Here he lay motionless for several minutes, recovering from his exhaustion. At length he ventured to give the hawk's call as a warning to his friends of his presence. Then, gathering all his strength, he made the quiet rush for safety that carried him among them.
It did not take many seconds to inform them that the enemy for whom they were watching so anxiously was even then crossing the river, unconscious of danger, a mile below that point.
The report had hardly been made before the eager warriors who crowded about the speaker were in motion. Coacoochee was quickly provided with clothing, a rifle, and ammunition, and fifteen minutes later the entire Indian force was within hearing of the sounds made by the soldiers as they crossed the river. Here a halt was made while Osceola himself crept forward with the noiseless movement of a serpent to discover the enemy's exact location and disposition.
To his dismay, he found that a force equal in number to his own had already crossed the river, with others constantly coming. There must not be a minute's delay if he would fight with the faintest hope of checking their advance.
Hastily the forest warriors chose their positions, and a crashing volley from their rifles was the first announcement given the soldiers of their presence. Although staggered for a moment, the regulars quickly recovered, fixed their gleaming bayonets, and with a wild yell charged into the cloud of smoke. The Indians fell back; but only long enough to reload their guns, when they advanced in turn, pouring such a deadly fire into the white ranks that their formation was broken, and the soldiers were driven back to the river's bank.
Here they were reformed by the general himself, and led to a second charge with results similar to the first. This time the Indians did not give way so readily, nor fall back so far. Under the frenzied leadership of Alligator and Osceola, who urged them with wild cries and frantic gestures to stand firm, they contested with knives, hatchets, and clubbed rifles each step of the way over which they were slowly forced.
In order to shelter themselves against the Indian fire, the soldiers adopted their plan of fighting, and each, selecting a tree, took his position behind it. Here an exposure of the smallest portion of a body was certain to draw a shot, and the whites were soon made aware by their rapidly increasing number of wounded, that at this game they were no match for the Indian marksmen.
Coacoochee and half a dozen warriors had concealed themselves on the river bank above the ferry, so that their rifles commanded it, and their fire so effectually dampened the ardor of the five hundred volunteers remaining on the other side that not one of them crossed or took part in the battle, except by firing a few scattering shots from their own side of the river.
For more than an hour the battle raged. Osceola was wounded, and the Indian ammunition was giving out. They were becoming discouraged and were about to retire. All at once Coacoochee, who, on hearing of Osceola's wound, had left his little band of sharpshooters to guard the crossing, appeared among them. The effect of his presence and inspiring words was magical. Loud and fierce rang out his battle cry:
"Yo-ho-ee yo-ho-ee yo-ho-ee-chee!"
With the last grains of powder in their rifles and led by their dauntless young chief, the entire body of warriors, yelling like demons, dashed madly through the forest toward the line of troops.
"They must have been heavily reinforced," shouted the bewildered soldiers to each other. "There are thousands of them!"
From every bunch of palmetto, from every tuft of grass, and from behind every tree, a yelling, half-naked, and death-dealing Indian seemed to spring forth. A heavy but ill-aimed fire did not check them in the slightest. The soldiers began to fall back from one tree to another. Some of them ran. The wounded were hurriedly removed to the river bank. Perhaps some were overlooked. There was no time to search for those who were not in plain view. The dead were left where they had fallen.
With the first sign of this yielding, the frenzied yelling of the Indians increased, until the whole forest seemed alive with them. The retreat of the soldiers became a flight. A scattering volley from behind hastened their steps. The battle of the Withlacoochee was ended.
CHAPTER XXII
THE YOUNG CHIEF MAKES A TIMELY DISCOVERY
Withoutammunition the warriors of Coacoochee could not be persuaded to remain on the field of battle, and the frightened soldiers had hardly reached the river bank before the Indians were also in full retreat toward their strongholds in the great swamp.
Of this the soldiers knew nothing, nor did they stop to inquire why they were not pursued. They were thankful enough to be allowed to re-embark, a dozen at a time, in their one canoe and recross the river without molestation. They imagined the forest behind them to be swarming with Indians, and they trembled beneath the supposed gaze of hundreds of gleaming eyes with which their fancy filled every thicket.
Late that afternoon General Clinch and his terrified army were in full retreat toward Fort Drane, with their eyes widely opened to the danger and difficulty of invading an enemy's country, even though that enemy was but a band of despised Indians. They carried with them fifty wounded men and left four dead behind them, besides several others reported as missing. They had killed three of the enemy and wounded five. When they reached the safe shelter of the fort, they reported that they had gained an important victory.
Upon the retreat of the Seminoles, Coacoochee and Louis, who had rejoined him that day, remained behind to watch the troops and discover what they might of their plans for the future. They supposed, of course, that with the cessation of the Indian fire, the soldiers would again advance, and finding no further opposition offered, would proceed with their invasion of the country. They could hardly believe their own eyes, therefore, when they saw that the troops were actually recrossing the river, as evidently in full retreat as were the Seminole warriors in the opposite direction at that very moment.
Upon beholding this marvellous sight, Louis was in favor of hastening after their friends and bringing them back to follow and harass General Clinch's retreating army; but Coacoochee said that without ammunition they could do nothing, and that it was better, under the circumstances, to let affairs remain as they were. At the same time, he desired Louis to hasten up to the ford, cross the river at that point, and, coming cautiously down on the other side, discover if the soldiers were really in retreat, or if they still had their position near the ferryman's house. While the mulatto was thus engaged, he himself would remain where they were, to follow the troops, should they recover from their panic, and decide, after all, to continue their invasion of the Indian country.
After Louis had been despatched on this mission, Coacoochee, satisfied that the soldiers were too intent upon recrossing the river and gaining a place of safety to disturb him, ventured to revisit the battle-field, in the hope of finding a stray powder-flask or pouch of bullets.
So successful was his search, that he not only found a number of these, but several rifles that had been flung away by the soldiers in their hurried flight.
While busy collecting these prizes, the young chief was startled by hearing a faint groan. He looked about him. There was nobody in sight; but again he heard a groan. This time he located it as proceeding from a clump of palmettoes a few paces distant.
Approaching these, and cautiously parting their broad leaves, he discovered the body of a white man lying face downward. The man was evidently severely wounded, for he lay motionless in a pool of blood, but that he was also alive was shown by his occasional feeble groans.
Coacoochee's first impulse was to leave him where he lay. He would soon die there. At any rate, the wolves would make short work of him that night. It was contrary to the policy of the Indians to take prisoners, and he certainly could not be burdened with one,—a wounded one, at that.
His second impulse, which was urged by pity, of which even an Indian's breast is not wholly void, was to put the wretch out of his misery by means of a mercifully aimed bullet. He knew that his savage companions would ridicule such an act. They would either leave the man to his fate, after making sure that he could not possibly recover, or they would revive him sufficiently to comprehend their purpose and then kill him. They would never be so weak as to kill an unconscious man merely to save him from suffering. Still this was what Coacoochee was about to do, and he felt a kindly warming of the heart, as one does who is about to perform a generous deed.
Slowly he raised his rifle and took a careful aim at the head of the motionless figure before him. His finger was on the trigger. An instant more and the deed would have been accomplished.
But there is no report. The brown rifle is slowly lowered, and the young Indian's gaze rests as though fascinated upon something that caught his eye as it sighted along the deadly tube.
