HOW BIG BLACK BURL FIGURED AT THE DEATH-STAKE.
Burl had made it his habit, whenever the army halted and pitched tent
for the night, to shoulder his rifle and take a solitary turn through
the neighboring woods, if haply he might not bring down a squirrel, or a
partridge, or it might be a fat buck, that the "Cap'n" might have
something juicy and savory wherewith to season and reenforce his
sometimes scanty and never very palatable rations. But toward the close
of this hazy October day, already thrice alluded to, when the army had
encamped for the night, the humor, as luck would have it, seized Captain
Reynolds to accompany his trusty forager in the accustomed evening hunt.
So they set out together, and had not penetrated a mile into the forest
to the northward, when on coming to a bushy dell they had the good
fortune to start a fine buck, which Captain Reynolds brought down and
had Burl to shoulder, proposing to take it whole to camp, that he might
share it with his men. Hardly had they turned to retrace their steps,
when suddenly, before Reynolds could reload his gun, or Burl disencumber
himself of the buck, they found themselves completely surrounded by at
least a dozen savages, who, hovering about the enemy's van, had spied
the stragglers and laid in ambuscade to capture them, though all but
within rifle-range of the American pickets. Taken by surprise, and
outnumbered two to one, any attempt at resistance or escape would have
been instant death. So they surrendered at once, and quietly suffered
themselves to be stripped of their arms and accouterments, which being
done in a twinkling, they were swiftly borne off through the woods.
The audacious savages, having made two or three circuits to avoid the
American outpost, set their faces due north-east, then pursued their
course without swerving to right or left. The sun went down, the moon
came up, on those Canadian wilds. Ever and anon, as swiftly held they
onward, other Indians, singly or in squads, would fall into the file,
gliding from out the mingled gloom of forest shade and night, as
suddenly and silently as the shapes which flit through troubled dreams.
Among these, by and by, appeared a warrior of gigantic stature, who
putting himself at the head of the file, stalked on a little in advance,
and seemed to be their leader.
Captain Reynolds now felt convinced that they had fallen into the hands
of some of Tecumseh's scouts, through whom that vigilant leader kept
himself continually informed of the enemy's movements, if, peradventure,
at some moment he might find them off their guard, either to be drawn
into an ambuscade by day or surprised in camp by night. Unswervingly due
north-east the night-marchers held their course for several miles, the
warrior gliding on before them, like a gigantic specter there to lead
them over the shadowy borders of another world. So it seemed to Burl,
who felt his spirit strangely troubled within him whenever an opening
through the forest, letting in the hazy glimmer of the moon, brought
that huge bulk less vaguely before his eyes; and once in particular, as
they neared the summit of a big bald hill, when the warrior for an
instant towered in lofty, dim relief against the starry sky. Toward
midnight, the party descended from the upland forest into the valley of
the Thames, and shortly afterward reached the Indian camp. Here the
prisoners were placed in the custody of fresh keepers, and all lay down
to rest, stretched out on the ground near one of the numerous camp-fires
which, by this time burning low, shone like great glow-worms along the
side of the valley.
The dim light of another hazy October day was creeping chillily over
those forest wilds, when a heavy hand shaking him roughly by the
shoulder roused Big Black Burl from his slumbers. Scrambling to his
feet, and drowsily looking around him through that foggy confusion of
thought and perception through which sons of ebony after a sound sleep
needs must pass in getting back to their waking senses, the black hunter
caught a broad, vague view of something which made him fancy that he was
still flat of his back on the ground and dreaming of the giant warrior
who had led in the night-march. The moment after, more at himself, yet
lingering still on the misty borders of nod-land, he fancied that what
he saw just there before him must surely be a ghost; and at this
horrible thought the negro gave a big start, which brought him by a
shorter cut than usual out of his sleepy fog into the clear light of his
wide-awake senses. All but within reach of his hand, there stood before
him in bodily form that terrible Wyandot giant Black Thunder--that
redoubtable warrior whom the Fighting Nigger had so long and fondly
fancied he had slain in valiant fight, and his victory over whom he had
ever since held up and trumpeted abroad as the crowning glory of all his
martial exploits. The recognition was mutual, for never had either seen
the other's like but once before, and that, too, under circumstances
which neither was ever likely to forget. If the recognition was mutual,
so was the surprise.
"Ugh!" exclaimed the Indian, as he bent his wild, panther-like eye on
the black giant with a look of undisguised astonishment, which gradually
darkened into a smile of ferocious joy and triumph.
"U-gooh!" exclaimed the negro, as he fixed his wild, ox-like eye
unflinchingly on the red giant, but with a look of unspeakable
amazement, which gradually vanished, leaving his face with a cast as
impenetrable as black marble.
Having surveyed his captive from top to toe in exulting silence for some
moments, Black Thunder turned abruptly on his heel and strode away, to
be seen no more that morning. Burl was still staring after his old
acquaintance when his young master, who had with some surprise witnessed
the dumb-show of mutual recognition, came up and inquired what it meant.
