"Yes," agreed de Veulle; "but I desire to give some particular instructions for their entertainment."
"Do so; do so, by all means," answered Murray equably. "But wait; here comes Père Hyacinthe."
The Indians surrounding us huddled back, cringing against the stockade, their eyes glued upon a tall, thin figure in a threadbare black cassock of the Jesuit order. He walked with a peculiar halting gait. His face was emaciated, the akin stretched taut over prominent bones. His eyes blazed out of twin caverns.
Parts of his ears were gone, and as he drew nearer I saw that his face was criss-crossed by innumerable tiny scars. When he raised his hand in blessing the Indians I realized that two fingers were missing, and those which were left were twisted and gnarled as by fire.
"Whom have we here?" he called in a loud, harsh voice.
"Two prisoners, reverend sir," replied Murray. "English spies caught at Jagara by the vigilance of Monsieur de Veulle."
"Are they heretics?" demanded the priest.
"I fear I have never conversed with Master Ormerod concerning his religious beliefs," said Murray whimsically. "I should add, by the way, father, that the young man is the spy of whom I told you, who crossed upon our ship with us."
The priest peered closely at me.
"Well, sir," he asked brusquely, "are you a son of the true faith?"
"Not the one you refer to, sir," I said.
"And this savage here?"
"He believes, quite devoutly, I should say, in the gods of his race."
The Jesuit locked and unlocked his fingers nervously.
"I fear,monsieur, that you will suffer torment at the hands of my poor children here," he said. "Will you not repent before it is too late?"
"But will you stand by and see your children torture an Englishman in time of peace?" I asked.
His eyes fairly sparked from the shelter of their cavernous retreats.
"Peace?" he rasped. "There is no peace—there can be no peace—between England, the harlot nation, and holy France. France follows her destiny, and her destiny is to rule America on behalf of the Church."
"Yet peace there is," I insisted.
"I refuse to admit it. We know no peace here. We are at war, endless war, physically, spiritually, mentally, with England. If you come amongst us, you do so at your bodily peril. But"—and the challenge left his voice and was replaced by a note of pleading, soft and compelling—"it may be,monsieur, that in your bodily peril you have achieved the salvation of your soul. Repent, I urge you, and though your body perish your soul shall live."
Murray and de Veulle stirred restlessly during this harangue, but the savages were so silent you could hear the birds in the trees. I was interested in this man, in his fanatic sincerity, his queer conception of life.
"But if I repented, as you say," I suggested, "would not you save my body?"
His eyes burned with contempt.
"Would you drive a bargain with God?" he cried. "For shame! Some may tolerate that, but I never will! What matters your miserable body! It has transgressed the rights of France. Let it die! But your soul is immortal; save that, I conjure you!"
"Aye; but do you think it Christian to permit a fellow-man, whether he be of your faith or not, to be tortured by savages?"
The contempt died in his eyes, and was replaced by a dreamy ecstasy.
"Death? What is death?" he replied. "And what matters the manner of death? Look at me,monsieur."
He fixed my gaze on each of his infirmities.
"I am but the wreck of a man. These poor, ignorant children of the wilderness have worked their will with me, and because it was best for me God permitted it. Torture never hurt any man. It is excellent for the spirit. It will benefit you. If you must die——"
His voice trailed into nothingness.
De Veulle interposed.
"Reverend father," he said, "I have a letter for you from Jacques Fourier. The rivermen would like you to give them a mass Sunday. 'Tis a long——"
"Give me the letter," he cried eagerly. "Ah, that is good reading! Sometimes I despair for my sons—aye, more than for the miserable children of the wilderness. But now I know that a seed grows in the hearts of some that I have doubted. I shall go gladly."
He turned to depart, retraced his steps and fixed me with his gaze that seemed almost to scorch the skin.
"Remember what I have said,monsieur. Repent, and in the joy which will come to your soul you will rejoice in your agony. You will triumph in it. Your heart will be uplifted by it. Do I not know! I have suffered myself, a whole day at the stake once, and again for half a day."
De Veulle winked at Murray as the priest limped away.
"I must send Jacques a barrel of brandy for this," he remarked; "but our Cahnuagas would be in the sulks if they could not celebrate the Moon Feast, and they stand in such fear of the worthy Hyacinthe that they would never risk his wrath."
"The Moon Feast!" exclaimed Murray. "True, I had forgotten. Well, 'twill be an excellent introduction to the customs of the savages for our friend the intruder."
"'Twill make a great impression upon him," laughed de Veulle. "In fact, upon both of them. I have a surprize for our Iroquois captive as well. The Mistress of the False Faces awaits them."
"Then haste the dancing. Will you dine with us?"
De Veulle hesitated, looked longingly toward the end of the clearing and more longingly toward the house within the stockade which housed Marjory.
"Aye," he said at last.
He murmured some orders to our guards, kicked me out of his path and sauntered through the gateway beside Murray.
With Bolling in active supervision and Tom hanging greedily on the flanks of the crowd, we were hustled through the clearing, past the chapel and an intervening belt of woodland, into a second and much larger open space, crammed with bark lodges and huts.
"A big village," I gasped to Ta-wan-ne-ars as I dodged a blow at my head.
"'Tis the haunt of the Keepers," he replied. "See, there are Adirondacks and Shawendadies, as well as Cahnuagas. And those yonder are Hurons from north of the Lakes."
Bolling slashed him across the face with a strip of raw-hide.
"Keep your breath for the torture-stake, you Iroquois cur!"
Ta-wan-ne-ars laughed at him.
"Red Jack can only fight with a whip," he said. "But when Ta-wan-ne-ars holds a tomahawk he runs."
Bolling struck at him again, but the restless horde of our tormenters pried the ruffian away as some new group pushed to the front to have a look at the prisoners and deal a blow or two. The throng became so dense that individual castigation was impossible, and we were tossed along like chips in a whirlpool.
In the end we were hurled, head over heels, into a natural amphitheater on the far side of the village, where a background of dark pines walled in a wide surface of hard-beaten, grassless ground. Two stakes stood ready, side by side, in the center, and our captors tore off our tattered clothes and lashed us to these with whoops of joy.
