Scarlet Feather

by Joan Grant

  When I remarked on this to Na-ka-chek, he told me that before the law was passed which made it necessary for all disputes that could not otherwise be settled to be referred to the council, great battles had been fought for things no more important than this.

  The following night they discussed a certain tribe in the south-west, who had recently been afflicted with a mysterious sickness which had caused more than half of their numbers to die. They had sent a spokesman to ask that their hunting-grounds should be reduced, and that in exchange they should be given grain and dried meat to save them from starving during the oncoming winter. This was granted, and then began seemingly endless discussions as to the exact limit of the new boundaries: which part should be taken by each of the three Chiefs who held the adjoining lands; whether they should give grain for three harvests, or would two years give the diminished tribe time to become secure through their own sowing?

  The only time a squaw was mentioned was when one had been carried off by a Naked Forehead who belonged to another tribe. The Chief of the tribe to whom the squaw belonged had received the scalp of the Naked Forehead as a token that the incident was regretted, but he demanded further compensation. Eventually it was agreed that this claim was just, and it was settled at six doe-skins and forty arrows. No one bothered to state what had happened to the squaw!

  Na-ka-chek told me that in the time of the grandfathers, before the Thirty Tribes had agreed to abide by these laws, only matters of far greater importance were brought to the council. Then, as now, a tribe who had suffered severely from an outlaw tribe might appeal for help, when the number of Braves considered necessary would be sent by the other Chiefs to bring vengeance. As the power of the Thirty Tribes became respected, the outlaws diminished, so now the most important work of the council was the allocating of scarlet feathers. These were given only at the Gathering; though a Chief, supported by his Elders, might declare any act of special courage that had been performed by one of his Braves, which, after careful consideration, could be awarded this highest honour.

  On the fourteenth day the Chiefs were to declare the names of the Braves who wished to be allocated to an ordeal by which they could win the Scarlet. I had heard many stories of the terrible things that had been undertaken in search of this honour, and was very glad that neither Raki nor I needed such a feather to lead our tribe. I had seen the rock from which Narrok had dived into darkness: Raki and I had climbed to the top of it, and shuddered to think that anyone would essay that terrible plunge into so narrow a pool.

  This year there were twelve who claimed the right of an ordeal. The first man was allotted the Ordeal of the Fire-Ants. The second, to climb the Cliff of Death. The third, to go down into a pit of rattle-snakes, his hands bound behind him, and to stay there from dawn to sunset…knowing that his only hope of escape was to remain motionless even if they crawled over his feet.

  As each horror was spoken I became increasingly grateful to the Great Hunters that Raki and I would never have to undergo such an ordeal. Each man stood impassive as a totem while his sentence was spoken; then he raised his right hand to show that he accepted it. To refuse would have been to lose the rank of Brave, and to become a Naked Forehead or a Half-brother, according to the clemency of his Chief: I knew there would be little demency for one who brought so great a dishonour to the tribe.

  What made these men risk a terrible death for no reason except the desire to wear a scarlet feather in their forehead-thong? They were already Braves, honoured by their tribes: why did they want to gorge themselves with danger? Did they doubt their courage and feel driven to prove it to themselves? Or was it love for their tribe and their traditions, so that their Chief might wear their Scarlet in his headdress and they be remembered by the generations?

  Suddenly I heard my name spoken by the Chief of the Leaping Waters. My name and the name of T’cha. I felt Raki tense every muscle. I was almost relieved that at last I was going to know the nature of the contest, and was too excited to wonder why it should be decided on the same night as the ordeals. I stood up, as I saw T’cha had done, and walked forward into the fire-light.

  “T’cha and Piyanah,” said the Chief of the Leaping Waters, “it has been decided by us that if you wish to attend our council in the future you can do so only if you wear a scarlet feather. If we give the Scarlet to Piyanah, then T’cha can no longer say that a squaw brings dishonour to our feathers. T’cha could not sit with us if he had been proved weaker than a squaw. So both must undergo the ordeal…or recognize that both have attended a Gathering of the Tribes for the last time. The ordeal is severe, but fourteen years ago it was attempted by one of my people.”

