"Oui. I see de cords deep in de wrists, an' poor Redhand seem to be
ver' moch stunned; he valk as if hims be dronk."
"Drunk!" exclaimed Bounce, suddenly springing up as if he had received
an electric shock, and seizing his companion by both shoulders, while,
for a moment, he gazed eagerly into his eyes; then, pushing him
violently away, he turned round and darted along the bank of the river,
crying, as he went, "Come along, Gibault; I'll tell ye wot's up as we
go!"
The astonished Canadian followed as fast as he could, and, in an
exclamatory interjectional sort of way, his friend explained the plan of
rescue which he had suddenly conceived, and which was as follows:--
First, he proposed to go back to the _cache_ at the foot of the tall
tree, and dig up the keg of brandy, with which he resolved to proceed to
the camp of the Indians, and, by some means or other, get the whole clan
to drink until they should become intoxicated. Once in this condition,
he felt assured they could be easily circumvented.
Gibault grasped at this wild plan as a drowning man is said to grasp at
a straw, and lent his aid right willingly to disentomb and carry the
brandy keg. Neither he nor Bounce knew whether there was enough brandy
to intoxicate the whole tribe, but they had no time to inquire minutely
into probabilities.
Vigorously, perseveringly, without rest or halt, did these two trappers
pursue their way that night, with the keg slung on a pole between them.
The stars glimmered down through the trees upon their path, as if they
wished them success in their enterprise. It was all-important that they
should reach the Indian camp before daybreak; so, although footsore and
weary from their late exertions after a long day's march, they
nevertheless ran steadily on at a long swinging trot, which brought
them, to their inexpressible joy, much sooner than they had anticipated,
to their journey's end.
It was two hours before dawn when they came suddenly upon the camp--so
suddenly that they had to crouch the instant they saw the watch-fires,
in order to avoid being discovered.
"Now, Gibault," whispered Bounce, "you'll have to remain here. Get into
a hiding-place as fast as you can, and keep close. You're clever enough
to know what to do, and when to do it. Only, lad, come near and have
your knife handy when the row is at the loudest, and see that ye don't
let the squaws cut out our livers when we're tied up."
Gibault nodded significantly.
"It's a curious fact," continued Bounce in a somewhat sad tone, "that
I'm more afraid o' the squaws than o' the men. Howsomdiver, it's got to
be done!"
So saying, Bounce shouldered the keg, and shaking his comrade by the
hand, as if he felt that he might be parting with him for ever, he
glided into the darkness of the forest, leaving Gibault to secrete
himself on the side of a mound, from which he could witness all that
went on in the camp.
From this point of observation the poor Canadian beheld what was not
calculated to allay his fears. The camp lay in a hollow, surrounded by
trees. On an open space were erected several leathern huts or tents, in
the midst of which blazed a large camp fire. Round this the forty
warriors were seated, eating their supper, while a number of squaws were
sitting in the entrances to their tents variously engaged. Horses
hobbled--that is, with the fore-feet tied together to prevent their
running away--were cropping the grass close to the tents. Not far from
them, and within the circle of light cast around by the fire, stood a
group of small trees. To each of these was tied a man, and Gibault had
no difficulty in making them out to be his unfortunate comrades.
Occasionally, as he gazed, one or two of the old Indian women went up to
these helpless men, with a yell of execration, and, brandishing
scalping-knives before their faces, appeared as if about to plunge them
into their hearts; but their time had not yet come; the hags were only
anticipating the feast of butchery that awaited them on the morrow.
While Gibault was gazing at this scene with mingled feelings of anxiety,
rage, and horror, the whole band of Indians suddenly sprang to their
feet and seized their weapons. Almost at the same moment Bounce strode
into the circle of light and deposited his cask on the ground. Then,
making signs of peace, he advanced towards one of the Indians, who, from
his dress and appearance, seemed to be the chief, and presented him with
a piece of tobacco. The chief accepted the gift in silence.
Bounce, who was well acquainted with many of the dialects of that
region, had no difficulty in making himself understood. He stated that
he was a trapper, that he had come to that country to trade, and asked
whether his Indian friends had furs to dispose of. As he had
anticipated, the savages were in no mood to treat with a solitary man
who was entirely in their power. The chief, who evidently suspected
that he was a friend of the prisoners, instead of replying, asked him
sarcastically what he had in the keg.
"Fire-water," replied Bounce unhesitatingly.
At this the eyes of the savages sparkled with delight. Not deigning to
waste more time with him, they seized the unfortunate trapper and
confronted him with his companions, gazing earnestly in their faces the
while to observe whether they betrayed any sign of recognition.
It said much for the self-control of these hardy men, that, although
their comrade was thus suddenly and unexpectedly placed before them,
they did not permit a muscle of their countenances to change, but gazed
on him and on his captors with that expression of defiant contempt with
which Indians usually meet their fate, and in which they are equalled,
sometimes even outdone, by the unfortunate white trappers who chance to
fall into their cruel hands.
