 | CHAPTER II. The bandits of the Osage |  |
2. CHAPTER II.
THE MEETING OF THE BANDITTI—THE ADDRESS—THE
SUSPICION—THE ELECTION—THE APPOINTMENT
THE INITIATION—THE OATH.
The night succeeding the day in which we have
introduced the reader into the grand rendezvous
of the banditti, was densely dark. Clouds low and
heavy canopied the heavens and veiled the light
of moon and stars. To add to the gloom without,
was a thick fog and drizzly rain, which completely
forbade all objects to the eye, unless aided by
artificial light. Within the larger cave, running
through its centre, was a row of torches, whose
red, flickering glare gave each thing a somewhat
sombre and fantastical appearance. Near the farther
end stood a group of four figures, coarsely
habited, whose large statures and brawny limbs
gave evidence of great animal power. Their features,
by the light of the torches, were anything
but preposessing, and varied in expression only by
the inner workings of fierce passions. They were
evidently on some exciting topic, for their gesticulations
were quick and fierce, their language low
and energetic, occasionally mingled with a guttural
oath, which, like the distant sound of thunder,
told of the accumulating storm of passion ere
long to burst in fury on some devoted head. Neither
of them wore coat or vest; but a coarse shirt
covered their shoulders, and being entirely open
in front, left their broad, bronzed bosoms free.
With the exception of one, their muscular arms
were bare; this exception being doubtless caused
by an accident, as the owner carried his arm in a
sling. Around each waist passed a belt, in which,
convenient to the hand, were placed pistols, knives
and daggers, ready for use at any moment. For
some time the conversation, as we have said, was
low and hurried; but at length a voice, as though
passion had got the better of prudence, exclaimed
somewhat loudly:
“Hang me, but they shall both die! I—”
“Hush, fool!” interrupted another; “would ye
spoil all with your imprudence? We may be
overheard,” he added, in a lower tone, and again
the voices died away to a murmur. Leaving them
to the plotting of their own dark deeds, we will
now turn our attention to another part of the cave.
We have previously mentioned, that to enter
this retreat, you must descend abruptly some fifteen
feet. This was done by means of a ladder,
which could be removed at a moment's notice. At
the foot of this ladder, day and night, paced a sentinel,
whose imperious orders were to admit no
one, not even the chief himself, without the password
and countersign; and furthermore, should
without giving both pass-word and countersign,
after being three times warned of the
consequences, it should be the duty of the sentinel
to fire on said person with intent to take life;
in failure whereof, or being found asleep on his
post, his own life was the forfeit. For farther
safety against a sudden attack, was a trap door exactly
under the entrance, so constructed, that by
touching a secret spring it would fly open and
leave an aperture some fifty feet in depth, at the
bottom of which were sharp stones, so placed that
no living body could fall on them from above and
survive the shock.
At the foot of the ladder mentioned, on the
evening in question, paced the sentinel, with the
steady gait and regular wheel of an old soldier—
bearing on his shoulder a rifle. For some minutes
nothing was heard but the murmur of the voices
already spoken of, and his own measured tread.
At length a sound, like the plash of an oar, fell
upon his ear. Suddenly pausing, he bent his head
forward in a listening attitude; and then, as if satisfied
all was right, resumed his walk. But little
time elapsed ere the sound of oars was heard distinctly,
and the hum of voices from without. Directly
came a sound like the striking of an oar
three times flatwise upon the water, when the
sentinel paused, and in a quick, sharp voice, sung
out:
“Heta benare?”[1]
“Ele lio!”[2] was the answer.
“Come forward and give the pass and countersign!”
A figure instantly stood in the mouth of the
cave, crossed his arms on his breast, drew a
dagger from his belt, passed it across his neck,
touched the point to his heart, and returned it;
all of which was done with a rapid motion, uttering,
at the same time, the pass-word: “Eliona!”
“All right—descend!” returned the sentinel;
and as the figure passed down, another stood in
the entrance, went through the same ceremony,
and was followed in quick succession by some
fifty others. At length the signal was given that
all had entered, and the last comer took up his
position as sentinel on the outside of the cave,
while the other kept his round within as usual.
