The Maid-At-Arms: A Novel
Page 17
XV
THE FALSE-FACES
For a long time we had scented green birch smoke, and now, on hands andknees, we were crawling along the edge of a cliff, the roar of the riverin our ears, when Mount suddenly flattened out and I heard him breathingheavily as I lay down close beside him.
"Look!" he whispered, "the ravine is full of fire!"
A dull-red glare grew from the depths of the ravine; crimson shadowsshook across the wall of earth and rock. Above the roaring of the streamI heard an immense confused murmur and the smothered thumping rhythm ofdistant drumming.
"Go on," I whispered.
Mount crawled forward, Sir George and I after him. The light belowburned redder and redder on the cliff; sounds of voices grew moredistinct; the dark stream sprang into view, crimson under the increasingfurnace glow. Then, as we rounded a heavy jutting crag, a great lightflared up almost in our faces, not out of the kindling ravine, butbreaking forth among the huge pines on the cliffs.
"Their council-fire!" panted Mount. "See them sitting there!"
"Flatten out," I whispered. "Follow me!" And I crawled straight towardsthe fire, where, ink-black against the ruddy conflagration, an enormouspine lay uprooted, smashed by lightning or tempest, I know not which.
Into the dense shadows of the debris I crawled, Mount and Sir Georgefollowing, and lay there in the dark, staring at the forbidden circlewhere the secret mysteries of the False-Faces had already begun.
Three great fires roared, set at regular intervals in a cleared space,walled in by the huge black pines. At the foot of a tree sat a whiteman, his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands. The man wasWalter Butler.
On his right sat Brant, wrapped in a crimson blanket, his face paintedblack and scarlet. On his left knelt a ghastly figure wearing a scowlingwooden mask painted yellow and black.
Six separate groups of Indians surrounded the fires. They were sachemsof the Six Nations, each sachem bearing in his hands the symbol of hisnation and of his clan. All were wrapped in black-and-white blankets,and their faces were painted white above the upper lip as though theywore skin-tight masks.
Three young girls, naked save for the beaded clout, and painted scarletfrom brow to ankle, beat the witch-drums tump-a-tump! tump-a-tump! whilea fourth stood, erect as a vermilion statue, holding a chain belt wovenin black-and-white wampum.
Behind these central figures the firelight fell on a solid semicircle ofsavages, crowns shaved, feathers aslant on the braided lock, and alloiled and painted for war.
A chief, wrapped in a blue blanket, stepped out into the circle swingingthe carcass of a white dog by the hind-legs. He tied it to a black-birchsapling and left it dangling and turning round and round.
"This for the Keepers of the Fires," he said, in Tuscarora, and flungthe dog's entrails into the middle fire.
Three young men sprang into the ring; each threw a log onto one of thefires.
"The name of the Holder of the Heavens may now be spoken and heardwithout offence," said an old sachem, rising. "Hark! brothers. Harken, Oyou wise men and sachems! The False-Faces are laughing in the ravinewhere the water is being painted with firelight. I acquaint you that theFalse-Faces are coming up out of the ravine!"
The witch-drums boomed and rattled in the silence that followed hiswords. Far off I heard the sound of many voices laughing and talking alltogether; nearer, nearer, until, torch in hand, a hideously maskedfigure bounded into the circle, shaking out his bristling cloak of greenreeds. Another followed, another, then three, then six, then a dozen,whirling their blazing torches; all horribly masked and smothered incoarse bunches of long, black hair, or cloaked with rustlingriver reeds.
"Ha! Ah-weh-hot-kwah! Ha! Ah-weh-hah! Ha! The crimson flower! Ha! The flower!"
they chanted, thronging around the central fire; then falling back in ahalf-circle, torches lifted, while the masked figures banked solidlybehind, chanted monotonously:
"Red fire burns on the maple! Red fire burns in the pines. The red flower to the maple! The red death to the pines!"
