CHAPTER XV. WE MEET SOME STRANGE ACQUAINTANCES, ARE MADE PRISONERS, AND LOSE OUR ONLY MEANS OF RESCUE.

The newcomers devoured us with a gaze of no less astonishment than that which we fixed on them. They carried torches, whose unsteady orange-black flare gave to their faces a fierce and savage appearance. Their bodies were nearly naked, but their heads were bound with cloths of a strange shade of red. I hated to look at it, its colour was so suggestive.

These men were very black. Their eyes had the wild unreasoning stare of the gypsy eye. They surrounded us at once, waved their torches, and shouted something in concert. I took it to mean "What are you doing here?" Each man carried, besides his torch, a weapon of some kind; either a knife or the machete of the Spaniard, which had been in common use in the island for many years. They crowded close to us, and I recognised at once the fact that escape would be impossible. In front we should rush into the arms of the Papaloi and his followers, and escape by the back it was hopeless to think of, for the Bo's'n, I saw by a hurried glance, had had the decency to push the board back against the opening, and while we were thinking of even pulling those boards away we should be cut down. I had always heard that it was death to one who crept in unannounced and unaccredited to witness any of the hellish ceremonies of this sect, and I looked at the Skipper and gave one despairing shake of the head. He said in a low voice:

"It looks as if our number was made, Jones, but I've been in tighter places than this down in the South Seas." His reminiscences were drowned by the shouts of "Papaloi! Papaloi!"

These words were uttered loudly in hoarse and discordant unison, and repeated again and again, "Papaloi! Papaloi!"

The excitement was contagious. It thrilled me, and I found myself, utterly forgetful of our danger, standing on tiptoe and craning my neck to see this Papaloi who awakened such enthusiasm. We looked for him as we would for some superior being.

And now I perceived that in the distance, lights were beginning to dance among the trees. In a moment more there emerged from the gloom of the ground-sweeping branches, a procession of strange-looking beings. As they came they chanted a low minor song, which struck terror to my heart. No words can describe this chant. It was like the dread song of fate.

All at once there was carried to us on the night wind the distant sound of a drum. Its tum-tum-tuming was at first faint and subdued, but soon it grew louder and more loud, until its bu-r-r and roar rolled in thunder notes up among the trees.

"Le Papaloi! Le Papaloi!" shouted the multitude.

They waved their arms in the air and joined in with the drum. They sang their weird chant slowly, and with a sort of solemnity which impressed me with a horrid fascination. Later I learned that the words of the song were:

The drum was a hollow piece of wood, probably made of a section of the stem of a well-grown tree. Across one end was stretched the skin of some animal, brute or human, I could not tell which. The drum was carried between two men, who beat with their knuckles upon this vile instrument of torture to the senses. The tremor began almost imperceptibly. It sounded for some minutes before one awakened to the fact that it was the rolling of a drum that was heard. It increased by easy stages, until at last the sound was deafening, and hurt the ear as if with a physical pain.

There seemed to be a fatal fascination in the sound of this savage music which had its birth in the far-distant land of Dahomey. The moment that it fell upon the ear an uneasy look overspread the faces of those who heard its summons, and I have been told that its sectaries must follow its subtile suggestion whether they would or no. The whole social system was so interlarded with the barbarous practice to which it called that it became a boast among its votaries. In later years than those of which I write, a woman was tried for participating in one of the revolting vaudoux feasts. On her way to prison she looked at her captors and said:

"Only let me have my sacred drum. I will beat it on the way to prison, and you will see who will follow. From the lowest to the highest they will join, not only the poor and humble, but those in high places."

And now, as the throng approached nearer, I saw that many of those composing it were almost unclothed except for the handkerchief round the head, always of that terrible shade which smelt of dark deeds. Then the crowd opened, and I saw one walking alone. He, too, wore a red handkerchief round his forehead, but the rest of his body was also bound with many red cloths. Around his waist was a brilliant blue band, which created a startling contrast, and his hair was knotted in a peculiar way, which I found was a characteristic of the priests of the vaudoux. Upon the handkerchief which crossed his breast was embroidered in rough but effective manner a green serpent, body coiled, head raised ready to strike.

