Part 13
In the morning our arms were untied and we were given a mess of half-cooked Indian meal. Then the rawhides were rebound, and we set forth upon a trail that led from the river southeastward into the forest. A Cahnuaga walked behind each of us, tomahawk in hand. De Veulle himself brought up the rear, his musket always ready.
I prefer not to think of that day. The heat of early Summer was in the air, and although it was cooler in the forest than in the open, a host of insects attacked us; and with our hands bound, we could not fight them off. Ta-wan-ne-ars had the thick hide of his race, and they bothered him less than they did me; but we were both in agony by the time we made camp and the smoke-smudge kindled by our guards in self-protection gave us temporary relief.
The next day was much the same. If we hesitated in our pace or staggered, the savage nearest to us used the flat of his tomahawk or his musket-butt. Ta-wan-ne-ars walked before me in the column, and the sight of his indifference, his disdainful air toward all the slights put upon him, maintained my courage when otherwise it must have yielded.
On the third day, shortly after noon, I was astonished to hear faintly, but very distinctly, a bell ringing in the forest. And I remembered the words of the Cahnuaga who had been last of his brethren to die in that fight in the glade on the Great Trail--
"A building with a tower and a bell that rings."
"La Vierge du Bois welcomes you," hailed de Veulle from behind us. "The bell rings you in. Ah, there will be bright eyes and flushed cheeks at sight of you!"
He laughed in a pleasant, melodious way.
"White cheeks to flush for you, Ormerod, and red cheeks to grow duskier for our friend the chief here! What a fluttering of hearts there will be!"
Could I have wrenched my hands free I would have snatched a tomahawk from the Cahnuaga before me. But I did what Ta-wan-ne-ars did--held my head straight and walked as if I had not heard. Something told me the Seneca suffered as much as I.
We did not hear the bell again; but in mid-afternoon the forest ended upon the banks of a little river, and in the distance a wooden tower showed through the trees. As we drew nearer other buildings appeared, arranged in irregular fashion about a clearing. One of pretentious size stood by itself inside a palisade.
Cahnuagas, including women and children, swarmed along the trail with guttural cries. A big, red-headed man stepped from a building which was evidently a storehouse. 'Twas Bolling, and with a yell of delight he snatched a block of wood from the ground and hurled it at my head.
"Curse me, 'tis the renegade and his red shadow!" he shouted. "We are in great luck! Do but wait until Tom knows you are here, my friend. The stake awaits you!"
He walked beside us, rubbing his hands together in high glee, and discoursing with seemingly expert knowledge on the precise character of the various kinds of torment we should undergo. From time to time he would break off to call upon the Cahnuagas for confirmation or new ideas, and they never failed to support him. Once in a while he kicked us or beat us with the nearest stick he could reach.
His attentions drew a considerable crowd; and so when we entered the single rude street of the settlement 'twas to find the whole population awaiting us. The gate in the stockade around the big house was open, and with a thrill I realized that a swirl of color there meant Marjory. Murray's stately figure I identified at a distance.
I think she did not know me at first. There was no reason why she should. My leather garments were rent and torn, my hair was tangled and matted with briers and thorns from the underbrush, my face was scratched and bleeding. I was thin and gaunt, and I might not walk upright, although I tried, for the rawhide thongs bowed my shoulders.
But Murray knew me instantly, and a flare of exultation lighted his face. Behind him, too, stood the animal-shape of Tom, long arms almost trailing on the ground; and the negro's yellow eyes seemed to expand with tigerish satisfaction.
De Veulle halted us directly in front of the gate.
"An old acquaintance has consented to visit us," he said.
And with a shock of grief I saw comprehension dawn in Marjory's face. But she did not flush crimson, as de Veulle had prophesied. She blenched white. I knew by that she had been long enough at La Vierge du Bois to appreciate the temper of its inhabitants.
"I seem to recollect the tall Indian beside our friend, likewise," observed Murray.
"'Tis his companion of the interview at Cawston's in New York," rejoined de Veulle. "What, Mistress Marjory, you have not forgotten the rash youth who was always threatening or badgering us?"
Her lips moved mechanically, but 'twas a minute before she could force her voice to obey.
"I remember," she said.
Murray took snuff precisely and addressed himself to me.
