The three entered the hut together, and as its curtain of deerskin was drawn so as to exclude all prying eyes, the overwrought girl fell into her brother's arms, weeping hysterically. The young soldier, who but a moment before stood within the shadow of death, gazed curiously and awkwardly for a second on this scene, and then turning away, sat down with his face buried in his hands.
Ralph Boyd sought to calm his brave sister with loving words. So filled was each of the three with crowding emotions that they took no note of time nor of outside sounds, until at length the girl ceased her sobbing and gazed with a smile into her brother's face. Then, with a weight lifted from his heart, he began to talk to her in a cheerful strain.
"It was nobly done, sister mine," he said, "and as a special pleader I will name you before any barrister in the land. What argument, though, was it you used at the last? I failed to catch the words, but they must have been of powerful force."
Again a tide of crimson mantled the girl's fair cheeks, as she replied: "Coacoochee knows, and I know; but let it suffice you, brother, that they were effective; for more than that I can never tell."
At this juncture, the young soldier, looking as guilty as though he had been caught at eavesdropping, rose, drew aside the curtain at the entrance, and stepped outside. As he did so, he uttered an exclamation that quickly brought the others to his side.
The village, recently so populous and filled with busy life, was deserted. Not a soul was to be seen. Even the pigs and chickens had disappeared. An unbroken silence, as of an impending doom, brooded over the place, and, as the three who were now its sole occupants walked among the vacant habitations, they felt impelled to lower their voices, as though in presence of the dead. They had gone but a short distance when their attention was attracted by the sound of many voices and the tramp of armed men. Turning in that direction, they beheld a body of troops pouring from the pathway leading to the swamp, and toward these they at once directed their steps.
As the three whose recent experiences had been so thrilling walked slowly down the grassy slope, Douglass strove to find words with which to thank Anstice Boyd for the gift of his life; but the girl interrupted him at the outset, and begged him never to mention the subject again.
"Very well," he replied, "since that is your desire, I will strive to obey. I do so the more readily that mere words fail to express my feelings; but I shall live in hope of the time when by some service I may be able to indicate my gratitude."
Whatever else the grateful young soldier might have said was interrupted by cheers from the troops, who at that moment recognized the comrade whom they had mourned as lost to them forever. As quiet was restored, his brother officers crowded about him with a hearty welcome and an avalanche of questions.
"That will do for the present, gentlemen," interposed Captain Chase. "Excuse a soldier's abruptness, madam," he added, bowing to Anstice, "but in this stern business of war, duty must precede even the ordinary courtesies of life. Now, Mr. Douglass, since you are so happily restored to us, please tell me what to expect in yonder den of swamp devils? Are we to be attacked? Shall we charge. What force opposes us? What is the meaning of this ominous silence?"
"I hardly know how to answer you, sir," replied the lieutenant, "for I am as ignorant concerning the enemy's movements as yourself. So far as I know, there is not a soul in yonder village, though but a few minutes ago it was swarming with life."
"What has become of them, then?" demanded the officer, impatiently.
"I do not know, sir."
"You can at least tell in which direction they went."
"No, sir, I cannot even do that; for I did not see them go, nor do I know when they departed."
"Upon my soul, this is a most extraordinary state of affairs!" exclaimed the officer, flushing angrily. "I must confess that I had not heretofore credited you with blindness. Perhaps, sir, you can give us the desired information?" he added, turning to Ralph Boyd.
Upon the young Englishman claiming an equal ignorance with the lieutenant, the irate captain said in a tone of suppressed anger: "This matter shall be investigated at a more convenient time, but at present it seems that we must make discoveries for ourselves. To your places, gentlemen. Forward! Double quick! March!"
With this the line of blue-coated troops advanced swiftly up the slope and charged the empty huts of the deserted village.
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE MARK OF THE WILDCAT
Invain did the soldiers ransack the empty huts of the village, and scour the island from end to end. Not a single human being or evidence of life did they discover, nor were they fired upon from the belt of timber surrounding the cleared fields. The hundreds of men, women, and children, Indians and negroes, who had been at home in this place less than an hour before, had vanished as mysteriously and completely as though the earth had opened and swallowed them. Even the secret place of exit through the swamp, provided for just such an emergency as the present, had not been discovered when darkness put an end to the search, and the troops camped in and about the Indian village for the night.
The officer commanding the expedition was furious. He had expected to destroy or capture the entire force of the enemy gathered at this point. Instead of so doing, he had not only failed to capture a single prisoner, but could not discover that his fire had resulted in the killing or even wounding of a single warrior. On the other hand, the dead of his own command numbered seven, while a score of others were more or less severely wounded. His anger was in nowise diminished by what he was pleased to term the culpable ignorance of Lieutenant Douglass concerning the strength and movements of the Indians.
