The Land of Bondage

CHAPTER XXVII
A LONG PEACE

An hour later those who had been such deadly enemies sat at peace together, engaged in a consultation. In a circle, side by side, were the sachems and sagamores of the tribe, the settlers of Pomfret who had come forth with me to rescue our friends, the late prisoners themselves, and Joice seated by me. Apart, and taking no share in the proceedings, were Kinchella and Mary Mills; above, and seated in Senamee's great chair, was Anuza, now chief over all. Farther off were the late bondsmen and many other of the Indians, while in the centre of them was Buck, showing a variety of cheats and delusions, and endeavouring to teach them how to perform them themselves-though this they seemed unable to do.

And now an old paw-wah, or sachem, passed the pipe he had been smoking to another sitting by his side, and spake as follows:

"Chiefs and braves of the tribe who are ever now allies, and you, the pale faces who dwell to the east of us, hearken unto me. For ere the sun sets to night it shall be, perhaps, that peace is settled between us for ever; ay! until the sun shall rise no more and the moon shall be darkened always."

"Speak," said one of the tribe, while others gave the peculiar grunt of the Indian and those of our party also bade him speak.

"It is good," he answered, "and I will speak of the far-off days when first the pale face came amongst us, though not then as a foe, until even now when, if the great Spirit so wills it, he shall never more be one. For the wrongs that have been done by the one to the other may be atoned for ever now."

He paused a moment to collect his thoughts, as it seemed, and then again he went on: "When first the great waterhouses brought the pale face to our land they brought not enemies but friends. This all know. They came among us and they were welcome. We gave them of the fish of our streams and the beasts of our forests and the fruits of the earth, and in return they gave us the fire-weapons with which to slay the beasts. They taught us also how to prepare them in better ways than we knew, they showed us how to build houses that should be more secure against the sun's heat and the winter's cold than those we made of the red cedar's bark. All was well between us; we were friends. Nay, as all know, we were brothers. We lay on the white man's hearth and he cherished us; he slept in our cabins and wigwams and he was safe. Why remained it not so? Hear me, and I will tell you.

"The white man spake not always truth to us. He told us that our lands were worthless, and he bought them from us for nothing, unless it was the accursed fire-drink which made us mad, or for fire-weapons that in our hands would slay nothing. Yet the lands thrived in his grasp and he possessed them and we had lost them. And when we reproached him he used fire-weapons that slew us without failure, and our prisoners whom he took he sent away for ever across the deep waters.⁵ So he took our lands and our men, and got all, and we had nothing. And the Indian never forgets. Thus, while we drew away from where the pale face dwelt, some coming to these mountains and some going even farther towards the unknown land of the setting sun, we had naught to cherish but our revenge, and naught to comfort us but the exercise of that revenge."

"Yet," interrupted young Mr. Byrd, "in the days of my grandfather you made a peace with us, and took gifts from us, and fire-weapons that would kill of a surety, and agreed to attack us no more. But even that peace you did not keep, though you made no raids upon us such as this you have now made."

"Yet were we never the aggressors," the sachem replied. "Never was an attack made by us until evil was done to us. But the Indian forgives not. If one of our race was slain by one of the white race then must one of his kin be slain by us; if our women were outraged, as has often been, or insulted, then must a white woman or a child be carried away by us. It is the law of our gods; it must be obeyed. For a life a life, for a hand a hand, for an Indian woman's honour a white woman's, or the carrying off of children."

"But," said Gregory, "there was naught to inspire such desire for revenge as to cause this last attack. None in Pomfret have harmed you or yours for many moons. What had she," pointing to Joice, "done; she, this innocent woman, scarce more than a girl even now, that thus you should attack and ruin her and seek her life and that of those by whom she was surrounded?"

The sachem was about to answer when whatever he would have said was interrupted by Anuza, who, speaking quickly, said:

"Because we were deceived by a lying, false, medicine man it was done. Because he told us lies, even as he has lied to us ever since he dwelt amongst us. And for those lies he shall die. He cannot escape us long. Yet, since it is due to the white men that they should know how that crawling snake worked upon us, so that we believed in him and did his bidding and attacked their houses, tell them all-tell them all," and he motioned to the sachem as he spoke.

That all of us were eager to hear this recountal, you may be well sure, for there was scarcely one amongst us who had not known the wretch. The gentlemen had met him as an equal-for all believed his tale-he had caroused with the (now freed) bondsmen, and he had even gone a-hunting with the backwoodsmen and trappers. So we bent our ears to the narrative and listened greedily.

