From an uneasy slumber, into which, notwithstanding his sufferings of
mind and body, he had at last fallen, Roland was roused at the break of
day by a horrible clamour, that suddenly arose in the village. A shrill
scream, that seemed to come from a female voice, was first heard; then a
wild yell from the lungs of a warrior, which was caught up and repeated
by other voices; and, in a few moments, the whole town resounded with
shrieks dismal and thrilling, and expressing astonishment mingled with
fear and horror.
The prisoner, incapable of comprehending the cause of such a commotion,
looked to his guards, who had started up at the first cry, grasped their
arms, and stood gazing upon one another with perturbed looks of inquiry.
The shriek was repeated, by one,--twenty,--a hundred throats; and the two
warriors, with hurried exclamations of alarm, rushed from the wigwam,
leaving the prisoner to solve the riddle as he might. But he tasked his
faculties in vain. His first idea--and it sent the blood leaping to his
heart--that the village was suddenly attacked by an army of white
men,--perhaps by the gallant Bruce, the commander of the Station where
his misfortunes had begun,--was but momentary; no lusty hurrahs were
heard mingling with the shrieks of the savages, and no explosions of
fire-arms denoted the existence of conflict. And yet he perceived that
the cries were not all of surprise and dismay. Some voices were uplifted
in rage, which was evidently spreading among the agitated barbarians,
and displacing the other passions in their minds.
In the midst of the tumult, and while he was yet lost in wonder and
speculation, the renegade Doe suddenly rushed into the wigwam, pale with
affright and agitation.
"They'll murder you, captain!" he cried, "there's no time for holding
back now--Take the gal, and I'll save you. The village is up--they'll
have your blood, they're crying for it already--squaws, warriors and
all--ay, d----n 'em, there's no stopping 'em now!"
"What in Heaven's name is the matter?" demanded the soldier.
"All etarnity's the matter!" replied Doe, with vehement utterance:
"the Jibbenainosay has been in the village, and killed the chief--ay,
d----n him,--struck him in his own house, marked him at his own fire! he
lies, dead and scalped--ay, and crossed too--on the floor of his own
wigwam;--the conjuror gone, snapped up by his devil, and Wenonga stiff
and gory! Don't you hear 'em yelling? The Jibbenainosay, I tell you--he
has killed the chief; we found him dead in his cabin; and the Injuns are
bawling for revenge--they are, d----n 'em, and they'll murder you, burn
you, tear you to pieces;--they will, there's no two ways about it:
they're singing out to murder the white men, and they'll be on you in no
time!"
"And there is no escape!" cried Roland, whose blood curdled, as he
listened to the thrilling yells that were increased in number and
loudness, as if the enraged barbarians, rushing madly through the
village, were gathering arms to destroy the prisoners,--"there is no
escape?"
"Take the gal! jist say the word, and I'll save you, or die with you, I
will, d----n me!" exclaimed Doe, with fierce energy. "There's hosses
grazing in the pastures; there's halters swinging above us: I'll mount
you and save you. Say the word, captain, and I'll cut you loose and save
you--say it, and be quick; your life depends on it--Hark! the dogs is
coming! Hold out your arms till I cut the tug--"
"Anything for my life!" cried the Virginian; "but if it can be only
bought at the price of marrying the girl, it is lost."
And the soldier would have resisted the effort Doe was making for his
deliverance.
"You'll be murdered, I tell you!" re-echoed Doe, with increased
vehemence, holding the knife ready in his hand: "they're coming on us: I
don't want to see you butchered like an ox. One word, captain!--I'll take
your word; you're an honest fellow, and I'll believe in you;--jist one
word, captain; I'll help you; I'll fight the dogs for you; I'll give you
weapons. The gal, captain! life and the fortun, captain!--The gal! the
gal!"
"Never, I tell you, never!" cried Roland, who, faithful to the honour and
integrity of spirit which conducted the men of that day, the mighty
fathers of the republic, through the vicissitudes of revolution to the
rewards of liberty, would not stoop to the meanness of falsehood and
deception even in that moment of peril and fear;--"anything but that--but
that, never!"
