 | CHAPTER II. Koningsmarke, the long Finne |  |
2. CHAPTER II.
They wander'd with great pain;
And some that went forth on that day,
Never return'd again.”
After the savages had completed the plundering
and burning of the village, they departed
with their prisoners towards the river, on whose
banks the principal part of them resided. Besides
the fair Christina and Koningsmarke,
the captives consisted of counsellor Ludwig
Varlett, Lob Dotterel, a poor man named Claas
Tomeson, his wife and child, and that likely
fellow Cupid, who, for some cause or other,
seemed rather to accompany them voluntarily
than by compulsion.
They shaped their course to the westward,
passing through deep forests, where the sound
of the axe had never been heard, and where the
wild animals had hitherto maintained undisturbed
possession. Poor Christina was soon so
worn down with grief and fatigue, that she was
party, and had not the Long Finne sometimes
taken her in his arms and carried her through
the swamps, she would have been murdered by
the savages, who several times turned back and
threatened her with their tomahawks. At the
end of the first day's journey, the luckless wife
of Claas Tomeson, whose infant was scarcely
a month old, was so worn down, that the Indians
debated whether they should not put an end to
them both. Finally it was resolved upon
and they were despatched, in spite of the shrieks
of Christina, and the agonizing cries of the husband,
who was first tied to a tree, and thus he
witnessed, without being able to make a single
effort to prevent it, the fate of his helpless wife,
and still more helpless infant.
Three days more they journeyed in this manner,
Christina every day becoming more weak,
and every moment expecting to meet the fate of
the poor woman and her child. Towards the
evening of the fourth, they approached the banks
of the river on which dwelt the tribe of the Rolling
Thunder, and gave the war-whoop, which
was answered by the women, children and
old men that had remained at home. One of
the warriors had been previously sent to the
and prepare them for a frolic. Accordingly,
the party was met about half a mile from
the town, by an infuriated rabble, armed with
guns, clubs, and tomahawks, hallooing and
whooping with horrible exultation, mixed with
cries of vengeance, from the kindred of those
who had been slain in the attack upon Elsingburgh.
Poor Claas Tomeson was selected, on this
occasion, for the object of their infernal meriment.
He was stripped, painted black with
charcoal, and apprized that if he gained the door
of the council house, which was pointed out to
him, he would be safe. They then gave him
the start about six paces, and Claas ran for his
life, followed by the yelling crew, who assailed
him with every ingenuity of torture they could
devise; beating him with clubs, cutting at him
with their tomahawks, and sometimes putting
the muzzles of their guns close to his naked
skin and firing powder into it, powowing and beating
their rude drums all the while. Poor Claas,
although wounded and maimed in a cruel manner,
animated by a last hope, exerted himself to
the utmost, and at length succeeded in gaining
the door of the council house, that sanctuary even
and at the same instant fainted under his tortures
and exertions. A dispute now arose,
whether he had fairly entitled himself to the
condition upon which his life was to be spared,
and it was with great difficulty the old men
could restrain the infuriated youth from
despatching him. At length it was agreed to
spare the victim, at least for the present, and
he was carried to a wigwam, where a doctor or
conjurer was sent to attend upon him.
The first thing the doctor did, was to mumble
to himself a parcel of unconnected jargon,
which poor Claas as little comprehended as a
civilized patient does a civilized doctor, when
he describes his symptoms. He then caused a
large fire to be made, and the door to be shut,
and thereupon began to cut capers and shout
aloud, until he was in a glorious perspiration;
it being his opinion, that whenever a patient
could not take sufficient exercise to produce
this effect upon himself, the next best thing was
for the doctor to do it for him. So, also, if it
was necessary to take medicines, or fast, the
practice of the Indian doctor was to take the
physic, and undergo the penance himself;
all which equally redounded to the benefit
well paid. Without that indispensable preliminary,
this mode of cure was devested of
all its efficacy. After capering himself into a
fine perspiration, and swallowing a dose of
something, the doctor inquired of Claas how
he felt himself. The poor fellow, who was
soon recovered to the use of his senses, thought
it most prudent to compliment the doctor by
saying he was much better; for he was apprehensive
that if the doctor lost all hope of finally
curing his patient, he might cut the matter
short and save his credit, by recommending an
auto de fe, so he professed himself marvellously
benefited.
The next day the Doctor came again, cut a
few more capers, talked a little jargon, and took
a drink of strong liquor, or rum, in order to
strengthen his patient, who, as before, declared
the great benefit he received from the prescription.
