CHAPTER XXV.
Brutal alike in deed and word,
With callous heart and hand of strife.
How like a fiend may man be made,
Plying the foul and monstrous trade
Whose harvest-field is human life.
--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 toward 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 enroll 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 effecting 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 foreground. 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 her 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 mightn'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 favors."
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 endeavoring 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 honor, as well as for yours. It will be
an honor to us to have such a captive; it will be an honor 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 exhausted 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 honor 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 honor, 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 honor, 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 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 warpath. They are best in the lodges; here we want
nothing but men. You are a man--a brave--we honor you. We think,
notwithstanding, we shall yet make you weak. It will not be easy,
yet 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 practice 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 toward 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 honor. 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 redskin, 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 wa's deemed prudent,
however, to put an end to this scene, lest the straightforward
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 honor; if you faint and
screech, our young men will laugh at you. This is the way with
Injins. They honor 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 inquiry 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
honor 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 about 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!
