Within a few hours Coacoochee had learned all that was to be known concerning the recent expedition of Jeffers and Ruffin. If they were successful in their undertaking, they were to proceed directly to Charleston, South Carolina, and there dispose of their captives. As they had now been absent from St. Augustine for more than a week, this is what they were supposed to have done.
Once during his hurried interviews with those who were able to give him information, but were fearful of being discovered in his company, the young Indian was vaguely warned that some new laws relating to his people had just been passed, and that if he were not careful, he might get into trouble through them.
Several times during the morning one or more of the street dogs of the town ran snarling after Ul-we; but, in each case, one of his deep growls and a display of his formidable teeth caused them to slink away and leave him unmolested.
Having finished his business, Coacoochee set out on a return to the camp where his warriors awaited him. His heart was heavy with the news that he had just received, and as he walked, he thought bitterly of the fate of the friend who had been dragged into slavery far beyond his reach or power of rescue.
Thus thinking, and paying but slight attention to his surroundings, he reached the edge of the town. He was passing its last building, a low groggery, on the porch of which were collected a group of men, most of them more or less under the influence of liquor.
One of the group was a swarthy-faced fellow named Salano, who had for some unknown reason conceived a bitter hatred against all Indians, and often boasted that he would no more hesitate to shoot one than he would a wolf or a rattlesnake. Beside this man lay his dog, a mongrel cur with a sneaking expression, that had gained some notoriety as a fighter.
As Coacoochee passed this group, though without paying any attention to them, Salano called out to him in an insulting tone:
"Hello, Injun! whar did you steal that dog?"
If the young chief heard this question, he did not indicate by any sign that he had done so; but continued calmly on his way.
Again Salano shouted after him. "I say whar did you steal that dog, Injun?" then, with an oath, he added: "Bring him here; I want to look at him."
Still there was no reply.
In the meantime the cur at Salano's feet was growling and showing his teeth as he gazed after the retreating form of Ul-we.
At this juncture his master stopped, and pointing in the direction of the staghound, said, "Go, bite him, sir!"
The cur darted forward, and made a vicious snap at Ul-we's hind legs, inflicting a painful wound.
The temper of the big dog was tried beyond endurance. He turned, and with a couple of leaps overtook the cur, already in yelping retreat. Ul-we seized him by the back in his powerful jaws. There was a wild yell, a momentary struggle, a crunching of bones, and the cur lay lifeless in the dust. At the same moment the report of a rifle rang out, and the superb staghound sank slowly across the body of his late enemy, shot through the heart.
All this happened in so short a space of time that the double tragedy was complete almost before Coacoochee realized what was taking place.
The moment he did so, he sprang to his faithful companion, and kneeling in the dust beside him, raised the creature's head in his arms. The great, loving eyes opened slowly and gazed pleadingly into the face of the young Indian; with a last effort the dog feebly licked his hand, and then all was over. Ul-we, the tall one, the noblest dog ever owned and loved by a Seminole, was dead.
Over this pathetic scene the group about the groggery made merry with shouts of laughter and taunting remarks. As Coacoochee, satisfied that his dog was really dead, slowly rose to his feet, Salano jeeringly called out, "What'll you take for your pup now, Injun?"
The next moment the man staggered back with an exclamation of terror as the young Indian sprang to where he stood, and with a face distorted by rage hissed between his teeth:
"From thy body shall thy heart be torn for this act! Coacoochee has sworn it."
Even as he spoke, a pistol held in Salano's hand was levelled at his head, and his face was burned by the explosion that instantly followed, though the bullet intended for him whistled harmlessly over his head. A young man who had but that moment appeared on the scene had struck up the murderer's arm at the instant of pulling the trigger, exclaiming as he did so:
"Are you mad, Salano!"
Then to Coacoochee he said: "Go now before further mischief is done. The man is crazy with drink, and not responsible for his actions. I will see that no further harm comes to you." Without a word, but with one penetrating look at the face of the speaker, as though to fix it indelibly on his memory, the young Indian turned and walked rapidly away.
He had not gone more than a mile from town, and was walking slowly with downcast head and filled with bitter thoughts, when he was roused from his unhappy reverie by the sound of galloping hoofs behind him. Turning, he saw two horsemen rapidly approaching the place where he stood. At the same time he became aware that two others, who had made a wide circuit under cover of the dense palmetto scrub on either side of the road, and thus obtained a position in front of him, were closing in so as to prevent his escape in that direction. He could have darted into the scrub, and thus have eluded his pursuers for a few minutes; and had he been possessed of his trusty rifle, he would certainly have done so. But unarmed as he was, and as his enemies knew him to be, they could easily hunt him out and shoot him down without taking any risk themselves, if they were so inclined.
So Coacoochee walked steadily forward as though unconscious of being the object toward which the four horsemen were directing their course. He wished he were near enough to the hiding-place of his warriors to call them to him, but they were still a couple of miles away, and even his voice could not be heard at that distance. So, apparently unaware of, or indifferent to, the danger closing in on him, the young Indian resolutely pursued his way until he was almost run down by the horsemen who were approaching him from behind. As they reined sharply up, one of them ordered him to halt.
Coacoochee did as commanded, and turning, found himself again face to face with Fontaine Salano, the man who but a short time before had attempted to take his life.
CHAPTER VII
COACOOCHEE IN THE CLUTCHES OF WHITE RUFFIANS
Asthe young chief, obeying the stern command to halt, faced about, he found himself covered by a rifle in the hands of his most vindictive enemy. He knew in a moment that a crisis in their intercourse had been reached, and almost expected to be shot down where he stood, so malignant was the expression of the white man's face. Still, with the wonderful self-control in times of danger that forms part of the Indian character, he betrayed no emotion nor trace of fear. He only asked:
"Why should Coacoochee halt at the command of a white man?"
"Because, Coacoochee, if such is your outlandish name, the white man chooses to make you do so, and because he wants to see your pass," replied Salano, sneeringly.
In the meantime the other riders had come up, and two of them, dismounting, now stood on either side of the young Indian. In obedience to an almost imperceptible nod from their leader, these two seized him, and in a moment had pinioned his arms behind him. Coacoochee could have flung them from him and made a dash for liberty even now. He did make one convulsive movement in that direction; but like a flash the thought came to him that this was precisely what his enemies desired him to do, that they might thus have an excuse for killing him. So he remained motionless, and quietly allowed himself to be bound.
At this a shade of disappointment swept over Salano's face, and he muttered an oath. The truth was that, terrified by Coacoochee's recent threat to have his life in exchange for that of Ul-we, which he had so cruelly taken, the bully had determined to get rid of this dangerous youth without delay, and had hit upon the present plan for so doing. He had calculated that his victim would attempt to escape, or at least offer some resistance. In either case he would have shot him down without compunction, and afterwards if called to account for the act, would justify himself on the ground that the Indian was transgressing a law recently passed by the Legislature of Florida, which he, in his character of Justice of the Peace, was attempting to enforce.
Still, his plan had not wholly failed, and he now proceeded to carry it to an extremity.
