University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.

Whittier.

A veil like that of oblivion, dropped before the form of
the missionary. The pious persons who had sent him forth
to preach to the heathen, never knew his fate; a disappearance
that was so common to that class of devoted men,
as to produce regret rather than surprise. Even those
who took his life, felt a respect for him; and, strange as
it may seem, it was to the eloquence of the man who now
would have died to save him, that his death was alone to
be attributed. Peter had awakened fires that he could not
quench, and aroused a spirit that he could not quell. In
this respect, he resembled most of those who, under the
guise of reform, or revolution, in moments of doubt, set in
motion a machine that is found impossible to control, when
it is deemed expedient to check exaggeration by reason.
Such is often the case with even well-intentioned leaders,
who constantly are made to feel how much easier it is to
light a conflagration, than to stay its flames when raging.

Corporal Flint was left seated on the log, while the bloody
scene of the missionary's death was occurring. He was
fully alive to all the horrors of his own situation, and

comprehended the nature of his companion's movements.
The savages usually manifested so much respect for missionaries,
that he was in no degree surprised. Parson
Amen had been taken apart for his execution, and when
those who had caused his removal returned, the corporal
looked anxiously for the usual but revolting token of his
late companion's death. As has been said, however, the
missionary was suffered to lie in his wild grave, without
suffering a mutilation of his remains.

Notwithstanding this moderation, the Indians were getting
to be incited by this taste of blood. The principal chiefs
became sterner in their aspects, and the young men began to
manifest some such impatience as that which the still untried
pup betrays, when he first scents his game. All these were
ominous symptoms, and were well understood by the captive.

Perhaps, it would not have been possible in the whole
range of human feelings, to find two men under influences
more widely opposed to each other, than were the
missionary and the corporal, in this their last scene on
earth. The manner of Parson Amen's death has been
described. He died in humble imitation of his Divine
Master, asking for blessings on those who were about to
destroy him, with a heart softened by Christian graces, and
a meekness that had its origin in the consciousness of his
own demerits. On the other hand, the corporal thought
only of vengeance. Escape, he knew to be impossible,
and he would fain take his departure like a soldier, or as he
conceived a soldier should die in the midst of fallen foes.

Corporal Flint had a salutary love of life, and would
very gladly escape, did the means offer; but, failing of these,
all his thoughts turned towards revenge. Some small impulses
of ambition, or what it is usual to dignify with that
term, showed themselves even at that serious moment.
He had heard around the camp-fires, and in the garrisons,
so many tales of heroism and of fortitude manifested by
soldiers who had fallen into the hands of the Indians, that
a faint desire to enrol his own name on the list of these
worthies, was beginning to arise in his breast. But, truth
compels us to add, that the predominant feeling was the
wish to revenge his own fate, by immolating as many of

his foes as possible. To this last purpose, therefore, his
thoughts were mainly directed, during that interval which
his late companion had employed in prayers for those under
whose blows he was about to fall. Such is the difference
in man, with his heart touched, or untouched, by the power
of the Holy Spirit.

It was, however, much easier for the corporal to entertain
designs of the nature mentioned, than to carry them
out: unarmed, surrounded by watchful enemies, and totally
without support of any sort, the chances of affecting his
purpose were small indeed. Once, for a minute only, the
veteran seriously turned his thoughts to escape. It occurred
to him, that he might possibly reach the castle,
could he get a little start; and should the Indians compel
him to run the gauntlet, as was often their practice, he
determined to make an effort for life in that mode. Agreeably
to the code of frontier warfare, a successful flight of
this nature, was scarcely less creditable than a victory in
the field.