But, whilst he spoke, Doe, urged on by his own impetuous feelings, had
cut the thong from his wrists, and was even proceeding to divide those
that bound his ankles, disregarding all his protestations and averments,
or perhaps drowning them in his own eager exclamations of "The gal,
captain,--the word, jist one word!" when a dozen or more savages burst
into the hut, and sprang upon the Virginian, yelling, cursing, and
flourishing their knives and hatchets, as if they would have torn him to
pieces on the spot. And such, undoubtedly, was the aim of some of the
younger men, who struck at him several furious blows, that were only
averted by the older warriors at the expense of some of their own blood
shed in the struggle, which was, for a moment, as fiercely waged over the
prisoner as the conflict of enraged hounds over the body of a disabled
panther, that are all emulous to worry and tear. One instant of dreadful
confusion, of shrieks, blows, and maledictions, and the Virginian was
snatched up in the arms of two or three of the strongest men, and dragged
from the hut; but only to find himself surrounded by a herd of villagers,
men, women, and children, who fell upon him with as much fury as the
young warriors had done, beating him with bludgeons, wounding him with
their knives, so that it seemed impossible the older braves could protect
him much longer. But others ran to their assistance; and forming a circle
around him, so as to exclude the mob, he was borne onwards, in temporary
security, but destined to a fate to which murder on the spot would have
been gentleness and mercy.
The tumult had roused Edith also from her painful slumbers; and the more
necessarily, since, although removed from the tent in which she was first
imprisoned, she was still confined in Wenonga's wigwam. It was the scream
of the hag, the chieftain's wife, who had discovered his body, that first
gave the alarm; and the villagers all rushing to the cabin, and yelling
their astonishment and terror, there arose an uproar, almost in her ears,
that was better fitted to fright her to death than to lull her again to
repose. She started from her couch of furs, and with a woman's weakness,
cowered away in the furthest corner of the lodge, to escape the pitiless
fees, whom her fears represented as already seeking her life. Nor was
this chimera banished from her mind when a man, rushing in, snatched her
from her ineffectual concealment and hurried her towards the door. But
her terrors ran in another channel, when the ravisher, conquering the
feeble resistance she attempted, replied to her wild entreaties "not to
kill her," in the well-remembered voice of Braxley:
"Kill you, indeed!" he muttered, but with agitated tones; "I come to save
you; even _you_ are in danger from the maddened villains: they are
murdering all! We must fly,--ay, and fast. My horse is saddled,--the
woods are open--I will yet save you."
"Spare me!--for my uncle's sake, who was your benefactor, spare me!"
cried Edith, struggling to free herself from his grasp. But she struggled
in vain. "I aim to save you," cried Braxley; and without uttering another
word, bore her from the hut; and, still grasping her with an arm of iron,
sprang upon a saddled horse,--the identical animal that had once
sustained the weight of the unfortunate Pardon Dodge,--which stood under
the elm-tree, trembling with fright at the scene of horror then
represented on the square.
Upon this vacant space was now assembled the whole population of the
village, old and young, the strong and the feeble, all agitated alike by
those passions, which, when let loose in a mob, whether civilised or
savage, almost enforce the conviction that there is something essentially
demoniac in the human character and composition; as if, indeed, the earth
of which man is framed had been gathered only after it had been trodden
by the foot of the Prince of Darkness.
Even Edith forgot for a moment her fears of Braxley,--nay, she clung to
him for protection,--when her eye fell upon the savage herd, of whom the
chief number were crowded together in the centre of the square,
surrounding some object rendered invisible by their bodies, while others
were rushing tumultuously hither and thither, driven by causes she could
not divine, brandishing weapons, and uttering howls without number. One
large party was passing from the wigwam itself, their cries not less loud
or ferocious than the others, but changing occasionally into piteous
lamentations. They bore in their arms the body of the murdered chief,--an
object of such horror, that when Edith's eye; had once fallen upon it, it
seemed as if her enthralled spirit would never have recovered strength to
remove them.
But there was a more fearful spectacle yet to be seen. The wife of
Wenonga suddenly rushed from the lodge, bearing a fire-brand in her hand.
She ran to the body of the chief, eyed it, for a moment, with such a look
as a tigress might cast upon her slaughtered cub, and then, uttering a
scream that was heard over the whole square, and whirling the brand round
her head, until it was in a flame, fled with frantic speed towards the
centre of the area, the mob parting before her, and replying to her
shrieks, which were uttered at every step, with outcries scarce less wild
and thrilling. As they parted thus, opening a vista to the heart of the
square, the object which seemed the centre of attraction to all was fully
revealed to the maiden's eyes. Bound to two strong posts near the
Council-house, their arms drawn high above their heads, a circle of
brush-wood, prairie-grass, and other combustibles heaped around them,
were two wretched captives,--white men, from whose persons a dozen savage
hands were tearing their garments, while as many more were employed
heaping additional fuel on the pile. One of these men, as Edith could see
full well, for the spectacle was scarce a hundred paces removed, was
Roaring Ralph, the captain of horse-thieves. The other--and _that_ was a
sight to rend her eye-balls from their sockets,--was her unfortunate
kinsman, the playmate of her childhood, the friend and lover of maturer
years,--her cousin,--brother,--her all,--Roland Forrester. It was no
error of sight, no delusion of mind: the spectacle was too palpable to be
doubted: it was Roland Forrester whom she saw, chained to the stake,
surrounded by yelling and pitiless barbarians, impatient for the
commencement of their infernal pastime, while the wife of the chief,
kneeling at the pile, was already endeavouring, with her brand, to kindle
it into flame.
