CHAPTER IV.
“Theye tyed hymme toe ye fatale tree,
And lyghted uppe ye pyle,
And daune'd and sunge ryghte merrilie,
But he could'ent rayse a smyle.”
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On arriving at the village, the procession was
met, according to custom, by a crowd of women
and children, who, amidst yells and shrieks, denounced
the most bitter imprecations upon the
wretched fugitives, and were with difficulty
prevented from putting them to instant death.
Among the most violent of these, were the widow
whom Koningsmarke was to have married,
and the mother of Aonetti; the one maddened
with jealous rage, the other, by the wild, unrestrained
feelings of a savage mother, who had
lost her only son. The Indian maid did not
appear; whether detained by her own feelings,
or from some other cause, we cannot tell.
The savages, however wild, and free from the
ordinary restraints of civilized society, had yet
some forms of justice. A council of the chiefs
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and old men was convened immediately, and
the case of the three captives taken into consideration.
After a grave debate, it was unanimously
decided, that Koningsmarke and Lob
Dotterel, having both been solemnly adopted
into the tribe, and received as brothers—having
deserted them, and, in so doing, taken the life of
one of their bravest chiefs, should perish by the
torture that very day. With respect to the poor
white maid, there was at first some doubts as to
the degree of her participation in the guilt of
her companions. While balancing on her fate,
Aonetti rushed into the council room, with
dishevelled hair, and frantic gestures. She
threw herself, one by one, at the feet of the old
men, embraced their knees, and claimed of them
the pardon of her adopted sister. “She is innocent,”
cried the gentle maid; “she only
sought to join her father. Which of you would
blame your daughter if she tried to escape from
the white-men, and come to you? I have lost
my only brother, and I am about to lose—but
spare me my sister, that I may have some one to
love.”
The tears and supplications of the Indian
maid fell upon the hard hearts of the old men,
and with some difficulty they consented that
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Christina should be given in charge to her
adopted sister. The moment Aonetti heard
their decision, she ran, with the lightness of a
deer, to the hut where the three captives were
confined, and, making her way in, threw herself
into the arms of her poor Mimi.
“Thou art safe—thou art spared, my sister,”
she exclaimed. “And our friends?”—panted
Christina, in almost unintelligible accents.
The Indian maid, as if struck with a sudden
pang of recollection, slowly turned, looked at
Koningsmarke, and then hid her face in the bosom
of Christina. So expressive was her look
and action, that each of the wretched prisoners
understood what she could not speak.
“'Tis well,” said Koningsmarke; “a life of
wandering, wretchedness, and poverty, in the
old world, is now to be brought to a miserable
end in the new. For myself—but you, Oh!
you, my poor Christina, what will become of
you? Thy pure and innocent soul is redeemed;
but who shall redeem thy body from this woful
captivity?”
“Death,” said Christina. “Dost thou think
I can know of thy tortures—of thy death—of
the furies tearing thy flesh—of the flaming
brands being thrust into thy body—the coals—
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Oh God!—the live coals being sprinkled on thy
bare head, till madness, insensibility and death
relieve thee—dost thou think I can bear all this,
and live? No, no—I shall die, if not with thee,
but a little while after thee.”
“But live, I beseech thee, Christina,” said Koningsmarke,
“for the sake of thy father, who”—
“My father! I shall never see him more.
Perhaps ere this his gray hairs have been
brought in sorrow to the grave. Perhaps—but
it matters little to him or me. When you are
gone, who shall guide me homeward? who risk
his life to restore me to a parent, even if he
lives? No, no—I shall never see him more!
I have nothing to live for, since you are lost to me.”
“My hours are numbered,” replied Koningsmarke,
as he heard a distant shout—“Come
hither, Christina—nearer—yet nearer. My
arms are pinioned,” continued he, with a melancholy
smile—“you need not fear me.” She
approached, and leaned her head on his shoulder.