"So you acknowledge that you hain't got no pass, do you, Injun? And are roaming about the country, threatening white folks' lives, and doing Lord knows what other deviltry on your own responsibility," he said. "Now, then, listen to this." Drawing a paper from his pocket as he spoke, the man read as follows:
"An Act to prevent Indians from roaming at large throughout the Territory: Be it enacted by the Governor and Legislative Council of the Territory, that from and after the passing of this act, if any Indian, of the years of discretion, venture to roam or ramble beyond the boundary lines of the reservations which have been assigned to the tribe or nation to which said Indian belongs, it shall and may be lawful for any person or persons to apprehend, seize, and take said Indian, and carry him before some Justice of the Peace, who is hereby authorized, empowered, and required to direct (if said Indian have not a written permission from the agent to do some specific act) that there shall be inflicted not exceeding thirty-nine (39) stripes, at the discretion of the Justice, on the bare back of said Indian, and, moreover, to cause the gun of said Indian, if he have any, to be taken away from him and deposited with the colonel of the county or captain of the district in which said Indian may be taken, subject to the order of the Superintendent of Indian Affairs."
"Now, Mr. Injun, what have you got to say to that?" demanded Salano, as he folded the paper and restored it to his pocket.
Although Coacoochee had not understood all that had just been read to him, he comprehended that by a white man's law, an Indian might be whipped like a slave or a dog, and his blood boiled hotly at the mere thought of such an outrage. Still he replied to Salano's last question with dignity and a forced composure.
"The Iste-chatte has not been told of this law. It is a new one to him, and he has had no time to learn it. It was not put into the treaty. Coacoochee is the son of a chief. If you lift a hand against him, you lift it against the whole Seminole nation. If you strike him, the land will run red with white men's blood. If you kill him, his spirit will cry for vengeance, and no place can hide you from the fury of his warriors. They will not eat nor drink nor sleep till they have found you out, and torn the cowardly heart from your body."
"Oh come!" interrupted Salano, with an oath, "that will do. We don't want to hear any more from you. This Injun is evidently a dangerous character, gentlemen, and as a Justice of the Peace I shall deal with him according to the law. We'll whip him first, and if that isn't enough, we'll hang him afterwards."
The three men who accompanied Salano were his boon companions, and were equally ready with himself to perform any deed of cruelty or wickedness. They regarded an Indian as fair game, to be hunted and even killed wherever found. Nothing would please them better than a declaration of war against the Seminoles, and they were determined to leave nothing undone to hasten so desirable an event. To whip an Indian under cover of the law was rare sport, and the prospect of hanging him afterwards filled them with a brutal joy. So they readily obeyed the commands of their leader, and after fastening their horses by the roadside, they threw a slip-noose over Coacoochee's head, and drawing it close about his neck, led him a short distance within a grove of trees, to one of which they made fast the loose end of the rope. He was thus allowed to step a couple of paces in each direction. Ripping his tunic from the neck downward with a knife, they stripped it from his back, and all was in readiness for their devilish deed. Their rifles had been left hanging to their saddles, but each man had brought a raw-hide riding-whip with him, and these they now proposed to apply to the bare back of their silent and unresisting victim.
"Ten cuts apiece, gentlemen!" cried Salano, with a ferocious laugh. "That'll make the thirty-nine allowed by law, and one over for good measure. I take great credit to myself for the idea of making the prisoner fast by the neck only, and that with a slip-noose. He's got plenty of room to dance, and if he looses his footing and hangs himself, why, that'll be his lookout and not ours. At any rate, it will be a good riddance of the varmint, and will relieve us from further responsibility in the matter. I claim the first cut at him; so stand back and give me room."
As the others moved back a few paces, the chief ruffian stepped up to the young Indian, and laying the raw hide across the bared shoulders as though to measure the width of the blow he was about to inflict, he lifted it high above his head, saying as he did so:
"You'll cut my heart out, will you, Injun? We'll see now who is going to do the cutting."
Then with a vicious hiss, the raw hide swept down with the full force of the arm that wielded it.
There was no outcry and no movement on the part of the Indian, only his flesh shrunk and quivered beneath the cruel blow, which left a livid stripe across his shoulders.
That blow was to be paid for with hundreds of innocent lives, and millions of dollars. It was to be felt throughout the length and breadth of the land, and was to be atoned by rivers of blood. In a single instant its fearful magic transformed the young Indian who received it, from a quiet, peace-loving youth, with a generous, affectionate nature, into a savage warrior, relentless and pitiless. It gave to the Seminoles a leader whose very name should become a terror to their enemies, and it precipitated one of the cruellest and most stubbornly contested Indian wars ever waged on American soil.
Again was the whip uplifted, but before it could descend for a second blow, the wretch who wielded it was dashed to the ground, and a white man with blazing eyes stood over his prostrate figure. The newcomer presented a cocked rifle at the startled spectators of the proceedings, who had been too intent upon the perpetration of their crime to take notice of his approach.
"Cowards!" he cried, in ringing tones. "Does it take four of you to whip one Indian? Is this the way you continue a private quarrel and gratify your devilish instincts? Bah! Such wretches as you are a disgrace to manhood! You make me ashamed of my color, since it is the same as your own. Did you not hear me give my word to this youth that he should go in safety? How dared you then even contemplate this outrage? Perhaps you thought that the word of an Englishman might be defied with impunity. From this moment you will know better; for if any one of you ever dares cross my path again, I will shoot him in his tracks as I would any other noxious beast that curses the earth. Now get you gone from this spot ere my forbearance is tempted beyond its strength. Go back to the town, and there proclaim your iniquity, if you dare. You will find few sympathizers in your attempt to precipitate an Indian war, and deluge this fair land with blood. Go, and go on foot. Your horses have already taken the road. Go, and if you even dare to look back until out of my sight, a bullet from this rifle shall spur your lagging pace. And you, Fontaine Salano, you brute of brutes, you pariah dog, do you go with them. Away out of my sight, I say, lest I cause this Indian to flay your bare back with the lashes you intended for him."
whip
THEN WITH A VICIOUS HISS THE RAWHIDE SWEPT DOWN WITH THE FULL FORCE OF THE ARM THAT WIELDED IT.
Whether the four men imagined that they were confronted by one bereft of his senses, or whether they were indeed the cowards he called them, it is impossible to say. Certain it is that they received the young man's scathing words in silence, and, when ordered to leave, they took their departure with a precipitate haste that would have been comical under less tragic circumstances.
The stranger followed them to the edge of the wood, and watched them until they disappeared in the direction of the town. Then he returned to where Coacoochee, who had not yet seen the face of his deliverer, still remained bound to the tree. As with a keen-edged knife he cut the thongs confining the young Indian's arms, and the rope about his neck, thus allowing the latter to face him, Coacoochee gave a start of surprise. His new friend was the same who, but an hour or so before, had saved him from Fontaine Salano's pistol in the streets of St. Augustine.
CHAPTER VIII
RALPH BOYD THE ENGLISHMAN
Theman who had thus so opportunely come to the rescue of Coacoochee twice in one day was a remarkable character even in that land of adventurers. Descended from a wealthy English family, well educated and accomplished, he had sought a life of adventure, and after spending some years in out-of-the-way corners of the world, had finally settled down on a large plantation in Florida left to him by an uncle whom he had never seen. Here he now lived with his only sister Anstice, who had recently come out to join him.
