Chapter Eighty Four.A Dead Shot by Jake.For fall two hours this singular conflict was continued, without any material change in the disposition of the combatants. Now and then an odd man might be seen darting from tree to tree, with a velocity as if projected from a howitzer—his object either to find a trunk that would afford better cover to his own body, or a point that would uncover the body—or a portion of it—of some marked antagonist.The trunks were barely thick enough to screen us; some kept on their feet, taking the precaution to make themselves as “small” as possible, by standing rigidly erect, and keeping their bodies carefully aligned. Others, perceiving that the pines “bulged” a little at the roots, had thrown themselves flat upon their faces, and in this attitude continued to load and fire.The sun was long since ascending the heavens—for it had been near sunrise when the conflict began. There was no obscurity to hide either party from the view of the other, though in this the Indians had a slight advantage on account of the opening in our rear. But even in the depth of the forest there was light enough for our purpose. Many of the dead fascicles had fallen—the ground was deeply bedded with them—and those that still drooped overhead formed but a gauzy screen against the brilliant beams of the sun. There was light sufficient to enable our marksmen to “sight” any object as large as a dollar piece, that chanced to be within range of their rifles. A hand—a portion of an arm—a leg badly aligned—a jaw bone projecting outside the bark—a pair of shoulders too brawny for the trunk that should have concealed them—even the outstanding skirt of a dress, was sure to draw a shot—perhaps two—from one side or the other. A man to have exposed his full face for ten seconds would have been almost certain of receiving a bullet through his skull, for on both sides there were sharpshooters.Thus two hours had passed, and without any great injury received or inflicted by either party. There were some “casualties,” however, and every now and then a fresh incident added to the number, and kept up the hostile excitement. We had several wounded—one or two severely—and one man killed. The latter was a favourite with our men, and his death strengthened their desire for vengeance.The Indian loss must have been greater. We had seen several fall to our shots. In our party were some of the best marksmen in Florida. Hickman was heard to declare he “had drawed a bead upon three, and wherever he drawed his bead he was dog-goned sartin to put his bullet.” Weatherford had shot his man, killing him on the spot. This was beyond conjecture, for the dead body of the savage could be seen lying between two trees where it had fallen. His comrades feared that in dragging it away, they might expose themselves to that terrible rifle.The Indians had not yet learned that refinement of civilised warriors, who seek from their opponents a temporary truce in which to pay an empty compliment to the dead, while with cunning eye and wary step they seize the opportunity to scrutinise where to make the most effectual onslaught upon the living.After a time, the Indians began to practise a chapter of tactics, which proved that in this mode of warfare they were our superiors. Instead of one, two of them would place themselves behind a tree, or two trees that stood close together, and as soon as one fired, the other was ready to take aim. Of course, the man at whom the first shot had been discharged, fancying hisvis-à-visnow carried an empty gun, would be less careful about his person, and likely enough to expose it.This proved to be the case, for before the bit of craft was discovered, several of our men received wounds, and one man of our number was shot dead by his tree. This ruse freshly exasperated our men—the more so that they could not reciprocate the strategy, since our numbers were not sufficient to have taken post by “twos.” It would have thinned our line so that we could not have defended the position.We were compelled, therefore, to remain as we were—more careful not to expose ourselves to the cunning “fence” of our enemies.There was one case, however, in which the savages were paid back in their own coin. Black Jake and I were partners in thisrevanche.We occupied two trees almost close together; and had for antagonists no less than three savages, who had been all the morning most active in firing at us. I had received one of their bullets through the sleeve of my coat, and Jake had the dandruff driven out of his wool, but neither of us had been wounded.During the contest I had got “sight” upon one, and fancied I had spilled his blood. I could not be certain, however, as the three were well sheltered behind a clump of trees, and covered, also, by a thicket of dwarf palmettoes.One of these Indians, Jake wished particularly to kill. He was a huge savage—much larger than either of the others. He wore a head-dress of king vulture plumes, and was otherwise distinguished by his costume. In all probability, a chief. What was most peculiar in this man’s appearance was his face, for we could see it at intervals, though only for an instant at a time. It was covered all over with a scarlet pigment—vermilion it was—and shone through the trees like a counterpart of the sun.It was not this, however, that had rendered the Indian an object of Jake’s vengeance. The cause was different. The savage had noticed Jake’s peculiar colour, and had taunted him with it several times during the fray. He spoke in his native tongue, but Jake comprehended it well enough. He was spited—exasperated—and vowed vengeance against the scarlet chief.I contrived at length to give him an opportunity. Cunningly adjusting my cap, so that it appeared to contain my head, I caused it to protrude a little around the trunk of the tree. It was an old and well-known ruse, but for all that, in Jake’s phraseology, it “fooled” the Indian.The red countenance appeared above the palmettoes. A puff of smoke rose from below it. The cap was jerked out of my hand as I heard the report of the shot that had done it.A little after, I heard another crack, louder and nearer—the report of the negro’s piece. I peeped around the tree to witness the effect. A spot of darker red dappled the bright disk of the Indian’s face—the vermilion seemed suddenly encrimsoned. It was but a glance I had, for in the next instant the painted savage doubled back among the bushes.During all the time we had been engaged, the Indians did not appear desirous of advancing upon us—although, certainly, they were superior to us in point of numbers. The party we had been pursuing must have been joined by another one as numerous as itself. Not less than a hundred were now upon the ground, and had been so from the beginning of the fight. But for this accession they would hardly have dared to attack us, and but for it we should have charged them at once, and tried the chances of a hand-to-hand conflict. We had seen, however, that they far outnumbered us, and were content to hold our position.They appeared satisfied with theirs, though by closing rapidly inwards they might have overpowered us. After all, their ranks would have been smartly thinned before reaching our line, and some of their best men would have fallen. No men calculate such chances more carefully than Indians; and perhaps none are inferior to them in charging a foe that is entrenched. The weakest fort—even the most flimsy stockade—can be easily defended against the red warriors of the West.Their intention having been foiled by the failure of their first charge, they appeared not to contemplate another—contented to hold us in siege—for to that situation were we, in reality, reduced. After a time, their firing became less frequent, until it nearly ceased altogether, but we knew that this did not indicate any intention to retreat; on the contrary, we saw some of them kindling fires afar off in the woods, no doubt with the design of cooking their breakfasts.There was not a man among us who did not envy them their occupation.
For fall two hours this singular conflict was continued, without any material change in the disposition of the combatants. Now and then an odd man might be seen darting from tree to tree, with a velocity as if projected from a howitzer—his object either to find a trunk that would afford better cover to his own body, or a point that would uncover the body—or a portion of it—of some marked antagonist.
The trunks were barely thick enough to screen us; some kept on their feet, taking the precaution to make themselves as “small” as possible, by standing rigidly erect, and keeping their bodies carefully aligned. Others, perceiving that the pines “bulged” a little at the roots, had thrown themselves flat upon their faces, and in this attitude continued to load and fire.
The sun was long since ascending the heavens—for it had been near sunrise when the conflict began. There was no obscurity to hide either party from the view of the other, though in this the Indians had a slight advantage on account of the opening in our rear. But even in the depth of the forest there was light enough for our purpose. Many of the dead fascicles had fallen—the ground was deeply bedded with them—and those that still drooped overhead formed but a gauzy screen against the brilliant beams of the sun. There was light sufficient to enable our marksmen to “sight” any object as large as a dollar piece, that chanced to be within range of their rifles. A hand—a portion of an arm—a leg badly aligned—a jaw bone projecting outside the bark—a pair of shoulders too brawny for the trunk that should have concealed them—even the outstanding skirt of a dress, was sure to draw a shot—perhaps two—from one side or the other. A man to have exposed his full face for ten seconds would have been almost certain of receiving a bullet through his skull, for on both sides there were sharpshooters.
Thus two hours had passed, and without any great injury received or inflicted by either party. There were some “casualties,” however, and every now and then a fresh incident added to the number, and kept up the hostile excitement. We had several wounded—one or two severely—and one man killed. The latter was a favourite with our men, and his death strengthened their desire for vengeance.
The Indian loss must have been greater. We had seen several fall to our shots. In our party were some of the best marksmen in Florida. Hickman was heard to declare he “had drawed a bead upon three, and wherever he drawed his bead he was dog-goned sartin to put his bullet.” Weatherford had shot his man, killing him on the spot. This was beyond conjecture, for the dead body of the savage could be seen lying between two trees where it had fallen. His comrades feared that in dragging it away, they might expose themselves to that terrible rifle.
The Indians had not yet learned that refinement of civilised warriors, who seek from their opponents a temporary truce in which to pay an empty compliment to the dead, while with cunning eye and wary step they seize the opportunity to scrutinise where to make the most effectual onslaught upon the living.
After a time, the Indians began to practise a chapter of tactics, which proved that in this mode of warfare they were our superiors. Instead of one, two of them would place themselves behind a tree, or two trees that stood close together, and as soon as one fired, the other was ready to take aim. Of course, the man at whom the first shot had been discharged, fancying hisvis-à-visnow carried an empty gun, would be less careful about his person, and likely enough to expose it.
This proved to be the case, for before the bit of craft was discovered, several of our men received wounds, and one man of our number was shot dead by his tree. This ruse freshly exasperated our men—the more so that they could not reciprocate the strategy, since our numbers were not sufficient to have taken post by “twos.” It would have thinned our line so that we could not have defended the position.
We were compelled, therefore, to remain as we were—more careful not to expose ourselves to the cunning “fence” of our enemies.
There was one case, however, in which the savages were paid back in their own coin. Black Jake and I were partners in thisrevanche.
We occupied two trees almost close together; and had for antagonists no less than three savages, who had been all the morning most active in firing at us. I had received one of their bullets through the sleeve of my coat, and Jake had the dandruff driven out of his wool, but neither of us had been wounded.
During the contest I had got “sight” upon one, and fancied I had spilled his blood. I could not be certain, however, as the three were well sheltered behind a clump of trees, and covered, also, by a thicket of dwarf palmettoes.
One of these Indians, Jake wished particularly to kill. He was a huge savage—much larger than either of the others. He wore a head-dress of king vulture plumes, and was otherwise distinguished by his costume. In all probability, a chief. What was most peculiar in this man’s appearance was his face, for we could see it at intervals, though only for an instant at a time. It was covered all over with a scarlet pigment—vermilion it was—and shone through the trees like a counterpart of the sun.
It was not this, however, that had rendered the Indian an object of Jake’s vengeance. The cause was different. The savage had noticed Jake’s peculiar colour, and had taunted him with it several times during the fray. He spoke in his native tongue, but Jake comprehended it well enough. He was spited—exasperated—and vowed vengeance against the scarlet chief.