The third time, the doctor brought with him
his great medicine, as he called it, which was to
perfect the cure. He began with making the
most diabolical faces imaginable; then he puffed,
and strained, and struggled, as if contesting with
some invisible being with might and main.
Presently he ceased, crying out, at the same
in the learned language of the Indians, means,
“give, give me thy breeches.” This being explained
to Claas, and he at the same time assured
that the success of the great medicine
depended upon his complying with the requisitions
of the doctor, he was fain to give up his
breeches. The doctor then commenced another
great contest with the invisible maneto,
whom he again tumbled on the floor with a
mighty effort, exclaiming at the same time—
“Mila-mila-capotionian,” which means “give me
thy coat.” With this also poor Claas complied.
Hereupon the doctor began a struggle more
desperate than the preceding, which terminated
in his crying out aloud—“Mila-mila-papa-kionian,”
which means, give me thy waistcoat,
Claas parted with his red waistcoat, gorgeously
bedecked with round metal buttons, with a sore
heart. In this way the doctor gradually devested
his patient of all his valuables, and at length,
looking round to see if there was any thing left,
he took out of his leathern pouch an eagle's
feather, and, pulling some of the down, blew it in
the face of his patient, crying out—“Houana!
houana!—magat! magat!” “'Tis done—'tis
gathering together the various items of his
fee, he marched with astonishing dignity and
gravity out of the wigwam. In process of time
honest Claas actually recovered, furnishing
a pregnant example of the excellent effects resulting
from the doctor's taking his own prescriptions,
instead of administering them to the patient.
In the mean while a council had been held for
the purpose of deciding the destinies of the other
prisoners. Agreeably to the customs of these
people, the relatives of an Indian killed in battle
have the choice, either of adopting a prisoner in
the room of the friend they have lost, or of putting
him to death by torture. Accordingly,
Christina, Koningsmarke, Counsellor Varlett,
Lob Dotterel, and Claas Tomeson, the latter
scarce recovered from the effects of the gauntlet
he had run, were brought forth in front of the
council house, to receive their doom of death or
adoption.
The mothers of three warriors slain at the
attack upon Elsingburgh came forth, howling,
and tearing their long black hair, like so many
furies thirsting for the blood of their victims;
while the young children, taught from their
enemies, stood ready to assist, if necessary, in
executing the judgment. After examining the
prisoners for a few minutes, as if debating
whether to yield to the suggestions of policy or
vengeance, a young squaw came forward, and
taking the hand of Christina, exclaimed—“Five
moons ago I lost a sister, who was carried away
by the Mohawks; thou shalt take her place, and
be unto me as a sister.” The old men signified
their acquiescence, and the Indian girl led her
white sister to her wigwam.
The wife of the chief who was slain in attempting
to detain the boat, as we have heretofore
stated, then stepped forth, after having for
a while contemplated the face and form of the
Long Finne, and addressed the old men—“My
children have lost a father, I a husband—
revenge is sweet—but who will hunt for us,
and supply us with food in the long winters, if I
should say, let us sacrifice this white-man who
killed a red chief? No—let him be my slave,
and hunt for me, as he did who is now gone to
the land of spirits.” Her choice was in like
manner sanctioned by the sages, and Koningsmarke
was given to the Indian widow as her
decide.
Next came the turn of Lob Dotterel, whose
bald pate excited, in no small degree, the wonder
of the forest kings, who had heard the story of
his scalp coming off in such a miraculous manner.
A grand council had been held upon his
wig, but they could make nothing of it. The
prevailing opinion was, that it was a great
medicine, by the virtue of which Lob had
escaped all damage from an operation so fatal
to others, and that the high constable was a sort
of wizard, whom it would be somewhat dangerous
to meddle with. After a long talk among
the old men, it was at length decided to spare
him, for the present, with a view to his instructing
them in the method of compounding this
great medicine, so important to the safety of
the Indian warrior.
Counsellor Varlett and Claas Tomeson now
only remained to be adjudged, and the
assemblage of women and children began
to murmur at the thoughts of losing what
is considered a high frolic among them,
in like manner as civilized women and children
delight in seeing a man hanged. The mothers
of two of the warriors slain at Elsingburgh,
came forward, and clamorously demanded their
sacred customs of the savages, must not be
denied. Their doom was accordingly pronounced,
and hailed by the dismal scalp halloo,
the signal of torture and death. The two victims
were accordingly seized, stripped, and
painted black, and beaten with sticks by the
women and boys. Claas Tomeson's hands
were then tied behind his back with a rope, the
other end of which was fastened to a stake about
fifteen feet high, leaving sufficient length to
admit of his going round it two or three times,
and back again. A chief then addressed the
multitude, urging every topic calculated to excite
their ruling passion of revenge, and was
answered by a yell that made the vast forest
ring.