So we stood, naked and bound, ankle, knee, thigh, chest and armpit, whilst the sun, setting behind the village, flooded the inferno with mellow light and an army of fiends, men, women and children, pranced around us. For myself, I was dazed and fearful, but Ta-wan-ne-ars again showed me the better road.
"The Keepers scream like women," he shouted, in order to make himself heard. "Have you never taken captives before?"
They shrieked a medley of abuse at him, but once more he compelled their attention by force of will.
"Are you afraid to let Ta-wan-ne-ars and his brother run the gantlet?" he demanded.
A squat Cahnuaga chief grinned and shook his head.
"We do not want you to tire yourself," he answered. "You would not be able to last so long under torture."
"You are afraid of us," jeered Ta-wan-ne-ars. "You know that if we were free we could escape from your whole tribe. You are women. We scorn you. Do you know what has become of the seven warriors Murray sent to pursue us on the Great Trail?"
Silence prevailed.
"Yes, there were seven of them," gibed Ta-wan-ne-ars. "And there were three of us. And where are they? I will tell you, Cahnuaga dogs, Adirondack dogs, Shawendadie dogs, Huron dogs. Crawl closer on your bellies while I tell you.
"Their scalps hang in the lodge of Ta-wan-ne-ars—seven scalps of the Keepers who could not fight against real men. The scalps of seven who called themselves warriors and who were so rash that they tried to fight three."
A howl of anger answered him.
"Begin the torment," yelled Bolling.
Tom drew a wicked knife and ran toward us, his yellow eyes aflame. But the squat Cahnuaga chief pushed him back.
"They are to be held for the Moon Feast," he proclaimed. "See, the Mistress comes. Stand back, brothers."
The sound of a monotonous wailing filled the air, joining itself with the evening breeze that sighed in the branches of the pines behind us. The crowd of savages drew away from us in sudden awe.
"Ga-go-sa Ho-nun-as-tase-ta," they muttered to each other.
"What do they say!" I asked Ta-wan-ne-ars.
His eyes did not leave a long dark building on the edge of the amphitheater.
"The Mistress of the False Faces is coming," he replied curtly.
"And who is she?"
"The priestess of their devilish brotherhood."
Out from the long bark building wound a curious serpentine procession of men in fantastic head-masks, who danced along with a halting step. As they danced they sang in the weird monotone we had first heard. And behind them all walked slowly one without a mask, a young girl of upright, supple figure, her long black hair cascading about her bare shoulders. Her arms were folded across her breast. She wore only the short ga-ka-ah, or kilt, with moccasins on her feet.
The breath whistled in Ta-wan-ne-ars' nostrils as his chest heaved against its bonds, and I turned my head in amazement. The expression on his face was compounded of such demoniac ferocity as I had seen there once before—that, and incredulous affection.
"What is it?" I cried.
He did not heed me. He did not even hear me. His whole being was focussed upon the girl whose ruddy bronze skin gleamed through the masses of her hair, whose shapely limbs ignored the beat of the music which governed the motions of her attendants.
The procession threaded its way at leisurely pace through the throngs of Indians, the girl walking as unconcernedly as if she were alone, her head held high, her eyes staring unseeingly before her.
"Ga-go-sa Ho-nun-as-tase-ta," murmured the savages, bowing low.
The False Faces drew clear of the crowd, and danced solemnly around us. They paid us no attention, but when they had strung a complete circle around the stakes they faced inward and stopped, each one where he stood. For the first time the priestess, or Mistress as they called her, showed appreciation of her surroundings. She walked into the ring of masks and took up her position in front of us and between our stakes. She had not looked at us.
"Bow down, O my people," she chanted in a soft voice that was hauntingly sweet. "The False Faces are come amongst you, for it is again the period of our rule, and I, their Mistress, am to give you the word.
"Behold, the old moon is dying, and a new moon will be born again to us. The Powers of Evil, the Powers of Good and the Powers of Life are come together for the creation.
"Thrice fortunate are you that you recognize the rule of So-a-ka-ga-gwa,[1] for it brings you well-being, now and hereafter in the Land of Souls. Moreover, it brings you captives, and your feast will be graced by their sufferings."
[1] The Moon—"the Light of the Night."
She turned to face us, arms flung wide in a graceful gesture. I thought that Ta-wan-ne-ars would burst the thongs that bound him. His powerful chest expanded until they stretched.
"Ga-ha-no!" he sobbed.
She faltered, and her hands locked together involuntarily between her breasts. A light of apprehension dawned in her eyes, and for a moment I thought there was a trace of something more.
"Ga-ha-no!" pleaded Ta-wan-ne-ars.
But she regained the mastery of herself, and a mocking smile was his answer.
"They are no ordinary captives who will consecrate our feast," she continued her recitative.
"For one is a chief of the Iroquois and a warrior whose valor will resist the torment with pride. And the other is a white chief whose tender flesh will yield great delight and whose screams will give pleasure in our ears.
"Great is the triumph of the French chief de Veulle, who is himself of our order. Great is the triumph of the brave Keepers who aided him. Great will be the future triumphs which So-a-ka-ga-gwa will give us in return for these sacrifices.
"O my people, this is the Night of Preparation. When An-da-ka-ga-gwa,[2] the husband of So-a-ka-ga-gwa, retires to rest to mourn his dead wife and make ready for the new one he will take tomorrow, you must retire to your lodges, and put out your fires, and let down your hair.
[2] The Sun—"the Light of the Day."
"For in the night the spirits of Ha-nis-ka-o-no-geh[3] will come to hold communion with their servants, the False Faces, and they will be hungry for your souls.
[3] Hell—"the Dwelling-Place of Evil."
"And this is my warning to you, O my people. Heed the warning of the Ga-go-sa Ho-nun-as-tase-ta.
"And on the next night we will celebrate the Moon Feast, and I will dance for you the Moon Dance, and you shall dance the Torture Dance. And we will tear the hearts out of our enemies' breasts and grow strong from their sufferings."
She tossed her arms above her head, and the ring of False Faces burst into their high-pitched, nasal chant, and resumed the hesitant dancing step, their horrible masks wobbling from side to side, their painted bodies, naked save for the breech-clout, posturing in rhythm.
