THE VOTE OF DEATH
I have already written that I was never easily affected by supernatural fears, yet something about that grim entrance chilled the very blood. There was no cessation of the monotonous, dismal chanting of the priests, as these newcomers,—whose sinister purpose no one could doubt,—moving with the silence of spectres, their bodies draped in shapeless robes of skin, appearing ghostlike beneath the uncertain flickering of flame, moved forward like a great writhing snake, passed along the southern wall beneath the face of the flying dragon overhead, until they found seats on the hard floor between altar and platform; two or three, evidently superior chiefs, by their richer trappings, ascended the raised logs and solemnly squatted thereon, so as to face us. How many composed this uncanny company I cannot say, having failed to count as they filed past, yet they completely filled the great room with scowling, upturned faces, and were probably all the available warriors of the tribe.
This was accomplished in stealthy silence, as wild animals creep upon their prey, nor did any among them take seats until the old war-chief—he who had led the assault in the gulch—made signal to that end. Responding to a second gesture, we were driven roughly forward by our guard, until permitted to sink down once more, directly in their front, within full focus of their cruel eyes.
It was a fearful spot to be in. That dark interior, dimly lighted by fitful bursts of flame, seemed more the abode of the damned than a place of human habitation, nor was there anything to remind us of mercy in that savage company gloating over our desperate plight. No one of us doubted what fate dwelt in the decision of that grewsome gathering, and in those faces we saw nothing except eagerness for revenge. It was their speechless silence, their stolid imperturbability, which rested heaviest upon me. It told plainly that we were helpless victims of their cruel pleasure. Deliberately, as if desirous of prolonging the agony of our uncertainty, for more than an hour—to us it seemed an age—they sat thus, unmoved as so many statues, except for their restless eyes, while the four ministering priests, robed in black from throat to sandals, slaughtered animals beneath the frowning shadow of the huge winged dragon, pouring warm blood over the stones of the altar, or smearing it upon their faces. Then, appearing fiendishly hideous, ghastlier than words can fitly picture, these revolting figures began with wild chanting to make offerings to their gods, dancing and capering before the flame to an accompaniment of dismal music, burning some incense which polluted the air.
It was a hellish scene, arousing every sleeping devil within those savage hearts; it preyed upon our strained nerves, and the Puritan lost all control, roaring out objurgations on the foul, idolatrous crowd until he was silenced by the sharp tap of a guard's club on his bushy pate. Nor was it easy for De Noyan to remain quiet, while Madame hid her shocked white face in her hands, venturing not to glance up while the sound of these rites continued. Whatever this religious ceremony—for such I supposed it to be—may have symbolized, it was finally concluded by the entire party uniting in a fierce chant. As grim silence settled once more throughout the black interior, the old war-chief, appearing taller than ever in the weird light, and rendered peculiarly repulsive by the bandages wrapping his wounds, rose to his feet, commencing an impassioned address.
No word spoken was intelligible to us, yet I knew so well the nature and customs of savages as to experience little difficulty in deciding the purpose of this harangue. Without doubt the fellow demanded an immediate sacrifice in payment for the loss inflicted on their tribe. With this conception as guide I noted his continually pointing toward us, one after another, as if singling us out as special subjects for denunciation, perhaps for torture, as with each he seemed to associate a peculiar term, repeating it again and again with changing cadence, as if thus to force its dread significance more firmly home into the minds of his listeners. The word I distinguished most frequently had the sound "ca-tah," which became associated in my thought as some special form of torture to which he desired us sentenced. Nor did I fail to remark in this connection, my every faculty alert and strained to grasp the slightest revealment, that, whenever the orator's baleful glance rested upon the shrinking woman, his lips uttered another word, his silent audience nodding as though in assent to each demand.
One followed another, no doubt in accordance with rank. Those chiefs upon the platform spoke first, each in turn seeming to pronounce against us in favor of that same unknown fate, making use of those two words, gesticulating toward us as they gave judgment. Nowhere amid all that vengeful black circle did I discern a single face not set in savage hatred, while slowly at first, but gathering force as it proceeded, there passed from lip to lip the sullen murmur of that dread word "ca-tah." As it was pronounced each voter pointed at us, three times making repetition of the word, until the last warrior had spoken, and we knew that our doom had been formally pronounced by a tribunal knowing no mercy, from whose decision there was no appeal.
No hapless prisoner confined, as I have read they were in olden times, within a dungeon whose walls slowly closed to crush him into pulp, could have seen the coming of death, resistless and horrible, with clearer vision than was ours as that group of savages pronounced our doom. It was by exercising the greatest effort of will that I conquered the dread sense of utter hopelessness which seemed to numb my every faculty; for, although I was to be tortured to the end, and perish at last in utmost physical agony, yet before that moment came there still remained a duty to be performed for one I loved. For that I must retain mind and strength to act like a man.
Slowly, cautiously, moving inch by inch across the small space intervening, so as not to attract the attention of our guard, I crept forward, pausing at last close beside Madame. Even as I reached her the final warrior cast his useless vote with the others, the excited concourse voicing appreciation in noisy acclaim. I bent low, trembling from weakness, until my lips were close to her ear.
"Eloise," I whispered softly, forgetting at the awful moment that she possessed another name, "it has been voted that three of us perish by torture, but you are not in the list; you are named for a different fate. Is it still your wish that I fulfil the pledge?"