I contrived at length to give him an opportunity. Cunningly adjusting my cap, so that it appeared to contain my head, I caused it to protrude a little around the trunk of the tree. It was an old and well-known ruse, but for all that, in Jake’s phraseology, it “fooled” the Indian.
The red countenance appeared above the palmettoes. A puff of smoke rose from below it. The cap was jerked out of my hand as I heard the report of the shot that had done it.
A little after, I heard another crack, louder and nearer—the report of the negro’s piece. I peeped around the tree to witness the effect. A spot of darker red dappled the bright disk of the Indian’s face—the vermilion seemed suddenly encrimsoned. It was but a glance I had, for in the next instant the painted savage doubled back among the bushes.
During all the time we had been engaged, the Indians did not appear desirous of advancing upon us—although, certainly, they were superior to us in point of numbers. The party we had been pursuing must have been joined by another one as numerous as itself. Not less than a hundred were now upon the ground, and had been so from the beginning of the fight. But for this accession they would hardly have dared to attack us, and but for it we should have charged them at once, and tried the chances of a hand-to-hand conflict. We had seen, however, that they far outnumbered us, and were content to hold our position.
They appeared satisfied with theirs, though by closing rapidly inwards they might have overpowered us. After all, their ranks would have been smartly thinned before reaching our line, and some of their best men would have fallen. No men calculate such chances more carefully than Indians; and perhaps none are inferior to them in charging a foe that is entrenched. The weakest fort—even the most flimsy stockade—can be easily defended against the red warriors of the West.
Their intention having been foiled by the failure of their first charge, they appeared not to contemplate another—contented to hold us in siege—for to that situation were we, in reality, reduced. After a time, their firing became less frequent, until it nearly ceased altogether, but we knew that this did not indicate any intention to retreat; on the contrary, we saw some of them kindling fires afar off in the woods, no doubt with the design of cooking their breakfasts.
There was not a man among us who did not envy them their occupation.
Chapter Eighty Five.A Meagre Meal.To us the partial armistice was of no advantage. We dared not stir from the trees. Men were athirst, and water within sight—the pond glittering in the centre of the glade. Better there had been none, since they dared not approach it. It only served to tantalise them. The Indians were seen to eat, without leaving their lines. A few waited on the rest, and brought them food from the fires. Women were observed passing backwards and forwards, almost within range of our guns.We were, all of us, hungry as famished wolves. We had been twenty-four hours without tasting food—even longer than that—and the sight of our enemies, feasting before our very faces, gave a keen edge to our appetites, at the same time rekindling our indignation. They even taunted us on our starving condition.Old Hickman had grown furious. He was heard to declare that he “war hungry enough to eat a Indyen raw, if he could git his teeth upon one,” and he looked as if he would have carried but the threat.“The sight o’ cussed red skins,” continued he, “swallerin’ hul collops o’ meat, while Christyian whites haint neery a bone to pick, are enough to rile one to the last jeint in the eends o’ the toes—by the tarnal allygator, it ar!”It is a bare place, indeed, where such men as Hickman and Weatherford will not find resources; and the energies of both were now bent upon discovery. They were seen scratching among the dead needles of the pines, that, as already stated, formed a thick layer over the surface of the ground.Of what were they in search? worms?—grubs?—larvae or lizards? One might have fancied so; but no—it had not come to that. Hungry as they were, they were not yet ready to feed upon thereptilia. A better resource had suggested itself to them; and shortly after, an exclamation of joy announced that they had discovered the object of their search.Hickman was seen holding up a brownish coloured mass, of conical form, somewhat resembling a large pineapple. It was a cone of the broom pine, easily recognisable by its size and shape.“Now, fellers!” shouted he, in a voice loud enough to be heard by all around the glade, “jest gather a wheen o’ these hyar tree-eggs, and break ’em open; ye’ll find kurnels inside o’ ’em that aint bad chawin’—they aint equal to hog an’ hominy; but we hant got hog an’ hominy, and these hyar’ll sarve in a pinch, I reck’n. Ef ye’ll only root among the rubbage aroun’ ye, ye’ll scare up a wheen—jest try it.”The suggestion was eagerly adopted, and in an instant “all hands” were seen scratching up the dead leaves in search of pine cones.Some of these were found lying upon the surface, near at hand, and were easily procured, while others, were jerked within reach by ramrods or the barrels of rifles. Less or more, every one was enabled to obtain a supply.The cones were quickly cut open, and the kernels greedily devoured. It was by no means an inferior food; for the seeds of the broom pine are both nutritive and pleasant to the palate. Their quality gave universal satisfaction—it was only in quantity they were deficient, for there was not enough of them within reach to stay the cravings of fifty stomachs hungry as ours were.There was some joking over this dry breakfast, and the more reckless of the party laughed while they ate, as though it had been a nutting frolic. But the laughter was short-lived—our situation was too serious to admit of much levity.It was an interval while the firing of the enemy had slackened, almost ceased; and we had ample time to consider the perils of our position. Up to this time, it had not occurred to us that, in reality, we werebesieged. The hurried excitement of the conflict had left us no time for reflection. We only looked upon the affair as a skirmish that must soon come to an end, by one side or the other proving victorious.The contest no longer wore that look; it had assumed the aspect of a regular siege. We were encompassed on every side—shut up as if in a fortress, but not half so secure. Our only stockade was the circle of standing trees, and we had no blockhouse to retire to—no shelter in the event of being wounded. Each man was a sentry, with atourof guard duty that must be continual!Our situation was indeed perilous in the extreme. There was no prospect of escape. Our horses had all galloped off long since; one only remained, lying dead by the side of the pond. It had been killed by a bullet, but it was not from the enemy. Hickman had fired the shot; I saw him, and wondered at the time what could be his object. The hunter had his reasons, but it was only afterwards I learned them.We could hold our ground against five times our number—almost any odds—but how about food? Thirst we did not fear. At night we should have relief. Under the cover of night we could approach the pond, one after another.We had no apprehension from want of water; but how about food? The cones we had gathered were but a bite; there were no more within reach; we must yield to hunger—to famine.We conversed with one another freely, as if face to face. We canvassed our prospects; they were gloomy enough.How was the affair to end? How were we to be delivered from our perilous situation? These were the questions that occupied the thoughts of all.We could think of only one plan that offered a plausible chance of escape; and that was to hold our position until nightfall, make a sally in the darkness, and fight our way through the lines of our foes. It would be running the gauntlet; a few of us would certainly fall—perhaps many—but some would escape. To stay where we were would be to expose our whole party to certain sacrifice. There was no likelihood of our being rescued by others; no one entertained such a hope. As soon as hunger overcame us, we should be massacred to a man.Rather than patiently abide such a fate, we resolved, while yet strong, to risk all chances, and fight our way through the enemy’s line. Darkness would favour the attempt; and thus resolved, we awaited the going down of the sun.
To us the partial armistice was of no advantage. We dared not stir from the trees. Men were athirst, and water within sight—the pond glittering in the centre of the glade. Better there had been none, since they dared not approach it. It only served to tantalise them. The Indians were seen to eat, without leaving their lines. A few waited on the rest, and brought them food from the fires. Women were observed passing backwards and forwards, almost within range of our guns.
We were, all of us, hungry as famished wolves. We had been twenty-four hours without tasting food—even longer than that—and the sight of our enemies, feasting before our very faces, gave a keen edge to our appetites, at the same time rekindling our indignation. They even taunted us on our starving condition.
Old Hickman had grown furious. He was heard to declare that he “war hungry enough to eat a Indyen raw, if he could git his teeth upon one,” and he looked as if he would have carried but the threat.
“The sight o’ cussed red skins,” continued he, “swallerin’ hul collops o’ meat, while Christyian whites haint neery a bone to pick, are enough to rile one to the last jeint in the eends o’ the toes—by the tarnal allygator, it ar!”
It is a bare place, indeed, where such men as Hickman and Weatherford will not find resources; and the energies of both were now bent upon discovery. They were seen scratching among the dead needles of the pines, that, as already stated, formed a thick layer over the surface of the ground.
Of what were they in search? worms?—grubs?—larvae or lizards? One might have fancied so; but no—it had not come to that. Hungry as they were, they were not yet ready to feed upon thereptilia. A better resource had suggested itself to them; and shortly after, an exclamation of joy announced that they had discovered the object of their search.
Hickman was seen holding up a brownish coloured mass, of conical form, somewhat resembling a large pineapple. It was a cone of the broom pine, easily recognisable by its size and shape.
“Now, fellers!” shouted he, in a voice loud enough to be heard by all around the glade, “jest gather a wheen o’ these hyar tree-eggs, and break ’em open; ye’ll find kurnels inside o’ ’em that aint bad chawin’—they aint equal to hog an’ hominy; but we hant got hog an’ hominy, and these hyar’ll sarve in a pinch, I reck’n. Ef ye’ll only root among the rubbage aroun’ ye, ye’ll scare up a wheen—jest try it.”
The suggestion was eagerly adopted, and in an instant “all hands” were seen scratching up the dead leaves in search of pine cones.
Some of these were found lying upon the surface, near at hand, and were easily procured, while others, were jerked within reach by ramrods or the barrels of rifles. Less or more, every one was enabled to obtain a supply.
The cones were quickly cut open, and the kernels greedily devoured. It was by no means an inferior food; for the seeds of the broom pine are both nutritive and pleasant to the palate. Their quality gave universal satisfaction—it was only in quantity they were deficient, for there was not enough of them within reach to stay the cravings of fifty stomachs hungry as ours were.
There was some joking over this dry breakfast, and the more reckless of the party laughed while they ate, as though it had been a nutting frolic. But the laughter was short-lived—our situation was too serious to admit of much levity.
It was an interval while the firing of the enemy had slackened, almost ceased; and we had ample time to consider the perils of our position. Up to this time, it had not occurred to us that, in reality, we werebesieged. The hurried excitement of the conflict had left us no time for reflection. We only looked upon the affair as a skirmish that must soon come to an end, by one side or the other proving victorious.
The contest no longer wore that look; it had assumed the aspect of a regular siege. We were encompassed on every side—shut up as if in a fortress, but not half so secure. Our only stockade was the circle of standing trees, and we had no blockhouse to retire to—no shelter in the event of being wounded. Each man was a sentry, with atourof guard duty that must be continual!
Our situation was indeed perilous in the extreme. There was no prospect of escape. Our horses had all galloped off long since; one only remained, lying dead by the side of the pond. It had been killed by a bullet, but it was not from the enemy. Hickman had fired the shot; I saw him, and wondered at the time what could be his object. The hunter had his reasons, but it was only afterwards I learned them.
We could hold our ground against five times our number—almost any odds—but how about food? Thirst we did not fear. At night we should have relief. Under the cover of night we could approach the pond, one after another.