  He paused and touched a scarlet feather in his headdress. “His body died last year, but his courage lives here, with me. Where the river leaves the Place of the Gathering it flows underground, through caverns which are said to be haunted by demons of great malice. Little is known of these caverns, or of the tunnels by which they are joined, for very few have lived to describe them. I repeat, the Ordeal of the Caverns of Darkness is severe…but not impossible. Do you wish to accept our decision?

  I held up my right hand, and saw T’cha do the same. I had done so instinctively, not daring to hesitate lest they realize I was terribly afraid.

  “You have two days in which to make ready,” said the Leaping Water. “A canoe suitable for the ordeal shall be provided for each of you.”

  The oldest Chief rose to his feet to show that the council was at an end: and I tried to prepare myself to meet the horror in Raki’s eyes.

  The Caverns

  I was glad that Raki had left at dawn to wait for me beyond the Caverns of Darkness; for if he had been there to watch me enter the canoe that might take me to the other side of the water, the sight of him would have drained away the last of that pride which would not let me refuse the ordeal. Even Na-ka-chek had tried to persuade me not to attempt it, telling me that the other Chiefs had proposed it only because they thought both T’cha and I would refuse and so lose our chance of joining the Feathered Council.

  T’cha was surrounded by people of his own tribe; his voice was loud and arrogant, but I knew the sweat on his forehead was born of fear. I stood with Dorrok and Gorgi, while Tekeeni held the prow of my canoe. I saw his lips moving, and knew he was telling it to guard me. People from every tribe had collected to see us start; even the Chiefs were there. I knew very few would be with Raki, for most of them believed that we should never be seen again after we entered the tunnel that led into the cliff.

  “I know there is a way through,” said Dorrok again. “I once spoke to a man who gained his Scarlet through this ordeal, though if I had known this was going to happen, I should have listened more carefully to what he said…it was seven years ago, but I think I have remembered all the essentials. You will go through underground caverns where the water spreads into lakes, so you have a chance to choose your way if you keep out of the main stream. There are places where the roof nearly touches the water; lie flat in the bottom of the canoe and guard your head with the paddle. Above all things do not let your torch go out, for without light you can only let yourself be swept along by the current. You will get through, Piyanah, because the others who failed believed in demons. Remember there are no demons…and you are not afraid of bats or echoes…echoes cannot hurt you even if they sound like an enemy. When you see bright water ahead and come into the open, keep dose to the south bank where there is a clear run down the rapid. The rapid is easy; you and Raki have often gone down more difficult ones as a game. Remember the bright water is beyond the cave of the whirlpool. …”

  Until I heard the desperate conviction in his voice I had not realized he expected me to be killed. Did he think I ought to give him a last message to Raki? I could not think of one, for I had to conceal the fear that was growing stronger every moment, conceal it even from myself.

  Lots were drawn to decide whether T’cha or I was to go first: it fell to him. He pulled off his tunic, and we
aring only a breech-dout, got into his canoe. As it slid away from the bank, his tribe shouted encouragement…the shout being taken up by a few of the rest of the crowd which thronged on both sides of the river.

  I watched his canoe gradually gathering speed; it looked as though it was sure to crash against the low entrance to the tunnel. He paddled across the current to the centre of the river and I saw he was making for a point where the entrance was a little higher than the rest. He ducked his head: a sigh went up from the crowd as the canoe swept out of sight.

  “You see, it is easier than it looks,” said Dorrok. “There is plenty of clearance, though from here it looks as though even a floating log would scrape against the roof. Hold the torch high as soon as you are in the tunnel…even if the light is dim, it will help you to know when to duck.”

