LAST CRUISE OF THE PAYMASTER'S TUB
While the preparations for Paymaster Bullen's martyrdom were in
progress, his bonds were removed, and he was supplied with food that he
might gain strength the longer to endure the proposed torture. He was
allowed to sit in the shade of a tree, where he was guarded by two
stalwart warriors, not so much to prevent his escape, as to restrain
the inquisitive spectators who thronged about him. These were roused
to such a pitch of fury at the sight of one who had frustrated their
long-cherished plan for capturing the schooner, that, had they been
allowed, they would have torn him in pieces. Many of these were women,
who mocked at and reviled the unfortunate Englishman, screaming like so
many furies, spitting at him, and gloating over his miserable plight,
as is the custom of a certain grade of womankind all over the world.
Inspired by the example of their elders, a swarm of impish children
added their shrill cries to the tumult, let fly an occasional
blunt-headed arrow at the helpless captive, or darted between the legs
of the guards in their efforts to strike him. Finally the exasperated
warriors turned on this petty rabble and with stern words bade them
begone.
Others came for a look at the prisoner while he ate, and among them he
recognized the Zebra. This man he addressed in English, asking him
what was to be his fate, but the Indian only laughed and turned away.
Then came the young warrior whom he and Donald had thrown overboard a
few nights before, other members of the party with which he had
travelled to Presque Isle, and still others whom he recognized, until
it seemed as though every Indian he had ever seen had come to witness
his execution.
He knew it was to be an execution, and that he had naught in prospect
save death; but he hoped this might come speedily, and that in whatever
shape it approached, he might be given strength to meet it as became
one of his race and position. He had heard his branch of the service
spoken of lightly because physical courage was not supposed to be among
its requirements. Now he was to be given the opportunity for proving
that a staff officer could die as bravely as one of the line. If only
they would not burn him to death, as had been threatened. It seemed as
though he could bear anything else, but that was too horrible.
His melancholy reflections were interrupted by the passing of a noisy
group surrounding two who bore some burden. As they neared him, Bullen
saw with amazement that it was the bath-tub of which he had been so
proud, which had been the source of so much pleasure, in which he had
suffered, and the loss of which had been a source of genuine grief. It
had evidently been retained by the Indians as a novel trophy, and was
as evidently to be connected in some manner with his approaching fate.
The tub was carried beyond his sight, and a few minutes later he was
led to the end of a long, narrow lane, bordered by two living walls of
human beings. Then he knew that he was to undergo the terrible ordeal
of the gantlet, which had been so often described to him that he felt
familiar with all its sickening details.
The entire population of the village was ranged in two parallel rows
facing each other, and all were armed with sticks, clubs, dog-whips or
some similar weapon with which to strike at the poor wretch who would
be forced to run for his life down the dreary lane.
As Bullen faced this ordeal he recalled how other men had acted under
similar circumstances. Some had been beaten to death ere completing
half the course; while others had been so fleet of foot as to escape
almost unhurt. One, he remembered, was a tall man of such strength and
agility that he snatched a club from the nearest Indian at the moment
of starting and brandished it with such effect as he ran that no one
dared strike him.
But the paymaster was neither tall, nor strong, nor agile. He was
short and stout. As for running, he had not done such a thing since he
was a child, nor even then that he could remember. Now it would
certainly kill him to run for even a short distance, while he would as
certainly be killed if he did not run. The little man was in despair;
it was so pitiful and mean a fate to be beaten to death with clubs like
a mad dog--oh! if he only were one, how he would scatter that throng of
howling savages. With this thought an inspiration came to him like a
ray of sunlight piercing the blackness of a dungeon. He felt among the
inner folds of his ragged blanket, withdrew a small object and thrust
it into his mouth. A second later the blanket was snatched from his
body leaving him clad only in a breech clout, and he was given a push
into the lane as a hint that his time for running had come.
A hush of expectancy fell upon the eager throng, and each grasped his
stick more firmly with the resolve to have at least one good cut at
that bald-headed white man as he ran or staggered past. The first one
on the right, who happened to be the Zebra, lifted a switch and struck
the paymaster a smart though not a cruel blow across the shoulders as
an intimation that the fun had begun.
The first one on the left, a burly black-browed giant who hated all
white men with a bitter hatred, raised a heavy club with a vicious
swing. Ere it could descend Bullen sprang at him and blew from his
mouth a cloud of froth full in the giant's face. The latter staggered
back, dropped his club, clapped both hands to his eyes and uttered a
yell of terror. Then the little man folded his arms and walked
composedly down the long lane, making a snarling, gurgling noise in his
throat and frothing at the mouth as though he had indeed been smitten
with the peculiar form of madness for which he had just wished.
A great fear fell on the assemblage as one and all recalled the tales
of this white man's magic power. Not a hand was lifted against him as
he passed, and the awe-stricken savages drew back at his approach as
though he had been plague-stricken. So he made his unmolested way to
the very end of the lane, his enemies parting before him, but crowding
behind and following him with an eager curiosity.
