University of Virginia Library

19. CHAPTER XIX.

[Shakspeare.

[Otway.

We left Clifton and his friends in
a rather serious predicament, and
to them we must now return. The
attention of the whites, as the reader
is aware, was solely directed to
finding the body of Moody; and this
will account for their being taken
so wholly unguarded; though it
may be questioned if they would
not have been taken equally by
surprise, had they been keenly on
the look-out for savages—so effectually
had the latter secreted themselves
in the thicket. Had they
suspected an ambuscade, however,
their hands and weapons would
have been ready for the conflict, and
the result would have been widely
different from what it was in the
present case. There were nine
savages in all, Unkee being away,
and seven whites—every one of
whom was engaged with a pole in
raking the river at the moment
when he was captured. This the
Indians, from the information given
by Unkee, had anticipated, and had
laid their plans accordingly. As
the whites approached, each Indian
singled out his man, leaving two of
their party in readiness to close in,
in case any one should meet with
more than his match—or fire upon
and follow the fugitive, in case one
of the other party made his escape.
At a preconcerted signal, each
sprang forward, and throwing his
arms around his antagonist, secured
him, with but one exception, without
a single blow being struck in
defense, and at the precise moment,
too, when the scream of Kate announced

her, as was afterward ascertained,
a prisoner also.

The exception alluded to, was
Clifton. Quick witted, and possessed
of great presence of mind,
no sooner did he hear the yells, and
feel his arms grasped from behind,
than, comprehending how matters
were, he made a feint to yield,
which threw the Indian somewhat
off his guard, and then suddenly
bounding forward, cleared himself
of his captor. In an instant the
tomahawk of the savage was
gleaming before his eyes, and the
next moment it would have been
buried in his skull, had not his great
dexterity again saved him. Drawing
his knife, bending his head forward,
and springing to the Indian
all at the same time, he avoided the
weapon of the latter, which struck
beyond him, and buried his own in
the heart of his foe. The Indian
uttered a groan, and sunk down a
corpse. Turning as quick as lightning,
our hero saw the two others
rushing toward him, weapons in
hand. The foremost was two
paces in advance of his companion;
and hastily drawing his pistol,
he shot him through the breast.
There was only one left to contend
with—for the rest were engaged in
mastering the whites, who, perceiving
his successful resistance, had
become very refractory—and taking
a hasty aim with his other pistol,
the young officer pulled the trigger.
A flash in the pan saved the life of
his adversary; and the next moment
the long war-club carried by
Mugwa laid him prostrate on the
earth.

“Ugh!” grunted the chief, as he
bent over Clifton to secure his
hands, speaking in tolerable English;
“great warrior—make good
Indian;” and instead of a cloud of
anger, the face of this savage dis
played an expression of admiration,
at the successful daring and
firmness of his captive.

For a minute or two, Clifton lay
stunned by the blow; and then regained
his senses, only to find himself
and friends disarmed and
bound, with their hideous captors
standing around, and gazing upon
them with looks of savage exultation.
At this moment he thought
of Kate, and his anguish may be
better imagined than described.

The Indians now conducted their
prisoners out of the thicket, and selecting
a spot in the woods, a few
yards distant, where there chanced
to be but little underbush, made
them fast, each to a separate tree,
and then collected together by themselves,
apparently to take council
regarding their next proceedings.
Presently four of the party repaired
to the thicket, and returned with
the two dead bodies—the Indian
shot by Clifton having just breathed
his last.

Placing the dead upon the ground,
side by side, the whole company
formed a circle round them, and
taking hold of hands, commenced
chanting words wholly unintelligible
to our friends, who gazed upon
them with a sort of painful curiosity.

In this manner some five minutes
passed, without a word being spoken
on the part of the whites, when
suddenly David called out:

“I say, Lieutenant!”

“Well?” answered Clifton.

“What d' ye think 'bout the business
now?”

“Why, what should I think?”

“Do n't know—know best yourself;
but have ye concluded that
Moody's living yet?”

“Of course not. It is impossible
he should have escaped the peril I
pointed out to you.”

“Well, then, all I've got to say

is, that his ghost's got a powerful
flesh and blood look.”