Half an hour passed after the execution of the Missionary,
before the chiefs commenced their proceedings with
the corporal. The delay was owing to a consultation, in
which the Weasel had proposed despatching a party to the
castle, to bring in the family, and thus make a common
destruction of the remaining pale-faces, known to be in
that part of the Openings. Peter did not dare to oppose
this scheme, himself; but he so managed as to get Crowsfeather
to do it, without bringing himself into the fore-ground.
The influence of the Pottawattamie prevailed,
and it was decided to torture this one captive, and to secure
his scalp, before they proceeded to work their will on the
others. Ungque, who had gained ground rapidly by his
late success, was once more commissioned to state to the
captive the intentions of his captors.

“Brother,” commenced the Weasel, placing himself
directly in front of the corporal, “I am about to speak to
you. A wise warrior opens his ears, when he hears the
voice of his enemy. He may learn something, it will be
good for him to know. It will be good for you to know
what I am about to say.

“Brother, you are a pale-face, and we are Injins. You

wish to get our hunting-grounds, and we wish to keep them.
To keep them it has become necessary to take your scalp.
I hope you are ready to let us have it.”

The corporal had but an indifferent knowledge of the
Indian language, but he comprehended all that was uttered
on this occasion. Interest quickened his faculties, and no
part of what was said was lost. The gentle, slow, deliberate
manner in which the Weasel delivered himself, contributed
to his means of understanding. He was fortunately
prepared for what he heard, and the announcement
of his approaching fate did not disturb him to the degree
of betraying weakness. This last was a triumph in which
the Indians delighted, though they ever showed the most
profound respect for such of their victims as manifested a
manly fortitude. It was necessary to reply, which the corporal
did in English, knowing that several present could
interpret his words. With a view to render this the more
easy, he spoke in fragments of sentences, and with great
deliberation.

“Injins,” returned the corporal, “you surrounded me,
and I have been taken prisoner,—had there been a platoon
on us, you might n't have made out quite so well.—It's no
great victory for three hundred warriors to overcome a
single man.—I count Parson Amen as worse than nothing,
for he looked to neither rear, nor flank.—If I could have
half an hour's work upon you, with only half of our late
company, I think we should lower your conceit.—But, that
is impossible, and so you may do just what you please with
me.—I ask no favours.”

Although this answer was very imperfectly translated, it
awakened a good deal of admiration. A man who could
look death so closely in the face, with so much steadiness,
became a sort of hero, in Indian eyes; and with the North
American savage, fortitude is a virtue not inferior to courage.
Murmurs of approbation were heard, and Ungque
was privately requested to urge the captive further, in order
to see how far present appearances were likely to be maintained.

“Brother, I have said that we are Injins,” resumed the
Weasel, with an air so humble, and a voice so meek, that
a stranger might have supposed he was consoling, instead

of endeavouring to intimidate the prisoner. “It is true.
We are nothing but poor, ignorant Injins. We can only
torment our prisoners after Injin fashion. If we were
pale-faces, we might do better. We did not torment the
medicine-priest. We were afraid he would laugh at our
mistakes. He knew a great deal. We know but little.
We do as well as we know how.

“Brother, when Injins do as well as they know how, a
warrior should forget their mistakes. We wish to torment
you, in a way to prove that you are all over man. We wish
so to torment you, that you will stand up under the pain in
such a way, that it will make our young men think your
mother was not a squaw — that there is no woman in you.
We do this for our own honour, as well as for yours. It
will be an honour to us to have such a captive; it will be
an honour to you to be such a captive. We shall do as
well as we know how.

“Brother, it is most time to begin. The tormenting
will last a long time. We must not let the medicine-priest
get too great a start on the path to the happy hunting-grounds
of your—”

Here, a most unexpected interruption occurred, that effectually
put a stop to the eloquence of Ungque. In his
desire to make an impression, the savage approached within
reach of the captive's arm, while his own mind was intent
on the words that he hoped would make the prisoner
quail. The corporal kept his eye on that of the speaker,
charming him, as it were, into a riveted gaze, in return.
Watching his opportunity, he caught the tomahawk from
the Weasel's belt, and, by a single blow, felled him dead
at his feet. Not content with this, the old soldier now
bounded forward, striking right and left, inflicting six or
eight wounds on others, before he could be again arrested,
disarmed, and bound. While the last was doing, Peter
withdrew, unobserved.