"Master Juggins, Master Juggins--oh, I beg your pardon! I keep confusing your names. Master Ormerod, then--did I not warn you to leave the Doom Trail alone?"
I laughed.
"I have not been near the Doom Trail," I answered.
"No," answered de Veulle. "I found him cozening that old fool Joncaire at Jagara."
"So!"
Murray pursed his lips.
"'Tis a serious offense."
"For which, it seems, Joncaire is not to be permitted to take revenge," I added.
"You are a dangerous youth, Master Ormerod," admonished Murray gravely. "You had opportunity to win free of your past misdemeanors, you will allow, yet you would hear none of my advice. No, you must mix in affairs which did not concern you. And as I warned you, it hath been to your sore prejudice. Much as I----"
Marjory flung out her arms in a gesture of appeal.
"Why do you talk so much, sir?" she cried. "What have you in mind? This man is an Englishman! Is he to be given up to the savages?"
Murray surveyed her gravely.
"Tut, tut, my dear! Is this the way to conduct in public? 'Given up to the savages,' forsooth! The young man is a traitor, a renegade--and a sorry fool into the bargain. He is in an uncomfortable situation, thanks to his own mistakes and heedlessness. He hath meddled in matters beyond his comprehension or ability. We must reckon up the harm he hath done, and assess his punishment in proportion."
"Just what do you mean by that, sir?" she demanded coldly.
He brushed a speck of snuff from his sleeve.
"Frankly, my dear lass, I can not tell you as yet."
"I think you mock me," she asserted. "And I tell you, sir, I will be party to no such crime against humanity. You talk of traitors. I am wondering if there is more than one meaning to the word."
She turned with a flutter of garments and sped into the house. De Veulle eyed Murray rather quizzically, but the arch-conspirator gave no evidence of uneasiness.
"You shall tell me about it," he said, as if nothing had happened. "Meantime I suppose they may be lodged with the Keepers."
"Yes," agreed de Veulle; "but I desire to give some particular instructions for their entertainment."
"Do so; do so, by all means," answered Murray equably. "But wait; here comes Père Hyacinthe."
The Indians surrounding us huddled back, cringing against the stockade, their eyes glued upon a tall, thin figure in a threadbare black cassock of the Jesuit order. He walked with a peculiar halting gait. His face was emaciated, the akin stretched taut over prominent bones. His eyes blazed out of twin caverns.
Parts of his ears were gone, and as he drew nearer I saw that his face was criss-crossed by innumerable tiny scars. When he raised his hand in blessing the Indians I realized that two fingers were missing, and those which were left were twisted and gnarled as by fire.
"Whom have we here?" he called in a loud, harsh voice.
"Two prisoners, reverend sir," replied Murray. "English spies caught at Jagara by the vigilance of Monsieur de Veulle."
"Are they heretics?" demanded the priest.
"I fear I have never conversed with Master Ormerod concerning his religious beliefs," said Murray whimsically. "I should add, by the way, father, that the young man is the spy of whom I told you, who crossed upon our ship with us."
The priest peered closely at me.
"Well, sir," he asked brusquely, "are you a son of the true faith?"
"Not the one you refer to, sir," I said.
"And this savage here?"
"He believes, quite devoutly, I should say, in the gods of his race."
The Jesuit locked and unlocked his fingers nervously.
"I fear, _monsieur_, that you will suffer torment at the hands of my poor children here," he said. "Will you not repent before it is too late?"
"But will you stand by and see your children torture an Englishman in time of peace?" I asked.
His eyes fairly sparked from the shelter of their cavernous retreats.
"Peace?" he rasped. "There is no peace--there can be no peace--between England, the harlot nation, and holy France. France follows her destiny, and her destiny is to rule America on behalf of the Church."
"Yet peace there is," I insisted.
"I refuse to admit it. We know no peace here. We are at war, endless war, physically, spiritually, mentally, with England. If you come amongst us, you do so at your bodily peril. But"--and the challenge left his voice and was replaced by a note of pleading, soft and compelling--"it may be, _monsieur_, that in your bodily peril you have achieved the salvation of your soul. Repent, I urge you, and though your body perish your soul shall live."
Murray and de Veulle stirred restlessly during this harangue, but the savages were so silent you could hear the birds in the trees. I was interested in this man, in his fanatic sincerity, his queer conception of life.
