Latitude 19 degree Part 48

"As the Papaloi has said! As the holy Papaloi has said!" shouted the crowd in answer, bowing to the ground.

Then he began to intone the same weird chant that I had heard in the forest, the people joining in. And then began the dance.

How shall I describe that dance? How call up before your imagination the murky interior, the reddish flare of the smoking torches, the s.h.i.+ning black bodies, the glittering eyes, the look on every face which spoke not of the lofty aspirations of the human being, but of the low nature of the brute? If there was ever any ceremony that combined as a whole the horrible, the soul-sickening, the disgusting, and the fascinating, it was that dance of the serpent. The whole community joined in the fiendish movement, each and all trying as best he or she could to imitate the movements of the reptile. They wound themselves about, in and out, and round each other. They twisted, they squirmed, they wriggled, they crawled, and all the time the Mamanloi sat gazing stolidly on like a sphynx. The serpent hissed and alternately caressed her cheek and bosom. Sometimes it disappeared entirely within the folds of her dress, and then again its great head would protrude from the open front of her robe, and we heard the hissing repeated, and saw the tongue dart its flamelike points against the flesh of her throat. Some of the dancers, the women especially, seemed to be overtaken by a wild state of frenzy. They circled themselves round the other dancers, regardless of s.e.x. They even climbed with a snakelike motion up the posts which supported the roof. There they wriggled along the rafters or hung, glaring down on those below. Their tongues protruded and played back and forth like a serpent's; their mouths emitted a hissing noise, which was deafening. I feared that with these awful sights and sounds I should lose my senses. Of so bold an exhibition of the beastliness that still dwells in the earthly tenement I had never dreamed, and I hope that I may never be called upon to witness its like again. With much of it I will not soil these pages. Suffice it to say that the worst pa.s.sions were depicted, if not actually represented. I turned toward the Skipper.

The heavy drops were pouring from his brows.

"By Gad! Jones, I'm sick," said he.

When the dancers had worked themselves up to a state of insanity that was almost unbelievable, the Papaloi suddenly called a halt. The noise did not stop at once. It seemed that the serpent habit had become chronic with the votaries. Some of the women still clung to the rafters and refused to descend, sending forth an occasional hiss. But when the Papaloi started a subdued and minor chant, they began to quiet down, and gradually dropped, limp and lifeless, to the ground. They reminded me, each one as he fell, of the leech as he drops heavy and clogged from overrepletion.

That, however, was a phase of these diabolical orgies which was yet to come.

Far be it from me, Adoniah, to wish to shock or horrify any one, especially those dear to me. You have asked for a truthful description of what I saw, and, though I can not give it all to you in these pages, I can come as near it as decency permits. Perhaps you will say, nearer, and accuse me in your heart of having over-stepped the bounds of propriety and decency. If such be your feeling, do not let this cover fall into the hands of your children. It would unnecessarily shock and terrify them. There are many things happening in this world which they need not know. Perhaps you had better decide when you read to them these remembrances that you will skip some portions, saying to them at certain pages, which you shall mark upon its first perusal by you, "Your grandfather is not very clear at this stage, and I think that I had better relate to you what follows," or, "We will close the book for to-night, my child; I will tell you more to-morrow." On the morrow you may skip the obnoxious paragraphs. But for you, Adoniah, I am setting down these things as they occurred, and what I promised, I am in duty bound to do. When you feel that I have described with too much realism that which I was forced to witness, you may also close the book. But my task is to finish to the bitter end, that perhaps at some not far distant day some earnest votary of our holy religion of Christ may feel it his privilege to go as a missionary to this island of the western main, and with labour which shall not fail try to bring some soul from out the darkness and lead it into light, and show these benighted creatures what is really meant by that symbol to which they are accustomed, the cross of Christ. You may say, however, "Why should we succeed, where other Christians have failed?" But I digress.

"Bring in the white c.o.c.k!" shouted the Papaloi.