Many were the “hughs” and other exclamations of admiration,
that succeeded this display of desperate manhood!
The body of the Weasel was removed, and interred, while
the wounded withdrew to attend to their hurts; leaving the
arena to the rest assembled there. As for the corporal, he
was pretty well blown, and, in addition to being now

bound, hand and foot, his recent exertions, which were
terrific while they lasted, effectually incapacitated him from
making any move, so long as he was thus exhaused and
confined.

A council was now held by the principal chiefs. Ungque
had few friends. In this, he shared the fate of most demagogues,
who are commonly despised even by those they
lead and deceive. No one regretted him much, and some
were actually glad of his fate. But the dignity of the conquerors
must be vindicated. It would never do to allow a
pale-face to obtain so great an advantage, and not take a
signal vengeance for his deeds. After a long consultation,
it was determined to subject the captive to the trial by
saplings, and thus see if he could bear the torture without
complaining. As some of our readers may not understand
what this fell mode of tormenting is, it may be necessary
to explain.

There is scarcely a method of inflicting pain, that comes
within the compass of their means, that the North American
Indians have not essayed on their enemies. When the
infernal ingenuity that is exercised, on these occasions,
fails of its effect, the captives themselves have been heard
to suggest other means of torturing that they have known
practised successfully by their own people. There is often
a strange strife between the tormentors and the tormented;
the one to manifest skill in inflicting pain, and the other to
manifest fortitude in enduring it. As has just been said,
quite as much renown is often acquired by the warrior, in
setting all the devices of his conquerors at defiance, while
subject to their hellish attempts, as in deeds of arms. It
might be more true to say that such was the practice
among the Indians, than to say, at the present time, that
such is; for it is certain that civilization in its approaches,
while it has in many particulars even degraded the red
man, has had a silent effect in changing and mitigating
many of his fiercer customs — this, perhaps, among the
rest. It is probable that the more distant tribes still resort
to all these ancient usages; but it is both hoped and believed
that those nearer to the whites do not.

The “torture by saplings” is one of those modes of inflicting
pain, that would naturally suggest themselves to

savages. Young trees that do not stand far apart are
trimmed of their branches, and brought nearer to each
other by bending their bodies; the victim is then attached
to both trunks, sometimes by his extended arms, at others
by his legs, or by whatever part of the frame cruelty can
suggest, when the saplings are released, and permitted to
resume their upright positions. Of course, the sufferer is
lifted from the earth, and hangs suspended by his limbs,
with a strain on them that soon produces the most intense
anguish. The celebrated punishment of the “knout” partakes
a good deal of this same character of suffering.
Bough of the Oak now approached the corporal, to let
him know how high an honour was in reserve for him.

“Brother,” said this ambitious orator, “you are a brave
warrior. You have done well. Not only have you killed
one of our chiefs, but you have wounded several of our
young men. No one but a brave could have done this.
You have forced us to bind you, lest you might kill some
more. It is not often that captives do this. Your courage
has caused us to consult how we might best torture you, in
a way most to manifest your manhood. After talking together,
the chiefs have decided that a man of your firmness
ought to be hung between two young trees. We have
found the trees, and have cut off their branches. You can
see them. If they were a little larger their force would be
greater, and they would give you more pain, would be
more worthy of you; but these are the largest saplings we
could find. Had there been any larger, we would have
let you have them. We wish to do you honour, for you
are a bold warrior, and worthy to be well tormented.

“Brother, look at these saplings! They are tall and
straight. When they are bent by many hands, they will
come together. Take away the hands, and they will become
straight again. Your arms must then keep them together.
We wish we had some pappooses here, that they
might shoot arrows into your flesh. That would help much
to torment you. You cannot have this honour, for we have
no pappooses. We are afraid to let our young men shoot
arrows into your flesh. They are strong, and might kill
you. We wish you to die between the saplings, as is your
right, being so great a brave.