Burl explained, and having noticed the ugly smile with which he had been
regarded, could not help foreboding the terrible fate that must await
them if their lives lay at the mercy of that revengeful savage whom he
had once made bite the dust.
By this time the allied English and Indian armies were all astir, and
the disorderly retreat began afresh, Tecumseh keeping his Indian brigade
half a mile in the rear of the regulars. Toward the middle of the
afternoon the party that had the white prisoners in keeping, having
gradually fallen behind the line of march, abruptly turned into the
mouth of a dingle which, deep and shadowy, opened gloomily into the
valley of the Thames. Here, for the first time since morning, our
luckless hunters spied Black Thunder, where a little farther within the
dingle, as if there in waiting for them, he was vehemently, though not
loudly, haranguing some fifteen or twenty of his warriors who, clustered
in a close red knot before him, were taking in with ravenous ears his
every word. Evidently the evil, foreboded by Burl in the morning, was in
some shape near at hand, for a fierce gesture flung toward them from
time to time by the speaker, with the vengeful glances of his listeners
in the same direction, told but too plainly the drift of the harangue.
At length, as if to make the surer of their savage sympathies and give
the climax to his barbarous appeal, Black Thunder suddenly threw back
his robe and disclosed to view two scars--a deep and ugly one in the
arm, a long and ghastly one athwart the breast. Whereat uprose a chorus
of yells expressive not so much of savage sympathy as of savage delight.
The moment after, seized foot, with brush-wood to feed the devouring
flames heaped up against him to his shoulders, there stood Big Black
Burl, a victim doomed to the fiery tortures of the death-stake.
Helpless himself, Captain Reynolds could not choose but stand where he
was and become a witness of the harrowing spectacle--too harrowing for
any Christian eye to behold, even were the victim but the poor dumb
brute, who has only his howlings to tell of his agony; but that his
affectionate, faithful, brave old Burl should ever have come to a fate
so terrible, wrung his heart with unshakable anguish--anguish the
keener, when he reflected that this had never been but for that very
heroism which, on a beautiful summer morning in the days long gone, had
wrought deliverance to him, a forlorn little captive, and restored him
to the love of a lone and widowed mother. O that ever this should be!
And the strong man wept, as wept had he never till that sad day.
"O Mars'er Bushie!" cried Burl, in a firm, even comforting voice, "don't
you cry for yo' pore ol' nigger. 'T won't be long 'fore he'll be turnin'
up all right in de kingdom. Soon or late, we mus' all come to de end uf
our journey; an' dis arter all's but a short cut to glory. Ef you eber
slips de clutches uf dese wretches, Mars'er Bushie, an' libes to git
back home, tell eb'rybody good-by fur me. Tell Miss Jemimy her ol'
nigger never forgot, de longes' day he eber libed, how much she wanted
to give him his freedom. An' tell Sinar, my wife, how her ol' man tried
to die like a Chrischun gwine to glory. An' tell her, too, when de time
will come fur her to cross de Jordan water she'll fin' her ol' man
waitin' to meet her on de odder side, wid a cabin snug an' ready, all
happy an' safe in de promis' lan'."
Here, as if the closing words had suggested it to his mind, the poor old
fellow lifted up his powerful and melodious voice and began singing a
simple negro hymn, which, with a plaintive melody, had for its burden
the following words:
An' I hope to gain de promis' lan',
Halle--halleluyah!
An' I hope to gain de promis' lan',
Yes, I do!
Glory, glory, halle--halleluyah!
Glory, glory! Yes, I do!
The death-pile kindled, the smoke of its burning in dense black volumes
enveloped the victim. Linked in a horrible circle around it, whooping
and yelling and singing their war-songs, leaping and whirling and
dancing their war-dance, clashing together their hatchets and war-clubs,
waving above them the scalps of their foemen, went the barbarians merry
as demons. And strong and clear, with never a quaver, still was heard
above the confusion the hymning voice of the smoke-hid victim. But
louder and higher than all, it is coming, ringing from far like the
blast of a trumpet--a voice so stern, abrupt, and imperious that
forthwith ceases the fiendish fandango. Up dashes a warrior mounted on
horseback, leaps to the ground, and now at the death-pile seizes the
fagots and scatters them broadcast, stamping upon them with moccasined
feet to smother the flames till all is extinguished.
The savages--erst so active and lively--taken aback at his sudden
appearance, now stood sullenly huddled together, somewhat apart in the
gloom of the dingle. The fire extinguished, the chieftain--for such his
dress and bearing bespoke him--wrathfully, scornfully, sternly rebuked
them for their unmanly and barbarous treatment of a defenseless man and
a captive.
In the course of his experience as trader and agent among the Indians,
Captain Reynolds had picked up quite a smattering of several Indian
tongues, which now enabled him to understand perfectly what the chief
was saying. Even had he not been possessed of this knowledge, he could
have readily followed the drift of the speaker's words by noting his
gestures, looks, and the tones of his voice, so distinct and forcible
were they, and so pointed with meaning.