Filled with a love for freedom and always ready to quarrel with injustice in any form, he had, before even seeing his property, freed his slaves and ordered his attorneys to discharge an oppressive overseer who had mismanaged the plantation for some years. This man, whom Ralph Boyd did not even know by sight, was no other than our slave-catching acquaintance Mr. Troup Jeffers.
In that slave-holding community a man who chose to work his plantation with free labor became immediately unpopular, and some of his neighbors sought quarrels with him, in the hope of driving him from the country. But they had reckoned without their host. Ralph Boyd was not to be driven, as the result of several duels into which they forced him plainly proved. He was a good shot, an expert swordsman, a capital horseman, and was apparently without fear. Therefore it was quickly discovered that to meddle with the young Englishman was to meddle with danger, and that his friendship was infinitely preferable to his enmity. He was of such a sunny disposition that it was difficult to rouse him to anger on his own behalf, but he never permitted a wrong to be perpetrated on the weak or helpless that lay within his powers of redress. Thus a case of cowardly brutality like the present, and one of which the possible consequences were so terrible to contemplate, filled him with a righteous and well-nigh uncontrollable rage.
The Boyd plantation lay some forty miles from St. Augustine, and Boyd had ridden into town that day on a matter of business. He had reached it just in time to witness Salano's shooting of Ul-we. Filled with indignation at the deed, and admiring the manner with which Coacoochee confronted his tormentors, Boyd at once took the young Indian's part and probably saved his life. Then he went about his own business. Some time afterwards he learned by the merest accident of the departure of Salano and his evil associates on the track of the young chief. Fearing that they meditated mischief toward one to whom he had given the promise of his protection, he procured a fresh horse and started in hot pursuit.
Finding the four horses hitched by the roadside, and noting that each man had left his rifle hanging to the saddle, Boyd took the precaution of putting these safely out of the way, by the simple expedient of cutting the horses loose and starting them on the back track before entering the grove. Then, following the sound of voices, he made his way noiselessly among the trees to the disgraceful scene of the whipping. He had not anticipated anything so bad as this, and the sight filled him with an instant fury.
Springing forward, rifle in hand, he stretched Salano on the ground with a single blow, and then confronted the others. They all knew him, and would rather have encountered any other two men. His very presence, in moments of wrath, inspired terror, and when he gave them permission to go, they slunk from him like whipped curs.
If Coacoochee was startled at sight of his deliverer, Boyd was no less so at the frightful change in the face of the young Indian. It was no longer that into which he had gazed an hour before. That was the mobile face of a youth reflecting each passing emotion, and though it was even then clouded by sorrow and anger, a little time would have restored its sunshine. Now its features were rigid, and stamped with a look that expressed at once intolerable shame and undying hate. The eyes were those of a wild beast brought to bay and prepared for a death struggle.
The once fearless gaze now fell before that of the white man. Coacoochee, proudest of Seminoles, hung his head. This man had witnessed his shame and had at the same time placed him under an obligation. The young Indian could not face him, and could not kill him, so he stood motionless and silent, with his eyes fixed on the ground.
Ralph Boyd appreciated the situation, and understood the other's feelings as though they were his own, as in a way they were. They would be the feelings of any free-born, high-spirited youth under similar circumstances.
"My poor fellow," said Boyd, holding out his hand as he spoke, "I think I know how you feel, and I sympathize with you from the bottom of my heart. You will surely allow me to be your friend, though, seeing that I have just made four enemies on your account. Won't you shake hands with me in token of friendship?"
"I cannot," answered Coacoochee, in a choked voice. "You are a white man. I have been whipped by a white man. Not until the mark of his blow has been washed away with his blood can I take the hand of any white man in friendship."
"Well, I don't know but what I should feel just as you do," replied Boyd, musingly. "I have never before met any of your people, but have been told that you were a treacherous race, without any notions of honor or true bravery. Now it seems to me that your feelings in this matter are very much what mine would be if I were in your place. Still, I hope you are not going to lay up any bitterness against me on account of what was done by another, even though we are, unfortunately, both of the same color. I am curious to know something of you Indians, and would much rather have you for a friend than an enemy."
"Coacoochee will always be your friend," answered the other, earnestly. "Some day he will shake hands with you. Not now. With his life will he serve you. A Seminole never forgives an injury, and he never forgets a kindness. Now I must go."
"Hold on, Coacoochee; you must not go half naked and with that mark on your back," exclaimed Boyd. "Here, I have on two shirts, and I insist that you take one of them. With your permission I will take in exchange this buckskin affair of yours that those villains cut so recklessly, and will keep it as a souvenir of this occasion."
As he spoke, the young Englishman divested himself of his outer garment, a tastefully made hunting-tunic of dark green cloth, and handed it to Coacoochee. Without hesitation the Indian accepted this gift, and put on the garment, which fitted him perfectly.
Then the two young men left the little grove in which events of such grave import to both had just taken place, and walked to where Boyd had left his horse.
Upon Coacoochee saying that he should go but a little further on the road, the other declared an intention to accompany him, and so, leading his horse, walked on beside the shame-faced Indian.
The more Boyd talked with Coacoochee, the more he was pleased with him. He found him to be intelligent and modest, but high-spirited and imbued to an exaggerated degree with savage notions of right and wrong, honor and dishonor. To avenge a wrong and repay a kindness, to deal honorably with the honorable and treacherously with the treacherous, to serve a friend and injure an enemy, was his creed, and by it was his life moulded.
At length they came to the place where the young Indian said he must leave the road. As they paused to exchange farewells, the querulous note of a hawk sounded from the palmetto scrub close beside them. Coacoochee raised his hand, and as though by magic six stalwart warriors leaped into the road and surrounded them.
Boyd made an instinctive movement toward his rifle, but it was checked by the sight of a faint smile on his companion's face. At the same time the latter said quietly:
"Fear nothing; they are my friends, and my friends are thy friends."
To the Indians he said in their own tongue, "Note well this man. He is my friend and that of all Seminoles. From them no harm must ever come to him."
Then he waved his hand, and the six warriors disappeared so instantly and so utterly that the white man rubbed his eyes and looked about him in amazement.
Turning, to express his surprise to Coacoochee, he discovered that the young chief had also disappeared, and that he alone occupied the road.
CHAPTER IX
MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF A SENTINEL
Fora full minute Ralph Boyd stood bewildered in the middle of the road. In vain did he look for some sign and listen for some sound that would betray the whereabouts of those who, but a moment before, had stood with him. The tall grasses waved and the flowers nodded before a gentle breeze, but it was not strong enough to move the stiff leaves of the palmetto scrub, nor was there any motion that might be traced to the passing of human beings among their hidden stalks. From the feathery tips of the cabbage palms came a steady fluttering that rose or fell with the breathings of the wind, and in far-away thickets could be heard the cooing of wood doves, and the occasional cheery note of a quail, but no other sound broke the all-pervading silence.
