Presently Sassacus re-appeared, emerging from the larger lodge,
followed by the Assistant, whose arms were bound again, and who was
conducted by two savages, holding him by either arm. They led him
straight to the pile around the stake, which the Chief ordered to be
lighted, and whose billowy flames were kept rolling up by additions,
from time to time, of the dry wood which lay in abundance around.
Seated on a log not far from the fire, whose heat might indeed be
felt, Sassacus commanded his prisoner to be brought before him.

"Bad white man," he said, "look on yon flames! Are they like that hell
which thy powaws say is prepared for such as thou?"

Spikeman turned his ghastly face away from the blaze, with a shudder,
but he said nothing.

"The white man is silent," said Sassacus. "He acknowledges the justice
of his doom. Lead him to the fire."

Spikeman, notwithstanding the horror of his situation, succeeded in a
measure in concealing his feelings, and, affecting an indifference to
his fate, advanced a few steps with the two Indians, who held his
arms, when, suddenly making a violent effort, he burst the withes with
which he was carelessly bound, and, throwing them both off, started to
run. The opportunity had probably been given purposely by the savages,
for their diversion, and in order to protract the terrors of the
captive, and knowing that flight was impossible. But, blinded by the
glare of the fire, Spikeman remarked not a trunk of a tree in his
path, and, stumbling over it, fell to the ground, bruised and torn,
and before he could rise, found himself again held fast. Cursing his