measured by the sense which takes cognizance of pauses it seemed no more than a moment between the stamping out of breath and its gasping recovery. but in the interval the scene had shifted from the open savanna to a thinly set grove of oaks with the stream brawling through the midst.
to the biggest of the trees i was tightly bound; and a little way apart a fire, newly kindled, smoked and blazed up fitfully. by the light of the fire a good score of the cherokees were gathering deadfalls and dry branches to heap beside me; and from the camp below, the indian lodges of which were in plain view beyond the intervening horse meadow, other savages were hurrying to join the wood carriers.
so far as these hasting preliminaries applied to me, their meaning was not difficult to read. i was to be burned at the stake in proper savage fashion. but richard jennifer—what had become of him? a sound, half sigh, half groan, told me where to look. hard by, bound to a tree as i was, and so near that with a free hand i could have touched him, was my poor lad.
"dick!" i cried.
he turned his head as the close-drawn thongs permitted and gave me a smile as loving-tender as a woman's.
"aye, jack; they have us hard and fast this time. i have been praying you'd never come alive enough to feel the fire."
"we were taken together?" so much i dared ask.
"in the same onset. 'twas but a question of clock ticks in that back-to-back business. but they paid scot and lot," this with an inching nod toward a row of naked bodies propped sitting against a fallen tree; nine of them in all, one with its severed head between its knees, and three others showing the gaping hacks and hewings of the great broadsword.
"they've fetched them here to see us burn," he went on. "but by the gods, we have the warrant of two good blades and ephraim yeates's hunting-knife that the only fires they'll ever see are those of hell."
"yeates?" i queried. "then they have taken him and the catawba, as well?"
"not alive, you may be sure, else we should have them for company. but it has a black look for our friends that the flying column we met in the stream-cave came back so soon. moreover, the bodies of the three peace-pipe smokers were found and brought in; that will be the great bear holding his head in his hands at the end of yonder bloody masquerade."
"i guessed as much. god rest our poor comrades!"
"aye; and god help madge! 'tis no time for reproaches, but amongst us we have signed her death warrant with our bunglings."
"if it were only death!" i groaned.
"'tis just that, jack," said he; "no better, mayhap, but no worse. when we were downed by that screeching mob, she was out and on her knees to falconnet, beseeching him to spare us. he put her off smoothly at first, saying 'twas the indians' affair—that they would not be balked of their vengeance by any interference of his. but when she only begged the more piteously, he showed his true colors, rapping out that we should have as swift a quittance as we had meant to give him, and that within the hour she should be the mistress of appleby and free to marry an english gentleman."
"well?" said i, making sure that now at last he must know all.
"at that she stood before him bravely, and i saw that all the time she had had the catawba's knife hidden in the folds of her gown. 'you have spoken truth for once, captain falconnet; i shall be free,' she said. 'come and tell me when you have added these to your other murders.'"
"and then?"
"then she went back to her prison wigwam, walking through the rabble of redcoats and redskins as proudly as the scottish mary went to the block."
"she will do it, think you?" i queried, fearful lest she would, but more fearful lest her courage should fail at the pinch.
"never doubt it. good catholic as she is, there is martyr blood in her on the mother's side, and that will help her to die unsullied. and god nerve her to it, say i."
i said "amen" to that; and thereupon we both fell silent, watching as condemned men on the gallows the busy preparations for our taking off.
again, as in the late battle, it was the trivial things that moved me most. chief among them the grinning row of dead indians propped against the fallen tree is the constant background for all the memory pictures of that waiting interval, and i can see those stiffening corpses now, some erect, as if defying us; some lopping this way or that, as if their bones had gone to water at the touch of the steel.
i know not why these poor relics of mortality should have held me fascinated as they did. yet when i would look away, through the vista to where the light of the great fire in the savanna camp played luridly upon the indian lodges, or, nearer at hand, upon the savages gathering the wood to burn us with, this ghastly file of the dead drew me irresistibly, and i must needs pass the fearsome figures in review again, marking the staring eyes and unnatural postures, and the circular blood-black patches on the heads of the three peace-men whom yeates and the catawba had scalped.
while they were making ready for the burning, our executioners were strangely silent; but when the work was done they formed in a semicircle to front the row of corpses and set up a howling chant that would have put a band of mohammedan dervishes to the blush.