When questioned on these points, the young officer, with a delicacy that forbade the part taken by Anstice Boyd in his rescue becoming common talk of the camp, would only say that, having been confined in a closed hut, he had no opportunity of knowing what was taking place outside.
"Were you bound, blind-folded, or in any other way deprived of the use of your faculties?" demanded the commander.
"No, sir, I was not."
"In that case it is incredible that you could not have found some opportunity for making observations of what was taking place about you; and that you failed to do so, must be regarded as a grave neglect of duty. The very fact that the savages, having you in their power, presented you with both life and liberty, would seem to argue a closer sympathy between you and them than is permissible between an officer of the United States army and the enemies of his Government. Therefore, sir, I shall take it upon myself to suspend you from duty, and shall prefer charges against you which you will be allowed to meet before a court martial. That is all, sir. You may go."
"Very good, sir," replied the younger officer, bowing, and retiring with a pale face, and a mind filled with bitter thoughts.
That night the island seemed a very abode of malicious spirits. Low-hanging clouds covered it with a veil of darkness so intense as to be oppressive. A strong wind moaned among the forest trees, and borne on it from the surrounding swamp came blood-chilling shrieks and yells, weird and foreboding, but whether produced by wild beasts or wild men, the shuddering listeners, gathered closely about flaring camp-fires, could not determine. So terrible were some of these wind-borne cries, that certain among those who listened declared them to be the despairing accents of lost souls; for which sentiment they were derided by the bolder of their comrades. But when the midnight relief went its round of the outposts, and found four of them guarded only by corpses, even the scoffers were willing to admit that in the rush of the night wind they had heard the wings of the angel of death.
As, one after another, the dead sentinels were brought in to the firelight, they were found to be without wounds, unless a scratch of five fine lines on each pallid forehead could be called such. In each case the cause of death was a broken neck. From this and the scratches, that looked as though they might have been made by the brushing of a mighty paw, it was at first thought that the unfortunate soldiers might have been done to death by one of the more powerful beasts of the forest.
This belief was, however, quickly upset by an old frontiersman who accompanied the troops as a scout. Pointing out that all the scratches were located in the same place, and all had been made with equal lightness of touch, he declared them to be the mark of Coacoochee the Wildcat.
Already the terror of this name had spread so far, that when Ralph Boyd asserted that Coacoochee was indeed leader of the band just driven from that stronghold, a great fear fell upon the soldiers, and to a man they refused to perform outpost duty beyond the limit of firelight.
To enlarge this lighted circle, one hut after another was set on fire, until the whole village, including the great storehouses full of provisions and the granaries of corn, was one roaring, leaping mass of flame. The leafy crowns of the giant oaks that had shaded it, shrivelled, crackled, and burst into a myriad tongues of fire; while to render the destruction of the forest monarchs more certain, some of the soldiers seized axes and girdled their trunks.
So bright was the circle of light in which the troops foolishly sought for safety, that had Coacoochee been leader of one hundred warriors at that moment, he could have wiped out the entire force of invaders; but he was alone, and from the black recesses of a thicket he gazed upon the scene of destruction in impotent wrath.
Having seen the band intrusted to his care safely across the great swamp, and well on their way to another place of refuge, he had returned alone to watch the invasion of Osceola's stronghold. With the noiseless movements of a gliding shadow he had skirted the camp of the soldiers, and four times had he left silent but terrible witnesses of his presence. With a heavy heart he now watched the burning of the great stores of food that he had gathered for the support of his people during months of fighting; for he knew that with this destruction a heavy blow had been dealt against the Seminole cause.
With the earliest coming of daylight, the troops, impatient to finish their task and leave that place of terror, began to destroy the growing crops beyond the village. Safe hidden among the spreading branches of a live-oak, where he was screened by great clusters of pale-green mistletoe, Coacoochee watched them tear up acres of tasselled corn, and laden vines, cut down scores of trees heavy with ripening fruit, and burn broad areas of waving cane.
At length, the work of destruction was completed, all stragglers were called in by a blast of bugles, a parting volley was fired over the single long grave, in which a dozen dead soldiers lay buried; and, taking their wounded with them, the blue-coated column marched gladly away from the place they had so little reason to love.
Descending from his post of observation, the young Indian followed them, until he had seen the last trooper disappear along the narrow causeway, amid the sombre cypresses of the Great Swamp. Then slowly and thoughtfully he retraced his steps, walking now in the full glare of sunlight, until he stood again beneath the clump of dying trees that, but a few hours before, had shaded the peaceful village. As he gazed about him on charred embers, and smoking ruins, deserted fields, and prostrate orchards, the bold heart of the young war-chief sank like a leaden weight within him.
