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Randall Parrish - Prisoners of Chance

R >> Randall Parrish >> Prisoners of Chance




"How came the end?"

"It was a curse upon us--curse because we made mock of the Sun. The
sacred fire died out on our altars, while recreant priests slept, and
so there came upon the nation a breath of pestilence from the sky which
swept away the people as if by fire. It has been told to me that our
dead lay everywhere; that whole villages were destroyed in a single
night; that those who survived wandered in the woods foodless, until
only a pitiful remnant of those who were once so powerful lived in that
tainted air, poisoned by decaying bodies. Then the surviving slaves
banded themselves together, fell upon their wandering masters, driving
and killing, until the few who were left drew together on the banks of
the great river. Here, by lighting the sacred fire again, they made
peace and were saved. It was there I was born."

I fail utterly to picture the true solemnity of the scene, as the aged
priest, white-haired and evil-eyed, slowly mumbled it forth in his
broken, halting French, leaning with his back against the rough stones
of the great altar, on the summit of which flamed the sacred fire he
had passed his life in guarding. 'T was like a voice speaking from a
forgotten past, which looked forth from sunken eyes, and became visible
in snow-white hair. A grave yawned to give me a glimpse of all which
that grave contained--the hopes, the struggles, the death of a once
powerful tribe. Yet it all stands forth perfectly clear to my memory
as I write--the vast black chamber lying in shadow and flame; the dark
figure of the bulky Puritan outstretched upon the stones at our feet;
the ghastly, corpse-like face of the savage old priest, whose eyes
gleamed so fiercely, as he dreamed once again of the vanished glories
of his race.

"But the woman who now rules over you?" I questioned, waiting vainly
for him to resume. "Is she not white?"

He did not answer; apparently he did not hear.

"I ask regarding Queen Naladi--is she also of your people?"

"We are alike children of the Sun," he responded, his tone more sullen.
"She is of the Sun and was sent to rule; sent by the Sun to lead us
once again unto our own."

"She told you this?"

"We know it by signs, by the prophecy of our fathers; we were long
looking for her coming; she was promised us by the Sun. In the hour of
deepest need, a woman fair of face with hair of reddish gold, a goddess
in earthly form, was to be sent to guide us. She came out of the
mystery, and we wait her will."

"Then she is not of your race?"

"I have answered--she came to our people from the Sun."

I have not often felt too secure while in any position of danger, but
this feeble old savage rested so helplessly back against the base of
the altar, I lost all thought of him as an enemy against whom I needed
to guard. Sunk in contemplation of his story, I sat carelessly, my
head somewhat lowered as I mentally viewed the picture drawn. Cairnes
moved uneasily in his sleep, muttering something indistinctly, and I
turned partially so that I might look at him. Instantly, with the leap
of a tiger, the priest hurled himself upon me. I flung up one arm,
barely in time to intercept a jagged stone aimed full at my head. As
we clinched and went down, the incarnate fiend buried his yellow teeth
in my hand, and, in spite of his weight of years, I found myself hard
pressed in a death struggle. A very demon seemed to possess him; his
grip was satanic in its hate. In truth it was Cairnes who seized him
by the throat, dragging him off me. He struggled insanely against the
two of us, until we bound him so securely that nothing except his eyes
could move.




CHAPTER XXXIII

PERE ANDRE LAFOSSIER

"You treacherous, white-headed old villain," I exclaimed angrily, "I am
half inclined to kill you for so savage a trick. Odds! but my arm
feels as if it were broken."

The fellow grinned at me, showing his yellow fangs.

"I care not if you kill," he answered, with true Indian stoicism. "I
am old, and have served the Sun long. Kill, but I will not be
unavenged of my people; for, whether I live or die, it matters
not--there is no escape for you."

He spoke with such confidence as to stun me.

"No escape? Why?"

His lips curled with undisguised contempt.

"So my words sting. Well, they are true, nor am I unwilling to tell
you. You are trapped here. There is no path you can travel, either by
night or day, unseen of our people. You have already climbed along the
only passage leading here, and you dare not go back. This way you have
reached the end. Behind is the village; here the altar of
sacrifice--choose either, and you die like the _Francais_ dogs you are."

"Who is here to touch us?" I asked derisively. "There is food in
plenty; we can wait our chance."

"Ay, you have grace of this day in which to make ready," his wrinkled
face lighting maliciously. "When yonder moon becomes round it will be
the night of sacrifice. Know you what will happen then?" he licked his
thin lips greedily. "I may not be here to see, but it will be the
same. Up that path of rocks will swarm all of my race, and what then
can save you from the altar? How they will welcome the victims waiting
their pleasure--white-faced _Francais_."

