Meacham fully understands the import and intention of this side-play, but, with assumed indifference, remarks, “Hooker Jim, you had better take my hat also,” at the same time lifting it from his head. Watch the play on that scoundrel’s face as lie replies, “No. Sno-ker gam-bla sit-ka caitch-con-a bos-ti-na chock-i-la”—(“I will, by-and-by. Don’t hurry, old man.”)
This speech completes the declaration of what they intended to do. There can be no longer any doubt as to the purpose of these bloodthirsty desperadoes. O God! is there no help now? Can nothing be
done to save our friends? They read their fate in Hooker’s action. They realize how fearfully near the impending doom must be. Every face is blanched; but no words of fear are uttered. Dyer, with a face of marble, walks slowly to his horse, now on the right of the group, and, going to the farthest side of him, pretends to be arranging the trappings of his saddle with his face towards the council fire. Riddle, pale and aghast, makes excuse to change the fastenings of the saddle on his wife’s horse, which stands behind Dr. Thomas. Tobey, who has been sitting in front of the doctor, with a half child-like yawn throws herself carelessly at full length on the ground, resting on her elbows. Every act tells, too plainly to be mistaken, how each one feels and what they are expecting.
Both Dyer and Riddle intend to be covered by their horses when they start on a run for life. Tobey evidently does not intend to be in the way of the bullets that are now lying quietly on their beds of powder in the little iron chambers of the pistols under the coats of the red devils. She sees clearly that the storm, which is evidently coming up with a great black hurrying cloud from the west, will precipitate the effusion of blood that is now leaping and halting in the veins of the doomed men who sit almost motionless, waiting, watching, listening for the signal of death to be given, wondering how it will come. Will it be from ambushed men, a volley, a sting, and a war-whoop; and then, while the soul is making its exit, will the eye, growing dim, behold the infuriated monsters, with gleaming knives uplifted, spring on the helpless body? Will the ear, as life ebbs away, be lulled by streams of blood trickling on the rocks?
Are angels hovering near to convey their souls away? Is God omnipresent? Is He omniscient? Is He omnipotent? Does he hear prayer? Will not God interpose now when human aid is beyond reach?
Oh, how the mind recalls the past, outstripping the lightning flash, while it passes in review the scenes from the cradle to this hour!—all the bright and happy days; the dark clouds and direful storms that have swept over the soul, and realizing the still more awful agony of the farewell greetings of sad-faced Hope leaving the heart; for until this last act of Hooker Jim’s she had lingered lovingly on the threshold undecided. Words may not tell the anguish, the gloom, the terrible loneliness without her presence. Every heart breathes a prayer for her return. “Oh, come back to us now; be with us in this expiring hour of life’s last midnight!”
Thank Heaven, she comes again clad in garments, not as in days past, made up of ambitions and worldly dreams, but in shining robes of spotless purity and immortal light, and she whispers, “Be of good cheer, the journey is short, and it is but a change from one life to another;” and though the voyage be stormy and the night be dark it will end in a morning of eternal day in the beautiful sunlit summer-land where sorrows come no more.
Meacham turns towards Gen. Canby and invites him to talk. Every movement is scrutinized by the Modocs. Meacham has made an excuse to look Gen. Canby in the face. He sees plainly that the general understands the situation. Will he, oh! will he not promise to remove the soldiers on the demand that has been so often made? It would avert the
tragedy. It would save the lives that are banging on his words. Will he do it? Surely, now, when convinced, as he must be, that the threat will be executed, will he not feel justified in yielding? Now that the Modocs have absolved him from all obligations to them, will he grant their request; or will the high and extraordinary sense of honor that controlled his reply to Meacham in the morning, when the latter proposed to grant “any demand made, rather than give the assassins an excuse for murder,” control him now? Every eye is on him. The Modocs understand that he is chief.
He stands upright in form, and character as well. He looks the great man he is. His face alone shows the intensity of his feelings. His lip quivers slightly, as it always does under excitement. He speaks slowly:—