We had no apprehension from want of water; but how about food? The cones we had gathered were but a bite; there were no more within reach; we must yield to hunger—to famine.
We conversed with one another freely, as if face to face. We canvassed our prospects; they were gloomy enough.
How was the affair to end? How were we to be delivered from our perilous situation? These were the questions that occupied the thoughts of all.
We could think of only one plan that offered a plausible chance of escape; and that was to hold our position until nightfall, make a sally in the darkness, and fight our way through the lines of our foes. It would be running the gauntlet; a few of us would certainly fall—perhaps many—but some would escape. To stay where we were would be to expose our whole party to certain sacrifice. There was no likelihood of our being rescued by others; no one entertained such a hope. As soon as hunger overcame us, we should be massacred to a man.
Rather than patiently abide such a fate, we resolved, while yet strong, to risk all chances, and fight our way through the enemy’s line. Darkness would favour the attempt; and thus resolved, we awaited the going down of the sun.
Chapter Eighty Six.A Bullet from Behind.If we thought the time long, it was not from want of occupation. During the day, the Indians at intervals renewed their attack; and notwithstanding all our vigilance, we had another man killed, and several slightly wounded.In these skirmishes, the savages showed a determination to get nearer our line, by making their advances from tree to tree.We perfectly understood their object in this. It was not that they had any design of closing with us, though their numbers might have justified them in doing so. They were now far more numerous than at the beginning of the fight. Another fresh band had arrived upon the ground—for we had heard the shouts of welcome that hailed their coming.But even with this accession of strength, they did not design to come to the encounter of sharp weapons. Their purpose in advancing was different. They had perceived that by getting close to our convex line, they would be near enough to fire upon those on the opposite side of the glade, who, of course, were then exposed to their aim.To prevent this, therefore, became our chief object and anxiety, and it was necessary to redouble our vigilance.We did so, regarding with scrutinous glances the trunks behind which we knew the savages were skulking, and eyeing them as keenly as the ferret hunter watches the burrows of the warren.They had but slight success in their endeavours to advance. It cost them several of their boldest men; for the moment one of them essayed to rush forwards, the cracks of three or four rifles could be heard; and one of these was sure to deliver its messenger of death. The Indians soon became tired of attempting this dangerous manoeuvre; and as evening approached, appeared to give up their design, and content themselves by holding us in siege.We were glad when the sun set and the twilight came on; it would soon pass, and we should be able to reach the water. The men were maddened with thirst, for they had been suffering from it throughout the whole day. During the daylight many would have gone to the pond, had they not been restrained by the precepts of the more prudent, and perhaps more effectually by an example of which they had all been witnesses. One, more reckless than the rest, had risked the attempt; he succeeded in reaching the water, drank to satisfaction, and was hastening back to his post, when a shot from the savages stretched him dead upon the sward. He was the man last killed; and his lifeless body now lay in the open ground, before the eyes of his comrades.It proved a warning to all; for, despite the torture of thirst, no one cared to repeat the rash experiment.At length the welcome darkness descended—only a glimmer of grey light lingered in the leaden sky. Men in twos and threes were now seen approaching the pond. Like spectres they moved, silently gliding over the open ground, but in stooping attitudes, and heads bent eagerly forwards in the direction of the water.We did not all go at once—though all were alike eager to quench their thirst—but the admonitions of the old hunter had their effect: and the more continent agreed to bear their pangs a little longer, and wait till the others should get back to their posts.It was prudent we so acted; for, at this crisis, the Indians—no doubt suspecting what was going forward—renewed their fire with fresh energy.Whole volleys were discharged inwards and without aim, the darkness must have hindered an aim, but for all that, the bullets buzzed past our ears as thickly as hornets upon their flight. There was a cry raised that the enemy was closing upon us; and those who had gone to the water rushed rapidly back—some even without staying to take the much desired drink.During all this time I had remained behind my tree. My black follower had also stuck to his post like a faithful sentinel as he was. We talked of relieving one another by turns. Jake insisted that I should “drink first.”I had partially consented to this arrangement, when the fire of the enemy suddenly reopened. Like others, we were apprehensive that the savages were about to advance; and we knew the necessity of keeping them back. We agreed to keep our ground for a little longer.I had “one eye round the trunk of the tree, with my rifle raised” to the level—and was watching for a flash from the gun of some savage, to guide me in my aim—when, all on a sudden, I felt my arm jerked upwards, and my gun shaken out of my grasp.There was no mystery about it. A bullet had passed through my arm, piercing the muscles that upheld it. I had shown too much of my shoulder, and was wounded—nothing more.My first thought was to look to my wound. I felt it distinctly enough, and that enabled me to discover the place. I saw that the ball had passed through the upper part of my right arm, just below the shoulder, and in its further progress had creased the breast of my uniform coat, where its trace was visible in the torn cloth.There was still light sufficient to enable me to make these observations; and furthermore, that a thick stream of blood was gushing from the wound.I commenced unbuttoning my coat, the better to get at the wound. The black was ready by my side, rending his shirt into ribbons.All at once I heard him uttering an exclamation of surprise followed by the words, “Gorramighty! Mass George—dat shot come from ahind!”“From behind?” I shouted, echoing his words, and once more looking to the wound.“Yes, mass, yes—sartin he come from ahind.”Some suspicion of this had already been in my thoughts: I fancied that I had “felt” the shot from that quarter.It had been no fancy. On a more minute examination of the wound, and the torn traces upon the breast of my coat, the direction of the bullet was plainly perceived. Undoubtedly it had struck me from behind.“Good God, Jake!” I exclaimed, “it is so. The Indians have advanced to the other side of the glade—we are lost!”Under this belief, we both faced towards the opening, when at that moment, as if to confirm us, another bullet whistled past our ears, and struck with a heavy “thud” into the tree by which we were kneeling. This one had certainly been fired from the other side of the glade—we saw the flash and heard the report of the gun that had sent it.What had become of our comrades on that side? Had they abandoned their posts, and permitted the Indians to advance? Were they all by the pond, and thus neglecting their duty?These were the first conjectures both of my companion and myself. It was too dark for us to see our men under the shadows of the pines, but neither did they appear in the open ground. We were puzzled, and shouted aloud for an explanation.If there were replies, we heard them not—for at that moment a wild yell from our savage enemies drowned all other cries, and a sight burst upon our eyes that caused the blood to curdle within our veins.Directly in point of the position that Jake and I held, and close to the Indian line, a red flame was seen suddenly springing up from the earth. It rose in successive puffs, each leaping higher and higher, until it had ascended among the tops of the trees. It resembled the flashes of large, masses of gunpowder ignited upon the ground, and such in reality it was. We read the intention at a glance. The Indians were attempting to fire the forest!Their success was almost instantaneous. As soon as the sulphureous blaze came in contact with the withered fascicles of foliage, the latter caught as though they had been tinder; and with the velocity of projected rockets, the flames shot out in different directions, and danced far above the tops of the tree. We looked around; on all sides we beheld a similar spectacle. That wild yell had been the signal for a circle of fires. The glade was encompassed by a wall of flame—red, roaring, and gigantic. The whole forest was on fire. From all points the flame appeared closing inwards, sweeping the trees as if they had been withered grass, and leaping in long spurts high into the heavens.The smoke now came thick and heavy around us—each moment growing denser as the fire approached—while the heated atmosphere was no longer endurable. Already it stifled our breathing.Destruction stared us in the face, and men shouted in despair. But the roar of the burning pines drowned their voices, and one could not hear even his comrade who was nearest. Their looks were significant—for before the smoke fell, the glade was lit up with intense brilliance, and we could see one another with unnatural distinctness. In the faces of all appeared the anxiety of awe.Not long continued I to share it. Too much blood had escaped from my neglected wound; I tried to make into the open ground, as I saw others doing; but, before I got two steps from the tree, my limbs tottered beneath me, and I fell fainting to the earth.
If we thought the time long, it was not from want of occupation. During the day, the Indians at intervals renewed their attack; and notwithstanding all our vigilance, we had another man killed, and several slightly wounded.
In these skirmishes, the savages showed a determination to get nearer our line, by making their advances from tree to tree.
We perfectly understood their object in this. It was not that they had any design of closing with us, though their numbers might have justified them in doing so. They were now far more numerous than at the beginning of the fight. Another fresh band had arrived upon the ground—for we had heard the shouts of welcome that hailed their coming.
But even with this accession of strength, they did not design to come to the encounter of sharp weapons. Their purpose in advancing was different. They had perceived that by getting close to our convex line, they would be near enough to fire upon those on the opposite side of the glade, who, of course, were then exposed to their aim.
To prevent this, therefore, became our chief object and anxiety, and it was necessary to redouble our vigilance.
We did so, regarding with scrutinous glances the trunks behind which we knew the savages were skulking, and eyeing them as keenly as the ferret hunter watches the burrows of the warren.
They had but slight success in their endeavours to advance. It cost them several of their boldest men; for the moment one of them essayed to rush forwards, the cracks of three or four rifles could be heard; and one of these was sure to deliver its messenger of death. The Indians soon became tired of attempting this dangerous manoeuvre; and as evening approached, appeared to give up their design, and content themselves by holding us in siege.
We were glad when the sun set and the twilight came on; it would soon pass, and we should be able to reach the water. The men were maddened with thirst, for they had been suffering from it throughout the whole day. During the daylight many would have gone to the pond, had they not been restrained by the precepts of the more prudent, and perhaps more effectually by an example of which they had all been witnesses. One, more reckless than the rest, had risked the attempt; he succeeded in reaching the water, drank to satisfaction, and was hastening back to his post, when a shot from the savages stretched him dead upon the sward. He was the man last killed; and his lifeless body now lay in the open ground, before the eyes of his comrades.
It proved a warning to all; for, despite the torture of thirst, no one cared to repeat the rash experiment.
At length the welcome darkness descended—only a glimmer of grey light lingered in the leaden sky. Men in twos and threes were now seen approaching the pond. Like spectres they moved, silently gliding over the open ground, but in stooping attitudes, and heads bent eagerly forwards in the direction of the water.
We did not all go at once—though all were alike eager to quench their thirst—but the admonitions of the old hunter had their effect: and the more continent agreed to bear their pangs a little longer, and wait till the others should get back to their posts.
It was prudent we so acted; for, at this crisis, the Indians—no doubt suspecting what was going forward—renewed their fire with fresh energy.
Whole volleys were discharged inwards and without aim, the darkness must have hindered an aim, but for all that, the bullets buzzed past our ears as thickly as hornets upon their flight. There was a cry raised that the enemy was closing upon us; and those who had gone to the water rushed rapidly back—some even without staying to take the much desired drink.