"'tis the death song for the slain," said richard; and while it lasted, this moving tableau of naked figures, keeping time in a weird stamping dance to the rising and falling ululation of the chant, held us spellbound.
but we were not long suffered to be mere curious onlookers. in its dismalest flight the death song ended in a shrill hubbub, and the dancers turned as one man to face us.
i hope it may never be your lot, my dears, to meet and endure such a horrid glare of human ferocity as that these wrought-up avengers of blood bent upon us. 'twas more unnerving than aught that had gone before; more terrible, i thought, than aught that could come after. yet, as to this, you shall judge for yourselves.
the pause was brief, and when a lad ran up to cut the thongs that bound us from the middle up, the torture-play began in deadly earnest. whilst the indian youth was slashing at the deerskin, richard gave me my cue.
"'tis the knife and hatchet play; they are loosing us to give us freedom to shrink and dodge. look straight before you and never flinch a hair, as you would keep the life in you from one minute to the next!"
"trust me," said i. "we must eke it out as long as we can, if only to give our dear lady time for another prayer or two. mayhap she will name us in them; god knows, our need is sore enough."
the lad ran back, and a warrior stood out, juggling his tomahawk in air. he made a feint to cast it at richard, but instead sent it whizzing at me.
that first missile was harder to face unflinching than were all the others. i saw it leave the thrower's hand; saw it coming straight, as i would think, to split my skull. the prompting to dodge was well-nigh masterful enough to override the strongest will. yet i did make shift to hold fast, and in mid flight the twirling ax veered aside to miss me by a hair's-breadth, gashing the tree at my ear when it struck.
"bravo! well met!" cried richard; and then, betwixt his teeth: "here comes mine."
as he spoke, a second tomahawk was sped. i heard it strike with a dull crash that might have been on flesh and bone, or on oak-bark—i could not tell. i dared not look aside till richard's taunting laugh gave me leave to breathe again.
the indians answered the laugh with a yell; and now the marksmen stood out quickly one after another and for a little space the air was full of hurtling missiles. you will read in the romances of the wondrous skill of these savages in such diversions as these; how they will pin the victim to a tree and never miss of sticking knife or hatchet within the thickness of the blade where they will. but you must take these tales with a dash of allowance for the romancers' fancy. truly, these indians of ours threw well and skilfully; 'tis a part of the only trade they know—the trade of war—to send a weapon true to the mark. none the less, some of the missiles flew wide; and now and then one would nip the cloth of sleeve or body covering—and the flesh beneath it, as well.
dick had more of the nippings than i; and though he kept up a running fire of taunts and gibing flings at the marksmen, i could hear the gritting oaths aside when they pinked him.
notwithstanding, the worst of these miscasts fell to my lot. a hatchet, sped by the clumsiest hand of all, missed its curving, turned, and the helve of it struck me fair in the stomach. not all the parting pangs of death, as i fondly believe, will lay a heavier toll on fortitude than did this griping-stroke which i must endure standing erect. 'tis no figure of speech to say that i would have given the reversion of a kingdom, and a crown to boot, for leave to double over and groan out the agony of it.
happily for us, there were no women with the band, so we were spared the crueler refinements of these ante-burning torments; the flaying alive by inch-bits, and the sticking of blazing splints of pitchwood in the flesh to make death a thing to be prayed for. there was naught of this; and tiring finally of the marksman play, the indians made ready to burn us. some ran to recover the spent weapons; others made haste to heap the wood in a broad circle about our trees; and the chief, with three or four to help, renewed the deer-thong lashings.