“Good heavens! what do you
mean, David?” cried Clifton, quickly,
while every one turned his
head—the only part of his person
now at liberty—toward the scout,
anxious for an explanation of his
startling words.

David replied only by nodding
his head mysteriously, in a certain
direction; and following that direction
with their eyes, the faces of all
suddenly blanched, and each tongue
uttered an exclamation of surprise
and alarm.

Within full view appeared Moody,
approaching the Indians, leading
Kate by the hand, and followed
by Unkee and the gardener.

“Good God!” groaned Clifton,
“can it be possible that my eyes do
not deceive me—that Moody is still
living—and Kate, sweet Kate,
again in his power!”

“'Spect if you don't believe your
eyes, you'll soon have some other
sense that'll give you a powerful
inclination that way,” remarked
David, rather drily.

“I do not understand the affair,”
said Danvers. “There is something
very mysterious in his escape.”

“I jest believe it's the devil's
work,” observed another; “and
that's the reason Icha's balls
wouldn't kill. If ever I git a chance
at him, I'll put in some silver slugs,
and try the virtue of them.”

While such and similar remarks
were passing among the whites,
Moody and his party approached
the Indians. As he came up, they
made a halt in their ceremony, and
uttering grunts of approbation at his
success, opened the ring for him to
enter. As Kate, whom he still held
by the hand, came suddenly upon
the dead and bloody bodies of the
Indians, slain by the hand of her
lover, she gave an involuntary
start, and uttered a slight exclamation
of horror. Moody seemed taken
equally by surprise, for his features
slightly paled, and he turned
his face quickly toward the chief
with a look of inquiry.

With Unkee, however, it was
different. He was an Indian out
and out, and had been taught to
school his feelings and passions, so
as not to betray surprise at any
thing—a custom which is held by
the savages to be a great virtue.
As he came up to his dead companions,
therefore, he looked down upon
them calmly, without changing
a muscle, as though it were the
most common-place sight in the
world, and one he had expected to
behold.

“Who has done this?” asked
Moody, in the Indian dialect, after
waiting a sufficient time for Mugwa
to make an opening remark.

“The chief of the pale-faces,”
replied the latter.

A sudden gleam of ferocity now
shot athwart the dark features of
the questioner, and laying his hand
upon a weapon in his belt, he rejoined,
quickly:

“Then he must die.”

“Let my brother be not hasty,”
returned Mugwa; “for the fates of
all must be decided by council. If
the pale-face chief be doomed to die,
it must not be by the tomahawk.”

“True, chief,” answered Moody,
with a grim smile, “I had nigh forgotten
your pleasant Indian customs
of the stake and torture.”

“Mugwa deems him worthy of
them all,” pursued the chief; “for
he is a great brave, and no Indian
warrior could have done more. The
chief of the Piquas could almost
call him brother, too.”

This was alluding in a rather

obscure manner to the design which
had previously entered the head of
the “Bear,” of making an Indian
of Clifton, and was thus thrown out
as a sort of feeler, to learn the impression
it would produce upon
Moody. As he heard it, the outcast
started, and exclaimed vehemently:

“No, Mugwa, he must die!” The
next moment a new idea took possession
of his brain, and he added,
immediately,in a lower tone—“That
is, perhaps; I will see; I will consider,
Mugwa. But go on with
your ceremony. I would join you,
only that I have important matters
to which I must attend; and turning
away abruptly, he led Kate out
of the circle, and some distance
apart from all.

“You have seen,” he began, addressing
himself to our heroine, and nodding
his head in the direction of the circle of
savages.

“I have,” answered Kate calmly.

“And you still see,” pursued Moody,
pointing his finger in the opposite direction,
and toward the captives.

Kate followed the motion with her eyes,
and, for the first time, became aware of
the capture of her friends—of the complete
triumph of her foes—and in a moment
her heart sunk, her features grew
deadly pale, a sudden nervous weakness
seized her, and, but for the support of Moody,
she would have fallen to the earth.

