Les trappeurs de l'Arkansas. English

by Gustave Aimard

  CHAPTER XX.

  THE TORTURE.

  As soon as the scalp dance was over, the principal warriors of the triberanged themselves before the stake, their arms in hand, whilst thewomen, particularly the most aged, fell upon the condemned, abusing her,pushing her, pulling her hair, and striking her, without her opposingthe least resistance, or seeking to escape the ill-treatment with whichthey loaded her.

  The unfortunate woman only hoped for one thing, and that was to see herpunishment begin.

  She had watched with feverish impatience the whirlings of the scalpdance, so greatly did she fear to see her beloved son appear and placehimself between her and her executioners.

  Like the ancient martyrs, she in her heart accused the Indians of losingprecious time in useless ceremonies; if she had had the strength, shewould have reprimanded them, and rallied them upon their slowness andthe hesitation they seemed to display in the sacrifice.

  The truth was, that in spite of themselves, and although this executionappeared just, the Comanches had a repugnance to torture a helplesswoman, already aged, and who had never injured them, either directly orindirectly.

  Eagle Head himself, notwithstanding his hatred, felt something likea secret remorse for the crime he was committing. Far from hasteningon the last preparations, he only assisted with an indecision and adisgust that he could not succeed in surmounting.

  For intrepid men, accustomed to brave the greatest perils, it is alwaysa degrading action to torture a weak creature, or a woman who has noother defence than her tears. If it had been a man, the agreement wouldhave been general throughout the tribe to tie him to the stake.

  Indian prisoners laugh at punishment, they insult their executioners,and, in their death songs, they reproach their conquerors with theircowardice, their inexperience in making their victims suffer; theyenumerate their own brave deeds, they count the enemies they scalpedbefore they themselves yielded; in short, by their sarcasms and theircontemptuous attitudes, they excite the anger of their executioners,reanimate their hatred, and, to a certain point, justify their ferocity.

  But a woman, weak and resigned, presenting herself like a lamb to theshambles, already half dead, what interest could such an execution offer?

  There was no glory to be gained, but, on the contrary, a generalreprobation to draw upon themselves.

  The Comanches comprehended all this, thence their repugnance andhesitation. Nevertheless, the business must be gone through.

  Eagle Head approached the prisoner, and delivering her from the harpieswho annoyed her, said in a solemn voice--

  "Woman, I have kept my promise; your son is not come, you are about todie."

  "Thanks," she said, in a tremulous voice, leaning against a tree toavoid falling.

  "Are you not afraid of death?" he asked.

  "No," she replied, fixing upon him a look of angelic mildness; "it willbe most welcome; my life has been nothing but one long agony; death willbe to me a blessing."

  "But your son?"

  "My son will be saved if I die; you have sworn it upon the bones of yourfathers."

  "I have sworn it."

  "Deliver me up to death, then."

  "Are the women of your nation, then, like Indian squaws, who viewtorture without trembling?" the chief asked, with astonishment.

  "Yes," she replied with great agitation; "all mothers despise it whenthe safety of their children is at stake."

  "Listen," said the Indian, moved with involuntary pity; "I also have amother whom I love; if you desire it, I will retard your punishment tillsunset."

  "What should you do that for?" she replied with terrible simplicity."No, warrior; if my grief really touches you, there is one favour, onefavour alone which you can grant me."

  "Name it," he said earnestly.

  "Put me to death immediately."

  "But if your son arrives?"

  "Of what importance is that to you? You require a victim, do you not?Very well, that victim is before you, you may torture her at yourpleasure. Why do you hesitate? Put me to death, I say."

  "Your desire shall be satisfied," the Comanche replied in a melancholytone. "Woman, prepare yourself."

  She bowed her head upon her breast, and waited. Upon a signal fromEagle Head, two warriors seized the prisoner, and tied her to the stakeround the waist.

  Then the exercise of the knife began; this is what it consists of:--

  Every warrior seizes his scalping knife by the point with the thumb andthe first finger of his right hand, and launches it at the victim, so asto inflict only slight wounds.