It is only a peculiar seam in the white man's buckskin hunting-tunic, but it runs down the middle of the back from collar to the bottom of the shirt. There are other noticeable features about that hunting-shirt. The little bunches of fringe at the shoulders are of a peculiar cut, and all of its stitching is in yellow silk.
With a low cry of mingled horror and anticipation, Coacoochee dropped his rifle, and springing forward, turned the unconscious man over so that his face was exposed. It was that of Ralph Boyd, the man who had twice saved his life; the man to whose noble scorn of one of the cruellest enemies of an oppressed race he had listened with such pleasure only two days before.
Indian and stern warrior though he was, Coacoochee turned faint at the thought of how nearly he had taken this precious life, for the saving of which he would willingly risk his own. The hunting-shirt worn by Boyd was the very one in which Coacoochee had paid his last memorable visit to St. Augustine. It was the one that had been slit from top to bottom by Fontaine Salano's knife, and stripped from him, in preparation for the whipping the brute proposed to administer. The thought of that shameful moment caused Coacoochee's blood to boil again with rage. At the same time the sight of this noble-hearted stranger who had saved him from that bitter indignity moved him to greatest pity.
Kneeling beside the unconscious man, the young Indian sought to discover the nature of his wound. To his amazement, it was caused by a bullet that had been fired frombehind. How could such a thing be? None but white men were behind Boyd during the battle. Suddenly the muttered words of Troup Jeffers flashed into his mind. Now all was clear. To gratify his own petty revenge the slave-catcher had committed this cowardly act.
The young chief was busily engaged in stanching the flow of blood, and binding a poultice of healing leaves, mixed with the glutinous juice of a cabbage palm, on the wound, when Louis returned and stood beside him.
The whites were in full retreat from the scene of their recent discomfiture, and Louis had returned in the very canoe they had used and abandoned. Now he and Coacoochee bore the wounded man tenderly to it, crossed the river, and carried him to the ferryman's cabin, where both he and the young chief had passed the previous night, unconscious of each other's presence. Here they made him as comfortable as possible, and here for awhile we must leave them.
CHAPTER XXIII
SHAKESPEARE IN THE FOREST
Likea fire sped by strong winds across a prairie of brown and sun-dried grasses, so did the flames of war sweep across the entire breadth of Florida. For a year had the Indians been preparing for it. Now they were ready to gather in numbers, and fight armies, or scatter in small bands, to spread death and destruction in every direction. The Seminole was about to make a desperate defence of his country, and to teach its invaders that they might not steal it from him with impunity.
Express riders carried news of the war in every direction. Everywhere cabins, farms, and plantations were abandoned, while their owners flocked into forts and settlements for mutual protection and safety.
One day, some two weeks after the events narrated in the preceding chapter, a novel procession was to be seen wending its slow, dusty way along one of the few roads of those times that led from the St. John's River to St. Augustine. The procession presented a confused medley of horsemen, pedestrians, wheeled vehicles, and cattle, and might have reminded one of the migration of a band of Asiatic nomads.
It was indeed a migration, though one directed rather by force of circumstances than by choice. It was a white household, with its servants, cattle, and readily portable effects, fleeing from an abandoned plantation towards St. Augustine for safety against the Indians. None of the party had seen an Indian as yet, but they were reported to be ravaging both banks of the river from Mandarin to Picolata.
At first the young mistress of this particular estate had discredited the reports, for it was only rumored as yet that the Seminoles had really declared war. Her brother being absent from home, she for some time resolutely declined to abandon the house in which he had left her. The neighboring places on either side had been deserted for several days, and their occupants had entreated her to fly with them, but without avail.
"No," she replied; "here Ralph left me, and here I shall stay until he comes again, or until I am driven away by something more real than mere rumors."
At length that "something" came. All night the southern sky was reddened by a dull glow occasionally heightened by jets of flame and columns of sparks.
At daylight a frightened negro brought word that the Indians were but a few miles away, and had burned the deserted buildings on three plantations during the night.
Now was indeed time to seek safety in flight, and "Missy" Anstice, as the servants called her, ordered a hurried departure. Her own preparations were very simple. A small trunk of clothing and a few precious souvenirs were all that she proposed to take. With only herself, Letty her maid, and these few things in the carriage that old Primus would drive, and the servants in carts or on muleback, they ought to travel so speedily as to reach St. Augustine some time that same night.
But while Anstice was quite ready to start, she found to her dismay that no one else was. Confusion reigned in the quarters; there was a wild running hither and thither, a piling on the carts of rickety household furniture, bedding, and goods of every description; a loud squawking of fowls tied by the legs, and hung in mournful festoons from every projecting point, and a confused lowing, bleating, and grunting from flocks and herds.
In vain did the young mistress command and plead. All the servants on that plantation were free. Many of them owned the carts they were loading, and nothing short of the appearance of Indians on the spot could have induced them to relinquish their precious household treasures. "Lor, Missy Anstice!" one would say reproachfully, "yo wouldn' tink ob astin' a ole ooman to leab behine de onliest fedder bed she done got?"
"But I am going to leave all mine, aunty."
"Yah, honey; but yo'se got a heap ob 'em, while I've ony got jes' dis one."
And so it went. Useless articles taken from overloaded carts, at Anstice's earnest solicitation, were slyly added to others when she was not looking. Her brother acted as his own overseer, so there were no whites on the plantation to aid her. She alone must order this exodus, and beneath its responsibilities she found herself well-nigh helpless.
At length, in despair, and having wasted most of the morning in useless expostulations, she entered the heavy, old-fashioned coach, with Letty the maid, and gave Primus the order to set forth.
As the carriage passed the quarters, there was a great cry of:
"Don' yo leab us, Missy Anstice! Don' yo gway an' leab us to de Injins! We'se a comin'."
So Primus was ordered to drive slowly, and under other circumstances the English girl would have been vastly amused at the motley procession that began to straggle along behind her; but the danger was too imminent and too great to admit of any thoughts save those of anxiety and fear.
bed
"TO LEAB BEHINE DE ONLIEST FEDDER BED SHE DONE GOT."
An hour or more passed without incident. The sun beat down fiercely from an unclouded sky, and the shadows of the tall pines seemed to nestle close to the brown trunks in an effort to escape his scorching rays. A sound of locusts filled the air. The grateful sea-breeze that would steal inland an hour later was still afar off, and but for the urgency of their flight, the slow-moving cavalcade would have rested until it came. The tongues of the cattle hung from their mouths, and a cloud of dust enveloped them. The heads of horses and mules were stretched straight out, and their ears drooped. Old Primus nodded on the carriage seat. Letty was fast asleep, and even her young mistress started from an occasional doze.
Unobserved by a single eye in all that weary throng, another cloud of dust, similar to that hanging above and about them, rose in their rear. It approached rapidly, until it was so close that the clouds mingled. Then from out the gray canopy burst a whirlwind of yells, shots, galloping horses, and human forms with wildly waving arms.
In an instant the fugitives were roused from their drowsiness to a state of bewildered terror. Men shouted and beat their animals, women screamed, horses plunged, mules kicked, and carts were upset.
The first intimation of this onset that reached the occupants of the carriage, was in the form of madly galloping cattle that, with loud bellowings, wild eyes, and streaming tails, began to dash past on either side. Then their own horses took fright, and urged on by old Primus, tore away down the road.
