Chapter Fifteen.Brother and Sister.As Alice Rody left the spot, which had so nearly proved her tomb, she thought of the old hunter with admiration. His courage and honest courtesy had won her, but she had also noticed his surprise on hearing her name.Of the feeling entertained by him for her father and brother she knew nothing.The female mind loves riddles, and Alice, like a true woman, racked her brain for a solution of that one Carrol’s conduct seemed to embody.Thus occupied, she emerged from the forest, and had proceeded some distance upon her road, when she perceived two individuals in close conversation.Their backs were turned towards her, and, as her light footfall did not disturb them, she got close to the spot on which they stood without their perceiving her.Near enough, in fact, to hear the following:—“Hark you, you black rascal! If you betray me, it will be the worse for you. I have a means of silencing those who prove false to me.”Whatever reply the “black rascal” would have made was prevented by an impetuous gesture of the speaker, who had caught sight of Alice.“Ah, Alice, you here?” said he, facing towards her. “I did not know you were abroad—”It was her brother Warren.Alice recognised in the “black rascal” no less a personage than Crookleg.Warren thrust a piece of silver into the negro’s hands.“There, there, that’ll do. I’ll forgive you this time, but remember! Now be off with you—be off, I say.”Crookleg, cut short in his attempt to address Alice, hobbled away, muttering some words to himself.“Why, Warren,” asked his sister, “what makes you speak so harshly to poor Crookleg?”“Because he’s a pestilent fellow. I want him to know his place.”“But a kind word doesn’t cost much.”“There, sister! no scolding, if you please. I’m not in the best of humours now. Where is your horse?”Alice told her brother of the incident, and spoke warmly of Carrol.“So the old hunter did you a good service, did he? I didn’t think he had it in him, the old bear.”“How unjust you are, Warren. Bear, indeed! I tell you that Cris Carrol is as good a gentleman as ever lived!”As she said this she showed signs of indignation.“Is he, indeed!” was the brother’s mocking retort.“Yes—a thorough gentleman! One who wouldn’t wound another’s feelings if he could help it—and that’s my idea of a gentleman!”“Well, we won’t argue the point. He has done good this time, and that’ll go to his credit; for all that, I don’t like him!”Alice bit her lip with vexation, but made no reply.“He’s too officious,” continued Warren; “too free with his advice—and I hate advice!”“Most people do, especially when it is good,” quickly answered his sister.“Who said it was good?”“I know it is, or you would have liked it, and have followed it.”“You are sarcastic.”“No—truthful.”“Well, as I am in no mode for quarrelling, we’ll drop the subject, and Cris Carrol too.”“Youmay, but I shall never drop him. He is my friend from this time forward!”“You are welcome to choose your friends—I’ll select my own.”“You have done so already.”“What do you mean?”“That Nelatu, the Indian, seems to be one of them.”“Have you anything against him?”“Oh, no. I am only afraid he’ll be the loser by the intimacy.”“Am I so dangerous?” asked her brother.“Yes, Warren, you are dangerous, for, with all your pretended goodness, you lack principle. You cannot conceal your real character from me. Remember, I am your sister.”“I am glad you remind me. I should forget it.”“That’s because you avoid me so much. If you believed in my wishes for your welfare, you would not do that.”Her voice trembled as she spoke.“Indeed, then I beg you won’t waste your sympathy on me. I’m perfectly able to take care of myself.”“You think you are.”“Well, have it that way if it pleases you better. But what has this to do with my friendship for the Indian?”“A great deal. I don’t like your intimacy with him. Not because he’s an Indian—although that is one reason—but because you have some purpose to serve by it that’ll do him no good.”“Why, one would think you were in love with the young copper-skin!”“No, but they might think he’s in love with me.”“What! has he dared—”“No, he has dared nothing; only a woman’s eye can see more than a man’s. Nelatu has never spoken a familiar word to me, but, for all that, I can see that he admires me.”“And you—do you admire him?”The young girl stopped in her walk.Her eyes sparkled strangely as she answered—“Shame, brother, to put such a question! I am a white woman—he is an Indian. How dare you speak of such a thing?”Warren laughed lightly at his sister, as he answered.“Why, you don’t think thatIcare for the fellow, do you?”The young girl saw her opportunity, and seized it.“And yet you pretend to be his friend. Ah! have I caught you by your own confession?”“Again, what do you mean?”“That my doubts are now certainties—that some wicked schemeisconcealed under this false friendship for Nelatu.”“You are mad, Alice.”“No, perfectly sane. You have some design, and I advise you, whatever it be, to abandon it. You don’t like my tears, so I’ll try to suppress them if I can; but I implore you, Warren, brother, to give it up now and for ever.”She dashed a few bitter drops from her eyes ere she spoke again.“I have only you and my father to look to for support and comfort; my heart has yearned towards you both, but has met with nothing but coldness. Oh, Warren, be a brave man—brave enough to despise wickedness, and you will not only make me happy, but, perhaps, avert that terrible retribution which overtakes transgression. There is time yet; hear my prayer before it is too late.”Her pleading voice fell upon an ear that heard not.The appeal did not reach her brother’s stony heart.With a few commonplaces he endeavoured to exculpate himself from any evil intentions towards the young Indian.All in vain.Her woman’s instinct saw through his hypocrisy, and showed him to her as he was—wicked!That night Alice Rody prayed long and earnestly for support in an affliction which she felt was but too surely coming; and she wept till her pillow was bedewed with tears!
As Alice Rody left the spot, which had so nearly proved her tomb, she thought of the old hunter with admiration. His courage and honest courtesy had won her, but she had also noticed his surprise on hearing her name.
Of the feeling entertained by him for her father and brother she knew nothing.
The female mind loves riddles, and Alice, like a true woman, racked her brain for a solution of that one Carrol’s conduct seemed to embody.
Thus occupied, she emerged from the forest, and had proceeded some distance upon her road, when she perceived two individuals in close conversation.
Their backs were turned towards her, and, as her light footfall did not disturb them, she got close to the spot on which they stood without their perceiving her.
Near enough, in fact, to hear the following:—
“Hark you, you black rascal! If you betray me, it will be the worse for you. I have a means of silencing those who prove false to me.”
Whatever reply the “black rascal” would have made was prevented by an impetuous gesture of the speaker, who had caught sight of Alice.
“Ah, Alice, you here?” said he, facing towards her. “I did not know you were abroad—”
It was her brother Warren.
Alice recognised in the “black rascal” no less a personage than Crookleg.
Warren thrust a piece of silver into the negro’s hands.
“There, there, that’ll do. I’ll forgive you this time, but remember! Now be off with you—be off, I say.”
Crookleg, cut short in his attempt to address Alice, hobbled away, muttering some words to himself.
“Why, Warren,” asked his sister, “what makes you speak so harshly to poor Crookleg?”
“Because he’s a pestilent fellow. I want him to know his place.”
“But a kind word doesn’t cost much.”
“There, sister! no scolding, if you please. I’m not in the best of humours now. Where is your horse?”
Alice told her brother of the incident, and spoke warmly of Carrol.
“So the old hunter did you a good service, did he? I didn’t think he had it in him, the old bear.”
“How unjust you are, Warren. Bear, indeed! I tell you that Cris Carrol is as good a gentleman as ever lived!”
As she said this she showed signs of indignation.
“Is he, indeed!” was the brother’s mocking retort.
“Yes—a thorough gentleman! One who wouldn’t wound another’s feelings if he could help it—and that’s my idea of a gentleman!”
“Well, we won’t argue the point. He has done good this time, and that’ll go to his credit; for all that, I don’t like him!”
Alice bit her lip with vexation, but made no reply.
“He’s too officious,” continued Warren; “too free with his advice—and I hate advice!”
“Most people do, especially when it is good,” quickly answered his sister.
“Who said it was good?”
“I know it is, or you would have liked it, and have followed it.”
“You are sarcastic.”
“No—truthful.”
“Well, as I am in no mode for quarrelling, we’ll drop the subject, and Cris Carrol too.”
“Youmay, but I shall never drop him. He is my friend from this time forward!”
“You are welcome to choose your friends—I’ll select my own.”
“You have done so already.”
“What do you mean?”
“That Nelatu, the Indian, seems to be one of them.”
“Have you anything against him?”
“Oh, no. I am only afraid he’ll be the loser by the intimacy.”
“Am I so dangerous?” asked her brother.
“Yes, Warren, you are dangerous, for, with all your pretended goodness, you lack principle. You cannot conceal your real character from me. Remember, I am your sister.”
“I am glad you remind me. I should forget it.”
“That’s because you avoid me so much. If you believed in my wishes for your welfare, you would not do that.”
Her voice trembled as she spoke.
“Indeed, then I beg you won’t waste your sympathy on me. I’m perfectly able to take care of myself.”
“You think you are.”
“Well, have it that way if it pleases you better. But what has this to do with my friendship for the Indian?”
“A great deal. I don’t like your intimacy with him. Not because he’s an Indian—although that is one reason—but because you have some purpose to serve by it that’ll do him no good.”
“Why, one would think you were in love with the young copper-skin!”