His old, deeply sunken eyes gleamed so with hatred, I drew
involuntarily back, my blood chilled with a conviction that he did not
lie.

"Here? Do you tell me the tribe comes here?"

"Ay, here, _Francais_,--here to make sacrifice of blood, that they may
go forth once more, and conquer the land of their fathers."

"'T is your custom to kill slaves?"

"When there be none better, but now we have other victims sent us by
the Sun, all _Francais_, and you two cooped up here to be added to the
others. 'T will be a sweet sacrifice, and I should like to live to
hear your cries for mercy, and drink of the warm blood."

I stared at him, unable to deny our helplessness.

"You would make us believe there is no upper entrance to this accursed
hole!"

"Seek as you please--there is none. You are trapped beyond struggle;
you cannot escape the vengeance of the Sun."

I pointed, still incredulous, toward the great burning log.

"Did you grow yonder tree in this cavern? or was it borne here on the
back of a slave?"

"It was lowered from above, over the edge of the cliff, by grass ropes."

"I believe you lie," I cried, now thoroughly shaken by his surly
contempt; but the fellow only leered at me, and I strode across the
great room, where I might reflect beyond sight of his eyes. As I
passed to the other side of the altar I observed a little gray daylight
flooding the mouth of the cave. The sight recalled to mind another
possible danger.

"Cairnes," I called, "it is about the hour of sunrise. Down in the
village I have noticed that whenever the sun touches the crest of these
rocks the priests up here go forth, waving a flame into the air from
yonder platform. I fear if it were missed, the savages below would
come swarming up to discover the cause. Take a light from the pile,
and wave it yonder."

The stubborn preacher grimly shook his head.

"Nay," he replied. "I have borne part enough in their heathen orgies
already; it will take a lifetime to purge my soul. I bow down to Baal
no more."

It was useless to argue with such as he, nor had I spirit to do it.

"Then keep close guard over the priest," I retorted; and, grasping a
torch from among the burning mass upon the altar, made haste toward the
outer stone.

My eyes have seldom gazed upon a grander view of nature than that which
greeted me, as I crept around the great rock, and peered over the edge
down into that beautiful basin wherein the remnant of the Natchez had
established their home. The early sun had not as yet illumined the
lower levels, and all beneath my dizzy perch remained wrapped in the
sombre gray of promised dawn; the slightly rolling valley was dotted
with numerous square-topped huts of yellow straw, surrounded by
ponderous walls of gray stone or dun-colored earth, and the irregular
green fields were intersected by a silvery ribbon of running water: the
whole composed such a fair picture of restful, peaceful beauty, that
for the moment it held me at the edge in silent contemplation. It
appeared impossible that so sweet, secluded a spot could be the
habitation of savages, vengeful and cruel. Yet those black, moving
dots down yonder, clustering in front of the various lodges, I knew
were naked heathen, blood-thirsty and vindictive. Now that the
earliest rays of sunlight were beginning to tinge with gold the crest
above me, every expectant face in the tribe would be upturned toward my
perch, wondering at the slightest delay in their morning signal. My
eyes becoming accustomed to the distance, could even distinguish those
faint sparks of light where the priests below gathered before the great
altar-house to wave back response. If we would live for even another
day there must be no failure now. Nerving myself for the task, I
stepped forth on to the narrow shelf--no more than the merest black dot
to the watching eyes beneath--and flung forth the flaming torch in
fiery welcome to the Sun. A shrill cry from the throats far below
reached my ears in the merest thread of sound, yet before I drew back
from the edge, I witnessed a responsive signal of flame from the mound
summit, and inferred that no suspicion had been aroused in the minds of
the guardians of these heathen rites. Satisfied of our present safety
I walked back to the great chamber, and beheld the old priest and
Cairnes glaring angrily at each other, while the latter nursed his leg
so tenderly as to make me apprehensive of further trouble having arisen
between them.

"What now, brother Cairnes?" I questioned in some anxiety, noting as I
came nearer stains of fresh blood on his hose.

"Yonder black-faced cannibal buried his teeth in my calf," he growled
gloomily. "Saints of Israel! I did merely lean over seeking another
bit of meat, when he fastened on to me in that fashion, and hung there
like a bull-dog until I choked him loose. 'Tis my vote we kill the
ungodly man-eater, who has already feasted off your hand and my leg."