"He was found," said the paw-wah, "lying in the forest by Lamimi, the young daughter of Owalee, a chief of the Powhattans, and she, because her heart was tender, succoured him. But because Owalee hated the pale faces with a great hatred she kept him secret from her father for many days, hiding him in a cave she knew of and going to visit him often. Yet she believed him to be no pale face, but rather a god sent from another world, so wonderful were his doings. Food he refused at her hands, making signs to her (and knowing, too, some words of her tongue, as she knew some of his, by which they conversed) that meat was brought to him by some unseen power. And of this he gave her proof, showing her bones of fishes and of animals and birds which he had devoured. Later on she learnt that he could marvellously snare all creatures, making them captive to him even though he had no weapons, but this she told us not until to-day. Nor told she until to-day-when she, who had been his squaw and loved him, learned that she was to be cast out and the white maiden here and her dark sister made to take her place-of all his own deceptions and crafts. But, to-day, because she hates him now as once she loved him, she has told all-all! She it was who taught him the history of our braves and their deeds and the deeds of their forefathers, which we thought the Sun God only could have taught him so wonderful did his knowledge seem. She it was who carried to him the news of what the tribes were deciding on doing, either in war with other tribes, or in hunting, or in sacrificing, so that, when he told us that he had learned all our future intentions, again we believed that his father, the Sun, gave him the knowledge. Fools! fools that we were! Yet we never thought of the girl, Lamimi, though we knew she was his squaw. Nor would she have told him all she did had he not ruled her by terror as much as by love. For he made her believe that he could cause her to vanish for ever off the earth, even as he made things to vanish from his hands and be no more seen; or as he made stones to fly into the air and descend no more. Yet now she knows, as we know, that all was but trickery, and that many others can do the same, even as that one there," pointing to Buck, "who says he is the child of no god, can do such things.

"So the false one worked upon us, doing that which no medicine man had ever done before; and so, at last, he got supreme control over us, making us obey his every word. And ever did he tell us that, if we would please the great Sun God, then must we make war upon and destroy all the pale faces who dwelt between these mountains and the waters, directing more particularly our vengeance towards the spot where you, ye white people, live. This we at first would not do, because for many moons there had been peace between us with neither little nor great war; yet, as moon followed moon, and leaf was followed by barrenness and then withered and fell to the earth, still did he press us. When the thunder rolled and the lightning blasted our cattle, he told us the Sun was angry because we obeyed him not; when many of our horses were killed by reptiles and venomous insects he said ever the same; when our women bore dead children still spake he of the Sun God's anger. And yet we would not hearken unto him, for since the pale faces no longer came against us we went not against them.

"But lo! one day, when all the earth was dark, yet with no cloud beneath the sky, he stood forth here on this spot where now we sit, and, stretching out his arms which were bare, he said that ere long upon his hands should appear a message from the Sun telling us of the god's anger. And soon the message came, though now we know that it was a cheat. Upon his open palm, which had been empty ere he clenched it, there appeared a scroll of skin with, on it, mystic figures which none could decipher but he. And the figures said, he told us, that never more should the heavens be light again and that there should be darkness over all the land, if we would not make war upon the white men and save ourselves. For they, he said, were arming to attack us, from over the deep waters their great king, who dwelt beyond them, was sending more fearful fire-weapons than we had known with which to destroy us for ever, and, ere another moon had passed, they would have come. So, at last, in the darkness of the day, and with great fear in the hearts of all the warriors and braves of the tribe, they said if he would cause the Sun God to show his face again, then they would promise to make the war. And so he stretched his hands to the Sun and spake some words, and slowly his rays came forth again one by one and light appeared again upon the world. Yet this we also know now was false, and that the rays would have come and also the light even though the promise had been withheld. I have spoken."

At first none of us uttered a word when the sachem concluded. In truth, all were surprised that, even among these poor, ignorant savages, such credulity could have existed. And, I think, most of us were pondering on what they would have done to the impostor had the promise not been forthcoming by the time that the eclipse-for it was, naturally, of such a thing the sachem spake-had passed away.

Yet a spokesman had to be put forward on our part, and so we drew away a little to consult. And having chosen one, which was Kinchella, we returned and he addressed the Indians thus:

"Warriors, braves, and people of the assembled tribes. We have thought upon all your sachem has said, and we wish that the only true God had inspired your hearts so that you should not have listened to the false prophet who deceived you. Yet, since you have done so, and have made war upon those who in their generation have never harmed you, what reparation can you offer us?"