Their Mistress summoned the squat Cahnuaga chief, who seemed to be especially charged with our safe-keeping.
"You will unbind the captives from the stakes and place them in the Council-House," she said coldly. "If they are left out in the night, my brothers and sisters, the aids of Ha-ne-go-ate-geh will devour them. Feed them well, so that they will be strong to resist their torment, and tie them securely, and place a guard of crafty warriors over them. If they escape, you shall be the sacrifice at the Moon Feast."
The chief groveled before her.
"The commands of the Ga-go-sa Ho-nun-as-tase-ta shall be obeyed," he promised. "And I pray you will hold off the Spirits of Evil tonight, for sometimes they have been overbold and have snatched our people from their lodges."
"You are safe this time if you heed my words," she answered, "for you have secured a sacrifice which will be very pleasing to So-a-ka-ga-gwa and her friends."[4]
[4] For this and other conversations I am indebted to Ta-wan-ne-ars, who translated them for me afterward.—H.O.
Then she came up quite close to us. She looked at me with frank curiosity, and particularly at my hair, which was brown. But most of her attention was bestowed upon Ta-wan-ne-ars.
"So you remember me?" she said in a hard voice and speaking in the Seneca dialect.
"I remember you, Ga-ha-no," he answered. "But I see you do not remember me."
"Oh, well enough," she returned. "But I am no longer an ordinary woman. I am the Mistress of the False Faces——"
"And of a French snake," he added bitterly.
Her eyes flashed.
"I am not a squaw, which is what I should have been had you and my stupid father had your way with me!"
Ta-wan-ne-ars shook his head sadly.
"Ta-wan-ne-ars has only one regret that he is to die," he said. "That is because he can not live to find your lost soul and return it to you."
"My lost soul?" she repeated.
"Yes."
She laughed harshly.
"Ta-wan-ne-ars is a child," she said. "His heart is turned to water. He talks of things which are not. My soul is here." She tapped her left breast.
"It does not matter, however, for the Ga-go-sa Ho-nun-as-tase-ta does not need a soul as other mortals do."
She turned on her heel abruptly, and followed the priests into the long bark house from which they had emerged.
The great mob of Indians melted away as soon as she left us. They all but fled in order to reach their lodges before sundown, and so hurried were our guards that in removing us from the stakes to the Council-House in the center of the village they forbore to beat or maltreat us.
In the Council-House they supplied us with a liberal meal of meat and vegetables. Then our bonds were replaced and we were covered with robes, whilst our guards cowered close to the fire in abject fear. They started at the slightest movement. Had we been able to stir hand or foot I think we might have won our freedom. But they had used care in binding us, and we lay inert as corpses.
"What do they fear?" I whispered to Ta-wan-ne-ars at length, desirous of hearing a friendly voice.
He roused himself from the gloom which enwrapped him.
"I do not know exactly, brother," he said. "These Cahnuagas are renegades from the Great League. This demon faith of theirs, with its False Faces and their Mistress, is a corruption of some of our ancient beliefs."
"But the Moon Feast they talk about," I persisted. "What is that?"
"It is some invention of their own," he replied. "Perhaps Murray or de Veulle helped them with it. My people know nothing of such things."
Through the bark walls of the house came the weird, minor melody which had attended the appearance of the Mistress of the False Faces, mingled with shrieks, groans, screams and yells. Our guards huddled closer together. They abandoned their weapons and covered their heads with blankets. A drum throbbed near by, and at intervals sounded the wailing chant of the masked priests and the thudding of dancing feet.
Once a woman's voice soared, shrill and sweet, above the bedlam of noises, and Ta-wan-ne-ars' face was contorted as if rats were gnawing at his vitals.
"Your grief is very great, brother," I said.
"It is," he answered.
"Be at ease," I begged him, "for sure 'tis no fault of yours."
"Of that Ta-wan-ne-ars can not be sure," he replied somberly.
He struggled into a sitting position, resting his back against one of the supports of the roof.
"Cahnuaga dogs," he said—and his voice was not the voice of a captive, but of a chief—"what is it that you fear?"
The squat chief allowed his nose to protrude from the blanket which completely covered him.
"The False Faces dance with the Evil Ones in preparation for the birth of So-a-ka-ga-gwa," he mumbled. "They are hungry for human meat."
"Who told you that this was so?"
"The False Faces."
"But how do you know that it is not a lie?"
The chief shook his head vigorously.
"Even the white chief Murray stays within doors when the False Faces dance," he said.
"And the other white dog—de Veulle?"
"He is one of them. He was raised up by the Old Mistress when he lived amongst us before. It was he discovered the New Mistress."
Ta-wan-ne-ars sank down upon his back again.
"You fear shadows," he said contemptuously.
But the Cahnuagas were too demoralized to resent his taunts. The uproar outside increased in violence. Women's voices, some in dreadful protestation, some in eager ecstasy, joined in it. It was near, then at a distance, then returning. And occasionally that one shrill, sweet voice quelled the saturnalia and was lifted on a note of pagan exultation—only to be drowned in the thrumming of the drums.
Our fire dwindled and was rekindled. The night crept on toward the dawn. The monotony of the noises, the endless repetition, deadened the senses, and we slept. When I awakened, 'twas to see the daylight trickling through the smoke-hole in the roof. Ta-wan-ne-ars still slept beside me, the lines of his anguish hewn deep in his face. Our guards lay under their blankets, snoring lustily. The fire was dead. My bones and muscles ached from their confinement.
I regarded myself, naked, bruised, scarred, sprawled in this den of savages. A few months ago I had thought myself at the low ebb of my fortunes. The dungeons of the Tower and the headsman had awaited me. Now I faced death by torment in such horrid rites as my imagination could not depict. I had fled to the New World to improve my lot—and the improvement was like to consist of an early exit to another world which optimists proclaimed a better one.
Somewhere in the sunshine a bird began to sing, and my captors yawned and sat up. The squat chief, his fears of the night gone, kicked Ta-wan-ne-ars awake.
"This is the day of the Moon Feast," he said. "You will soon clamor to die."