As the procession approached the edifice where we were standing, the Papaloi came forward with a slow and undulating pace. His look of surprise as his eyes fell upon us it would be difficult to describe. I heard him ask his followers one question. It was, "Q' bagga' Ça?" Afterward, when I knew a little more of this remarkable mixture of the provincial French and the African, I found that these words, repeated often, were intended to mean, "Quel bagage est cela?"

The mob around us began to shake their heads in protest. There was a quick, short, decisive order, and then three or four of the men stepped behind us and began prodding us with their knives. Thus we were forced into the open air and out into the glade in front of the church. I saw that the primary object of the visit to the church had been lost sight of for the time. I should have been glad to recall it to mind, for I felt sure that it had to do with the child whom Zalee had rescued, but I had no way of making them understand me. You may think that was a selfish idea, but I felt that Zalee and the boy had fled to some safe place of retreat. Then again I argued against this first feeling of mine, for should I set them on the track of the child they might in roaming come across our new house and Cynthia. I shuddered to think of this for a moment. As these thoughts for and against were running through my brain, we stood gazing at the astounding figure of our principal captor, and he stood stolidly staring at us.

"Handsome, ain't he?" remarked the Skipper.

He was certainly grotesque, and I felt for a moment as much inclined to laugh as ever I did in my life. Perhaps it was well that the comical appearance of the Papaloi had struck me, for he saw that I was not in abject fear, and, instead of giving an order that we should be run through on the spot, he shouted a hurried sentence, which certainly was not what I feared. We were made to face front, the Skipper before and I behind him. Some of the motley crowd led, the rest closed in upon us, and thus, the Papaloi bringing up the rear, we started on our march through the wood. My position was most unpleasant. The Skipper could not keep up the quick march which was forced upon me by those in the rear, and I was prodded in the legs and pricked in the calves until I could almost have prodded the Skipper in turn.

"Do go ahead a little faster, Captain," said I, "or they'll saw my legs in two."

We walked for some distance along a level, and then began to ascend a slight rise toward the eastward.

And now the drum began to beat again. The men all around us fell at once into a slow rhythmic sort of movement, in which only the upper part of their bodies moved, except for the fact that they were walking. The drum beat louder, and now I saw as we went up the hill that we came to an occasional guard or sentry posted at some tree by the roadside. This word I use for want of a better. I saw no path, but the route seemed well defined to the marching body of men. Each sentry held a staff or long pennon, to the top of which was tied one of the hateful red cloths. Each one whom we passed stood like a statue, never moving except to give the Skipper and myself a look of scrutiny, in which triumph was mingled.

And now others began to join our number. They seemed to rise from the very ground. I saw them lurking under the shadow of the trees. Then they came by one and two quickly forward, and slipped into our ranks and proceeded with us on our march.

"I hope you're pretty tender, Jones, my boy," said the Captain to me, "for I think our destination's the soup pot." I turned sick at his words. We had a chance for much quiet interchange of thought, for the singing and droning of the dreadful minor chant, repeated with additional words, covered any sound that we might make:

"Get on! get on!"

These words were spoken in my ear. I started. The Skipper could not have spoken them, for he was in front of me. The words came from behind. Who was it, then, who could communicate with me? I looked hurriedly round, but no one seemed to have noticed me. All those black wretches were singing, keeping time to the drum, whose minor cadence timed this dignified dance. And then as I walked along, hastening my steps, and pushing the Skipper ahead a little to save my own shins, I seemed to be hearing familiar words among the din, something like the following ridiculous jargon:

followed by the chorus, sung with gusto:

The poetry was not fine, the wording was ungrammatical, the verse halted and went quite lame in places, but I have never heard any lines before or since which gave me such unalloyed pleasure.

Was I dreaming, or had these words really been uttered?

I scanned the faces near me, on the right, on the left. I turned completely round, but the black man behind gave me a gentle prick in the calves, and it was again "Eyes front!" I will not repeat more of the ridiculous stuff. Stupid it may have been, but it gave me hope and courage to feel that I had a friend near; that I was listening to my own blessed English, though it did have a twang of something that I had heard called Cornish, or something else outlandish. It sent my spirits up almost to the seventh heaven. I determined to hold my place and my peace, and keep as close to the man behind me as circumstances would permit. Many of those who joined us were women. They also fell into the rhythmic march, and so we swept, a great following, up the slope to a secluded spot in the wood.

