Back Aa

Scalp Hunters

Close

<h3>Chapter Fifty Two.</h3> <h4>Running Amuck.</h4> Another day came: our day for action. We saw our enemies making their preparations; we saw them go off to the woods, and return bringing clubs freshly cut from the trees; we saw them dress as for ball-play or running. At an early hour we were taken forward to the front of the temple. On arriving there, I cast my eyes upward to the terrace. My betrothed was above me; I was recognised. There was mud upon my scanty garments, and spots of blood; there was dust on my hair; there were scars upon my arms; my face and throat were stained with powder, blotches of black, burnt powder: in spite of all, I was recognised. The eyes of love saw through all! I find no scene in all my experience so difficult to describe as this. Why? There was none so terrible; none in which so many wild emotions were crowded into a moment. A love like ours, tantalised by proximity, almost within reach of each other’s embrace, yet separated by relentless fate, and that for ever; the knowledge of each other’s situation; the certainty of my death: these and a hundred kindred thoughts rushed into our hearts together. They could not be detailed; they cannot be described; words will not express them. You may summon fancy to your aid. I heard her screams, her wild words and wilder weeping. I saw her snowy cheek and streaming hair, as, frantic, she rushed forward on the parapet as if to spring out. I witnessed her struggles as she was drawn back by her fellow-captives, and then, all at once, she was quiet in their arms. She had fainted, and was borne out of my sight. I was tied by the wrists and ankles. During the scene I had twice risen to my feet, forced up by my emotions, but only to fall down again. I made no further effort, but lay upon the ground in the agony of impotence. It was but a short moment; but, oh! the feelings that passed over my soul in that moment! It was the compressed misery of a life-time. <hr /> For a period of perhaps half an hour I regarded not what was going on around me. My mind was not abstracted, but paralysed: absolutely dead. I had no thoughts about anything. I awoke at length from this stupor. I saw that the savages had completed their preparations for the cruel sport. Two rows of men extended across the plain to a distance of several hundred yards. They were armed with clubs, and stood facing each other with an interval of three or four paces between their ranks. Down the interval we were to run, receiving blows from everyone who could give them as we passed. Should any of us succeed in running through the whole line, and reach the mountain foot before we could be overtaken, the promise was that our lives should be spared! “Is this true, Sanchez?” I whispered to the torero, who was standing near me. “No,” was the reply, given also in a whisper. “It is only a trick to make you run the better and show them the more sport. You are to die all the same. I heard them say so.” Indeed, it would have been slight grace had they given us our lives on such conditions; for it would have been impossible for the strongest and swiftest man to have passed through between their lines. “Sanchez!” I said again, addressing the torero, “Seguin was your friend. You will do all you can for her?” Sanchez well knew whom I meant. “I will! I will!” he replied, seeming deeply affected. “Brave Sanchez! tell her how I felt for her. No, no, you need not tell her that.” I scarce knew what I was saying. “Sanchez!” I again whispered—a thought that had been in my mind now returning—“could you not—a knife, a weapon—anything—could you not drop one when I am set loose?” “It would be of no use. You could not escape if you had fifty.” “It may be that I could not. I would try. At the worst, I can but die; and better die with a weapon in my hands!” “It would be better,” muttered the torero in reply. “I will try to help you to a weapon, but my life may be—” He paused. “If you look behind you,” he continued, in a significant manner, while he appeared to examine the tops of the distant mountains, “you may see a tomahawk. I think it is held carelessly. It might be snatched.” I understood his meaning, and stole a glance around. Dacoma was at a few paces’ distance, superintending the start. I saw the weapon in his belt. It was loosely stuck. It might be snatched! I possess extreme tenacity of life, with energy to preserve it. I have not illustrated this energy in the adventures through which we have passed; for, up to a late period, I was merely a passive spectator of the scenes enacted, and in general disgusted with their enactment. But at other times I have proved the existence of those traits in my character. In the field of battle, to my knowledge, I have saved my life three times by the quick perception of danger and the promptness to ward it off. Either less or more brave, I should have lost it. This may seem an enigma; it appears a puzzle; it is an experience. In my earlier life I was addicted to what are termed “manly sports.” In running and leaping I never met my superior; and my feats in such exercises are still recorded in the memories of my college companions. Do not wrong me, and think that I am boasting of these