At this two young girls, wearing white feathers and white weasel peltsdangling from shoulders to knees, entered the ring from opposite ends.Their arms were full of those spectral blossoms called "Ghost-corn," andthey strewed the flowers around the ring in silence. Then three maidens,glistening in cloaks of green pine-needles, slipped into the firecircle, throwing showers of violets and yellow moccasin flowers over theearth, calling out, amid laughter, "Moccasins for whippoorwills! Violetsfor the two heads entangled!" And, their arms empty of blossoms, theydanced away, laughing while the False-Faces clattered their wooden masksand swung their torches till the flames whistled.
Then six sachems rose, casting off their black-and-white blankets, andeach in turn planted branches of yellow willow, green willow, red osier,samphire, witch-hazel, spice-bush, and silver birch along the edge ofthe silent throng of savages.
"Until the night-sun comes be these your barriers, O Iroquois!" theychanted. And all answered:
"The Cherry-maid shall lock the gates to the People of the Morning! A-e!ja-e! Wild cherry and cherry that is red!"
Then came the Cherry-maid, a slender creature, hung from head to footwith thick bunches of wild cherries which danced and swung when shewalked; and the False-Faces plucked the fruit from her as she passedaround, laughing and tossing her black hair, until she had beendespoiled and only the garment of sewed leaves hung from shoulderto ankle.
A green blanket was spread for her and she sat down under the branch ofwitch-hazel.
"The barrier is closed!" she said. "Kindle your coals from Onondaga, Oyou Keepers of the Central Fire!"
An aged sachem arose, and, lifting his withered arm, swept it eastward.
"The hearth is cleansed," he said, feebly. "Brothers, attend!She-who-runs is coming. Listen!"
A dead silence fell over the throng, broken only by the rustle of theflames. After a moment, very far away in the forest, something soundedlike the muffled gallop of an animal, paddy-pad! paddy-pad, comingnearer and ever nearer.
"It's the Toad-woman!" gasped Mount in my ear. "It's the Huron witch!Ah! My God! look there!"
Hopping, squattering, half scrambling, half bounding into the firelightcame running a dumpy creature all fluttering with scarlet rags. A coarsemat of gray hair masked her visage; she pushed it aside and raised adreadful face in the red fire-glow--a face so marred, so horrible, thatI felt Mount shivering in the darkness beside me.
Through the hollow boom-boom of the witch-drums I heard a murmurswelling from the motionless crowd, like a rising wind in the pines. Thehag heard it too; her mouth widened, splitting her ghastly visage. Asingle yellow fang caught the firelight.
"O you People of the Mountain! O you Onondagas!" she cried. "I am cometo ask my Cayugas and my Senecas why they assemble here on the Kennyettowhen their council-fire and yours should burn at Onondaga! O youOneidas, People of the Standing Stone! I am come to ask my Senecas, myMountain-snakes, why the Keepers of the Iroquois Fire have let it goout? O you of the three clans, let your ensigns rise and listen. I speakto the Wolf, the Turtle, and the Bear! And I call on the seven kindredclans of the Wolf, and the two kindred clans of the Turtle, and the fourkindred clans of the Bear throughout the Six Nations of the Iroquoisconfederacy, throughout the clans of the Lenni-Lenape, throughout theHuron-Algonquins and their clans!
"And I call on the False-Faces of the Spirit-water and the Water ofLight!"
She shook her scarlet rags and, raising her arm, hurled a hatchet intoa painted post which stood behind the central fire.
"O you Cayugas, People of the Carrying-place! Strike that war-post withyour hatchets or face the ghosts of your fathers in every trail!"
There was a deathly silence. Catrine Montour closed her horrible littleeyes, threw back her head, and, marking time with her flat foot,began to chant.
She chanted the glory of the Long House; of the nations that drove theEries, the Hurons, the Algonquins; of t
he nation that purged the earthof the Stonish Giants; of the nation that fought the dreadful battle ofthe Flying Heads. She sang the triumph of the confederacy, the bondsthat linked the Elder Brothers and Elder Sons with the Esaurora, whosetongue was the sign of council unity.