We were kicked and harried through the village to the Dancing-Place; but a messenger stayed us at the last minute, and our guards flogged us back into the Council-House. We were fed perfunctorily and given water to drink, then left to our own devices whilst the guards played a gambling game with peach-stones. So the morning dragged by until the sun was beginning to decline toward the west and a second messenger disturbed the wrangling players.
We were yanked to our feet and pushed outside. Thousands of Indians lined the narrow, dirty streets between the bark houses and lodges. They greeted us with a silence so intent that it was as arresting as a shout. Not a finger was laid upon us, not a voice was raised. Yet the fierce anticipation which gleamed in every face was more threatening than definite gestures.
The guards hustled us along; and as we passed, the hordes of savages closed in behind us and flowed in a mighty, barbaric stream at our heels. Ahead of us opened the flat expanse of the Dancing-Place, with the two lonely stakes, flanked by piles of freshly gathered firewood, standing like portents of evil against the dark-green background of the pines which walled the rear of the amphitheater.
Ta-wan-ne-ars looked eagerly in every direction, but she whom he sought was not present nor were there visible any of her carrion crew of priests. Only the sinister faces of the negro, Tom, and Bolling, with his tangle of red hair, stirred recollections in that alien, hostile mass. They, too, were under the spell of the gathering, a spell which seemed to have for its object the compression of the combined malevolence of the ferocious throng.
Our guards bound us to the stakes as they had the day before, and Ta-wan-ne-ars, with a significant glance at me, rallied them with the searching wit of his race.
"The Cahnuaga dogs are not used to taking captives," he commented. "They do not know what to do unless their white masters tell them. They are women. They should be tilling the field. They do not know how to torment real warriors."
When they were passing the thongs under his arm-pits, the Seneca bent forward and fastened his teeth in the forearm of an incautious guard. The blood spurted and the man yelped with pain. Ta-wan-ne-ars laughed.
"Unarmed and bound, yet I can hurt you," he cried. "Truly, you are women. The warriors of the Great League scorn you."
Strangely enough, they made no retaliation upon him; but, having securely fastened us to the stakes, withdrew and stood somewhat apart from the encompassing crowds.
The silence continued for more than an hour, when a lane was opened opposite to us and Murray and de Veulle sauntered forward.
"I trust you have fared well, Master Juggins—I beg pardon, Master Ormerod?" remarked Murray urbanely. "No discomforts? Enough to eat and sufficient attention?"
I profited by Ta-wan-ne-ars' example, and thrust for the one weak spot in the man's armor of egotism.
"You do proclaim yourself for what you are," I answered him steadily. "Sure, no man of breeding would descend to the depths you reach. I do assure you, fellow, if you ever return to civilization and attempt to mix with the gently bred, your plow-boy origin will out."
His face was suffused to a purple hue.
"'Sdeath!" he rasped. "Sir, know you not I am of the Murrays of Cobbielaw? I quarter my arms with the Keiths! I have a right to carry the Bleeding Heart on my shield! I——"
"No, no," I interrupted. "'Tis easy for you to claim here in the wilderness, but the humblest cadet of the house of Douglas would disprove you. 'Tis the bleeding hearts of your enemies you bear. You tear them out like the savages and devour them to make medicine. You are a foul, cowardly half-breed, more red than white."
"I have the blood of kings in my veins!" he shouted in the words he had used on board ship.
I laughed in his face, and Ta-wan-ne-ars joined in. Murray stormed in vain. I heaped ridicule upon his claims until cynical amusement appeared in de Veulle's eyes, for the man's conceit was fantastic.
"My mother was a Horne of ——" he asserted finally.
"I dislike to speak ill of any woman," I cut him off; "and certes I could weep for the grief of her who conceived you, whatever she was. But I make no doubt she was some Huron squaw."
His face went dead white.
"I was pleaded with overlong to spare you," he said in accents so cold that the words fell like icicles breaking from the rocks. "I am glad I resisted."
"You were never tempted to yield," I assured him.
"I shall give orders now that your torments be the most ingenious our savages can devise," he returned.
"I doubt it not," I said.
"You will die in much agony," he continued placidly. "Nobody will ever know of your taunts. And I"—his vanity flared up again—"I shall die a marquis and a duke."
"And a convicted criminal," I added.
He murmured something to de Veulle and walked away, the savages moving from his path as if he were death in person, for indeed they feared him, more even than they feared Black Robe and their own accursed priests. He was the master of all.
"So you are to be chief torturer,monsieur le chevalier?" I remarked to de Veulle.
"Even so," he agreed.
"There could not be a fitter," I said sympathetically.
"I thank you for your appreciation," he replied.
"Yes," I reflected aloud, "unless it be at small-swords or in fair fight with any weapon, you should make a fair executioner. 'Twas an excellent butcher was spoiled in the modeling of you."
But de Veulle refused to be annoyed.
"Keep up your spirits by all means," he said—and in sober truth, I talked as much for that as to plague my enemies. "You will need them anon. I have instructed the savages to give you the long torment. You will be still alive this time tomorrow. Think of it! Your Iroquois friend knows what that means—an eyeless, bloody wreck of a man, begging to be slain! Ah, well, you would blunder in my way."
"I thought it was Murray's way," I answered.
"'Tis all one. And after all, as you must know, Murray is no more than a pawn in our plans."
"He would enjoy hearing you say so."
"He never will—and you will not be able to tell him when next you see, or rather, hear him."
He beckoned to the Cahnuaga chief.
"Let loose your people," he ordered, and stepped back.
The Cahnuaga put his hand to his mouth, and the high-pitched, soaring notes of the war-whoop resounded through the air. And as if one directing center animated them all the thousands of savages closed in on us, yelling and shrieking, weapons menacing, feet pounding the measures of some clumsy dance.
They swirled round and round us, those who could get nearest dashing up to the stakes to mock at us or threaten us with words and weapons. Nobody touched us, but the strain of constantly expecting physical assault was nerve-racking. Ta-wan-ne-ars smiled serenely at them all, and when he could make himself heard, returned their threats.
This continued for a long time. Twilight was at hand before they dropped back, and a select band of young warriors began to exhibit their skill with bow and arrow, knife and tomahawk. Arrows were shot between our arms and bodies; tomahawks hurtled into the posts beside our ears; knives were hurled from the far side of the open space, so closely aimed that their points shaved our naked ribs. Once in a while we were scratched; the handle of a tomahawk, poorly thrown, raised a bump on my forehead. And de Veulle, squatting on the ground with a knot of chiefs, applauded the show.