'twas in the rebinding that this headman, a right kingly-looking savage as these barbarians go, thrust a bit of paper into my hand, and gave me time to glance its message out by the light of the fire. 'twas a line from margery; and this is what she said:
dear heart:
though you must needs believe my love is pledged to your good friend and mine, 'tis yours, and yours alone, my lion-hearted one. i am praying the good god to give you dying grace, and me the courage to follow you quickly. margery.
this by the hand of tallachama.
for one brief instant a wave of joy caught and flung me upon its highest crest, and all these savage tormentors could do to me became as naught. then the true meaning of this her brave ave atque vale smote me like a space-flung meteor, and the joy-wave became an ocean of despair to engulf me in its blackest depths. the letter was never meant for me; 'twas for richard jennifer, who, as she would think, must know the story of her marriage to his friend and must believe her love went with the giving of her hand. and she named him lion-heart because he was brave, and true, and strong, like that first english richard of the kingly line.
i thrust the message back upon the bearer of it, begging him in dumb show to give it quickly to my companion. i knew not at the time if he did it, being so crushed and blinded by this fresh misery. but when the indians drew off to ring us in a chanting circle for the final act, i would not let the lad see my face for fear he might fathom the heart-break in me and know the cause of it.
'twas at this crisis, when all was ready and one had run to fetch the fire, that i heard a smothered oath from dick and saw the indian who was coming up to fire the wood heaps drop his brand and tread upon it.
"ecod!" said a voice, courtier-like and smoothly modulated. "'tis most devilish lucky i came, captain ireton. another moment and they would have grilled you in the king's uniform—a rank treason, to say naught of poor jack warden left without a clout to cover him."
it needed not the glance aside to name mine enemy. but i would not pleasure him with an answer. neither would richard jennifer. he stood silent for a little space, smiling and nursing his chin in one hand, as his habit was. then he spoke again.
"i came to bid you god-speed, gentlemen. you tumbled bravely into my little trap. i made no doubt you'd follow where the lady led, and so you did. but you'll turn back from this, i do assure you, if there be any virtue in an indian barbecue."
at this richard could hold in no longer.
"curse you!" he gritted. "do you mean that you kidnapped mistress stair to draw us out of hiding?"
"truly," said this arch-fiend, smiling again. "most unluckily for you, you both stood in my way,—you see i am speaking of it now as a thing past,—and i chanced upon this thought of killing two birds with the one stone; nay, three, i should say, if you count the lady in."
"have done!" choked richard, in a voice thick with impotent rage. "give place, you hound, and let your savages to their work!"
"at your pleasure, mr. jennifer. i have no fancy for funeral baked meats, hot or cold, though they be made, as now, to furnish forth a marriage supper. i bid you good night, gentlemen. i'll go and make that call upon the lady which you were so rude as to interrupt a little while ago." and with that he turned his back upon us and strode away, forgetting to tell his redskinned myrmidons to strip me of that king's uniform he was so loath to have me burned in.
the cherokees waited till the master-executioner was out of sight among the trees. then they set up their infernal howling again, and the fire-lighter ran to fetch a fresh brand.
"courage, lad! 'twill soon be over now," said i, hearing a groan from my poor dick.
his reply was a chattering curse, not upon falconnet or the indians, but upon his malady, the tertian fever.
"now, by all the fiends! i'm chilling again, jack!" he gasped. "if these cursed wood-wolves mark it, they'll set it down to woman cowardice and that will break my heart!"
again i bade him be of good courage, assuring him, not derisively, as it looks when 'tis written out, that the fire would presently medicine the chilling. in the middle of the saying the lighted brand was fetched and thrust among our fagotings, and the upward-curling smoke wreaths made me gasp and strangle at the finish.
for a little time after the sucking in of that first smoke-breath—nature's anodyne for any of her poor creatures doomed to die by fire—i saw and heard less clearly and suffered only by anticipation. but to this day the smell of burning pine-wood is like a sleeping potion to me; and the sleep it brings is full of dreams vaguely troubled.
so, while the indians danced and leaped about us, brandishing their weapons and chanting the captives' death song, and while the blue and yellow tongues of flame mounted from twig to twig, climbing stealthily to flick at us like little vanishing demon whips, i saw and heard and felt as one remote from all the torture turmoil of the moment. through the dimming haze of sleeping sensibility the dancing savages became as marionettes in some cunning puppet show; and the blood stained figures stiffening against their log took shapes less horrifying.