The group we have mentioned previously, on
the entrance of the new comers dispersed and
mingled with them. For some ten minutes there
was a general hum of voices, engaged on different
topics, when suddenly Ronald came forth from
the Chieftain's Chamber, and all was silent. With
a dignified step he proceeded to and mounted the
platform or stand, where he was greeted with three
loud, hearty cheers. As he listened to this spontaneous
tribute to his popularity, his dark eye
flashed, a look of pride shot across his stern, dark
features, and raising his hand to command silence,
he thus addressed the assemblage:
“Gentlemen and brothers:—To me, I must confess,
the present moment is a proud one; for it revives
the time when, with one universal voice as
it were, you proclaimed me your captain—gave
me, a stranger, your confidence; which you are
aware, as well as myself, was no less than placing
your lives at my disposal; and shows that your
confidence in me is still unshaken. Five years
ago, this night, I was elected your chief; in doing
which you made my simplest word an imper
ative law. That you should confer at a venture
such honor, such absolute rule, on myself, on one
you had never even proved, was, and remains to
this day with me a matter of surprise and mystery.
What I had done previously to merit your
confidence, I know not; but I felt at that moment,
gentlemen, that as you considered me worthy
to govern you, I would throw the whole
strength of my mind, would concentrate my whole
thoughts upon one theme, which should be for
your prosperity; and to prove, if possible, your
confidence not misplaced. That I have succeeded,
I feel in the welcome sound of your glad voices.”
He paused, and a universal shout echoed through
the cave.
“For five years,” he resumed, “I have been your
leader; and by this means, as you are well aware,
have made myself an outlaw, and a price has been
set on the head of the bandit chief. That I do not
fear being betrayed—that I do not fear, notwithstanding
this, to mingle in society, even where
danger is the most apparent—you, gentlemen,
from my actions, can bear ample witness: but,
gentlemen, in regard to this matter for the future,
I would ask a favor.
“You are aware, at least most of you, that three
years ago I married Inez Orlandi—a lady of noble
descent, whose self-sacrificing love was such that
she chose life with me, a bandit, rather than a
higher destiny—or at least what the world would
term a higher—with another. Since then, gentlemen,
as you have doubtless perceived, I have
never been the same being—have never taken the
same interest in the rough sports of our wild life.
To-night you again choose a leader for another
five years; and the favor I would ask of you
is, that you will exempt me from your choice.
Let a division of all our spoils be made, and let
me, gentlemen, retire into private life. It is the
wish, save your prosperity, nearest my heart; and
I await your answer.” Again he paused, and the
cave was silent as the hall of death; not even so
much as a whisper relieved the stillness. Each
appeared taken by surprise, and awaiting the answer
of his neighbor.
Ronald cast a hurried glance over the assemblage,
and read in their grave and saddened countenances,
as one used to reading the thoughts
of the heart by the features, that he would meet
with opposition in this respect, even from those
who loved him best; that save him there was
no one in whom they would be united; that, in
short, he was the man of their choice, without
whom disorganization must take place. There
is, in all, who possess strong feelings, an innate
pride in being thought the first in his profession
—even though that profession be to gamble or
steal; a secret satisfaction in knowing that in his
line he is popular, and feeling himself that he excels.
Such thoughts, such feelings, were busy in
the breast of Ronald, as his eye ran over the
group; and pride and regret were struggling within
him for the mastery. Pride, that his services
were held in such high esteem by those who had
tried him—regret, that he could not retire in seclusion
to enjoy life with his own loved Inez.
But the struggle was but momentary. Pride was,
perhaps, his ruling passion; and even here pride
prevailed. He could not look upon their earnest,
saddened faces, at his loss, unmoved; and
with an animated eye, and a flush on his strongly
marked features, that gave him an almost noble
look, in a voice of some emotion, he said.
“Gentlemen, you speak not, and yet I am answered;
reigns around me—in the sad faces of those who
were wont to be joyous in my success;—and, gentlemen,
let me tell you, whatever may have been
my feelings in asking, I am truly proud of your
answer. Yes! gentlemen, you have decided my
fate! Henceforth I am with you—with my life
will I serve you!”
It would be impossible to describe the scene
of joyous excitement that followed this announcement.
We shall not attempt it. Suffice, that
never before had the cave echoed such prolonged
and deafening cheers; and even Inez, who sat
with her head bent forward, in the Inner Cave,
raised it with a look of pride, although she felt
her fondest hopes were forever destroyed. When
the tumult had a little subsided, so that he could
be heard, Ronald resumed:
“Gentlemen, let us to business! I pray you
be seated, that we may proceed in order. Piketon,
you will call the roll!” As he spoke, each
quietly took his seat on one of the benches before
spoken of as ranging along the walls, with the
exception of the one called Piketon, who stepped
forward and mounted the platform beside the captain.
