110 WILD SPORTS IN THE SOUTH. 



backward and forward, or leaned on their lances tipped with the 

 spikes of deer's horn, tasting in anticipation the savage pleasures 

 of the execution of the coming morn. The young moon had set, 

 and millions of frogs and peepers in the marsh filled the air with 

 their shrill calls, and forewarned the rain that was coming up with 

 the easterly wind. Masses of damp fog rolled in from the sea, and 

 left the palisades of the fort, and the zizania grass that grew from 

 the water at its side, wet with their soggy breath. It was drawing 

 toward morning. 



" Within the adobe cell of the fort the condemned man sat on 

 the ground ; and if a man's mind is ever occupied with his coming 

 destiny, his must have pictured the approaching execution, of 

 which he was to be the victim. The stake and the fagot, the 

 red-hot brand, the pricking reed, the scalping-knife, the gauntlet, 

 the jeer and the death-song, had all been familiar to him in his 

 short episode of Indian life. If the southern savage was of gentler 

 mien and comelier appearance ; if his women were fairer in face, 

 and more lustrous in eye, than their more northern tribes, they 

 were in no wise inferior in their ferocity of punishment to their 

 prisoners. Even the Spanish Inquisition was not more refined in 

 cruelty. Well might Ortez ponder his death, and mumble long- 

 forgotten fragments of Latin prayers. 



" There was another in the Indian town, who kept vigil that 

 night. 



" Yahchilane, the daughter of the cacique, who had been loved 

 by many in her tribe before the hated name of Spain was heard — 

 she who had saved the prisoner's life — who had taken him from 

 death to be her lord and chief in the land — who had cradled his 

 head on her bosom — who had borne him sons — who had been 

 deceived and slighted — who had risen in her wrongs, and con- 

 demned to death the mistress and the husband — she, the fierce, 

 proud, vindictive heart, and woman withal, through the moonlight 

 and the fog, roamed and wrestled with her inner self. There was 

 no prouder blood from Natchez to Honda Keys ; and for four- 

 and-twenty hours it had coursed through her veins like rivers of 

 fire. Had she met her husband and the native girl together, she 

 would have slain them both. When she saw his blood flowing 



