THE CAPTIVE.
But what of the captive maid? When she found herself alone with her
red guards, and realized that Ashbey had indeed left her for a time,
a sense of relief followed. There was something in his presence which
seemed to poison the very air about her. Scarcely did she heed that her
horse was led from the fatal spot; hardly was she conscious that they
were striking into the forest, and taking a direct course toward the
Mississippi. She had little thought, feeling or care for herself. What
was life to her now?
Her father—the fond, doting parent, to whom she had been the bright
sunshine of existence, and whom she had loved with all the devotion
of her filial heart, was dead—inhumanly butchered by the ferocious
foes, who had thus remorselessly destroyed the peaceful home-circle of
hearts. The fiery George, whom she had loved and guided with the fond
sister’s care, had met an untimely fate in the morning of his bright
life.
And she thought of another, for whom her fondest, holiest love had gone
forth; and oh! what an agony of suspense was there. What was his fate?
What a fierce enemy upon his track—a man so far below the savage that
the very brute might shun his company—she could only picture to herself
a fate so fearful that the very thought of it seemed to check the
life-current in her veins. Oh! that she could fly to him—could warn and
save him. Could it be that she should ever again hear his voice? It was
a fearful thought, yet she could only faintly hope against it.
No word escaped the lips of the stern warrior guard who surrounded her,
and Emily felt glad that it was so, for she was in no mood to talk.
As one devoid of life, she sat upon her horse—the bitterest anguish
surging over her soul like a destroying flood.
How long they had journeyed thus she could not have determined; indeed,
she made no effort to recall the distance or time. She was only
sensible that the party had stopped, and a muscular brave had lifted
her from the horse to the ground. Not till this done was she really
aware of what was passing about her.
The Indian relaxed his hold, and she sunk to the earth, feeling too
exhausted to stand. The brave then produced a thong of deerskin, and
stooped as if to find her ankles. With a gesture so appealing that even
the heart of the fierce savage was touched, she besought him not to
bind her. The Indian, a tall, muscular brave, raised his eyes and gazed
for a moment upon the pain-marked features of the maiden. He looked
irresolute, and a touch of kindness seemed overspreading his tawny
features.
“White squaw run away,” he remarked, with tolerable pronunciation.
“Why should I attempt that?” she asked. “Where would my feeble limbs
serve to carry me?”
“Suppose Injin brave no tie White Bird?” he asked, in a still more
kindly manner.
“I will thank him,” was the brief reply.
“Red Wing will leave White Bird free,” he remarked, looking hastily
round to see if his movements were observed.
The others were all busily employed in collecting wood, preparing meat
for roasting, and the various duties of a bivouac. The Indian noticed
this, and leaned idly against a tree, while Emily again relapsed into a
sorrowful reverie.
The savages soon had a large fire, and were seated around it, employed
according to their fancies or appetites. One of them approached the
prisoner, and offered her a liberal slice of well-roasted venison.
She refused it, for she could not eat, and the brave, with a scowl of
anger, returned to his seat beside the fire.
Indolently squatted around the fire, smoking or dozing, the party
remained for an hour, when the signal was given, and they began to
prepare for the continuation of their journey. The braves were in the
worst possible humour, for they disliked the idea of being sent back
with a single captive, when they had expected to remain and take part
in the work of destruction and bloodshed.
The horse Emily had ridden was tied to a sapling near by, and the
Indian she had previously displeased, now unfastened and led it to her
side. A sullen scowl was upon his features, as he seized the maiden
by the arm with a grasp which caused her to cry out with pain. Red
Wing, who had been standing near Emily, was upon the point of lighting
his pipe at the fire. Hearing the outcry, he turned quickly, and with
fierce displeasure upon his features, sprung at once to the scene. With
a powerful grasp upon the arm of the offending savage, he hurled him
back, and stood like a tower of strength before the affrighted maiden.
“Why does Red Wing place his hand thus upon another brave?” demanded
the incensed savage, his very utterance almost choked with passion.
“Why does the Dark Cloud seek to harm the pale-face maiden?” retorted
Red Wing.
“Does Red Wing think to take the pale-face to his own lodge, that he is
thus careful of her?” was the sarcastic response.
“The White Bird speaks kindly to the Red Wing; he will not forget,” was
the sententious rejoinder.
For a time the two stood looking at each other; then the Dark Cloud
stepped to one side and attempted to pass his opponent. But the latter
divined his intention, and, grasping him by the throat, hurled him
backward with such force that he was almost thrown to the ground.
Furious now past all control, Dark Cloud drew his knife, and prepared
to rush upon his foe. Red Wing seized his hatchet, and awaited the
onset. Others of the party, seeing they were likely to lose at least
one of their most chivalrous braves, interposed to stay the conflict.
“Why will not the red braves learn wisdom?” demanded the chief of the
party, with a voice of authority. “Why will they war upon each other?
The blood of the pale-faces only should flow at their hands.”
By threats and persuasion a reconciliation was effected. The two braves
returned their weapons and moved moodily from the spot, while the
journey was at once resumed.
On they tramped, mile after mile, through the forest, until at length
morning broke over the earth. But the dawn brought no relief to the
prisoner. As the light increased, the dusky features of her attendants
were brought more fully to view, with all their horror of war-paint and
inhuman ferocity.
At length the party emerged upon the banks of the Mississippi. The
guards, who were loitering about the flotilla, flocked around the fair
prisoner with the greatest expressions of curiosity and satisfaction. A
huge dug-out, capable of carrying the entire party, was launched, and
they set forth across the stream.