All at once from a hammock growing at a considerable distance from where the young man stood there came to his ears the thrilling sound of a Seminole war-cry:
"Yo-ho-ee yo-ho-ee yo-ho-ee-che!"
It was followed by another and another, until the listener counted seven of the ominous cries in as many distinct voices, and knew that they were uttered by the seven Indians who had stood with him in the road.
Unaccustomed to the ways of red men, Boyd could not understand how they had glided so noiselessly and swiftly away from him.
"It is like magic," he muttered, "and gives one a creepy feeling. What a terrible thing a war with such as they would be in this country, where everything is so favorable to them and so unfavorable to the movements of troops. And yet war is the very thing toward which the reckless course of politicians, slave-hunters, and land-grabbers is hurrying the government. Well, I shan't take part in it, that's certain, though my present duty as a white man is plainly to ride back to St. Augustine and give the colonel information of this present band of Indians. I wouldn't think of doing so, only for fear that, smarting under the insult to that fine young fellow Coacoochee, they will seek revenge and visit the sins of the guilty upon innocent heads. If Coacoochee has only followed my advice and gone directly back to the reservation, and to his own place, there won't be any trouble; but if he is going to hang around here, trying to lift a few scalps, as I am afraid he is, he may get himself into a fix from which I can't help him."
It must not be supposed that Ralph Boyd had been standing in the middle of the road all this time. He was in the saddle even before the sound of the Indian war-cries informed him of the direction they had taken and where they were. Directly afterwards he put spurs to his horse, and during the latter part of his soliloquy was galloping rapidly back over the road he had just come.
Although Boyd knew Salano to be a bitter and unscrupulous enemy, he had no hesitation in returning to St. Augustine on his account, or for fear of the others with whose cruel sport he had so summarily interfered. He did not believe they would dare publish what they had done, or care to acknowledge that they had been driven off and compelled to forego their intentions by a single man.
To satisfy himself on this point, he made a few inquiries on reaching the city, and finding that nothing was known of the recent adventure, he went to the colonel commanding the small garrison stationed in the city and informed him of the presence near it of an armed band of seven Indian warriors. He also expressed his fear that they intended mischief to some of the plantations along the St. John's.
The colonel listened attentively to all that he had to say and thanked him for the information. Darkness had fallen by this time, and it was too late to do anything that night, but the officer promised to send out a scouting party of twenty troopers at daylight. In the meantime he begged that Boyd would remain as his guest over night, and in the morning consent to guide the troops to the place where he had seen the Indians, which the latter readily agreed to do. He did this the more willingly because he had learned that the scouting party was to be commanded by Irwin Douglass, a young lieutenant with whom he had formed a pleasant acquaintance, and who had already visited him at the plantation.
When, after an early and hurried cup of coffee with the colonel and Douglass the following morning, Boyd joined the soldiers, to whom for a short distance he was to act as guide, he was amazed to find that Fontaine Salano had applied for and received permission to accompany them. He wondered at this as the troop clattered noisily with jingling sabres and bit-chains out of the quiet old town. Was Salano's hatred of the young Indian whom he had so cruelly wronged so bitter that he was determined to seize every opportunity for killing him? Boyd could think of no other reason why the man, naturally so indolent, should undertake this forced march with all the discomforts that must necessarily attend it.
The spring morning was just cool enough to be exhilarating. The fresh air was laden with the perfume of orange groves, and from their green coverts innumerable birds poured forth their choicest melody. The cavalry horses, in high spirits from long idleness, pranced gaily along the narrow streets and were with difficulty reined to a decorous trot.
Once free from the town and out in the broad plain of sand and chaparral that lay beyond, the pace was quickened, and for several miles the troop swung cheerily along at a hand gallop, with polished weapons and accoutrements flashing brightly in the rays of the newly risen sun.
A halt was called at the place where Boyd had encountered the Indians, and scouts were sent in search of signs. These easily found the camp from which Coacoochee had started on his visit to town the morning before, and finally discovered a fresh trail leading to the west or toward the St. John's.
It was not easy for the troops, inexperienced in Indian warfare, to follow this on horseback, and they soon lost it completely. This did not greatly disturb Lieutenant Douglass; for, being satisfied that the plantations along the river were the objective points of those whom he was pursuing, he determined to push on toward them without losing any time in attempting to rediscover the trail.
That evening they reached the great river and encamped near it without having discovered any further Indian sign, or finding that the few widely scattered settlers had been given any cause to suspect the presence of an enemy.
During that night, however, two startling incidents occurred. The first of these was the complete and mysterious disappearance of one of the sentinels who guarded the camp. He had been stationed not far from the edge of the forest, but within easy hail of his sleeping comrades. The sergeant had given him particular cautions regarding the dangers of his post, and warned him to be keenly alert to every sound, even the slightest. He had answered with a laugh, that his ears were too long to permit anything human to get within a rod of him without giving him warning, and he declared his intention of firing in the direction of any suspicious sound.
So they left him, and an hour later the corporal of the guard, visiting the post, found it vacant. In the darkness it was useless to hunt for the missing sentry, and so, without giving a general alarm, the corporal detailed another sentinel to the place of the missing man, and remained with him on the post until morning. They neither saw nor heard anything to arouse their suspicions, but as soon as daylight revealed surrounding objects, they could readily note signs of a struggle at one end of the beat paced by their unfortunate predecessor.
There were no traces of blood, nor in the trail of moccasined feet leading away from the spot could any imprint of the heavy cavalry boots worn by the missing soldier be found. The trail led to a small creek that emptied into the river just above the camp, but there it ended. Both banks of this creek were carefully examined for a mile up and down, but they revealed no sign to denote that they had ever been trodden by human feet.
There was nothing more to be done. The man was reported as missing, and a riderless horse was led by one of the troopers on that day's march,—but this mysterious disappearance and unknown fate of their comrade served to open the eyes of the soldiers to the dreadful possibilities of Indian warfare.
CHAPTER X
FONTAINE SALANO'S TREACHERY AND ITS REWARD
Anothermysterious happening of that first night out was well calculated to exercise a depressing effect on the men and to transform the contempt they had hitherto felt for Indians into a profound respect not unmixed with fear. Fontaine Salano slept rolled in his blanket not far from the lieutenant in command of the party, and within the full light of a camp-fire. Toward morning, however, this fire had burned so low that it shed but little light, and the place where Salano lay was buried in shadow.
When he awoke at the first peep of dawn, he was puzzled by the appearance of a number of strange objects that rose from the ground close by his head. He examined them curiously, but his curiosity was in an instant changed to horror when he discovered them to be seven blood-stained Indian arrows thrust into the ground, three on each side of where his head had lain and one at the upper end of his couch. This one bore impaled on its shaft the bloody heart of a recently killed deer, the significance of which was so plain that no one could fail to understand it.
The mere fact that the Indians had thus been able to penetrate undetected to the very centre of a guarded camp invested them in the eyes of the men with supernatural powers. The effect on Salano was precisely what Coacoochee had intended it should be. To feel that he had been completely within the power of one who had sworn to have his life and had only been spared as a cat spares a mouse, that she may prolong its torture for her own pleasure, filled the wretch with a terror pitiful to behold.