“No, but they might think he’s in love with me.”
“What! has he dared—”
“No, he has dared nothing; only a woman’s eye can see more than a man’s. Nelatu has never spoken a familiar word to me, but, for all that, I can see that he admires me.”
“And you—do you admire him?”
The young girl stopped in her walk.
Her eyes sparkled strangely as she answered—
“Shame, brother, to put such a question! I am a white woman—he is an Indian. How dare you speak of such a thing?”
Warren laughed lightly at his sister, as he answered.
“Why, you don’t think thatIcare for the fellow, do you?”
The young girl saw her opportunity, and seized it.
“And yet you pretend to be his friend. Ah! have I caught you by your own confession?”
“Again, what do you mean?”
“That my doubts are now certainties—that some wicked schemeisconcealed under this false friendship for Nelatu.”
“You are mad, Alice.”
“No, perfectly sane. You have some design, and I advise you, whatever it be, to abandon it. You don’t like my tears, so I’ll try to suppress them if I can; but I implore you, Warren, brother, to give it up now and for ever.”
She dashed a few bitter drops from her eyes ere she spoke again.
“I have only you and my father to look to for support and comfort; my heart has yearned towards you both, but has met with nothing but coldness. Oh, Warren, be a brave man—brave enough to despise wickedness, and you will not only make me happy, but, perhaps, avert that terrible retribution which overtakes transgression. There is time yet; hear my prayer before it is too late.”
Her pleading voice fell upon an ear that heard not.
The appeal did not reach her brother’s stony heart.
With a few commonplaces he endeavoured to exculpate himself from any evil intentions towards the young Indian.
All in vain.
Her woman’s instinct saw through his hypocrisy, and showed him to her as he was—wicked!
That night Alice Rody prayed long and earnestly for support in an affliction which she felt was but too surely coming; and she wept till her pillow was bedewed with tears!
Chapter Sixteen.A Changed Character.A wonderful change had taken place in the conduct of Elias Rody.He was most gracious—most condescending.He kissed all the children, chatted with the mothers, and listened to their narratives of infant ailments, husbands’ delinquencies, or household troubles.To the surprise of many of the poorer settlers the hitherto aristocratic governor took, or appeared to take, great interest in their affairs, and, more wonderful still, in some instances, put his hand into his pocket to relieve their pressing necessities.Petty matters seemed to become deeply interesting to him, and he devoted time and attention to their adjustment.Through all this his temper was conciliating and amiable.Many personal quarrels, amongst settlers, were forgotten and forgiven through his means, whilst coolness were warmed into new friendships by his mediation.This was the work of some time, and the astonishment of his amiability gave way to self censure on the part of the observers, who charged themselves with having done him great injustice.No churlish man would have sent down provisions for the poor, have rebuilt Widow Jones’s barn, or bought Seth Cheshire a new horse; and what mean man would have lent money to that drunken but popular Jake Stebbins, whose fiery nose, should Jake be abroad, was as a lighthouse on a dark night to any belated traveller?This was the impression that gradually got abroad about Elias Rody.He only smiled, rubbed his hands softly together, and muttered, “Humph!”The monosyllable was full of meaning.It meant that he thought his labour well bestowed, and that the design he had in view prospered even beyond his expectations.What this design was must be already apparent.He had courted this popularity to enable him to accomplish the dearest wish of his heart.After his bland dismissal of Oluski, laden with gifts, he had acquired a control over his own naturally impetuous temper which astonished himself.The refusal of the Seminole chief to give him quiet possession of the hill was the more annoying because it seemed to close for ever any further attempt at negotiation.He understood the Indian character sufficiently to know that they were unchangeable in their opinions, and seldom, if ever, to be moved from a resolution once taken.This tenacity of purpose had, time out of mind, brought ruin and devastation upon themselves as on those who sought to coerce them, and Rody ground his teeth with impotent rage when Oluski had announced the decision of the Indian council.The Judas smile that succeeded had root in another thought, which the governor had left out of his mind until the supreme moment of his defeat.Hence his changed conduct towards his fellow-settlers.They became almost to a man believers in him, and ready to do his bidding.He did not neglect, in his Machiavelian policy, to insinuate in every artful way his pet project of possessing the property on which the Indians were encamped. So artfully, indeed, that in most instances the idea seemed to have originated in his listener’s mind, and by them to have been suggested to Elias, thus skilfully reversing the true facts of the case.This once accomplished the rest was simple.A general feeling got abroad that the red men were interlopers, and had no right to usurp a spot so necessary and so useful to the colonists. This feeling, although not loudly expressed, was very deep, and, in nearly every instance, sincere.The few clear-headed and impartial planters who, proof against Rody’s sophistical speeches, were assailed by him in a different manner—by specious promises of enlarged possessions, or by matter-of-fact appeals for the advancement of civilisation. If he did not gain their approval, he, at any rate, made their objections seem narrow-minded and selfish.Only a few sturdy, honest men held out. These Elias could do nothing with. They rejected his proposals, laid bare his false arguments, and laughed at his facts—but as they were a very small minority, they had little influence.Ere Rody had accomplished this pacific revolution of opinion, the autumn had waned, and the winter months—if such a word can be used where there is no winter—approached, and with it the limit of the term of the Indians’ stay upon the hill.With the first appearance of cool weather, Oluski and his tribe repacked their household gods, took their dwellings to pieces, and with their wives, children, horses, and cattle, quitted their late encampment.The bare poles again appeared cutting against the clear sky.The hill was once more uninhabited.A new sort of activity had sprung into existence upon its table top.In the place of Indians, with their painted plumes and primitive finery, the ground was occupied by white men—carpenters and other artisans, along with their negro attendants.Piles of prepared lumber, stones, and other building materials strewed the ground, whilst the busy workmen, black and white, made the air resonant with their jocund voices.A finished frame-house soon made its appearance on the spot where the Indians had but recently dwelt—a large structure, substantially built, and ornamental in finish.It belonged to Elias Rody.He had secured the sanction of the settlers, and they had determined to support him in his piratical design. Only a very few of them had stood out against it.Thus strengthened, he had resolved upon, and had now completed his act of usurpation.
A wonderful change had taken place in the conduct of Elias Rody.
He was most gracious—most condescending.
He kissed all the children, chatted with the mothers, and listened to their narratives of infant ailments, husbands’ delinquencies, or household troubles.
To the surprise of many of the poorer settlers the hitherto aristocratic governor took, or appeared to take, great interest in their affairs, and, more wonderful still, in some instances, put his hand into his pocket to relieve their pressing necessities.
Petty matters seemed to become deeply interesting to him, and he devoted time and attention to their adjustment.
Through all this his temper was conciliating and amiable.
Many personal quarrels, amongst settlers, were forgotten and forgiven through his means, whilst coolness were warmed into new friendships by his mediation.
This was the work of some time, and the astonishment of his amiability gave way to self censure on the part of the observers, who charged themselves with having done him great injustice.
No churlish man would have sent down provisions for the poor, have rebuilt Widow Jones’s barn, or bought Seth Cheshire a new horse; and what mean man would have lent money to that drunken but popular Jake Stebbins, whose fiery nose, should Jake be abroad, was as a lighthouse on a dark night to any belated traveller?
This was the impression that gradually got abroad about Elias Rody.
He only smiled, rubbed his hands softly together, and muttered, “Humph!”
The monosyllable was full of meaning.
It meant that he thought his labour well bestowed, and that the design he had in view prospered even beyond his expectations.
What this design was must be already apparent.
He had courted this popularity to enable him to accomplish the dearest wish of his heart.
After his bland dismissal of Oluski, laden with gifts, he had acquired a control over his own naturally impetuous temper which astonished himself.
The refusal of the Seminole chief to give him quiet possession of the hill was the more annoying because it seemed to close for ever any further attempt at negotiation.
He understood the Indian character sufficiently to know that they were unchangeable in their opinions, and seldom, if ever, to be moved from a resolution once taken.
This tenacity of purpose had, time out of mind, brought ruin and devastation upon themselves as on those who sought to coerce them, and Rody ground his teeth with impotent rage when Oluski had announced the decision of the Indian council.
The Judas smile that succeeded had root in another thought, which the governor had left out of his mind until the supreme moment of his defeat.
Hence his changed conduct towards his fellow-settlers.
They became almost to a man believers in him, and ready to do his bidding.
He did not neglect, in his Machiavelian policy, to insinuate in every artful way his pet project of possessing the property on which the Indians were encamped. So artfully, indeed, that in most instances the idea seemed to have originated in his listener’s mind, and by them to have been suggested to Elias, thus skilfully reversing the true facts of the case.
This once accomplished the rest was simple.
A general feeling got abroad that the red men were interlopers, and had no right to usurp a spot so necessary and so useful to the colonists. This feeling, although not loudly expressed, was very deep, and, in nearly every instance, sincere.
The few clear-headed and impartial planters who, proof against Rody’s sophistical speeches, were assailed by him in a different manner—by specious promises of enlarged possessions, or by matter-of-fact appeals for the advancement of civilisation. If he did not gain their approval, he, at any rate, made their objections seem narrow-minded and selfish.