"They'll post their sentries now," I heard. I turned quickly, but there was no recognition in any of the faces near me. Was I going out of my mind and imagining things? I pulled myself together. Such a giving way to weakness would never do.

I saw that the posting of the sentries had now begun around the glade through which we walked.

I learned later that at the slightest sign of interference on the part of those in authority runners would come into the camp and the votaries would scatter. But in the times of which I write the vaudoux worship reigned almost unchecked. It was carried on secretly and at midnight, but so long as no one in the towns was disturbed, and none of their immediate relatives carried off for sacrifice, no protest was made. At the present day—the day in which I write—there is good reason to believe that vaudouism prevails more or less in HaÏti. It has been the subject of foreign inquiry, so that its sectaries are more prudent than they had any need of being in the year 1820.

We were now approaching a structure which had a character of its own. I can not tell you what feelings of horror thrilled through me as we reached the door. Here the two men who led us advanced to the doorway and swept the devoted and curious crowd aside. We stood in two ranks, through which walked the Papaloi. So intent were the people upon his movement that I might perhaps have found a moment when I could have plunged through the crowd and so escaped. I knew, however, that running was not the Skipper's forte, and I could not leave the old man alone. But I must not take the entire credit to myself, for I, in fact, had become so interested in what was going forward that at times I almost forgot our alarming situation.

The Papaloi walked between the rows of his now silent followers and prostrated himself before the closed entrance of the long, low building in front of which we stood. Suddenly the doors were pushed outward, and from where I stood I had a glimpse of the bizarre interior.

At the end of the room was raised a sort of throne. This throne was covered with red—the same horrible deadly red. Upon this throne sat two figures, those of a man and a woman. At first I saw but the woman, for she was robed in white, and beside her there was to all appearances a head only, but presently the person beside her moved, and I saw that he was clothed in the same obtrusive and suggestive colour which was so hateful to me. Behind these two stretched a partition done in their same favourite shade. Beyond, I knew not what!

The Papaloi bent low to the ground, and then advanced with the same undulating gait that I had before observed. I saw now that, great as he was in the eyes of the people, there were others much greater than he. I learned afterward, from one who was present, what was said during those momentous seconds that ticked, I thought, perhaps, my life away.

The Papaloi advanced slowly up the broad space, lined on each side by fantastic shapes. These figures had ranged themselves the length of the hall. They held their torches steadily in hand. The glare of this barbaric light shone on the throne, toward which they partly turned. When the Papaloi had reached the throne he prostrated himself, and waited until permitted by a wave of the hand from the Priestess, to arise. The person seated on the throne beside the Priestess I found to be the Senior Papaloi. This priest was acting his rÔle until return of the Greatest of All. I found that the leading or Grand Papaloi had been lost to his followers for some months now, and that the Senior Papaloi, while jealous of the king of the sect, still feared him. For the Grand Papaloi had possessed great power with Christophe, they told me, and the entire sect must sooner or later reckon with that powerful king. I could not discover whether Christophe himself belonged to the vaudoux tribe, but that he protected his favourite minister, who had been Grand Papaloi, was well known to all the votaries of the different branches. When I became aware of these facts I can not exactly remember. They came to me gradually, and these and whatever else I learned that will make my story more clear to you I will set down, regardless of the time and place of my first knowledge of them.

The Senior Papaloi surveyed the approaching priest impatiently.

"Where is the sacrifice?" he questioned in harsh tones.

The Papaloi, whom we had thought at first a man of great power, trembled and prostrated himself before the throne. He answered in a low voice and haltingly, as if he knew not whether he had done wrong or right:

"O! great Papaloi, the sacrifice is safe, but we found in the small temple some strangers, who would know our secrets, and we brought them to you before procuring the sacrifice."

The Papaloi smiled hideously. I have never, I think, seen such a travesty on Nature as that Papaloi of the vaudoux.

"It matters not," said he; "we have another sacrifice here among us. Bring the strangers forward!"

Whereupon two of our guards pushed us ahead of them, and we found ourselves walking up the long apartment in full sight of the whole multitude. There were lighted torches stuck in upright posts, and upon the walls I noticed everywhere, without being conscious that I was seeing them, those terrible symbols of vaudouism, the serpent and the goat's head. It shocked and horrified me to find the cross often represented. There was a sort of font at the entrance to the temple, and other signs and symbols of the Catholic religion, and under this very cross of Christ these blasphemers from Dahomey carried on their horrid rites, thus debasing a Christian religion, whose laws and tenets they broke a thousand times in each one of their hellish orgies.

