The agony which Roland suffered from the thong so tightly secured upon
his wrists, was so far advantageous as it distracted his mind from the
subject which had been at first the chief source of his distress: for it
was impossible to think long even of his kinswoman, while enduring
tortures that were aggravated by every jerk of the rope, by which he
was dragged along; these growing more insupportable every moment. His
sufferings, however, seemed to engage little of the thoughts of his
conductors; who, leaving the buffalo road, and striking into the pathless
forest, pushed onward at a rapid pace, compelling him to keep up with
them; and it was not until he had twice fainted from pain and exhaustion,
that, after some discussion, they thought fit to loosen the thong, which
they afterwards removed altogether. Then, whether it was that they were
touched at last with compassion, or afraid that death might snatch the
prisoner from their hands, if too severely treated, they proceeded even
to take other measures of a seemingly friendly kind, to allay his pangs;
washing his lacerated wrists in a little brook, on whose banks they
paused to give him rest, and then binding them up, as well as the two or
three painful, though not dangerous, wounds he had received, with green
leaves, which one of the juniors plucked, bruised, and applied with every
appearance of the most brotherly interest; while the other, to equal, or
surpass him in benevolence, took the keg of whisky from the horse's back,
and filling a little wooden bowl that he drew from a pack, insisted that
the prisoner should swallow it. In this recommendation the old Piankeshaw
also concurred; but finding that Roland recoiled with disgust, after an
attempt to taste the fiery liquid, he took the bowl into his own hands,
and despatched its contents at a draught. "Good! great good!" he
muttered, smacking his lips with high gusto; "white man make good
drink!--Piankeshaw great friend white-man's liquor."
Having thus opened their hearts, nothing could be, to appearance, more
friendly and affectionate than the bearing of the savages, at least so
long as they remained at the brook; and even when the journey was
resumed, which it soon was, their deportment was but little less loving.
It is true, that the senior, before mounting his horse, proceeded very
coolly to clap the noose, which had previously been placed on Roland's
arms, around his neck, where it bade fair to strangle him, at the first
false step of the horse; but the young Indians walked at his side,
chattering in high good humour; though, as their stock of English
extended only to the single phrase, "Bozhoo, brudder," which was not in
itself very comprehensible, though repeated at least twice every minute,
it may be supposed their conversation had no very enlivening effect on
the prisoner.
Nor was the old Piankeshaw much behind the juniors in good humour;
though, it must be confessed, his feelings were far more capricious and
evanescent. One while he would stop his horse, and dragging Roland to his
side, pat him affectionately on the shoulder, and tell him, as well as
his broken language could express his intentions, that he would take him
to the springs of the Wabash, one of the principal seats of his nation,
and make him his son and a great warrior; while at other times, having
indulged in a fit of sighing, groaning, and crying, he would turn in a
towering rage, and express a resolution to kill him on the spot,--from
which bloody disposition, however, he was always easily turned by the
interference of the young men.
These capricious changes were perhaps owing in a great measure to the
presence of the whisky-keg, which the old warrior ever and anon took from
its perch among the packs behind him, and applied to his lips, sorely, as
it appeared, against the will of his companion, who seemed to remonstrate
with him against a practice so unbecoming a warrior, while in the heart
of a foeman's country, and not a little also against his own sense of
propriety: for his whole course in relation to the keg was like that of a
fish that dallies around the angler's worm, uncertain whether to bite,
now looking and longing, now suspecting the hook and retreating, now
returning to look and long again, until, finally, unable to resist the
temptation, it resolves upon a little nibble, which ends, even against
its own will, in a furious bite.
It was in this manner the Piankeshaw addressed himself to his treasure;
the effect of which was to render each returning paroxysm of affection
and sorrow more energetic than before, while it gradually robbed of their
malignity those fits of anger with which he was still occasionally
seized. But it added double fluency to his tongue; and, not content with
muttering his griefs in his own language, addressing them to his own
people, he finally began to pronounce them in English, directing them at
Roland; whereby the latter was made acquainted with the cause of his
sorrow. This, it appeared, was nothing less than the loss of a son killed
in battle with the Kentuckians, and left to moulder, with two or three
Shawnee corses, in the cave by the river-side; which loss he commemorated
a dozen times over, and with a most piteous voice, in a lament that
celebrated the young warrior's virtues: "Lost son," he ejaculated; "good
huntaw: kill bear, kill buffalo, catch fish, feed old squaw, and young
squaw, and little papoose--good son! mighty good son! Good fighting-man:
kill man Virginnee, kill man Kentucky, kill man Injun-man; take scalp,
squaw scalp, papoose scalp, man scalp, all kind scalp--debbil good
fighting man! No go home no more Piankeshaw nation; no more kill bear; no
more kill buffalo; no more catch fish; no more feed old squaw, and young
squaw, and little papoose; no more kill man, no more take scalp--lose own
scalp, take it Long-knife man Kentucky; no more see old Piankeshaw
son,--leave dead, big hole Kentucky; no more see no more Piankeshaw son,
Piankeshaw nation!"
