University of Virginia Library

42. CHAPTER XLII.

The army of De Soto marched down the west side of the
Coosa, and were soon buried deeply in the virgin wildernesses
of Alabama. They gave but few thoughts to the noble victim
whom they had dishonored and left to perish in the ravening
solitudes of the forest. To him, the short remnant of the day
passed in such a dreariness as may better be imagined than described.
Fettered rigidly to the tree, at the foot of which he was
barely suffered to repose in a half-crouching position, Vasconselos
was scarcely conscious of the hours as they glided from daylight
into darkness. A savage gloom covered up his soul, and shut
out the ordinary transitions and aspects of external life from his
vision. In the case of one so noble of soul, so proud of spirit, so
sensitive to shame and honor, we may fancy how terribly intense
were the horrors of such a doom as that which he had been made
to endure. We may equally understand how regardless he had
become in respect to the future, from his endurance of the past.
The day passed blankly, before his eyes; the stars came out,
looking down upon him with sad aspects through the overhanging
boughs of the forest trees, with like blankness of expression.
He heeded not, he did not behold the tender brightness in their
looks. He lay crouching, a grim savage, denied the only prayer
which his soul could possibly put up in that dreary trial, that of
a manly death, through a fierce and terrible struggle with his
enemies.

And so, hour after hour, in a hopeless craving for freedom of
limb, and the exercise of a mighty muscle in the deadly strife!
and the hopeless craving became at length debility. Mental and
physical exhaustion began to supervene. He became conscious
of aspects and influences which taught to his waning faculties the
fear of approaching madness. He was conscious of an incertitude
of thought and sense, which was the most appressive of all
the painful feelings which he now endured. He felt that his
senses were escaping him, or becoming so diseasedly acute as to
confound his judgment. He felt that he could no longer bring

to bear upon his faculties the exercise of a controlling will and a
sober mind. Strange hues and colors, and gleams, were flashing
before his eyes; strange sounds, and murmurs, and voices, were
mingling in his ears; and he could feel, as it were, the touches
of tongues of flame that were put out to meet the ends of his
fingers, thrilling them with curiously painful sensations of cold
and heat alternately. It was not the stars that he saw, but great
eyes that swept down to him from above, wheeling about him in
mazy dances, and pausing in troops to look down into his own.
In the midst of these aspects, which were those of the mind
rather than the eye, his physical senses were made conscious
of the flight of some great bird whose wings he heard, as
they wheeled about him in slow gyrations, gradually ceasing, as
the heavy frame settled down upon the bough of the tree just
over him, whence he heard the great wings flapping, the sound
soon followed by a piercing scream, which seemed the utterance
of a savage voice of exultation—that of the vulture already in
possession of his prey. And with a natural instinct, the knight
threw up his arms, and waved his hand feebly aloft, as if to scare
away the obscene and voracious cormorant. There was a momentary
creeping of his flesh in horror, as he reflected upon the
hour—not long to be delayed—when the winged savage would
fasten upon his heart, and when he should not possess the power
to struggle against his blood-seeking beak. But the lingering
thought still strove to reconcile him to a probability, however
terrible, which yet promised him release from the mortifying
consciousness of the moral doom which his life had received—
the shame, dishonor, and humilitation of his present situation.

The strife of thought and consciousness, though but for a single
moment, in such a condition as that in which he lay, was itself a
long eternity of torture. It was not to be endured for a longer
period with mortal consciousness; and insensibility soon came
to the relief of a misery which human strength found it impossible
to sustain. Thought left him, and murmuring insane things,
Philip de Vasconselos sunk at length prostrate, and in utter
senselessness, at the foot of the tree.

And the great bird dropped heavily beside him from the
bough, and walked about him, and stood with gradually shutting
and unclosing wings above his head, as if fanning him into deeper
slumbers. But suddenly he strode away, and lifted himself
lightly again into the tree, as he heard a child-like cry in the
thicket. A moment after, a stealthy cat-like tread was to be
heard upon the leaves; and soon a long gaunt form, beautifully
spotted, stole forth, and approached the unconscious cavalier.