And the circle of savages began to sway in rhythm to her chanting,answering back, calling their challenge from clan to clan; until,suddenly, the Senecas sprang to their feet and drove their hatchets intothe war-post, challenging the Lenape with their own battle-cry:
"Yoagh! Yoagh! Ha-ha! Hagh! Yoagh!"
Then the Mohawks raised their war-yelp and struck the post; and theCayugas answered with a terrible cry, striking the post, and calling outfor the Next Youngest Son--meaning the Tuscaroras--to drawtheir hatchets.
"Have the Seminoles made women of you?" screamed Catrine Montour,menacing the sachems of the Tuscaroras with clinched fists.
"Let the Lenape tell you of women!" retorted a Tuscarora sachem, calmly.
At this opening of an old wound the Oneidas called on the Lenape toanswer; but the Lenape sat sullen and silent, with flashing eyes fixedon the Mohawks.
Then Catrine Montour, lashing herself into a fury, screamed forvengeance on the people who had broken the chain-belt with the LongHouse. Raving and frothing, she burst into a torrent of prophecy, whichsilenced every tongue and held every Indian fascinated.
"Look!" whispered Mount. "The Oneidas are drawing their hatchets! TheTuscaroras will follow! The Iroquois will declare for war!"
Suddenly the False-Faces raised a ringing shout:
"Kree! Ha-ha! Kre-e!"
And a hideous creature in yellow advanced, rattling his yellow mask.
Catrine Montour, slavering and gasping, leaned against the paintedwar-post. Into the fire-ring came dancing a dozen girls, all strung withbrilliant wampum, their bodies and limbs painted vermilion, sleevelessrobes of wild iris hanging to their knees. With a shout they chanted:
"O False-Faces, prepare to do honor to the truth! She who Dreams hascome from her three sisters--the Woman of the Thunder-cloud, the Womanof the Sounding Footsteps, the Woman of the Murmuring Skies!"
And, joining hands, they cried, sweetly: "Come, O Little RosebudWoman!--Ke-neance-e-qua! O-gin-e-o-qua!--Woman of the Rose!"
And all together the False-Faces cried: "Welcome to Ta-lu-la, theleaping waters! Here is I-e-nia, the wanderer's rest! Welcome, O Womanof the Rose!"
Then the grotesque throng of the False-Faces parted right and left; alynx, its green eyes glowing, paced out into the firelight; and behindthe tawny tree-cat came slowly a single figure--a young girl, bare ofbreast and arm; belted at the hips with silver, from which hung astraight breadth of doeskin to the instep of her bare feet. Her darkhair, parted, fell in two heavy braids to her knees; her lips weretinted with scarlet; her small ear-lobes and finger-tips were stained afaint rose-color.
In the breathless silence she raised her head. Sir George's crushinggrip clutched my arm, and he fell a-shuddering like a man with ague.
The figure before us was Magdalen Brant.
The lynx lay down at her feet and looked her steadily in the face.
Slowly she raised her rounded arm, opened her empty palm; then fromspace she seemed to pluck a rose, and I saw it there between herforefinger and her thumb.
A startled murmur broke from the throng. "Magic! She plucks blossomsfrom the empty air!"
"O you Oneidas," came the sweet, serene voice, "at the tryst of theFalse-Faces I have kept my tryst.
"You wise men of the Six Nations, listen now attentively; and you,ensigns and attestants, attend, honoring the truth which from my twinlips shall flow, sweetly as new honey and as sap from April maples."
She stooped and picked from the ground a withered leaf, holding it outin her small, pink palm.
"Like this withered leaf is your understanding. It is for a maid toquicken you to life, ... as I restore this last year's leaf to life,"she said, deliberately.
In her open palm the dry, gray leaf quivered, moved, straightened,slowly turned moist and fresh and green. Through the intense silence theheavy, gasping breath of hundreds of savages told of the tension theystruggled under.