"Thus must it be to the end," he said half aloud, as though his brimming thoughts were struggling for expression. "Ruin and destruction follow ever the tread of the Iste-hatke. He is strong, and we are weak. He is many, and we are few. We may kill his hundreds, and he brings thousands to devour us. We may plant, but he will gather the fruit. The Seminole may starve, and at the cry of his children for food the white man will make merry. My father was right when he said that to fight the white man was like fighting the waves of the great salt waters. What now shall be done? Shall we continue to fight, and die fighting in our own land, or shall we again trust to the lying tongue of the Iste-hatke, and go to the place in which he says we may dwell at peace with him? Oh, Allala! my sister, hear me, and come to me with thy words of wisdom."
At that moment, as though in answer to his prayer, Coacoochee caught sight of a figure advancing hesitatingly towards where he stood. It was that of a warrior, whom he recognized even at a distance as belonging to his own band. The newcomer cast troubled glances over the pitiful scene of ruin outspread on all sides. Until now he had not noted the presence of his chief; but, when the latter uttered the cry of a hawk, which was the familiar signal of his band, the warrior quickened his steps, and came to where the young man stood.
He proved to be a runner, sent out by Louis Pacheco, to notify Coacoochee that Philip Emathla with all the people of his village had been captured and conveyed to St. Augustine, whence it was proposed to remove them to the unknown land of the far west. The old chief had begged so earnestly for an interview with his eldest son, that the general in command had sent out a written safe-conduct for the latter to come and go again in safety. This the runner now delivered to Coacoochee, assuring him at the same time that Louis Pacheco had looked at it and pronounced it good.
The young chief took the paper, regarded it curiously, and thrust it into his girdle, then without delay, he set forth on his long journey to the eastern coast. The runner was able to inform him of the present location of Osceola, and accordingly he first directed his steps to the camp of that fiery young chieftain to apprise him of the destruction of his swamp stronghold.
Here he found a delegation of Cherokees, bearing an address from John Ross, their head chief, to Coacoochee and Osceola, who were regarded as the most important leaders of the Florida Indians. This address prayed the Seminoles to end their fruitless struggle against the all-powerful whites. It assured them that should they consent to removal, the promises made by the latter would be kept, and that the Cherokees, as their nearest neighbors in the western land, would ever be their firm allies in resistance to further oppression.
The conference was long and earnest. Osceola, discouraged by the loss of his stronghold, and by the destruction of its great store of provisions, which he foresaw would entail much suffering among his people during the coming winter, was inclined to make peace, though still resolutely opposed to removal.
Coacoochee, filled with thoughts of his aged father and Nita Pacheco held captives by the whites, was even more anxious to make an honorable peace than was his brother chieftain. So it was finally decided that he should take advantage of his safe-conduct, to visit St. Augustine, advise with Philip Emathla, talk with the general in command, so as to ascertain the exact views of the whites, and return to Osceola with his report.
Thus, three days later the young war-chief, clad as befitted his rank, and bearing a superb calumet as a present from Osceola, presented himself boldly before the gates of St. Augustine, exhibited his safe-conduct, and demanded to be taken to the general.
The manly beauty of his features, his haughty bearing, and gorgeous costume attracted universal admiration, as he strode proudly through the narrow streets of the quaint old city. Before he reached the house in which the commandant was lodged, he was surrounded by a curious throng of citizens, through which the corporal's guard escorting him found some difficulty in clearing a passage.
The general greeted the son of Philip Emathla with honeyed words, and caused him to be treated with the consideration due his rank and importance. His father was brought to welcome him, and the two were allowed to depart together to the encampment of the captives, which was in the plaza, or central square of the city, where it was surrounded by a cordon of soldiers. Here, after a separation of many months, the young chief met her to whom he had plighted his troth by the blue Ahpopka Lake. In his eyes she appeared more lovely than ever, and he longed ardently for the time of peace that should enable him to make for her a home in which they might dwell together in safety.
So much was there to tell and to hear, and so many grave questions to be discussed, that the night was spent in talking, and the dawn of another day found them still seated about the cold embers of a small fire in front of King Philip's lodge.
The old man advised earnestly for peace, even at the cost of removal, though at the same time declaring that with leaving his own land his heart would break, so that he should never live to reach the strange place set apart for his people.
Nita, happily content to sit close beside her lover, only leaving him now and then to replenish the fire, refill the pipes, or to bring from the lodge some dainty morsel of food, had little to say; but such words as she uttered were in favor of peace.