"Ask what you will," said Anuza, "and if it is in our power it shall be given."

"'Tis well. Listen, therefore. These are our demands. Firstly, all those who dwell with you and have our blood, the blood of the white men, in their veins, shall be brought here, so that we may speak with them and implore them to return with us to their own people. Also that I, who am a humble minister of the true God, may endeavour to bring them back to His service and, if I can prevail upon them, then you shall let them accompany us."

"If you can prevail upon them," said Anuza, "they shall accompany you. But that you cannot do," and the tone in which he spoke seemed to us one of most marvellous confidence.

"At least we will attempt it. Next, we call upon you all here assembled to make vows, the most solemn to which you can pledge yourselves, that never again shall you make war upon the white man, or his houses or property, nor attempt aught against him until he first attacks you, and that none of your tribes shall come within a day's ride of our lands either by stealth or openly."

"Children of these our tribes," exclaimed Anuza, "you hear this demand. Will you agree to it so that evermore there shall be unbroken peace between them and us? Answer."

To this there were many who cried out that they would agree to it, while one, an older man than Anuza, coming forward, said:

"A peace is no peace unless it binds both alike who agree to it. Will the pale faces agree also that, if we advance not into the lands they have possessed themselves of, they will come no further into ours? Will they do this?"

All of our side said they would promise this, while they recalled to the Indians that 'twas more than fifty summers and winters since they had made any encroachments on the Indians' territories, or taken one rood of land from them except by barter at a price agreed upon. And so at last the compact was made-the peace (which hath ever since that day, so far as my knowledge serves, been kept in His Majesty's loyal colony of Virginia) was entered into. It was ratified by the white men calling upon heaven to witness their agreement to it, and by the Indians swearing upon their wounds and scars, and calling upon their gods to inflict most dreadful vengeance on them, and their children afterwards, if they failed in their part. And also was it sealed by the passing round of a pipe of peace, at which all smoked silently for a few moments. But still one other promise was extorted from them-the promise that the sacred symbol of our faith, the Cross, should be taken down and nevermore used for the horrid rites to which hitherto it had been put. This we saw done ere we left them.

Now, as we sat smoking gravely with those who had so lately been our bitter foes, there came in the Indians who had been sent to find the villain Roderick, who reported that nowhere could any traces of him be discovered. He had vanished as mysteriously as he had come-all trace and trail of him was lost.

And what disturbed these grave savages almost as much-nay, I think, more, was that Lamimi, the daughter of Owalee, who had been Roderick's squaw and had loved him once, was gone too. And white and red man both asked themselves the same question-had that love awakened once more in her bosom and forced her to fly with him; or-dreadful thought! – had he in some way been able to wreak his vengeance on her for having told the story of his imposture to her own people?

We were soon to know.

CHAPTER XXVIII
THE REWARD OF A TRAITOR

One thing there was to be done ere we quitted the Indian encampment. It was to try and bring away with us those who, alas! poor souls, had come there as white prisoners and had remained of their own free will, becoming savages in all but complexion. We knew that it would be hard to tear them from those to whom they had attached themselves. We knew that girls, who should have grown up to become the wives of sturdy English colonists or trappers, had stayed willingly with the Indians to become their squaws and the mothers of their dusky children. We remembered Anuza's air of confidence when he told us how he doubted of our being able to persuade them to return with us. Yet we hoped. How our hopes succeeded you shall see.

We had remarked from our first arrival that there were no signs of any white people amongst the Indians of the various tribes who dwelt here together. Yet they had been eagerly sought for. Men from Pomfret and the small holdings round about it had scanned the stained and painted faces they gazed down upon while the fight between Anuza and Senamee had been taking place, in the hopes-perhaps, in some cases, the fears-that underneath those dreadful pigments the might recognise the features of some long lost kinsman or kinswoman. And even I, knowing the stories of those who had been carried off at various periods and had never returned, had whispered to Joice, asking her if she could see any whom she had ever known as children dwelling near her? But she had only shaken her head and answered that she could see none, and that she almost prayed she should not do so. And I knew why she thus hoped none would be forthcoming; I knew that, to her tender heart, it would be more painful to see these renegades than to gaze upon those who were born savages and had never known the blessings of dwelling in a Christian community.

Yet now she had to see them.