It was strange to see the fetish worship which the blacks brought from Africa, mixed with some of the rites of the Catholic Church. I have heard it said that the good priests tried their hardest to eradicate the evil. When finally one of them found that a serpent was confined beneath the altar of a lonely country church, and he remonstrated unsuccessfully with those whose religion was a mixture of the fetish worship and what of the Catholic form they could remember, he shook the dust of the place from his feet and went his way. He could not permit the serpent to defile the consecrated building in which he officiated, and the blacks would not relinquish their serpent god. This vaudoux sect called themselves "Les MystÈres," and, indeed, their whole superstition is one of mystery, from the stealing of children and throwing them into a trance, to the concealment and final sacrifice. The human body is not used by them. It is only the cock, the goat, or the lamb that are offered up as a propitiation to the serpent god. Members of this latter sect are not tainted with cannibalism, but are simply idol worshippers, not combining with their other wickednesses the slaying and eating of human bodies. That these members of the vaudoux sect can, many of them, throw one into a trance at will, I know to be a fact, for I have seen it too often to doubt it. I should like to give you some instances, but my account will be too long as it is, and I must refrain.

When the sacred drum begins with its low monotonous "tum-tum-tum! tum-tum-tum!" the votaries begin to feel an uneasy stirring within them. They can not settle down to anything else until they have responded and have worshipped with the other sectaries or taken part in one of the dreadful orgies which I have heard described by an eyewitness, but can not relate. I shall describe only that which I witnessed.

No pure woman or man would defile his or her pen with committing to paper the beastliness that follows, and which shows in its nakedness the nature of these animals, travesties made in God's image.

As we started on our walk toward the throne, I heard a muttering beside me:

"Haven't you got anything to conjure with?"

This sounded a reasonable request, but, beyond my pistol and my little appliances for snaring the cooing dove, I could think of nothing which would help me out. We approached the awful throne. At its foot we came to a halt, and stood there awaiting our sentence.

"Now they'll slug us on the head," said the Skipper to me in an undertone.

I raised my eyes to the occupants of the throne. I have commented upon the looks of the Papaloi, but I was surprised to see that the woman at his side was of a much lighter shade, and was almost pretty. She was slight and, as I found afterward, for a woman very tall and exceedingly graceful. She gave one passing glance at the Skipper, and then her gaze rested upon me. As she gazed I heard a hissing sound, and I looked down and around me to discover its source. The Mamanloi looked upon me long, with a sort of trembling of the eyelids, which made me feel as if she were a species of serpent ready to spring upon me. At the same time her flickering, caressing glance did not make me afraid, rather it fascinated and disgusted me at the same moment.

The lids of the Mamanloi were long and narrow, and sleepy and nearly closed. The upper lid lay flat across the eyeball, which did not seem to protrude, as is usual. When she sleepily raised the eyelid, a sort of opaque green appeared, pale, but with a yellow light, that made one feel that this weird creature did indeed partake of the nature of the serpent which she worshipped. Those oblong green eyes seemed to send forth a gleam which came to you, as the ray of a street lamp does at times, direct to your eye, and apparently to that of no one else. Her lips were red, a vivid shade, and when she opened them her tongue, which outvied the trimmings that she wore, played back and forth and licked and caressed them as a serpent's might have done. I wondered, as I gazed spellbound at this baleful creature, whether she were woman, serpent, devil, or all three in one.

The Papaloi spoke hurriedly to the men who stood as guards for us. One of them shook his head, but the one next to me answered in a subdued tone, at the same time nodding his head. He did not look at me as he spoke. The Papaloi again addressed him, and he then turned to me.

"The old blackguard wants to know where you come from and where you are going. Hadn't I better tell him that you are friends of Christophe's? Sooner or later he must reckon with Christophe, and it's just as well to frighten him a little now."

I looked up in astonishment. Here was a man as black as any one present, speaking my dear native tongue, and, though it had a strange foreign burr as it fell from his lips, it was my own language, after all.