At length he paused and gazed with mingled horror and rage at something
that barred his further progress. On two logs, between which burned a
small fire, was set his own bath-tub. The water with which it was half
filled was just beginning to simmer, and near at hand was a pile of dry
wood cut into short lengths. In an instant the awful meaning of these
preparations flashed across his mind. They intended to boil him alive!
For a moment he felt sick and dizzy. All things spun in a mad whirl
before his blurred vision, and he feared his senses were departing.
Recovering himself by a supreme effort of will, and animated by an
access of fury, he sprang forward, overturned the tub, so that its
contents were poured on the hissing flames, instantly extinguishing
them, and hurled it to one side. Then clearing his mouth of the last
of the frothy matter which had been produced by chewing a bit of soap,
the little man turned and confronted his tormentors.
Angry murmurs rose among them and deepened into a confused clamor.
Some were for killing him at once, but the majority dared not. Neither
were they willing that he should go free, nor was one found bold enough
to adopt him as husband, brother, or son, as by Indian custom any had
the right to do who felt so inclined. The discussion was finally ended
by the black-browed giant who had been the object of Bullen's attack
and who still smarted from the indignity. Silencing the clamor, with
an authoritative voice, he proposed a plan that was unanimously adopted.
A minute later another white man, whom to his amazement the paymaster
recognized as his long lost "Tummas," was dragged and pushed through
the throng. In his hands he bore several pots of paint and a number of
rude brushes. Now he was ordered to begin work at once on his former
master and decorate him in the highest style of savage art.
"Oh Lawk, Muster Bullen! To think we should never ha come to this,"
gasped the trembling man as he prepared to obey this mandate. "Hi opes
has you won't lay it hup against me, sir, if Hi do as Hi'm bid: for if
Hi don't jump spry the creeters will kill me, 'deed they will, sir."
"Tummas," answered the little man, severely, "since you seem to have
accepted service with these heathen savages, it becomes you to do their
bidding without hesitation; but I never expected to see a respectable
English valet sink so low, I certainly never did."
"Oh Lawk, Muster Bullen! Hi opes, sir, as you don't think Hi've done
such a think of my hown free will. No, sir. Hindeed Hi 'aven't: but
Hi'm compelled, sir. Hi 'as to paint 'em and likewise shave their
'eads and look after their nasty 'air. Yes, sir, and many a think
besides that you wouldn't believe. But some day Hi'll pizen 'em, sir,
or spiflicate 'em in their sleep, the hopportunity for which is the
honly pleasure in life Hi 'as to look forward to, sir."
As "Tummas" uttered these fierce words he drew several vicious streaks
of red across the paymaster's body, for he was already hard at work at
his unwelcome task.
So by the liberal application of pigments and feathers, poor Bullen was
once more got up in savage guise. Then he was bound hand and foot so
that he could not move, gagged so that he could utter no sound, placed
in his once beloved, but now hated tub, borne to the water's edge, and
set afloat on the swift current, followed by derisive yells from his
enemies.
That same afternoon Major Gladwyn, who was standing on one of the water
bastions of Fort Detroit, in company with a lady, descried a suspicious
object floating down the river and called for a spy-glass. Gazing
intently through it, he exclaimed: "Pon my soul, madam, I believe we
are here just in time to interrupt another attempt of those villanous
redskins to destroy my schooners. They have already tried fire-rafts
and other infernal devices without number, but always at night. Now,
if I'm not mistaken, they have the audacity to try again in broad
daylight, thinking no doubt to catch us napping. But I'll teach them
that we are wide awake at all hours. That is certainly an Indian in
full paint and feathers, though what he is floating on I can't make
out. Orderly, bring me my long range rifle--will you take this glass,
madam, and watch the effect of my shot? It may prove interesting as
well as pleasing after your recent terrible experience."
By the time Madam Rothsay succeeded in focusing the glass on the
approaching object, Major Gladwyn was carefully sighting his rifle.
Suddenly she uttered a cry of dismay. "For Heaven's sake, don't fire,
major! It is poor, dear Paymaster Bullen. At least that is his tub;
and he was arrayed in that very same remarkable costume the last time I
saw him."
"Impossible, madam! An officer in His Majesty's service!"
"Indeed, it is possible, major; and I beg you to send out a boat. Fill
it with armed men, if you like; but I beg and implore you not to act
hastily."
Only half convinced that he was acting prudently, Major Gladwyn yielded
to Madam Rothsay's pleadings, and did as she suggested. To make sure
that no mistakes were committed, he accompanied the boat, with his
rifle, loaded and cocked, held ready for instant use.
A few minutes later, the tub with its helpless occupant was cautiously
towed to the shore; but not until the gag was removed from his mouth,
and they heard the little paymaster's fervent "Thank God!" could either
the major or his soldiers believe that their prize was a white man.
As he landed and his bonds were loosed, the newcomer turned and thrust
his hated tub out into the stream with such savage energy that the
water poured over its side, it filled, and, with a gurgling rush of
air-bubbles, sank beneath the swift current.
Then the little man's overtaxed strength gave way. He took a few
uncertain steps, tried to apologize, reeled, and fell limply into the
arms of the nearest bystander, who happened to be Madam Rothsay herself.