“Brother, we think much better of you, since you killed
the Weasel, and hurt our young men. If all your warriors
at Chicago had been as bold as you, Black-Bird would not
have taken that fort. You would have saved many scalps.
This encourages us. It makes us think the Great Spirit
means to help us, and that we shall kill all of the pale-faces.
When we get further into your settlements, we do
not expect to meet many such braves as you. They tell
us we shall then find men who will run, and screech like
women. It will not be a pleasure to torment such men.
We had rather torment a bold warrior, like you, who
makes us admire him for his manliness. We love our
squaws, but not in the war-path. They are best in the
lodges; here we want nothing but men. You are a man
—a brave—we honour you. We think, notwithstanding,
we shall yet make you weak. It will not be easy, but we
hope to do it. We shall try. We may not think quite so
well of you, if we do it; but we shall always call you a
brave. A man is not a stone. We can all feel, and when
we have done all that is in our power, no one can do more.
It is so with Injins; we think it must be so with pale-faces.
We mean to try and see how it is.”

The corporal understood very little of this harangue,
though he perfectly comprehended the preparations of the
saplings, and Bough of the Oak's allusions to them. He
was in a cold sweat at the thought, for resolute as he was,
he foresaw sufferings that human fortitude could hardly
endure. In this state of the case, and in the frame of
mind he was in, he had recourse to an expedient of which
he had often heard, and which he thought might now be
practised to some advantage. It was to open upon the
savages with abuse, and to exasperate them by taunts and
sarcasm, to such a degree as might induce some of the
weaker members of the tribe to dispatch him on the spot.
As the corporal, with the perspective of the saplings before
his eyes, manifested a good deal of ingenuity, on this occasion,
we shall record some of his efforts.

“D'ye call yourselves chiefs and warriors?” he began,
upon a pretty high key. “I call ye squaws! There is
not a man among ye. Dogs would be the best name. You
are poor Injins. A long time ago, the pale-faces came here

in two or three little canoes. They were but a handful,
and you were plentier than prairie wolves. Your bark
could be heard throughout the land. Well, what did this
handful of pale-faces? It drove your fathers before them,
until they got all the best of the hunting-grounds. Not an
Injin of you all, now, ever get down on the shores of the
great salt-lake, unless to sell brooms and baskets, and then
he goes sneaking like a wolf after a sheep. You have forgotten
how clams and oysters taste. Your fathers had as
many of them as they could eat; but not one of you ever
tasted them. The pale-faces eat them all. If an Injin
asked for one, they would throw the shell at his head, and
call him a dog.

“Do you think that my chiefs would hang one of you
between two such miserable saplings as these? No! They
would scorn to practise such pitiful torture. They would
bring the tops of two tall pines together, trees a hundred
and fifty feet high, and put their prisoner on the topmost
boughs, for the crows and ravens to pick his eyes out. But,
you are miserable Injins! You know nothing. If you
know'd any better, would you act such poor torment ag'in
a great brave? I spit upon ye, and call you squaws. The
pale-faces have made women of ye. They have taken out
your hearts, and put pieces of dog's flesh in their places.”

Here the corporal, who delivered himself with an animation
suited to his language, was obliged to pause, literally
for want of breath. Singular as it may seem, this tirade
excited great admiration among the savages. It is true,
that very few understood what was said; perhaps no one
understood all, but the manner was thought to be admirable.
When some of the language was interpreted, a deep
but smothered resentment was felt; more especially at the
taunts touching the manner in which the whites had overcome
the red men. Truth is hard to be borne, and the
individual, or people, who will treat a thousand injurious
lies with contempt, feel all their ire aroused at one reproach
that has its foundation in fact. Nevertheless, the anger
that the corporal's words did, in truth, awaken, was successfully
repressed, and he had the disappointment of seeing
that his life was spared for the torture.