Two men disappeared behind the curtain of red and returned with a handsome white c.o.c.k, the one, probably, which I had heard crowing in homelike confidence. The priest seized the c.o.c.k in his strong grasp. He now descended the steps of the throne. The Mamanloi followed in his footsteps. Their sandalled feet called back no answering sound from the earthen floor. The Papaloi stalked majestically toward the central post which up-held the roof tree, and mounting upon a low step, he stood facing the mult.i.tude. He waved the helpless animal round and round his head, repeating rapidly, and with fierceness of demeanour, some species of incantation which I could not follow. He then began to beat the body of the unfortunate c.o.c.k against the post.

Now, any man who has lived upon a farm, as I have at Belleville, does not squirm at the killing of a fowl if necessity demands, but we perform the operation humanely and as quickly as time and dexterity will permit.

To see that poor animal battered and hammered against the resisting wood, which was already stained red and black with previous ceremonies of the kind, made me shudder. I closed my eyes, but there was still that fearful thud in my ears. I can give no idea of the vengeful fury of the blows. Just before the Papaloi gave the animal what our black friend called the "final kew," it was struggling, though faintly, and when the Papaloi raised a glittering knife on high I saw one poor leg thrust weakly outward, as if the helpless thing hoped even then to elude its slayer. The throat was slashed through with a clean cut, and the torture was over.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Pythoness circled slowly around.]

During this scene the Pythoness had been moving, circling slowly, with a flat shuffle of the feet, around the central post. Her limbs and head were rigid, but the trunk moved in a thousand strange undulations. Her body protruded in folds and wrinkles, as if the serpent were still concealed beneath the transparency of her gown. Then, as the Papaloi threw the head of the c.o.c.k far from him, the priestess slowly glided beneath the uplifted body. She seemed in an ecstasy of religious fervour, and I saw that the serpent hung trailing down her back, its extremity reaching nearly to the floor. His upper part clung tenaciously round her neck; its loathsome mouth lay close to her ear. The Pythoness threw her head backward, and came to a stand just underneath the body of the c.o.c.k. Her movements were so timed that the first drop of the warm blood fell within her open lips. It streamed down over her throat and breast and the spotless robe which she wore. The serpent gave a hiss of delight, then raised its flat head, opened its horrid jaws, and drank also. The people crowded up and ran close, and rubbed their hands and their heads against the red-stained gown. They thrust out their tongues in imitation of the serpent, and licked the colour from the white robe as fast as it fell. As fresh votaries took their places, the pioneers danced again in imitation of the movements of the Pythoness herself.

Keeping head erect and limbs motionless, they forced the trunk to roll in waves and folds from chest to abdomen.

How long this terrible scene continued I can not tell. I have given as little in words as will describe its awful character, and have omitted much which is important as to detail, which decency forbids me to set down.

The Papaloi and Mamanloi had returned to the throne. She looked as if she had been in battle. There was a discussion, and finally an order was given. Our guide, who had listened intently, told us that the sacrificial lamb was now to be brought. Presently two enormous men, armed with long knives, entered from the banqueting hall. They led by the hands a little boy of tender years. He was clothed in white. He turned terrified eyes upon his jailors. Our guide repeated to us the conversation which ensued.

The Papaloi leaned down toward the child, and, with a gloating smile on his hideous features, he asked:

"What dost thou desire more than anything else in all the world?"

The child's reply had evidently been taught to him, for he said in a low and trembling voice:

"I desire a little virgin more than anything that the world affords."[C]

[C] See Sir Spenser St. John.

Then appeared two other brutal-looking giants, and between them they led a little girl. She was also robed in white.

"Behold thy virgin!" shouted the Papaloi. The two little ones were then seized and thrown upon their backs. We saw the knives descend. If shrieks there were, they were drowned by the noise of the drums and the enthusiastic shouts of the sectaries. I close the scene. It will remain with me until life ends.

Recalling these happenings across the s.p.a.ce of many intervening years, I wonder at myself, as you are probably wondering at me, that I did not drop down and die with very horror of such sights. There was but one thing which sustained me. Self-preservation is man's first law; all things become subservient to that end. The one thought that permeated every fibre of my being--and I doubt not that of the Skipper also--was the hope of escape. These dark and dreadful scenes showed us not only what might be our fate, but in so doing urged us on to more strenuous efforts to prevent the ending of our lives as had ended the lives of the wretched little victims. There is sometimes more virtue in telling than in withholding. We send missionaries to Africa. In G.o.d's name, let's send them nearer home, where iniquity of the vilest flourishes, and at our very doors!