He begged Lieutenant Douglass to return at once to St. Augustine or at least to send him back under escort. The officer politely regretted his inability to comply with either of these requests, saying that it would be contrary to his duty to retire from that part of the country until satisfied that the Indians had left it, and that he dared not weaken his little force by detailing any men for escort duty.
The man displayed such abject cowardice that finally, more out of disgust than pity, Ralph Boyd offered to accompany him back to the city, and to his surprise, Salano accepted the offer eagerly. As they were both volunteers, Douglass had no authority for detaining them, though he protested against the undertaking, and tried to persuade them of its dangers. Ralph Boyd only laughed, and even Salano intimated a belief that the Indians would devote themselves to watching the movements of the scouting party, so that to remain with them would be to remain in the vicinity of greatest danger.
The lieutenant said that he should remove his command only a short distance, to a better and more secure camping-ground that he knew of not very far from Boyd's plantation, over which he promised to keep especial watch. He intended to remain at that place until he learned something definite regarding the movements of the Indians, and there Boyd promised to rejoin him on the following day.
Camp was broken, and the clear bugle notes of "boots and saddles" were ringing on the still morning air as Boyd and Salano rode away from the camp on the return trail to St. Augustine. They rode in silence; for one entertained too great a contempt for the other to care to talk with him, and Salano was perfecting a plan for obtaining one portion of the revenge upon which his mind was intent.
They had not proceeded thus more than two miles, when they came to a narrow gully through which they were obliged to ride in single file, and here Salano, with an exaggerated show of politeness, dropped behind, allowing Boyd to take the lead.
The latter rode unsuspectingly ahead for a few rods, and then, not hearing the sound of the other's horse behind him, turned to see if he were not coming.
The sight that met his eyes was so unexpected and terrible that for an instant it rendered him incapable of thought or action. Salano, dismounted from his horse, was slowly raising a rifle and taking deliberate aim at him. He could see the cruelly triumphant expression on the swarthy face. In that instant of time he also saw a flashing figure with uplifted arm leap from the underbrush behind Salano. Then all became a blank.
When next Ralph Boyd was able to take an interest in the affairs of this world, he was lying in the shade of a tree, two horses were cropping the grass near him, and a strange, wild-looking figure was dashing water in his face.
"What does this mean? What has happened?" Boyd inquired faintly.
"Wal, cap'n," answered the stranger, in unmistakable English, pausing in his occupation and drawing a long breath. "I'm almighty glad you ain't dead. The Injun said you warn't, but I wouldn't be sure of it myself till this very minute. As to what's happened, I'm a leetle mixed myself, but it's something like this: Some red villians was about to do for me when you come along and stopped 'em. Then a white villian was about to do for you, when one of the red villians stopped him, or at any rate he stopped the worst of it; then the red villian did for the white villian, and did it almighty thorough too."
At this juncture Boyd again closed his eyes and seemed about to lapse once more into unconsciousness, whereupon the stranger began again to dash water vigorously in his face.
There was a stinging sensation and a loud buzzing in the young man's head. Salano's murderous aim had been slightly disconcerted, at the moment of firing, by a fierce yell in his very ear. At the instant of pulling the trigger Coacoochee's terrible knife had been buried to the hilt in his body. The would-be murderer sank dead without a groan, while his intended victim escaped with a scalp wound which, though not dangerous, was sufficient to deprive him of his senses for some time.
When he had sufficiently recovered his strength to be able to sit up, and after he had listened to these details of his own narrow escape, he looked curiously at his companion and asked him who he was. It is no wonder that he did not recognize the strange figure; for though the man wore a pair of army trousers, he had Indian moccasins on his feet, was bare-headed, and naked to the waist. Half his face as well as half of his body was painted red and the other half black.
In this manner did the Seminoles prepare their bodies for death, and to those who understood its meaning, this combination of the two colors had a very grim significance. Fortunately for the man's peace of mind, he had not understood why this form of decoration was applied to him, though his fears that his life was in danger had been very fully aroused.
In answer to Ralph Boyd's questions, he told his story as follows: "I'm not surprised that you don't recognize me, cap'n; for I'm not quite sure that I'd recognize myself. Still, whatever I may be to-day, yesterday I was private Hugh Belcher of Company B, Second Regiment United States Dragoons."
"What!" exclaimed Boyd, "are you the sentry who disappeared last night?"
"That's who I am, sir," replied the other, "much as my present appearance would seem to point again its being true. How the Reds crept upon me without me hearing a sound of their coming is more than I can tell, for I've always bragged that my ears were as sharp as the next man's. However, they did it, and the first I knew of their presence was when a blanket was flung over my head and I was tripped up. I don't know how many of 'em had me, but there was enough, anyway, to hold me fast, and tie me and get a gag into my mouth, so that I couldn't make a sound. Then they pulled off my boots, put moccasins on my feet, and made me go along with them.
"After awhile we came to this place, and here, as soon as it got light, they stripped me and painted me and tied me to a tree, and was just getting ready to give me a thrashing with a lot of switches they'd cut, though Lord knows I hadn't done nothing to rile 'em, when all of a sudden you and Mr. Salano hove in sight.
"I was faced that way and see Mr. Salano when he dropped off his horse and drawed a bead on you. I'd a hollered, but the gag was still in my mouth, so I couldn't. When the head Injun see what was taking place though, he gave one spring out of the brush, and landed on Mr. Salano's back like a wildcat. At the same time he let loose a yell fit to raise the dead. The gun went off just as he yelled, and you tumbled out of the saddle like you was killed.
"When the head Injun saw that, he run up to you first and dragged you to this place. Then he run back to Mr. Salano and stooped over him like he was feeling of his heart to see if he was dead. When he riz up again, he fetched another yell and called out something in his own lingo about Ul-we. Then the rest crowded around him, and he talked to them for about a minute.
"After that they come back and cut me loose, and the head Injun, pointing to you, said in English, 'You are free. Care for him. He is not dead. Tell him Coacoochee's heart is no longer heavy. He will go to his own people. If the soldiers want him, let them seek him in the swamps of the Okeefenokee.' Then, without another word, they all disappeared, and I set to work to bring you to."
Thus was the death of Ul-we, the tall one, atoned for in heart's blood, and thus was the stripe on Coacoochee's back washed out with the blood of him who had so wantonly inflicted it. Thus, also, did Coacoochee save the life of his friend and punish the would-be assassin who had so planned his cowardly revenge upon Ralph Boyd that the act would be credited to the Indians.
With the accomplishment of this deed of just retribution, Coacoochee and his warriors disappeared from that part of the country, nor were they again seen there for many months.
CHAPTER XI
THE SEMINOLE MUST GO
TheSeminoles must be removed. The clamor of the land-speculator, the slave-hunter, and a host of others interested in driving the Indian from his home had at length been listened to at Washington, and the fiat had gone forth. The Seminoles must be removed to the distant west—peaceably if possible, but forcibly if they will not go otherwise.
A new treaty had been made by which the Indians agreed to remove to the new home selected for them, provided a delegation of chiefs appointed to visit the western land reported favorably concerning it. These went, saw the place, and upon their return reported it to be a cold country where Seminoles would be very unhappy.
