THE DUNGEON.
However brave a man may be it is not without a feeling of instinctive terror that he finds himself suddenly cut off from society and shut up far from the company of other men, deprived of light and almost of the vital air necessary for the due play of the lungs. Darkness brings with it sad and despairing thoughts; and however powerfully a man's character may be tempered the first moments he passes in a dungeon, whatever may be the cause that has led him there, are crushing; but, fortunately, hope is the last feeling that breaks down in a man's heart. His thoughts, constantly directed to the future, promptly recall to his heart the courage which had deserted it, and in a few hours, growing accustomed to his dungeon, he shakes off the prostration which had seized upon him, regards the position calmly, and only dreams of the means by which to regain the liberty he has lost, for that is the sole object of his thoughts, desires, and efforts.
The adventurer experienced all the feelings we have attempted to describe; but as he was an energetic man, accustomed for many years to a life of struggle, mixed up with strange episodes, he did not allow himself to be overcome by the horror of his situation, but, on the contrary, regarded it with considerable calmness and philosophy. When he had succeeded in restoring some order in his ideas, which had been upset by such rapidly succeeding events, he prepared to inspect his dungeon, which did not appear so dark as when he entered. In fact, on leaving the daylight his eyes had been at first blinded by the darkness, but they gradually grew accustomed to the obscurity, and now, though he could not see clearly, he was able to distinguish objects sufficiently to walk about without groping his way.
"Well," he said, talking to himself, after the fashion of men accustomed to live alone, "thanks to my good idea of not letting myself be touched, I have not been stripped of anything I possessed, and, spite of throwing the pistols on the ground, I could in case of need defend myself bravely with the weapons which I still possess. Let me reflect a little on what I had better do; and in the first place, according to the Indian fashion, I will smoke a pipe, for there is nothing like tobacco to clear the brain."
The Canadian's position was far from being desperate, and he saw this now that he was cool. In the matter of arms he still possessed a brace of pistols, and a knife with a long, sharp blade, a powder flask, a bullet bag, tobacco, and everything requisite for striking a light, if he wanted it. These different articles, hidden beneath the wide folds of his zarapé, which fell from his shoulders to his knees, had escaped the notice of his guards, who, moreover, acting in conformity with the orders the general had himself given, had not attempted to approach the prisoner.
As he had resolved, the Canadian seated himself as comfortably as he could, with his back against the wall, lit his pipe, and fell into a deep reverie. He smoked thus for a few minutes with all the beatitude of an Indian sachem, when he gave a start of surprise, almost of terror, on hearing a sarcastic voice say, two paces from him—
"Ah, ah! The paleface escaped the redskins, but his own brothers have seized him."
"Is there another prisoner in this dungeon?" the hunter asked.
"Yes," the stranger said, laconically.
"Who may you be, comrade; and why do you seem to rejoice so greatly at my misfortune?"
"Running Water is a chief," the voice answered. "His heart is glad when he sees a paleface suffer."
"Much good may it do you, chief; but I don't exactly see what profit you can derive from my sufferings."
"Running Water is an enemy of the Yoris."
"In the first place, redskin, let us settle facts; I am not a Yori, but a Canadian hunter, which I take some pride in informing you is by no means the same thing."
"Does my brother speak truly? Is he really a great heart of the east?"
"I fancy that you can recognize that fact from my way of speaking Spanish. But where the deuce are you stowed away, chief, for I cannot see you?"
"I am close to my brother, seated on his right hand."
The hunter looked carefully in the direction which the strange speaker indicated, and at length distinguished a human form crouched in a corner of the wall.
"On my word," he continued, "I am not sorry to have someone to talk to, for time passes more quickly. Tell me, chief, what have you done to be here?"
"Are not the Indians hunted like wild beasts by the Yoris?" he answered, bitterly. "Is a pretext wanted to kill a redskin?"
"That is true, chief. You are right. It is unhappily but too true. And have you been a prisoner long?"
"Running Water fell into the trap he set for others. The sun was level with the lowest branches at the moment when his enemies threw him into this hole like an unclean beast."
"That is a sad thing for you, chief; the more so, as in all probability you will only leave it to march to your death."
"It will be welcome," the Indian said in a hollow voice, "since Running Water's vengeance has escaped him."