'twas dick's voice, coming, as it seemed, from a mighty distance, that broke the spell and brought me back to quickened agonies. he spoke in panting gasps, as the smoke would let him.
"one word, jack, before we go—go to our own place. he said—he said she would be free to—to marry him. tell me ... o god in heaven!"
his agony was a lash to cut me deeper than any flicking demon whip of flame, yet i must needs add to it.
"aye, richard, i have wronged you, wronged you desperately; can you hear me yet? i say i have wronged you, and i shall die the easier if you'll forgive—"
once more the smoke, rising again in denser clouds, cut me off, and through the blinding blue haze of it i saw the indians running up with green branches to beat it down lest it should spoil their sport oversoon by smothering us out of hand.
with the chance to gasp and breathe again i would have confessed in full to richard jennifer and had him shrive me if he would. but when i called, he did not answer. his head was rolling from side to side, and his handsome young face was all drawn and distorted as in the awful grimaces of the death throe.
you will not wonder that i could not look at him; that i looked away for very pity's sake, praying that i might quickly breathe the flames, as i made sure he had, and so be the sooner past the anguish crisis.
there was good hope that the prayer would have a speedy answer. the fires were burning clearer now, leaping up in broad dragon's tongues of flame from the outer edges of the fagot piles to curtain off all that lay beyond. through the luminous flame-veil the capering savages took on shapes the most weird and grotesque; and when i had a glimpse of the dead men's row, each hideous face in it seemed to wear a grin of leering triumph.
thus far there had been never a puff of wind to fan the blaze. but now above the shrilling of the indian chant and the crackling of the flames a low growl of thunder trembled in the upper air, and a gentle breeze swept through the tree-tops.
so now i would commend my soul to god, making sure that the breath he gave would go out on the wings of the first gust that should come to drive the fiery veil inward. but when the gust came it was from behind; a sweeping besom to beat down the leaping dragons' tongues; a pouring flood of blessed coolness to turn the ebbing life-tide and to set the dulled senses once more keenly alert.
with the wind came the rain, a passing summer-night's shower of great drops spattering on the leaves above and dripping thence to fall hissing in the fires. then the thunder growled again; and into the monotonous droning of the indian chant, or rather rising sharp and clear above it, came a sudden rattling fire of musketry from the camp in the savanna—this, and the sharp skirling of the troop captain's whistle shrilling the assembly.
while yet the flames lay flattened in the wind, i saw the indians wheel and bound away to the rescue of their camp like a pack of hounds in full cry. in a trice they were wallowing through the stream at the foot of the powder boulder; and then, as the flames leaped up again, a dark form burst through the fiery barrier, my bonds were cut, and a strong hand plucked me out of the scorching hell-pit.
if i did aught to help it was all mechanical. i do remember dimly some fierce struggle to free my legs from the blazing tangle; this, and the swelling sob of joy at the sight of the faithful catawba hacking at dick's lashings and dragging him also free of the fire. and you may believe the welcome tears came to ease the pain of my seared eyes when my poor lad—i had thought him gone past human help—took two staggering steps and flung his arms about my neck.
uncanoola gave us no time to come by easy stages to full-wit sanity. in a twinkling he had pounced upon us to crush us one upon the other behind the larger tree. and now i come upon another of those flitting instants so crowded with happenings that the swiftest pen must seem to make them lag. 'twas all in a heart-beat, as it were: the catawba's freeing of us; his flinging us to earth behind the tree; a spurt of blinding yellow flame from the foot of the powder-cliff, and a booming, jarring shock like that of an earthquake.
the momentary glare of the yellow flash lit up a scene most awe-inspiring. the spouting fountain of fire at the base of the great powder-rock was thick with flying missiles; and on high the very cliff itself was tottering and crumbling. so much i saw; then the catawba sprang up to haul us afoot by main strength, and to rush us, with an arm for each, headlong through the wood toward the valley head.
but dick hung back, and when the dull thunder of the falling rocks, the crash of the tumbling cliff and the shrill death yells of the doomed ones came to our ears, he fought loose from the indian and flung himself down, crying as if his heart would break.
"o god! she's lost, she's lost!—and i have missed the chance to die with her or for her!"