Finding the Indians by themselves,
around the dead bodies of their late comrades,
and no new scalps at their belts, Kate
had believed that a skirmish had ensued
in which her friends had been victorious,
and that she might look for a rescue at
any moment. But now the case was different;
the horrible reality had broken
upon her like a thunder-bolt; they were
all prisoners—reserved perhaps for the
torture—and all in the power of the arch-demon
by her side, from whom she could
hope for no mercy. Moody watched the
painful expression of her lovely countenance
with a grim smile of satisfaction;
and after waiting till she had somewhat
recovered her composure, he resumed:

“You see I am now master of all.
Were you in the infernal regions of the
damned, you would not be more fully in
the power of the arch-fiend, than you and
your friends are now in mine.”

“I am aware of that,” replied Kate.
“and more—I think the comparison aptly
made.”

“That may or may not be, as matters
turn out,” rejoined Moody, drily. “I have
led you hither, away from the others, to
tell you something of importance, regarding
yourself and friends, and from your
replies to take my cue of conduct.”

“Say on,” returned Kate.

“You noticed those dead bodies?”

“I did.”

“They were slain by the hand of your
lover, Lieutenant Clifton, and, according
to old Luther's story, my once brother.”

Again Kate trembled, her features grew
deadly pale, and she fairly gasped for
breath.

“Well, I see you comprehend,” resumed
Moody, after another short pause;
“and I am glad you do, as it will save me
much circumlocution in my remarks.
Now mark my words. As soon as you
ceremony of the Indians is over and their
dead are buried from their sight, they will
proceed to hold council, regarding the disposal
of their prisoners. Now you know
something of Indian nature—or ought to,
at least—and are doubtless well aware
that, when they are angry, they are not
altogether the most mild and placid creatures
which the world has ever produced.
On the contrary, their customs are somewhat
rough—particularly when they decide
on putting a captive through the interesting
ceremony of being roasted alive
by a slow fire, with various little et ceteras,
in the way of amusement—such as
shooting powder into his naked body—
filling the flesh with resinous splinters
and setting fire to them—cutting off his
ears and tongue—punching out his eyes,
and—”

“For God's sake, hold!” cried Kate,
covering her face, and shuddering with
horror, at the terrible picture of torture
drawn by the outcast.

“I merely wished you to comprehend
the matter in full force,” pursued Moody;

“and as I perceive you do—why, I will
sketch no further. Now, as your lover
has been guilty of a certain breach of etiquette
(Moody spoke in an ironical tone),
namely, killing two Indians, after being
seized as a prisoner himself, it is more
than probable that they, on trial, will sentence
him to the interesting little proceeding
I just mentioned, and at which you
thought proper to turn away your face in
holy horror.”

“In the name of that God before whom
you must soon be judged! tell me what
you ask—what you seek—that you thus
mentally torture me?” cried Kate.

“Ah! now you speak to the point,”
replied Moody, with a grim smile; “and
I will answer you. In the first place,
know that your lover will assuredly be
condemned to the torture; and that I, and
I alone can save him.”

“Well?” ejaculated Kate, breathlessly,
fixing her eyes intently upon the other.

“I say,” pursued Moody, “I can save
him, and, on one condition, I will.”

“Name it!” gasped the maiden.

“That you will swear to become my
wife. Remember, now, I make a distinction:
wife, not mistress, I ask. Remember,
too, before you decide, that not only
Clifton, but all your friends here are in
my power as well as yourself; and that
if I choose, I can have them put to the
torture before your eyes, and you dishonored
before theirs. Remember, the alternative
before you is terrible. I will say further.
If you become my wife, by your own
free consent, you shall always be treated
with respect, and shall be provided for
comfortably during my life, and at my
death shall have the privilege to go whither,
and marry whom, you please. To-day
I make you this proposal, which yesterday
I would have scorned; and the
whole secret lies in the revival of my love,
or my passion (call it which you will),
for you. Do not decide hastily. I will
give you a few minutes, alone, to think
upon it; but if you decide in my favor,
one thing you must bear in mind: You
will have to swear, by all your hopes of
salvation hereafter—by all you love and
hold sacred—by everything, in fact, that
can make your oath binding—that you
will be mine, rescue or no rescue; that,
in short, come what will, you will follow
me and my fortunes through life, and that,
in the event of your breaking this oath,
you solemnly pray the Ruler of the universe
to condemn you to eternal torments
in the world to come.”

Saying this, Moody turned abruptly
away, leaving Kate standing alone, stupified
with horror at the words she had just
heard him utter.