Only a few sturdy, honest men held out. These Elias could do nothing with. They rejected his proposals, laid bare his false arguments, and laughed at his facts—but as they were a very small minority, they had little influence.
Ere Rody had accomplished this pacific revolution of opinion, the autumn had waned, and the winter months—if such a word can be used where there is no winter—approached, and with it the limit of the term of the Indians’ stay upon the hill.
With the first appearance of cool weather, Oluski and his tribe repacked their household gods, took their dwellings to pieces, and with their wives, children, horses, and cattle, quitted their late encampment.
The bare poles again appeared cutting against the clear sky.
The hill was once more uninhabited.
A new sort of activity had sprung into existence upon its table top.
In the place of Indians, with their painted plumes and primitive finery, the ground was occupied by white men—carpenters and other artisans, along with their negro attendants.
Piles of prepared lumber, stones, and other building materials strewed the ground, whilst the busy workmen, black and white, made the air resonant with their jocund voices.
A finished frame-house soon made its appearance on the spot where the Indians had but recently dwelt—a large structure, substantially built, and ornamental in finish.
It belonged to Elias Rody.
He had secured the sanction of the settlers, and they had determined to support him in his piratical design. Only a very few of them had stood out against it.
Thus strengthened, he had resolved upon, and had now completed his act of usurpation.
Chapter Seventeen.Over Confidence.Oluski’s dwelling, in his place of permanent abode, was a more pretentious affair than the wigwam temporarily inhabited by him at Tampa Bay.This eastern residence was an old Indian town that had been built long before the Spaniards had landed in Florida, and in it his people, for many generations, had dwelt.The chief having returned from an extended hunting excursion, was pleased to find himself once more beneath his paternal roof.Doubly pleased; for he had brought back with him his nephew, Wacora, who, thinking of his pretty cousin, had accepted his uncle’s invitation with alacrity.Behold them, then, with pipes lighted, seated inside the house, Sansuta in attendance.Wacora watched the lithe-limbed maiden; as she flitted to and fro, engaged in household duties, he thought her as attractive as ever. A certain consciousness on her part of the fact, in no way detracted from her beauty.“I am pleased, nephew,” said Oluski, “pleased to see you here again. I feel that I am no longer young, the support of your arm in a wearying day’s march has been very welcome.”“It is always at your service, uncle.”“I am sure of it. If Oluski thought otherwise he would be unhappy. Your cousin, Sansuta,” addressing his daughter, “came to see you as much as to bear me company. You should thank him for it.”“I do.”“Wacora is thanked already in the smile of welcome that met him in Sansuta’s eyes.”The young girl blushed at the delicate compliment, and, going out, left the two chiefs together.“You tell me, Wacora, that the affairs of your tribe are prosperous, and that there is peace and harmony in your council chamber?”“Yes, uncle, the same as in my father’s lifetime.”“That is well, for without that there is no real strength. So it is with us.”“You have told me nothing of the pale-faces at Tampa Bay.”“They are our firm friends still. In spite of your fears, Wacora, to the contrary, Rody and the colonists are true to their promises.”“I am pleased to hear Oluski say so,” was the nephew’s reply.“I did not tell you that he had made an offer to buy the hill.”“To buy the hill! What hill?”“That on which we make our annual encampment. We call it Tampa after the bay.”“Indeed! He wants that, too?” rejoined the young chief, in a tone savouring of indignation.“Yes; I called our council together, and told them of the offer.”“And their answer?”“The same as my own; they refused.”Wacora gave a sigh of relief.“When I carried that answer to the white he was not angry, but met me like a friend.”“Indeed!”“Yes; he pressed upon my acceptance rich presents, and told me that Oluski’s friendship was worth more than land.”“But you refused the presents,” said the young Indian, eagerly.“I could not; my old friend would take no denial. Fearing to offend him, I yielded.”The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of an Indian, one of the warriors of the tribe.“What does Maracota want?” asked Oluski.“To speak to Wacora, the chief.”Wacora desired him to express his wishes in the presence of his uncle.“Marcota must speak to Wacora alone, if Oluski will allow it.”Oluski made a sign to his nephew, who rising, followed the man outside the door.“Wacora must follow me further,” signified the Indian.“Go on, I will do so.”Maracota led the way, and only paused in his walk when he had got some distance from the dwelling.“Has Wacora faith in Maracota?”The young chief started at the question which his guide had put to him in a tone of strange earnestness.“Yes. I have faith in you.”“And he would serve Oluski, our chief?”“With my life!”“Sansuta is dear to Oluski.”Again Wacora started. Maracota’s words were enigmatical.His guide continued—“Sansuta is beautiful.”“We all know that. Was it to tell me this that you brought me here?”“The pale-faces admire the beauty of our Indian maidens.”“What of that?”“One pale-face has marked Sansuta’s beauty.”“Ha!”“His eyes gladden at sight of her. Her cheeks grow red at sight of him.”“His name?”“Warren Rody.”“How do you know all this?”“Maracota is Oluski’s friend and watches over his chief’s happiness. To-night Warren’s messenger was in town—the negro, Crookleg.”The young chief was silent. Maracota watched him without breaking in upon his thoughts.Recovering himself, Wacora asked—“Where did you see the negro?”“In the old fort.”“The old fort! What was he doing there?”“Maracota followed his trail—a lame foot and a stick—and saw him as he entered the ruin; some one was waiting for him inside.”“Who was with the negro,” demanded Wacora.“His master,” repeated Maracota.“Warren Rody?”Maracota nodded.“I heard their talk,” he said.“What did they say?” asked the young chief.“At first, I could not hear—they spoke in whispers. After a time they grew angry. Warren abused Crookleg and struck him. The black man uttered a fierce oath and leaped over the wall of the fort at the side opposite to where I lay hid.”“Did you hear their conversation before they quarrelled?”“I heard the pale-face say Crookleg had only half done his errand and must return to complete it. The black refused. It was then the other got angry and struck him.”“This is very strange, Maracota. It is some treachery I cannot understand. The negro must be found and questioned!”“Well, Massa Injun, dat ain’t hard to do. He, he, he!”Had the fiend of darkness himself risen between the two Indians, they could not have been more startled than when these words were uttered in their ears, for it was Crookleg who spoke.The darkey appeared delighted at the effect his sudden appearance had created, and continued for some time to chuckle in great glee.“Yas! here be de ’dentical nigger wot you was a-wishin’ for. You hab found him ’ithout gwin far. He, he, he!”Wacora turned sternly towards him.“And having found you, wretch, I mean to keep you till I’ve made you speak the truth.”“De trufe, Massa Injun, am what dis ole nigga always ’peak. He can’t help it, kase it comes so na’tral to him. Trufe an’ innocence is dis chile’s on’y riches, tank heaven!”The look which accompanied this impious speech was almost diabolical.Wacora cut him short in an attempt to continue his speech, by a command instantly to make known what Warren Rody wanted, with what message he had been charged, and to whom.Crookleg, however was not easily taken at a disadvantage.“Well, Massa Injun, I don’t mind tellin’ you somet’ing, but I don’t like talkin’ afore other folk. You send dis indiwiddle away,” pointing to Maracota, “an’ ole Crook’ll tell you all about it. He meant to do so, when he comed here so sudden.”With a sign the chief dismissed Maracota, and telling the black to follow, led him a little distance further from the town.A long, and apparently interesting conversation ensued, in which Crookleg’s gesticulations were, as usual, violent, while the young chief, with arms folded, and brows knit, listened to his narration.It was late ere they separated, the negro hobbling back in the direction of the ruin, while Wacora returned to his uncle’s dwelling.
Oluski’s dwelling, in his place of permanent abode, was a more pretentious affair than the wigwam temporarily inhabited by him at Tampa Bay.
This eastern residence was an old Indian town that had been built long before the Spaniards had landed in Florida, and in it his people, for many generations, had dwelt.
The chief having returned from an extended hunting excursion, was pleased to find himself once more beneath his paternal roof.
Doubly pleased; for he had brought back with him his nephew, Wacora, who, thinking of his pretty cousin, had accepted his uncle’s invitation with alacrity.
Behold them, then, with pipes lighted, seated inside the house, Sansuta in attendance.
Wacora watched the lithe-limbed maiden; as she flitted to and fro, engaged in household duties, he thought her as attractive as ever. A certain consciousness on her part of the fact, in no way detracted from her beauty.
“I am pleased, nephew,” said Oluski, “pleased to see you here again. I feel that I am no longer young, the support of your arm in a wearying day’s march has been very welcome.”
“It is always at your service, uncle.”
“I am sure of it. If Oluski thought otherwise he would be unhappy. Your cousin, Sansuta,” addressing his daughter, “came to see you as much as to bear me company. You should thank him for it.”
“I do.”
“Wacora is thanked already in the smile of welcome that met him in Sansuta’s eyes.”
The young girl blushed at the delicate compliment, and, going out, left the two chiefs together.
“You tell me, Wacora, that the affairs of your tribe are prosperous, and that there is peace and harmony in your council chamber?”
“Yes, uncle, the same as in my father’s lifetime.”
