Chapter Thirty Seven.
Death at the Stake.
At night they encamped in the forest.
Lighting no fires, lest the light might betray them to their enemies, they produced from their packs some dried meat and meal cake.
Cris did full justice to the humble fare, although he made rather a wry face at the gourd of spring water with which he was invited by his captors to wash down the frugal repast.
Mastering his aversion, he, however, managed to swallow a few mouthfuls.
Supper over, two of his captors wrapped themselves up in their blankets, and immediately fell asleep. The other two remained awake, watching him.
Carrol saw that any attempt to escape under the eyes of two Indians would be idle.
One he might have coped with, even unarmed as he was. Two would be more than a match for him, and he knew that on the slightest alarm the sleeping men would awake, making it four to one.
With the philosophy of a stoic he threw himself upon the ground, and also fell asleep.
He awoke once in the night to find that his guard had been changed. There was no better prospect of freedom than before.
“Dura them! they’re bound to fix me, I kin see that plain enough. Besides, with these ’tarnal all-fired thongs cuttin’ into my elbows, what could I do?”
Apparently nothing, for with a muttered curse at his own stupidity, he again composed himself to slumber.
With the dawn of morning Cris Carrol and his captors continued their journey.
They made no other halt before reaching the town.
Carrol in vain tried to draw from them the reason of their unexpected presence at so great a distance from the residence of the tribe.
They gave him no satisfaction.
He discovered, however, that whatever errand they had been sent on, they had failed in accomplishing it, and his own capture began to be considered by him as a peace offering with which they intended to mollify Wacora’s wrath at their want of success in the mission with which they had been charged.
“Wal,” reflected he, “I suppose I’m in some poor devil’s place; perhaps I mout take more pleasure in doing him this good turn if I only knowed who he is. No doubt he’s got some folks as ’ud grieve over him, but there ain’t a many as will fret over Cris Carrol, not as I know on—yes, all right! go ahead. Let’s go whar glory waits us, ye catawampous scamps, you. Ah! four to one; if it had been two to one, or, at a pinch, three to one, I’d have tried it on, if it had cost me all I’ve got, and that’s my life—yah! it’s almost enough to make one turn storekeeper to think on’t.”
Unmoved by the taunts and jeers which Cris liberally bestowed upon them during the journey, the Indians continued to watch him narrowly.
It was about mid-day when they arrived at their destination.
On entering the Indian town Carrol was thrust into one of the houses, where he was left to await the order of Wacora as to his final disposition. Four guards were kept over him, two inside the house, the other two without.
He expected immediate death, but he was left undisturbed for the rest of the day, and at night received some supper, consisting of dried meat, bread, and water. He was then permitted to pass the hours till morning as seemed best to him.
The hunter soon arranged his plans. He wrapped the blanket that had been given him around his body, and in a few moments was in a sound slumber.
His sleep lasted until a hand upon his shoulder, along with a summons to awake, aroused him.
It was one of his guards of yesterday who addressed him.
“Come!”
“Is that you, old Dummy?” asked he, recognising the Indian. “I can’t say I’m glad to see yur, since yur’ve broke in on the pleasantest dream I’ve had for a long time. But never mind, how shed you know that you whar a doing it, you poor savage critter you, that don’t know nothin’ but to handle a tomahawk, and raise the hair off a human head? What do you want with me now?”
“The warriors are assembled!”
“Air they? Wal, that’s kind of them, only they needn’t have put themselves out o’ the way to get up so early on my account; I could ha’ waited.”
“Come.”
“Wal, I’m comin’; d’ye think I’m afraid, durn yur? D’ye think I’m afraid of you or all the warriors of your tribe, or of your chief, Wacora, either?”
“Wacora is not here.”
“Not here! Where is he?”
“I cannot answer the pale-face’s questions. I came to bring you before the council.”
“Wal, I’m ready to go afore the council.”
As they were about to emerge from the house, a sudden idea seemed to strike Carrol, and he stopped his conductors.
“Stay, friend, will you tell me one thing?”
“Speak!”
“Whar are we?”