"But if I repented, as you say," I suggested, "would not you save my body?"
His eyes burned with contempt.
"Would you drive a bargain with God?" he cried. "For shame! Some may tolerate that, but I never will! What matters your miserable body! It has transgressed the rights of France. Let it die! But your soul is immortal; save that, I conjure you!"
"Aye; but do you think it Christian to permit a fellow-man, whether he be of your faith or not, to be tortured by savages?"
The contempt died in his eyes, and was replaced by a dreamy ecstasy.
"Death? What is death?" he replied. "And what matters the manner of death? Look at me, _monsieur_."
He fixed my gaze on each of his infirmities.
"I am but the wreck of a man. These poor, ignorant children of the wilderness have worked their will with me, and because it was best for me God permitted it. Torture never hurt any man. It is excellent for the spirit. It will benefit you. If you must die----"
His voice trailed into nothingness.
De Veulle interposed.
"Reverend father," he said, "I have a letter for you from Jacques Fourier. The rivermen would like you to give them a mass Sunday. 'Tis a long----"
"Give me the letter," he cried eagerly. "Ah, that is good reading! Sometimes I despair for my sons--aye, more than for the miserable children of the wilderness. But now I know that a seed grows in the hearts of some that I have doubted. I shall go gladly."
He turned to depart, retraced his steps and fixed me with his gaze that seemed almost to scorch the skin.
"Remember what I have said, _monsieur_. Repent, and in the joy which will come to your soul you will rejoice in your agony. You will triumph in it. Your heart will be uplifted by it. Do I not know! I have suffered myself, a whole day at the stake once, and again for half a day."
De Veulle winked at Murray as the priest limped away.
"I must send Jacques a barrel of brandy for this," he remarked; "but our Cahnuagas would be in the sulks if they could not celebrate the Moon Feast, and they stand in such fear of the worthy Hyacinthe that they would never risk his wrath."
"The Moon Feast!" exclaimed Murray. "True, I had forgotten. Well, 'twill be an excellent introduction to the customs of the savages for our friend the intruder."
"'Twill make a great impression upon him," laughed de Veulle. "In fact, upon both of them. I have a surprize for our Iroquois captive as well. The Mistress of the False Faces awaits them."
"Then haste the dancing. Will you dine with us?"
De Veulle hesitated, looked longingly toward the end of the clearing and more longingly toward the house within the stockade which housed Marjory.
"Aye," he said at last.
He murmured some orders to our guards, kicked me out of his path and sauntered through the gateway beside Murray.
XVIII
THE MISTRESS OF THE FALSE FACES
With Bolling in active supervision and Tom hanging greedily on the flanks of the crowd, we were hustled through the clearing, past the chapel and an intervening belt of woodland, into a second and much larger open space, crammed with bark lodges and huts.
"A big village," I gasped to Ta-wan-ne-ars as I dodged a blow at my head.
"'Tis the haunt of the Keepers," he replied. "See, there are Adirondacks and Shawendadies, as well as Cahnuagas. And those yonder are Hurons from north of the Lakes."
Bolling slashed him across the face with a strip of raw-hide.
"Keep your breath for the torture-stake, you Iroquois cur!"
Ta-wan-ne-ars laughed at him.
"Red Jack can only fight with a whip," he said. "But when Ta-wan-ne-ars holds a tomahawk he runs."
Bolling struck at him again, but the restless horde of our tormenters pried the ruffian away as some new group pushed to the front to have a look at the prisoners and deal a blow or two. The throng became so dense that individual castigation was impossible, and we were tossed along like chips in a whirlpool.
In the end we were hurled, head over heels, into a natural amphitheater on the far side of the village, where a background of dark pines walled in a wide surface of hard-beaten, grassless ground. Two stakes stood ready, side by side, in the center, and our captors tore off our tattered clothes and lashed us to these with whoops of joy.
So we stood, naked and bound, ankle, knee, thigh, chest and armpit, whilst the sun, setting behind the village, flooded the inferno with mellow light and an army of fiends, men, women and children, pranced around us. For myself, I was dazed and fearful, but Ta-wan-ne-ars again showed me the better road.
"The Keepers scream like women," he shouted, in order to make himself heard. "Have you never taken captives before?"
They shrieked a medley of abuse at him, but once more he compelled their attention by force of will.