And well was it, for the success of the scheme, that Theodore Bertram's
nerves had received such repeated and awful shocks that day, that they
were now incapable of feeling. He had been so terribly and repeatedly
struck with amazement that his features had assumed a settled expression
of surprise that could not be increased, so that when he beheld Bounce a
prisoner before him, although he certainly felt astonishment, he could
by no means increase the expression of that sensation. The Indians,
therefore, passed away from him with a howl of derision, and tied Bounce
to a tree beside his comrades, concluding that, instead of a plotter,
they had, in him, made another lucky capture. Anxiety to taste their
beloved beverage had something to do with their haste in this matter, no
doubt.
No one who has not seen it can conceive of the intense passion the North
American Indian has for ardent spirits. He seems to have no power of
restraint whatever when the opportunity of indulging that passion
presents itself.
The head of the keg was quickly knocked in, and the eyes of the savages
seemed positively to flash as they gazed upon the precious fluid. The
chief advanced first with a little tin mug, such as was sold to them by
traders, and drank a deep draught; he then handed the cup to another,
but the impatience of the others could not be restrained--they crowded
round with their mugs, and dipping them into the keg drank eagerly,
while the squaws, who loved the fire-water as much as did their masters,
formed an outer circle, and, as patiently as they could, awaited their
turn. They knew full well that it would soon come.
The Indians, being unaccustomed to frequent potations, were quickly
maddened by the spirit, which mounted to their brains and rushed through
their veins like wildfire, causing every nerve in their strong frames to
tingle. Their characteristic gravity and decorum vanished. They
laughed, they danced, they sang, they yelled like a troop of incarnate
fiends! Then they rushed in a body towards their prisoners, and began a
species of war-dance round them, flourishing their tomahawks and knives
close to their faces as if they were about to slay them; shrieking and
howling in the most unearthly manner, and using all those cruel devices
that are practised by Red Indians to terrify those unfortunates whom
they intend ultimately to kill.
Suddenly one of the warriors observed that the squaws were stealthily
approaching the spirit keg, and rushed towards them with a howl of fury,
followed by his comrades, who drove the women away and recommenced
drinking. And now a fiercer spirit seemed to seize upon the savages;
old feuds and jealousies, that had long been cherished in silence, broke
irresistibly forth. Angry words and fierce looks were followed by the
drawing of knives. Suddenly a young man rushed upon a comrade and
buried his knife in his heart. The piercing death-cry was followed by
the vengeful yell of the relatives of the murdered man, as they sprang
upon the murderer. Others flew to the rescue, and the drunken _melee_
became general. Blood began to flow freely, and there is no doubt that
many lives would have been sacrificed had not the combatants been too
much intoxicated to fight with vigour. Many of them fell prostrate and
helpless on attempting to rise. Others dealt their blows at random,
staggering and falling one upon another, until they lay in a heap,
shrieking, biting, tearing, and stabbing--a bloody struggling mass,
which told more eloquently than tongue can tell, that, deep and low
though savage human nature has fallen in sin and misery, there is a
depth profounder still, to which even those who seem to be the lowest
may be precipitated by the fatal power of strong drink.
And now Gibault Noir felt that it was time for him to draw near to the
horrible scene, in order to be ready, when the moment should arrive, to
release the prisoners, or to protect them in the event of any of the
drunken crew being tempted to a premature slaughter.
The women were now actively interfering to prevent further bloodshed.
Most of the Indians were already dead drunk. Only a few, whose powers
of endurance were greater than those of their comrades, continued to
shout their war-songs. When these were down, the women rushed at the
spirits like wolves. Even the little children came out from the tents
and got their share. It was a terrible scene, such as has, alas! been
often enacted before in the wilds of the Far West, and, doubtless, shall
be enacted again, unless (so-called) Christian traders give up
fire-water as an article of traffic.
In a very short space of time the women were as helpless as their
masters. Then Gibault cut the thongs that bound his comrades, and set
them free!
"Thanks, thanks to the Almighty," said Bertram earnestly, when his bonds
were cut. "I had thought that my days were numbered; that it was to be
my sad fate to fill a grave here in the wilderness. But His hand is
indeed mighty to save. And thanks be to you, good Gibault. Under God,
we owe our lives to you."
Bertram attempted to seize Gibault's hand as he spoke, but his own hands
refused obedience to his will. They had been so long and so tightly
bound that they were utterly powerless.
"Rub 'em, rub 'em well," said Gibault, seizing the artist's hands and
enforcing his own recommendation vigorously.
"Ay, that's it," said Redhand, who, with his companions, had, the
instant he was loose, commenced to rub and chafe his own benumbed limbs
into vitality, as if his life and theirs depended on their exertions--as
indeed they did to no small extent, for, had they been called upon to
fight or fly at that moment, they could have done neither.
"Now, lads," said Bounce, who, having been a prisoner for but a short
time, was unhurt by his bonds, "while ye rub the life into yer limbs
I'll tell ye wot we must do. Them scamps (pointing to the prostrate
Indians) won't lie there long. Of course, bein' white men an'
Christians, we don't mean to kill them or to lift their scalps--"
"I've know'd white men," interrupted Redhand, "who called themselves
Christians, and didn't object to take scalps when they got the chance."