During all this time I had remained behind my tree. My black follower had also stuck to his post like a faithful sentinel as he was. We talked of relieving one another by turns. Jake insisted that I should “drink first.”
I had partially consented to this arrangement, when the fire of the enemy suddenly reopened. Like others, we were apprehensive that the savages were about to advance; and we knew the necessity of keeping them back. We agreed to keep our ground for a little longer.
I had “one eye round the trunk of the tree, with my rifle raised” to the level—and was watching for a flash from the gun of some savage, to guide me in my aim—when, all on a sudden, I felt my arm jerked upwards, and my gun shaken out of my grasp.
There was no mystery about it. A bullet had passed through my arm, piercing the muscles that upheld it. I had shown too much of my shoulder, and was wounded—nothing more.
My first thought was to look to my wound. I felt it distinctly enough, and that enabled me to discover the place. I saw that the ball had passed through the upper part of my right arm, just below the shoulder, and in its further progress had creased the breast of my uniform coat, where its trace was visible in the torn cloth.
There was still light sufficient to enable me to make these observations; and furthermore, that a thick stream of blood was gushing from the wound.
I commenced unbuttoning my coat, the better to get at the wound. The black was ready by my side, rending his shirt into ribbons.
All at once I heard him uttering an exclamation of surprise followed by the words, “Gorramighty! Mass George—dat shot come from ahind!”
“From behind?” I shouted, echoing his words, and once more looking to the wound.
“Yes, mass, yes—sartin he come from ahind.”
Some suspicion of this had already been in my thoughts: I fancied that I had “felt” the shot from that quarter.
It had been no fancy. On a more minute examination of the wound, and the torn traces upon the breast of my coat, the direction of the bullet was plainly perceived. Undoubtedly it had struck me from behind.
“Good God, Jake!” I exclaimed, “it is so. The Indians have advanced to the other side of the glade—we are lost!”
Under this belief, we both faced towards the opening, when at that moment, as if to confirm us, another bullet whistled past our ears, and struck with a heavy “thud” into the tree by which we were kneeling. This one had certainly been fired from the other side of the glade—we saw the flash and heard the report of the gun that had sent it.
What had become of our comrades on that side? Had they abandoned their posts, and permitted the Indians to advance? Were they all by the pond, and thus neglecting their duty?
These were the first conjectures both of my companion and myself. It was too dark for us to see our men under the shadows of the pines, but neither did they appear in the open ground. We were puzzled, and shouted aloud for an explanation.
If there were replies, we heard them not—for at that moment a wild yell from our savage enemies drowned all other cries, and a sight burst upon our eyes that caused the blood to curdle within our veins.
Directly in point of the position that Jake and I held, and close to the Indian line, a red flame was seen suddenly springing up from the earth. It rose in successive puffs, each leaping higher and higher, until it had ascended among the tops of the trees. It resembled the flashes of large, masses of gunpowder ignited upon the ground, and such in reality it was. We read the intention at a glance. The Indians were attempting to fire the forest!
Their success was almost instantaneous. As soon as the sulphureous blaze came in contact with the withered fascicles of foliage, the latter caught as though they had been tinder; and with the velocity of projected rockets, the flames shot out in different directions, and danced far above the tops of the tree. We looked around; on all sides we beheld a similar spectacle. That wild yell had been the signal for a circle of fires. The glade was encompassed by a wall of flame—red, roaring, and gigantic. The whole forest was on fire. From all points the flame appeared closing inwards, sweeping the trees as if they had been withered grass, and leaping in long spurts high into the heavens.
The smoke now came thick and heavy around us—each moment growing denser as the fire approached—while the heated atmosphere was no longer endurable. Already it stifled our breathing.
Destruction stared us in the face, and men shouted in despair. But the roar of the burning pines drowned their voices, and one could not hear even his comrade who was nearest. Their looks were significant—for before the smoke fell, the glade was lit up with intense brilliance, and we could see one another with unnatural distinctness. In the faces of all appeared the anxiety of awe.
Not long continued I to share it. Too much blood had escaped from my neglected wound; I tried to make into the open ground, as I saw others doing; but, before I got two steps from the tree, my limbs tottered beneath me, and I fell fainting to the earth.
Chapter Eighty Seven.A Jury Amid the Fire.I had a last thought, as I fell. It was that my life had reached its termination—that in a few seconds my body would be embraced by the flames, and I should horribly perish. The thought drew from me a feeble scream; and with that scream my consciousness forsook me. I was as senseless as if dead—indeed, so far as sensibility went, Iwasdead; and, had the flames at that moment swept over me, I should not have felt them. In all probability, I might have been burned to a cinder without further pain.During the interval of my unconsciousness, I had neither dream nor apparition. By this, I knew that my soul must have forsaken its earthly tenement. It may have been hovering above or around, but it was no longer within me. It had separated from my senses, that were all dead.Dead, but capable of being restored to life, and haply a restorative was at hand, with one capable to administer it.When my soul returned, the first perception I had was that I was up to my neck in water. I was in the pond, and in a recumbent position—my limbs and body under the water, with only my head above the surface, resting against the bank. A man was kneeling over me, himself half immersed.My returning senses soon enabled me to tell who the man was—my faithful Jake. He had my pulse in his hand, and was gazing into my features with silent earnestness. As my open eyes replied to his gaze, he uttered an exclamation of joy, and the words: “Golly, Massa George! you lib—thank be to Gorramighty, you lib. Keep up ya heart, young massa—you’s a gwine to git ober it—sartin, your a gwine to git ober it.”“I hope so, Jake,” was my reply, in a weak voice; but, feeble though it was, it roused the faithful fellow into a transport of delight, and he continued to utter his cheering ejaculations.I was able to raise my head and look around. It was a dread spectacle that on all sides greeted my eyes, and there was plenty of light wherewith to view it. The forest was still on fire, burning with a continued roar, as of thunder or a mighty wind—varied with hissing noises, and loud crackling that resembled the platoon firing of musketry. One might have fancied it a fusilade from the Indians, but that was impossible. They must have long since retreated before the spreading circle of that all-consuming conflagration. There was less flame than when I had last looked upon it; and less smoke in the atmosphere. The dry foliage had been suddenly reduced to a cinder, and the twiggy fragments had fallen to the earth, where they lay in a dense bed of glowing embers.Out of this rose the tall trunks, half stripped of their branches, and all on fire. The crisp scaling bark had caught freely, and the resinous sapwood was readily yielding to the flames. Many had burned far inwards, and looked like huge columns of iron heated to redness. The spectacle presented an aspect of the infernal world.The sense of feeling, too, might have suggested fancies of the same region. The heat was intense to an extreme degree. The atmosphere quivered with the drifting caloric. The hair had crisped upon our heads—our skins had the feel of blistering, and the air we inhaled resembled steam from the ’scape pipe of an engine.Instinctively I looked for my companions. A group of a dozen or more were upon the open ground near the edge of the pond, but these were not all. There should have been nearer fifty. Where were the others? Had they perished in the flames? Where were they?Mechanically, I put the question to Jake.“Thar, massa,” he replied, pointing downwards, “Tha dey be safe yet—ebbery one ob un, I blieve.”I looked across the surface of the pond. Three dozen roundish objects met my glance. They were the heads of my companions. Like myself, their bodies were submerged, most of them to the neck. They had thus placed themselves to shun the smoke, as well as the broiling heat.But the others—they on the bank—why had they not also availed themselves of this cunning precaution? Why were they still standing exposed to the fierce heat, and amid the drifting clouds of smoke?The latter had grown thin and gauze-like. The forms of the men were seen distinctly through it, magnified as in a mist. Like giants they were striding over the ground, and the guns in their hands appeared of colossal proportions. Their gestures were abrupt, and their whole bearing showed they were in a state of half frenzied excitement.It was natural enough amidst the circumstances that surrounded them. I saw they were the principal men of our party. I saw Hickman and Weatherford both gesticulating freely among them. No doubt they were counselling how we should act.This was the conjecture I derived from my first glance; but a further survey of the group convinced me I was in error. It was no deliberation about our future plans. In the lull between the volleys of the crackling pines, I could hear their voices. They were those of men engaged in angry dispute. The voices of Hickman and Weatherford especially reached my ear, and I perceived they were talking in a tone that betokened a high state of indignation.At this moment, the smoke drifting aside, discovered a group still further from the edge of the pond. There were six men standing in threes, and I perceived that the middle man of each three was tightly grasped by the two others. Two of them were prisoners! Were they Indians? two of our enemies, who, amid the confusion of the fire, had strayed into the glade, and been captured?It was my first thought; but at that instant, a jet of flame, shooting upwards, filled the glade with a flood of brilliant light. The little group thus illuminated could be seen as distinctly as by the light of day.I was no longer in doubt about the captives. Their faces were before me, white and ghastly as if with fear. Even the red light failed to tinge them with its colour; but wan as they were, I had no difficulty in recognising them. They were Spence and Williams.
I had a last thought, as I fell. It was that my life had reached its termination—that in a few seconds my body would be embraced by the flames, and I should horribly perish. The thought drew from me a feeble scream; and with that scream my consciousness forsook me. I was as senseless as if dead—indeed, so far as sensibility went, Iwasdead; and, had the flames at that moment swept over me, I should not have felt them. In all probability, I might have been burned to a cinder without further pain.
During the interval of my unconsciousness, I had neither dream nor apparition. By this, I knew that my soul must have forsaken its earthly tenement. It may have been hovering above or around, but it was no longer within me. It had separated from my senses, that were all dead.
Dead, but capable of being restored to life, and haply a restorative was at hand, with one capable to administer it.
When my soul returned, the first perception I had was that I was up to my neck in water. I was in the pond, and in a recumbent position—my limbs and body under the water, with only my head above the surface, resting against the bank. A man was kneeling over me, himself half immersed.
My returning senses soon enabled me to tell who the man was—my faithful Jake. He had my pulse in his hand, and was gazing into my features with silent earnestness. As my open eyes replied to his gaze, he uttered an exclamation of joy, and the words: “Golly, Massa George! you lib—thank be to Gorramighty, you lib. Keep up ya heart, young massa—you’s a gwine to git ober it—sartin, your a gwine to git ober it.”
“I hope so, Jake,” was my reply, in a weak voice; but, feeble though it was, it roused the faithful fellow into a transport of delight, and he continued to utter his cheering ejaculations.
I was able to raise my head and look around. It was a dread spectacle that on all sides greeted my eyes, and there was plenty of light wherewith to view it. The forest was still on fire, burning with a continued roar, as of thunder or a mighty wind—varied with hissing noises, and loud crackling that resembled the platoon firing of musketry. One might have fancied it a fusilade from the Indians, but that was impossible. They must have long since retreated before the spreading circle of that all-consuming conflagration. There was less flame than when I had last looked upon it; and less smoke in the atmosphere. The dry foliage had been suddenly reduced to a cinder, and the twiggy fragments had fallen to the earth, where they lay in a dense bed of glowing embers.