The energetic movement of his red head clearly evidenced the sincerity
of his feelings, yet it was not in my heart to avenge our wrongs upon a
helpless prisoner.

"No, friend; we are white, not red. The pain will pass presently, and
it would not be a Christian act to dispose thus of one bound in our
hands. I will give him other food to chew upon, then make fast his
mouth while we go together and search out the secrets of this hole. It
will be best to discover early whether this varlet speaks true or false
as to the chances of escape. Hand over here the meat and water."

I endeavored to question the fellow further while he sullenly partook
of the food offered, but he gave back merely short, uncivil answers,
and those of little value. Finally, despairing of learning more from
such a source, we securely bucked the sullen fool, rolled his body
close against the wall out of sight of any chance visitant, and then
made preparation to explore our prison-house and discover for ourselves
the mystery of this gloomy cave. The dense blackness showing directly
ahead seemed to promise an extension of passageway into the rock; so,
lighting a pine knot at the altar fire, and bidding Cairnes follow me
closely, I led forward down the narrow tunnel. The floor was uneven,
while so irregular and rough appeared roof and walls as to convince me
this was a natural excavation, probably the run-way for some ancient
watercourse. Yet, as I tested the nature of the stone with the point
of my hunting knife, it proved easily workable with tools, and
apparently revealed softer material the deeper we progressed into the
hill. Slightly beyond the entrance leading from the main chamber,
several rudely fashioned steps led into a sort of gallery. This was of
considerable proportions, elevated perhaps ten or more feet above the
main floor, its outer parapet formed of loose stones, through the
chinks of which one might command unseen a wide view of the cavern and
its altar. But, to our rather hasty inspection, this gallery contained
nothing except bare rock, and, after a single curious glance about we
drew back and moved on cautiously in exploration of the lower tunnel.
This curved gradually toward the left, and held a rather steep pitch
downward. It was not above three feet in width until we had traversed
fully fifty paces, when it suddenly broadened, and the fitful glare of
the torch, which I held over my head, flashed back rays of light from
two horribly gleaming green eyes. For an instant I believed we had
invaded the lair of some wild animal, and drew back quickly, my hand on
the knife hilt.

"Hell's kitchen!" I exclaimed nervously, "but the den has an occupant
already."

"Ay, and of a kind common enough in these hills, but nothing fit to
affright a servant of the true God," echoed Cairnes, striding past me.
"I am not wont to fear heathen idols, Master Benteen, nor will I bear
back now before those green eyes."

As he spoke he laid rough hand on the thing, and I heard a sharp rattle
of metal against wood.

"Come hither friend," he called, with a laugh, "'tis no worse than
another painted devil we are called to face. Surely it is you who have
the faint heart now."

"The glow of the torch blinded me to all except the green stones," I
explained, coming forward and throwing the radiance of the flame full
upon the hideous object. "Saint George! 't is of no beauty to my sight
even now, and, as you say, of small fear to Christian heart. The
saints defend us! What was that? As I live, I heard English speech!"

He was earnestly engaged in an endeavor to detach a bit of dull metal
from the throat of the image, and scarcely deigned to glance around.

"Nay, there was no sound other than the chattering of your own tongue.
This shining thing is gold, I believe."

"Let it be; 't is of small value here. I tell you I heard a strange
voice; so hold still and listen."

For a minute or more we waited in almost breathless suspense, no
unusual sound greeting our ears. Then the Puritan sniffed disdainfully.

"You grow childish, Master Benteen," he growled roughly, turning back
to his labor. "The dark has overstrained your nerves--"

"I bespeak help of de Englishmen for de sake of God!"

There was no mistaking the truth this time--a strange voice was
speaking broken English almost at our very feet. Cairnes clattered to
the floor with a rough exclamation of surprise, while I stared vainly
at the idol, from which the sound apparently came.

"In Heaven's name, who are you?" I asked earnestly, "and where are you
who make appeal to us?"

"I am Andre Lafossier, native of France, for two months past a prisoner
to these savages. If you are Christian men I beseech assistance."

"Nor do you ask vainly. Are you behind the wooden image?"

"Ay, in a small room hollowed out from the rock."

"Except for that are you free to aid us in your escape?"

"No, Monsieur; I am lamed in limb, and fastened to the stone by a metal
band."

A hoarse growl of rage burst from the throat of the Puritan. "Prophets
of God!" he roared. "Surely we are the selected instruments of the
Lord sent hither for the salvation of this worthy man; we are the
soldiers of Gideon, the chosen of the Most High."