  I walked down to where Tekeeni was holding the canoe. He looked up and said, “Everything is ready. I have put a knife, a rope, a spare torch and one that is smouldering and some strips of bandage in case you cut yourself on a sharp rock…loss of blood will weaken you, so tie it tightly if you have the chance.”

  “I hope you have put a double handful of courage in as well,” I said, and managed a laugh which I think sounded convincing.

  I turned to Dorrok. “Tell the tribe to prepare a feast tonight, to celebrate our victory over the Yellow Skins…and I shall be there to share it with you.” But under my breath I added, “I shall be there, even though you cannot see me.”

  Would the spirit of Piyanah be welcome at the feast? Or would even the Braves be afraid of her, and shiver when she walked past them?

  “The Great Hunters are with you,” said Tekeeni in a low voice.

  “Tell Raki…” I said, as I pulled off my tunic, and then, “No, I will tell him myself…this evening.”

  I felt the current draw the canoe away from Tekeeni. A great shout went up from the Tribe of Two Trees and it was joined by the voices of hundreds and tens of hundreds. Strength flowed into me with the sound…tens of hundreds of squaws had died of hunger, of childbearing, in sickness and in loneliness, died without acclamation. Their courage had never been acknowledged, but because Piyanah took a canoe into the darkness the Thirty Tribes would remember the bravery of squaws.

  I paddled across the current as T’cha had done, and reached mid-stream in time to choose the place where I would enter the face of the cliff. I made sure that the torch was smouldering, and that a second paddle was securely fastened to the side of the canoe, for if the one I held was wrested from me I should be helpless unless I had another to steer by.

  The water was roaring, as though it were angry at being made to enter the narrow gateway ahead. I saw two small whirlpools and shot between them, knowing that had either caught me I should have been smashed against the rocks which guarded the entrance. The tunnel seemed to open like the mouth of a huge black fish; I ducked, holding the paddle over my head. My fingers were grazed by the rock above me, but lightly, so I knew they could only just have touched it.

  The canoe suddenly swung round and nearly capsized. I had to risk hitting my head and kneel upright before I could bear with sufficient strength on the paddle to steady the canoe. When it was going smoothly forward I grasped the torch in my left hand and whirled it above my head. For a terrible moment I thought it had gone out; then I saw a few faint sparks, and a thin plume of flame streamed against the dark.

  The roof was much higher than I expected, and walls of rock rose sheer out of the water…they seemed to be dry, for there was no gleam of moisture. The water was unbroken and it was easy to keep a level course. I began to feel more confident; then I saw the walls were drawing closer together as the canoe began to gather speed. I knew there must be a rapid ahead of me. The river was rushing towards the cleft like water gushing from the narrow neck of a jar. I could not hold the torch and go on paddling: if there were rocks among the rapid I should never see them in time…it would be impossible to steer at such a speed even in broad daylight…I must hold up the torch until the last moment to see as much as I can. …I must tense every muscle to keep the canoe from turning over…in this black water no swimmer would have a chance.

  The canoe lept forward. I flung down the torch and strained against the paddle to keep the canoe pointing with the current…if the prow swung round, even very little, it must surely be swamped. The roar of water was louder than a thousand demons…it would be easy to believe in demons in this darkness, if there was time to think of anything except the press of danger.

  The water buffeted the canoe until the breath was nearly driven out of my body. I gasped, and got a mouthful of spray that nearly choked me. I waited to feel the canoe twist beyond my control as it was clutched in a vortex. Just as the strain on my arms became unendurable the canoe began to slacken speed, and remembering what Dorrok had told me, I managed to drive it out of the main flow of the current. I expected at any moment to feel it jar against the rock wall. There was no jar, and in several strong strokes I came into still water, or water where the current was almost imperceptible.

  I realized that I must have entered the first of the underground caverns where the river formed a lake. The torch still smouldered, and after I had blown on it the flame flared up. The lake was large, more than three times wider than the river in the open country, and widening as I drifted further on. Here the walls did not rise sheer, and at their feet was a narrow beach of sand sloping up to coarse gravel. I decided to stay there and rest before going on; now that the immediate danger was past my arms and legs felt suddenly weak and demanded time to recover from the strain of the roaring waters.

