To my surprise, Gibbons accepted the challenge, flung aside his hat, and stepped into the ring. Tutse gave the signal, and Ankawakeets sprang to the fray, only to measure his length backward on the sand. Three times in succession his stalwart body kissed the earth. Then, moving with more caution, the Indian dodged a blow, and succeeded in grappling with Gibbons, but again the white man's skill was superior to the savage's strength. Ankawakeets was flung to the ground and held until the imagined scalping was performed. Then Gibbons stepped back and folded his arms. His vanquished opponent arose, and with a majestic air, that a white man could not imitate, he stepped to the maiden, spoke a few low words that seemed to have a magical effect, and taking the unresisting hand, led her to the victor and presented her as a bridal trophy for the white man's valor and skill.
Gibbons, with a face glowing with satisfaction at the happy turn of the combat, accepted the maiden, and leading her to Panimeto, gave her to him—a mistake wherein the white man's sympathy for the weak overruled his judgment. The presentation was followed by a war-whoop from Ankawakeets, and his braves. Rushing to their camps they returned with guns in hand, and forming a circle around the girl, ordered her to march.
This fight gave me a deeper insight into the nobility and sterling character of our Indian missionary boys. What fearless men they were, ready for any emergency!
At this crisis it looked as if Ankawakeets would triumph by armed force; yet the whites felt that his cause was not just; but an unsuspected champion, a veritable lion, stood in the path. This time it was Thales Haskell, another Indian missionary, of whom it was said, "His cheeks never paled, and his voice never trembled." He sprang in front of Ankawakeets and said,
"I called you a chief, but I see you are a boy, and a coward at that. Put up your gun, and be a man."
Then Tutsegavit's voice was heard, commanding the father to lead the girl to the center of the field, and told the warriors that they might go on with the fight until the sun should hide its face behind the mountain. If neither party won by that time, the girl should be released from' the father's vows.
Each band of warriors withdrew by themselves for a few minutes' consultation; then, with firmness depicted on every countenance, they took their places, the champions grasping again the wrists of the trembling young squaw. A look of despair deepened the pallor of her face, as if the terror of death was resting upon her; and a death-like silence reigned as both sides waited the signal to begin the encounter.
At this critical moment, the girl's young brother, who had stood aloof with folded arms and clouded brow during all the struggle, bounded to his sister's side and, drawing his knife from its sheath, he buried it in her bosom. She fell lifeless into her father's arms. The brother, holding the bloody knife on high, said:
"I loved my sister too well to see her suffer more. You call me a boy; but if there is a brave who thinks I have done wrong, let him take the knife and plunge it to my heart; so will I join my sister and lead her to the red man's happy hunting ground. I am not afraid to die."
Every warrior bowed his head, and turning, walked in silence to his camp.