“That is well, for without that there is no real strength. So it is with us.”
“You have told me nothing of the pale-faces at Tampa Bay.”
“They are our firm friends still. In spite of your fears, Wacora, to the contrary, Rody and the colonists are true to their promises.”
“I am pleased to hear Oluski say so,” was the nephew’s reply.
“I did not tell you that he had made an offer to buy the hill.”
“To buy the hill! What hill?”
“That on which we make our annual encampment. We call it Tampa after the bay.”
“Indeed! He wants that, too?” rejoined the young chief, in a tone savouring of indignation.
“Yes; I called our council together, and told them of the offer.”
“And their answer?”
“The same as my own; they refused.”
Wacora gave a sigh of relief.
“When I carried that answer to the white he was not angry, but met me like a friend.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes; he pressed upon my acceptance rich presents, and told me that Oluski’s friendship was worth more than land.”
“But you refused the presents,” said the young Indian, eagerly.
“I could not; my old friend would take no denial. Fearing to offend him, I yielded.”
The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of an Indian, one of the warriors of the tribe.
“What does Maracota want?” asked Oluski.
“To speak to Wacora, the chief.”
Wacora desired him to express his wishes in the presence of his uncle.
“Marcota must speak to Wacora alone, if Oluski will allow it.”
Oluski made a sign to his nephew, who rising, followed the man outside the door.
“Wacora must follow me further,” signified the Indian.
“Go on, I will do so.”
Maracota led the way, and only paused in his walk when he had got some distance from the dwelling.
“Has Wacora faith in Maracota?”
The young chief started at the question which his guide had put to him in a tone of strange earnestness.
“Yes. I have faith in you.”
“And he would serve Oluski, our chief?”
“With my life!”
“Sansuta is dear to Oluski.”
Again Wacora started. Maracota’s words were enigmatical.
His guide continued—
“Sansuta is beautiful.”
“We all know that. Was it to tell me this that you brought me here?”
“The pale-faces admire the beauty of our Indian maidens.”
“What of that?”
“One pale-face has marked Sansuta’s beauty.”
“Ha!”
“His eyes gladden at sight of her. Her cheeks grow red at sight of him.”
“His name?”
“Warren Rody.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Maracota is Oluski’s friend and watches over his chief’s happiness. To-night Warren’s messenger was in town—the negro, Crookleg.”
The young chief was silent. Maracota watched him without breaking in upon his thoughts.
Recovering himself, Wacora asked—
“Where did you see the negro?”
“In the old fort.”
“The old fort! What was he doing there?”
“Maracota followed his trail—a lame foot and a stick—and saw him as he entered the ruin; some one was waiting for him inside.”
“Who was with the negro,” demanded Wacora.
“His master,” repeated Maracota.
“Warren Rody?”
Maracota nodded.
“I heard their talk,” he said.
“What did they say?” asked the young chief.
“At first, I could not hear—they spoke in whispers. After a time they grew angry. Warren abused Crookleg and struck him. The black man uttered a fierce oath and leaped over the wall of the fort at the side opposite to where I lay hid.”
“Did you hear their conversation before they quarrelled?”
“I heard the pale-face say Crookleg had only half done his errand and must return to complete it. The black refused. It was then the other got angry and struck him.”
“This is very strange, Maracota. It is some treachery I cannot understand. The negro must be found and questioned!”
“Well, Massa Injun, dat ain’t hard to do. He, he, he!”
Had the fiend of darkness himself risen between the two Indians, they could not have been more startled than when these words were uttered in their ears, for it was Crookleg who spoke.
The darkey appeared delighted at the effect his sudden appearance had created, and continued for some time to chuckle in great glee.
“Yas! here be de ’dentical nigger wot you was a-wishin’ for. You hab found him ’ithout gwin far. He, he, he!”
Wacora turned sternly towards him.
“And having found you, wretch, I mean to keep you till I’ve made you speak the truth.”
“De trufe, Massa Injun, am what dis ole nigga always ’peak. He can’t help it, kase it comes so na’tral to him. Trufe an’ innocence is dis chile’s on’y riches, tank heaven!”
The look which accompanied this impious speech was almost diabolical.
Wacora cut him short in an attempt to continue his speech, by a command instantly to make known what Warren Rody wanted, with what message he had been charged, and to whom.
Crookleg, however was not easily taken at a disadvantage.
“Well, Massa Injun, I don’t mind tellin’ you somet’ing, but I don’t like talkin’ afore other folk. You send dis indiwiddle away,” pointing to Maracota, “an’ ole Crook’ll tell you all about it. He meant to do so, when he comed here so sudden.”
With a sign the chief dismissed Maracota, and telling the black to follow, led him a little distance further from the town.
A long, and apparently interesting conversation ensued, in which Crookleg’s gesticulations were, as usual, violent, while the young chief, with arms folded, and brows knit, listened to his narration.
It was late ere they separated, the negro hobbling back in the direction of the ruin, while Wacora returned to his uncle’s dwelling.
Chapter Eighteen.A Love Meeting.The old fort, as already said, was in a ruinous condition.It had at one time been a stronghold of the Spaniards, but on their quitting that part of the country, it had been suffered to fall into decay.Early in the morning succeeding Wacora’s interview with Crookleg, two persons stood conversing near the inner wall of the ruin.They were Sansuta and Warren Rody.The Indian girl had stolen from her father’s house unnoticed by the few early risers, and with cautious steps had gained the fort.Warren’s presence at such a distance from Tampa Bay, as well as Crookleg’s attendance upon him, were thus explained:—“I am very grateful to you, Sansuta, for coming here to meet me.”“I am afraid I have done wrong.”“Wrong! What can you mean?”“That I am deceiving my father, my kind father; but it is for the last time.”“The last time?”“Yes, I have determined that this shall be our last meeting. I could not endure my father’s reproaches, if he knew that I betrayed his confidence.”“Do you doubt my love for you, Sansuta? Will it not make up for Oluski’s anger?”“Warren!”The reproachful tone in which Sansuta uttered his name, recalled young Rody to himself.He immediately changed his tactics.“But why talk of Oluski’s anger? Rather speak of my love. Surely you do not doubt it?”The Indian maiden heaved a sigh.“Sansuta does not doubt you, but she is unhappy.”“Unhappy! Why?”“Because an Indian girl would make but a poor wife to a white gentleman.”A strange smile crossed the young man’s face. He did not, however, interrupt her.“If Sansuta cared for you less, she would not have been here this morning; she would not have seen you again.”“Come, come, dearest, you alarm yourself without reason. Need I tell you how much I love you—how I have always loved you? Have we not grown up together? What more natural than love like mine?”“But your father—”“He will not object. Why should he? Is he not Oluski’s best friend?”“Yes, they are friends, but still—”Warren saw that the girl was nervous and alarmed. He lost no time in reassuring her.“And, after all, dearest, we need not tell them of our love until we are sure of their consent. In the meantime, let us think only of ourselves. You have not yet told me what I longed to hear.”“What is that?”“The whispering assurance that your heart is mine?”A painful struggle was evidently taking place in the maiden’s breast. Filial duty and self-reproach contended with that feeling, nurtured by the soft blandishments of the scoundrel by her side.In such a contest love is always the victim.This case was not exceptional. Softly murmuring the young man’s name, Sansuta hid her head upon his shoulder.His arm enclasped her waist.The confession had been made. The die was cast!They were both startled by a sound heard near. It was like some one sighing.Warren, with the eye of a lynx, searched among the weeds and wild vines, and pierced through the foliage on all sides, but saw nothing.Reassuring her with honeyed words, he then led the girl away from the spot.As soon as they had disappeared a man’s form was seen standing upon the place they had last occupied; while another was visible at no great distance from it.He who first made appearance seemed utterly bowed down with grief, whilst a cloud black as night was visible on his brow. It was the chief, Wacora!With an angry and contemptuous action he flung some pieces of money to the other who had followed him, and was the negro Crookleg.“Begone! Wacora may use you for his revenge—you shall not witness his grief. Begone!”The black picked up the coins, grinned hideously and hobbled away.Wacora stood for some time rapt in his own sad thoughts. Then, turning his back upon the old fort, he retraced his steps to Oluski’s dwelling.The old chief found but a dull guest in his nephew during that and many succeeding days.He would sit for hours seemingly lost to all that was passing around him.Then starting up suddenly he would stride out of the dwelling with rapid steps, pass out of the town, and on to the adjoining woods, plunging into their depths, to emerge from them hours after, sullen and abstracted as ever!His anxiety to return to his own tribe seemed to have passed away; and day by day he deferred his departure on the plea of some trivial excuse of remaining.He watched Sansuta’s movements, however, with the jealous care a mother might exercise over her infant child. Every look, word, and action seemed to command the closest scrutiny.The girl often trembled as she caught the young chief’s eye gazing upon her. His stern demeanour agitated her. She suspected that he knew her secret; although neither by word or action did he betray the knowledge.Oluski was amazed at his conduct. In their conversation there was a renewed bitterness when they talked of the pale-faces and their actions. It astonished the old Seminole chief. He could not understand the sudden growth of such an unjust antipathy; therefore became more reticent, and would sit for hours without exchanging a word with his nephew.Time passed in this manner until the period for the annual migration of the tribe to Tampa Bay. To Oluski’s surprise, Wacora signified his intention to accompany them, and along with them he went.