At a sign from Anuza an Indian servant went forth amongst the tents and wigwams, returning presently followed by three women-white! Yes, white, in spite of the stained skin, the Indian trappings of fringed moccasins and gaiters, of quills and beads and feathers, and of dressed fawn-skin tunics. Who could doubt it who saw above two of their heads the fair yellow hair of the northern European woman-was it some feminine vanity that had led them to keep this portion of their original English beauty untampered with? – and above that of the other the chestnut curls which equally plainly told that in her veins there ran no drop of savage blood.

As they stepped towards us, casting glances of no friendly nature at those of their own race, one of the women, young and comely and leading by her hand a child, went directly towards Anuza and, embracing him, disposed herself at his feet while the child played with the great hand that, but a few hours ago, had slain Senamee. Her form was lithe and graceful-in that she might have been Indian born-upon her head glistened her yellow hair which the Bear softly stroked; her garb was rich though barbaric. It consisted of a fawn-skin, bleached so white that it might have been samite, that reached below the knee, and it was fringed with beads and white shells. Her leggings were also of some white material but softer; her moccasins were stained red and fringed also with shells.

She turned her eyes up at Anuza-we saw that they were hazel ones, soft and clear-and spake some words to him in a whisper, and then was heard his answer:

"My beloved," he said, "those whom you see around us are of your race, and we have sworn but now eternal peace with them-a peace that must never more be broken. Yet to ensure that peace we have granted one request to the pale faces; we have consented that, if those who dwell with us, yet are of their land, desire to leave us and go back with them, they are free to do so. Do you desire thus to return?"

"To return!" she said, looking first with amazement at him and then at us, "to return and leave you? Oh! Anuza, Anuza! My heart's dearest love!" while, as she spoke, she embraced the knee against which she reclined.

"You see," he said to us, "you see. And as it is with her so will it be with the others. Yet make your demand if you will."

Alas! all was in vain. In vain that Joice and Miss Mills pleaded with them as women sometimes can plead with their sisters for their good-what could they hope to effect? If they implored them to return to their own people they were answered that they could not leave their husbands, for so they spoke of the chiefs to whom they were allied. If they asked them to return to Christianity the reply was that their husbands' faith was their faith. It was hopeless, and soon we knew it to be so. The lives they led now were the only lives they had any knowledge of-their earlier ones at home, amongst their own people, were forgotten if they had ever understood them; their very parents, they told us, were but the shadow of a memory.

"Why, therefore," asked the fairest complexioned of them all, she who was the squaw of the Bear and the mother of his child, "should we go back to those we know not of, even though they be still alive? Will your faith, which preaches that a woman shall leave all to cleave unto her husband, ask me to leave mine and my child and go back to I know not what?"

"In truth," I heard one old colonist whisper to O'Rourke, who stood by his side, "there would be none for her to go back to. I do think she is the child of Martin Peake, who was stolen when a babe, and, if so, her father has been long since dead. Her mother lived until a year ago hoping ever that she might return, looking up the lane that led to the woods with wistful eyes, as though she might perhaps see her coming back at last; even keeping her little room ready against her coming. Yet it was never to be, and she died with her longing ungratified," and the man dashed his rough hand across his eyes as he spoke, while I saw that those of the old adventurer also filled with tears as he listened. Then he said softly: "I can understand. I once had a daughter whom I loved dearly and-and she is dead and gone from me. Yet better so, far better than to be like this."

Therefore it was not to be! They refused to come with us, and set the love for their savage mates against all entreaties on our part. Nor could we find it in our hearts to blame them. We remembered other marriages that had taken place in earlier days between red and white; we recalled the union of John Rolfe with the Princess Pocahontas, as well as many more, and we knew that most of them had been happy. What could we do but cease to plead and go in peace?

Thus we set out again on our road to Pomfret, and, although some of the party were going back to ruined homes, I think that even so they were content. For, in so rich and wooded a land as this fertile Virginia, houses might soon be repaired and made whole again, crops easily brought to bear once more, and cattle replaced. And, against any loss that had been incurred, there was always the great set-off of peace with the Indians and security. All knew in that band-for well were they acquainted with their foes of old-that, during at least the present generation, the tribes would keep their word; if they made war again it would not be during our time. The Indian had not yet learned the art of lying-he was still uncivilised!

These did endeavour to offer some reparation for the wrong they had done the colony; they brought forth skins and furs, ornaments such as they deemed might prove acceptable, weapons, and, in some few instances, trinkets, gold, and precious stones-got we knew not whence-which they piled on the ground and bade us take, saying they had no more. But no man took aught from them, and so, after Kinchella had offered up a prayer of thanksgiving for our release and another that, if not now, at least at some future date, these poor heathens might be gathered into the true fold, we set forth. And never more did one of our party lay eyes upon any of those tribes again. As they had vowed, so the vow was kept.