He was a tall, broad-shouldered, muscular
man, with tolerably good features,—an eye black
and piercing, dark hair, Roman nose—of a look
rather stern than villainous, and some thirty
years of age. There was, too, about him an expression
of intelligence superior to most of those
present. As he came upon the stand, Ronald
handed him a paper, containing the names of the
members, which he called off in a clear, distinct
voice, pricking those from whom no answer was
returned.
“How many present?” enquired Ronald.
Piketon ran his eye over the list and answered:
“Sixty-seven, excluding the sentinels.”
“Who stands on duty at the cave?”
“Moorehead and Farrar.”
“Morris and Parker guard the Entrance,” returned
Ronald, “which adds four, leaving absent
twenty-one: am I right?”
Piketon again ran his eye over the list, counting
the names pricked, and answered: “You are, captain.”
“Four of the absent—Lemly, Davis, Sulton
and Vance—you may strike off altogether,” said
Ronald, sadly:—“they are written on the roll of
eternity! Alas! poor fellows! they met with untimely
fates—the first two shot, the last two
hung—a warning that we should be prudent, or
like fates may be our own. Fourteen of the absent
I can account for;” and he mentioned their
names. “They are scattered throughout the United
States—two in New Orleans, five in New York,
one in Boston, two in Philadelphia, two in Baltimore,
and two in Cincinnati. They are on secret
service, acting under my instructions, and with
whom I am holding regular correspondence; by
which means I am informed of every thing that
tends to the benefit of our society—such as the
description of travelers bound for the West, who
are supposed to carry money, and the best method
of obtaining it; which, as you are aware, gentlemen,
we have not unfrequently done by gambling.
Many of you have, at different times, expressed
wonder that I knew so well how to choose
my victims; and I have deemed it no more than
right, on the present occasion, to explain; for I
feel you are all entitled to my confidence.”
A murmur of delighted surprise, at their captain's
ingenuity, now ran among the assemblage,
and ended in a hearty cheer, with: “Long live
Ronald Bonardi!”
“Great astonishment, I ween,” continued the
captain, with a smile, “would some of the nabobs
feel, did they know, when sitting down to a quiet
game of cards with me, a fellow-traveler, that
they would rise completely fleeced by Ronald Bonardi,
a bandit chief. But come,” he added, turning
to Piketon, “let us finish our business. There
are three names not yet accounted for: you will
call them!”
Again Piketon scanned the list closely, and after
a moment's pause, said: “The missing are Garrish,
Riley, and David the Jew.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Ronald, pressing his nether
lip between his teeth, as though struck by a sudden
thought:—“The Jew! not here? I know not
why, but I half suspect Ben David meditates foul
play.”
“And I'll swear to 't, cap'en,” spoke a gruff
voice, from one of the benches.
An electric thrill appeared to run through the
assemblage, and several of the party sprang to
their feet, grasping the handles of their weapons
as though to draw them.
“Pray, be seated, gentlemen,” said Ronald, waiving
his hand, “and let the accuser stand forth.”
The request was immediately obeyed; and the individual
previously mentioned as having his arm
in a sling, stepped forward. He was a man of
large frame, mostly bone and muscle, having a
head much too large for his body, with features
coarse and repulsive—partly covered by a rough,
dirt-brown beard—a large nose, and an eye every
way villainous. His hair was of a similar color
to his beard—was long, coarse and matted; and
he was, besides, stoop-shouldered and bow-legged;
in short, a man where the animal was wholly predominant.
His age might be forty.
“Ha! Curdish,” continued Ronald, eyeing him
steadily, “is it you, his friend, that accuse him?”
“I don't exactly reckon myself his friend,”
growled Curdish, with an oath; “though I have
did him some favors.”
“By reason of which you have doubtless suffered
some of late,” added Ronald, pointing to his
arm. “How happened it, Jack?”
Curdish glanced at his arm, and his features
grew more fierce and his eye more villainous, as
he replied: “Well, yes, I got a little hurt thar', in
a scrimmage on his account; but—” and he uttered
a horrible oath—“I'll be even with the rascals
yit, or I aint what I used to be.”
“If all I learn is true, Curdish, you deserved
what you got, and more!” returned Ronald, knitting
his brows, and eyeing him sternly; “but of
this another time. Of what do you accuse the
Jew? Beware, now, of your accusation! for if
false, you know the penalty.”
“I can't read, and I don't know how the law
runs,” said Curdish, somewhat doggedly.