The old fort, as already said, was in a ruinous condition.
It had at one time been a stronghold of the Spaniards, but on their quitting that part of the country, it had been suffered to fall into decay.
Early in the morning succeeding Wacora’s interview with Crookleg, two persons stood conversing near the inner wall of the ruin.
They were Sansuta and Warren Rody.
The Indian girl had stolen from her father’s house unnoticed by the few early risers, and with cautious steps had gained the fort.
Warren’s presence at such a distance from Tampa Bay, as well as Crookleg’s attendance upon him, were thus explained:—
“I am very grateful to you, Sansuta, for coming here to meet me.”
“I am afraid I have done wrong.”
“Wrong! What can you mean?”
“That I am deceiving my father, my kind father; but it is for the last time.”
“The last time?”
“Yes, I have determined that this shall be our last meeting. I could not endure my father’s reproaches, if he knew that I betrayed his confidence.”
“Do you doubt my love for you, Sansuta? Will it not make up for Oluski’s anger?”
“Warren!”
The reproachful tone in which Sansuta uttered his name, recalled young Rody to himself.
He immediately changed his tactics.
“But why talk of Oluski’s anger? Rather speak of my love. Surely you do not doubt it?”
The Indian maiden heaved a sigh.
“Sansuta does not doubt you, but she is unhappy.”
“Unhappy! Why?”
“Because an Indian girl would make but a poor wife to a white gentleman.”
A strange smile crossed the young man’s face. He did not, however, interrupt her.
“If Sansuta cared for you less, she would not have been here this morning; she would not have seen you again.”
“Come, come, dearest, you alarm yourself without reason. Need I tell you how much I love you—how I have always loved you? Have we not grown up together? What more natural than love like mine?”
“But your father—”
“He will not object. Why should he? Is he not Oluski’s best friend?”
“Yes, they are friends, but still—”
Warren saw that the girl was nervous and alarmed. He lost no time in reassuring her.
“And, after all, dearest, we need not tell them of our love until we are sure of their consent. In the meantime, let us think only of ourselves. You have not yet told me what I longed to hear.”
“What is that?”
“The whispering assurance that your heart is mine?”
A painful struggle was evidently taking place in the maiden’s breast. Filial duty and self-reproach contended with that feeling, nurtured by the soft blandishments of the scoundrel by her side.
In such a contest love is always the victim.
This case was not exceptional. Softly murmuring the young man’s name, Sansuta hid her head upon his shoulder.
His arm enclasped her waist.
The confession had been made. The die was cast!
They were both startled by a sound heard near. It was like some one sighing.
Warren, with the eye of a lynx, searched among the weeds and wild vines, and pierced through the foliage on all sides, but saw nothing.
Reassuring her with honeyed words, he then led the girl away from the spot.
As soon as they had disappeared a man’s form was seen standing upon the place they had last occupied; while another was visible at no great distance from it.
He who first made appearance seemed utterly bowed down with grief, whilst a cloud black as night was visible on his brow. It was the chief, Wacora!
With an angry and contemptuous action he flung some pieces of money to the other who had followed him, and was the negro Crookleg.
“Begone! Wacora may use you for his revenge—you shall not witness his grief. Begone!”
The black picked up the coins, grinned hideously and hobbled away.
Wacora stood for some time rapt in his own sad thoughts. Then, turning his back upon the old fort, he retraced his steps to Oluski’s dwelling.
The old chief found but a dull guest in his nephew during that and many succeeding days.
He would sit for hours seemingly lost to all that was passing around him.
Then starting up suddenly he would stride out of the dwelling with rapid steps, pass out of the town, and on to the adjoining woods, plunging into their depths, to emerge from them hours after, sullen and abstracted as ever!
His anxiety to return to his own tribe seemed to have passed away; and day by day he deferred his departure on the plea of some trivial excuse of remaining.
He watched Sansuta’s movements, however, with the jealous care a mother might exercise over her infant child. Every look, word, and action seemed to command the closest scrutiny.
The girl often trembled as she caught the young chief’s eye gazing upon her. His stern demeanour agitated her. She suspected that he knew her secret; although neither by word or action did he betray the knowledge.
Oluski was amazed at his conduct. In their conversation there was a renewed bitterness when they talked of the pale-faces and their actions. It astonished the old Seminole chief. He could not understand the sudden growth of such an unjust antipathy; therefore became more reticent, and would sit for hours without exchanging a word with his nephew.
Time passed in this manner until the period for the annual migration of the tribe to Tampa Bay. To Oluski’s surprise, Wacora signified his intention to accompany them, and along with them he went.
Chapter Nineteen.A Changed Scene.A still greater surprise was in store for the Seminole chief and his tribe.The Indians stood as if petrified, when they came within eight of the well-known hill.Upon its table top, and visible for miles around, stood a frame mansion, in all the glitter of fresh paint.When Oluski first saw it, he uttered an exclamation of agonised anger, at the same time clutching hold of Wacora’s arm; but for its friendly support he had fallen to the ground.“Look, Wacora; look yonder! What is it we see?”As he spoke, he passed his hands across his eyes to shade off the sun.No; they had not deceived him; there was no glamour over them. The sun’s beams were shining brightly upon a house.His nephew looked sadly into the old man’s face, fervently pressing his hand. He dared not trust himself to speak.“And this is the act of a friend. So much for my blind faith in the traitor’s deceitful words. May the curse of the Great Spirit fall on him and his!”Wacora added—“Yes; may both be accursed!”Then drawing his uncle away from the contemplation of the painful sight, he conducted him to a neighbouring grove of oaks; the tribe halting near the spot.A council of the chief men was instantly called, and a plan of action resolved on.Oluski and Wacora were commissioned to visit the white settlement, and demand the reason of this scandalous usurpation.The Indians proceeded no farther.That night they encamped upon the spot where they had halted, and early the next morning the two chiefs departed on their mission.As they approached the hill another surprise awaited them.Surrounding it was a strong wooden stockade, with substantially built block-houses at regular distances from each other. Behind the palisading men were seen, as if watching the approach, and ready to receive them in a hostile manner.“See!” cried Wacora, “they are prepared for our reception. The robbers have determined to maintain themselves in their stolen possession.”“Yes, yes! I see. But let us not act rashly. We will first make an appeal in the name of justice. If they refuse that, then we must prove ourselves worthy the blood in our veins! worthy of our ancestors! Oh, I would rather be lying among them in yonder graveyard than that this should have arisen! The fault has been mine, and upon me let fall the punishment. Come on!”They reached the central block-house, and were summoned to a halt by one of the settlers, who, gun in hand, stood by the entrance.“Who are you? What do you want?”Oluski answered—“White man, go tell your governor that Oluski, the Seminole chief, would speak with him.”The sentinel answered sharply—“The governor is not here. He is at his house, and cannot be disturbed.”Wacora’s hand clutched his tomahawk. Oluski perceiving the act, laid hold of his nephew’s arm.“Patience, Wacora, patience! The time for bloodshed will come soon enough. For my sake be patient.”Then, turning to the sentry, he continued, his eyes flashing in their sockets. “Fool!” said he, “go with my message; the lives of hundreds may depend upon it. Tell your chief that I am here! Bring him instantly before me!”The dignity of the old Indian’s manner struck the man with respect. Perhaps the nervous twitching of Wacora’s fingers about the handle of his tomahawk had also its effect.Calling out to a comrade who was near, and placing him at the post, he hastened off towards the house.The two Indians, without exchanging speech, patiently awaited his return.There was evidently some commotion within the frame dwelling at the reception of the news, as several men, well armed, were observed hurrying off in different directions, and taking station along the line of the stockade.Shortly after, the man who had been sent was seen coming back.Throwing open the strong slab door, he beckoned the two chiefs to enter.They did so; and then, leading them inside the block-house, the man told them there to await the governor’s arrival. It was not long delayed.Elias Rody was seen coming forth from his new mansion, followed by five or six stalwart settlers.All save himself carried rifles.The Indians stood still as statues.They made no movement to lessen the distance between themselves and the white men.At length Elias Rody and Oluski stood face to face.A close observer might have detected signs of fear in the governor’s countenance.Despite his assumed boldness of bearing, he found it hard to look into the face of the man he had so cruelly wronged.It was he, however, who first broke the silence so painful to himself.“What does Oluski wish to say to me?”“What is the meaning of this?” asked the chief, pointing to the mansion as he spoke.“That is my new residence.”“By what right have you built it on this ground?”“By the right of possession—bought and paid for?”Oluski started as if a shot had struck him.“Bought and paid for? Dog of a liar! What do you mean?”“Only that I have built my house upon land purchased from you. Your memory appears bad, my old Indian friend.”“Purchased from me? When—how?”“Do you already forget the guns, powder, and valuables I gave you? Fie, fie! you are trying to cheat me! Surely you must remember your bargain! But if your memory fail you, these gentlemen,” here Rody pointed to the settlers, “these gentlemen are prepared to certify to the truth of what I say.”Oluski only groaned.The audacious treachery of the white man was beyond his simple belief.Wacora, burning with indignation, spoke for him.“False wretch, the lie these men are ready to swear to is too monstrous to be believed, even were they upon their oaths! Those gifts were thrust upon my uncle, falsely bestowed as the lands he gave you were falsely claimed for services done to him! Your black heart never conceived a generous thought or a just deed! All was for a treacherous end—the betrayal of this noble-minded chief, as much your superior as the Deity you profess to worship is above the white man himself! Wacora despises you! Wacora has said it!”He drew Oluski towards him, and stood erect and proud in the consciousness of right before the trembling usurper and his adherents.The aged chief had recovered himself while his nephew was speaking.“What Wacora has said is good, and he only utters my own thoughts. I came here ready to receive atonement for the wrong done me and my people. I now see that there is a darker depth of treachery in you, even than this which has robbed a confiding man of his best-loved possession. I, Oluski, the Seminole, spit at and despise you! I have spoken!”With a kingly dignity the old chief folded his blanket around him, and leaning on his nephew’s arm, slowly departed from the spot.Rody and his followers, as if transfixed by the withering contempt with which the Indians had treated, them, suffered the two to depart without molestation.They now redoubled their watchfulness, stationed additional sentinels around the stockade, and looked after the arms and ammunition, with which they would, no doubt, have to defend the usurped possession.The small cloud that had been slowly gathering over the settlement was growing dark and portentous. The soft breeze was rapidly rising to a storm.The people of the settlement, alarmed by the news of the interview between Rody and the Indian chief’s, which spread rapidly among them, hastened to take measures for the safety of their families. The women and children were hurriedly brought in from the outlying plantations, and lodged in temporary abodes within the stockade, whilst provisions in plenty were carried to the same place.The war signal had sounded, and before long the work of carnage would commence!