It went on and on. New forms of mental torture were constantly devised. Darkness closed down, and the fires beside the stakes were lighted. I was in a daze. I had ceased to feel fear or misgiving. I was conscious only of a great weariness and thirst. The clamor that dinned in my ears, the weapons that jarred the post at intervals, the wild figures that leaped in the firelight—all combined in a weird blur that gradually became a coherent picture as my mind recalled for the second time the dying words of the Cahnuaga in the glade by the Great Trail.
"'Be sure that whatever you do you cannot equal the ingenuity of the Ga-go-sa.'"
Hark! What was that eery sound that stole through the shadows, a sliding, minor chant that wailed and died away?
But the picture went on shaping itself in my mind.
"'I seem to see pictures in the firelight of a stake, and a building with a tower and a bell that rings, and many of the Ga-go-sa dance around you, and your pain is very great.'"
Yes, there was the picture: our stakes, side by side, two instead of one; the fires that roared and flamed, the figures that danced and yelled; and beyond, across the village, the tower with the "bell that rings," looming above the trees. And as I looked, the sickle moon, silvery-bright and sharp as a sword, protruded its upper horn over the wooden tower.
Of a sudden I realized that the shouting had died down. The prancing figures were at rest. But into the circle of firelight swayed the hideous column of False Faces, their masks of monstrous birds and beasts and reptiles seeming alive with horrid purpose in the shifting gloom, their feet moving harmoniously in the hesitant step of the dance, their voices united in the monotonous music of their chant.
They strung a circle, as they had done the day before, and halted, heads wabbling this way and that. There was a brief pause, and I noticed de Veulle, risen to his feet and staring intently behind me, where the wall of pines made a perfect background for the spectacle. A sigh burst from the half-seen throngs of savages.
"Ga-go-sa Ho-nun-as-tase-ta!"
I craned my neck, and as well as the thongs permitted me peered around the stake to which I was lashed. A white figure flitted from the protection of the trees and glided toward us. The False Faces started a queer, rhythmic air, accompanied by gently throbbing drums. The figure commenced to dance, arms wide, hair floating free. Besides me Ta-wan-ne-ars choked back a groan of hate and love and fought fruitlessly against the rawhide thongs.
'Twas Ga-ha-no. She danced forward, passing between our stakes and into the open arena which was delimited by the vague, crouching forms of the False Faces. She wore again her ceremonial uniform, the kilt and moccasins; but this time they were white, fashioned of skins taken from the bellies of young does. Her limbs and body, too, were coated with some white substance that made her gleam like a delicate marble statue when she postured in the flickering radiance of the fires. Her hair floated about her like a black mist, first concealing, then revealing, the perfect, swelling lines of her figure.
She tossed up her arms in a curving gesture toward the moon, riding low above the treetops. The music of the attendant priests swung into a faster measure, the pulsing of the drums became subtly disturbing, commanding.
"O So-a-ka-ga-gwa," she cried, "I, your servant, the Mistress of the False Faces, begin now the Moon Feast we make in your honor!"
She resumed her dance, but 'twas very different from the graceful, pleasing steps she had first used. I know not how to describe it, save perhaps that 'twas like the music, provocative, appealing to the basest instincts in man, indecent with a peculiarly attractive indecency. It was, I think, the dance of creation, of the impulse of life, one of the oldest and in its perverted way one of the truest dances which man ever devised. It could only be danced by a savage people, primitive and unashamed.
You could feel its influence upon the bystanders, the thousands who stood or crouched or sat around the curve of the amphitheater beyond the lines of False Faces. You could feel their rising emotion; the instincts, normally half-tamed, that awakened in them; the cravings that slowly began to dominate them. You could hear the catching breaths, the yelps of satisfaction, the growing spirit of license, of utter savagery.
Faster went the measure of the dance. Faster whirled the glistening white figure. Her hair streamed behind her; her moccasins barely touched the ground; her body was contorted with supple precision.
Now she danced before us, her eyes burning with mockery—I know not what—of Ta-wan-ne-ars. Now she spun around the open space in a series of intricate steps and posturings.
The music worked up to a crescendo, the drums thudding with furious speed. Ga-ha-no leaped high in air and raised her arms toward the moon, whose sickle shape was no whiter or fairer than she.
The chant stopped in the middle of a mote, and as her feet touched the ground again she ran lightly across the amphitheater and threw herself into de Veulle's arms. He tossed her upon his shoulder.
"The Moon Feast is open, O my people," she called back as he disappeared with her into the shadows.
All those thousands of people went mad. The Dancing-Place became a wild tumult of naked savages, men and women, leaping in groups and couples to the renewed music of the False Faces. Decency and restraint were cast aside.
Tom and Bolling rolled in barrels of rum, which were opened and consumed as rapidly as the heads were knocked off; and the raw spirits combined with the hellish chant and the suggestive throbbing of the drums to stimulate afresh the passions which Ga-ha-no's dancing had aroused.[1]
[1] Decency forbids a detailed description of these horrible rites.—H.O.
At first they paid no attention to us. They were preoccupied with the extraordinary hysteria which had gripped them. They apostrophized the moon. The women flung themselves upon the False Faces, for it was deemed an honor to receive the attentions of these priests of evil. The men worked themselves into an excess of debauchery. Groups formed and dissolved with amazing rapidity. Individuals, wearying of each other, ran hither and thither, seeking partners who were more pleasing or attractive to them.
But at last a portion of the drunken mob turned upon us. An old woman with wispy gray hair and shrunken breasts beat Ta-wan-ne-ars on the flank with a smoldering brand. Bolling, whatever of man there was in him smothered under the brutishness the rum had excited, carefully inserted a pine-splinter in the quick of my fingernail. I gritted my teeth to force back the scream of agony, and managed to laugh—how, I do not know—when he set it alight.
"The brother of Ta-wan-ne-ars is a great warrior," proclaimed my comrade, swift to come to my help. "Red Jack and his friends can not hurt Ormerod. We laugh at you."