"Tell him what you like," said I. "You know best what to say. Tell him anything at all. Tell him I'm a king myself when I'm at home."

"I don't believe that will have much effect, but I'll try it," said my black angel. He then bowed low to the Papaloi.

"This is a young prince, O great Papaloi, of a very powerful country called Amerique. It lies to the north of us. When he was sailing by our island he was wrecked upon the coast, and he and his old servant are trying to reach the citadel of Christophe, to whom he is accredited."

"Aaaah?" drawled the Papaloi, with an incredulous look at me.

"He belongs to the northern order of the vaudoux," added the guard.

"Now he's stuck us," said the Skipper, when our interpreter told me what he had said; but the old man nodded his head violently toward the throne notwithstanding, and said, "He does, honest Ingun!"

"They swear by all their gods, the Inguns whom they worship, that they do belong to the most secret order of the vaudoux," said our interpreter, looking toward the throne.

The Mamanloi now opened her lips and spoke. Her eyes rested on me with a look that I can describe in no other way than to call it a hungry look. This, I know, puts a ridiculous face on the matter when one is conversant with the methods of this dreadful sect, but I do not intend to have my meaning taken in a physical sense. I have never had a very exalted idea of my own powers of fascination. Had I possessed such, I am confident that Cynthia's treatment of me would have taken out of me any conceit of which I had ever been guilty. But I felt suddenly that, to use the common expression, this woman had taken a fancy to me, and, disgusting as the idea was to me, I intended to use the knowledge, as far as I could, to aid myself and the Shipper.

"If he is a prince, why do not his friends send for him, that he may return to his country Amerique?"

"They can not have heard the news yet, O! gracious Mamanloi! His vessel came ashore only a very short time ago. Since then he has been wandering, he tells me, trying to find the way to his friend, King Christophe."

It seems incredible that the natives of HaÏti should have known so little of our country as to imagine that we were still under the sway of kings and princes from whom we fought to free ourselves in '76. But when you reflect how little they know of us at the present day, and how less than little we know of them, you will not think it strange that in the year 1820 the blacks of the country districts had heard nothing of our ways, customs, manners, or even where our continent was situated. Their only communication was with France. They were half French and half African, generally speaking, though there were modifications in the mixture of races. They were utterly ignorant, as what you will hear later will prove to you, and it is not a matter of wonder to me that they could be so easily gulled by my black friend.

"Have they anything to show that they are of our order?"

Suddenly a bright thought came to me. I looked at the interpreter.

"If the gracious Papaloi will allow us to retire to another apartment for a moment, I will prove to him that we are all that we say."

I was to try an experiment. It might succeed, it might not, but there was a chance for us.

The Mamanloi had arisen. She stood tall and straight upon the step of the throne, her slim foot, just protruding through the opening at the side of her robe of white, covered in open beauty with a sandal of exquisite make. This creature's taste was, to the outward view, refined.

I noticed some strange barbaric jewels upon her arms and neck. A blue and red girdle confined her slender waist, and about her head a red band was but a background to some flaming stones. She waved her graceful arm and pointed to the red partition behind the throne.

She spoke in a soft, sweet voice. It gives me a chill even to think of it. She looked at me as she spoke with those sickeningly sweet glances. They made me feel that I might save myself, although in such case I should have to own her for a protector and a friend.

"See that the doors are barred," she said, "and then escort the prisoners to the secret banquet hall."

Two men who stood near the throne disappeared at her command. They drew the red curtain a little way aside. We waited in suspense for their return.

"I suppose the chopping block's in there," whispered the Skipper to me. "I wonder what poor little Cynthy 'll do!"

This thought nearly unmanned me.

"For Heaven's sake, do try to keep up your courage some other way than by jesting, Captain," said I. "This matter is really serious."

"God knows it is!" said he.

"Of what are the prisoners talking?" demanded the Senior Papaloi, frowning angrily.

"The young prince was admiring the jewels of the gracious Mamanloi," answered our mysterious friend with much readiness.

This answer had a good effect upon the Mamanloi, for she sent to me from the throne one of those dreadful looks which gave me a nausea as I stood there.