A still greater surprise was in store for the Seminole chief and his tribe.
The Indians stood as if petrified, when they came within eight of the well-known hill.
Upon its table top, and visible for miles around, stood a frame mansion, in all the glitter of fresh paint.
When Oluski first saw it, he uttered an exclamation of agonised anger, at the same time clutching hold of Wacora’s arm; but for its friendly support he had fallen to the ground.
“Look, Wacora; look yonder! What is it we see?”
As he spoke, he passed his hands across his eyes to shade off the sun.
No; they had not deceived him; there was no glamour over them. The sun’s beams were shining brightly upon a house.
His nephew looked sadly into the old man’s face, fervently pressing his hand. He dared not trust himself to speak.
“And this is the act of a friend. So much for my blind faith in the traitor’s deceitful words. May the curse of the Great Spirit fall on him and his!”
Wacora added—“Yes; may both be accursed!”
Then drawing his uncle away from the contemplation of the painful sight, he conducted him to a neighbouring grove of oaks; the tribe halting near the spot.
A council of the chief men was instantly called, and a plan of action resolved on.
Oluski and Wacora were commissioned to visit the white settlement, and demand the reason of this scandalous usurpation.
The Indians proceeded no farther.
That night they encamped upon the spot where they had halted, and early the next morning the two chiefs departed on their mission.
As they approached the hill another surprise awaited them.
Surrounding it was a strong wooden stockade, with substantially built block-houses at regular distances from each other. Behind the palisading men were seen, as if watching the approach, and ready to receive them in a hostile manner.
“See!” cried Wacora, “they are prepared for our reception. The robbers have determined to maintain themselves in their stolen possession.”
“Yes, yes! I see. But let us not act rashly. We will first make an appeal in the name of justice. If they refuse that, then we must prove ourselves worthy the blood in our veins! worthy of our ancestors! Oh, I would rather be lying among them in yonder graveyard than that this should have arisen! The fault has been mine, and upon me let fall the punishment. Come on!”
They reached the central block-house, and were summoned to a halt by one of the settlers, who, gun in hand, stood by the entrance.
“Who are you? What do you want?”
Oluski answered—
“White man, go tell your governor that Oluski, the Seminole chief, would speak with him.”
The sentinel answered sharply—
“The governor is not here. He is at his house, and cannot be disturbed.”
Wacora’s hand clutched his tomahawk. Oluski perceiving the act, laid hold of his nephew’s arm.
“Patience, Wacora, patience! The time for bloodshed will come soon enough. For my sake be patient.”
Then, turning to the sentry, he continued, his eyes flashing in their sockets. “Fool!” said he, “go with my message; the lives of hundreds may depend upon it. Tell your chief that I am here! Bring him instantly before me!”
The dignity of the old Indian’s manner struck the man with respect. Perhaps the nervous twitching of Wacora’s fingers about the handle of his tomahawk had also its effect.
Calling out to a comrade who was near, and placing him at the post, he hastened off towards the house.
The two Indians, without exchanging speech, patiently awaited his return.
There was evidently some commotion within the frame dwelling at the reception of the news, as several men, well armed, were observed hurrying off in different directions, and taking station along the line of the stockade.
Shortly after, the man who had been sent was seen coming back.
Throwing open the strong slab door, he beckoned the two chiefs to enter.
They did so; and then, leading them inside the block-house, the man told them there to await the governor’s arrival. It was not long delayed.
Elias Rody was seen coming forth from his new mansion, followed by five or six stalwart settlers.
All save himself carried rifles.
The Indians stood still as statues.
They made no movement to lessen the distance between themselves and the white men.
At length Elias Rody and Oluski stood face to face.
A close observer might have detected signs of fear in the governor’s countenance.
Despite his assumed boldness of bearing, he found it hard to look into the face of the man he had so cruelly wronged.
It was he, however, who first broke the silence so painful to himself.
“What does Oluski wish to say to me?”
“What is the meaning of this?” asked the chief, pointing to the mansion as he spoke.
“That is my new residence.”
“By what right have you built it on this ground?”
“By the right of possession—bought and paid for?”
Oluski started as if a shot had struck him.
“Bought and paid for? Dog of a liar! What do you mean?”
“Only that I have built my house upon land purchased from you. Your memory appears bad, my old Indian friend.”
“Purchased from me? When—how?”
“Do you already forget the guns, powder, and valuables I gave you? Fie, fie! you are trying to cheat me! Surely you must remember your bargain! But if your memory fail you, these gentlemen,” here Rody pointed to the settlers, “these gentlemen are prepared to certify to the truth of what I say.”
Oluski only groaned.
The audacious treachery of the white man was beyond his simple belief.
Wacora, burning with indignation, spoke for him.
“False wretch, the lie these men are ready to swear to is too monstrous to be believed, even were they upon their oaths! Those gifts were thrust upon my uncle, falsely bestowed as the lands he gave you were falsely claimed for services done to him! Your black heart never conceived a generous thought or a just deed! All was for a treacherous end—the betrayal of this noble-minded chief, as much your superior as the Deity you profess to worship is above the white man himself! Wacora despises you! Wacora has said it!”
He drew Oluski towards him, and stood erect and proud in the consciousness of right before the trembling usurper and his adherents.
The aged chief had recovered himself while his nephew was speaking.
“What Wacora has said is good, and he only utters my own thoughts. I came here ready to receive atonement for the wrong done me and my people. I now see that there is a darker depth of treachery in you, even than this which has robbed a confiding man of his best-loved possession. I, Oluski, the Seminole, spit at and despise you! I have spoken!”
With a kingly dignity the old chief folded his blanket around him, and leaning on his nephew’s arm, slowly departed from the spot.
Rody and his followers, as if transfixed by the withering contempt with which the Indians had treated, them, suffered the two to depart without molestation.
They now redoubled their watchfulness, stationed additional sentinels around the stockade, and looked after the arms and ammunition, with which they would, no doubt, have to defend the usurped possession.
The small cloud that had been slowly gathering over the settlement was growing dark and portentous. The soft breeze was rapidly rising to a storm.
The people of the settlement, alarmed by the news of the interview between Rody and the Indian chief’s, which spread rapidly among them, hastened to take measures for the safety of their families. The women and children were hurriedly brought in from the outlying plantations, and lodged in temporary abodes within the stockade, whilst provisions in plenty were carried to the same place.
The war signal had sounded, and before long the work of carnage would commence!