The shriek of the wretched maiden, as she beheld the deplorable, the
maddening sight, might have melted hearts of stone, had there been even
such among the Indians. But Indians, engaged in the delights of torturing
a prisoner, are, as the dead chief had boasted himself, _without_ heart.
Pity, which the Indian can feel at another moment, as deeply, perhaps,
and benignly as a white man, seems then, and is, entirely unknown, as
much so, indeed, as if it had never entered into his nature. His mind is
then voluntarily given tip to the drunkenness of passion; and cruelty, in
its most atrocious and fiendish character, reigns predominant. The
familiar of a Spanish Inquisition has sometimes moistened the lips of a
heretic stretched upon the rack,--the Buccaneer of the tropics has
relented over the contumacious prisoner gasping to death under his lashes
and heated pincers; but we know of no instance where an Indian, torturing
a prisoner at the stake, the torture once begun, has ever been moved to
compassionate, to regard with any feelings but those of exultation and
joy, the agonies of the thrice-wretched victim.
The shriek of the maiden was unheard, or unregarded; and
Braxley,--himself so horrified by the spectacle that, while pausing
to give it a glance, he forgot the delay was also disclosing it to
Edith,--grasping her tighter in his arms, from which she had half leaped
in her frenzy, turned his horse's head to fly, without seeming to be
regarded or observed by the savages, which was perhaps in part owing to
his having resumed his Indian attire. But, as he turned, he could not
resist the impulse to snatch one more look at his doomed rival. A
universal yell of triumph sounded over the square; the flames were
already bursting from the pile, and the torture was begun.
The torture was begun,--but it was not destined long to endure. The
yell of triumph was yet resounding over the square, and awakening
responsive echoes among the surrounding hills, when the explosion of at
least fifty rifles, sharp, rattling, and deadly, like the war-note of the
rattle-snake, followed by a mighty hurrah of Christian voices, and the
galloping of horse into the village from above, converted the whole scene
into one of amazement and terror. The volley was repeated, and by as many
more guns; and in an instant there was seen rushing into the square a
body of at least a hundred mounted white men, their horses covered with
foam and staggering with exhaustion, yet spurred on by their riders with
furious ardour; while twice as many footmen were beheld rushing after, in
mad rivalry, cheering and shouting, in reply to their leader, whose voice
was heard in front of the horsemen thundering out,--"Small change for the
Blue Licks! Charge 'em, the brutes! give it to 'em handsome!"
The yells of dismay of the savages, taken thus by surprise, and, as it
seemed, by a greatly superior force, whose approach, rapid and tumultuous
as it must have been, their universal devotion to the Saturnalia of blood
had rendered them incapable of perceiving; the shouts of the mounted
assailants, as they dashed into the square and among the mob, shooting as
they came, or handling their rifles like maces, and battle-axes; the
trampling and neighing of the horses; and the thundering hurrahs of the
footmen charging into the town with almost the speed of the horse, made a
din too horrible for description. The shock of the assault was not
resisted by the Indians even for a moment. Some rushed to the
neighbouring wigwams for their guns, but the majority, like the women and
children, fled to seek refuge among the rocks and bushes of the
overhanging hill; from which, however, as they approached it, a deadly
volley was shot upon them by foemen who already occupied its tangled
sides. Others again fled towards the meadows and corn-fields, where, in
like manner, they were intercepted by bands of mounted Long-knives, who
seemed pouring into the valley from every hill. In short, it was soon
made apparent that the village of the Black-Vulture was assailed from all
sides, and by such an army of avenging white men as had never before
penetrated into the Indian territory.
All the savages,--all, at least, who were not shot or struck down in the
square,--fled from the village; and among the foremost of them was
Braxley, who, as much astounded as his Indian confederates, but better
prepared for flight, struck the spurs into his horse, and still retaining
his helpless prize, dashed across the river, to escape as he might.