“At Oluski’s town.”
Carrol’s face beamed with a sudden joy.
“And his son Nelatu—is this his home?”
“It is.”
“Hurray! Now, I dare say you wonder at my bein’ struck all of a heap wi’ delight. But I’ll tell you one thing, red-skin—no offence, not knowin’ your name—you and yur three partners have taken a most uncommon sight o’ trouble all for nothin’.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just this—go and tell Nelatu that Cris Carrol is the party as you sneaked up to and took prisoner, and arter that, streak it for your precious lives.”
“Nelatu?”
“Yes, Nelatu, he’s a friend o’ this ole coon, and one that’ll prove himself so, too, in givin’ you skunks as took me a deal more nor you bargained for.”
“Nelatu is not here.”
“Not here? Why, didn’t you tell me just now that this war his father’s town?”
“I did; but Nelatu is not here.”
“Not now, perhaps; but I s’pose he’ll be here?”
“He will not return for weeks.”
Carrol’s countenance fell.
“Then, dog-gone yur skin, lead on! I throw up the pack of cards now that the trump’s out of ’em. It’s my luck, and it’s the darndest luck I ever seed; there’s no standin’ agin it. I s’pose I must give in.”
Without another word he followed his guards.
They entered the council chamber, where the assembled warriors awaited them.
With his foot upon the threshold, his manner entirely changed from the light, jeering hilarity he had exhibited to that of a calm and dignified bearing.
He saw in an instant that he was foredoomed.
The stern expression of his judges told him as much.
The mock ceremonial of examination was proceeded with, and a vain attempt made to extract from him intelligence of the movements of the whites, especially of the numbers and disposition of the Government troops, some of whom had by this time arrived in the peninsula.
His disdainful refusal to betray his own race did him no service.
True, he was already sentenced to die, but the manner of his death might inflict horror on him who had no fear of dying.
Though the questions were skilfully put to him, the old hunter saw through them all.
He did not, indeed, possess much knowledge of the military invasion; but had he been in the secret of the commanding officer himself, he could not have been more reticent in his replies.
Utterly foiled in their questions, the warriors played their last card, and with threats of the most terrible tortures endeavoured to wring from his fears what his honour would not reveal.
Vain effort on their part.
Cris did, indeed, wince when they first spoke of torture; but, recovering himself, he became more proudly defiant than before.
“Ye may shake my old body with rackin’ pains. I know you’ve got devil’s inventions, and I don’t deny but they’re awful; but there’s somethin’ about me that ye can’t make tremble, not if all the imps o’ hell war yer slaves—that’s my soul. It’ll come out of yer fiery ordeal as calm as it is now; and with its last thoughts it’ll despise and dare ye! Cris Carrol arn’t bin backwoods hunter for a matter goin’ on forty year to be skeart at burnin’ sticks or hot lead; and he’ll die as he has lived, an honest man!”
A mingled murmur of admiration and anger ran through the assembled crowd, and it was evident that many of the warriors would have given their consent to his being set free.
There is something about TRUE courage which extorts admiration even from an enemy.
A hurried consultation took place among the head men in council.
It was speedily over, and the oldest of their number rose and pronounced sentence against the prisoner.
It was death by burning at the stake!
Cris Carrol was not surprised on hearing it.
The sentence had already lost half of its terror. He had made up his mind that this would be his doom.
Only one word of response came from his lips—
“When?”
“To-morrow!” replied he who had pronounced judgment.
Without bestowing a glance upon those who had thus fixed the limit of his earthly career, the hunter strode from the council chamber with calm and measured steps.
As he passed out the crowd made way for him, and many of the faces expressed admiration—some even pity.
The stoic bravery of the Indian is marvellous, and for him death has no terrors. With them it is a sort of fatalism.
What they do not dread themselves, they make but light of in others.
Por all that they have the highest admiration for a man who dares meet death calmly.
In their eyes the white captive had assumed all the importance of a great warrior.
Yet was he an enemy—one of the race with whom they were at war—therefore he must die.
Thus strangely do civilisation and barbarism meet on common ground.