When the executioners had disappeared with their inanimate victims, the Papaloi raised his hand, commanding silence.

"Say your prayers," said the Skipper; "it's our turn now."

"I'll never believe it," said I. "At least, I'll shoot off the old villain's head first, if you'll take the woman."

"If we but had our pistols!" said the Skipper. And then I, too, remembered that we had been stripped of our weapons in the banqueting hall.

The Papaloi then made an address which I will not repeat. It was concerning us, and spoke of us as imposters and spies. I felt that I had not long to live, and I commended myself to G.o.d. Two of the executioners started toward us. I shrank as I saw them approaching. I, watching every movement, with nerves strung to the highest tension, saw that the Mamanloi leaned over and whispered to the Papaloi, whereupon he raised his hand again, and his voice rang through the bare interior.

"The high priestess suggests that these spies shall see one more sacrifice to the serpent G.o.d before they, too, die for our faith."

I know that it is not conceit which leads me to a.s.sert that I was confident that I caught a significant glance from the eyes of the priestess directed at me. It seemed to me that she wanted to gain time, and certainly every minute gained was a minute in our favour. The Captain turned to me and said in a voice of bravado, which trembled as he spoke:

"I hope you're tender, Jones. Now I fear I'm a little stringy or so. I certainly hope that I'll stick in that old villain's crop and choke him."

I turned away impatiently. I was trembling as if with an ague, which I tried my best to conceal. I felt that this was not the time for lightness of speech. I looked about me to discover, if possible, an avenue of escape. But there was no break in the ranks of dark bodies which hemmed us in on every side. There was a stir about the throne.

The Mamanloi had again arisen. She stretched out her graceful arm and waved her hand toward the fateful curtain.

She wreathed the serpent round her waist as a Northern girl would have twisted a ribbon, and said in her sweet and dreadful voice:

"Bring in the final sacrifice--_the goat without horns_!"

Then I heard to begin a faint tapping of the drum. As it grew louder and louder, taking upon itself the weird and gloomy "tum-tum-_tum_, tum-tum-_tum_," the music of the savage, many voices caught up the refrain, and sang not unmusically, and shouted until the rafters rang:

"_The goat without horns! The goat without horns!_" Then we heard the shuffling of many feet, and a crowd came pus.h.i.+ng in from the back of the throne. The ma.s.s of people which surrounded this latest victim was so impenetrable that I could not discover what manner of person they had brought with them. The crowd approached the throne and lifted to a standing posture on the cover of the serpent box, a form. It stood, its feet dabbled in the blood of the recent victims, and faced us. My breath was taken away. I absolutely could not believe my eyes.

"Is it?" I asked of the Skipper.

"It is," said he.

It was the Minion, as cool apparently as ever he had been. He turned to his jailors and uttered two words:

"I'm tough!" said he.

The Captain looked at the Minion critically. He was grimy to a degree, and more unkempt than even I had ever seen him.

"I should hope they'd wash him first," said the Captain, "if I was to have any of the pie."

I could only adjudge the Skipper's seeming lightness of vein to the fact that he had escaped death often just by the breadth of a hair, and I was convinced that he would never believe that his final hour had come until he was no longer conscious of the beating of his heart.

Our guard was called upon to translate the Minion's words. The lad had not caught sight of us at first, but when the Skipper gave an exclamation of horror at the probable fate of this poor boy, preceding ours by but a short time, he looked toward us with a grin upon his face.

The Skipper had apparently given up all thought of trying to please our captors.

"Boy," called he, "say a prayer, do, for the Lord's sake! Those devils are going to kill you. Shall I pray for you?"

The Minion glared at his persecutors. Consistent to his well-known character, he called across the heads beneath him, "I'll ha'nt 'em!" And then again, with a loquacity of which he was seldom guilty, he repeated, "I'll ha'nt 'em to the last!"

The Papaloi looked angry at this interruption, but the Skipper thought it now of little use to temporize with the wretches.

"Boy," he shouted, "you have but a moment to live, and I s'pose you're human. Is there any sin that you've committed that you want to confess?

Any whom you have wronged? Any----"