Our terror had arrived at its height. It rose no higher when we saw f.a.gots carried up to the spot, and built in a ring around our heads. It rose no higher when we saw the torch applied, and the dry wood catching the flame. It rose no higher as the blaze grew red, and redder, and we felt its angry glow upon our skulls, soon to be calcined like the sticks themselves.
No; we could suffer no more. Our agony had reached the acme of endurance, and we longed for death to relieve us. If another pang had been possible, there was cause for it in those screams now proceeding from the opposite edge of the camp. Even in that dread hour, we could recognise the voices of my sister and Viola. The unmerciful monster had brought them out again to witness the execution. We saw them not; but their wild plaints proved that they were spectators of the horrid scene.
Hotter and hotter grew the fire, and nearer licked the flames. I heard my hair crisping and singing at the fiery contact.
Objects swam dizzily before my eyes. The trees tottered and reeled, the earth whirled round. My skull ached as if it would soon split; my brain was drying up; my senses were fast forsaking me.
CHAPTER NINETY THREE.
DEVILS OR ANGELS.
Was I enduring the tortures of the future world? Were these its fiends that grinned and jibbered around me? See! they scatter and fall back!
Some one approaches who can command them. Pluto himself? No; it is a woman--a woman here?--is it Proserpine? If a woman, surely _she_ will have mercy upon me! Vain hope! There is no mercy in h.e.l.l. Oh, my brain! Horror! horror!
There _are_ women--these are women--they look not fiends! No, they are angels! Would they were angels of mercy!
But they are. See! one interferes with the fire. With her foot she dashes it back, scattering the f.a.gots in furious haste. Who is she? If I were alive, I would call her Haj-Ewa; but dead, it must be her spirit below.
But there is another. Ha! another, younger and fairer. If they be angels, this must be the loveliest in heaven. It is the spirit of Maumee!
How comes she in this horrid place among fiends? It is not the abode for her. She was guilty of do crime that should send her here.
Where am I? Have I been dreaming? I was on fire just now--only my brain it was that was burning; my body was cold enough--where am I?
Who are you, that stand over me, pouring coolness upon my head? Are you not Haj-Ewa, the mad queen?
Whose soft fingers are those I feel playing upon my temples? Oh--the exquisite pleasure imparted by their touch! Bend down, that I may look upon your face, and thank you--"Maumee! Maumee!"
Then I am not dead. I live. I am saved!
It was Haj-Ewa, and not her spirit. It was Maumee herself--whose beautiful, brilliant eyes were looking into mine. No wonder I had believed it to be an angel.
"Carajo!" sounded a voice, that appeared hoa.r.s.e with rage. "Remove those women!--pile back the fires. Away, mad queen!--go back to your tribe! these my captives--your chief no claim--_Carrambo_!--you not interfere; pile back the fires!"
"Yama.s.sees!" cried Haj-Ewa, advancing towards the Indians; "Obey him not! or dread the wrath of Wykome! His spirit will be angry, and follow you in vengeance. Wherever you go the _chitta mico_ will be on your path, and its rattle in your ears. _Hulwak_! It will bite your heel as you wander in the woods. Speak I not truth, thou king of the Serpents?"
As she uttered the interrogatory, she raised the rattlesnake in her hands, holding it so that it might be distinctly seen by those whom she addressed. The reptile hissed, accompanying the sibilation with a sharp "skirr" of its tail. Who could doubt that it was an answer in the affirmative?
Not the Yama.s.sees, who stood awe-bound and trembling in the presence of the mighty sorceress.
"And you, black runaways and renegades," she continued to the negro allies--"you who have no G.o.d, and fear not Wykome--dare to rebuild the fires--dare to lift one f.a.got--and you shall take the place of your captives. A greater than yon yellow monster, your chief, will soon be on the ground. _Hinklas_! Ho! yonder the Rising Sun! he comes--he comes!"
As she ceased speaking, the hoof-strokes of a horse echoed through the glade, and a hundred voices simultaneously raised the shout: "Osceola!
Osceola!" That cry was grateful to my ears. Though already rescued, I had begun to fear it might prove only a short relief. Our delivery from death was still far from certain--our advocates were but weak women.
The mulatto king, in the midst of his fierce satellites, would scarce have yielded to their demands. Alike disregarded would have been their entreaties. The fire would have been re-kindled, and the execution carried out to its end.