Out of this rose the tall trunks, half stripped of their branches, and all on fire. The crisp scaling bark had caught freely, and the resinous sapwood was readily yielding to the flames. Many had burned far inwards, and looked like huge columns of iron heated to redness. The spectacle presented an aspect of the infernal world.
The sense of feeling, too, might have suggested fancies of the same region. The heat was intense to an extreme degree. The atmosphere quivered with the drifting caloric. The hair had crisped upon our heads—our skins had the feel of blistering, and the air we inhaled resembled steam from the ’scape pipe of an engine.
Instinctively I looked for my companions. A group of a dozen or more were upon the open ground near the edge of the pond, but these were not all. There should have been nearer fifty. Where were the others? Had they perished in the flames? Where were they?
Mechanically, I put the question to Jake.
“Thar, massa,” he replied, pointing downwards, “Tha dey be safe yet—ebbery one ob un, I blieve.”
I looked across the surface of the pond. Three dozen roundish objects met my glance. They were the heads of my companions. Like myself, their bodies were submerged, most of them to the neck. They had thus placed themselves to shun the smoke, as well as the broiling heat.
But the others—they on the bank—why had they not also availed themselves of this cunning precaution? Why were they still standing exposed to the fierce heat, and amid the drifting clouds of smoke?
The latter had grown thin and gauze-like. The forms of the men were seen distinctly through it, magnified as in a mist. Like giants they were striding over the ground, and the guns in their hands appeared of colossal proportions. Their gestures were abrupt, and their whole bearing showed they were in a state of half frenzied excitement.
It was natural enough amidst the circumstances that surrounded them. I saw they were the principal men of our party. I saw Hickman and Weatherford both gesticulating freely among them. No doubt they were counselling how we should act.
This was the conjecture I derived from my first glance; but a further survey of the group convinced me I was in error. It was no deliberation about our future plans. In the lull between the volleys of the crackling pines, I could hear their voices. They were those of men engaged in angry dispute. The voices of Hickman and Weatherford especially reached my ear, and I perceived they were talking in a tone that betokened a high state of indignation.
At this moment, the smoke drifting aside, discovered a group still further from the edge of the pond. There were six men standing in threes, and I perceived that the middle man of each three was tightly grasped by the two others. Two of them were prisoners! Were they Indians? two of our enemies, who, amid the confusion of the fire, had strayed into the glade, and been captured?
It was my first thought; but at that instant, a jet of flame, shooting upwards, filled the glade with a flood of brilliant light. The little group thus illuminated could be seen as distinctly as by the light of day.
I was no longer in doubt about the captives. Their faces were before me, white and ghastly as if with fear. Even the red light failed to tinge them with its colour; but wan as they were, I had no difficulty in recognising them. They were Spence and Williams.
Chapter Eighty Eight.Quick Executioners.I turned to the black for an explanation, but before he could make reply to my interrogatory, I more than half comprehended the situation.My own plight admonished me. I remembered my wound—I remembered that I had received it frombehind. I remembered that the bullet that struck the tree, came from the same quarter. I thought we had been indebted to the savages for the shots; but no, worse savages—Spence and Williams were the men who had fired them!The reflection was awful—the motive mysterious.And now returned to my thoughts the occurrences of the preceding night—the conduct of these two fellows in the forest—the suspicious hints thrown out by old Hickman and his comrades, and far beyond the preceding night, other circumstances, well marked upon my memory, rose freshly before me.Here again was the hand of Arens Ringgold. O God, to think that this arch-monster—“Dar only a tryin’ them two daam raskell,” said Jake, in reply to the interrogatory I had put, “daat’s what they am about, Mass’r George, dat’s all.”“Who?” I asked mechanically, for I already knew who were meant by the “two daam raskell.”“Lor, Massr George? doant you see um ober yonder—Spence an’ William—golly! tha’r boaf as white as peeled pumpkins! It war them that shot you, an’ no Indians, arter all. I knowd dat from tha fust, an’ I tol’ Mass’ Hickman de same; but Mass’ Hickman ’clare he see um for hisself—an’ so too Mass’ Weatherford—boaf seed ’um fire tha two shots. Thar a tryin’ ’on ’em for tha lives, dat’s what tha men am doin’.”With strange interest I once more turned my eyes outward, and gazed, first at one group, then the other. The fire was now making less noise—the sapwood having nearly burnt out—and the detonations caused by the escape of the pent gases from the cellular cavities of the wood had grown less frequent. Voices could be heard over the glade, those of the improvised jury.I listened attentively. I perceived that a dispute was still raging between them. They were not agreed upon their verdict—some advocating the immediate death of the prisoners; while others, adverse to such prompt punishment, would have kept them for further inquiry.There were some who could not credit their guilt—the deed was too atrocious, and hence improbable; under what motive could they have committed it? At such a time, too, with their own lives in direst jeopardy?“Ne’er a bit o’ jeppurdy,” exclaimed Hickman in reply to the interrogatory, “ne’er a bit o’ jeppurdy. Thar haint been a shot fired at eyther on ’em this hul day. I tell ye, fellers, thar’s a un’erstannin’ ’atween them an’ the Indyens. Thar no better’n spies, an’ thar last night’s work proves it; an’ but for the breakin’ out of the fire, which they didn’t expect, they’d been off arter firin’ the shots. ’Twar all bamfoozle about thar gettin’ lost—them fellers git lost, adeed! Both on ’em knows these hyar wuds as well as the anymals thet lives in ’em. Thum both been hyar many’s the time, an’ a wheen too often, I reckin. Lost! wagh! Did yez iver hear o’ a coon gittin’ lost?” Some one made reply, I did not hear what was said, but the voice of the hunter again sounded distinct and clear.“Ye palaver about thar motive—I s’pose you mean thar reezuns for sech bloody bizness! Them, I acknullidge, aint clar, but I hev my sespicions too. I aint a gwine to say who or what. Thar’s some things as mout be, an’ thar’s some as moutn’t; but I’ve seed queer doin’s in these last five yeern, an’ I’ve heern o’ others; an if what I’ve heern be’s true—what I’ve seed I know to be—then I tell ye, fellers, thar’s a bigger than eyther o’ thesen at the bottom o’ the hul bizness—that’s what thar be.”“But do you really say you saw them take aim in that direction; are you sure of that?”This inquiry was put by a tall man who stood in the midst of the disputing party—a man of advanced age, and of somewhat severe aspect. I knew him as one of our neighbours in the settlement—an extensive planter—who had some intercourse with my uncle, and out of friendship for our family had joined the pursuit.“Sure,” echoed the old hunter with emphasis, and not without some show of indignation; “didn’t me an’ Jim Weatherford see ’em wi’ our own two eyes? an’ thar good enough, I reckin, to mark sich varmints as them. We’d been a watchin’ ’em all day, for we knowd thar war somethin’ ugly afoot. We seed ’em both fire acrost the gleed—an’ sight plum-centre at young Randolph; besides, the black himself sez that the two shots comed that away. What more proof kin you want?”At this moment I heard a voice by my side. It was that of Jake, calling out to the crowd.“Mass’ Hickman,” cried he, “if dey want more proof, I b’lieve dis nigger can gib it. One ob de bullets miss young mass’r, an’ stuck in da tree; yonner’s the verry tree itself, that we wa behind, it ain’t burn yet, it no take fire; maybe, gen’lem’n, you mout find tha bullet tha still? maybe you tell what gun he ’longs to?”The suggestion was instantly adopted. Several men ran towards the tree behind which Jake and I had held post; and which, with a few others—near it, for some reason or other—had escaped the flames, and still stood with trunks unscathed in the foreground of the conflagration.Jake ran with the rest and pointed out the spot.The bark was scrutinised, the hole found, and the leaden witness carefully picked out. It was still in its globe shape, slightly torn by the grooves of the barrel. It was a rifle ballet, and one of the very largest size.It was known that Spence carried a piece of large calibre. But the guns of all the party were paraded, and their measure taken. The bullet would enter the barrel of no other rifle save that of Spence.The conclusion was evident—the verdict was no longer delayed. It was unanimous, that the prisoners should die.“An’ let ’em die like dogs as they are,” cried Hickman, indignantly raising his voice, and at the same time bringing his piece to the level, “Now, Jim Weatherford! look to yer sights! Let ’em go thar, fellers! an’ git yerselves out o’ the way. We’ll gie ’em a chance for thar cussed lives. They may take to yonner trees if they like, an’ git ’customed to it—for they’ll be in a hotter place than that afore long. Let ’em go I let ’em go! I say, or by the tarnal I’ll fire into the middle o’ ye!”The men who had hold of the prisoners, perceiving the menacing attitude of the hunter, and fearing that he might make good his words, suddenly dropped their charge, and ran back towards the group of jurors.The two wretches appeared bewildered. Terror seemed to hold them speechless, and fast glued to the spot. Neither made any effort to leave the ground. Perhaps the complete impossibility of escape was apparent to them, and prostrated all power to make the attempt. Of course, they could not have got away from the glade. Their taking to the trees was only mockery on the part of the indignant hunter. In ten seconds, they would have been roasted among the blazing branches.It was a moment of breathless suspense. Only one voice was heard—that of Hickman:“Now Jim, you sight Spence—gie tother to me.” This was said in a hurried undertone, and the words had scarcely passed, when the two rifles cracked simultaneously.The execution was over. The renegades had ceased to live.This speedy punishment of convicted rascals is a severe commentary upon the more refined proceedings of our judicial trials, in which every effort is made, and every argument strained to enable the culprit—known to be guilty—to escape the punishment due to his crimes, a result which is generally effected, either by some legal technicality or political machinery.
I turned to the black for an explanation, but before he could make reply to my interrogatory, I more than half comprehended the situation.
My own plight admonished me. I remembered my wound—I remembered that I had received it frombehind. I remembered that the bullet that struck the tree, came from the same quarter. I thought we had been indebted to the savages for the shots; but no, worse savages—Spence and Williams were the men who had fired them!
The reflection was awful—the motive mysterious.
And now returned to my thoughts the occurrences of the preceding night—the conduct of these two fellows in the forest—the suspicious hints thrown out by old Hickman and his comrades, and far beyond the preceding night, other circumstances, well marked upon my memory, rose freshly before me.
Here again was the hand of Arens Ringgold. O God, to think that this arch-monster—
“Dar only a tryin’ them two daam raskell,” said Jake, in reply to the interrogatory I had put, “daat’s what they am about, Mass’r George, dat’s all.”
