood clotted in his hair, and, dimly recalling the
explosion, fancied that in some way he must have been among its
victims. While he was thus engaged, other canoes were arriving and
being drawn up on the beach. Beyond them fires were lighted, and
already savory odors of cooking reminded him how very faint he was from
hunger. While considering how he should procure some of the food that
seemed so abundant, his gaze was suddenly arrested by the appearance of
a white man, who was stepping feebly from one of the latest-arrived
canoes. For a moment Donald could hardly believe his own eyes. Then
he strode hastily forward with outstretched hand.
"Christie, my dear fellow! Is it possible?"
"Donald! How came you here?" exclaimed the new arrival, his drawn face
lighting with the recognition of a dear friend amid so many enemies.
"But you are wounded!" they both cried at once.
"A mere nothing," said Donald.
"Only a few scratches," answered Christie, in a careless tone.
Each insisted on bathing and binding up, as well as circumstances would
admit, the hurts of the other, for which purpose they tore strips from
Christie's shirt. Donald was relieved to find that the knife-cuts from
which his friend was bleeding were only flesh wounds, and not at all
dangerous; while the latter was equally pleased to discover that the
ugly gash on Donald's head looked much more serious than it really was.
Their surgical operations ended, the two sought some place where they
might rest, and learn from each other the causes of the captivity that
brought about such an unexpected meeting. They seemed to be unguarded
and left entirely to their own devices, but the moment they attempted
to go beyond the noisy limits of the camp they were confronted by a
rifle-bearing young warrior who sternly motioned them back. Being thus
repulsed several times, they were finally compelled to sit under a
tree, well within the confines of the camp and in view of all its busy
occupants. Here Christie learned of Donald's adventures since their
midnight parting, and, while applauding his bravery, chided him for
engaging in so dangerous an undertaking.
"If it had only been wholly successful, and left you at liberty," said
Donald, "I should feel amply repaid."
"And so it would have done, but for my own carelessness," replied
Christie, who thereupon gave an account of the explosion, its effect on
the savages, and the manner in which he had fallen into their hands,
while his men escaped. "I can't understand that mine business,
though," he said, in conclusion, "for I had no idea Indians were up to
such things."
"Do you recall the capital English of the person who demanded your
surrender last night?" asked Donald.
"Certainly."
"Did the voice sound at all familiar?"
"I can't say that it did. Why?"
"It was that of an Englishman, though?"
"I believe so. And of course it was he who devised the plan of the
mine. He must have been some renegade British soldier. The scoundrel!
Would that I had him in my power for just five minutes! He must have
met his just deserts, though, and fallen a victim to his own diabolical
trap, thanks to you, for, besides ourselves, there is certainly no
white man in this camp."
"If that is the case, and my own surmise is a true one, I don't know
whether I am most glad or sorry," said Donald.
"What do you mean? What is your surmise?" inquired Christie, curiously.
"Do you remember that I mentioned seeing a certain bath-tub in one of
the canoes that brought this war-party?"
"Bullen's? Of course I do. But you can't for an instant imagine that
he had a hand in this outrage?"
"Well, you undoubtedly know the paymaster better than I, but I must
confess that I should like to meet him, and hear his own account of his
movements during the past ten days or so."
"That you are not likely to do, at least not for some time to come, if
ever; and in the meantime I wish you could dismiss from your mind every
shadow of such a terrible suspicion against a brother officer," said
Christie, gravely.
"All right, my dear fellow, I will try to do so out of admiration for
your loyalty to our cloth, if for no other reason. Now, to change the
subject, what do you suppose is going on over there?"
"I have been wondering," replied Christie, "and at the same time
admiring the barbaric gorgeousness of that central figure. He is
certainly the most terrific dandy in savage style that ever I laid eyes
on. Seems to be in some sort of a mess with his fellow-heathen, too,
judging from his expression and surroundings. It looks like some sort
of forest court-martial: and, by Jove! I believe it is one."