Poor Emily gazed into the yellow waters of the mighty river. How calmly
they flowed. Oh! that she could rest beneath them. Then all sorrow
would end, and she could join those loved ones gone before. She would
make the attempt, and God forgive her if she came unbidden to his
presence. It was a fearful resolve, but she was unable to reason. Only
wishing to rid herself of a life which could bring naught but misery,
she awaited the propitious moment to carry out her plan.
It came at length. No eye seemed upon her. Rising, she closed her eyes,
and with a desperate leap plunged, not into the water, but into the
strong arms of the watchful Red Wing. Seating her upon the thwart from
which she had risen, he said, in tones of kindness:
“White Bird must not die. Great chief love White Bird, and make her
very happy. Pale-face must live for pale-face.”
Emily did not reply. She sunk down with a bursting heart, and wept the
bitterest tears of her life.
Soon the boat reached the shore, and the party hastily clambered out.
No sooner did Emily step forth than the savages set forward, without
waiting for her to mount. But they soon stopped and made preparations
for lighting a fire. Around this they stretched themselves, and soon
were dozing. The maiden was securely bound, and left without a guard.
For a long time she sat and watched the lazy motions of the barbarians,
until all except the outlaying guards were asleep. Then she, too, sunk
into a disturbed slumber. Strange visions and dreams were hers, as she
lay thus, with the bare earth for a couch, her arm for a pillow, the
leafy trees and blue sky for a covering. Her sleep of innocence was
soothing and strengthening to her overtasked frame.
She was awakened by a hand upon her shoulder, and a guttural voice
in her ear, speaking in incomprehensible tones. The savage spoke
no English, but pointed to his comrades, now about to resume their
journey. He unbound the thongs and raised her to her feet.
The brief slumber which the poor girl had enjoyed had been of infinite
service to her. She felt more calm and self-possessed; a sense of
resignation she had not before felt, took possession of her heart.
Could it be that in her sleep some fond spirit had hovered near, and
whispered words of cheer and consolation?
The sun sunk low. Many miles had been passed. Here and there she had
seen hurrying groups of warriors, as well as of women and children
passing toward the river. Only too well she knew that they were
hastening on to swell that horde which was already spreading death and
desolation through the settlements.
Finally, the party again halted, and most deeply was the poor prisoner
rejoiced. Weary, faint and hungry, she longed for rest and repose. She
was to be gratified. The Indians had shot a fine buck, and from the
savory meat they regaled themselves sumptuously. Emily, after her long
fast, partook gladly of the game.
When the meal was concluded, the Indians smoked for a time, as usual,
and then, securely binding the prisoner, all stretched themselves to
sleep. It was not until morning that the sleepers were aroused. Now
and then during the night, one would awake, assure himself that the
prisoner was safe, and then return to sleep the more lustily.
With the first beam of morning the party was astir. Emily felt
unpleasantly from the constrained manner in which she had passed the
night, but a little exercise soon dispelled the feeling. A breakfast
was prepared, and then the party set forward once more. Red Wing walked
beside Emily. Feeling assured of his kindness, she bent nearer him, and
asked:
“Will not Red Wing tell the White Bird when their journey will end?”
The Indian paused a moment, then indicating the sun with his
outstretched arm, slowly raised it until it pointed to the zenith.
“Then,” he said, briefly.
The maiden understood him, and bowed her thanks.
Noon came, and Emily began to grow despondent. She was fatigued, and
longed for rest. Still there were no signs of stopping, and she began
to doubt if there had been a perfect understanding between herself and
Red Wing. She could see that the sun had passed the point indicated,
but still they kept on.
Suddenly the loud barking of an Indian dog startled her. In less than
a minute a group of filthy, squalid women and children appeared,
curious to discover the cause of the outbreak. They seemed very much
astonished, and, while a few ran to spread the tidings, the remainder
clustered about the party. Emily looked upon the wretched creatures for
a moment, then turned from them, overcome with feelings of shame and
disgust.
In a few minutes they arrived in sight of a small Indian village, and
this Emily felt was to be the scene of her captivity. She regarded it
with eager interest.
A collection of rude huts were scattered along the banks of a small
stream. There was no taste or regularity there, every thing being in
disorder, and fearfully filthy and repulsive. It seemed the tidings had
already reached the place, as women and children were huddled along the
way. Like those Emily had seen before, all were disgustingly repulsive
in appearance. It would have been but human, had all the fortitude of
the poor girl deserted her now. But, she closed her eyes to shut out
the spectacle, and nerved herself to bear all.
The party took its way into the village, and, surrounded by a motley
throng, proceeded up the street, till near the upper end of the
place. Here they stopped, and the prisoner was allowed to alight. The
throng now gathered more closely about, and a living circle of faces
peered curiously upon the captive. They were allowed to gaze for some
minutes, when a word from the chief dispersed them, and they retreated,
apparently dissatisfied that they were not to have the luxury of seeing
the fair prisoner tortured.
There remained but one woman in her presence. Emily saw with horror
that she was a white woman like herself, though dressed in Indian
costume, and like them in appearance. She stood a little apart from the
braves, and was regarding our heroine with a curious scrutiny. When
the horde dispersed, the chief of the warriors approached the woman
indicated, and conversed earnestly with her for some minutes in the
Winnebago dialect.
“So, ma’am,” the woman said, in a coarse voice, as she approached, “you
air the new bird o’ Mister Ashbey, be you!”
Emily remained silent, while the other continued:
“Wal, yer don’t dispute it, so I s’pose ’tis so. Thar’s nothin’ bad
about it, on’y Billy is a leetle wild, that’s all. But, come with me,
fer they tell me I’m ter tek keer o’ ye till yer husban’ comes.”
Mechanically, Emily followed the wild-looking creature, while an Indian
walked upon either side of her.