With such lamentations, running at times into rage against his prisoner,
as the representative of those who had shed the young warrior's blood,
the old Piankeshaw whiled away the hours of travel; ceasing them only
when seized with a fit of affection, or when some mis-step of the horse
sent a louder gurgle, with a more delicious odour, from the cask at his
back; which music and perfume together were a kind of magic not to be
resisted by one who stood so greatly in need of consolation.
The effect of such constant and liberal visitations to the comforter and
enemy of his race, continued for several hours together, was soon made
manifest in the old warrior, who grew more loquacious, more lachrymose,
and more foolish every moment; until, by and by, having travelled till
towards sunset, a period of six or seven hours from the time of setting
out, he began to betray the most incontestable evidences of intoxication.
He reeled on the horse's back, and finally, becoming tired of the weight
of his gun, he extended it to Roland, with a very magisterial, yet
friendly nod, as if bidding him take and carry it. It was snatched from
him, however, by one of the younger warriors, who was too wise to intrust
a loaded carbine in the arms of a prisoner, and who had perhaps noted the
sudden gleam of fire, the first which had visited them since the moment
of his capture, that shot into Roland's eyes, as he stretched forth his
hands to take the weapon.
The old Piankeshaw did not seem to notice who had relieved him of the
burden. He settled himself again on the saddle as well as he could, and
jogged onwards, prattling and weeping, according to the mood of the
moment, now droning out an Indian song, and now nodding with drowsiness;
until at last slumber or stupefaction settled so heavily upon his senses
that he became incapable of guiding his horse; and the weary animal,
checked by the unconscious rider, or stopping of his own accord to browse
the green cane-leaves along the path, the Piankeshaw suddenly took a
lurch wider than usual, and fell, like a log, to the ground.
The younger savages had watched the course of proceedings on the part of
the senior with ill-concealed dissatisfaction. The catastrophe completed
their rage, which, however, was fortunately expended upon the legitimate
cause of displeasure. They tumbled the unlucky cask from its perch, and
assailing it with horrible yells and as much apparent military zeal as
could have been exercised upon a human enemy lying in like manner at
their feet, they dashed it to pieces with their tomahawks, scattering its
precious contents upon the grass.
While they were thus engaged, the senior rose from the earth, staring
about him for a moment with looks of stupid inquiry; until beginning at
last to comprehend the accident that had happened to him, and perhaps
moved by the late of his treasure, he also burst into a fury; and
snatching up the nearest gun, he clapped it to his horse's head, and shot
it dead on the spot, roaring out, "Cuss' white-man hoss! throw old
Piankeshaw! No good nothing! Cuss debbil hoss!"
This act of drunken and misdirected ferocity seemed vastly to incense the
young warriors; and the senior waxing as wrathful at the wanton
destruction of his liquor, there immediately ensued a battle of tongues
betwixt the two parties, who scolded and berated one another for the
space of ten minutes or more with prodigious volubility and energy, the
juniors expatiating upon the murder of the horse as an act of the most
unpardonable folly, while the senior seemed to insist that the wasting of
so much good liquor was a felony of equally culpable dye; and it is
probable he had the better side of the argument, since he continued to
grumble for a long time even after he had silenced the others.
But peace was at last restored, and the savages prepared to resume their
journey; but not until they had unanimously resolved that the
consequences of the quarrel should be visited upon the head of the
captive. Their apparent good-humour vanished, and the old Piankeshaw,
staggering up, gave Roland to understand, in an oration full of all the
opprobrious epithets he could muster, either in English or Indian, that
he, Piankeshaw, being a very great warrior, intended to carry him to his
country, to run the gauntlet through every village of the nation, and
then to burn him alive, for the satisfaction of the women and children;
and while pouring this agreeable intelligence into the soldier's ears,
the juniors took the opportunity to tie his arms a second time, heaping
on his shoulders their three packs; to which the old man afterwards
insisted on adding the saddle and bridle of the horse, though for no very
ostensible object, together with a huge mass of the flesh, dug with his
knife from the still quivering carcass, which was perhaps designed for
their supper.
Under this heavy load, the unhappy and degraded soldier was compelled to
stagger along with his masters; but fortunately for no long-period. The
night was fast approaching, and having-soon arrived at a little glade in
the forest, where a spring of sweet water bubbled from the grass, they
signified their intention to make it their camping ground for the night.
A fire was struck, the horse flesh stuck upon a fork and roasted, and a
share of it tendered to the prisoner; who, sick at heart and feverish in
body, refused it with as much disgust as he had shown at the whisky,
expressing his desire only to drink of the spring, which he was allowed
to do to his liking.