"I hope you've got something," said my friend. "Some credentials or something. There'll be the devil to pay if you haven't. You are being treated with the greatest consideration. I never knew 'em to wait so——"

And then turning to the throne:

"I tell the prince, O! gracious Papaloi, that the great Christophe would have sent an escort to meet so honoured a guest long before this, had he known that the prince had been wrecked upon the island. They were sailing for Le Cap, O! gracious Papaloi!"

And now the men sent to unbar the doors of the interior department returned and signified to the Papaloi that the chamber was in readiness. You may think that I started toward this room with anything but pleasurable feelings. How could I tell what these half savages intended doing; what violence they might commit? How did I not know that my interpreter was perhaps only amusing himself with us as he seemed to be amusing himself with the Papaloi? How did I not know that he was in league with that horrid sect, and that if we left the open hall for the mysterious chamber we might be leaving all hope behind? But even while these thoughts were coursing through my brain I put on a bold front and said:

"Come along, Captain." For an idea had come to me some moments since. Seeing the serpent and the goat rudely but persistently hieroglyphed upon the walls, and finding in them a strong resemblance to the ring which Cynthia had found upon the beach, and remembering the wonderful and curious workmanship of the strange bauble and its effect upon even well-balanced minds when they viewed it, a determination had come to me. The symbol was the thing that I could "conjure with." The mysterious circle was the credential with which I should win my way to favour and to safety.

We stepped out boldly toward the opening between the folds of the red curtain.

"You can't die but once, you know," said the Skipper, ungrammatically forcible. "I told you you'd be a short time living and a long time dead, and I guess, Jones, the long time's about to begin."

With such cheerful prognostications did we proceed toward the opening. The red curtain was drawn but a little way, that the apartment into which we passed might not be exposed to the vulgar view. The fact only of our being allowed to pass into its secret precincts argued well, I thought, for the confidence placed in our statements, and yet as I entered the doorway I remember wondering whether there were not perhaps a swinging axe overhead which might descend upon us, one after the other, and leave us dead in the horrid interior.

I shall never forget the appearance of that dreadful banqueting hall. But even before I thought of its appearance the odour which it retained, and which was forced upon my notice by my keen sense of smell, made me faint. I perceived now that the structure had been built against the side of the hill and that the rock had been hollowed out, or else that a natural cavern existed, for there were fireplaces cut in here and there against the hillside, and in them piles of wood were laid. In some of them were strong cranes, upon which hung enormous cauldrons. In others I noticed heavy iron spits. In two of the fireplaces I saw that the wood was blazing. In the great iron receptacles above the flame the water was boiling madly and suggestively.

"That's where they cook long pig," whispered the Skipper to me. I reeled and put my hand to my head. I had heard some tales of these people, but that I should ever get so near to taking part in their orgies I had never dreamed. I saw that there were rough tables standing along the wall between the fireplaces, and on them stood great bowls and tubs. Just then I heard a crowing. It seemed to come from a corner of the apartment. The home-y sound gave me a little courage. All that I noticed flashed upon me in the short moment that I was whispering my ideas of procedure to the Skipper. I took from my pocket my handkerchief, which Lacelle had freshly washed that very day. The Skipper's, fortunately, was also clean.

"Captain," said I, "do you notice there are snakes and the heads of goats everywhere about these buildings? I really believe that the Bo's'n was right. There is something mysterious about that ring. I think that I can, as this black fellow says, conjure with it. Come, now, let me have it. We will go out with a great flourish of trumpets, and declare that we are past masters in the arts of vaudoux."

"I was never a dancer," said the Skipper, "but I s'pose I could even dance to save my life."

"I guess you'll have to try," I returned. "You've got to do your share, Captain. I can't do this thing alone. Bind your handkerchief round your head as I do," said I. "We belong to the white sect. Don't forget that! Now," I whispered, "where is the serpent ring? That is good enough to conjure with, I think. At last it's going to do us some good. Let me have it."

I held out an impatient hand. The Skipper obediently slid his fingers into his waistcoat pocket. He began to feel for the ring. He pushed his hand down, down, down, and farther down into an opening on the right side of his nether garment. Farther and farther he felt. He slapped his thighs, his breast, his waistband. He poked and pushed deeper and deeper, and the farther down he went, so my heart fell with the depth of his unrewarded search, for I saw the look of misery which overspread his face at each succeeding trial. His face showed but too plainly what was the cause of the trouble. The Ring was gone!

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