All at once the terrified occupants of the flying vehicle looked up at the sound of a triumphant yell, only to behold fierce eyes glaring at them from hideously painted faces at either door. The muzzle of a rifle was thrust in at one of the open windows, and at sight of it Anstice Boyd hid her face in her hands, believing that her last moment had come.
When she recovered from her terror sufficiently to look about her once more, Letty was sobbing hysterically on the floor, but there was no motion to the carriage, and all was silent around them. Primus was no longer on the box, and the carriage was not in the road.
Determined to discover their exact situation, Anstice opened one of the doors, with a view to stepping out. At that moment a loud and significant "ugh!" coming from beneath the carriage, caused her to change her mind and hastily reclose the door, as though it were in some way a protection.
A few moments later two mounted Indians rode up to the carriage, and each leading one of its horses, it began to move slowly through the trackless pine forest. As it started, the Indian who had been left to guard it sprang to the seat lately occupied by old Primus.
For hours the strange journey was continued, and it was after sunset when it finally ended near the great river at a place some miles below the plantation they had left that morning. Now the wearied prisoners were allowed to leave their carriage, and were led to where several negro women were cooking supper over a small fire.
Anstice was provided with food, but she could not eat. Terror and anxiety had robbed her of all appetite, and she could only sit and gaze at the strange scene about her, as it was disclosed by the fitful firelight.
Piles of plunder were scattered on all sides. A lowing of cattle, grunting of hogs, cackling and crowing of fowls, the spoils of many a ravaged barnyard, rose on the night air. There was much laughing and talking, both in a strange Indian language that still seemed to contain a number of English words, and in the homely negro dialect.
As the bewildered girl crouched at the foot of a tree, and recalling tale after tale of savage atrocities, trembled at the fate she believed to be in store for her, she started at the sound of a heavy footfall close at hand.
"Bress yo heart, honey! hit's ony me!" exclaimed the well-known voice of old Primus, who, after a long search, had just discovered his young mistress. "Hyar's a jug o' milk an' a hot pone, an' I'se come to 'splain dere hain't no reason fo' being scairt ob dese yeah red Injuns. Ole Primus done fix it so's dey hain't gwine hut yo. Dey's mighty frienly to de cullud folks, and say ef we gwine long wif 'em, we stay free same like we allers bin; but ef we go ter Augustine, de white folks cotch us an' sell us fo pay in de oxpenses ob de wah.
"Same time I bin makin' 'rangement wif 'em dat ef we'se gwine long er dem, dey is boun ter let yo go safe to Augustine, whar Marse Boyd'll be looking fer yo. Yes'm, I'se bin councillin' wif 'em an' settle all dat ar."
"But, Primus, I thought you were scared to death of the Indians, and didn't understand a word of their language," interrupted Anstice.
"Who? me! Sho, Missy Anstice, yo suttenly don't reckin I was scairt. No'm, I hain't scairt ob no red Injin, now dat I onerstan'in deir langwidge an' deir 'tenshuns. Why, missy, deir talk's mighty nigh de same as ourn when yo gits de hang ob hit. So, honey, yo want to chirk up and quit yo mo'nin', an' eat a bit, and den come to de theayter, foh it sholy will be fine."
"What do you mean by the theatre?" asked the bewildered girl; whereupon Primus explained that at one of the plantations raided by the Indians a company of actors on their way to St. Augustine had been discovered, captured, and brought along with all their properties. These people were at first informed that they were to be burned to death at the stake. Afterwards it was decided that they should be given their lives and freedom if they would entertain their captors with an exhibition of their art that very evening. This contract stipulated that the performance should be as complete and detailed as though given before a white audience, and that any member of the company failing to act his part in a satisfactory manner would render himself liable to become a target for bullets and arrows.
Under the circumstances it is doubtful if a play was ever presented under more extraordinary conditions, greater difficulties, or by actors more anxious to perform creditably their respective parts, than was this one given in the depths of a Florida wilderness. The stage was an open space, roofed by arching trees, and lighted by great fires of pine knots constantly replenished. The wings were two wagons drawn up on either side.
The play selected for this important occasion was Hamlet, and for awhile everything proceeded smoothly. Then the audience began to grow impatient of the long soliloquies, and to the intense surprise of the captives, a gruff voice called out:
"Oh, cut it short an' git to fightin'!"
"No, give us a dance," shouted another, "an' hyar's a chune to dance by."
With this a pistol shot rang out, and a ball struck the ground close to Horatio's feet. The frightened actor bounded into the air, and as he alighted, another shot, coupled with a fierce order todance, assured him that his tormentors were in deadly earnest. So he danced, and the others were compelled to join him. To an accompaniment of roars of laughter from the delighted savages, the terrified actors, clad in all the bravery of tinsel armor and nodding plumes, were thus compelled to cut capers and perform strange antics until some of them fell to the ground from sheer exhaustion.
The humor of the savages now took another turn, and with fierce oaths, mingled with threats of instant death if the players were ever seen in that country again, they drove them from camp and bade them make their way to St. Augustine.
As these fugitives disappeared in the surrounding darkness, a big, hideously painted savage who wore on his face the uncommon adornment of a bristling beard, advanced to Anstice Boyd, and in a jargon of broken English bade her follow them if she valued her life.
As the frightened girl started to obey this mandate, old Primus interfered and began to remonstrate with the savage, whereupon he was struck to the ground with so cruel a blow that blood gushed from his mouth. Filled with horror at these happenings, and believing her life to be in peril if she lingered another minute, the fair English girl sprang away, and was quickly lost to sight in the black forest shadows.
CHAPTER XXIV
BOGUS INDIANS AND THE REAL ARTICLE
AsAnstice Boyd fled blindly from the presence of the savage who had just struck down her faithful servant, she had no idea of the direction she was taking, nor of what haven she might hope to reach. She knew only that she was once more free to make her way to friends, if she could, and her greatest present fear was that the savages might repent their generosity, and seek to recapture her. So, as she ran, she listened fearfully for sounds of pursuit, and several times fancied that she heard soft footfalls close at hand, though hasty glances over her shoulder disclosed no cause for apprehension.
At length, she came to the end of her strength, and sank wearily to the ground at the foot of a giant magnolia. Almost as she did so, a low cry of despair came from her lips, for with noiseless step the slender form of a young Indian stood like an apparition beside her. She had not then escaped, after all, but was still at the mercy of the savages whose cruelty she had so recently witnessed. This one had doubtless been sent to kill her. Thus thinking, the trembling girl covered her face with her hands, and, praying that the fatal blow might be swift and sure, dumbly awaited its delivery. Seconds passed, and it did not fall. The agony of suspense was intolerable. She was about to spring up as though in an effort to escape, and thus precipitate her fate, when, to her amazement, she became aware that the Indian was speaking in a low tone, and in her own tongue.
"My white sister must not be afraid," he said. "Coacoochee has come far to find her and take her to a place of safety. Ralph Boyd is his friend, his only friend among all the millions of white men. He is wounded, and lies in a Seminole lodge. After a little we will go to him. There is no time now to tell more. I have that to do which must be done quickly. Let my sister rest here, and in one hour I will come again."
As he concluded these words, which had been uttered hurriedly, and in a voice but little above a whisper, the Indian turned and disappeared as noiselessly as he had come, seeming to melt away among the woodland shadows.