The savages then collected grass and leaves, with which they spread a
couch under a tree beside their fire; and here, having compelled the
soldier to lie down, they proceeded to secure him for the night with a
cruel care, that showed what value the loss of the horse and fire-water,
the only other trophies of victory, led them to attach to him. A stake
was cut and laid across his breast, and to the ends of this his
outstretched arms were bound at both wrist and elbow. A pole was then
laid upon his body, to the extremities of which his feet and neck were
also bound; so that he was secured as upon, or rather _under_, a cross,
without the power of moving hand or foot. As if even this were not enough
to satisfy his barbarous companions, they attached an additional cord
to his neck; and this, when they lay down beside him to sleep, one of the
young warriors wrapped several times round his own arm, so that the
slightest movement of the prisoner, were such a thing possible, must
instantly rouse the jealous savage from his slumbers.
These preparations being completed, the young men lay down, one on each
side of the prisoner, and were soon fast asleep.
The old Piankeshaw, meanwhile, sat by the fire, now musing in drunken
revery,--"in cogibundity of cogitation,"--now grumbling a lament for his
perished son, which, by a natural licence of affliction, he managed to
intermingle with regrets for his lost liquor, and occasionally heaping
maledictions upon the heads of his wasteful companions, or soliciting
the prisoner's attention to an account, that he gave him at least six
times over, of the peculiar ceremonies which would be observed in burning
him, when once safely bestowed in the Piankeshaw nation. In this manner,
the old savage, often nodding, but always rousing again, succeeded in
amusing himself nearly half the night long; and it was not until near
midnight that he thought fit, after stirring up the fire, and adding a
fresh log to it, to stretch himself beside one of the juniors, and
grumble himself to sleep. A few explosive and convulsive snorts, such as
might have done honour to the nostrils of a war-horse, marked the
gradations by which he sank to repose; then came the deep, long-drawn
breath of mental annihilation, such as distinguished the slumber of
his companions.
To the prisoner, alone, sleep was wholly denied; for which the renewed
agonies of his bonds, tied with the supreme contempt for suffering which
usually marks the conduct of savages to their captives, would have been
sufficient cause, had there even been no superior pangs of spirit to
banish the comforter from his eyelids. Of his feelings during the journey
from the river,--which, in consequence of numberless delays caused by the
old Piankeshaw's drunkenness, could scarce have been left more than eight
or ten miles behind,--we have said but little, since imagination can only
picture them properly to the reader. Grief, anguish, despair, and the
sense of degradation natural to a man of proud spirit, a slave in the
hands of coarse barbarians, kept his spirit for a long time wholly
subdued and torpid; and it was not until he perceived the old
Piankeshaw's repeated potations, and their effects, that he began to wake
from his lethargy, and question himself whether he might not yet escape,
and, flying to the nearest settlements for assistance, strike a blow for
the recovery of his kinswoman. Weak from exhaustion and wounds, entirely
unarmed, and closely watched, as he perceived he was, by the young
warriors, notwithstanding their affected friendship, it was plain that
nothing could be hoped for, except from caution on his part, and the most
besotted folly on that of his captors. This folly was already made
perceptible in at least one of the party; and as he watched the
oft-repeated visitations of the senior to the little keg, he began to
anticipate the period when the young men should also betake themselves to
the stupefying draught, and give him the opportunity he longed for with
frantic, though concealed, impatience. This hope fell when the cask was
dashed to pieces; but hope, once excited, did not easily forsake him. He
had heard, and read, of escapes, made by captives like himself, from
Indians, when encamped by night in the woods,--nay, of escapes made when
the number of captors and the feebleness of the captive (for even women
and boys had thus obtained their deliverance), rendered the condition of
the latter still more wretched than his own. Why might not _he_, a man
and soldier, guarded by only three foemen, succeed, as others had
succeeded, in freeing himself?
This question, asked over and over again, and each time answered with
greater hope and animation than before, employed his mind until his wary
captors had tied him to the stakes, as has been mentioned, leaving him as
incapable of motion as if every limb had been solidified into stone. Had
the barbarians been able to look into his soul at the moment when he
first strove to test the strength of the ligatures, and found them
resisting his efforts like bands of brass, they would have beheld deeper
and wilder tortures than any they could hope to inflict, ever, at the
stake. The effort was repeated once, twice, thrice--a thousand
times,--but always in vain: the cords were too securely tied, the stakes
too carefully placed, to yield to his puny struggles. He was a prisoner
in reality,--without resource, without help, without hope.