Before I could lift hand or voice in interference he had braced his
massive shoulder against the towering figure of wood, and, with a
mighty heave sent the monster crashing over upon the rock floor,
himself sprawling beside it as it fell. As they came down together in
a cloud of dust, an opening was revealed behind the stone pedestal on
which the idol had stood. Torch in hand I instantly crept forward. I
found myself in what was little more than the merest cell, yet dimly
illumined by a single beam of light streaming downward as if
penetrating through some slight crevice in the rock. The narrow hole,
for it was hardly more, was bare of all furnishing; both walls and
floor were damp, but there were remnants of coarse food and a pannikin
of water.

Its sole occupant sat cross-legged on the hard floor, bound about the
waist with a band of metal. One end of this was attached to the wall
in such a manner that the prisoner could neither rise to his feet nor
lie down. Never have these wandering eyes of mine looked upon a figure
more pathetic. For an instant I stood there, swaying upon my feet as
though from sickness, staring at him incredulously. His thin, pale,
effeminate face was rendered wonderfully piteous by the depth of
suffering so plainly revealed within the great, black, appealing eyes.
So peculiarly delicate were the features, so slender the fragile form,
about which a frayed and rusty robe clung loosely, that for a moment I
actually believed I was looking upon a young girl. So strong was this
impression that I drew back, almost abashed. This slight pause enabled
Cairnes to regain his feet and press past me. As his eager glance fell
upon that slender, crouching figure, I observed how suddenly his eyes
hardened, his whole expression changed.

"You are a priest of Rome!" he exclaimed harshly, staring down.

The white, girlish face brightened instantly, the two thin hands
plucking forth from some fold in the tattered robe a small silver
crucifix. At sight of this the stern-mouthed Puritan drew sharply
back, as if he feared contamination from the symbol.

"_Oui, Monsieur_," answered the soft voice, with an odd note of joy in
it. "I am of the Society of Jesus."

"'T is plain to see. What do you here?"

The priest smiled gently, his eyes dimming with tears fixed upon the
cross.

"'Tis strange question. Surely Monsieur knoweth little of our Order,
or he would not need to ask. We are soldiers of Christ, commissioned
for war, even to life or death. We ask nothing but the privilege of
service, and the command of our superior. I am named missionary unto
the savage tribes of this river. It has been the will of God that I
suffer in order that through me some souls born into heathendom may
thus be redeemed from the torments of the damned."

The sectary's rough, gray face reddened until it was nearly the color
of his hair.

"'Tis false!" he growled, smiting one hand hard upon the other in
anger. "You only lead the way straight to hell with your false
doctrine. Have you made any converts to the Roman harlot in this
tribe?"

"Nay, Monsieur, I cannot lay claim to such reward." His eyes slowly
uplifted to the face of his questioner. "Jesu hath not as yet opened
before my understanding the way which leadeth to their hearts. I can
but work, and pray for guidance. I have only baptised one who was
dying of a fever, and sprinkled with holy water an infant, unknown to
its mother. It is not much, yet I bless the good Mary for the
salvation of those precious souls."

"Saints of Israel! do you think that mummery saved them?"

"Surely yes, Monsieur; is it not so taught of our Order?"

I shall never forget the look upon Cairnes's face. At the moment I
believed him wrestling with temptation to strike the helpless man, so
irritated was he by these confident words of Romish faith. Determined
to prevent discussion, I elbowed him aside, and bent down over the
fastenings of the Jesuit.

"Enough of this," I said sternly, barely glancing at Cairnes. "Keep
the rest of your Puritanical sermonizing for a conventicle. We have
here a fellow-Christian to be rescued from the savages; this is no time
to jangle over creeds."

"A fellow-Christian! I hold no fellowship with such; he is but an
emissary of a false religion, a slave to the Evil One."

"Enough, I say," and I rose to my feet fronting him. "I care little
which is right in doctrine, you or he. Here is a man begging aid of us
in extremity. Surely the priest has suffered for the sake of Christ,
regarding whom you speak so freely. So have done with dogma, and play
the man a while--press here with your strength on this knife-blade
until I bend back the metal and set him free."

He yielded, ungraciously enough, to my command, giving so good a turn
to the steel with his vice-like fingers that in another moment the
Jesuit was released from the wall. Slowly and painfully, clinging fast
to my hand for aid, the man arose and stood before us, swaying wearily,
his thin lips pressed tightly together as if he would stifle a cry of
pain.

