There was a tone of such utter depression in the great roaring voice, I feared some serious mishap had befallen him, and hastened to cross the room, heading toward the corner whence the sound came.  As I attained the outer edge of the platform, groping my passage through the dense gloom, I was halted in the midst of a dozen or more savages, lying prone upon the hard floor, evidently in adoration of that grotesque figure perched above, and now clearly revealed by a blazing up of the charred log.  Not one among them stirred from his prostrate position at my approach.  Forgetting them instantly, my whole attention became riveted upon the marvellous transformation presented by my old Puritan comrade.  Odds! what a sight!  He sat bolt upright, as though bound in that stiff posture, occupying a low dais, almost at the edge of the platform.  This latter had been covered with a glaring crimson cloth, roughly woven, presumably of native manufacture, peculiarly brilliant in its coloring, and hence of rare beauty to Indian eyes.  At my approach he began straining at the cords which held him helpless, and I soon saw that his entire body was wrapped about with ropes of grass in such a manner as to render vain any hope of escape.  His oddly shapen figure, with the wide, square shoulders and short legs, was likewise-draped in red, above which flared his fiery shock of dishevelled hair, while a face fairly distorted with rage, gray from loss of sleep, and rendered ludicrous by its little snapping eyes, glared down upon me.

“Memory of Beelzebub!  It would be no matter of laughter for ye, Master Benteen,” he snorted savagely, straining at his cords, “could I burst these accursed strings, and lay my hands to your throat.  Ay! nor would yonder idolatrous swine lie there long if I once got free among them.  Imagine not, vain and presumptuous unbeliever that the Lord God Almighty—­He who rideth in the chariot of the whirlwind—­will long permit the heathen to profane His holy places, or triumph in the misery of one of the elect.  There cometh the Day of Judgment, when the wicked shall be scattered as chaff.”

“You are in a most unpleasant condition, friend,” I replied, endeavoring to speak so as to calm his temper.  “It is in sorrow, not pleasure, I behold you thus.”

“I am entangled in the snare of the Evil One, Master Benteen.  But I continue manfully to war against the adversary even as becomes my high station.”

“Have you been long in so pitiful a state?  I dreamed not it would ever come to this.”

“It may be true you were ignorant of the wiles of that emissary of Satan who doth encompass us,” he acknowledged, a trifle mollified by my sympathy.  “I would not be guilty of evil thought even toward an unregenerated heretic.  Yet I have sat thus, wrapped like a mummy of the Egyptians, since early dawn.  Ay, verily have I been sore oppressed both of body and spirit.  Nor has there been any surcease, when the heathen have not lain thus at my feet.  What means such action?”