“Brother,” said Bough of the Oak, again placing himself

before the captive, “you have a stout heart. It is
made of stone, and not of flesh. If our hearts be of dog's
meat, yours is of stone. What you say is true. The pale-faces
did come at first in two or three canoes, and there
were but few of them. We are ashamed, for it is true. A
few pale-faces drove towards the setting sun many Injins.
But we cannot be driven any further. We mean to stop
here, and begin to take all the scalps we can. A great
chief, who belongs to no one tribe, but belongs to all tribes,
who speaks all tongues, has been sent by the Great Spirit
to arouse us. He has done it. You know him. He came
from the head of the lake with you, and kept his eye on
your scalp. He has meant to take it from the first. He
waited only for an opportunity. That opportunity has
come, and we now mean to do as he has told us we ought
to do. This is right. Squaws are in a hurry; warriors
know how to wait. We would kill you at once, and hang
your scalp on our pole, but it would not be right. We wish
to do what is right. If we are poor Injins, and know but
little, we know what is right. It is right to torment so
great a brave, and we mean to do it. It is only just to you
to do so. An old warrior, who has seen so many enemies,
and who has so big a heart, ought not to be knocked in
the head like a pappoose or a squaw. It is his right to be
tormented. We are getting ready, and shall soon begin.
If my brother can tell us a new way of tormenting, we are
willing to try it. Should we not make out as well as pale-faces,
my brother will remember who we are. We mean
to do our best, and we hope to make his heart soft. If we
do this, great will be our honour. Should we not do it, we
cannot help it. We shall try.”

It was now the corporal's turn to put in a rebutter. This
he did without any failure in will or performance. By this
time he was so well warmed as to think or care very little
about the saplings, and to overlook the pain they might
occasion.

“Dogs can do little but bark; 'specially Injin dogs,” he
said. “Injins themselves are little better than their own
dogs. They can bark, but they don't know how to bite.
You have many great chiefs here. Some are panthers,
and some bears, and some buffaloes; but where are your

weasels? I have fit you now these twenty years, and never
have I known ye to stand up to the baggonet. It's not
Injin natur' to do that.”

Here the corporal, without knowing it, made some such
reproach to the aboriginal warriors of America as the English
used to throw into the teeth of ourselves, that of not
standing up to a weapon which neither party possessed. It
was matter of great triumph that the Americans would not
stand the charge of the bayonet at the renowned fight on
Breed's, for instance, when it is well known that not one
man in five among the colonists had any such weapon at
all to “stand up” with. A different story was told at
Guildford, and Stony Point, and Eutaw, and Bennington,
and Bemis' Heights, and fifty other places that might be
named, after the troops were furnished with bayonets.
Then it was found that the Americans could use them as
well as others, and so might it have proved with the red
men, though their discipline, or mode of fighting, scarce
admitted of such systematic charges. All this, however,
the corporal overlooked, much as if he were a regular historian
who was writing to make out a case.

“Harkee, brother, since you will call me brother;
though, Heaven be praised, not a drop of nigger or Injin
blood runs in my veins,” resumed the corporal. “Harkee,
friend red-skin, answer me one thing? Did you ever hear
of such a man as Mad Anthony? He was the tickler for
your infernal tribes? You pulled no saplings together for
him. He put you up with `the long-knives and leather-stockings,'
and you outrun his fleetest horses. I was with
him, and saw more naked backs than naked faces among
your people, that day. Your Great Bear got a rap on his
nose that sent him to his village yelping like a cur.”

Again was the corporal compelled to stop to take breath.
The allusion to Wayne, and his defeat of the Indians, excited
so much ire, that several hands grasped knives and
tomahawks, and one arrow was actually drawn nearly to
the head; but the frown of Bear's Meat prevented any
outbreak, or actual violence. It was deemed prudent,
however, to put an end to this scene, lest the straight-forward
corporal, who laid it on heavily, and who had so much
to say about Indian defeats, might actually succeed in

touching some festering wound that would bring him to his
death at once. It was, accordingly, determined to proceed
with the torture of the saplings without further delay.