Chapter Twenty.Still Another Sorrow.Disappointed and chafed, the two chiefs returned in all haste to the Indian encampment.But few words had been spoken between them on their way from the hill. A firm pressure of his uncle’s hand was proof that Wacora, once embarked in the impending contest, would remain faithful to its end.It needs no speech among true men to establish confidence. Between the two chiefs it was mutual.As they neared the spot where the tribe had pitched their tents, an unusual excitement was observable. Men and women were conversing in little groups, animated apparently by the receipt of some startling news.The two chiefs at first imagined that the result of their interview was already known; but on reflection, the impossibility of the thing became apparent to them, and their surprise was extreme.All at once they saw Nelatu hastening towards them.The young man seemed ready to drop as if from fatigue. His looks told that he was a prey to the keenest anxiety.On arriving before the two chiefs, he was for some moments unable to speak.Words rose to his tongue, but they found no articulate utterance. His lips seemed glued together. Drops of sweat glistened upon his brow.The father, with a dreadful prescience of new sorrows, trembled at the sight of his son.“Nelatu,” he said, “what anguish awaits me? Of what fresh disaster do you bring the tidings? Speak! speak!”The young Indian again essayed, but only succeeded in muttering “Sansuta!”“Sansuta! What of her? Is she dead? Answer me!”“No; she is not dead. Oh! father be calm—have courage—she is—”“Speak, boy, or I shall go mad! What of her?”“She is gone!”“Gone! Whither?”“I have sought her everywhere. I only heard of her departure after you left the encampment. Bury your tomahawk in my brain if you will, for I have been the cause.”“What does the boy rave about? What does it all mean? Has the Great Spirit cursed me in all my hopes? Speak, Nelatu. Where is your sister? You say she is gone. Gone! Gone! With whom?”“With Warren Rody!”Oluski uttered a shriek of mingled rage and grief, pressed his hand upon his heart, and reeling, would have fallen to the earth but for Wacora’s arm, at that instant thrown around him.The two young men bent over his prostrate form, which his nephew had gently laid upon the sward.A few faint, murmuring words escaped from his lips; so faint, indeed, that they were not comprehended by either son or nephew.The frown which had gathered on his brow in his interview with Elias Rody gradually gave place to a gentle smile. His eyes, for an instant, rested sorrowfully on the face of Nelatu, then on Wacora, and were closed for ever!With that look had his life ended. The spirit of the Seminole Chief had departed to a better land.Wounded in his friendship, doubly wounded in his pride, cruelly stabbed by the desertion of his own daughter and the weakness of his own son, outraged as friend and father, the old man’s heart had burst within his bosom!Tenderly covering the body with his blanket, Wacora stooped and kissed the cold brow in silence, registering a vow of vengeance upon his murderers!Nelatu, stunned by the suddenness of the event, hid his face in his hands, and gave way to lamentation and tears.That evening the remains of their chief were interred in a temporary grave, around which the warriors of the tribe, by their own consent now commanded by Wacora, joined in an oath of sure and ample vengeance. Coupled with their oath was the declaration that war and rapine should not cease until the hill was again their own, and the body of their beloved chief laid peacefully beside the bones of his ancestors.That night the red pole was erected in their encampment, and under the glare of pine torches was performed around it the fearful scalp-dances of the tribe.The white sentinels upon the hill saw afar off the fiendlike performance, and, as around echoed in their ears their wild shriek, they turned trembling from the hill, and cursed Elias Rody!
Disappointed and chafed, the two chiefs returned in all haste to the Indian encampment.
But few words had been spoken between them on their way from the hill. A firm pressure of his uncle’s hand was proof that Wacora, once embarked in the impending contest, would remain faithful to its end.
It needs no speech among true men to establish confidence. Between the two chiefs it was mutual.
As they neared the spot where the tribe had pitched their tents, an unusual excitement was observable. Men and women were conversing in little groups, animated apparently by the receipt of some startling news.
The two chiefs at first imagined that the result of their interview was already known; but on reflection, the impossibility of the thing became apparent to them, and their surprise was extreme.
All at once they saw Nelatu hastening towards them.
The young man seemed ready to drop as if from fatigue. His looks told that he was a prey to the keenest anxiety.
On arriving before the two chiefs, he was for some moments unable to speak.
Words rose to his tongue, but they found no articulate utterance. His lips seemed glued together. Drops of sweat glistened upon his brow.
The father, with a dreadful prescience of new sorrows, trembled at the sight of his son.
“Nelatu,” he said, “what anguish awaits me? Of what fresh disaster do you bring the tidings? Speak! speak!”
The young Indian again essayed, but only succeeded in muttering “Sansuta!”
“Sansuta! What of her? Is she dead? Answer me!”
“No; she is not dead. Oh! father be calm—have courage—she is—”
“Speak, boy, or I shall go mad! What of her?”
“She is gone!”
“Gone! Whither?”
“I have sought her everywhere. I only heard of her departure after you left the encampment. Bury your tomahawk in my brain if you will, for I have been the cause.”
“What does the boy rave about? What does it all mean? Has the Great Spirit cursed me in all my hopes? Speak, Nelatu. Where is your sister? You say she is gone. Gone! Gone! With whom?”
“With Warren Rody!”
Oluski uttered a shriek of mingled rage and grief, pressed his hand upon his heart, and reeling, would have fallen to the earth but for Wacora’s arm, at that instant thrown around him.
The two young men bent over his prostrate form, which his nephew had gently laid upon the sward.
A few faint, murmuring words escaped from his lips; so faint, indeed, that they were not comprehended by either son or nephew.
The frown which had gathered on his brow in his interview with Elias Rody gradually gave place to a gentle smile. His eyes, for an instant, rested sorrowfully on the face of Nelatu, then on Wacora, and were closed for ever!
With that look had his life ended. The spirit of the Seminole Chief had departed to a better land.
Wounded in his friendship, doubly wounded in his pride, cruelly stabbed by the desertion of his own daughter and the weakness of his own son, outraged as friend and father, the old man’s heart had burst within his bosom!
Tenderly covering the body with his blanket, Wacora stooped and kissed the cold brow in silence, registering a vow of vengeance upon his murderers!
Nelatu, stunned by the suddenness of the event, hid his face in his hands, and gave way to lamentation and tears.
That evening the remains of their chief were interred in a temporary grave, around which the warriors of the tribe, by their own consent now commanded by Wacora, joined in an oath of sure and ample vengeance. Coupled with their oath was the declaration that war and rapine should not cease until the hill was again their own, and the body of their beloved chief laid peacefully beside the bones of his ancestors.
That night the red pole was erected in their encampment, and under the glare of pine torches was performed around it the fearful scalp-dances of the tribe.
The white sentinels upon the hill saw afar off the fiendlike performance, and, as around echoed in their ears their wild shriek, they turned trembling from the hill, and cursed Elias Rody!
Chapter Twenty One.Wacora Chosen Chief.Wacora was unanimously elected war chief of the tribe over which his uncle had long ruled. Nelatu’s claims were so slight, his ability so deficient, that not one of the warriors wished to nominate him for the important position.To Wacora the honour was of inestimable value. By its means there was now a hope for the realisation of his long-cherished dream—the redemption of the red-man by the union of all the tribes into one powerful nation.He instantly dispatched messengers to the braves of his own sub-tribe, summoning them to Tampa Bay, to take part in the conflict.He was answered by the speedy arrival of a large and well-armed force, who, mingling with Oluski’s people, now became one community.Obedient to his mandate, they continued to preserve an ominously peaceful attitude towards the settlers, who, but for a knowledge to the contrary, might have comforted themselves with a belief that the red men had left the bay.But although unseen, their presence was not unfelt. The news of Oluski’s death had spread a feeling of alarm among the white colonists, which the heartless and assumed indifference of Elias Rody and his adherents could not dismiss from their minds.The “governor” seemed to have returned to the courses of his early life. He had for many years been a man of sober habits; but since the building of his new house a change had come over him. He had begun to drink freely, and in the excitement of preparation for the defence of his usurped property, he found a thousand excuses for the indulgence of that appetite so long kept under control.Still another matter gave discomfort to the governor. His son had been for some time missing from the settlement, and in a mysterious manner. His disappearance had a marked effect on his father’s temper, and when not cursing himself for the general discomfort he had caused, he cursed the son for adding to it!It will thus be seen that although Elias Rody had prepared his own bed, and was obliged to lie upon it, it was proving anything but a bed of roses.Had it not been for the presence of his daughter Alice, the new mansion in which he now lived, and for which he might yet have to pay dearly, would have been a perfect pandemonium to him.That amiable girl, by her gentle behaviour, did much to soften the rude, inharmonious elements around her; and the roughest of her father’s roystering companions were silent and respectful in her presence.She was like a ministering angel among those who had taken refuge within the stockade. She never seemed to tire of attending upon them or their wants. Her kind sympathetic voice and assiduous care were of inestimable service to the sick, who blessed her in their hearts.Nothing in the meantime had been heard of her brother Warren.Crookleg had also disappeared, although no one particularly missed him.Cris Carrol, the hunter, had not returned to the settlement. In some distant savanna he was no doubt tranquilly passing his time, at peace with all the world. Such was the condition of affairs.The first preparations for strife between the Whites and Indians had been made; and to several other outrages, similar to that committed by Elias Rody, may be traced the causes of that Seminole war which cost the government of the United States some thousands of lives, along with several millions of dollars, to say nought of the reputation of six hitherto distinguished generals.
Wacora was unanimously elected war chief of the tribe over which his uncle had long ruled. Nelatu’s claims were so slight, his ability so deficient, that not one of the warriors wished to nominate him for the important position.
To Wacora the honour was of inestimable value. By its means there was now a hope for the realisation of his long-cherished dream—the redemption of the red-man by the union of all the tribes into one powerful nation.
He instantly dispatched messengers to the braves of his own sub-tribe, summoning them to Tampa Bay, to take part in the conflict.