“I will inform you then,” rejoined Ronald; and
stooping down, he unlocked a small trap-door in
the floor of the ptatform on which he stood, took
therefrom a parchment, turned to the light, examined
it a moment, and read as follows:
“Sec. II, Art. IX. If any member shall be
known to give any evidence against another member
that is not strictly true, or which may be
proved to be false, he shall suffer death, as provided
under the Black Law, in Article XV of Section
I: which is,” added Ronald, “to be publicly
shot by the captain of the band, and his body
thrown to wild beasts. You understand the law
do you accuse the Jew?”
Curdish appeared somewhat staggered at the
consequences of a false statement, and his face
grew a shade paler, as he replied: “I'm not exactly
ready to prove what I's going to say,
cap'en.”
“Then you had better not say it,” answered
Ronald. “You can tell me of your suspicions
privately, and I will take measures to learn
whether or no they be well founded. You may
resume your place; and I trust, for the future,
ere you offer to swear to a thing, you will at least
know yourself of what you intend to swear, or
the terminus may not be agreeable. As I said,
you may resume your place and take part in the
business of the evening; after which you will
consider yourself under arrest, as there are other
matters of which I wish to question you!”
“But cap'en—”
“No more!” said Ronald, sternly, waiving his
hand. Curdish bit his lips and slowly retired.—
`Gentlemen,” continued the captain, “trust
me, all shall be properly looked to; and if I find a
traitor among us”—he set his teeth close and laid
his hand upon a pistol in his belt—“by Heaven,
he dies! But to our business. You will now proceed,
gentlemen, to the election of your captain.
Let each vote for him he deems most capable and
worthy of holding the office. Piketon, you will
go to each member present and take down the
name of his choice.” Piketon obeyed, and in a
few minutes returned to the stand and said:
“Ronald Bonardi is re-elected captain of this band,
for the term of five years, without a dissenting
vote.” The announcement was followed by three
hearty cheers, and “Long live Ronald Bonardi!”
When the noise had again subsided, Bonardi
said: “Contrary to my wish, gentlemen, when I
came before you this evening, I find that I have
been unanimously chosen your leader for another
term. I shall endeavor to fulfil my duties faithfully;
and, gentlemen, let me add, strictly. I fear,
by some evidences which have of late come before
me”—and he glanced at Curdish—“that I have
been heretofore too lenient—too negligent. I
shall make the future atone for the past; and whoever
among you breaks a law, though he be my
bosom friend, I swear to you he shall suffer the
penalty—even though that penalty be his death
by my hands! Let each and all of you bear this
in mind and seriously reflect upon it.”
“We, gentlemen, are outlaws; we war upon society;
but, mark me, we war only upon the rich
and avaricious! Most of us have had causes for
forsaking that society, those laws which govern
the mass. Those causes have been various; and
yet, in the end, they almost invariably resolve
themselves into one cause; which is, that society
and its laws did not protect, did not do us justice.
But notwithstanding we separate from the mass,
we must have laws of our own; and by those laws
we must abide. Notwitstanding we are outlaws,
warring against the nabobs of the world; against
those who, had they the power, would trample us
under their feet; let us not forget that we are men,
and that we have no right to touch the humble,
the innocent, the defenceless. No! whatever we
do, let us bear in mind that they are exempt from
our encroachments. But above all, gentlemen,
under no circumstances whatever let our hands be
raised against women! Let them be sacred in our
eyes! Let us remember that what they are, so
are, or were, our mothers, our sisters and, with
many of you I can add, our wives! Gentlemen,
I ask this of you as men, as brothers, with whose
fate my own is now linked! I ask it of you in
formal declaration! I ask you to swear it, by rising
to your feet!” He paused, and almost simultaneously
the assemblage arose. Some few were
rather tardy—among whom was Curdish—but all
finally stood upon their feet.
“Be seated, gentlemen,” resumed Ronald; “it is
enough; you have all sworn, and it is now become
a law; and a law let him break who dares!—for by
all I hold sacred, I swear to you, whoever shall
dare to violate it, I will slay, so help me God!”—
and his close shut teeth, his compressed lips and
flashing eyes, as he gazed on his audience, told
them it was no idle threat.
“As I find, gentlemen,” continued he, “in tending
to my various business affairs, that I require
some one to fill my place when absent, I have concluded
to appoint me a lieutenant, whom you will
all respect and obey as myself. He is one well
known among you, well tried and proved to be
worthy of the responsible office, and I trust you
will approve my choice. Piketon,” added he, turning
to that individual, “henceforth you are second
in command; let your duty be done faithfully!”