The bewildered girl, thus again left alone, tried to collect her dazed senses and fix upon some plan of action. Should she still attempt to escape, or should she trust the youth who had just announced himself to be Coacoochee, the friend of her brother? Of course, he must belong to the band that had recently held her captive, though she had not seen him among them. What should she do? Which way should she turn?
In her terror, Anstice was unconsciously asking these questions aloud, though her only answers were the night sounds of the forest. Suddenly there came to her ears the crash of rifles, accompanied by the blood-chilling Seminole war-cry, and followed by fierce yells, shrieks of mortal agony, and the other horrid sounds of a death-struggle between man and man, that was evidently taking place but a short distance from her.
The girl sprang to her feet, but, bound to the spot by the horror of those sounds, she listened breathlessly and with strained ears. Had the savages been attacked by a party of whites? It might be. She knew that troops of both regulars and militia were abroad in every direction. Had not she and her brother entertained one of these small war-parties hastening from St. Augustine to join the western army only a short time before? It had been commanded by their friend, Lieutenant Irwin Douglass, who had easily persuaded Ralph Boyd to accompany him as far as Fort King, that he might learn for himself the true state of affairs in the Indian country. Might it not be that one of these detachments, even, possibly, that of Douglass himself, had tracked this band of savages to their hiding-place, and were visiting upon them a terrible but well-merited punishment? In that case, to fly would be folly; for, with the Indians defeated, as of course they must be, she would find safety among the victors.
Thus thinking, and filled with an eager desire to learn more of the tragedy being enacted so near her, the girl began to advance, fearfully and cautiously, in the direction of those appalling sounds. As she approached the scene of conflict, its noise gradually died away, until an occasional shout and a confused murmur of voices were borne to her on the night air. The short battle was ended, and one side or the other was victorious; which one, she must discover at all hazards. A gleam of firelight directed her steps, and she continued her cautious advance to a point of river bank, from which, though still concealed by dark shadows, she could command a full view of the beach below. There, by the light of the rising moon, aided by that of the fires, she beheld a scene so strange that for some minutes she could make nothing of it.
Two large flat-boats, such as were used by planters along the river for the transportation of produce to waiting vessels at its mouth, lay moored to the bank. One of them seemed to be piled high with plunder, while the other was filled with a dark mass of humanity, from which came a medley of voices speaking with the unmistakable accent of negroes. Anstice could see that these had been captives, as, two at a time, they stepped ashore, where the ropes confining them were severed by flashing knives in the hands of dusky figures, apparently Indians. A number of motionless forms lay on the beach, and some of the others seemed to be examining these, going from one to another, and spending but a few moments with each one.
The girl gazed anxiously, but full of bewilderment and with a heavy heart, at these things. Where were the whites she had so confidently expected to see? She could not discover one. All of those on the beach, dead as well as living, appeared to be either Indians or negroes. What could it mean? Did Indian fight with Indian? She had never heard of such a thing in Florida.
As she looked and wondered with ever-sinking heart, and filled with despairing thoughts, she was attracted by the voice of an Indian who, near one of the fires, was evidently issuing an order to the others. She imagined him to be the one who had appeared to her a short time before, and called himself "Coacoochee," but she could not be certain. In striving to obtain a better view of his face, she incautiously stepped forward to a projecting point of the bank. In another moment the treacherous soil had loosened beneath her weight, and with frantic but ineffective efforts to save herself, she slid down the sandy face of the bluff to its bottom.
At her first appearance, the startled savages seized their guns, and nerved themselves for an attack; but, on discovering how little cause there was for alarm, they remained motionless, though staring with amazement at the unexpected intruder.
Poor Anstice was not only filled with fresh terrors, but was covered with confusion at the absurdity of her situation. Ere she could regain her feet, the Indian who seemed to be in command sprang forward and assisted her to rise.
"My white sister came too quickly," he said gravely; "she should have stayed in the shadow of the itto micco [magnolia] till the time for coming. It is not good for her to see such things." Here the speaker swept his arm over the battle-ground. "Since she has come," he continued, "Coacoochee will deliver the words of Ralph Boyd—"
At this moment he was interrupted by a joyful cry, a rush of footsteps, and Letty, the maid, sobbing and laughing in a breath, came flying up the beach, to fling her arms about the neck of her beloved young mistress. She was followed by old Primus, hobbling stiffly, and uttering pious ejaculations of thankfulness. Behind him crowded the entire force of the plantation, men, women, and children, all shouting with joy at the sight of "Missy Anstice."
The stern-faced warriors watched this scene with indulgent smiles, for they knew that the sunny-haired girl, looking all the fairer in contrast with the sable-hued throng about her, was the sister of the white man who had so befriended their young war-chief.
"What does it all mean?" cried Anstice, at length disengaging herself from Letty's hysterical embrace. "What was the cause of the firing I heard but a short while since? Who are those yonder?" Here she pointed with a shudder at the motionless forms lying prone on the sands. "Surely they must be Indians, and yet, I knew not that the hand of the red man was lifted against his fellows."
"They are not of the Iste-chatte [red man], but belong to the Iste-hatke [white man]," answered Coacoochee, gravely.
"Dey's white debbils painted wif blackness," muttered old Primus.
"They are white men, Miss Anstice, disguised like Injuns," explained Letty, whose style of conversation, from long service as lady's maid, was superior to her station. "And oh, Miss Anstice! they were going to take us down the river to sell us into slavery. We wouldn't believe they could be white men, but the paint has been washed from the faces of some of them, and now we know it is so."
Gradually, by listening to one and another who volunteered information, Anstice Boyd learned that the supposed savages, whose prisoner she had been, were indeed a party of white slave-catchers, disguised in paint and feathers, so that their deeds of rascality might be laid to the Seminoles. Coacoochee, to relieve the anxiety of Ralph Boyd, who lay wounded and helpless in an Indian village, had set forth with a small band of warriors to escort his friend's sister to a place of safety, among people of her own race. He found the plantation deserted, and, coming across the trail of the marauders who had captured its occupants, quickly discovered their true character by many unmistakable signs.
When they encamped for the night, the vengeful eyes of his warriors were upon them; and when, for their own safety, they freed their white prisoners and drove them away to spread the report of this freshIndianoutrage, these were allowed to pass through the Seminole line without molestation. Coacoochee alone followed Anstice Boyd beyond ear-shot of the camp, to assure her of friendly aid and safety; then he returned to deal out to the white ruffians their well-deserved punishment.
He would not fire on them while they and the blacks whom they proposed to turn into property were mingled together; but when the latter were bound and driven into the boats, he gave the terrible signal. More than half the painted band fell at the first fire; the remainder, with the exception of the leader and two others, who escaped in a canoe, were quickly despatched, and the deed of vengeance was completed.
In view of these occurrences, and with the certainty that troops would be sent in pursuit of Coacoochee's band, to which all the recent aggressions would of course be credited, the young chief no longer deemed it prudent to attempt to escort his friend's sister to the vicinity of any white settlement. He proposed instead to carry her to her brother.
The girl accepted this plan, provided she might be accompanied by her maid Letty, a condition to which the young Indian readily agreed.