He was answered by the speedy arrival of a large and well-armed force, who, mingling with Oluski’s people, now became one community.
Obedient to his mandate, they continued to preserve an ominously peaceful attitude towards the settlers, who, but for a knowledge to the contrary, might have comforted themselves with a belief that the red men had left the bay.
But although unseen, their presence was not unfelt. The news of Oluski’s death had spread a feeling of alarm among the white colonists, which the heartless and assumed indifference of Elias Rody and his adherents could not dismiss from their minds.
The “governor” seemed to have returned to the courses of his early life. He had for many years been a man of sober habits; but since the building of his new house a change had come over him. He had begun to drink freely, and in the excitement of preparation for the defence of his usurped property, he found a thousand excuses for the indulgence of that appetite so long kept under control.
Still another matter gave discomfort to the governor. His son had been for some time missing from the settlement, and in a mysterious manner. His disappearance had a marked effect on his father’s temper, and when not cursing himself for the general discomfort he had caused, he cursed the son for adding to it!
It will thus be seen that although Elias Rody had prepared his own bed, and was obliged to lie upon it, it was proving anything but a bed of roses.
Had it not been for the presence of his daughter Alice, the new mansion in which he now lived, and for which he might yet have to pay dearly, would have been a perfect pandemonium to him.
That amiable girl, by her gentle behaviour, did much to soften the rude, inharmonious elements around her; and the roughest of her father’s roystering companions were silent and respectful in her presence.
She was like a ministering angel among those who had taken refuge within the stockade. She never seemed to tire of attending upon them or their wants. Her kind sympathetic voice and assiduous care were of inestimable service to the sick, who blessed her in their hearts.
Nothing in the meantime had been heard of her brother Warren.
Crookleg had also disappeared, although no one particularly missed him.
Cris Carrol, the hunter, had not returned to the settlement. In some distant savanna he was no doubt tranquilly passing his time, at peace with all the world. Such was the condition of affairs.
The first preparations for strife between the Whites and Indians had been made; and to several other outrages, similar to that committed by Elias Rody, may be traced the causes of that Seminole war which cost the government of the United States some thousands of lives, along with several millions of dollars, to say nought of the reputation of six hitherto distinguished generals.
Chapter Twenty Two.A Conversation between Cousins.The tranquil state of affairs did not last for long.The Indians, eager to revenge Oluski’s death, wore impatient of the restraint Wacora would have imposed upon them, and at a council convened for that purpose, they determined to attack the stockade upon the hill.This determination was hastened by several rencontres which had taken place in the outlying districts.A small party of the red men, led by Maracota, had pillaged and destroyed a plantation.Near the bay they had been met by some of the white settlers as they were returning from their work of destruction.In themêléewhich ensued a number of Indians were killed, while their white adversaries met with little loss.These and some individual cases of contest had worked the red men up to a pitch of savage earnestness that took all Wacora’s temporising power to restrain.He knew the character of the people he had to deal with too well to hazard opposition to their will, the more so as his own desire for vengeance was as deep and earnest, but more deadly than theirs.One thought occupied his mind nobler than that of revenge—the regeneration of the Indian race.A chimera it may have been, but still his great ambition.He thus spoke to the assembled chiefs—“I do not urge upon you to withhold vengeance for injuries done to our race by the white enemy. I only desire to make it more full and terrible. This is but the beginning of a long list of retributions, the overflowing of accumulated wrongs, the first step towards freedom and redemption! To take that step we must be patient until certain of success. Then begins a warfare that will only end with the annihilation of our hated enemies and in a new existence for the red men! Have I spoken well?”Loud approbation greeted him from the assembled warriors; but such is the inconsistency of human character that individually they devised means for immediate retaliation on the settlers.Hence the several encounters which had already taken place.Nelatu, mortified at his own weakness, was among the warriors addressed by Wacora.On returning from the council, the young chief approached his cousin.“Nelatu, you would do something to make up for your blind infatuation, that has led to such misfortunes?”“I would, Wacora, I would. My father’s face seems always before me, reproaching me as my sister’s destroyer.”“Then action is the only way by which to shake off the remorseful feeling. Our efforts have till now been fruitless in tracing the spot to which your sister has been carried. She must be found, and the punishment of the guilty made sure.”“Not Sansuta. You would not injure her?”Wacora smiled sadly, as he pressed his hand upon his heart.“No, Nelatu, I would not injure your sister. Alas! I had already learned to love her. I would not hurt her for worlds. It is the wretch who has carried her away. I would have him suffer a thousand deaths, and every death more terrible than the other!”“Tell me, what can I do? If I remain idle, I shall die!”“Take three or four of my own people, follow every trail that promises to lead to where they are concealed, and having found the monster, bring him to me alive.”Wacora’s eyes, as he uttered these words, blazed with passion.“I would rather go alone,” said Nelatu.“As you please; but remember, that there is one man you dare not trust, and yet he may be the means of finding Sansuta.”“His name?”“Crookleg, the negro.”“But he, too, is missing.”“I know it, and therefore he can lead you to their hiding-place, if he can be found. With Crookleg to assist you, you may succeed; without him your search will be fruitless.”“How am I to find him?”“By diligent search. He is not near the spot, but yet not so distant as to be ignorant of what is passing. He has the cunning of the wild cat; remember that.”“I’ll be a match for him, never fear, cousin.”Wacora glanced pityingly at the simple youth.He thought of his confiding nature, and felt that if the only chance of finding Sansuta lay in cunning, they would never be discovered.“Well, Nelatu, I have given you the best advice I can. Will you undertake the search?”“I will!”“When?”“At once, Wacora.”With these words the cousins separated.
The tranquil state of affairs did not last for long.
The Indians, eager to revenge Oluski’s death, wore impatient of the restraint Wacora would have imposed upon them, and at a council convened for that purpose, they determined to attack the stockade upon the hill.
This determination was hastened by several rencontres which had taken place in the outlying districts.
A small party of the red men, led by Maracota, had pillaged and destroyed a plantation.
Near the bay they had been met by some of the white settlers as they were returning from their work of destruction.
In themêléewhich ensued a number of Indians were killed, while their white adversaries met with little loss.
These and some individual cases of contest had worked the red men up to a pitch of savage earnestness that took all Wacora’s temporising power to restrain.
He knew the character of the people he had to deal with too well to hazard opposition to their will, the more so as his own desire for vengeance was as deep and earnest, but more deadly than theirs.
One thought occupied his mind nobler than that of revenge—the regeneration of the Indian race.
A chimera it may have been, but still his great ambition.
He thus spoke to the assembled chiefs—
“I do not urge upon you to withhold vengeance for injuries done to our race by the white enemy. I only desire to make it more full and terrible. This is but the beginning of a long list of retributions, the overflowing of accumulated wrongs, the first step towards freedom and redemption! To take that step we must be patient until certain of success. Then begins a warfare that will only end with the annihilation of our hated enemies and in a new existence for the red men! Have I spoken well?”
Loud approbation greeted him from the assembled warriors; but such is the inconsistency of human character that individually they devised means for immediate retaliation on the settlers.
Hence the several encounters which had already taken place.
Nelatu, mortified at his own weakness, was among the warriors addressed by Wacora.
On returning from the council, the young chief approached his cousin.
“Nelatu, you would do something to make up for your blind infatuation, that has led to such misfortunes?”
“I would, Wacora, I would. My father’s face seems always before me, reproaching me as my sister’s destroyer.”
“Then action is the only way by which to shake off the remorseful feeling. Our efforts have till now been fruitless in tracing the spot to which your sister has been carried. She must be found, and the punishment of the guilty made sure.”
“Not Sansuta. You would not injure her?”
Wacora smiled sadly, as he pressed his hand upon his heart.
“No, Nelatu, I would not injure your sister. Alas! I had already learned to love her. I would not hurt her for worlds. It is the wretch who has carried her away. I would have him suffer a thousand deaths, and every death more terrible than the other!”
“Tell me, what can I do? If I remain idle, I shall die!”
“Take three or four of my own people, follow every trail that promises to lead to where they are concealed, and having found the monster, bring him to me alive.”
Wacora’s eyes, as he uttered these words, blazed with passion.
“I would rather go alone,” said Nelatu.
“As you please; but remember, that there is one man you dare not trust, and yet he may be the means of finding Sansuta.”
“His name?”
“Crookleg, the negro.”
“But he, too, is missing.”
“I know it, and therefore he can lead you to their hiding-place, if he can be found. With Crookleg to assist you, you may succeed; without him your search will be fruitless.”
“How am I to find him?”
“By diligent search. He is not near the spot, but yet not so distant as to be ignorant of what is passing. He has the cunning of the wild cat; remember that.”
“I’ll be a match for him, never fear, cousin.”
Wacora glanced pityingly at the simple youth.
He thought of his confiding nature, and felt that if the only chance of finding Sansuta lay in cunning, they would never be discovered.
“Well, Nelatu, I have given you the best advice I can. Will you undertake the search?”
“I will!”
“When?”
“At once, Wacora.”
With these words the cousins separated.