In the meanwhile, the victims at the stake, though roused to hope and
life by the sudden appearance of their countrymen, were neither released
from bonds nor perils. Though the savages fled, as described, from the
charge of the white men, there were some who remembered the prisoners,
and were resolved that they should never taste the sweets of liberty. The
beldam, who was still busy kindling the pile, roused from her toil by the
shouts of the enemy and the shrieks of her flying people, looked up a
moment, and then snatching at a knife dropped by some fugitive, rushed
upon Stackpole, who was nearest her, with a wild scream of revenge. The
horse-thief, avoiding the blow as well as he could, saluted the hag with
a furious kick, his feet being entirely at liberty; and such was its
violence that the woman was tossed into the air, as if from the horns of
a bull, and then fell, stunned and apparently lifeless, to perish in the
flames she had kindled with her own breath.
A tall warrior, hatchet in hand, with a dozen more at his back, rushed
upon the Virginian. But before he could strike, there came leaping with
astonishing bounds over the bodies of the wounded and dying, and into
the circle of fire, a figure that might have filled a better and braver
warrior with dread. It was the medicine-man, and former captive, the
Indian habiliments and paint still on his body and visage, though both
were flecked and begrimed with blood. In his left hand was a bundle of
scalps, the same he had taken from the tent of Wenonga; the grizzled
scalp-lock of the chief, known by the vulture-feathers, beak, and
talons, still attached to it, was hanging to his girdle; while the steel
battle-axe, so often wielded by Wenonga, was gleaming aloft in his right
hand.
The savage recoiled, and with loud yells of "The Jibbenainosay! the
Jibbenainosay!" turned to fly, while even those behind him staggered back
at the apparition of the destroyer, thus tangibly presented to their
eyes; nor was their awe lessened, when the supposed fiend, taking one
step after the retreating leader of the gang, drove the fatal hatchet
into his brain, with as lusty a whoop of victory as ever came from the
lungs of a warrior. At the same moment he was hidden from their eyes by a
dozen horsemen that came rushing up, with tremendous huzzas, some darting
against the band, while others sprung from their horses to liberate the
prisoners. But this duty had been already rendered, at least in the case
of Captain Forrester. The axe of Wenonga, dripping with blood to the
hilt, divided the rope at a single blow, and then Roland's fingers were
crushed in the grasp of his preserver, as the latter exclaimed, with a
strange, half-frantic chuckle of triumph and delight,--
"Thee sees, friend! Thee thought I had deserted thee? Truly, truly, thee
was mistaken!"
"Hurrah for old Tiger Nathan! I'll never say Q to a quaker agin as long
as I live!" exclaimed another voice, broken, feeble, and vainly aiming to
raise a huzza; and the speaker, seizing Nathan with one hand, while the
other grasped tremulously at Captain Forrester's, displayed to the
latter's eyes the visage of Tom Bruce the younger, pale, sickly,
emaciated, his once gigantic proportions wasted away, and his whole
appearance indicating anything but fitness for a field of battle.
"Strannger!" cried the youth, pressing the soldier's hand with what
strength he could, and laughing faintly, "we've done the handsome thing
by you, me and dad, thar's no denying! But we went your security agin all
sorts of danngers in our beat; and thar's just the occasion. But h'yar's
dad to speak for himself: as for me, I rather think breath's too short
for wasting."
"Hurrah for Kentucky!" roared Colonel Bruce, as he sprang from his horse,
and seized the hand of Roland, wringing and twisting it with a fury of
friendship and gratulation, which, at another moment, would have caused
the soldier to grin with pain. "H'yar we are, captain!" he cried: "picked
you out of the yambers!--Swore to follow you and young madam to the end
of creation,--beat up for recruits, sung out 'Blue Lick' to the people,
roused the General from the Falls,--whole army, a thousand men; double
quick step; found Tiger Nathan in the woods--whar's the creatur'? told of
your fixin'; beat to arms, flew ahead, licked the enemy,--and ha'n't
we extarminated 'em?"