"So have I," returned Bounce, "an' more's the pity. It's sichlike
blackguards as these that keeps honest trappers and fur-traders for iver
in hot water here. Howsomdiver, we're not a-goin' to turn ourselves
into brute beasts 'cause they've turned theirselves into sich."
"I'm not so sure o' that," broke in Big Waller, casting a scowling
glance on the savages as he surveyed a wound in his left arm, which,
although not serious, was, from want of dressing, sufficiently painful;
"I calc'late it would serve them reptiles right if we was to whangskiver
the whole on 'em as they lie."
"I don't b'lieve," retorted Bounce, "that `_whangskiver_' is either
English, Injun, French, or Yankee; but if it means _killin'_, you'll do
nothing o' the sort. Here's what we'll do. We'll ketch as many horses
as wos took from Mr Bertram's fellers, an' as many guns too (the same
ones if we can lay hands on 'em), an' as much powder an' shot an' other
things as that keg o' brandy is worth, an' then we'll bid the redskins
good-bye without wakenin' of 'em up."
"Goot," ejaculated Gibault, pausing in his manipulation of the artist,
"now you can do!"
"Capital; thanks, I feel quite strong again."
"I say, Gibault," observed March ruefully, "they've almost sawed through
the skin o' my ankle. I've no left foot at all, as far as feelin'
goes."
"Hah! me boy, 'tis well you have foot left, though you not feel left
foot! Let me see."
"That's it, Gibault, rub away; if your jokes were as good as your
surgery you'd be too good, a long way, for the backwoods."
By dint of chafing and rubbing and leaping and stamping, the whole party
were soon restored to a serviceable condition, after which they set
about active preparations for departure.
First, they ransacked the tents, where they discovered all the guns that
had been taken from Bertram's party. These they tied up in a bundle,
after each had secured one for his own use. Among them the artist
found, to his intense delight, his own double-barrelled gun, the loss of
which he had mourned most sincerely.
Next, they secured the horses, which, being hobbled, as we have said
elsewhere, were easily caught. Then the powder-horns and shot-belts of
Bertram's party were found, and, being full of ammunition, were slung
across their shoulders forthwith. Among other things belonging to the
same party were discovered a number of blankets, some tea and sugar, and
a variety of other useful articles, besides several packs of furs; all
of which were made up into portable bundles that could be easily carried
at their saddle-bows. The supply of everything was so ample that it was
not necessary to touch a single article belonging to the Indians.
This was a matter of much satisfaction to Redhand, who wished to show
these unfortunate children of the wilderness that there were at least
some white trappers who were actuated by different and kindlier feelings
than many who sought their livelihood in those regions.
"Hullo! wot have we here?" cried Big Waller, who was poking
inquisitively about among the tents, to the consternation of the poor
Indian children who lay huddled up in their rabbit-skin blankets,
trembling from head to foot, and expecting to be scalped forthwith--such
of them, at least, as were old enough to expect anything. "Here's your
blunderbusses, I guess, mister."
"What! my pistols," cried Bertram, seizing his weapons with as much
delight as if they had been really serviceable.
"Hah! ver' goot for play vid," observed Gibault contemptuously.
"I say, here's something else," said Bounce, picking up a rifle.
"Wah!" exclaimed Hawkswing, pointing to the weapon in surprise, and
turning his eyes on Redhand.
"Wot! d'ye know who it b'long'd to?" inquired Bounce.
An expression of deep sorrow overspread Redhand's countenance. "Ay,"
said he mournfully, "I know it well. It belonged to young Blake."
Glancing quickly up at a place where several scalps were hanging to a
pole, he took one down, and, after gazing at it sadly for a few seconds,
he added in a tone of deep melancholy: "Poor, poor Blake! ye had a
hearty spirit an' a kindly heart. Your huntin' days were soon over!"
"Was he a friend of yours?" inquired Bertram, affected by the old
trapper's look and tone.
"Ay, ay, he was, he was," said Redhand quickly, and with a sternness of
manner that surprised his companions; "come, lads, mount! mount! The
redskins won't part with plunder without making an effort to get it
back."
"But, stop a bit, Redhand," cried Bounce, detaining the old man, "ye
didn't use for to be so hot an' hasty. Where are we to go to? That's
wot I want to know."
"True," observed Redhand in his old gentle tones, "we've more horses
than we need, and some furs to dispose of. There's a tradin' fort in
the mountains, but it's a good bit from this."
"What o' that?" said March Marston somewhat impetuously. "Are we not
armed and well mounted and strong, and have we not lots o' time before
us?"
"Well said," cried Bounce.
"Ditto," echoed Waller.
"Then we'll do it!" cried Redhand, vaulting into the saddle with a
spring that a young man might have envied.
The others followed his example, and in a few seconds they were picking
their way carefully down the ravine in which the Indian camp was
situated. Leaving this quickly behind, they trotted briskly along the
more open banks of the river until they gained a level sweep of land
which terminated in a belt of low bushes. Beyond this lay the great
plains. Breaking into a gallop, they speedily cleared the underwood,
and just as the rosy smile of morning beamed in the eastern sky, they
dashed away, with light hearts and loose reins, out upon the springy
turf of the open prairie.