And thus he passed the whole of the bitter night, watching the slow
progress of moments counted only by the throbbings of his fevered
temples, the deep breathings of the Indians, and the motion of the
stars creeping over the vista opened to the skies from the little glade,
a prey to despair, made so much more poignant by disappointment and
self-reproach. Why had he not taken advantage of his temporary release
from the cords, to attempt escape by open flight, when the drunkenness of
the old Piankeshaw would have increased the chances of success? He had
lost his best ally in the cask of liquor; but he resolved,--if the
delirious plans of a mind tossed by the most frenzied passions could be
called resolutions,--a second day should not pass by without an effort
better becoming a soldier, better becoming the only friend and natural
protector of the hapless Edith.
In the meanwhile, the night passed slowly away, the moon, diminished to a
ghastly crescent, rose over the woods, looking down with a sickly smile
upon the prisoner,--an emblem of his decayed fortunes and waning hopes;
and a pale streak, the first dull glimmer of dawn, was seen stealing up
the skies. But neither moon nor streak of dawn yet threw light upon the
little glade. The watch-fire had burned nearly away, and its flames no
longer illuminated the scene. The crackling of the embers, with an
occasional echo from the wood hard by, as of the rustling of a rabbit, or
other small animal, drawn by the unusual appearance of fire near his
favourite fountain, to satisfy a timorous curiosity, was the only sound
to be heard; for the Indians were in the dead sleep of morning, and their
breathing was no longer audible.
The silence and darkness together were doubly painful to Roland, who had
marked the streak of dawn, and longed with fierce impatience for the
moment when he should be again freed from his bonds, and left to attempt
some of those desperate expedients which he had been planning all the
night long. In such a frame of mind, even the accidental falling of a
half-consumed brand upon the embers, and its sudden kindling into flame,
were circumstances of an agreeable nature; and the ruddy glare thrown
over the boughs above his head was welcomed as the return of a friend,
bringing with it hope, and even a share of his long lost tranquillity.
But tranquillity was not fated to dwell long in his bosom. At that very
moment, and while the blaze of the brand was brightest, his ears were
stunned by an explosion bursting like a thunderbolt at his very head, but
whether coming from earth or air, from the hands of Heaven or the
firelock of a human being, he knew not; and immediately after there
sprang a huge dark shadow over his body, and there was heard the crash as
of an axe falling upon the flesh of the young Indian who slept on his
right side. A dismal shriek, the utterance of agony and terror, rose from
the barbarian's lips; and then came the sound of his footsteps, as he
darted, with a cry still wilder, into the forest, pursued by the sound
of other steps; and then all again was silent,--all save groans, and the
rustling in the grass of limbs convulsed in the death-throe at the
soldier's side.
Astounded, bewildered, and even horror-struck, by these incomprehensible
events, the work of but an instant, and all unseen by Roland, who, from
his position, could look only upwards towards the boughs and skies, he
would have thought himself in a dream, but for the agonised struggles
of the young Indian at his side, which he could plainly feel as well as
hear: until by and by they subsided, as if in sudden death. Was it a
rescue? was that shot fired by a friend? that axe wielded by a human
auxiliary? those sounds of feet dying away in the distance, were they the
steps of a deliverer? The thought was ecstacy, and he shouted aloud,
"Return, friend, and loose me! return!"
No voice replied to the shout; but it roused from the earth a dark and
bloody figure, which staggering and falling over the body of the young
warrior, crawled like a scotched reptile upon Roland's breast; when the
light of the fire shining upon it revealed to his eyes the horrible
spectacle of the old Piankeshaw warrior, the lower part of his face shot
entirely away, and his eyes rolling hideously, and, as it seemed,
sightlessly, in the pangs of death, his hand clutching the knife with
which he had so often threatened, and with which he yet seemed destined
to take, though in the last gasp of his own, the soldier's life. With one
hand he felt along the prisoner's body, as if seeking a vital part, and
sustained his own weight, while with the other he made repeated, though
feeble and ineffectual, strokes with the knife, all the time rolling, and
staggering, and shaking his gory head in a manner most horrible to
behold. But vengeance was denied the dying warrior; his blows were
offered impotently, and without aim; and becoming weaker at every effort,
his left arm at last failed to support him, and he fell across Roland's
body; in which position he immediately after expired.
In this frightful condition Roland was left, shocked, although relieved
from fear, by the savage's death, crying in vain to his unknown auxiliary
for assistance. He exerted his voice, until the woods rang with his
shouts; but hollow echoes were the only replies: neither voice nor
returning footstep was to be heard; and it seemed as if he had been
rescued from the Indians' hands, only to be left, bound and helpless, to
perish piecemeal among their bodies. The fear of a fate so dreadful, with
the weight of the old Piankeshaw, a man of almost gigantic proportions,
lying upon his bosom, was more than his agonised spirits and exhausted
strength could endure; and his wounds suddenly bursting out afresh, he
lapsed into a state of insensibility, in which, however, it was happily
his fate not long to remain.