there lay in the song, half revealed, the awful mystery of that Creator
Whom the soul leaped forth to meet: the myriad green of the sun playing
with the leaves, the fish swimming lazily in the brown pool, the doe
grazing in the thicket, and a naked boy as free from care as these; and
still the life grows brighter as strength comes, and stature, and power
over man and beast; and then, God knows what memories of fierce love and
fiercer wars and triumphs, of desires gained and enemies conquered,--God,
who has made all lives akin to something which He holds in the hollow of
His hand; and then--the rain beating on the forest crown, beating,
beating, beating.

The song ceased. The Indian knelt in the black mud, not at the feet of
Fletcher Blount, but on the threshold of the Great Spirit who ruleth all
things. The axe fell, yet he uttered no cry as he went before his
Master.

So the four sang, each in turn, and died in the sight of some who pitied,
and some who feared, and some who hated, for the sake of land and women.
So the four went beyond the power of gold and gewgaw, and were dragged in
the mire around the walls and flung into the yellow waters of the river.

Through the dreary afternoon the men lounged about and cursed the parley,
and hearkened for the tattoo,--the signal agreed upon by the leaders to
begin the fighting. There had been no command against taunts and jeers,
and they gathered in groups under the walls to indulge themselves, and
even tried to bribe me as I sat braced against a house with my drum
between my knees and the sticks clutched tightly in my hands.

"Here's a Spanish dollar for a couple o' taps, Davy," shouted Jack
Terrell.