  I used the rope which Tekeeni had given me to make the canoe fast to a spike of rock that jutted from the main face. After a few moments’ rest I decided to climb along the shelf so as to find out the nature of the next obstacle I had to pass. It was an easy climb, though between the stretches of gravel there were outcrops of rock. The torch showed that in winter the water-level was much higher, for there were marks of erosion above my head.

  For the first time I had a chance to think of demons; to think how terribly alone I was in this echoing darkness; far underground with only a torch for a companion. A terrible sound wailed through the caverns.

  “It is only a bat!” I said aloud, and heard myself answer, “No bat makes a sound like that.”

  The echoes answered, “No bat makes a sound like that…like that…”

  “You are only an echo,” I shouted.

  “Only an echo…only an echo,” the cavern agreed.

  “I am not afraid!”

  But the shout I had tried to make arrogant, answered, “Not afraid? Not afraid?”

  Then there was silence among the sound of rushing water. I thought I heard Narrok’s drum in the distance; and realized it was only my own heart.

  Again came the terrible wailing cry. “It must be a bird,” I thought desperately, “or the wind blowing through a fissure in the rock. It can’t be a demon, because Mother and Barakeechi would never let a demon attack me here, alone in the dark.”

  Again the wail echoed and re-echoed.

  “Even if you are a demon,” I shouted back, “I am not frightened of you. You sound unhappy and in pain. Are you in pain, you miserable demon?” The mocking echoes mimicked my voice, and I shouted even louder, “Are you in pain?”

  This time the answer was louder…there was a word in it instead of only a wail. … “Pain…pain.”

  Demons cannot speak in a human voice! Suddenly I realized what made that noise…it was a human voice distorted by echoes…T’cha the arrogant, calling to a squaw to help him!

  Twice I had to wait for an answering sound before I could be sure of the direction. To my relief I saw that the river flowed into the further cavern through a much wider opening where the water was not very turbulent. It was too wide to cross, so now that I knew T’dm must be on the far side of the lake I shouted to him that I had to go back to fetch my canoe but would soon be with him. There was no answer. I s
houted again, but the echoes of my own voice dying into silence were the only response.

  It was easier going back the way I had come for I knew the way over each jutting rock. As I had hoped, there was calm water again beyond the main current, but the lake extended so far beyond the narrow circle of torch-light that I never discovered its full extent. I secured the canoe as near to the entrance to the second cavern as I dared, so that I could search every part of the sloping shelf of gravel, which was wider here than it had been on the other side of the cavern.

  I began to think that T’cha must have been swept away by the water since I last heard him. Once I had wanted to kill him, yet now I found myself hoping fervently that he was still alive. …

  He was lying half out of the water, and though unconscious he was still breathing. There was a thin trickle of blood down the side of his face, but this only came from a cut above the right eye. I felt his head and found there was no swelling on it nor any sign of a wound. I ran my hands down his arms and over his ribs. It was only when I took him by the shoulders to drag him further up the bank that I saw his legs. They had been crushed above the knees: splinters of bone were sticking through the flesh. I had seen men injured before, and Dorrok had taught me how to sew up long gashes in flesh with steady hands: but now I doubled over and vomited.

  I had wanted T’cha to be alive; and now he was terrible because he was not dead. They might be able to cut off his legs. Perhaps Yellow Skins are kind to their Half-brothers…and he is the son of their Chief. If he were an animal I should kill him to set him free of his body; but he is a wounded man, and must be succoured.

  He moaned; a terrible moan, of pain that is beyond the limit of courage. I forced myself to examine his legs more closely. There was no chance of his being able to use either of them again; they were pulped above the knees. If I had not seen them myself I should never have believed that rock and water could have crushed with so savage a grip.