Upon hearing this, the Indians said that they would prefer to remain where they were. Thereupon the United States Government said through its commissioners that it made no difference whether they wanted to go or not; they must go.
In the meantime, outrages of every kind were perpetrated upon the Indians. The whipping of those discovered off the reservation, that was begun with Coacoochee, was continued. Several Indians were thus whipped to death by the white brutes into whose cowardly hands they fell. The system of withholding annuities and supplies was continued, and the helpless Indians were recklessly plundered right and left.
General Andrew Jackson, who was now President, had no love for Indians. He had in former years wronged them too cruelly for that, while teaching them lessons of the white man's power. He therefore appointed General Wiley Thompson of Georgia, as the Seminole agent, and ordered him to compel their removal to the far west without further delay. He also sent troops to Florida, and these began to gather at Fort Brooke and Tampa Bay under command of General Clinch.
It was evident that the Seminoles must either submit to leave the sunny land of their birth, their homes, and the graves of their fathers, or they must fight in its defence, and for their rights as free men. If they consented to go west to the land that those chiefs who had seen it described as cold and unproductive, they would find already established there their old and powerful enemies, the Creeks, who were eagerly awaiting their coming, with a view to seizing their negro allies and selling them into slavery. It was evident that a fight for his very existence was to be forced upon the Seminole in either case, and it only remained for him to choose whether he would fight in his own land, of which he knew every swamp, hammock, and glade, and of which his enemy was ignorant, or whether he should go to a distant country, of which he knew nothing, and fight against an enemy already well acquainted with it.
This was the alternative presented to the warriors of Philip Emathla's village assembled about their council fire on a summer's evening a few weeks after that with which this history opens.
On Coacoochee, now sitting in the place of honor at the right hand of the chief his father and earnestly regarding the speaker who laid this state of affairs before them, the weeks just passed had borne with the weight of so many years. During their short space he had passed from youth to manhood. Having directed the search for himself that followed the death of Salano, toward the Okeefenokee, while his village lay in exactly the opposite direction, he had escaped all intercourse with the whites from that time to the present. But from that experience he had returned so much wiser and graver that his advice was now sought by warriors much older than he, while by those of his own age and younger he was regarded as a leader. Thus, though still a youth in years, and though he still reverenced and obeyed his father, he was to all intents the chief of Philip Emathla's powerful band.
It was in this capacity that the speaker, to hear whom this council was gathered, evidently regarded him, and it was to Coacoochee that his remarks were especially directed.
This speaker was a member of a band of Seminoles known as the Baton Rouge or Red Sticks, who occupied a territory at some distance from that of King Philip. His father, whom he had never known, was a white man, but his mother was the daughter of a native chieftain, and though he spoke English fluently, he had passed all of his twenty-eight years among the Seminoles, and they were his people. Although not a chief, nor yet regarded as a prominent leader, he was possessed of such force of character and such a commanding presence that he had acquired a great influence over all the Indians with whom he was thrown in contact. His name was Ah-ha-se-ho-la (black drink), generally pronounced Osceola by the whites, who also called him by his father's name of Powell.
This dauntless warrior was bitterly opposed to the emigration of his tribe, and was anxious to declare war against the whites rather than submit to it. He believed that the Seminoles, roaming over a vast extent of territory abounding in natural hiding-places, might defend themselves against any army of white soldiers that should undertake to subdue them for at least three years. Could the conflict be sustained for that length of time without the whites gaining any decided advantages, he declared they would then give up the struggle and allow the Indians to retain their present lands unmolested.
Osceola was now visiting the different bands of the tribe, preaching this crusade of resistance to tyranny. As he stood before Philip Emathla and his warriors, with his noble figure and fine face fully displayed in the bright firelight, they were thrilled by his eloquence. With bated breath they listened to his summing up of their grievances, and when he declared that he would rather die fighting for this land than live in any other, they greeted his words with a murmur of approving assent.
Never had Coacoochee been so powerfully affected. The sting of the white man's whip across his shoulders was still felt, and he was choked with the sense of outrage and injustice inflicted upon his people. His fingers clutched nervously at the hilt of his knife and he longed for the time to come when he might fight madly for all that a man holds most dear.
As his gaze wandered for a moment from the face of the speaker, it fell on a group just visible within the circle of firelight. There sat the beautiful girl to whom he had so recently plighted his troth, and beside her Chen-o-wah, the daughter of a Creek chief and his quadroon squaw. She was the wife of Osceola, and the one being in all the world whom the fierce forest warrior loved.
For a moment Coacoochee's determination wavered as he reflected what these and others equally helpless would suffer in a time of war. There came a memory of the manner in which Nita's mother and brother had been consigned to slavery by the white man. No word had come from them, but he could imagine their fate. Might not the same fate overtake her most dear to him and hundreds of others with her? Would it not be better for them to incur the dangers and sufferings of war rather than those of slavery? Yes, a thousand times yes.
And then, perhaps the whites were not so very powerful, after all. Their soldiers, so far as he had seen them, were but few in number, and moved slowly from place to place. He and his warriors could travel twenty miles to their five. Besides, there were the vast watery fastnesses of the Everglades and the Big Cypress in the far south, to which the Indians could always retreat and into which no white man would ever dare follow them. Yes, his voice should be raised for war, no matter how long it might last, nor how bloody it might be, and the sooner it could be begun, the better. But he must listen, for Philip Emathla was about to speak.
CHAPTER XII
CHEN-O-WAH IS STOLEN BY THE SLAVE-CATCHERS
Theaged chieftain rose slowly and for a moment gazed lovingly and in silence at those gathered about him; then he said: "My children, we have listened to the words of Ah-ha-se-ho-la, and we know them to be true. But he has spoken with the voice of a young man. He sees with young eyes. My eyes are old, but they can look back over many seasons that a young man cannot see. They can also look forward further than his, and see many things. I have seen the great council of the white man, and his warriors. I have seen his villages. His lodges are more numerous than the trees of the forest, and his numbers are those of the leaves of countless trees. To fight with him would be like fighting the waves of the great salt waters that reach to the sky. If we should kill one, ten would spring up to take his place. For a hundred who may fall, a thousand will stand. He is strong, and we are weak. Let us then live at peace with him while we may. Let us meet him in council and tell him how little it is that we ask. There is a land beyond Okeechobee, the great sweet water, that the white man can never want, but where the red man could dwell in peace and plenty. Let him leave this to us, and we will ask no more.
"If he will not do this, then let us fight. Never will Philip Emathla consent to go to the strange and distant land of the setting sun. If it is a better land than this, as the white man tells us, why does he not go there himself and leave us alone? It is a cold country. My people would die there. It is better to die here and die fighting.
"The white chief at Fort King calls us together for one more talk with him. Philip is old. He cannot travel so far, but Coacoochee shall go in his place. He will speak wisely, and if peace can be had, he will find it. If there is no peace, if the Seminole must fight, then who will fight harder or more bravely than Coacoochee? At his name the white man will tremble, and his squaws will hide their faces in fear. The enemies of Coacoochee will fall before him as ripe fruit falls before the breath of Hu-la-lah (the wind). He will kill till he is weary of killing. His footsteps will be marked with blood. Rivers of blood shall flow where he passes. I am old and feeble, but Coacoochee is young and strong. From this day shall he be a war-chief of the Seminoles. Philip Emathla has spoken."