“Who?” I asked mechanically, for I already knew who were meant by the “two daam raskell.”
“Lor, Massr George? doant you see um ober yonder—Spence an’ William—golly! tha’r boaf as white as peeled pumpkins! It war them that shot you, an’ no Indians, arter all. I knowd dat from tha fust, an’ I tol’ Mass’ Hickman de same; but Mass’ Hickman ’clare he see um for hisself—an’ so too Mass’ Weatherford—boaf seed ’um fire tha two shots. Thar a tryin’ ’on ’em for tha lives, dat’s what tha men am doin’.”
With strange interest I once more turned my eyes outward, and gazed, first at one group, then the other. The fire was now making less noise—the sapwood having nearly burnt out—and the detonations caused by the escape of the pent gases from the cellular cavities of the wood had grown less frequent. Voices could be heard over the glade, those of the improvised jury.
I listened attentively. I perceived that a dispute was still raging between them. They were not agreed upon their verdict—some advocating the immediate death of the prisoners; while others, adverse to such prompt punishment, would have kept them for further inquiry.
There were some who could not credit their guilt—the deed was too atrocious, and hence improbable; under what motive could they have committed it? At such a time, too, with their own lives in direst jeopardy?
“Ne’er a bit o’ jeppurdy,” exclaimed Hickman in reply to the interrogatory, “ne’er a bit o’ jeppurdy. Thar haint been a shot fired at eyther on ’em this hul day. I tell ye, fellers, thar’s a un’erstannin’ ’atween them an’ the Indyens. Thar no better’n spies, an’ thar last night’s work proves it; an’ but for the breakin’ out of the fire, which they didn’t expect, they’d been off arter firin’ the shots. ’Twar all bamfoozle about thar gettin’ lost—them fellers git lost, adeed! Both on ’em knows these hyar wuds as well as the anymals thet lives in ’em. Thum both been hyar many’s the time, an’ a wheen too often, I reckin. Lost! wagh! Did yez iver hear o’ a coon gittin’ lost?” Some one made reply, I did not hear what was said, but the voice of the hunter again sounded distinct and clear.
“Ye palaver about thar motive—I s’pose you mean thar reezuns for sech bloody bizness! Them, I acknullidge, aint clar, but I hev my sespicions too. I aint a gwine to say who or what. Thar’s some things as mout be, an’ thar’s some as moutn’t; but I’ve seed queer doin’s in these last five yeern, an’ I’ve heern o’ others; an if what I’ve heern be’s true—what I’ve seed I know to be—then I tell ye, fellers, thar’s a bigger than eyther o’ thesen at the bottom o’ the hul bizness—that’s what thar be.”
“But do you really say you saw them take aim in that direction; are you sure of that?”
This inquiry was put by a tall man who stood in the midst of the disputing party—a man of advanced age, and of somewhat severe aspect. I knew him as one of our neighbours in the settlement—an extensive planter—who had some intercourse with my uncle, and out of friendship for our family had joined the pursuit.
“Sure,” echoed the old hunter with emphasis, and not without some show of indignation; “didn’t me an’ Jim Weatherford see ’em wi’ our own two eyes? an’ thar good enough, I reckin, to mark sich varmints as them. We’d been a watchin’ ’em all day, for we knowd thar war somethin’ ugly afoot. We seed ’em both fire acrost the gleed—an’ sight plum-centre at young Randolph; besides, the black himself sez that the two shots comed that away. What more proof kin you want?”
At this moment I heard a voice by my side. It was that of Jake, calling out to the crowd.
“Mass’ Hickman,” cried he, “if dey want more proof, I b’lieve dis nigger can gib it. One ob de bullets miss young mass’r, an’ stuck in da tree; yonner’s the verry tree itself, that we wa behind, it ain’t burn yet, it no take fire; maybe, gen’lem’n, you mout find tha bullet tha still? maybe you tell what gun he ’longs to?”
The suggestion was instantly adopted. Several men ran towards the tree behind which Jake and I had held post; and which, with a few others—near it, for some reason or other—had escaped the flames, and still stood with trunks unscathed in the foreground of the conflagration.
Jake ran with the rest and pointed out the spot.
The bark was scrutinised, the hole found, and the leaden witness carefully picked out. It was still in its globe shape, slightly torn by the grooves of the barrel. It was a rifle ballet, and one of the very largest size.
It was known that Spence carried a piece of large calibre. But the guns of all the party were paraded, and their measure taken. The bullet would enter the barrel of no other rifle save that of Spence.
The conclusion was evident—the verdict was no longer delayed. It was unanimous, that the prisoners should die.
“An’ let ’em die like dogs as they are,” cried Hickman, indignantly raising his voice, and at the same time bringing his piece to the level, “Now, Jim Weatherford! look to yer sights! Let ’em go thar, fellers! an’ git yerselves out o’ the way. We’ll gie ’em a chance for thar cussed lives. They may take to yonner trees if they like, an’ git ’customed to it—for they’ll be in a hotter place than that afore long. Let ’em go I let ’em go! I say, or by the tarnal I’ll fire into the middle o’ ye!”
The men who had hold of the prisoners, perceiving the menacing attitude of the hunter, and fearing that he might make good his words, suddenly dropped their charge, and ran back towards the group of jurors.
The two wretches appeared bewildered. Terror seemed to hold them speechless, and fast glued to the spot. Neither made any effort to leave the ground. Perhaps the complete impossibility of escape was apparent to them, and prostrated all power to make the attempt. Of course, they could not have got away from the glade. Their taking to the trees was only mockery on the part of the indignant hunter. In ten seconds, they would have been roasted among the blazing branches.
It was a moment of breathless suspense. Only one voice was heard—that of Hickman:
“Now Jim, you sight Spence—gie tother to me.” This was said in a hurried undertone, and the words had scarcely passed, when the two rifles cracked simultaneously.
The execution was over. The renegades had ceased to live.
This speedy punishment of convicted rascals is a severe commentary upon the more refined proceedings of our judicial trials, in which every effort is made, and every argument strained to enable the culprit—known to be guilty—to escape the punishment due to his crimes, a result which is generally effected, either by some legal technicality or political machinery.
Chapter Eighty Nine.An Enemy Unlooked For.As, upon the stage of a theatre, the farce follows the grand melodrama, this tragic scene was succeeded by an incident ludicrous to an extreme degree. It elicited roars of laughter from the men, that, under the circumstances, sounded like the laughter of madmen; maniacs indeed might these men have been deemed—thus giving way to mirth, with a prospect before them so grim and gloomy—the prospect of almost certain death, either at the hands of our savage assailants, or from starvation.Of the former we had no present fear. The flames that had driven us out of the timber, had equally forced them from their position; and we knew they were now far from us. They could not be near.Now that the burnt branches had fallen from the pines, and the foliage was entirely consumed, the eye was enabled to penetrate the forest to a great distance. On every side we commanded avistaof at least a thousand yards, through the intervals between the red glowing trunks; and beyond this we could hear by the “swiz” of the flames, and the continual crackling of the boughs, that fresh trees were being embraced within the circle of conflagration, that was each moment extending its circumference.The sounds grew fainter apace, until they bore a close resemblance to the mutterings of distant thunder. We had fancied that the fire was dying out; but the luminous ring around the horizon proved that the flames were still ascending. It was only that the noise came from a greater distance, that we heard it less distinctly.Our human foes must have been still further away, they must have retired before the widening rim of the conflagration. But they had calculated upon doing so before applying the torch. In all likelihood, they had retreated to the savanna, to await the result.Their object in firing the forest was not so easily understood. Perhaps they expected that the vast volume of flame would close over and consume us, or, more like, that we should be smothered under the dense clouds of smoke. This might in reality have been our fate, but for the proximity of the pond. My companions told me, that their sufferings from the smoke had been dreadful in the extreme—that they should have been stifled by it, had they not thrown themselves into the pond, and kept their faces close to the surface of the water, which was several feet below the level of the ground. It had been to me an hour of unconsciousness. My faithful black had carried me lifeless, as he supposed, to the water, and placed me among the rest.It was afterwards—when the smoke had partially cleared away—that the spies were brought to account. Hickman and Weatherford, deeply indignant at the conduct of these monsters, would not hear of delay. They insisted upon immediate punishment; and the wretches were seized upon, dragged out of the pond, and put upon their trial. It was at this crisis that my senses returned to me.As soon as the dread sentence had been carried into execution, theci-devantjurors came rushing back to the pond, and plunged their bodies into the water. The heat was still intense, and painful of endurance.There were two only who appeared to disregard it, and still remained upon the bank. These were the two hunters.Knives in hand, I saw them stooping over a dark object that lay near. It was the horse that Hickman had shot in the morning; and I now perceived the old hunter’s motive, that had hitherto mystified me. It was an act of that cunning foresight that characterised this man, apparently instinctive.They proceeded to skin the horse, and, in a few seconds, had pealed off a portion of the hide—sufficient for their purpose. They then cut out several large pieces of the flesh, and laid them aside. This done, Weatherford stepped off to the edge of the burning timber, and presently returned with an armful of half consumed fagots. These were erected into a fire, near the edge of the pond; and the two, squatting down by its side, commenced broiling the pieces of horse-flesh upon sapling spits, and conversing as coolly and cheerily as if seated in the chimney corner of their own cabins.There were others as hungry as they, who took the hint, and proceeded to imitate their example. The pangs of hunger were harder to bear than the hot atmosphere, and in a few minutes’ time, a dozen men might have been observed, grouped like vultures around the dead horse hacking and hewing at the carcass.At this crisis occurred the incident which I have characterised as ludicrous.With the exception of the few engaged in their coarsecuisine, the rest of us remained in the water. We were lying around the circular rim of the basin—our bodies parallel to one another, and our heads upon the bank. We were not dreaming of being disturbed by an intruder of any kind—at least for a time. We were no longer in fear of the fire, and our savage foemen were far off.All at once, however, an enemy was discovered in an unexpected quarter—right in the midst of us.Just in the centre of the pond, where the water was deepest, a monstrous form rose suddenly to the surface; at the same time that our ears were greeted with a loud bellowing, as if half a score of bulls were let loose into the glade.In an instant, the water was agitated and lashed into foam, and the spray fell in showers around our heads.Weird-like and sudden, as was the apparition, there was nothing mysterious about it. The hideous form, and deep barytone were well-known to all. It was simply an alligator.But for its enormous size the presence of the reptile would scarce have been regarded; but it was one of the largest of its kind—its long body almost equalling the diameter of the pond, with huge gaunt jaws that seemed capable of swallowing a man at a single “gulp.” Its roar, too, was enough to inspire even the boldest with terror.It produced this effect; and the wild frightened looks of those in the water—their confused plunging and splashing, as they scrambled to their feet and hastened to get out of it—their simultaneous rushing up the bank, and scattering off into the open ground—all contributed to form a spectacle ludicrous in the extreme.In less than ten seconds’ time the great saurian had the pond to himself; where he continued to bellow, and lash the water in his rage.He was not permitted to exult long in his triumph. The hunters, with several others, seized their rifles, and ran forwards to the edge of the pond, when a volley from a dozen guns terminated the monster’s existence.Those who had been “ashore,” were already convulsed with laughter at the scared fugitives; but the latter, having recovered from their momentary affright, now joined in the laugh, till the woods rang with a chorus of wild cachinnations.Could the Indians have heard us at that moment, they must have fancied as mad, or more likely dead, and that our voices were those of their own fiends, headed by Wykomé himself—rejoicing over the holocaust of their pale-faced foes.
