Sketches of Aboriginal Life / American Tableaux, No. 1

by V. V. Vide

Arrived within the territories of their own tribe, the triumph of the captors began. The whole nation was roused to revenge the death of their lost heroes. In every village, as they passed along, the women and children were permitted to beat and insult the unresisting captive, who bore every indignity with stoical indifference, and proud disdain, never indicating by word or look, the slightest sense of mortification or pain, nor bating one jot of his lofty and scornful bearing.

Before the great council of assembled chiefs, he maintained the same tone of fearless dignity and self-respect. His very look was defiance, that quailed not before the proudest glance of his enemy, nor showed the slightest symptom of disquietude, when the decision of the council was announced, condemning him to die by the fiery torture. It might reasonably be imagined that his past sufferings, his tedious marches, his scanty fare, lying at night on the bare ground, exposed to the changes of the weather, with his arms and legs extended and cramped in a pair of rough stocks, the insulting treatment, and cruel scourgings of the exasperated women and children, who were taught to consider it a virtue to torment an enemy, along with the anticipation of those more bitter sufferings which he was yet to endure, would have impaired his health, and subdued his hitherto proud and unyielding spirit. Such would have been the effect of similar circumstances upon the physical frame, and stout-hearted fortitude of the great majority of the heroes of that pale-faced race, who boast of a proud superiority over the unlettered children of the forest. There are few so hardy, that they could endure, not only without a murmur, but without shrinking, what Ash-te-o-láh had already suffered—few so courageous, that they could hear, with an unmoved countenance, the terrible doom which his enemies had prepared for him, or witness undisturbed the fearful arrangements, and horrid ceremonies, that were designed to give intensity and effect to its infliction.

Ash-te-o-láh was insensible to fear, and would sooner have undergone a thousand torturing deaths, than permit his enemies to see that he was conscious even of suffering. So nobly did he sustain his courage amid the trial, so well did he act his heroic part, that his enemies, who admired and inculcated the same unflinching fortitude, were surprised and vexed at his lofty superiority, and resolved, by every possible aggravation of his sufferings, to break down and subdue his proud indomitable spirit.

The hour of execution had arrived. The pile was ready for its victim. Every engine of torture, which savage ingenuity could invent, was exhibited in dreadful array, within the area selected for the trying scene. The whole nation was assembled to witness, and take part in the ceremony, which had, in their view, all the solemnity and sacredness of a religious rite. Ash-te-o-láh was led forth, unpinioned, into the midst—for the red man would scorn the weakness of leading a victim in chains to the altar.

The place of sacrifice was an open space near the bank of the river, the dark forest frowning over it on every side, the entire foreground being filled and crowded with an eager, angry multitude, to whom a sacrifice was a feast, and revenge the sweetest luxury that could be offered to their taste. Their wild parade, their savage dances, their hideous yells and demoniacal looks and gestures, designed to terrify, only fired the soul of Ash-te-o-láh to a yet prouder and more majestic bearing. His firm step, his unblenching eye, his fearless and lofty port, touched even his executioners with admiration, and struck his guards with a momentary awe.

Suddenly, as with a bolt from the cloud, he dashed down those who stood in his way, sprung out, and plunged into the water, swimming underneath, like an otter, only rising occasionally to take breath, till he reached the opposite shore. He ascended the steep bank at a bound; and then, though the arrows had been flying thick as hail about him from the time that he took to the water, and though many of the fleetest of his enemies were, like very blood-hounds, close in pursuit of him, he turned deliberately around, and with a graceful and becoming dignity, took a formal leave of them, as if he would acknowledge the extraordinary favors they had shown him. Then, raising the shrill war-whoop of defiance, as his last salute, till some more convenient opportunity should be afforded him to do them a warrior’s homage, he darted off, like a beast broke loose from its torturing enemies. Inspired with new strength by his sudden release, and the returning hope of life, he flew with a winged speed, so as entirely to distance the fleetest of his eager pursuers. Confident in his speed, and assured that his enemies could neither overtake nor surprise him, he rested nearly a whole day, to recruit his wasted strength, and watch an opportunity to gain, if possible, some further advantage over those who were scenting his track, and thirsting for his blood.

Passing a considerable distance beyond a spot, which his well-trained sagacity told him would be the natural resting place of his pursuers, he retraced his steps, walking carefully backwards, and planting each step with great precision, in the very tracks he had just made, so as effectually to conceal the artifice of his return. In this way, he came to a high rock, in which there was a considerable fissure, very narrow at the top, but widening toward the ground, and so concealed by the dense shrubbery that grew around, that it could only be discovered by the most careful scrutiny. Into this fissure he thrust himself, scrupulously replacing every leaf that had been disturbed by his entrance, and adjusting the whole so as not to excite the slightest suspicion in his keen-sighted enemies. Here he awaited their approach.

It was near night of the second day, when the Senecas reached the spring where Ash-te-o-láh lay concealed, and where he had already rested nearly a whole day. Following his track some distance beyond, and not doubting he was yet in advance, they returned without suspicion to the spring, lighted their fires, partook hastily of their simple meal, and laid themselves down to sleep, in perfect security. They were five in number, powerful men, and thoroughly armed, after their own peculiar fashion. Ash-te-o-láh, from his narrow cavern, had watched all their movements. He well knew that they slept soundly, for they had satisfied themselves that no danger was near. But he also knew equally well how wakeful is the sleep of an Indian, and how almost impossible it is to surprise him, even in his soundest sleep. Every circumstance of his situation occurred to him, to inspire him with heroism, and urge him to attempt an impossibility, though his life was the certain forfeit of a failure. He was naked, torn, and hungry. His enraged enemies, who had so recently held him in their toils, and made him ready for a sacrifice, were now come up with him. In their little camp was every thing to relieve his wants. He would not only save his own life, but get great honor and sweet revenge, if he should succeed in cutting them off.

Resolution, a convenient spot, and a sudden surprise, might effect this main object of all his wishes and hopes. Creeping cautiously out from his covert, and approaching the sleepers with the noiseless and stealthy cunning of a fox, he seized one of their tomahawks, and wielding it with inconceivable power and rapidity, left four of them in an eternal sleep, before the fifth had time to awake and spring to his feet. The struggle that ensued was terrible; but Ash-te-o-láh had the advantage in every respect, and the conflict ended in a very few minutes, by leaving him alone in the camp of his enemies.

Selecting from the spoils of the fallen a suitable dress for himself, with the choicest of their bows, a well-stored quiver, a tomahawk, and an ample pouch of provisions, and securing to his belt the scalps of his yet breathing victims, Ash-te-o-láh set off afresh, with a light heart, and a bounding step, for the sunny vales of the Katahba. Resolved not to hazard any of the advantage he had gained, he did not allow himself any sleep, for several successive nights, only as he reclined, for a few moments, a little before day, with his back to a tree, and a clear space about him, where he could not be taken by surprise. Growing more secure, as he approached his home, and discovered no sign of his pursuing enemy, he sought out the spot where he had killed seven of the chase, in the first day of his flight, opened their yet fresh graves, added their scalps to the five then hanging to his belt, burnt their bodies to ashes, and returned in safety, laden with his hard earned trophies, to gladden his humble wigwam, and thrill the council of his people with the story of his singular adventures.