  Indians, in their punishments, endeavour to make the tortures continueas long as possible, and only give their enemy the _coup de grace_ whenthey have torn life from him by degrees, and, so to say, piecemeal.

  The warriors launched their knives with such marvellous skill, that allof them just grazed the unfortunate woman, inflicting nothing more thanscratches.

  The blood, however, flowed, she closed her eyes, and, absorbed inherself, prayed fervently for the mortal stroke.

  The warriors, to whom her body served as a target, grew warmer bydegrees; curiosity, the desire of showing their skill, had taken intheir minds the place of the pity they had at first felt. They applaudedwith loud shouts and laughter the prowess of the most adroit.

  In a word, as it always happens, as well among civilized people as amongsavages, blood intoxicated them; their self-love was brought into play;everyone sought to surpass the man who had preceded him; all otherconsiderations were forgotten.

  When all had thrown their knives, a small number of the most skilfulmarksmen of the tribe took their guns.

  This time it was necessary to have a sure eye, for an ill-directedball might terminate the punishment, and deprive the spectators of theattractive spectacle which promised them so much pleasure.

  At every discharge the poor creature shrank within herself, thoughgiving no signs of life beyond a nervous shudder which agitated herwhole body.

  "Let us have an end of this," said Eagle Head, who felt, in spiteof himself, his heart of bronze soften before so much courage andabnegation. "Comanche warriors are not jaguars; this woman has sufferedenough; let her die at once."

  A few murmurs were heard among the squaws and the children, who were themost eager for the punishment of the prisoner.

  But the warriors were of the opinion of their chief; this execution,shorn of the insults that victims generally address to their conquerors,possessed no attraction for them, and, besides, they were ashamed ofsuch inveteracy against a woman.

  Hence they spared the unfortunate woman the splinters of wood insertedunder the nails, the sulphur matches fastened between the fingers, themask of honey applied to the face that the bees might come and stingthem, together with other tortures too long and hideous to enumerate,and they prepared the funeral pile upon which she was to be burnt.

  But before proceeding to the last act of this atrocious tragedy, theyuntied the poor woman; for a few minutes they allowed her to take breathand recover from the terrible emotions she had undergone.

  She sank on the ground almost insensible.

  Eagle Head approached her.

  "My mother is brave," he said; "many warriors would not have borne thetrials with so much courage."

  A faint smile passed over her violet lips.

  "I have a son," she replied with a look of ineffable sweetness; "it isfor him I suffer."

  "A warrior is happy in having such a mother."

  "Why do you defer my death? It is cruel to act thus; warriors ought notto torment women."

  "My mother is right, her tortures are ended."

  "Am I going to die at last?" she asked with a sigh of relief.

  "Yes, they are preparing the pile."

  In spite of herself, the poor woman felt a shudder of horror thrill herwhole frame at this fearful intimation.

  "Burn me!" she cried with terror; "why burn me?"

  "It is the usual custom."

  She let her hea
d sink into her hands; but soon recovering, she drewherself up, and raised an inspired glance towards Heaven,--

  "My God!" she murmured with resignation, "Thy will be done!"

  "Does my mother feel herself sufficiently recovered to be fastened tothe stake?" the chief asked in something like a tone of compassion.

  "Yes!" she said rising resolutely.

  Eagle Head could not repress a gesture of admiration. Indians considercourage as the first of virtues.

  "Come, then," he said.

  The prisoner followed him with a firm step--all her strength wasrestored, she was at length going to die!

  The chief led her to the stake of blood, to which she was bound a secondtime; before her they piled up the faggots of green wood, and at asignal from Eagle Head, they were set on fire.

  The fire did not for some time take, on account of the moisture of thewood, which discharged clouds of smoke; but, after a few moments, theflame sparkled, extended by degrees, and then acquired great intensity.

  The unfortunate woman could not suppress a cry of terror.

  At that moment a horseman dashed at full speed into the midst of thecamp; at a bound he was on the ground, and before anyone could haveopposed him, he tore away the burning wood from the pile, and cut thebonds of the victim.