As, upon the stage of a theatre, the farce follows the grand melodrama, this tragic scene was succeeded by an incident ludicrous to an extreme degree. It elicited roars of laughter from the men, that, under the circumstances, sounded like the laughter of madmen; maniacs indeed might these men have been deemed—thus giving way to mirth, with a prospect before them so grim and gloomy—the prospect of almost certain death, either at the hands of our savage assailants, or from starvation.
Of the former we had no present fear. The flames that had driven us out of the timber, had equally forced them from their position; and we knew they were now far from us. They could not be near.
Now that the burnt branches had fallen from the pines, and the foliage was entirely consumed, the eye was enabled to penetrate the forest to a great distance. On every side we commanded avistaof at least a thousand yards, through the intervals between the red glowing trunks; and beyond this we could hear by the “swiz” of the flames, and the continual crackling of the boughs, that fresh trees were being embraced within the circle of conflagration, that was each moment extending its circumference.
The sounds grew fainter apace, until they bore a close resemblance to the mutterings of distant thunder. We had fancied that the fire was dying out; but the luminous ring around the horizon proved that the flames were still ascending. It was only that the noise came from a greater distance, that we heard it less distinctly.
Our human foes must have been still further away, they must have retired before the widening rim of the conflagration. But they had calculated upon doing so before applying the torch. In all likelihood, they had retreated to the savanna, to await the result.
Their object in firing the forest was not so easily understood. Perhaps they expected that the vast volume of flame would close over and consume us, or, more like, that we should be smothered under the dense clouds of smoke. This might in reality have been our fate, but for the proximity of the pond. My companions told me, that their sufferings from the smoke had been dreadful in the extreme—that they should have been stifled by it, had they not thrown themselves into the pond, and kept their faces close to the surface of the water, which was several feet below the level of the ground. It had been to me an hour of unconsciousness. My faithful black had carried me lifeless, as he supposed, to the water, and placed me among the rest.
It was afterwards—when the smoke had partially cleared away—that the spies were brought to account. Hickman and Weatherford, deeply indignant at the conduct of these monsters, would not hear of delay. They insisted upon immediate punishment; and the wretches were seized upon, dragged out of the pond, and put upon their trial. It was at this crisis that my senses returned to me.
As soon as the dread sentence had been carried into execution, theci-devantjurors came rushing back to the pond, and plunged their bodies into the water. The heat was still intense, and painful of endurance.
There were two only who appeared to disregard it, and still remained upon the bank. These were the two hunters.
Knives in hand, I saw them stooping over a dark object that lay near. It was the horse that Hickman had shot in the morning; and I now perceived the old hunter’s motive, that had hitherto mystified me. It was an act of that cunning foresight that characterised this man, apparently instinctive.
They proceeded to skin the horse, and, in a few seconds, had pealed off a portion of the hide—sufficient for their purpose. They then cut out several large pieces of the flesh, and laid them aside. This done, Weatherford stepped off to the edge of the burning timber, and presently returned with an armful of half consumed fagots. These were erected into a fire, near the edge of the pond; and the two, squatting down by its side, commenced broiling the pieces of horse-flesh upon sapling spits, and conversing as coolly and cheerily as if seated in the chimney corner of their own cabins.
There were others as hungry as they, who took the hint, and proceeded to imitate their example. The pangs of hunger were harder to bear than the hot atmosphere, and in a few minutes’ time, a dozen men might have been observed, grouped like vultures around the dead horse hacking and hewing at the carcass.
At this crisis occurred the incident which I have characterised as ludicrous.
With the exception of the few engaged in their coarsecuisine, the rest of us remained in the water. We were lying around the circular rim of the basin—our bodies parallel to one another, and our heads upon the bank. We were not dreaming of being disturbed by an intruder of any kind—at least for a time. We were no longer in fear of the fire, and our savage foemen were far off.
All at once, however, an enemy was discovered in an unexpected quarter—right in the midst of us.
Just in the centre of the pond, where the water was deepest, a monstrous form rose suddenly to the surface; at the same time that our ears were greeted with a loud bellowing, as if half a score of bulls were let loose into the glade.
In an instant, the water was agitated and lashed into foam, and the spray fell in showers around our heads.
Weird-like and sudden, as was the apparition, there was nothing mysterious about it. The hideous form, and deep barytone were well-known to all. It was simply an alligator.
But for its enormous size the presence of the reptile would scarce have been regarded; but it was one of the largest of its kind—its long body almost equalling the diameter of the pond, with huge gaunt jaws that seemed capable of swallowing a man at a single “gulp.” Its roar, too, was enough to inspire even the boldest with terror.
It produced this effect; and the wild frightened looks of those in the water—their confused plunging and splashing, as they scrambled to their feet and hastened to get out of it—their simultaneous rushing up the bank, and scattering off into the open ground—all contributed to form a spectacle ludicrous in the extreme.
In less than ten seconds’ time the great saurian had the pond to himself; where he continued to bellow, and lash the water in his rage.
He was not permitted to exult long in his triumph. The hunters, with several others, seized their rifles, and ran forwards to the edge of the pond, when a volley from a dozen guns terminated the monster’s existence.
Those who had been “ashore,” were already convulsed with laughter at the scared fugitives; but the latter, having recovered from their momentary affright, now joined in the laugh, till the woods rang with a chorus of wild cachinnations.
Could the Indians have heard us at that moment, they must have fancied as mad, or more likely dead, and that our voices were those of their own fiends, headed by Wykomé himself—rejoicing over the holocaust of their pale-faced foes.
Chapter Ninety.A Conflict in Darkness.The forest continued to burn throughout the night, the following day, and the night after. Even on the second day, most of the trees were still on fire.They no longer blazed, for the air was perfectly still, and there was no wind to fan the fire into flame. It was seen in red patches against the trunks, smouldering and gradually becoming less, as its strength spontaneously died out.From many of the trees it had disappeared altogether, and these no longer bore any resemblance to trees, but looked like huge, sharp-pointed stakes, charred and black, as though profusely coated with coal-tar.Though there were portions of the forest that might now have been traversed, there were other places where the fire still burned fiercely enough to oppose our progress. We were still besieged by the igneous element—as completely confined within the circumscribed boundaries of the glade, as if encompassed by a hostile army of twenty times our number—indeed, more so. No rescue could possibly reach us. Even our enemies, so far asoursafety was concerned, could not have “raised the siege.”So far the old hunter’s providence had stood us in good stead. But for the horse some of us must have succumbed to hunger; or, at all events, suffered its extreme. We had been now four days without food—except what the handful of pine cones and the horse-flesh afforded us; and still the fiery forest hemmed us in. There was no alternative but to stay where we were until, as Hickman phrased it, “the woods should gitcool.”We were cheered with the hope that another day would effect this purpose, and we might travel with safety.The prospect before us was gloomy as that around us. As our dread of the fire declined, that of our human foes increased in an inverse proportion. We had but little hope of getting off without an encounter. They could traverse the woods as soon as we, and were certain to be on the look-out. With them the account was still to be settled. The gauntlet was yet to be run.But we had grown fierce and less fearful. The greatest coward of our party had become brave, and no one voted for either skulking or hanging back. Stand or fall, we had resolved upon keeping together, and cutting our way through the hostile lines, or dying in the attempt. It was but the old programme, with a slight change in themise-en-scène.We waited only for another night to carry our plans into execution. The woods would scarce be as “cool” as we might have desired, but hunger was again hurrying us. The horse—a small one—had disappeared. Fifty starved stomachs are hard to satisfy. The bones lay around clean picked—those that contained marrow, broken into fragments and emptied of their contents; even the hideous saurian was a skeleton!A more disgusting spectacle was presented by the bodies of the two criminals. The heat had swollen them to enormous proportions, and decomposition had already commenced. The air was loaded with that horrid effluvia peculiar to the dead body of a human being.Our comrades who fell in the fight had been buried, and there was some talk of performing the like office for the others. No one objected; but none volunteered to take the trouble. In such cases men are overpowered by an extreme apathy; and this was chiefly the reason why the bodies of these wretches were suffered to remain without interment.With eyes bent anxiously towards the west, we awaited the going down of the sun. So long as his bright orb was above the horizon, we could only guess at the condition of the fire. The darkness would enable us to distinguish that part of the forest that was still burning, and point out the direction we should take. The fire itself would guide us to the shunning of it.Twilight found us on the tiptoe of expectation, and not without hope. There was but little redness among the scathed pines—the smoke appeared slighter than we had yet observed it. Some believed that the fires were nearly out—all thought the time had arrived when we could pass through them.An unexpected circumstance put this point beyond conjecture. While we stood waiting, the rain began to fall—at first in big solitary drops, but in a few moments it came pouring down as if all heaven’s fountains had been opened together.We hailed the phenomenon with joy. It appeared an omen in our favour. We could hardly restrain ourselves from setting forth at once; but the more cautious counselled the rest to patience, and we stood awaiting the deeper darkness.The rain continued to pour—its clouds hastening the night. As it darkened, scarce a spark appeared among the trees.“It is dark enough,” urged the impatient. The others yielded, and we started forth into the bosom of the ruined forest. We moved silently along amid the black, calcined trunks. Each grasped his gun tight and ready for use. Mine was held only in one hand—the other rested in a sling.In this plight I was not alone. Half a dozen of my comrades had been also “winged;” and together we kept in the rear. The better men marched in front, Hickman and Weatherford acting as guides.The rain beat down upon us. There was no longer a foliage to intercept it. As we walked under the burnt branches, the black char was driven against our faces, and as quickly washed off again. Most of the men were bareheaded—their caps were over the locks of their guns to keep them dry—some sheltered their priming with the skirts of their coats.In this manner we had advanced nearly half a mile, we knew not in what direction; no guide could have found path in such a forest. We only endeavoured to keep straight forward, with the view of gettingbeyondour enemies. So long unmolested, we had begun to hope that we might.Alas! it was a momentary gleam. We were underrating the cunning of our red foes. They had watched us all the time—had dogged our steps, and at some distance off, were marching on both sides of us, in two parallel lines. While dreaming of safety we were actually in their midst!The flashes of a hundred guns through the misty rain—the whistling of as many bullets—were the first intimation we had of their presence.Several fell under the volley. Some returned the fire—a few thought only of making their escape.Uttering their shrill cries, the savages closed in upon us. In the darkness they appeared to outnumber the trees.Save the occasional report of a pistol, no other shot was heard—no one thought of reloading. The foe was upon us before there was time to draw a ramrod. The knife and hatchet were to be the arbiters of the fight.The struggle was sanguinary as it was short. Many of our brave fellows met their death; but each killed his foeman—some two or three of them—before he fell.We were soon vanquished. The enemy was five to one—how could it be otherwise? They were fresh and strong; we weak with hunger—almost emaciated—many of us wounded—how could it be otherwise?I saw but little of the conflict—perhaps no one saw more; it was a straggle amidst opaque darkness.With my one hand—and that the left—I was almost helpless. I fired my rifle at random, and had contrived to draw a pistol; but the blow of a tomahawk hindered me from using it, at the same time felling me senseless to the earth.I was only stunned, and when my senses returned to me, I saw that the conflict was over. Dark as it was, I could perceive a number of black objects lying near me upon the ground. They were the bodies of the slain.Some were those of my late comrades—others their foes—in many instances locked in each other’s embrace!The savages were stooping over, as if separating them. On the former they were executing their last hideous rite of vengeance—they were scalping them.A group was nearer; the individuals composing it were standing erect. One in their midst appeared to issue commands. Even in the grey light I could distinguish three waving plumes. Again Osceola!I was not free, or at that moment I should have rushed forwards and grappled him, vain though the vengeful effort might have been. But I was not free.Two savages knelt over me, as if guarding me against such an attempt. I perceived my black follower near at hand—still alive, and similarly cared for. Why had they not killed us?At this moment a man was seen approaching. It was not he with the ostrich-plumes, though the latter appeared to have sent him.As he drew near, I perceived that he carried a pistol. My hour was come. The man stooped over me, and placed the weapon close to my ear. To my astonishment he fired it into the air!I thought he had missed me, and would try again. But this was not his purpose. He only wanted a light.While the powder was ablaze, I caught a glance of the countenance. It was an Indian’s, but I thought I had seen it before; and from some expression the man made use of, he appeared to know me.He passed quickly from me, and proceeded to the spot where Jake was held captive. The pistol must have had two barrels, for I saw him fire it again, stooping in the same manner over the prostrate form of the black. He then rose and called out:“It is they—still alive.”This information appeared meant for him of the black plumes, for the moment it was given he uttered some exclamation I did not comprehend, and then walked away.His voice produced a singular impression upon me. I fancied it did not sound like Osceola’s!We were kept upon the ground only for a few minutes longer, and then a number of horses were brought up. Upon two of these Jake and I were mounted, and fast tied to the saddles. A signal was then given, and, with an Indian riding on each side of us, we were carried off through the woods.