And the wild savage of the woods,—the most savage, perhaps,
in all the forests of America, the panther, encircled the sleeping
man; and he stooped his nose to the unconscious ears; and there
was a faint murmur of speech from the lips of the knight; and
once more the panther retired into his thicket, and the great
vulture again dropped from the tree-top to the ground. And he,
too, encircled the sleeper. And once more he spread his great
wings above his head, and he fanned slowly the drowsy air about
him: then he sounded a fierce wild note—a great shriek through
the forest—and the sleeper stirred slightly with a lifted arm;
and the vulture resumed the fanning with his wings. But soon
another shriek from the depths of the night was heard in answer
to the signal of the watchful bird; and another followed after it.
And ere many moments there was a family group of the ravenous
birds about their victim, and each spread forth his wings,
beating slowly the drowsy atmosphere, and drawing nigher momently
until they stood about the head and breast of the unconscious
knight, like so many hooded priests about the corse of
a brother. And still it seemed as if the knight were not unconscious,
though unable. A murmur broke from his lips, and ever
and anon his arm was thrown up spasmodically, but only to fall
supine upon the earth beside him.

Again was the child-like cry heard in the forest, and the savage
panther once more issued from its depths, stealthily as the cat,
passing along timorously beside the edge of the wood, and pursuing
a circling course towards his victim; and this time he came
not alone. He was accompanied by his more savage mate, followed
by her cubs, and they drew near, whining as they did so,
like kittens that are beckoned to their food. The obscene birds
angrily flapped their wings and shrieked at their approach; but
still retreated, and once more lifted themselves upon slow
pinions to the trees above, where they looked down, watching
the common prey, and waiting for their moment with impatience.

Now, could we see clearly the condition of the exhausted
cavalier, we should behold him covered with a cold and clammy
sweat, the proof that there was still a lurking consciousness, a
faculty of life, which, though lacking every essential capacity for
struggle and defence, was yet not wanting in the acutest sensibilities
of horror. Again was there a feeble murmur of speech
from his pallid lips, and again were his nerveless arms stirred, but
this time unlifted, as if striving to defy or to drive away the assailant.

He was not thus to be expelled. Heedless of the murmur,

heedless of the moving arms, the savage dam, crying to her cubs,
planted her stealthy foot firmly upon the bosom of the victim.
The male panther, meanwhile, stood above his head, watchful of
every movement, and ready to rend with fierce teeth and talons,
at the first shows of life or struggle. And the cold sweat breaks
in great drops from brow and bosom of the knight, and his eyes
open, and he shouts,—or strives to shout, but how feebly!—and
his arm strikes out wildly, but with the most child-like feebleness;
and on the instant the grim savage who stands above his
head, leaps terribly upon his breast. And the eyes of the knight
are now widely open, and he sees and feels, but he has no
strength, no hope! He murmurs a prayer to Heaven, and his
eyes close upon the rest! He resigns himself to the fate which
he can no longer oppose, and from which he sees no means of
escape. Not that he desires escape from death. It is the animal
instinct only that would struggle now, and for this the animal is
incapable. It is the manner of the death only from which the
mind revolts, and the mind rapidly lapses into trance. In his
latest consciousness he hears the sharp, shrill cry of the gigantic
and savage beast upon his breast.

He little dreams that the cry is one of annoyance and fear,
and not of triumph. Suddenly the vultures scream from the
tree, and the beasts cry angrily beneath it. They are startled
from their prey. The woods gleam with sudden lights, that flash
offensively in the eyes of the midnight prowlers of the jungle.
The great natural alleys of the forests echo with cheerful voices.
The lights dart from side to side; they are torches borne by
troops of the red men that gather at the summons of a group
that now approach, armed with flaming brands also, towards the
spot where the Portuguese cavalier lies at length unconscious.
The beasts growl and whine, fiercely glaring upon the backward
path, as they retire from before the gleaming torches. Blazing
brands are flung at them by the red men, to hurry them in flight,
and they slink away from the victim whom they were just about
to rend. The vultures in turn lift their vans and sail off to higher
trees of the forest. There they sit, brooding sullenly on what
they see. So the panthers, with their savage young, disappointed
of their feast, lurk angrily upon the edge of the dark jungle in
which they make their abode. They still lurk, watchful, hopeful
of their victim; and woe to the Indian, particularly if a woman,
should he or she wander too nigh the spot where he crouches, and
neglects to wave before the path the brand of fire which offends
his eyes!

In place of obscene bird and savage beast, groups of the red

men surround the prostrate knight. In the midst, bent over
him with solicitous care and passionate affection, kneels a young
and beautiful woman of the dusky race. Her cares revive him.
He opens his eyes to see, by the light of the blazing torches, the
fond and sweet features of Coçalla, the Princess of Cafachiqui.

“He lives! His eyes open to Coçalla! Oh! Philip, thou
shalt be mine now, and forever, and a great chief among my
people!”

He swoons again, but he is in fond and faithful keeping.