Bolling ripped out his knife and staggered toward the Seneca's stake.
"I'll make you laugh," he spat wickedly. "I'll carve your mouth wider so you can laugh plenty when we begin on you in earnest. Think this has been anything? We——"
A yell of mingled fear and laughter interrupted him. False Faces and warriors, women as well as men, were pointing toward the background of the pines.
"Ne-e-ar-go-ye, the Bear, is come to play with us," they cried.
And others prostrated themselves and called—
"Qua, Ga-go-sa Ho-nun-as-tase-ta!"
For the second time that night I twisted my neck to peer behind my stake, and sure the sight which met my eyes was weirder even than the white figure of the Moon Maiden. There within the circle of the firelight stood Ga-ha-no again. But 'twas a vastly different Ga-ha-no. On her head she wore a bear's mask, with the fur of the neck and shoulders falling around her body to thega-ka-ahwhich draped her loins. In each hand she gripped a knife, and her white limbs staggered under her in pretense of the unsteady gait of a bear walking erect.
The False Faces began their chant, the drums rumbled crazily, and she wavered forward, arms flopping like paws, head poised absurdly upon one side. She pranced around the circle once, to the immense delight of the Indians, who hailed her with drunken laughter. Then she advanced upon us in the midst of a tense silence.
The fantastic figure followed an uncertain path, exactly as would a bear who was mistrustful of what he saw. The savages, keen to appreciate what they knew, applauded uproariously such faithfulness to nature.
They were equally enthusiastic when she advanced her muzzle suspiciously and smelled of my face. But they could not hear the familiar voice which whispered in my ear—
"Mr. Ormerod, when I have cut your bonds be ready to leap after me as soon as the Iroquois is free."
I started so that my surprize must have been apparent had it not been for the restraining rawhide thongs.
"What?" I gasped. "You!"
"Say nothing. Time is short. And I will——"
She danced, with her ridiculous gait, over to Ta-wan-ne-ars, and I watched curiously his look of affection and detestation change to one of quickly suppressed amazement. With his ready wit he shook his head at her and tried to bite one of the furry ears of her mask.
She backed away from us slowly, and her head balanced from side to side in contemplation. Then she charged upon me, knives flashing before my eyes. She slashed at me here and there, and each time she slashed she severed a thong. I pretended abject fear, and the befuddled savages shouted with glee.
She pranced to Ta-wan-ne-ars and performed the same operation upon him. He, too, gave evidence of fear. He cowered against the stake and lowered his head. But when she advanced her mask and nuzzled his shoulder, I saw his powerful muscles knotting themselves in preparation for the dash for freedom.
"Now!" I heard her say very low.
Ta-wan-ne-ars seemed to rise into the air, thongs flying behind him. I tugged and jumped and my own lashings parted—and I found myself running somewhat stiffly beside the Iroquois.
A second figure drew up to my side, and I felt a knife-hilt pushed into my hand.
"In case," said the familiar voice. "And here is one for the Iroquois, too."
I stared down in bewilderment at the bear-mask. 'Twas so unexpected, yet so obviously what I might have known she would do if the opportunity arose. That clean scorn, that brave honesty of purpose, I had marked in her, were earnest of her determination to dare all for what she believed to be right.
A chorus of yelps like a wolf-pack in full cry split the night behind us. One of the False Faces sprang into our path, and Ta-wan-ne-ars closed with him. The Seneca's knife plunged into his throat, and he collapsed with a strangled scream.
As the pine-trees shrouded us I looked back over my shoulder. The Dancing-Place was covered with a mob of running figures who fell over each other in their drunken frenzy.
"To the left," sobbed the voice from the bear's mask.
We turned between the trunks of the pines, the mat of fallen needles springy underfoot. Behind us the fires of the Dancing-Place were a faint radiance in the dusk. Branches crashed; bodies hurtled against each other; a bedlam of shrieks resounded to the skies.
"Let me help you," I panted to our rescuer.
"There will be no need," she answered, running stride for stride beside us.
"At the least, slip off your mask," urged Ta-wan-ne-ars.
"I shall be wanting it presently," she returned. "Do not be concerned for me. Many a mile I have run with the gillies over the Highland hills."
She stumbled as she spoke, and I set my hand under her elbow. Ta-wan-ne-ars did the same on the other side, and so we ran for a space, three and three, our bruised and rusty joints gradually limbering with the effort.
Presently we came to an opening amongst the pines, with a huge, flat rock in the center and before the rock the ashes of a fire. My foot struck something round, and a human skull, blackened and charred, bounded ahead of us. I felt a shudder pass through the slender figure in the mask.
"'Tis the altar of the False Faces," she murmured. "If Père Hyacinthe only knew!"
"What dreadful——" I started to say.
"No, no," she said. "Do not be asking me. I can not think of it without pain. But there is this to be thankful for: none but the Ga-go-sa will dare to follow us through the wood."
"Was that your thought?" I questioned.
"No. I was helpless. 'Twas the Mistress—she bade me call her Ga-ha-no—thought of everything."
Ta-wan-ne-ars stopped in his stride.
"What of Ga-ha-no?" he demanded sternly.
She glanced fearfully backward along the way we had come.
"We may not stay," she answered rapidly. "I will talk as we run. Oh, haste, haste, or all will be lost!"
The Seneca resumed his steady gait, but the moonlight filtering through the branches revealed the agony in his face, an agony which the ordeal at the stake had not been able to produce.
"Ga-ha-no thought of all," gasped our companion, her voice strangely muffled by the mask. "She came to me this morning—whilst I was pleading with them—told me how it might be done—fetched me here—procured me the mask and costume—taught me the dance. 'Twas she secured the delay—in your torture—made them send you food—bolstered your strength."
"Where is she now?" asked Ta-wan-ne-ars hardly.
She looked sidewise at him—I think in pity.
"With the Chevalier de Veulle," she said reluctantly.
Then with quick earnestness:
"'Twas part of her plan. It might not—otherwise be done."
He was silent, and we ran on for as much as a quarter-hour, coming then to the bank of a small stream, where a trail marked a ford.
"Under those bushes," she said, pointing, "you will find your clothes and weapons. We hid them this evening."