The forest continued to burn throughout the night, the following day, and the night after. Even on the second day, most of the trees were still on fire.
They no longer blazed, for the air was perfectly still, and there was no wind to fan the fire into flame. It was seen in red patches against the trunks, smouldering and gradually becoming less, as its strength spontaneously died out.
From many of the trees it had disappeared altogether, and these no longer bore any resemblance to trees, but looked like huge, sharp-pointed stakes, charred and black, as though profusely coated with coal-tar.
Though there were portions of the forest that might now have been traversed, there were other places where the fire still burned fiercely enough to oppose our progress. We were still besieged by the igneous element—as completely confined within the circumscribed boundaries of the glade, as if encompassed by a hostile army of twenty times our number—indeed, more so. No rescue could possibly reach us. Even our enemies, so far asoursafety was concerned, could not have “raised the siege.”
So far the old hunter’s providence had stood us in good stead. But for the horse some of us must have succumbed to hunger; or, at all events, suffered its extreme. We had been now four days without food—except what the handful of pine cones and the horse-flesh afforded us; and still the fiery forest hemmed us in. There was no alternative but to stay where we were until, as Hickman phrased it, “the woods should gitcool.”
We were cheered with the hope that another day would effect this purpose, and we might travel with safety.
The prospect before us was gloomy as that around us. As our dread of the fire declined, that of our human foes increased in an inverse proportion. We had but little hope of getting off without an encounter. They could traverse the woods as soon as we, and were certain to be on the look-out. With them the account was still to be settled. The gauntlet was yet to be run.
But we had grown fierce and less fearful. The greatest coward of our party had become brave, and no one voted for either skulking or hanging back. Stand or fall, we had resolved upon keeping together, and cutting our way through the hostile lines, or dying in the attempt. It was but the old programme, with a slight change in themise-en-scène.
We waited only for another night to carry our plans into execution. The woods would scarce be as “cool” as we might have desired, but hunger was again hurrying us. The horse—a small one—had disappeared. Fifty starved stomachs are hard to satisfy. The bones lay around clean picked—those that contained marrow, broken into fragments and emptied of their contents; even the hideous saurian was a skeleton!
A more disgusting spectacle was presented by the bodies of the two criminals. The heat had swollen them to enormous proportions, and decomposition had already commenced. The air was loaded with that horrid effluvia peculiar to the dead body of a human being.
Our comrades who fell in the fight had been buried, and there was some talk of performing the like office for the others. No one objected; but none volunteered to take the trouble. In such cases men are overpowered by an extreme apathy; and this was chiefly the reason why the bodies of these wretches were suffered to remain without interment.
With eyes bent anxiously towards the west, we awaited the going down of the sun. So long as his bright orb was above the horizon, we could only guess at the condition of the fire. The darkness would enable us to distinguish that part of the forest that was still burning, and point out the direction we should take. The fire itself would guide us to the shunning of it.
Twilight found us on the tiptoe of expectation, and not without hope. There was but little redness among the scathed pines—the smoke appeared slighter than we had yet observed it. Some believed that the fires were nearly out—all thought the time had arrived when we could pass through them.
An unexpected circumstance put this point beyond conjecture. While we stood waiting, the rain began to fall—at first in big solitary drops, but in a few moments it came pouring down as if all heaven’s fountains had been opened together.
We hailed the phenomenon with joy. It appeared an omen in our favour. We could hardly restrain ourselves from setting forth at once; but the more cautious counselled the rest to patience, and we stood awaiting the deeper darkness.
The rain continued to pour—its clouds hastening the night. As it darkened, scarce a spark appeared among the trees.
“It is dark enough,” urged the impatient. The others yielded, and we started forth into the bosom of the ruined forest. We moved silently along amid the black, calcined trunks. Each grasped his gun tight and ready for use. Mine was held only in one hand—the other rested in a sling.
In this plight I was not alone. Half a dozen of my comrades had been also “winged;” and together we kept in the rear. The better men marched in front, Hickman and Weatherford acting as guides.
The rain beat down upon us. There was no longer a foliage to intercept it. As we walked under the burnt branches, the black char was driven against our faces, and as quickly washed off again. Most of the men were bareheaded—their caps were over the locks of their guns to keep them dry—some sheltered their priming with the skirts of their coats.
In this manner we had advanced nearly half a mile, we knew not in what direction; no guide could have found path in such a forest. We only endeavoured to keep straight forward, with the view of gettingbeyondour enemies. So long unmolested, we had begun to hope that we might.
Alas! it was a momentary gleam. We were underrating the cunning of our red foes. They had watched us all the time—had dogged our steps, and at some distance off, were marching on both sides of us, in two parallel lines. While dreaming of safety we were actually in their midst!
The flashes of a hundred guns through the misty rain—the whistling of as many bullets—were the first intimation we had of their presence.
Several fell under the volley. Some returned the fire—a few thought only of making their escape.
Uttering their shrill cries, the savages closed in upon us. In the darkness they appeared to outnumber the trees.
Save the occasional report of a pistol, no other shot was heard—no one thought of reloading. The foe was upon us before there was time to draw a ramrod. The knife and hatchet were to be the arbiters of the fight.
The struggle was sanguinary as it was short. Many of our brave fellows met their death; but each killed his foeman—some two or three of them—before he fell.
We were soon vanquished. The enemy was five to one—how could it be otherwise? They were fresh and strong; we weak with hunger—almost emaciated—many of us wounded—how could it be otherwise?
I saw but little of the conflict—perhaps no one saw more; it was a straggle amidst opaque darkness.
With my one hand—and that the left—I was almost helpless. I fired my rifle at random, and had contrived to draw a pistol; but the blow of a tomahawk hindered me from using it, at the same time felling me senseless to the earth.
I was only stunned, and when my senses returned to me, I saw that the conflict was over. Dark as it was, I could perceive a number of black objects lying near me upon the ground. They were the bodies of the slain.
Some were those of my late comrades—others their foes—in many instances locked in each other’s embrace!
The savages were stooping over, as if separating them. On the former they were executing their last hideous rite of vengeance—they were scalping them.
A group was nearer; the individuals composing it were standing erect. One in their midst appeared to issue commands. Even in the grey light I could distinguish three waving plumes. Again Osceola!
I was not free, or at that moment I should have rushed forwards and grappled him, vain though the vengeful effort might have been. But I was not free.
Two savages knelt over me, as if guarding me against such an attempt. I perceived my black follower near at hand—still alive, and similarly cared for. Why had they not killed us?
At this moment a man was seen approaching. It was not he with the ostrich-plumes, though the latter appeared to have sent him.
As he drew near, I perceived that he carried a pistol. My hour was come. The man stooped over me, and placed the weapon close to my ear. To my astonishment he fired it into the air!
I thought he had missed me, and would try again. But this was not his purpose. He only wanted a light.
While the powder was ablaze, I caught a glance of the countenance. It was an Indian’s, but I thought I had seen it before; and from some expression the man made use of, he appeared to know me.
He passed quickly from me, and proceeded to the spot where Jake was held captive. The pistol must have had two barrels, for I saw him fire it again, stooping in the same manner over the prostrate form of the black. He then rose and called out:
“It is they—still alive.”
This information appeared meant for him of the black plumes, for the moment it was given he uttered some exclamation I did not comprehend, and then walked away.
His voice produced a singular impression upon me. I fancied it did not sound like Osceola’s!
We were kept upon the ground only for a few minutes longer, and then a number of horses were brought up. Upon two of these Jake and I were mounted, and fast tied to the saddles. A signal was then given, and, with an Indian riding on each side of us, we were carried off through the woods.