The scene thus referred to was that of a circle of grave warriors
seated about a small fire, and listening to the harangue of one who
stood in an open space reserved for him at one side. Beyond the circle
were gathered the younger men and such squaws as were free from
culinary duties. The speaker was, as Christie had remarked, an Indian
dandy of the most extreme type, although short in stature as compared
with the long-limbed warriors surrounding him. His head was surmounted
by a gaudily colored plume of feathers held in place by a glittering
band or tiara that encircled his brows. Secured about his waist by a
broad belt of rattlesnake skin, but falling back from the upper part of
his body, was a fine white blanket edged with fur and so elaborately
embroidered with beads and quills that the original fabric was almost
concealed. His feet and ankles were protected by moccasins of fawn
skin, also beautifully embroidered. But the triumph of forest art, as
displayed on his person, lay in the wonderful painting of his entire
body, which was covered with intricate designs in the most vivid colors
on a background of black, and the prismatic effect was so bewilderingly
gorgeous, that, as Christie said to Donald, "it was enough to mortify a
rainbow."
In spite of his paint and feathers the individual thus lavishly
decorated did not seem happy. In fact, he appeared miserably nervous
and apprehensive; or, as Christie remarked, as though he had been
condemned to exchange his gaudiness for something more modest, like the
plumage of a peacock, for instance. "Isn't he lovely, though?"
continued the young officer. "Now I know, what I should never
otherwise have suspected, that the savage mind is capable of an
artistic expression more sublime than anything yet conceived by
civilization."
"Yes," replied Donald, absently, "but there are several things about
the fellow that I don't understand. To begin with, he is talking to
those other chaps through an interpreter. Then he does not
gesticulate, while most Indian orators depend more upon signs than
words for effect. He stands with his toes turned out, and his ears are
not cut. In fact, I don't believe he is any more an Indian than I am."
"What do you think he is?" inquired Christie, apprehensively.
"I don't know what he is; but I believe him to be an--a Frenchman."
"Oh!" said the other, in a relieved tone. "Do you really? I--Hello?
what's that? Bullen's tub! By Jove!"
One of the older chiefs had been talking for a few moments, and now,
evidently by his command, two young men brought the famous bath-tub
into the circle and set it down close beside the dandy. Another
presented a dish of water. The gorgeous individual shuddered as he
took it, like one showing the first symptoms of hydrophobia. He looked
imploringly about him, said something which was answered by an angry
exclamation to the effect that the order just given must be obeyed.
The man stooped, took something from a compartment in the tub, with
trembling hand, apparently dropped it into the vessel of water, and
lifted the latter into plain view. In a breathless silence all eyes
were turned toward it. For a moment the gorgeous one held it aloft,
and then, as no result followed his manipulation, he dropped it with a
sort of a groan, and gazed about him with the tearfulness of a hunted
animal.
A murmur of discontent arose from the savage throng surrounding him.
Donald glanced at Christie, whose face had grown deadly pale, but said
nothing. Both young men had risen in their excitement, and now stood
watching the strange scene with eager interest.
Now the elderly warrior picked up a stone and handed it to the dandy
with an expressive gesture. Instead of obeying he shook his head
despairingly, and an ominous growl came from the assemblage. Again
Donald looked at Christie, whose face was now tense and drawn, as
though he were suffering mental anguish.
Amid a deadly silence the warrior again advanced, and handed the man a
smooth piece of bark, at the same time making certain motions that
seemed to be clearly understood. The unfortunate dandy took the bark
and held it irresolutely for a moment, while his gaze roved wildly over
the assembly. All at once it rested on the two white men, whose
presence he seemed to note for the first time. With a loud cry he
dropped the bark and started to run in their direction.
In an instant he was seized, and with yells of rage the throng of
savages rushed toward him. Eager hands tore away the nodding plume of
feathers, the embroidered robe, and whatever else they could clutch,
until only his coat of paint remained. Then, as the warriors stepped
aside, the squaws, armed with sticks and clubs, fell upon him like so
many furies, beating him unmercifully. He howled, danced, fought, ran
this way and that, and, finally, breaking from his tormentors, fled to
where the two young men were standing.
"Save me!" he cried. "Christie! Hester! save me!"
"By Heavens! It is Bullen!" gasped Christie.
"So I thought some time ago," said Donald.
As the fugitive reached them, he sprang behind Donald, crying,--
"The mark on your arm, Hester! Show it to them! Nothing else will
save us!"
With these words he clutched at the sleeve of Donald's hunting-shirt
with such energy it was torn from the shoulder, and the tattooed token
was fully displayed. At sight of it the foremost of the mob, which had
been intent on capturing the trembling figure, now crouched behind
Donald, halted as though in obedience to an imperious order. Then they
crowded forward for a closer examination of the talismanic mark,
staring at it with expressions of awe and wonder.