I scurried into the undergrowth and started to don the tattered leather garments which were fastened in a bundle to the barrel of my musket—the musket that Juggins had given to me, years and years ago, it seemed, in London, and which I had expected never to see again. But she halted me.
"No, no, Mr. Ormerod!" she exclaimed. "There is not time. You must go on alone, the two of you. They will expect you to strike into the Doom Trail. 'Tis the quickest way to the settlements. Ga-ha-no bade me tell you to go west instead, making for Oswego at the mouth of the Onondagas River. So you may shake off the pursuit of the Keepers."
"But you?" I cried, standing up, bundle and musket in hand.
"'Tis my part to lead them into the Doom Trail."
Ta-wan-ne-ars joined with me in a violent protest. But she waved us aside.
"There is no other way."
"We can fight them off," I asserted.
"But I do not wish to leave," she said.
"What? You would stay here in this place of evil, knowing what goes on!"
"There is no other way," she repeated. "I will have learned much since my coming here, Master Ormerod, and amongst other things, to think the less harshly of you."
"For that I am thankful," I replied, "but sure, you must let us take you back to Fort Orange. Governor Burnet will care for you."
"It can not be," she insisted. "My place is here. Wicked as they be, these men here—and he who is called my father is not the cleanest of them—they work in a good cause. 'Tis for me to stay by and see they do what is expected of them for it."
"We will force you to come with us," I declared hotly.
She shook her cumbrous mask.
"You would not do so. Now be off, sir. The False Faces will be on us any moment—and I am not wishing to be caught by them, even though they would not venture to do me harm."
A burst of ferocious yelling came from the heart of the pine wood.
"They have seen traces of us in the open space by the altar," interpreted Ta-wan-ne-ars.
He swung musket and bundle to his shoulder, and faced the bear-mask, a splendid figure in bronze.
"Sister Ne-e-ar-go-ye," he said gravely, "did Ga-ha-no give you any message for Ta-wan-ne-ars?"
She hesitated.
"She said that if you asked for her I was to tell you to forget Ga-ha-no, that she was unworthy of your memory. But you were to believe that what she did for you tonight was in reparation for her first great wrong."
He bowed his head.
"And oh, Ta-wan-ne-ars," she went on impulsively, "she pays a bitter price. Forgive her."
Ta-wan-ne-ars looked up.
"Say this to Ga-ha-no," he answered. "Say Ta-wan-ne-ars thinks of her as a Lost Soul, tarrying for a while with Ata-ent-sic, and in the end he will come for her and bring her home again to his lodge. Say that Ta-wan-ne-ars never forgets."
He raised his right arm in the gesture of farewell, and stepped into the current of the stream.
"We part once more, Marjory," I said, offering my hand.
She took it.
"For certain words I have spoken to you, I am sorry," she said. "I know more now. You may be my enemy, but I believe you not to be a traitor."
"Thank you. And is that all you have to say to me?"
"That is all," she replied softly, withdrawing her hand.
"Do you take this knife, then," I said, sparring for time against my judgment and all expediency.
She refused it.
"If I am caught they will not harm me."
I shivered at thought of the hands of the brutal priests of So-a-ka-ga-gwa on her unsullied body.
"I will not leave you," I cried, and made to walk with her along the trail.
But she pushed me back.
"You will not be helping me by so acting," she insisted in her quaint Gaelic speech which had won me when I first heard it. "And—and some day I may need your help more than I do tonight."
"Will you call upon me then?"
"Yes."
The yelling of the False Faces burst forth much nearer in the wood.
"Please go, Master Ormerod," she begged. "If I am not overtaken, this mask will protect me as far as the chapel, where my own clothes are awaiting me. They dare not enter there."
I captured her hand again and carried it to my lips.
"My name is Harry," I answered. "And I have never forgotten the song in the cabin of the New Venture."
"Thank you, Harry," she returned with a trill of elfin laughter. "And I do assure you I know other songs."
With that she was gone. Yet I had a feeling I had never known before that she was still with me, and I stepped into the water with joy in my heart.
A score of paces down the bank I found Ta-wan-ne-ars, and we crouched under the pendant branches of a willow to see what would happen, muskets primed and ready.
The yelling in the wood increased in volume as the False Faces followed the course we had taken by broken branches and footprints in the pinemold. A misshapen figure with the head of some fabled beast squattered into the trail and galloped around, nose to ground like a hound seeking a lost scent. In a moment the ugly head was lifted, and a howl of satisfaction greeted the other monstrous shapes which joined it. The whole pack gave tongue and vanished up the trail after Marjory.
Ta-wan-ne-ars waited to give the stragglers time to appear, then rose and led the way along the bed of the stream westward.
"Can you pick your path at night?" I inquired anxiously.
He pointed upward to a group of four stars that sparkled in the velvet blue of the Summer sky.
"So long as Gwe-o-ga-ah[1] shines Ta-wan-ne-ars can not be lost," he answered.
[1] The Loon.
We walked in the water for more than a mile, when the stream turned to the north and we stepped out upon a rock and dressed. Afterward we caught the overhanging bough of a tree and swung ourselves on to dry ground above the bank, never leaving a trace of our course up to that time. From this point we traveled on through the forest, pursuing no settled path, but holding to the westward in the direction of Oswego on the shore of the Cadarakui Lake.
We did not stop until after midday. Ta-wan-ne-ars knocked over a wild turkey with his tomahawk, kindled a fire of dry sticks and broiled the juicy bird before the coals. He insisted that I should sleep first, promising to arouse me at the end of two hours—he reckoned time, I should explain, by the declension of the sun. But when he finally did arouse me the sun was close to setting, and I saw by the sunken look of his eyes that he had not slept during his watch.
"Why did you not wake me?" I asked angrily.
"Ta-wan-ne-ars had no wish for sleep," he returned.
"Nonsense," I retorted. "You can not go indefinitely without rest."
"I had my thoughts for company," he said simply. "They are not happy thoughts, brother. They would not let me sleep."
I was shaken by a profound revulsion of feeling. It came over me that I had never fully appreciated the extreme degree of the mental suffering to which he had been exposed.