During the few hours that remained of the night, Anstice and her maid slept the sleep of utter weariness in the carriage that had brought them to that place, and with the earliest dawn were prepared to start toward the Seminole stronghold, deep hidden among Withlacoochee swamps.
CHAPTER XXV
A SWAMP STRONGHOLD OF THE SEMINOLES
Onthe morning following that midnight tragedy of the wilderness, the Indians made haste to retreat to that portion of the country which they still called their own. The flat-boats were used to carry themselves, their negro allies, and such of the plunder as could be readily transported to the opposite side of the river; the cattle and horses were made to swim across. Such of the plunder collected by the white renegades as must be left behind was burned. Among all the property thus acquired by the Indians, none was more highly prized than the gorgeous costumes of the theatrical company. The unfortunate actors had been forced to abandon these in their hurried flight, and now Coacoochee's grim-faced warriors wore them with startling effect.
Anstice Boyd could not help smiling at the fantastic appearance thus presented by her escort, though feeling that the circumstances in which she was placed warranted anything rather than smiles or light-heartedness. Was her brother really wounded, and was she being taken to him, or were those only plausible tales to lure her away beyond chance of rescue?
"Can we trust him, Letty? Has he told us the truth?" she asked of her maid, indicating Coacoochee with a slight nod.
"Law, yes, Miss Anstice! You can always trust an Injun to tell you the truth, for they hasn't learned how to lie; that is, them as has kept away from white folks hasn't. As for that young man, he has an honest face, and I believe every word he says. He'll take us straight to Marse Ralph, I know he will."
Comforted by this assurance, Anstice crossed the river with a lighter heart than she had known for days. When, on the other side, and mounted on a spirited pony she was allowed to dash on in advance of the strange cavalcade that followed her, she began to experience an hitherto unknown thrill of delight in the wild freedom of the forest life unfolding before her.
Soon after leaving the river, the Indians began to divide into small parties, each of which took a different direction, thus making a number of divergent trails well calculated to baffle pursuit. The negroes also separated into little companies, all of which were to be guided to a common rendezvous, where, under the leadership of old Primus, they promised to remain until "Marse" Boyd should again return to the plantation and send for them.
Thus Anstice and her maid finally found themselves escorted only by Coacoochee and two other warriors. Pushing forward with all speed, this little party reached, at noon of the second day, the bank of a dark stream that flowed sluggishly through an almost impenetrable cypress swamp. One of the Indians remained here with the horses, while the rest of the party embarked in one of several canoes that had been carefully hidden at this point.
Urged on by the lusty paddles of Coacoochee and his companion, this craft proceeded swiftly for nearly a mile up the shadowy stream. Not even the noonday sun could penetrate the dense foliage that arched above them. Festoons of vines depended like huge serpents from interlacing branches, and funereal streamers of gray moss hung motionless in the stagnant air. The black waters swarmed with great alligators, that showed little fear of the canoe, and gave it reluctant passage. Strange birds, water-turkeys with snake-like necks, red-billed cormorants, purple galinules, and long-legged herons, startled from their meditations by the dip of paddles, flapped heavily up stream in advance of the oncoming craft, with discordant cries.
Upon such slender threads hang the fate of nations and communities as well as that of individuals, that, but for these brainless water-fowl, flying stupidly up the quiet river and spreading with harsh voices the news that something had frightened them, the whole course of the Seminole war might have been changed. As it was, a single Indian, who was cautiously making his way down stream in a small canoe, hugging the darkest shadows, and casting furtive glances on all sides, was quick to make use of the information thus furnished.
As the squawking birds redoubled their cries at sight of him, he turned his canoe quickly and drove it deep in among the cypresses at one side, so that it was completely hidden from the view of any who might pass up or down the river.
This Indian, who was known as Chitta-lustee (the black snake), had hardly gained the hiding-place from which he peered out with eager eyes, before the craft containing Coacoochee and his little party swept into view around a bend, and slipped swiftly past him. The keen eye of the young war-chief did not fail to note the floating bubbles left by the paddle of the spy, but attributed them to an alligator, or to some of the innumerable turtles that were constantly plumping into the water from half-submerged logs as the canoe approached. So he paid no attention to them, but a minute later guided his slender craft across the river, and into an opening so concealed by low-hanging branches, that one unfamiliar with its location might have searched for it in vain.
This was what Chitta-lustee had been doing, and for the discovery, made now by accident, he had been promised a fabulous reward inwhiskey. There were renegades among the Seminoles as well as among the whites, and of these the Black Snake was one. Seduced from his allegiance to those of his own blood by an unquenchable thirst for the white man's fire-water, he had sold himself, body and soul, to the enemies of his race.
General Scott, who had succeeded to the command of the army in Florida, was bending all his energies toward breaking up the Indian strongholds amid the swampy labyrinths of the Withlacoochee. Of these, the most important was that of Osceola. No white man had ever seen it, and but few Seminoles outside of the band occupying it had penetrated its mysteries. Therefore the entire force of renegades,friendly Indiansthe whites called them, some seventy in number, drawn from the band of that traitor chief who had been bribed to agree to removal, were now engaged in a search for these secluded camps, while liberal rewards had been promised for the discovery of any one of them. Goods to the amount of one hundred dollars, and one of the chiefships from which General Wiley Thompson had deposed the rightful holders, would be given to him who should lead the troops to the stronghold of Osceola. Chitta-lustee cared little for the honor of chiefship, but dazzled by a vision of one hundred dollars' worth of fire-water, which was the only class of white man's goods for which he longed, he made up his mind to discover the hidden retreat of the Baton Rouge, or perish in the attempt.
For many days had he skulked in the swamps, repeatedly passing the concealed entrance to which Coacoochee had now unwittingly guided him, without seeing it. As he noted the marks by which it might be identified, he gloated over the prize that seemed at length within his grasp and awaited impatiently the evening shadows that should enable him to make further explorations.
In the meantime, the canoe from which Anstice Boyd was casting shuddering glances at the sombre scenes about her, continued for a short distance up a serpentine creek, so narrow as to barely afford it passage, and was finally halted beside a huge, moss-grown log. This, half-buried in the ooze of the swamp, afforded a landing-place, at which the party disembarked. As they did so, Coacoochee turned to the English girl, and said:
"The eye of the Iste-hatke has never looked upon this place. Ralph Boyd knows it not, for he was brought here in darkness. Will my sister keep its secret hidden deep in her own bosom, where no enemy of the Iste-chatte shall ever find it?"
To this query Anstice replied: "Coacoochee, as you deal with me, so will I deal by you. Take me in safety to my brother, and your secret shall be safe with me forever."
"Un-cah! It is good," replied the young Indian. "Now let us go. Step only where I step, and let the black girl step only where you step, for the trail is narrow."
And narrow it proved. Other logs, felled at right angles to the first, and sunk so deep in treacherous mud that their upper surface was often under water, formed a precarious pathway to a strip of firmer land. This natural causeway, to step from which was to be plunged in mud as black and soft as tar, besides being almost as tenacious, led for nearly half a mile to an island that rose abruptly from the surrounding swamp.