The corporal was removed accordingly, and placed between
the two bended trees, which were kept together by
withes around their tops. An arm of the captive was
bound tightly at the wrist to the top of each tree, so that
his limbs were to act as the only tie between the saplings,
as soon as the withes should be cut. The Indians now
worked in silence, and the matter was getting to be much
too serious for the corporal to indulge in any more words.
The cold sweat returned, and many an anxious glance was
cast by the veteran on the fell preparations. Still he maintained
appearances, and when all was ready not a man there
was aware of the agony of dread which prevailed in the
breast of the victim. It was not death that he feared as
much as suffering. A few minutes, the corporal well knew,
would make the pain intolerable, while he saw no hope of
putting a speedy end to his existence. A man might live
hours in such a situation. Then it was that the teachings
of childhood were revived in the bosom of this hardened
man, and he remembered the being that died for him, in
common with the rest of the human race, on the tree. The
seeming similarity of his own execution struck his imagination,
and brought a tardy but faint recollection of those
lessons that had lost most of their efficacy in the wickedness
and impiety of camps. His soul struggled for relief
in that direction, but the present scene was too absorbing
to admit of its lifting itself so far above his humanity.

“Warrior of the pale-faces,” said Bough of the Oak,
we are going to cut the withe. You will then be where a
brave man will want all his courage. If you are firm, we
will do you honour; if you faint and screech, our young
men will laugh at you. This is the way with Injins.
They honour braves; they point the finger at cowards.”

Here a sign was made by Bear's Meat, and a warrior
raised the tomahawk that was to separate the fastenings.
His hand was in the very act of descending, when the
crack of a rifle was heard, and a little smoke rose out of
the thicket, near the spot where the bee-hunter and the
corporal, himself, had remained so long hid, on the occasion

of the council first held in that place. The tomahawk
fell, however, the withes were parted, and up flew the saplings,
with a violence that threatened to tear the arms of
the victim out of their sockets.

The Indians listened, expecting the screeches and
groans;—they gazed, hoping to witness the writhings of
their captive. But they were disappointed. There hung
the body, its arms distended, still holding the tops of the
saplings bowed, but not a sign of life was seen. A small
line of blood trickled down the forehead, and above it was
the nearly imperceptible hole made by the passage of a
bullet. The head itself had fallen forward and a little on
one shoulder. The corporal had escaped the torments
reserved for him, by this friendly blow.

It was so much a matter of course for an Indian to
revenge his own wounds—to alleviate his smarts, by retaliating
on those who inflicted them, that the chiefs expressed
neither surprise nor resentment at the manner of the corporal's
death. There was some disappointment, it is true;
but no anger was manifested, since it was supposed that
some one of those whom the prisoner had wounded had
seen fit, in this mode, to revenge his own hurts. In this,
however, the Indians deceived themselves. The well-intentioned
and deadly shot, that saved the corporal from
hours of agony, came from the friendly hand of Pigeonswing;
who had no sooner discharged his rifle, than he
stole away through the thicket, and was never discovered.
This he did, too, at the expense of Ungque's scalp, on
which he had set his heart.

As for the Indians, perceiving that their hopes of forcing
a captive to confess his weakness were frustrated, they
conferred together on the course of future proceedings.
There was an enquiry for Peter, but Peter was not to be
found. Bough of the Oak suggested that the mysterious
chief must have gone to the palisaded hut, in order to get
the remaining scalps, his passion for this symbol of triumphs
over pale-faces being well known. It was, therefore,
incumbent on the whole band to follow, with the
double view of sharing in the honour of the assault, and
of rendering assistance.