Then began a scene of horror, which has
been often witnessed by the dauntless spirits
who marched in the van, to the exploring and
settling of this new world, and which may,
perhaps, in some measure, serve to excuse
their harshness to that unhappy race, by whom
their friends and brothers had so often suffered.
The Indian men first approached, and fired
powder into his naked skin. Then they lighted
the pile, composed of sticks, one end of which
post, at the distance of five or six yards. A
party of these exasperated and inhuman beings,
then seizing the burning brands, surrounded the
wretched victim, and thrust them into his naked
body. Presenting themselves on every side,
which ever way he ran, he met the fiends with
their burning fagots, and if he stood still, they
all assailed him at once. The squaws then
threw the hot ashes and burning coals upon his
bare head, which, falling upon the ground, in a
little while he had nothing to tread upon but a
bed of fire. Claas called them cowards—
women—and begged them to shoot him like
men and warriors. But they only answered
him with laughter, shouts, and new tortures.
Claas then, in the agony of his sufferings,
besought the Almighty to have compassion
upon him, and permit him at once to die.
“Hark!” cried the warriors; “he is a woman,
he is no warrior, he cries out like a coward.”
Exhausted, at length, with pain and exertion,
he laid himself down upon his face, gradually
losing all acuteness of sensation, and apparently
becoming almost insensible. But from this
blessed apathy he was roused by an old hag,
who, placing some burning coals on a piece of
now excoriated from head to foot. The poor
victim again started upon his feet, and walked
slowly round the post, gazing with a vacant
look on those about him, and appearing hardly
to know what was going forward. Perceiving
that he no longer was susceptible to suffering,
a chief came behind him, and buried his tomahawk
in the back of his head. He fell, and
yielded his tortured spirit without a groan.
It now came to the turn of Ludwig Varlett,
who had witnessed this scene with a degree of
firmness, peculiar to that class of people who
march in the van of civilization, in our woody
progress, and whose daily toils, dangers and
exposures, gradually render them almost insensible
to fear or suffering. Perceiving his fate
to be inevitable, he resolved to meet it like a
man; at the same time athought came over
him, that he might possibly escape the tortures
of his poor comrade. By means of some
little smattering of their language, which he
had acquired as a trader, he managed to make
some of the chiefs comprehend that he was in
possession of a great medicine, so powerful, as
to render those acquainted with the secret, invulnerable
to a rifle ball. The chiefs shook
and asked him if he were willing to try the experiment
in his own person. Ludwig said yes,
and desired that five or six of them would load
their guns, while he placed himself about twenty
yards distant. They did so, and the crowd
stood in breathless anxiety to witness the virtues
of the great medicine. “One—two—three—
fire!” cried he; and the next instant he lay
stretched a corse. The Indians ran up to him,
and then, for the first time, comprehending the
whole affair, they became mad with rage and
disappointment. They tore his body into pieces,
scooped up his blood with their hands, and
drank it smoking hot, and finally tossed his
limbs into the flames. But the brave Ludwig
felt it not, and escaped, by his presence of mind,
the sad and lingering tortures of Indian cruelty.
This horrible festival was concluded by a
drinking match, which they were enabled to
carry to the most extravagant excess, by means
of a quantity of spirits they had taken at the
village of Elsingburgh. The two tribes, who
had been jointly engaged in that expedition,
first separated, the one crossing the river, in
order that the remembrance of former injuries,
which is the first impulse of intoxication in the
between the two. They then appointed persons
to secrete their arms, and maintain order
during the scene which was to ensue. The debauch
then commenced, by pouring a keg of
spirits into a large kettle, and dipping it out
with wooden ladles. A scene ensued which
baffles all description. The shoutings, hallooings,
whoopings, and shrieks, of each party,
were heard at intervals, during the whole night,
and the morning presented the wretched bacchanals,
dejected, worn out, and melancholy in
the extreme. Some had their clothes torn from
their backs, some were wounded, others crippled,
and three dead bodies marked the bloody
excesses to which barbarians are prone, when
their dormant passions are excited by that most
pernicious foe of savage and civilized man,
strong drink.
| CHAPTER II. Koningsmarke, the long Finne | |