This island was apparently completely covered with an impenetrable growth of timber and underbrush laced together by a myriad of thorny vines. The only trail by which the formidable barricade might be penetrated was not opposite the end of the causeway, but lay at some distance, to one side, where it was carefully concealed from all but those who would die rather than reveal its secret. Even when it was once entered, its windings were not easy to trace. But its perplexities were short, and after a few rods the pathway ended abruptly in a scene so foreign to that from which it started, that it seemed to belong to another world. Instead of the funereal gloom, the slime, the rank growth, and crowding horrors of the great swamp, here was a cleared space, acres in extent, bathed in sunlight, and alive with cheerful human activity.
On the highest point of land, beneath a clump of stately trees, stood a cluster of palmetto-thatched huts, some open on all sides, and others enclosed; but all raised a foot or two from the ground, so as to allow of a free circulation of air beneath them. In and about these swarmed a happy, busy population. Warriors, whose naked limbs exhibited the firm outlines of bronze statues, cleaned or mended their weapons. Groups of laughing women, cleanly in person, attractive to look upon, and modestly clad, prepared food or engaged in other domestic duties; while rollicking bands of chubby children shouted shrilly over games that differed little from those of other children all over the world. Stretching away from the village were broad fields of corn and cane, amid which yams, pumpkins, and melons grew with wonderful luxuriance. These fields were cared for by negroes, who dwelt in their own quarters, and worked the productive land on shares, that frequently brought larger returns to them than to the red-skinned proprietors of the soil.
This was the swamp stronghold of Osceola, to which Coacoochee and Louis had retreated after the battle of the Withlacoochee, bringing with them the unconscious form of Ralph Boyd, the Englishman friend of the enslaved and champion of the oppressed.
In common with most of the whites, this young man had underrated both the numbers and courage of the Seminoles, and had not believed they would dare fight, even for their homes, against United States troops. It was only upon penetrating their country with General Clinch's army that Ralph Boyd realized how bitter was to be the struggle and that it was already begun. He had been shot down quite early in the battle at the river-crossing and lay on the field unnoticed until found by the one Indian who was inclined to save his life rather than take it.
When the wounded man next opened his eyes, he found himself lying on a couch of softest skins, amid surroundings so foreign to anything he had ever known that for awhile he was confident he was dreaming. Then as the well-remembered form of Coacoochee bent anxiously over him, a memory of recent events flashed into his mind. He realized that an Indian war with all its attendant horrors was sweeping over the land, and recalled the fact that his sister Anstice was alone and unprotected on the plantation by the St. John's. Weakly he strove to rise, but fell back with a groan.
"My brother must rest," said Coacoochee, chidingly. "He is among friends, and there is no cause for uneasiness. Here there is no white man to shoot him from behind."
"I care not for myself," murmured the sufferer. "It is my sister, left without one to protect her or guide her to a place of safety. I must go to her."
Again he attempted to rise, but was gently restrained by the young Indian, who said:
"Let not my brother be troubled. Coacoochee will go in his place and guide the white maiden to a safe shelter."
"Will you, Coacoochee? Will you do this thing for me?" exclaimed Boyd, a faint color flushing his pale cheeks.
"Un-cah," answered the young war-chief. "This very hour will I go, and when I come again I will bring a token from the white maiden who dwells by the great river."
CHAPTER XXVI
TWO SPIES AND THEIR FATE
Coacoocheehad fulfilled his promise, and conducted the sister of his friend to a place of safety. As he entered the village followed closely by the first white girl that many of its inmates had ever seen, they gazed wonderingly and in silence at the unaccustomed spectacle. Even the voices of the children were so suddenly hushed that Ralph Boyd, tossing wearily on his narrow couch in one of the enclosed huts, noted the quick cessation of sounds to which he had become wonted, and awaited its explanation with nervous impatience. The old Indian woman who acted as his nurse stepped outside, and for the moment he was alone. Filled with an intense desire to know what was taking place, the wounded man strove to rise, with the intention of crawling to the door of the hut; but ere he could carry out his design, the curtain of deerskins that closed it was thrust aside, and Coacoochee stood before him.
With a feeble shout of joy at sight of his friend, the sufferer exclaimed tremulously: "Is she safe? Have you brought a token from her?"
"The white maiden is safe, and I have brought a token," answered the young Indian, proudly.
As he spoke, he moved aside, and in another moment Anstice Boyd, sobbing for joy, was kneeling beside her brother, with her arms about his neck.
From that moment Ralph Boyd's recovery was sure and rapid, for there are no more certain cures for any wound than careful nursing and a relief from anxiety. Within a week he was not only able to sit up, but to take short walks about the village, the strange life of which he studied with never-failing interest. So well ordered and peaceful was it, so filled with cheerful industry, that it was difficult to believe it a dwelling-place of those who were even then engaged in fighting for their homes and rights. But evidences that such was the case were visible on all sides. War-parties were constantly going and coming. Osceola, now head chief of this particular band, and one of the leading spirits of the war, was away most of the time, hovering about the flanks of some army, cutting off their supplies, killing, burning, and destroying; here to-day, and far away to-morrow, spreading everywhere the terror of his name.
Coacoochee would fain have been engaged in similar service; but his own band of warriors under the temporary leadership of Louis Pacheco, was operating far to the eastward, between the St. John's and the coast, while he felt pledged to remain with his white friends until Ralph Boyd could be removed to a place of greater safety. He feared to leave them; for among the inmates of the camp were certain vindictive spirits who so hungered for white scalps that they made frequent threats of what would happen to the brother and sister, whom they regarded as captives, in case they had their way with them. So the young war-chief restrained his longings for more active service, and devoted himself to collecting great quantities of corn and other supplies, which he stored in this swamp stronghold for future use.
When not waiting on her brother, Anstice amused herself by observing the domestic life of the village and in cultivating an acquaintance among its women and children. The former were so shy that she made but little headway with them. In fact, her maid Letty was far more popular among the Indian women than she. With the children, however, Anstice became an object for adoration almost from the moment of her appearance among them. So devoted were they to her that she could not walk abroad without an attendant throng of sturdy urchins or naked toddlers.
One drowsy afternoon, leaving her brother asleep in a hammock woven of tough swamp grasses, Anstice, accompanied by her usual escort of children and with a slim little maiden clinging to each hand, visited a dense thicket near the pathway leading out to the great swamp, in search of bead-like palmetto berries, which she proposed to string into necklaces. Seating herself on the edge of the forest growth, she despatched several of the children in search of the coveted berries. Diving under the bushes and threading their tangled mazes like so many quail, these quickly disappeared from view, though shouts of laughter plainly indicated their movements.
Suddenly a scream of childish terror was uttered close at hand, and a little lad, trembling with fright, came running back to where Anstice was sitting. Filled with a dread of wild beasts or deadly serpents, the girl sprang to her feet, and making use of the few Seminole words she had acquired while in the village, called loudly:
"At-tess-cha, che-paw-ne! At-tess-cha, mas-tchay!" (Come here, boys! come here quickly!)
The quality of terror in her voice rather than the words themselves must have attracted attention, for while there came no answer, the children's shouts were suddenly hushed. Each embryo warrior dropped to the ground where he was, and like hunted rabbits, lay motionless, but keenly alert, until they should learn from which direction danger might be expected. Those who had remained with Anstice clung to her skirts, and the urchin who had given the alarm glanced fearfully behind him.