There was a silence, during which the two men reflected.—
"If you succeeded in getting out of this hole, as you term it so correctly," the Canadian presently continued, "and your liberty were restored you, would you be grateful to the man who did you so great a service?"
"My life would belong to him," the Indian exclaimed eagerly; but quickly recovering himself, he added, "Why should I believe such words? All the palefaces have crooked tongues; moreover, is not my brother a prisoner also?"
"That is true; but I may possibly find means to aid your escape. I have my plan; although my detention ought to be short, I have but very slight confidence in the word of a man who, contrary to the law of nations, put me here; and, perhaps, instead of waiting for a problematical tomorrow, I shall attempt to escape with you tonight. I am not at all anxious to dance at the end of a rope."
The greater part of this explanation was thrown away on the redskin, who did not understand it in spite of the great attention he paid to the hunter.
"Hence," the latter continued, "if you will let me act in my own way, we shall probably go away together, the more so because I have no reason to owe you a grudge, as you never did me any harm."
"Running Water is a chief," the redskin replied emphatically; "he will not lie to save his life."
"Good. I know the principles of you Indians, and that when you believe yourself at death's door you seem to forget your system of dissimulation, so explain yourself. I shall put faith in your words whatever you may say."
"Let my brother listen. He was attacked two nights ago by the redskins."
"True, chief. It would be droll had you been among the Indians who attacked us."
"Running Water was there, but was ignorant of my brother's presence. He only attacked the Yoris."
"What you say seems to me tolerably probable. Still, White Crow came to my camp and I had a rather long interview with him."
"My brother's words are true, but at that time the attack was resolved on."
"In that case, I have nothing more to say. It was all right, for war has its laws. Still, listen to me, chief, your words have caused me to reflect."
"Ah!" the Indian said bitterly, "Has the paleface changed his opinion now?"
"Not positively, chief. Still, I confess frankly to you that, after the avowal you have made, I feel a certain repulsion to joining my fortunes to yours."
"What do the palefaces care for an Indian's life? He is not a man."
"You wrong me, chief; but I know that misfortune makes men unjust, and I forgive you."
"My brother is generous," the chief remarked ironically.
"More so than you imagine; if you will be pleased to listen without interruption you shall have a proof of it."
"My brother can speak, my ears are open."
"I repeat that for certain present reasons I prefer remaining here, and running the risk of what may happen to trying to escape with you; but, for all that, I will not desert you, and, on the contrary, give you the means to attempt a flight."
"Good, what are the means?"
The Canadian drew his knife from the sheath.
"It is probable," he continued, "that a gaoler will soon come to bring us food, for I do not suppose that they intend us to die of hunger. Take this knife; notice, by the by, that it is a most valuable weapon for a prisoner, and that I give up mine for your sake. When the man to whom I refer appears, you will see what you have to do. Still, avoid killing him if you can, for we must never kill even an enemy unnecessarily."
The Indian seized the knife which the Canadian handed him, brandished it round his head with a laugh of savage joy, and then passed it through his belt.
"Thanks, paleface," he said with an accent of profound gratitude. "You have done more for me than I ever could have expected from a man of your colour. To you I shall owe my escape from death, liberty, and the accomplishment of the vengeance I have so long been pursuing. My life belongs to you, henceforth you are the master of it. Remember that you have a brother among the Comanches; the redskins never forget an insult, and always retain the memory of a kindness. Now, I am certain that you are not a Yori. May the Wacondah protect and be ever favourable to you. You have caused my heart a sensation of happiness such as it has not felt for many years."
After uttering these words with all the emphasis natural to his race, the Indian chief crouched down facing the door, and awaited with feverish impatience the arrival of the gaoler. The Canadian laughed inwardly at the trick he was about to play the general. In his opinion, what he had done was quite fair; he had no consideration to maintain for individuals who had disregarded the law of nations in their treatment of him, and after threatening to hang him, cast him like a dog into a filthy dungeon. Besides, he had for the Indians generally that instinctive pity which strong men feel for those whom they believe intellectually inferior to them. And then, was not the Indian a prisoner like himself? He, therefore, regarded him as an ally, and in favouring his flight, he secured himself a valuable friend for the future in the event of his falling into the hands of the redskins.