At this announcement there came a great shout of rejoicing, and as the council broke up, the warriors crowded about Coacoochee to tell him how proud they would be to have him lead them in battle.
After the tumult had somewhat subsided, Osceola, who had not hitherto spoken directly to Coacoochee, stepped up to him. The two young men grasped each other's hands, and gazed earnestly in each other's face. Finally Osceola, apparently satisfied with what he saw, broke the silence, and said:
"We are brothers?"
"We are brothers," answered the young war-chief, and thus was made a compact between the two that was only to be broken by death.
The following morning, Coacoochee, with a small escort of warriors, set forth, in company with Osceola and Chen-o-wah, to travel to the village of Micanopy, head chief of the Seminoles, there to hold another council before going to Fort King for a talk with the agent.
In Micanopy's village they found assembled a large number of Seminole warriors, and many of the sub-chiefs of the tribe. This council was a grave and momentous affair. It was to decide the fate of a nation, and its deliberations were prolonged over two days. Micanopy, the head chief, was old, corpulent, and fond of his ease. He loved his land and hated the thought of war. He was greatly disinclined to remove to the west, but it was not until urged and almost compelled by the younger men, especially Coacoochee and Osceola, that he finally declared positively that he would not do so.
His utterance decided the majority of the council. They would fight before submitting to removal, but on one pretext and another they would gain all possible time in which to prepare for war.
It was also announced at this council that any Seminole who should openly advocate removal, and should make preparations for emigrating, should be put to death.
In all the council there was but one dissenting voice. It was that of a sub-chief named Charlo, who had been raised to the head of a small band by the agent, in place of an able warrior who was an uncompromising enemy of the whites. This petty chief spoke in favor of removal, and ridiculed the suggestion that the tribe could hold out for any length of time against the overwhelming power of the white man. He was listened to with impatience, and many dark glances were cast at him as he resumed his seat.
Three days later some fourteen chiefs, accompanied by a large number of their people, were encamped near Fort King, and active preparations were going forward for the great talk that was to be held that afternoon.
On the morning of that day, a thick-set, evil-looking man, whom the reader would at once recognize as his old acquaintance Mr. Troup Jeffers the slave-trader, sat in the agent's office engaged in earnest conversation with General Wiley Thompson.
"Thar ain't no doubt about it, gineral," he was saying. "She's easy enough identified, and I'll take my affidavy right here that she's the gal Jess who run away from old Miss Cooke's place two year ago. You've got a list of all them niggers and their description, as well as the order from Washington for their capture and deliverin' up. You know you have, and when I tell you what this gal looks like, you see if she don't answer the description exactly."
"Yes, sir, I've no doubt," answered the agent, wearily, for of the many trials of his difficult position, the importunities of the slave-hunters who besieged him at all hours were the greatest. "I don't doubt what you say, and I'll give you an order for the girl which you can present to the chiefs. If they give her up, well and good; but if they won't, why they won't, that's all, and matters are too critical just now for us to attempt to force them."
"All right, gineral," replied Mr. Jeffers, with a triumphant glitter in his cruel little eyes. "The order is all I want, and I'll get the gal without putting you or anybody else to a mite of trouble."
Thus saying, the trader took the slip of paper handed him by the agent, and left the office.
Like a vulture scenting the carnage from afar, the slave-trader hearing that the Seminoles and their negro allies were about to be removed, had hastened to the scene of action, determined in some way to secure a share of the peculiar property in which he dealt, before it should be placed beyond his reach.
In the Indian camp he had seen several good-looking young women in whose veins he was convinced flowed negro blood, and he decided that his purpose would be served by securing one or more of these. Going to the agent with the trumped-up story of having thus discovered a runaway slave girl, he obtained the coveted order for her restoration to her lawful owner. Armed with this, he proceeded to carry out his wicked design.
His plan was very simple, and to put it into operation, he repaired to the store of the post trader. It was located in a grove of live oaks, some distance beyond the stockade, and was hidden from view of those in or near the fort. To it, groups of Indians, men, women, and children, found their way at all times for the purchase of such supplies as they needed and could afford.
Rogers, the storekeeper, whose conscience from a long dealing with and cheating of Indians was as calloused and hardened as that of Mr. Jeffers himself, was not above turning what he called an honest penny by any means that came in his way. Therefore when the slave-trader explained his business, showed the agent's order, and offered Rogers ten dollars to assist him in recapturing his alleged property, the latter readily consented to do so.
Troup Jeffers was almost certain that one or more of the young women whom he had noticed in the Indian camp would visit the store at some time during the day, and so he waited patiently the advent of a victim.
At length, late in the afternoon, when most of the Indians were attracted to the scene of the council, then in session, a squaw was seen to approach the store. She was one of those whom Mr. Jeffers had selected as suitable for the slave market, and the instant he observed her he exclaimed to the storekeeper:
"Here comes the very gal I'm after—old Miss Cooke's Jess. I'll just step into the back room, and if you can persuade her to come in there to look at something or other, we'll have her as slick as a whistle."
"All right," responded Rogers, who a minute later was waiting on his customer with infinitely more politeness than he usually vouchsafed to an Indian.
She desired to purchase some coffee and sugar with which to surprise and please her husband when he returned to his lodge after the council should be ended, and the storekeeper easily persuaded her to enter the other room, where he said his best goods were kept.
As the unsuspecting woman bent over a sugar barrel, she was seized from behind, and her head was enveloped in a shawl, by which her cries were completely stifled.
A few minutes later, bound and helpless, she was lifted into a light wagon and driven rapidly away.
Half an hour afterwards, a boy who worked for the storekeeper remarked to his employer:
"I should think you would be afraid of Powell."
"What for?" asked Rogers.
"Why, for letting that man carry off his wife," was the reply.
Thus did the storekeeper receive his first intimation that the alleged runaway slave girl was Chen-o-wah, the adored wife of Osceola.
CHAPTER XIII
"WILEY THOMPSON, WHERE IS MY WIFE?"
Whilethe wife of Osceola was thus being kidnapped and consigned to slavery, he, ignorant of the blow in store for him, was participating in a far different scene. Just outside the gateway of the fort, in an open space of level sward, the great council upon which so much depended was assembled. At one side of a long table sat General Clinch, commanding the army in Florida, with the officers of his staff standing behind him. Beside him sat General Wiley Thompson, the agent, red-faced and pompous, Lieutenant Harris, the United States disbursing agent, who was to conduct the Indians to their western homes, and several commissioners. All the officers were in full uniform, and presented a brave appearance. Behind them were two companies of infantry, resting at ease on their loaded muskets, but ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. Just inside the gateway of the fort the guns of its light battery were charged to the muzzle with grape and canister, ready for instant service. This was one side of the picture.