As the girl stood irresolute, there came a movement in the bushes close at hand. Then to her amazement, her name was called softly, but in a voice whose accents she would have recognized anywhere and under all circumstances. It needed not the parting of the leafy screen and a glimpse of the anxious face behind it, to tell her that Irwin Douglass, the lieutenant of dragoons, who had so often shared the hospitality of her brother's table, had, by some inconceivable means, penetrated the secrets of this Indian stronghold and ventured within its deadly confines.
"Oh, Mr. Douglass!" she cried, in a voice trembling with apprehension. "How came you here? Do you not realize your awful peril? You will be killed if you stay a minute longer! Fly, then! Fly, I beg of you, while there is yet time."
"But, Miss Boyd! Anstice! Why are you here instead of safe in Augustine as we thought? Are you not in equal, or even in greater, peril? Come with me, and I will gladly beat a retreat, but I cannot leave you to the mercy of the savages. This place is infested by an overwhelming force of troops, who only await my return to make an attack. The Indians will surely kill you rather than allow you to be rescued."
"No! No! I am in no peril!" replied the agitated girl. "I am here of my own free will, and shall be safe in any event. But you! If you value your life! If you love—"
Just then two grim warriors appeared as though they had dropped from the sky, one on either side of Douglass, and in spite of a mighty struggle for freedom, made him their prisoner. One of the children had sped to the village. Coacoochee, with several followers, had taken the trail, and closed in from two sides on Anstice and the lieutenant, while they were too full of amazement at each other's presence in that place to note the stealthy approach.
As two of the Indians seized the young officer, the others sprang after a retreating form they had just discovered skulking through the forest. It was that of Chitta-lustee, the spy, who had carried the news of his finding of this stronghold to Fort King. From there he had guided a body of troops back to the log landing, whence he had been sent, in company with Lieutenant Douglass, to note the exact state of affairs in the village before an attack should be ordered. Together they had crept undetected to a place from which they could command a fair view of the village, and estimate the force of its defenders, which at that moment did not number more than a dozen warriors.
The spies were about to retire from their dangerous position when prevented by the approach of Anstice and her retinue of children. One of these had chanced upon their hiding-place, and while Douglass pleaded with the English girl to seize this opportunity for escape from what he imagined to be a terrible captivity, his companion was trying to secure his own safety by slowly and noiselessly creeping away. He had gained a fair distance, and was beginning to move more rapidly, when discovered by Coacoochee, who, followed by the other warriors, immediately sprang in pursuit.
Down to the edge of the swamp and out on the narrow causeway fled the spy, and after him, like hound in full view of his quarry, leaped the avenger. It was a terrible race along that slender path, slippery with slime and water. Chitta-lustee flung away his rifle, and, with breath coming in panting gasps, ran for his life. A few rods more, and he would be safe.
Coacoochee, reckless of consequences, and filled with a fierce determination to destroy, at all hazards, this most dangerous enemy of his people, only clenched his teeth more tightly, and leaped forward with an increase of speed, as he detected a glint of weapons directly ahead, and realized that the farther end of the causeway was already occupied by troops. He bore only a light spear that he had snatched up at the first alarm, and, with all his skill, he must be at least within twenty yards of a mark ere he could hurl it effectively.
He was still one hundred yards away, and now he could distinguish the uniforms of those who were advancing to meet the panting fugitive. Those who followed the young chief were halting doubtfully. To them it seemed that he was rushing toward certain destruction. They could not restrain him. To follow his example and throw their lives away uselessly would be worse than folly. So they stayed their steps, and watched the fearful race with fascinated gaze.
Only for a moment, and then all was over. Chitta-lustee slipped and stumbled on one of the water-soaked logs at the end of the causeway. As he recovered himself, there came a flash of darting steel, and the keen blade of a hurtling spear, flung with the utmost of Coacoochee's nervous strength, sunk deep between his shoulders. With a choking cry, and out-flung arms, the traitor pitched headlong into the black waters, and disappeared forever, while cries of horror came from the advancing soldiers whose protection he had so nearly gained.
Even as the young war-chief delivered his deadly blow, and without waiting to note its effect, he turned and fled toward his own people. A dozen angry rifles rang out behind him, and the whole swamp echoed with fierce yells from the enraged soldiers, but no bullet struck him, and no taunt served to stay his steps.
The three Indians fled swiftly as hunted deer, back along the treacherous trail, while the troops followed with what speed they might. It was so difficult a path, and so dangerous, and the heavy-booted soldiers slipped from its narrow verge so often, that those whom they pursued reached the island and disappeared among its thickets ere they had more than started. Then back through the heavy air came mockingly and defiantly the Seminole war-cry:
"Yo-ho-ee yo-ho-ee yo-ho-ee-chee!"
Thus they knew that a surprise of the stronghold they had so labored to gain was no longer possible.
Still with a courage worthy of a nobler cause the troops pushed forward, unguided save by instinct and a burning desire to avenge the death of their well-loved lieutenant, whom they supposed the savages had already killed. With all their efforts it was a full half-hour ere the advance drew near to the wooded island that rose silent and mysterious before them, and they began to feel firmer ground beneath their feet.
Before they reached its encircling forest wall, flashes of flame began to leap from the dark thickets, and before the deadly fire of an unseen foe the advance was staggered and halted. It was only for a moment, and then they sprang forward with a cheer to charge the fatal barricade.
A dozen troopers had fallen ere the Indian fire was silenced, and as yet the soldiers had not caught a glimpse of their foe. In the thick-set undergrowth they were tripped and flung to the ground by snake-like roots, encircled and held fast by tough vines, clutched and drawn backward by stout thorns curved and sharp as a tiger's claws. No human being save a naked Indian could thread that forest maze, and as the soldiers could discover no opening through it, they decided to make one. Swords, axes, and knives were called into requisition. Every now and then a rifle shot from the unseen foe proved the Indians to be still watchful and defiant.
It was not until another half-hour had been expended in this exhausting effort at road-cutting that the trail lying well to one side was discovered.
Wearied by their futile efforts, made furious by opposition, and galled by the fire from unseen rifles that had been steadily thinning their numbers ever since they reached the island, the troops rushed with fierce shouts to the opening, streamed through it, and gained the central, cleared space in which stood the Seminole village. Here, for a moment, the tumultuous advance was checked, and each man clutched his weapon with a closer grip, in expectation of an attack.
But none was made. The peaceful village, all aglow with the light of a setting sun, was silent and deserted. No voices came from it, nor from the broad fields that lay clothed in luxuriant verdure beyond. There was no sound of busy workers, no laughter of children. A raven with glossy plumage, iridescent in the sunlight, croaked a hoarse challenge from a lofty tree-top, and a solitary buzzard circled overhead on motionless pinions, but no other signs of life were to be detected.
After a minute of irresolution Captain Chase, the officer in command of the expedition, deployed his men as skirmishers, and was about to give the order "Forward!" when this strange thing happened:
From one of the thatched huts of the village three human beings emerged and advanced slowly toward the motionless line of soldiers. Two were men, evidently white men, and one of these wore a uniform. Between them walked a young girl whose shapely head was crowned with a mass of gold-red hair. As she drew near, a murmur of admiration at her beauty passed along the stern line of blue-coated troops. Then an irrepressible tumult of cheers rent the air, for in one of the girl's companions the soldiers recognized their own beloved lieutenant, Irwin Douglass. But curiosity got the better of enthusiasm, and as the noise subsided, each trooper waited in breathless silence for an explanation of this strange encounter.