"Are you suffering?" I asked, greatly moved by the expression of agony
imprinted on his pallid face.

"It will pass, Monsieur," he answered bravely, trying to smile at me.
"'Tis strange the spirit of man is so enslaved to the flesh that one
cannot wholly master a bit of physical pain. No doubt I am somewhat
cramped from my long imprisonment, and, perchance, my wounds have not
rightly healed."

"Are you wounded? I beg you permit me to attend to that. I possess
some small skill in the bandaging and dressing of cuts."

His eyes rested upon me with all the tenderness of a woman.

"I truly thank you, Monsieur, but it is beyond your skill to aid me,
even were you of the school of Paris. They be of a savage nature,
which God alone may beautify."

He slightly lifted his long black robe as he spoke, and may the
merciful Father forgive the oath which sprang to my lips as I gazed in
horror at the disfiguration--two fleshless limbs, one without even the
semblance of a foot, merely a blackened, charred stump rested on the
rock floor.

"Mother of God!" I sobbed, "it has been burned off!"

"Ay," he returned, in all gentleness, covering the awful sight. "Yet
were they gladly given for Christ's sake."

"I doubt that not," gazing in wonder at his girlish face. "But tell
me, who were guilty of such fiendish cruelty--the savages of this
tribe?"

"Two months ago it was done in the valley below, in the village of the
Natchez," his eyes again upon the crucifix. "Yet dwell not upon it,
Monsieur, for it is so little I can hope to do for the glory of God.
It may be I am not even worthy of martyrdom."

"So the Natchez did that!" the breath hissing between my teeth. "Where
was their gentle-hearted Queen?"

"I know not, Monsieur, if they have a Queen. I saw none exercising
authority excepting priests of their strange worship. It was the chief
priest who held me in the flame."

I crushed back the hot, useless words burning on my lips, and turned to
look at the Puritan. We had conversed in English, and he must have
comprehended every word, yet there was no softening in the glint of his
hard, gray eyes.

"Hear you the priest's story, sirrah?" I asked, feeling strong
inclination to vent my spleen on him for such bull-headedness. "Is he
not one to honor rather than pick a quarrel with in such place as this?"

"'T is no quarrel I seek, nor am I like to question the fanatical
courage of a Jesuit. But I tell you his teaching is false, an outrage
on the true religion of the saints, and I am of a strain which can
never companion with any of that black-robed breed. Call me what ye
please, Master Benteen, but I am too old a man, too long indoctrined in
the faith, ever to acknowledge brotherhood with hirelings of the Romish
church."

"Companion with whom you please," I retorted savagely. "But I tell you
this, preacher, and once for all,--you 'll bear yourself like a human
being to this poor lad while I 'm with you, or else make answer to me.
Is that plain? I care nothing for your dogma, or your hair-splitting,
but I know what fair play is between man and man,--ay, and mean to have
it here, even if it costs you a split head."

"I beg you will both be at peace, Messieurs," broke in the soft,
caressing voice at my elbow. "There can be no cause for comrades
quarrelling over me. I am not worthy a ruptured friendship. Yet I
fail to understand any occasion for your seeming trouble; has the older
man some reason to distrust my robe?"

"Reason! Saint George! 'tis precious little that ever bothers him.
The fellow is a Puritan preacher--of the same breed as the
Huguenots--and possesses a head as hard as an oaken plank."

I nearly laughed at the unrestrained expression of aversion which swept
the girlish face. An instant the black eyes lost their gentleness, the
thin fingers clutched the silver cross.

"Mother of God! a heretic! a preacher of that doctrine! Never before
have I met his kind, nor do I care now to make close acquaintance. A
Puritan! _Sainte Marie_, have mercy! Yet surely in such stress as
this we may for the time overlook our differences in faith, and be as
men together? Is it not God's will? But I know little of conditions.
Is there some path open for escape from here? Then will I let this
Puritan be, save for a prayer to the Virgin."

"I fear there is none, unless you know of some back opening to this
rock hole."

He shook his head sadly, his gaze still on Cairnes.

"None, Monsieur; the passage endeth here."

"Then the three of us are safely cooped for those savages to work their
will upon. No pleasant thought that, yet little good can arise from
losing hope. For one, I fight it out, and let others do the praying.
Let us retrace our way to the big room, where we can hold council in
more comfort; perchance we may find yet some opening to the upper air.
Cairnes, lay hold upon the other side, and help to bear back this lamed
man to the altar."

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