She dropped the leaf to her feet; gradually it lost its green and curledup again, a brittle, ashy flake.
"O you Oneidas!" she cried, in that clear voice which seemed to leave afloating melody in the air, "I have talked with my Sisters of theMurmuring Skies, and none but the lynx at my feet heard us."
She bent her lovely head and looked into the creature's blazing orbs;after a moment the cat rose, took three stealthy steps, and lay down ather feet, closing its emerald eyes.
The girl raised her head: "Ask me concerning the truth, you sachems ofthe Oneida, and speak for the five war-chiefs who stand in their paintbehind you!"
An old sachem rose, peering out at her from dim, aged eyes.
"Is it war, O Woman of the Rose?" he quavered.
"Neah!" she said, sweetly.
An intense silence followed, shattered by a scream from the hag,Catrine.
"A lie! It is war! You have struck the post, Cayugas! Senecas! Mohawks!It is a lie! Let this young sorceress speak to the Oneidas; they arehers; the Tuscaroras are hers, and the Onondagas and the Lenape! Letthem heed her and her dreams and her witchcraft! It concerns not you, OMountain-snakes! It concerns only these and False-Faces! She is theirprophetess; let her dream for them. I have dreamed for you, O ElderBrothers! And I have dreamed of war!!"
"And I of peace!" came the clear, floating voice, soothing the harshechoes of the hag's shrieking appeal. "Take heed, you Mohawks, and youCayuga war-chiefs and sachems, that you do no violence to thiscouncil-fire!"
"The Oneidas are women!" yelled the hag.
Magdalen Brant made a curiously graceful gesture, as though throwingsomething to the ground from her empty hand. And, as all looked,something did strike the ground--something that coiled and hissed andrattled--a snake, crouched in the form of a letter S; and the lynxturned its head, snarling, every hair erect.
"Mohawks and Cayugas!" she cried; "are you to judge the Oneidas?--youwho dare not take this rattlesnake in your hands?"
There was no reply. She smiled and lifted the snake. It coiled up in herpalm, rattling and lifting its terrible head to the level of her eyes.The lynx growled.
"Quiet!" she said, soothingly. "The snake has gone, O Tahagoos, myfriend. Behold, my hand is empty; Sa-kwe-en-ta, the Fanged Onehas gone."
It was true. There was nothing where, an instant before, I myself hadseen the dread thing, crest swaying on a level with her eyes.
"Will you be swept away by this young witch's magic?" shrieked CatrineMontour.
"Oneidas!" cried Magdalen Brant, "the way is cleared! Hiro [I havespoken]!"
Then the sachems of the Oneida stood up, wrapping themselves in theirblankets, and moved silently away, filing into the forest, followed bythe war-chiefs and those who had accompanied the Oneida delegation asattestants.
"Tuscaroras!" said Magdalen Brant, quietly.
The Tuscarora sachems rose and passed out into the darkness, followed bytheir suite of war-chiefs and attestants.
"Onondagas!"
All but two of the Onondaga delegation left the council-fire. Amid aprofound silence the Lenape followed, and in their wake stalked threetall Mohicans.
Walter Butler sprang up from the base of the tree where he had beensitting and pointed a shaking finger at Magdalen Brant:
"Damn you!" he shouted; "if you call on my Mohawks, I'll cut yourthroat, you witch!"
Brant bounded to his feet and caught Butler's rigid, outstretched arm.
"Are you mad, to violate a council-fire?" he said, furiously. MagdalenBrant looked calmly at Butler, then deliberately faced the sachems.
"Mohawks!" she called, steadily.
There was a silence; Butler's black eyes were almost starting from hisbloodless visage; the hag, Montour, clawed the air in helpless fury.
"Mohawks!" repeated the girl, quietly.
"Senecas!"
A Seneca chief, painted like death, strode to the post and struck itwith his hatchet.
"Cayuga!" called the girl, steadily.