In all probability this would have been the event, had not Osceola in good time arrived upon the ground.
His appearance, and the sound of his voice, at once rea.s.sured me. Under his protection we had nothing more to fear, and a soft voice whispered in my ear that he came as our _deliverer_.
His errand was soon made manifest. Drawing bridle, he halted near the middle of the camp, directly in front of us. I saw him dismount from his fine black horse--like himself, splendidly caparisoned--and handing the reins to a bystander, he came walking towards us. His port was superb--his costume brilliantly picturesque; and once more, I beheld those three ostrich-plumes--the real ones; that had played such a part in my suspicious fancy.
When near the spot, he stopped, and gazed inquiringly towards us. He might have smiled at our absurd situation, but his countenance betrayed no signs of levity. On the contrary, it was serious and sympathetic. I fancied it was sad.
For some moments he stood in a fixed att.i.tude, without saying a word.
His eyes wandered from one to the other--my fellow-victim and myself; as if endeavouring to distinguish us. No easy task. Smoke, sweat and ashes, must have rendered us extremely alike, and both difficult of identification.
At this moment, Maumee glided up to him, whispered a word in his ear, and returning again, knelt over me, and chafed my temples with her soft hands.
With the exception of the young chief himself, no one heard what his sister had said; but upon _him_ her words appeared to produce an instantaneous effect. A change pa.s.sed over his countenance. The look of sadness gave place to one of furious wrath; and turning suddenly to the yellow king, he hissed out the word "Fiend!"
For some seconds he spoke no more, but stood gazing upon the mulatto, as though he would annihilate him by his look. The latter quailed under the conquering glance, and trembled like a leaf, but made no answer.
"Fiend and villain!" continued Osceola, without changing either tone or att.i.tude. "Is this the way you have carried out my orders? Are these the captives I commanded you to take? Vile runaway of a slave! who authorised you to inflict the fiery torture? Who taught you? Not the Seminoles, whose name you have adopted and disgraced. By the spirit of Wykome! but that I have sworn never to torture a foe, I should place you where these now stand, and burn your body to ashes! From my sight-- begone! No--stay where you are. On second thoughts, I may need you."
And with this odd ending to his speech, the young chief turned upon his heel, and came walking towards us.
The mulatto did not vouchsafe a reply, though his looks were full of vengeance. Once, during the flagellation, I thought I noticed him turn his eyes towards his ferocious followers, as if to invoke their interference.
But these knew that Osceola was not alone. As he came up, the trampling of a large troop had been heard, and it was evident that his warriors were in the woods not far distant. A single _yo-ho-ehee_, in the well-known voice of their chief, would bring them upon the ground before its echoes had died.
The yellow king seemed himself to be aware of their proximity. Hence it was that he replied not. A word at that minute might have proved his last; and with a sulky frown upon his face, he remained silent.
"Release them!" said Osceola, addressing the _ci-devant_ diggers; "and be careful how you handle your spades."
"Randolph!" he continued, bending over me; "I fear I have scarce been in time. I was for off when I heard of this, and have ridden hard. You have been wounded--are you ill hurt?"
I attempted to express my grat.i.tude, and a.s.sure him I was not much injured; but my voice was so freak and hoa.r.s.e as to be hardly intelligible. It grew stronger, however, as those fair fingers administered the refreshing draught, and we were soon conversing freely.
Both of us were quickly "unearthed," and with free limbs stood once more upon the open ground. My first thoughts were to rush towards my sister, when, to my surprise, I was restrained by the chief.
"Patience," said he; "not yet, not yet--Maumee will go and a.s.sure her of your safety. See! she knows it already! Go, Maumee! Tell Miss Randolph, her brother is safe! and will come presently. But she must remain where she is, only for a little while. Go, sister, and cheer her."
Turning to me, he added in a whisper; "She has been placed there for a purpose--you shall see. Come with me--I shall show you a spectacle that may astonish you--there is not a moment to be lost; I hear the signal from my spies. A minute more, and we are too late--come! come!"
Without opposing a word, I hastened after the chief, who walked rapidly towards the nearest edge of the woods.
He entered the timber, but went no farther. When fairly under cover of the thick foliage, he stopped, turned round, and stood facing towards the camp.
Obedient to a sign, I imitated his example.
CHAPTER NINETY FOUR.
THE END OF ARENS RINGGOLD.