Abandoning the body of the corporal where it hung,

away went these savages, by this time keenly alive to the
scent of blood. Something like order was observed, however,
each chief leading his own particular part of the
band, in his own way, but on a designated route. Bear's
Meat acted as commander-in-chief, the subordinate leaders
following his instructions with reasonable obedience.
Some went in one direction, others in another; until the
verdant bottom near the sweet spring was deserted.

In less than half an hour the whole band was collected
around Castle Meal, distant, however, beyond the range
of a rifle. The different parties, as they arrived, announced
their presence by whoops, which were intended to answer
the double purpose of signals, and of striking terror to the
hearts of the besieged; the North American Indians making
ample use of this great auxiliary in war.

All this time no one was seen in or aobut the fortified
hut. The gate was closed, as were the doors and windows,
manifesting preparations for defence; but the garrison
kept close. Nor was Peter to be seen. He might be
a prisoner, or he might not have come in this direction.
It was just possible that he might be stealing up to the
building, to get a nearer view, and a closer scout.

Indian warfare is always stealthy. It is seldom, indeed,
that the aboriginal Americans venture on an open assault
of any fortified place, however small and feeble it may be.
Ignorant of the use of artillery, and totally without that all-important
arm, their approaches to any cover, whence a
bullet may be sent against them, are ever wary, slow, and
well concerted. They have no idea of trenches, do not
possess the means of making them, indeed; but they have
such substitutes of their own as usually meet all their
wants, more particularly in portions of the country that are
wooded. In cases like this before our present band, they
had to exercise their wits to invent new modes of effecting
their purposes.

Bear's Meat collected his principal chiefs, and, after a
considerable amount of consultation, it was determined, in
the present instance, to try the virtue of fire. The only
sign of life they could detect about the hut, was an occasional
bark from Hive, who had been taken within the
building, most probably to protect him from the bullets and

arrows of the enemy. Even this animal did not howl, like
a dog in distress; but he barked, as if aware of the vicinity
of strangers. The keenest scrutiny could not detect
an outlet of any sort about the hut. Everything was
tightly closed, and it was impossible to say when, or
whence, a bullet might not be sent against the unwary.

The plan was soon formed, and was quite as rapidly
executed. Bough of the Oak, himself, supported by two
or three other braves, undertook to set the buildings on
fire. This was done by approaching the kitchen, dodging
from tree to tree, making each movement with a rapidity
that defeated aim, and an irregularity that defied calculation.
In this way the kitchen was safely reached, where
there was a log cover to conceal the party. Here also was
fire, the food for dinner being left, just as it had been put
over to boil, not long before. The Indians had prepared
themselves with arrows and light wood, and soon they
commenced sending their flaming missiles toward the roof
of the hut. Arrow after arrow struck, and it was not long
before the roof was on fire.

A yell now arose throughout the openings. Far and
near the Indians exulted at their success. The wood was
dry, and it was of a very inflammable nature. The wind
blew, and in half an hour Castle Meal was in a bright
blaze. Hive now began to howl, a sign that he knew his
peril. Still, no human being appeared. Presently the
flaming roof fell in, and the savages listened intently to
hear the screeches of their victims. The howls of the dog
increased, and he was soon seen, with his hair burned
from his skin, leaping on the unroofed wall, and thence
into the area within the palisades. A bullet terminated
his sufferings as he alighted.

Bear's Meat now gave the signal, and a general rush
was made. No rifle opposed them, and a hundred Indians
were soon at the palisades. To the surprise of all, the
gate was found unfastened. Rushing within, the door of
the hut was forced, and a view obtained of the blazing
furnace within. The party had arrived in sufficient season
to perceive fragments of le Bourdon's rude furniture and
stores yet blazing, but nowhere was a human corpse visible.
Poles were got, and the brands were removed, in the

expectation of finding bones beneath them; but without
success. It was now certain that no pale-face had perished
in that hut. Then the truth flashed on the minds of all
the savages: le Bourdon and his friends had taken the
alarm in time, and had escaped!