peculiarities. The first is but an accident in my mental character; and others are only rude accomplishments, which now, in my more matured life, I see but little reason to be proud of. I mention them only to illustrate what follows. Ever since the hour of my capture I had busied my mind with plans of escape. Not the slightest opportunity had as yet offered. All along the journey we had been guarded with the most zealous vigilance. During this last night a new plan had occupied me. It had been suggested by seeing Sanchez upon his horse. I had matured it all, except getting possession of a weapon; and I had hopes of escape, although I had neither time nor opportunity to detail them to the torero. It would have served no purpose to have told him them. I knew that I might escape, even without the weapon; but I needed it, in case there might be in the tribe a faster runner than myself. I might be killed in the attempt; that was likely enough; but I knew that death could not come in a worse shape than that in which I was to meet it on the morrow. Weapon or no weapon, I was resolved to escape, or die in attempting it. I saw them untying O’Cork. He was to run first. There was a circle of savages around the starting-point; old men and idlers of the village, who stood there only to witness the sport. There was no apprehension of our escaping; that was never thought of: an inclosed valley, with guards at each entrance; plenty of horses standing close by, that could be mounted in a few minutes. It would be impossible for any of us to get away from the ground. At least, so thought they. O’Cork started. Poor Barney! His race was not a long one. He had not run ten paces down the living avenue when he was knocked over, and carried back, bleeding and senseless, amidst the yells of the delighted crowd. Another of the men shared a similar fate, and another; and then they unbound me. I rose to my feet, and, during the short interval allowed me, stretched my limbs, imbuing my soul and body with all the energy that my desperate circumstances enabled me to concentrate within them. The signal was again given for the Indians to be ready, and they were soon in their places, brandishing their long clubs, and impatiently waiting for me to make the start. Dacoma was behind me. With a side glance I had marked well where he stood; and backing towards him, under pretence of getting a fairer “break,” I came close up to the savage. Then suddenly wheeling, with the spring of a cat and the dexterity of a thief, I caught the tomahawk and jerked it from his belt. I aimed a blow, but in my hurry missed him. I had no time for another. I turned and ran. He was so taken by surprise that I was out of his reach before he could make a motion to follow me. I ran, not for the open avenue, but to one side of the circle of spectators, where were the old men and idlers. These had drawn their hand weapons, and were closing towards me in a thick rank. Instead of endeavouring to break through them, which I doubted my ability to accomplish, I threw all my energy into the spring, and leaped clear over their shoulders. Two or three stragglers struck at me as I passed them, but missed their aim; and the next moment I was out upon the open plain, with the whole village yelling at my heels. I well knew for what I was running. Had it not been for that, I should never have made the start. I was running for the caballada. I was running, too, for my life, and I required no encouragement to induce me to make the best of it. I soon distanced those who had been nearest me at starting; but the swiftest of the Indians were the young men who had formed the lines, and I saw that these were now forging ahead of the others. Still they were not gaining upon me. My school training stood me in service now. After a mile’s chase, I saw that I was within less than half that distance of the caballada, and at least three hundred yards ahead of my pursuers; but to my horror, as I glanced back, I saw mounted men! They were still far behind, but I knew they would soon come up. Was it possible he could hear me? I knew that in these elevated regions sounds are heard twice the ordinary distance; and I shouted, at the top of my voice, “Moro! Moro!” I did not halt, but ran on, calling as I went. I saw a sudden commotion among the horses. Their heads were tossed up, and then one dashed out from the drove and came galloping towards me. I knew the broad black chest and red muzzle. I knew them at a glance. It was my brave steed, my Moro! The rest followed, trooping after; but before they were up to trample me, I had met my horse, and flung myself, panting, upon his back! I had no rein; but my favourite was used to the guidance of my voice, hands, and knees; and directing him through the herd, I headed for the western end of the valley. I heard the yells of the mounted savages as I cleared the caballada; and looking back, I saw a string of twenty or more coming after me as fast as their horses could gallop. But I had no fear of them now. I knew my Moro too well; and after I had cleared the ten miles of valley, and was springing up the steep front of the sierra, I saw my pursuers still back upon the plain. <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2