On the opposite side of the table from the whites sat or stood a group of Indian chiefs, sullen, determined, and watchful. Too many times already had the white man cheated them. They would take care that he should not do so again. They had learned by bitter experience how lightly he regarded such treaties as conflicted with his interests. They knew the value of his false promises and fair words.
A little in front of the others sat Micanopy, head chief of the tribe, and close behind him, so that they could whisper in his ear, stood Coacoochee and Osceola. Grouped about them were Otee the Jumper, Tiger Tail, Allapatta Tustenugge, the Fighting Alligator, Arpeika, or Sam Jones, Black Dirt, Ya ha Hadjo, the Mad Wolf, Coa Hadjo, Halatoochee, Abram, the negro chief, Passac Micco, and many others. Behind them stood one hundred warriors, tall, clean-built fellows, lithe and sinewy, their bare legs as hard and smooth as those of bronze statues. Concealed in a hammock, but a short distance away, was another body of warriors held in reserve by Coacoochee, who had thought it best not to display the full strength of his force at once.
The old men, women, and children had been left in camp not far from the trader's store. Here everything was prepared for instant flight in case the council should terminate in an outbreak.
The proceedings were opened by General Thompson, who stated that he had thus called the Indians together that they might decide upon a day when they would fulfil their promise contained in the treaty of Payne's Landing, and set forth for their new home in the west. He had prepared a paper setting forth the conditions of removal, which he now wished all the chiefs to sign.
Then Otee the Jumper, who was one of the most fluent speakers of the tribe, arose and calmly but firmly stated that his people did not consider themselves as bound by that treaty to remove from their country, and had decided in solemn council not to do so.
At this point the Seminole speaker was rudely interrupted by General Thompson, who, flushed and furious, sprang to his feet and demanded by what right the Indians interpreted the treaty differently from the whites by whom it was drawn up. He accused them of treachery and double-dealing, and ended by declaring that it made no difference whether they were willing to remove or not, for they would be made to go, alive or dead, and he for one did not care which.
This speech drew forth angry replies from the chiefs, and to these the agent retorted with such bitterness that General Clinch was finally obliged to interpose his authority to calm both sides. He told the Indians how useless it would be for them to struggle against the power of the United States, and how greatly he would prefer that they should remove peaceably rather than oblige him to remove them by force.
At this the Indians smiled grimly and exchanged contemptuous glances. They knew that there were only seven hundred soldiers in all Florida, and the idea of compelling them to do anything they did not choose, with a little army like that, was too absurd. It almost made them laugh, but their native dignity prevented such a breach of decorum.
General Clinch talked long and earnestly and was listened to with respect and close attention. The agent regarded his arguments as so unanswerable that at their conclusion he called on the chiefs by name to step forward and sign the paper he had prepared.
"Micanopy, you are head chief. Come up and sign first at the head of the list."
"No, Micanopy will never sign."
"Then Coacoochee may sign first. He comes, I believe, as representative of the wise and brave King Philip."
"No, Coacoochee will not sign either for his father or himself."
"Jumper, then; and when he signs, I will make him head chief."
"No."
"Alligator?"
"No."
"Sam Jones?"
"No."
"Abram?"
"By golly. No."
At these repeated refusals to comply with his request, and the evident contempt with which his offers of promotion were regarded, the fat agent became so angry as to entirely lose his self-control.
"If you will not sign," he shouted, "you are no longer fit to hold your positions. I therefore declare that Micanopy, Coacoochee, Jumper, Alligator, Sam Jones, and Abram, shall cease from this minute to be chiefs of the Seminole nation, and their names shall be struck from the roll of chiefs."
At this an angry murmur ran through the ranks of the Indians, who considered that a grievous insult had thus been offered them. Those chiefs who had been sitting sprang to their feet and fell back a few paces. The warriors behind them moved up closer, and Coacoochee, slipping unnoticed through the throng, hurried back to the hammock to direct the flight of the women and children, and bring up his reserve force of warriors.
In the meantime an Indian who had come from the camp was talking with low, hurried words to Osceola, who listened to him like one in a dream or who does not fully comprehend what he hears.
Suddenly he sprang forward, his face livid with passion, and crying in a loud voice, "I will sign! I, Osceola the Baton Rouge, will sign this paper of the white man."
table
IT SUNK DEEP INTO THE WOOD OF THE TABLE AND STOOD QUIVERING AS THOUGH WITH RAGE.
Then stepping up to the table, while both whites and Indians watched him with breathless interest, the fierce warrior plucked the scalping-knife from his girdle and drove it with furious energy through the outspread paper. It sunk deep into the wood of the table, and stood quivering as though with rage.
"There is my signature, General Wiley Thompson," he cried in a voice that trembled with the intensity of his emotion. "There is the signature of Osceola, and I would that it were inscribed on your cowardly heart. Where is my wife? What have you done with her? Give her back to me, I say, and as safe as when I left her in yonder grove. If you do not, I swear by the white man's God, and by the Great Spirit of my people, that not only your own vile life, but that of every white man who comes within reach of Osceola's vengeance, shall be forfeited. As you have shown no mercy, so shall you receive none. The word shall be unknown to the Seminole tongue. You taunt me with being a half-blood. I am one; but I am yet a man, and not a slave. With my white blood I defy you, and with my Indian blood I despise you. Wiley Thompson, where is my wife?"
CHAPTER XIV
OSCEOLA SIGNS THE TREATY
Thegroup of white men on the opposite side of the table had left their seats before Osceola stepped toward it. General Clinch exchanged a few words with the agent and gave an order to the officer in command of the troops. These were moved forward a few paces, though, blinded by the intensity of his feelings, the half-breed failed to notice their change of position.
Now, in obedience to a signal from the agent, they sprang forward with fixed bayonets, and in an instant Osceola, cut off from his friends, was hedged in by a wall of glittering steel. At the same moment a sharp rattle of drums was heard within the fort, and the light battery, dashing out from the gateway in a cloud of dust, was wheeled into position with its murderous muzzles trained full on the startled Indians.
With one forward movement the pitiless storm of death would have swept through their crowded ranks. They knew this and stepped backward instead.
Within two minutes after the council was so summarily dissolved, not an Indian was to be seen. Within five minutes Osceola, heavily ironed, was thrust into the strongest cell of the guard-house and the door locked behind him. By this time, also, the troops had retired, and General Thompson was inquiring in every direction what the crazy half-breed meant by demanding a wife from him. He knew nothing about the fellow's wife. Did not even know he had a wife, and was inclined to think that Osceola was drunk, or else had trumped up this demand for the purpose of exciting the Indians to resistance.
Finally, however, through Rogers, the trader, he discovered the real facts of the case. Then he realized the awkward position in which his careless giving of an order for the recovery of a runaway slave had placed not only himself, but all the whites in that part of the country.
He visited the prisoner in his cell, and tried to quiet him by explaining that it was all a mistake, and by assuring him that every effort should be made to recover Chen-o-wah and bring her back; but all to no purpose.
Osceola replied that his wife alone had been seized of all those who visited the trader's store. Moreover, she had been seized upon a written order from himself, for the paper had been read aloud in the presence of several persons. No, there was no mistake, and as for the agent's promise to restore Chen-o-wah to him, he would believe it when he saw her, but not before.