With these hurried, half-incoherent expressions, the gallant Kentuckian
explained, or endeavoured to explain, the mystery of his timely and most
happy appearance; an explanation, however, of which the soldier,
bewildered by the whirl of events, the tumult of his own feelings, and
not less by the uproarious congratulations of his friends, of whom the
captain of horse-thieves, released from his post of danger, was not the
least noisy or affectionate, heard, or understood not a word. To these
causes of confusion were to be added the din and tumult of conflict, the
screams of the flying Indians, and the shouts of pursuing and opposing
white-men, rising from every point of the compass; for from every point
they seemed rushing in upon the foe, whom they appeared to have
completely environed. Was there no other cause for the distraction of
mind which left the young soldier, while thus beset by friendly hands and
voices, incapable of giving them his whole attention? His thoughts were
upon his kinswoman, of whose fate he was still in ignorance. But before
he could ask the question prompted by his anxieties, it was answered by a
cheery hurrah from Bruce's youngest son, Richard, who came galloping into
the square and up to the place of torture, whirling his cap into the air,
in a frenzy of boyish triumph and rapture. At his heels, and mounted
upon the steed so lately bestridden by Braxley, the very animal, which,
notwithstanding its uncommon swimming virtues, had left its master,
Pardon Dodge, at the bottom of Salt River, was--could Roland believe his
eyes?--the identical Pardon Dodge himself, looking a hero, he was so
begrimed with blood and gunpowder, and whooping and hurrahing, as he
came, with as much spirit as if he had been born on the border, and
accustomed all his life to fighting Indians. But Roland did not admire
long at the unlooked-for resurrection of his old ally of the ruin. In his
arms, sustained with an air of infinite pride and exultation, was an
apparition that blinded the Virginian's eyes to every other object;--it
was Edith Forrester; who, extending her own arms, as the soldier sprang
to meet her, leaped to his embrace with such wild cries of delight, such
abandonment of spirit to love and happiness, as stirred up many a
womanish emotion in the breast of the surrounding Kentuckians.
"There!" cried Dodge, "there, capting! Seed the everlasting Injun feller
carrying her off on the hoss; knowed the crittur at first sight; took
atter, and brought the feller to: seed it was the young lady, and was
jist as glad to find her as to find my hoss,--if I wa'n't, it a'n't no
matter."
"Thar, dad!" cried Tom Bruce, grasping his father's arm, and pointing,
but with unsteady finger and glistening eye, at the two cousins,--"that,
that's a sight worth dying for!" with which words he fell suddenly to the
earth.
"Dying, you brute!" cried the father in surprise and concern: "you ar'n't
had a hit, Tom?"
"Not an iota," replied the youth, faintly, "except them etarnal slugs I
fetched from old Salt; but, I reckon, they've done for me: I felt 'em a
dropping, a dropping inside, all night. And so, father, if you'll jist
say I've done as much as my duty, I'll not make no fuss about going."
"Going, you brute!" iterated the father, clasping the hand of his son,
while the others, startled by the young man's sudden fall, gathered
around, to offer help, or to gaze with alarm on his fast changing
countenance; "why, Tom, my boy, you don't mean to make a die of it?"
"If--if you think I've done my duty to the strannger and the young lady,"
said the young man; and added, feebly pressing the father's hand,--"and
to _you_, dad, to you, and mother, and the rest of 'em."
"You have, Tom," said the colonel, with somewhat a husky voice--"to the
travelling strannger, to mother, father, and all--"
"And to Kentucky?" murmured the dying youth,
"To Kentucky," replied the father.
"Well, then, it's no great matter--You'll jist put Dick in my place: he's
the true grit; thar'll be no mistake in Dick, for all he's only a young
blubbering boy; and then it'll be jist all right, as before. And it's my
notion, father--"
"Well, Tom, what is it?" demanded Bruce, as the young man paused as if
from mingled exhaustion and hesitation.
"I don't mean no offence, father," said he,--"but it's my notion, if
you'll never let a poor traveller go into the woods without some
dependable body to take care of him--"
"You're right, Tom; and I an't mad at you for saying so; and I won't."
"And don't let the boys abuse Nathan,--for, I reckon he'll fight, if you
let him take it in his own way. And,--and, father, don't mind Captain
Ralph's stealing a hoss or two out of our pound!"
"He may steal the lot of 'em, the villain!" said Bruce, shaking his head
to dislodge the tears that were starting in his eyes; "and he shall be
none the wuss of it."
"Well, father,--" the young man spoke with greater animation, and with
apparently reviving strength,--"and you think we have pretty considerably
licked the Injuns h'yar, jist now?"
"We have, Tom,--thar's no doubting it. And we'll lick 'em over and over
again, till they've had enough of it."
"Hurrah for Kentucky!" cried the young man, exerting his remaining
strength to give energy to the cry, so often uplifted, in succeeding
years, among the wild woodlands around. It was the last effort of his
sinking powers. He fell back, pressed his father's and his brother's
hands, and almost immediately expired,--a victim not so much of his
wounds, which were not in themselves necessarily fatal, nor perhaps even
dangerous, had they been attended to, as of the heroic efforts, so
overpowering and destructive in his disabled condition, which he had made
to repair his father's fault; for such he evidently esteemed the
dismissing the travellers from the Station without sufficient guides and
protection.