A prolonged cheer of satisfaction responded to
this announcement. Piketon, much embarrassed,
was about to reply, but Ronald stopped him with:
“Nay, no remarks;” and approaching, he put
upon his finger a ring, adding: “This, Piketon,
is your badge of office. Gentlemen, you will all
remember it, there is but one other like it, and
you will all respect either whenever seen.” Turning
to Piketon, in a low voice not heard by the
others, he continued: “You will order Garrish,
Riley and David under arrest, to meet here as soon
as possible. If they dispute your authority, show
them the ring. If they refuse then to comply,
make their lives the penalty! If you choose, take
with you some trusty followers.”
“Your orders, captain, shall be obeyed to the
letter,” returned the lieutenant, respectfully.
Ronald again turned to the audience. “Gentlemen,
the attack we have of late been planning
on the Tennessee planter, I shall not touch upon
to-night. It may be advantageous and it may not.
I will think more upon it, and mayhap something
better will take its place. Is there any other business
before the meeting?”
Piketon whispered in his ear.
“Ah! true, true,” he resumed, “I had forgotten;
where is he?”
“He waits in a boat on the creek,” answered
Piketon.
“Gentlemen, John Webber wishes to become a
member of our fraternity. You know him, some
of you have tried him, know you ought why we
should not admit him?”
“We do not,” answered several voices.
“Enough! Moorehead, give Farrar the signal
to admit Webber!”
The sentinel within made a low peculiar whistle,
which was answered from without, and directly
a figure stood in the entrance, gave the pass
and countersign, and descended the ladder. He
was very wet, for it still continued raining; and as
he came forward, the torches threw their lurid
glare upon features which a close observer might
have seen were pale from excitement. Piketon
stepped forward and conducted him to the stand.
Bonardi addressed him:
“Webber, I understand you wish to join our
fraternity. You of course are not ignorant that in
that in doing so you become an outlaw also,
and place yourself in a position not envied by
those who have received from society proper treatment.
What object may have induced you to this
step, it is not my purpose to enquire; enough that
you have desired to take it, knowing that you are
becoming a brother with those whose deeds by the
world are considered crimes—crimes too, which
are punished with imprisonment and sometimes
death. You are doubtless aware also, that in joining
us you are binding yourself to us in a manner
that makes your life no longer your own, but a
property of the whole; ready to be sacrificed in
defence of the whole, should necessity require it, at
any moment. As you are bound to us, so are we
bound to you; and if in difficulty, we are bound as
a body, if possible, to rescue you, even at the peril
of our own lives. In joining us you become a
partner in all our spoils, in all our dangers, in all
our triumphs, in all our troubles. These matters
of course you understand?”
Webber bowed.
“It now only remains, then, for me to administer
the oath. You will please hold up your right
hand!”
Webber complied.
“By this token of assent, you, John Webber,
in the presence of Almighty God, and these witnesses,
solemnly swear that you will devote your
life to us and our cause, so long as we remain a
band; that you will abide by all our laws, stand
ready to uphold them under all difficulties, under
all circumstances whatever; in failure whereof,
you ardently pray us to take your life as a sacrifice,
and the Author of your being to condemn you
to eternal torments forever and ever!—in further
confirmation of which, you will kneel, repeat this
oath and sign our constitution.”
These requisitions being complied with, Ronald
continued: “You are now a brother;” and after a
pause, added emphatically: “Forget not your
oath! Piketon, you will read our laws and bylaws,
that he may not plead ignorance should he
transgress, which I pray God he may not do! for
I have sworn to inflict the penalty set to each law,
on him who breaks it; and I now again swear that
I will keep my oath!—and, Piketon, you will add
the law of this evening, regarding women, the innocent
and defenceless.”
After this had been gone through with—occupying
some half hour more—Ronald said: “Gentlemen,
for your attention this evening I thank
you. Our business is now closed. What, ho!
Cyntha!—the wine!” and as the slave came forth
from the Chieftain's Chamber, he added: “Gentlemen,
make yourselves happy; there is wine,
and cards for those who wish to play; but I pray
you be as quiet as possible, and no quarreling!—
When through with your pastime, return peaceably
to your homes, and when anything of importance
occurs you shall be duly warned. I shall
now retire. Piketon, you will preside in my
place;” and with a graceful bow, Ronald entered
the Chieftain's Chamber and joined his own beloved
Inez, who was sitting expectant.
All passed off quietly, and ere daylight most of
the party were on their way to their several places
of abode, which were scattered throughout the adjoining
country—many of them being regular settlers.
Some few, however, remained—having
partaken rather too freely of the wine; but with
the exception of Curdish and four others retained
as sentinels, all departed on the following day.
| CHAPTER II. The bandits of the Osage | |