As we rode on we could not but wonder what would be the fate of my wretched cousin, the author of all the woe that had recently befallen the, until now, happy little settlement.

"That they will find him and slay him," said Gregory, who knew much of their ways, "is certain. It is impossible he should escape or they forgive. Well, vile as he is, God help him!"

"Amen," said Joice, as she rode by my side. "Amen."

"Perhaps," said the old hunter, who had recognised Anuza's squaw, "he may strike the southern trail and make for the Seminoles; they hate all the Alleghany tribes like poison. If he could get them to listen to him, and promised to lead them up to their encampment, he might yet join on to them."

"Never," said Mr. Byrd. "He would have to join in the fight not shirk from it in the garb of a medicine chief. Amongst the Red Sticks⁶ every man fights, and fighting is not his cue."

"What I can't fathom," remarked another, "is how the white girls never found him out. They should have known their own kind."

"It may be," Gregory said, "that he kept himself ever apart. His squaw was Indian, and, for his knowledge of our tongue, why! that he would attribute to a gift from his precious Sun God. Doubtless he told them he knew all tongues."

"And the girls," said Mr. Byrd, "were stolen when they were children. They could never have known-my God!" he exclaimed, breaking off, "what is that?" while, with his finger, he pointed to a sight that froze all our blood with horror.

We had reached the bend of a small river which joined, later on, the James, and were passing one side of it, a flat, muddy shore. On the other side there arose a stiff, almost perpendicular, bank, beneath which the river flowed; a bank that rose some seventy to eighty feet above the water's level. And here it was that we saw that which was so terrible to look upon.

Fixed into the earth was a long pole, or spar, of Virginian pine; attached to that pole was the naked body of a man-or was it the body of what had once been a man? It was bound to the staff by a cord of wampum, the arms were bound to it above the head by yet a second cord; plunged into the heart was an Indian knife, the hilt glistening in the rays of the evening sun. But worse, far worse to see than this-which we could do with ease since the stream was but a narrow one-was that the body was already nearly consumed with swarms nay, myriads-of huge ants that had crept up to it by the pole, and were already feeding on it so ravenously that, in a few more hours, there could be nothing left but the skeleton. Indeed, already our dilated eyes could see that the flesh of the lower limbs was gone-devoured; of the feet and legs there was naught left but the bones, while the body and the face were black with the host of venomous ants preying on them, so that the features could not be distinguished.

The women shrieked and hid their faces while the men sat appalled on their horses. Then with, as it seemed, one impulse, all but one of the latter dismounted and, wading through the stream that now, after the long drought, was but knee-deep, rushed at the steep bank and endeavoured to ascend it.

The impulse that so prompted all of us, except Kinchella, who remained with Joice and Miss Mills, was that we guessed who and what that awful figure had once been.

At first we could find no foothold by which to ascend; we strived in vain, we even endeavoured to dig out steps with our swords and hands; it was all unavailing. We should, indeed, have returned, desisting from our labour, had not at this moment one of the trappers espied, lower down, a slight path leading to the summit, a path doubtless used by the Indians when in the neighbourhood. And so, gaining that path, we reached the level above and drew near the horrid thing.

No need to ask who the creature had once been; all was answered by one quick glance. At the foot of the pole, at the foot of the thing itself, there lay a fawn-skin tunic and a silken cloak on which were wrought stars and moons and snakes, and a great blazing Sun, the insignia, or totems, of the false medicine man.

Yet, how had the deed been done? The Indians whom he had outraged and deceived lay far behind us in the mountains; they, therefore, could not have been his executioners. We had not far to seek ere this was discovered too. The crest of the bank was higher than the level behind it, which sloped downwards away from the river, and thus, when we stood on the other side, we could not see all that lay below that crest.

But now we saw, and, seeing, understood.

Near him, yet so far away that the venomous ants had not yet, at least, reached it, there was another body-the body of a woman. It lay on its back, the eyes staring up to the heavens, the tunic torn open at the left breast and in that breast another dagger buried, which still the right hand of the woman, an Indian, grasped and held as firm as when she struck herself her death blow.

So we knew all! We knew that he had escaped the vengeance of the tribe only to die at the hands of the woman who had loved him once, and whose love he had thought to replace-the hands of the woman who, having saved his life at the outset, had taken it from him when he was false to her.

And thus he perished, not by the hands of those from whom he was fleeing, but by those of Lamimi, his slighted and forsaken squaw.