CHAPTER XXVII
ANSTICE BOYD SAVES THE LIFE OF A CAPTIVE
WhileCoacoochee was engaged in his fierce pursuit of the traitor Seminole across the black causeway, Irwin Douglass was led to the village, where he was securely bound to one of the great trees by which it was shaded. Here his captors left him, and seizing their rifles hastened back to the edge of the swamp.
The moment Anstice realized that the young soldier, though a captive, was not doomed to instant death, she flew back to the hut occupied by her brother, whom she found still quietly sleeping in his grass-woven hammock. Roused into a startled wakefulness by her abrupt entrance, the convalescent was for some moments at a loss to comprehend what she was saying or what had caused her excitement.
"Who do you say is captured? and what has happened, dear, to frighten you?" he asked, in a bewildered tone.
"Irwin Douglass, and they are going to kill him, and the village is about to be attacked, and we shall all be murdered!" cried the terrified girl.
"Douglass captured and about to be killed? Impossible!" exclaimed Boyd, rising and starting toward the doorway. "But I will go and see. Surely Coacoochee would never murder a prisoner in cold blood. As for ourselves, you know we are safe so long as we are his guests. Wait here, sister, and I will bring Douglass back with me, if, as you say, he is in the village."
But the frightened girl clung to him and would not be left. So they set forth together, and had hardly gained the outer air before a sound of firing from the causeway warned them that fighting of some sort was begun. The same sounds created vast excitement among the inmates of the village, and the crowd of negroes, who, at the first note of alarm, had come swarming up from the fields. These so occupied the entire foreground that the brother and sister could get no sight of him whom they sought. Neither was their friend the young war-chief to be seen. They attempted to make way through the throng, but were impatiently pushed back, the crowd scowling and muttering at them angrily.
One huge, coal-black negro even advanced upon them with a drawn knife and so ugly an expression, that Ralph Boyd instinctively thrust his sister behind him, and nerved himself to receive an attack. Unarmed and weakened by illness as he was, the outcome of such a struggle could readily be foreseen, and the white man cast a despairing glance about him in search of some weapon. There was none, and the gleaming knife was already uplifted for a deadly stroke, when, with a shrill cry, a black woman sprang betwixt the two, snatched the knife from the negro's hand, and flourishing it in his face, poured out such a furious torrent of angry, scornful, and threatening words, that the brute slunk away from her, completely cowed.
Now, turning and almost pushing Boyd and his sister before her, Letty—for the black Amazon was no other than Anstice's own maid—succeeded in getting them back inside the hut before their assailant had time to rally from his discomfiture. Then, still clutching the knife she had so adroitly captured, the black girl stood guard before the entrance, deaf alike to those of her own color, who taunted her with being a traitor to her race, and to the entreaties of her young mistress, that she should attempt a rescue of the prisoner about whom the crowd of Indian women and negroes still swarmed.
"Cayn't do it, Miss Anstice," replied the black girl, firmly, but without turning her head. "I'se powerful sorry for Marse Douglass, but when it's him or you, I know which one I'se bound to look after."
"But, Letty, they will murder him!"
"No, Miss Anstice, not till Coacoochee says so. They das'n't kill him, not till the chief gives the word."
"But supposing Coacoochee does not come? He may be killed or captured himself, you know."
"There ain't no use speculating on that, Miss Anstice, because he's come already. I can see him out there now, talking to the crowd. Looks like he's in a powerful hurry, too, and I spec's the end of time has come for poor Marse Douglass. Oh Lord, Miss Anstice! Stop up your ears, quick!"
At these ominous words, the brave English girl, instead of complying, darted from the hut so swiftly, that ere Letty could interfere to prevent her, she had gained the centre of the village. There she came upon a scene well calculated to freeze the blood in her veins. Irwin Douglass, bound to a tree, with his pale, resolute face turned toward the setting sun, gazed with unflinching calmness into the black muzzles of four levelled rifles, that in another moment would pour their deadly contents into his body. The pitiless warriors who held them, and only awaited a signal from their young chief to press the fatal triggers, scanned the face of their victim in vain for the faintest trace of fear. There was none; and they were filled with regrets that so brave a man could not be reserved for a more lingering and trying form of death. But there was no time to spare. The soldiers were even now upon them, and whatever was to be done must be done quickly. Already murmurs of impatience could be heard among the spectators.
As Coacoochee was about to give the dread command, there came a quick rush, and the girlish figure of Anstice Boyd stood full in front of the cruel rifles, between them and their human mark. Her wonderful hair, half loosed from its coil, glinted like spun gold in the red sunlight. Her eyes were big with terror, and her face was bloodless, but her voice rang out clear and strong, as she cried:
"Coacoochee, you must not do this thing! You dare not!"
"He is an enemy," answered the young chief, calmly; and without betraying his annoyance at this interruption. "If we should not kill him, he would kill us."
"He might in battle or in fair fight, but he would never shoot down a helpless prisoner," replied the girl, in scornful tones. "Set him free, place a weapon in his hands, and fight him man to man, if you dare."
"Gladly would I," answered the young Seminole, "if there was time, but there is not. Thy people have hunted us like wolves to our den, and even now are upon us. In another minute must we fly for our lives. Our friends we can leave to their friends. Our captive we cannot take, and dare not release. He is a spy. The white man puts a spy to death; why should not the Indian? Coacoochee has spoken. The spy must die. Let my white sister stand aside."
Very stern was the young war-chief, and very determined. A murmur of approbation rose from the dusky throng about him as his words fell upon their ears.
A wave of despair surged over Anstice Boyd. Her face flushed, then became deadly pale. Her voice was well-nigh choked as she answered:
"Then, oh, Coacoochee, if you will not yield to the dictates of humanity, still listen to me. In the name of Allala, thy spirit sister, in the name of her who still lives, and is most dear to thee, in the name of Ralph Boyd, who, by his deeds, has proved himself thy friend, I plead for this man's life. If this is not enough, I demand it for yet another reason." Here, with face crimsoned like the rising sun, the girl stepped close to the young chief, and spoke a few words in a tone so low that none but he could catch their import.
His stern face softened, and for a moment he looked curiously at her. Then drawing his own silver-mounted knife from its sheath, he handed it to her, saying:
"The words of the white maiden have sunk deep into the heart of Coacoochee. Let her lead him whom she has saved to the lodge of her brother. Keep him there, close hidden from my people, so long as a voice is heard in this place. Then, and not till then, will it be safe for the Iste-hatke to venture forth. Farewell, my sister! Thank not the wild cat that his claws are sheathed. Thank rather Allala, Nita, and Ralph Boyd.Hi-e-pas! Hi-e-pas!"
girl
THE GIRL STEPPED CLOSE TO THE YOUNG CHIEF AND SPOKE A FEW WORDS.
The last two words were uttered in ringing tones of command to his own people, and, supplemented as they were by a crashing volley of musketry from the edge of the swamp, they produced an instant effect.
Although many glances of hate were flashed at the white girl and the prisoner, whom she freed from his bonds with two strokes of Coacoochee's keen knife, they were allowed to pass unharmed to the hut occupied by Ralph Boyd. He walked with them; for, without his sister's knowledge, he had stood close by her side while she pleaded for the life of Irwin Douglass, ready to strike a blow in her defence, or to share her fate.