“God bless thee, my dear one, for never
blessing fell upon a more innocent head than
thine. In this last hour, tell me one thing.
Had we returned to Elsingburgh in safety together,
wouldst thou have joined thy fate with
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mine in the presence of heaven? wouldst thou
have tried to forget the long-past time, and lived
only in the future?”
“In the presence of Heaven, I would,” replied
Christina—“I would, had the shade of
my mother haunted our bridal bed. My love
and my gratitude should have conquered my remembrance
of the errors of thy youth.”
“Then seal it with a last kiss; and now,
come what will, by the blessing of God, I stand
prepared for whatsoever may happen. A little
while, and we shall meet again—or I have been
dreaming all my life.”
“Aonetti,” continued he, to the Indian maid,
who had stood in a distant corner, with her face
from them, weeping—“Aonetti, come hither.”
She approached. “Take your sister's hand,
and promise to be kind to her when I am gone.”
The Indian maid shook her head. “What!
will you not promise me this, Aonetti?”
“She must be kind to me,” replied the Indian
maid, “for I shall be more wretched than Mimi.
She will remember thy love, but I shall only remember
thy death.”
“But you will promise to be kind to her?”
repeated Koningsmarke.
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“Yes, yes, if I can remember any one but
thee and myself,” said Aonetti.
At that moment the door flew open with violence,
and a crowd rushed in. They seized
Koningsmarke and the poor high constable,
who, ever since his recapture, had been in a
sort of stupor, and hurried them towards the
river side, where, on a little level greensward,
were placed two stakes, around which, at a distance
of three or four paces, were placed piles
of wood. In their progress to the funeral
pyres, Koningsmarke and Lob Dotterel were
harassed and beaten with sticks by the women
and boys, who vented their rage in every possible
variety of injury and insult. Among these,
the widow, whose affections had been treated
with such contemptuous ingratitude, was the
most conspicuous. With dishevelled hair, and
ferocious gestures, she followed him step by
step, taunting him with the beauties of his
white woman, alarming his fears by threats of
terrible vengeance on poor Christina, and
triumphing in the prospect of his approaching
tortures.
“Look!” cried the virago; “yonder is the
stake and the pile; I shall hear thee groan—I
shall see the hot brands, the live coals scorch
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thee—I shall see the knife and the tomahawk
enter thy flesh—I shall see thy limbs tremble
like a woman—and I shall laugh, when the
drops of agony roll down thy forehead.”
Arrived at the stake, they proceeded to strip
the two victims, with the exception of their
waists, and to paint them black with charcoal
and grease. They were then fastened to the
stake, and, all being ready, the horrible ceremony
was about to begin, when Aonetti came
running franticly to the spot. Christina had
sunk into a temporary insensibility, when the
crowd carried off Koningsmarke, and, on
coming to herself, besought Aonetti to make
one last effort to reprieve the unfortunate youth.
“It is too late now,” said the Indian maid—
“ 'tis too late; they will spurn me; they will
beat me away. They are mad with rage and
cruelty.”
“Then I will go,” hastily exclaimed Christina,
starting up at the same time. “Perhaps
they will pity my sorrows.”
“Pity!” said Aonetti, despondingly—“Pity!
they know it not. If you seek to stop them,
they will tear you to pieces.”
“No matter—no matter—my heart is torn to
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pieces already. Let them tear my flesh, I care
not. Come, come—'twill be too late.”
“'Tis too late already—the smoke begins to
rise—nothing can save him now.”
“But we can die too. Let us go—let us go,
or I shall go mad.”
“He killed my brother, and he loves not
me,” said Aonetti; “yet I will make one more
effort, even though they do spurn me. Stay
here, my sister, and I will soon return.” Christina
had again sunk into a temporary insensibility,
which prevented her following.
