But Elijah Martin had neither the imagination of
a theologian nor the insight of a politician. He only saw that he,
hitherto ignored and despised in a community of half-barbaric men,
now translated to a community of men wholly savage, was respected and
worshipped!
It might have turned a stronger head than Elijah's. He was at first
frightened, fearful lest his reception concealed some hidden irony,
or that, like the flower-crowned victim of ancient sacrifice, he was
exalted and sustained to give importance and majesty to some impending
martyrdom. Then he began to dread that his innocent deceit--if deceit it
was--should be discovered; at last, partly from meekness and partly from
the animal contentment of present security, he accepted the situation.
Fortunately for him it was purely passive. The Great Chief of the Minyo
tribe was simply an expressionless idol of flesh and blood. The previous
incumbent of that office had been an old man, impotent and senseless
of late years through age and disease. The chieftains and braves had
consulted in council before him, and perfunctorily submitted their
decisions, like offerings, to his unresponsive shrine. In the same way,
all material events--expeditions, trophies, industries--were supposed
to pass before the dull, impassive eyes of the great chief, for direct
acceptance. On the second day of Elijah's accession, two of the braves
brought a bleeding human scalp before him. Elijah turned pale, trembled,
and averted his head, and then, remembering the danger of giving way
to his weakness, grew still more ghastly.
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