A Cayuga chief sprang at the post and struck it twice.
Roars of applause shook the silence; then a masked figure leaped towardsthe central fire, shouting: "The False-Faces' feast! Ho! Hoh! Ho-ooh!"
In a moment the circle was a scene of terrific excesses. Masked figurespelted each other with live coals from the fires; dancing, shrieking,yelping demons leaped about whirling their blazing torches; witch-drumsboomed; chant after chant was raised as new dancers plunged into thedelirious throng, whirling the carcasses of white dogs, painted withblue and yellow stripes. The nauseating stench of burned roast meatfilled the air, as the False-Faces brought quarters of venison andbaskets of fish into the circle and dumped them on the coals.
Faster and more furious grew the dance of the False-Faces. The flyingcoals flew in every direction, streaming like shooting-stars across thefringing darkness. A grotesque masker, wearing the head-dress of a bull,hurled his torch into the air; the flaming brand lodged in the featherytop of a pine, the foliage caught fire, and with a crackling rush a vastwhirlwind of flame and smoke streamed skyward from the forest giant.
"To-wen-yon-go [It touches the sky]!" howled the crazed dancers, leapingabout, while faster and faster came the volleys of live coals, until ayoung girl's hair caught fire.
"Kah-none-ye-tah-we!" they cried, falling back and forming achain-around her as she wrung the sparks from her long hair, laughingand leaping about between the flying coals.
Then the nine sachems of the Mohawks rose, all covering their breastswith their blankets, save the chief sachem, who is called "The TwoVoices." The serried circle fell back, Senecas, Cayugas, and Mohawksshouting their battle-cries; scores of hatchets glittered,knives flashed.
All alone in the circle stood Magdalen Brant, slim, straight, motionlessas a tinted statue, her hands on her hips. Reflections of the firesplayed over her, in amber and pearl and rose; violet lights lay underher eyes and where the hair shadowed her brow. Then, through thesilence, a loud voice cried: "Little Rosebud Woman, the False-Facesthank you! Koon-wah-yah-tun-was [They are burning the white dog]!"
She raised her head and laid a hand on each cheek.
"Neah-wen-ha [I thank you]," she said, softly.
At the word the lynx rose and looked up into her face, then turned andpaced slowly across the circle, green eyes glowing.
The young girl loosened the braids of her hair; a thick, dark cloud fellover her bare shoulders and breasts.
"She veils her face!" chanted the False-Faces. "Respect the veil! Adieu,O Woman of the Rose!"
Her hands fell, and, with bent head, moving slowly, pensively, shepassed out of the infernal circle, the splendid lynx stalking ather heels.
No sooner was she gone than hell itself broke loose among theFalse-Faces; the dance grew madder and madder, the terrible rite ofsacrifice was enacted with frightful symbols. Through the awful din thethree war-cries pealed, the drums advanced, thundering; the iris-maidslighted the six little fires of black-birch, spice-wood, and sassafras,and crouched to inhale the aromatic smoke until, stupefied and quiveringin every limb with the inspiration of delirium, they stood erect,writhing, twisting, tossing their hair, chanting the splendors ofthe future!
Then into the crazed orgie leaped the Toad-woman like a gigantic scarletspider, screaming prophecy and performing the inconceivable and namelessrites of Ak-e, Ne-ke, and Ge-zis, until, in her frenzy, she went starkmad, and the devil worship began with the awful sacrifice of Leshee inBiskoonah.
Horror-stricken, nauseated, I caught Mount's arm, whispering: "Enough,in God's name! Come away!"
My ears rang with the distracted yelping of the Toad-woman, who wasstrangling a dog. Faint, almost reeling, I saw an iris-girl fall inconvulsions; the stupefying smoke blew into my face, choking me. Istaggered back into the darkness, feeling my way among the unseen trees,gasping for fresh air. Behind me, Mount and Sir George came creeping,groping like blind men along the cliffs.
"This way," whispered Mount.