The appearance of this man was prepossessing in the highest degree,
displaying as it did every requisite of mind and body that can ennoble
and dignify manly beauty. He stood at the summit of his prime, his form
erect and symmetrical, though somewhat stouter than is usually to be
found in men of his race. His bearing was graceful, lofty, and
commanding; his eye eagle-like in its unflinching brightness; his face,
in its European regularity of feature and clearness of outline,
eminently handsome, showing in its lines the energy and intelligence of
a great mind, true to itself and to the best impulses of human nature.
He was dressed in the peculiar and picturesque costume of his people,
made magnificent by fineness of material and the richness of decoration.
Besides the usual Indian weapons, all of polished steel and
silver-mounted, he wore a handsomely hilted English broad-sword, though
less as an ornament than as a badge of rank, or mark of distinction.
Word having reached him that Black Thunder and his party had fallen
behind the line of march, and to what bloody-minded intent their whoops
and yells, heard in that direction, plainly enough attested, the chief,
prompt to the call of humanity, had galloped back, as just described, to
arrest and rebuke a proceeding so inhuman and so unwarrior-like. His
rebuke ended, he turned to take a look at the prisoner whom he had
rescued from the flames, but of whom he had as yet seen nothing, the
smoke at the moment of his coming up still hovering heavily over the
death-pile.
The Big Black Brave with a Bushy Head still stood bound to the tree, yet
without the mark or even the smell of fire upon his person, excepting a
slight singeing of his fleecy locks and bear-skin cap, not to mention a
smart watering at the eyes, the effect of the smoke. Ah--smoke! I find
that I have unwittingly made an important omission, for which I owe you
an apology, kind and sympathetic reader. I should have told you that a
heavy shower of rain had fallen but a few hours before the kindling of
the death-pile, which, as needs must, had left the brush-wood in better
condition for heavy smoking than for lively combustion. Had I mentioned
this circumstance in its proper place, I should have spared your tender
sensibilities somewhat by giving you something contingent to catch at as
suggestive of possible intervention. But to return.
The instant the chief, with a sweep of his eagle-like eye, had scanned
those huge, grotesque proportions, he threw up his hand with a gesture
of surprise, and a look of recognition lighted up his handsome face.
Whereupon, as if needing nothing more to tell him who had been the prime
mover in the day's outrage, and the base motive that had led to its
perpetration, he turned abruptly upon Black Thunder, where sullen and
lowering, his giantship stood with folded arms apart from the rest, and
flung at him a rebuke so withering in its scorn, so burning in its
generous indignation, that the big barbarian quailed from before it,
daunted and abashed. Then, without further ado, the chief went, and
cutting the thongs of buffalo-hide which bound the captive to the tree,
set him at liberty, and with a wave of his hand in the direction whence
the American army was approaching, said in English, "Go."
To be thus jerked back by the skirts, so to speak, from the open jaws of
death by a single savage had proved more confounding to the steadfast
mind of Big Black Burl than when but a few minutes before he was dragged
thither by twenty, insomuch that ever since the unexpected surcease of
the fiendish frolic he had continued to stare about him in a state of
bewilderment not unlike that twilight fog of thought and sense through
which he was wont to pass from sound asleep to wide awake. But no sooner
did he feel that he was foot-loose and hand-loose again than he was all
his own collected self once more, and to the welcome gesture and
friendly word thus answered: "I yi, my larky! Much obleeged to you fur
puttin' out de fire, but smoke me ag'in ef you ketch me gwine 'way from
dis holler widout Mars'er Bushie," giving a side-long roll of his big
black thumb toward his young master.
How much of this speech the chief really understood were hard to say;
but having heard it, he turned, and for a few moments earnestly regarded
the young Kentuckian where, in delighted surprise at the unlooked-for
turn their ugly adventure had taken, he had stood the while, and now,
with the liveliest interest, was awaiting the upshot. Then, as if
comprehending fully the circumstances of the case, the chief ordered
Black Thunder to restore both prisoners their arms and accouterments,
and whatever else had been taken from them--a command sullenly but
promptly obeyed. All being ready, their deliverer, speaking again in
English, but this time addressing himself to the white man, said,
"Follow me!" and, setting his face westward, led the captives from the
spot. To avoid the risk he must run of falling in with the American
scouts or pickets, their guide ascended at once into the upland forest,
through whose shadows lay not only their most secret but shortest
route. As they gained the summit of the steep overlooking the dingle
where his death-pile had been kindled, the Fighting Nigger--the
Preaching Nigger fast asleep within him--made a momentary pause. Waving
his bear-skin war-cap loftily over his head, he sent down to Black
Thunder, triumphantly and defiantly, his old war-cry, so often heard in
the stormy days of long-ago in the land of the Dark and Bloody Ground,
now filling those Canadian wilds with gigantic echoes which, flying
affrightedly hither and thither, for full three minutes thereafter kept
hill-top saying to hill-top, dingle to dingle, "I yi, you dogs!"