  "Oh! why have you come?" the poor mother murmured, sinking into his arms.

  "My mother! ho, pardon me!" Loyal Heart cried, "my God! how you musthave suffered."

  "Begone, begone, Rafael!" she repeated, smothering him with kisses;"leave me to die in your place; ought not a mother to give her life forher child?"

  "Oh do not speak so, my mother! you will drive me mad," said the youngman, clasping her in his arms with despair.

  By this time the emotion caused by the sudden appearance of Loyal Hearthad subsided, the Indian warriors had recovered that stoicism which theyaffect under all circumstances.

  Eagle Head advanced towards the hunter.

  "My brother is welcome," he said, "I had given over expecting him."

  "I am here; it was impossible to arrive sooner; my mother is free, Isuppose?"

  "She is free."

  "She may go where she pleases?"

  "Where she pleases."

  "No," said the prisoner, placing herself resolutely in front of theIndian chief, "it is too late, it is I who am to suffer; my son has noright to take my place."

  "Dear mother, what are you saying?"

  "That which is just," she replied with animation; "the time at which youwere to have come is past, you have no right to be here to prevent mydeath. Begone, begone, Rafael, I implore you!--Leave me to die to saveyou," she added, bursting into tears and throwing herself into his arms.

  "My mother," the young man replied, returning her caresses, "your lovefor me misleads you; I cannot allow such a crime to be accomplished, Ialone ought to be here."

  "My God! my God!" the poor mother exclaimed, sobbing, "he will notunderstand anything! I should be so happy to die for him."

  Overcome by emotions too powerful for nature, the poor mother sunkfainting into the arms of her son.

  Loyal Heart impressed a long and tender kiss upon her brow, and placingher in the hands of No Eusebio, who had arrived some minutes before:said in a voice choked with grief.

  "Begone, poor mother, may she be happy, if happiness can exist for herwithout her child."

  The old servant sighed, pressed the hand of Loyal Heart warmly, andplacing the lifeless form of his mistress before him in the saddle, heturned his horse's head and left the camp slowly, no one attempting tooppose his departure.

  Loyal Heart looked after his mother as long as he could see her; then,when she disappeared, and the steps of the horse that bore her could nolonger be heard, he breathed a deep, broken sigh, and passing his handover his brow, murmured,--

  "All is ended! My God, watch over her!"

  Then, turning towards the Indian chief who surveyed him in silence,mingled with respect and admiration--he said in a firm clear voice, andwith a contemptuous look,--

  "Comanche warriors! you are all cowards! brave men do not torture women!"

  Eagle Head smiled.

  "We shall see," he said ironically, "if the pale trapper is as brave ashe pretends to be."

  "At least I shall know how to die like a man," he replied haughtily.

  "The mother of the hunter is free."

  "Yes. Well! what do you want with me?"

  "A prisoner has no arms."

  "That's true," he said, with a smile of contempt, "I will give you mine."

  "Not yet, if you please, good friend!" said a clear, sarcastic voice;and Belhumeur rode up, bearing across the front of his saddle a childof four or five years of age, and a rather pretty young Indian Squawsecurely fastened to the tail of his horse.

  "My son! my wife!" cried Eagle Head, in great terror.

  "Yes," said the Canadian jeeringly, "your wife and child, whom I havemade prisoners. Ah ah! that is pretty well played, is it not?"

  At a signal from his friend, Loyal Heart bounded on the woman, whoseteeth chattered with fear, and who cast terrified looks on all sides.

  "Now," Belhumeur continued with a sinister smile, "let us talk a bit; Ithink I have equalized the chances a little--what say you?"

  And he placed the muzzle of a pistol to the brow of the littlecreature, which uttered loud cries on feeling the cold iron.

  "Oh!" cried Eagle Head, in a tone of despair, "my son! restore me myson!"

  "And your wife--do you forget her?" Belhumeur replied, with an ironicalsmile, and shrugging his shoulders.

  "What are your conditions?" Eagle Head asked.

  END OF THE FIRST PART.

  PART II.

  WAKTEHNO--"he who kills."