"Are you afraid to let Ta-wan-ne-ars and his brother run the gantlet?" he demanded.
A squat Cahnuaga chief grinned and shook his head.
"We do not want you to tire yourself," he answered. "You would not be able to last so long under torture."
"You are afraid of us," jeered Ta-wan-ne-ars. "You know that if we were free we could escape from your whole tribe. You are women. We scorn you. Do you know what has become of the seven warriors Murray sent to pursue us on the Great Trail?"
Silence prevailed.
"Yes, there were seven of them," gibed Ta-wan-ne-ars. "And there were three of us. And where are they? I will tell you, Cahnuaga dogs, Adirondack dogs, Shawendadie dogs, Huron dogs. Crawl closer on your bellies while I tell you.
"Their scalps hang in the lodge of Ta-wan-ne-ars--seven scalps of the Keepers who could not fight against real men. The scalps of seven who called themselves warriors and who were so rash that they tried to fight three."
A howl of anger answered him.
"Begin the torment," yelled Bolling.
Tom drew a wicked knife and ran toward us, his yellow eyes aflame. But the squat Cahnuaga chief pushed him back.
"They are to be held for the Moon Feast," he proclaimed. "See, the Mistress comes. Stand back, brothers."
The sound of a monotonous wailing filled the air, joining itself with the evening breeze that sighed in the branches of the pines behind us. The crowd of savages drew away from us in sudden awe.
"Ga-go-sa Ho-nun-as-tase-ta," they muttered to each other.
"What do they say!" I asked Ta-wan-ne-ars.
His eyes did not leave a long dark building on the edge of the amphitheater.
"The Mistress of the False Faces is coming," he replied curtly.
"And who is she?"
"The priestess of their devilish brotherhood."
Out from the long bark building wound a curious serpentine procession of men in fantastic head-masks, who danced along with a halting step. As they danced they sang in the weird monotone we had first heard. And behind them all walked slowly one without a mask, a young girl of upright, supple figure, her long black hair cascading about her bare shoulders. Her arms were folded across her breast. She wore only the short ga-ka-ah, or kilt, with moccasins on her feet.
The breath whistled in Ta-wan-ne-ars' nostrils as his chest heaved against its bonds, and I turned my head in amazement. The expression on his face was compounded of such demoniac ferocity as I had seen there once before--that, and incredulous affection.
"What is it?" I cried.
He did not heed me. He did not even hear me. His whole being was focussed upon the girl whose ruddy bronze skin gleamed through the masses of her hair, whose shapely limbs ignored the beat of the music which governed the motions of her attendants.
The procession threaded its way at leisurely pace through the throngs of Indians, the girl walking as unconcernedly as if she were alone, her head held high, her eyes staring unseeingly before her.
"Ga-go-sa Ho-nun-as-tase-ta," murmured the savages, bowing low.
The False Faces drew clear of the crowd, and danced solemnly around us. They paid us no attention, but when they had strung a complete circle around the stakes they faced inward and stopped, each one where he stood. For the first time the priestess, or Mistress as they called her, showed appreciation of her surroundings. She walked into the ring of masks and took up her position in front of us and between our stakes. She had not looked at us.
"Bow down, O my people," she chanted in a soft voice that was hauntingly sweet. "The False Faces are come amongst you, for it is again the period of our rule, and I, their Mistress, am to give you the word.
"Behold, the old moon is dying, and a new moon will be born again to us. The Powers of Evil, the Powers of Good and the Powers of Life are come together for the creation.
"Thrice fortunate are you that you recognize the rule of So-a-ka-ga-gwa,[1] for it brings you well-being, now and hereafter in the Land of Souls. Moreover, it brings you captives, and your feast will be graced by their sufferings."
[1] The Moon--"the Light of the Night."
She turned to face us, arms flung wide in a graceful gesture. I thought that Ta-wan-ne-ars would burst the thongs that bound him. His powerful chest expanded until they stretched.
"Ga-ha-no!" he sobbed.
She faltered, and her hands locked together involuntarily between her breasts. A light of apprehension dawned in her eyes, and for a moment I thought there was a trace of something more.
"Ga-ha-no!" pleaded Ta-wan-ne-ars.
But she regained the mastery of herself, and a mocking smile was his answer.