As the Indian maid approached, she called
upon them to stay a moment, ere they lighted
the piles. The noise was hushed, by the
command of some of the sages who were
presiding at this solemn ceremony, for so it was
reckoned by the Indians. Aonetti then urged
every motive she could think of, to induce them
to spare the two victims. She stated the rewards
that would be given, if they carried them
to the Big Hats at Coaquanock, and the terrible
vengeance the white-men would take, when
they heard of the sacrifice of their brothers.
“If you spare them,” said she, “their friends
will ransom them with great kegs of spirits, with
tobacco pipes, powder, shot, and every thing
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you want. If you put them to death, the whitemen
will find you out one day or other, and
then wo to the red-men of the forest—wo to
their wives and their children—to themselves
and their posterity. Every drop of blood you
shed this day, I prophecy, will be repaid with
rivers of blood. Spare these white-men, and
let the tall youth be unto me the brother I have
lost.”
“Thou meanest a husband,” exclaimed the
Indian widow, who had listened with horrible
impatience to Aonetti's arguments. “Thou
wouldst take to thy arms the white-man whose
hands are red with the blood of thine only brother!
Shame of thy sex, and shame of the Indian
name! I know thee and thy wishes; I have
watched thy tears and thy sighs, thy lonely
rambles, thy words, nay, thy very looks. I
demand that the shade of my murdered husband,
of this wretched girl's murdered brother,
of all those who have fallen victims to the cursed
arts and bloody policy of the white-men, be appeased,
by the sacrifice of these deserters from
their adopted tribe. Else, may the wrath of the
Great Spirit confound our tribe, and his malediction
sweep you from the earth.”
These words were answered by a shout of
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approbation from the crowd, and followed by
the acquiescence of the old men present, who
again decided that the ceremony should proceed.
It was now one of those bright, clear,
still afternoons, which are common in the month
of September. There was not a breath of air
to curl the river, or wave the leaves of the forest,
nor a cloud to be seen in the sky. At this
moment, when they were about to set fire to the
funeral pile, a sudden burst of thunder, loud and
sharp, arrested them. The eyes of all were
turned upwards, with a sensation of awe and
surprise. From the most enlightened philosopher,
down to the most ignorant savage;
from man, to the birds of the air, the beasts of
the field, it would seem there is something in the
great operations of nature, such as tempests,
earthquakes, and thunder storms, that excites
the apprehensions, or at least the awe, of
both reason and instinct. It is not alone a fear
of the effects of these terrible demonstrations of
irresistible power, that causes this cowering or
elevation of the faculties; it is, that by a direct
operation, the mind is led to a contemplation of
an infinite Being, by witnessing the display of
infinite power.
There was not a cloud to be seen in the sky,
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and this circumstance occasioned the thunder
clap to have the appearance of something altogether
supernatural. The flends who carried
the lighted brands to fire the funeral pyres, involuntarily
paused, and the Indian maid, taking
advantage of the moment, cried out:
“Hark! the Great Spirit bears testimony
against this deed. You heard his voice in the
air. It came not from the clouds, for there is
not a cloud in the skies. It is the great Master
of life that cries out from above against his
people that have offended him. In his name I
command you to stop—in his name I command
you to spare these white-men!”
The figure of the little Indian maid appeared
to dilate with the dignity of inspiration. Her
eyes were turned in eager gaze towards the
heavens, and she seemed as if she actually saw
the visible form of the Being whose judgment
she had invoked. The frantic rage of the women
and boys yielded to the influence of a superstitious
awe. The elders consulted together
for a moment, and then decided that the ceremony
should be suspended till they could offer
a sacrifice, and ascertain the will of the Great
Spirit. The crowd then dispersed, disappointed,
yet not daring to complain; and Koningsmarke,
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with his companion, were again remanded to
the place whence they came, after being
washed, and permission given to dress themselves.
Here they were left, guarded without
by sentinels, to await the result of the appeal to
the Great Spirit.
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Paulding, James Kirke, 1778-1860 [1823], Koningsmarke, the long finne: a story of the new world, volume 2 (Charles Wiley, New York) [word count] [eaf302v2].