The two men remained silent, for they had nothing more to say to each other. Several hours elapsed in this way. The redskin, calm, cold, and motionless, was watching for the arrival of the gaoler, as the jaguar of his forests does the prey that nourishes it, and the hunter, careless of what was going on around him, had wrapped himself in his zarapé, and was leaning half asleep against the wall. Probably, in the confusion of the festival, the man ordered to supply the prisoners with food let the hour pass, for the sun had long set, although the denizens of the dungeon could not perceive the fact, and nothing led to the supposition that they would be fed.
"The deuce," the Canadian at length said, shaking himself ill-temperedly, "do these gabachos of Spaniards intend to keep us without supper? I am dying of hunger, caray! And you, chief, do you not feel the want of some food, were it only a lump of hard bread?"
"The redskins are not greedy squaws. They can endure hunger without complaining."
"All that is very fine, but I am not an Indian, and when I have nothing to eat, deuce take me if I do not become ferocious."
"Silence," the Indian said as he listened attentively, "my brother will soon eat. I hear footsteps approaching."
The adventurer held his tongue. For a moment he forgot his hunger to witness the scene that was about to take place. A considerable period of time elapsed ere the noise which had struck the practised ear of the savage was perceptible to the hunter. At length he heard the sound of footsteps, which grew louder and louder. A key turned in the lock, the bolts were drawn, the door swung back on its rusty hinges, and a man entered, holding a lantern in one hand and a basket in the other.
At the moment when this individual appeared in the doorway, the Indian leapt on him with a tiger's bound, threw him down and seized him by the throat; before the poor fellow so unexpectedly attacked had time to utter a cry or make the slightest effort in his defence, he was bound and gagged. The Comanche, leaping over his body, ran down the passage and disappeared with extraordinary rapidity. All this took place so hurriedly, that the hunter guessed rather than saw what had occurred. The gaoler still lay motionless, with half his body inside, the other half outside, the dungeon. When the Indian had disappeared, the hunter rose and went up to the gaoler.
"What the deuce are you doing there?" he said, as he bent over him and freed him with studied slowness from the bonds and the gag which the chief had driven in so conscientiously that he almost choked his man. When the gaoler was liberated, and put on his legs again by his prisoner, he looked around him in alarm, breathed forcibly two or three times, and then, uttering an exclamation of rage, he dashed down the passage with shouts and oaths, forgetting in his hurry to lock the cell door.
"Seek him," the hunter muttered with a cunning look, "you will be very clever if you catch him. I know not what will come of all this; but the general will be furious, and that is the main point."
And, without dreaming of imitating the chief's example, he picked up the lantern, which by a singular chance had not been extinguished, took the basket, returned to the cell, sat down on the ground with the light in front of him, and began eating with philosophic ease, growling from time to time at the parsimony of the Spaniards, who had hardly given him enough to appease his outrageous hunger. The Canadian was in the thick of this agreeable operation, when he suddenly heard in the passage a tremendous tumult of shouts and hurried footsteps, mingled with the clang of arms. A few minutes after, twenty officers and soldiers dashed like a whirlwind into the dungeon, among them being the gaoler, who alone gesticulated and shouted more than all the rest. On seeing the hunter quietly engaged in eating, they stopped in amazement, so convinced were they that he would have escaped too. When the agitation and tumult were slightly appeased, and it became possible to hear anything, one of the officers at length addressed the hunter.
"What," he asked him, "have you not gone?"
"I?" he replied, looking up stupidly, "Why should I do so, as I shall be free tomorrow?"
"You helped your companion's flight," the gaoler said, shaking his fist at him.
"You are an idiot, my friend; the man could not be my companion, as he is an Indian," he said, with the greatest calmness.
This remark so agreed with the ideas of his hearers, who, in their Castilian pride, did not admit that an Indian was a man like another, that the conversation broke off abruptly here; the more so, because nobody could suppose that a man who had favoured the flight of another, would not have escaped himself. Hence, instead of reproaching the hunter, the Spaniards apologized to him, and went away, astonished at the philosophy of this man, who, when an opportunity for freedom presented itself, preferred remaining a prisoner. When the door closed on him again, the Canadian burst into an Homeric laugh, and made his arrangements to pass the night in the least discomfort possible.