"They are no ordinary captives who will consecrate our feast," she continued her recitative.
"For one is a chief of the Iroquois and a warrior whose valor will resist the torment with pride. And the other is a white chief whose tender flesh will yield great delight and whose screams will give pleasure in our ears.
"Great is the triumph of the French chief de Veulle, who is himself of our order. Great is the triumph of the brave Keepers who aided him. Great will be the future triumphs which So-a-ka-ga-gwa will give us in return for these sacrifices.
"O my people, this is the Night of Preparation. When An-da-ka-ga-gwa,[2] the husband of So-a-ka-ga-gwa, retires to rest to mourn his dead wife and make ready for the new one he will take tomorrow, you must retire to your lodges, and put out your fires, and let down your hair.
[2] The Sun--"the Light of the Day."
"For in the night the spirits of Ha-nis-ka-o-no-geh[3] will come to hold communion with their servants, the False Faces, and they will be hungry for your souls.
[3] Hell--"the Dwelling-Place of Evil."
"And this is my warning to you, O my people. Heed the warning of the Ga-go-sa Ho-nun-as-tase-ta.
"And on the next night we will celebrate the Moon Feast, and I will dance for you the Moon Dance, and you shall dance the Torture Dance. And we will tear the hearts out of our enemies' breasts and grow strong from their sufferings."
She tossed her arms above her head, and the ring of False Faces burst into their high-pitched, nasal chant, and resumed the hesitant dancing step, their horrible masks wobbling from side to side, their painted bodies, naked save for the breech-clout, posturing in rhythm.
Their Mistress summoned the squat Cahnuaga chief, who seemed to be especially charged with our safe-keeping.
"You will unbind the captives from the stakes and place them in the Council-House," she said coldly. "If they are left out in the night, my brothers and sisters, the aids of Ha-ne-go-ate-geh will devour them. Feed them well, so that they will be strong to resist their torment, and tie them securely, and place a guard of crafty warriors over them. If they escape, you shall be the sacrifice at the Moon Feast."
The chief groveled before her.
"The commands of the Ga-go-sa Ho-nun-as-tase-ta shall be obeyed," he promised. "And I pray you will hold off the Spirits of Evil tonight, for sometimes they have been overbold and have snatched our people from their lodges."
"You are safe this time if you heed my words," she answered, "for you have secured a sacrifice which will be very pleasing to So-a-ka-ga-gwa and her friends."[4]
[4] For this and other conversations I am indebted to Ta-wan-ne-ars, who translated them for me afterward.--H.O.
Then she came up quite close to us. She looked at me with frank curiosity, and particularly at my hair, which was brown. But most of her attention was bestowed upon Ta-wan-ne-ars.
"So you remember me?" she said in a hard voice and speaking in the Seneca dialect.
"I remember you, Ga-ha-no," he answered. "But I see you do not remember me."
"Oh, well enough," she returned. "But I am no longer an ordinary woman. I am the Mistress of the False Faces----"
"And of a French snake," he added bitterly.
Her eyes flashed.
"I am not a squaw, which is what I should have been had you and my stupid father had your way with me!"
Ta-wan-ne-ars shook his head sadly.
"Ta-wan-ne-ars has only one regret that he is to die," he said. "That is because he can not live to find your lost soul and return it to you."
"My lost soul?" she repeated.
"Yes."
She laughed harshly.
"Ta-wan-ne-ars is a child," she said. "His heart is turned to water. He talks of things which are not. My soul is here." She tapped her left breast.
"It does not matter, however, for the Ga-go-sa Ho-nun-as-tase-ta does not need a soul as other mortals do."
She turned on her heel abruptly, and followed the priests into the long bark house from which they had emerged.
The great mob of Indians melted away as soon as she left us. They all but fled in order to reach their lodges before sundown, and so hurried were our guards that in removing us from the stakes to the Council-House in the center of the village they forbore to beat or maltreat us.
In the Council-House they supplied us with a liberal meal of meat and vegetables. Then our bonds were replaced and we were covered with robes, whilst our guards cowered close to the fire in abject fear. They started at the slightest movement. Had we been able to stir hand or foot I think we might have won our freedom. But they had used care in binding us, and we lay inert as corpses.
"What do they fear?" I whispered to Ta-wan-ne-ars at length, desirous of hearing a friendly voice.