"Your sorrow is great," I acknowledged, "but sure you know that she for whom you mourn——"
"She is a sick soul," he said. "She has offended the Great Spirit, and he has permitted Ha-ne-go-ate-geh to cast his shadow over her. But some day she will have performed the penance Ha-wen-ne-yu asks of her, and in that day he will permit Ta-wan-ne-ars to reclaim her."
"I hope so," I replied, stunned by the amazing confidence in eternal justice, the Christian charity, of this man who was, properly speaking, a lettered savage.
"Ta-wan-ne-ars knows it," he asserted confidently. "But I can not help thinking of the wickedness of my enemy."
His hand flew to his knife-hilt.
"I am confident of what will come, but I sorrow over what has been and is."
"I wish I had not spared him when his life was in my hand," I cried.
"My brother did not know," answered Ta-wan-ne-ars. "And already then the harm was done, the evil was sowed, the soul was corrupted."
He smiled gravely.
"Your search is ended, brother," he added.
"What do you mean?"
"The soul you sought has been found. It is no longer sick."
"Mayhap," I agreed, "but none the less 'tis out of reach and in great danger."
"We shall save it," he encouraged me. "Ta-wan-ne-ars knows. We must wait. The time will come."
He refused again to sleep, and we ate the remainder of the turkey—our hunger was prodigious—and pushed on, traveling most of the night. Not once did we see a trace of the Keepers, and when we halted Ta-wan-ne-ars said that we were on the marches of the hunting-grounds of the Mohawks. We slept together the remainder of that night, without a fire and on the top of a steep rock which was set with boulders which the foot of any climber must set in motion.
In the late morning we killed a rabbit, broiled and ate it and tramped the virgin forest until long past sunset. That day we ventured to discharge our firearms, and to my vast pride I killed a small deer. The following afternoon we caught our first view of the inland sea from a height of land, and the next morning we sighted the stockade of Oswego, the fort which Governor Burnet had established on the shores of the lake in his effort to divert the far-western fur-trade from the French posts.
The gate was closed, but as we approached it opened, and an enormous, pot-bellied figure in buckskin and fur cap sauntered out to meet us.
"Ja, idt is you," Corlaer hailed us. "I knew that Joncaire was oop to another of his tricks."
"What do you mean?" I asked as he turned to walk back beside us, his fat face as solemn as ever.
"I hafe hadt a scare," he said. "I came back to De-o-nun-da-ga-a from a hundting-party to find a Tahsagrondie messenger from Joncaire who says he is to tell me you fooled der Gofernor of Jagara, but now you are caught andt hafe gone to La Vierge du Bois. Andt der Tahsagrondie says Joncaire is sorry. Ha, ha! I thought it was a funny message."
"Funny mayhap," I replied feelingly. "But 'twas amazingly true."
Ta-wan-ne-ars nodded confirmation, and for an instant I thought Corlaer was going to betray surprize. But he shut his gaping mouth with resolution.
"What has happened?" he demanded. "I hafe come here to scout der Doom Trail andt learn how you diedt—andt you are alife."
So we told him, whilst the lieutenant in command of the post and his garrison of twenty lusty frontiersmen gathered in a knot to listen over each other's shoulders.
"Budt—budt," expostulated Peter, "you hafe been in La Vierge du Bois!"
"True."
"Budt nobody has efer been in La Vierge du Bois——"
"And come out alive," I amended. "I fear many poor souls have been sacrificed by those fiendish priests."
"Andt you fooled Joncaire!" repeated Peter admiringly.
'Twas that indeed which pleased him most. He insisted upon our repeating the tale with all details, and I believe he would have required a third account had it not been for the interruption which came during the afternoon.
We were sitting in the commandant's quarters on the upper floor of the block-house when the sentries on the stockade announced a large fleet of canoes approaching from the west. The lieutenant promptly issued orders to get out the trade-goods, and prepared for an impressive reception of the savages, deeming them emissaries of some tribe come to exchange their fur-catch of the Winter.
But the leading canoes held on past the fort, and none of those which followed gave indication of intent to steer inshore.
"Hafe you a canoe?" asked Corlaer of the bewildered lieutenant. "Ja? Well, my friendts andt I will go andt ask what this means."
We launched the canoe from the water-gate, and with Peter and Ta-wan-ne-ars at the paddles, sped out into the lake. Some distance from shore we overhauled the rear squadron of the fleet, every canoe loaded deep with packages of furs.
"Ho, brothers," called Ta-wan-ne-ars. "Who are you?"
The nearest canoe hove to.
"We are Necariagues," answered a paddler. "In front of us are Ottawas and Missisakies."
"The Chief of the English fort, who commands here in the name of Ga-en-gwa-ra-go, invites you to come ashore and trade with him."
Up stood a large, stout man with lanky black hair, dressed in the uniform of the French marine troops, who had been ensconced behind a bale of furs.
"Ha, 'tis my friend from Arles," he shouted, "and his companion, the noble warchief! So the Keepers did not keep you?"
"No, Monsieur de Joncaire," I replied. "We are still alive to plague you."
"Venire St. Remi, 'tis not sorry I am! Try it again, my lad. Only try it again!"
"And what are you doing with these people?"
He roared with laughter.
"No more than shepherding them past the temptations of this English."
Ta-wan-ne-ars called again to the Indians in the canoes.
"Come ashore, brothers. We have rich goods to trade with you."
"We do not need to trade with the English," replied the Necariague who had spoken before. "We are glad we can trade with our fathers, the French. They have plenty of goods to offer us. Onontio has sent word he will pay better than the English now."
"Ha, ha, ha," exploded Joncaire. "Ho, ho, ho!Mort de ma vie!Tonerr-rr-re de Dieu! 'Tis an odd world! The boot is on the other leg, Monsieur l'Arlesien!
"Present my compliments to Monsieur Burnet, Peter Corlaer. You may tell him I am not so discouraged as I once was. No, no, many things have happened.
"Au revoir—and avoid the Keepers. Avoid the keepers by all means. I am told they keep a strict watch upon the Doom Trail these days."
His paddlers dipped their blades, and his bellows of laughter were wafted back to us as his canoe followed the fur argosy down the lake toward the French posts on the St. Lawrence—posts whose magazines were already beginning to swell with the life-blood of English trade which was pouring over the Doom Trail.