Thus was the mind of Coacoochee the Wildcat turned from thoughts of fighting and vengeance, to those of peace and happiness for his loved ones, his oppressed people, and himself. So convinced was he that the war must be ended, that he readily consented to go again to Osceola, and persuade him to come in, with such other chiefs as could be gathered, to attend a solemn council, with a view to the speedy settlement of all existing troubles. On leaving the city, he was laden with presents, both for himself and Osceola, and promising to return in ten days, he set forth with a lighter heart than he had known for more than a year.
Alas for human nature, that they who trust most should be most often deceived! By the swift turning of affairs that gave the army in Florida a new commanding general every few months during the Seminole War, General Scott had been succeeded by General Jesup. From him the commandant at St. Augustine had recently received a despatch which, could Coacoochee have known its contents, would have filled the young chief's heart with renewed bitterness, and turned his peaceful longings into a fierce resolve for a fight to the death.
CHAPTER XXIX
TREACHEROUS CAPTURE OF COACOOCHEE AND OSCEOLA
Tothe great satisfaction of the general of militia commanding at St. Augustine, Coacoochee, unsuspicious of evil, and intent only upon carrying out his avowed purpose of arranging for a new treaty of peace, returned to the city on the exact date he had named. With an honest pride at the success of his negotiations he announced that Osceola, Coa Hadjo, Talmus Hadjo, and others would come in on the following day, and, camping a short distance outside the city, would there await the white commissioners. He also brought information that the Cherokee peace delegation had gone to the westward for a conference with Micanopy and other chiefs.
The general, still treating the young chief with a lofty consideration, thanked him profusely for his services, and asked as a favor that he would guide a wagon-load of provisions, intended as a present for Osceola and his people, to the place selected for their encampment. This, he said, was a small portion of the supply he was collecting for his Indian friends; and, when he went to meet them on the morrow, he should take with him several other wagons laden with provisions, that they might have plenty to eat in case the negotiations were extended over a number of days.
Much pleased by this proof of the white man's thoughtful kindness, Coacoochee willingly consented to act as guide to the first wagon, and then asked that he might visit Philip Emathla's camp while it was being got ready,—a request that was granted, though with evident reluctance.
As the young Indian turned away from the general's quarters, he almost ran into the arms of Ralph Boyd, who had come to St. Augustine with his sister but two days before, intending to remain there until the end of the war should render it safe for them to return to their plantation. While Coacoochee was delighted to thus encounter the only white man whom he could call friend, the young Englishman was more than amazed to meet him amid such surroundings.
"Coacoochee!" he exclaimed. "How is this? why are you here? Is it as a prisoner? Or have you decided to join the winning side, and become an ally of the Americans?"
"I am here neither as a prisoner or a traitor," answered the other, proudly, "but to help in making a peace for my people while they are yet strong enough to insist upon honorable terms."
"And do you trust the man whom you have just left?" asked Boyd, indicating by a gesture the quarters of the general.
"Yes," replied Coacoochee, slowly. "I trust him, for I must trust him. Without trust on both sides there could be no treaty. Without a treaty the Seminole must be wiped out. My father and others of my people are even now held here as captives, and only through a treaty can their liberty be restored. I go now to see them. Will my white brother go with me?"
"With pleasure. I knew there were Indian prisoners here, but had no idea that your father was among them, or I would have visited him ere this, to congratulate him on having so fine a son. Ah! here is their camp now; but I say, Coacoochee, who is that white girl sitting among the Indian women? By Jove! she is the most beautiful creature I ever saw."
"Her name is Nita Pacheco," answered the young chief, gazing fondly at the girl, who, intent on a bit of sewing, was as yet unaware of his presence.
"Not your Nita! Not the one that you— Why, confound it, man! You never told me she was white. You said she was a—"
"So she is," admitted Coacoochee, very quietly. "She is one of the Iste-lustee, as you were about to say. Her mother was an octoroon, and of every sixteen drops in Nita's veins, one is black. Although she was born free as you or I, she has been claimed as a slave; and Philip Emathla was obliged to pay a large sum of money to establish her freedom. With the ending of this war she will become my chee-hi-wah, or what you would call wife."
"In which case I don't wonder that you are so keen for peace. If I were in your place, I would have it at any price, and I only hope I may speedily have the pleasure of dancing at your wedding. Won't Anstice be pleased, though? Ever since she discovered that you had a sweetheart, she has wished to meet her."
"Would the white maiden take the hand of her who is of the Iste-lustee?" asked Coacoochee, abruptly.
"Oh bother your Iste-lustees! of course she would," cried Boyd. "Not only that, but she would love her dearly. Why, the girl is as white as Anstice herself, and even if she were not, do you suppose that would make any difference? Don't you know that any one precious to you must also be dear to us, who owe you everything, including our lives. Don't you know the meaning of the word 'gratitude'? And don't you suppose we know it, too, you confoundedly proud Seminole, you?"
Ere he finished this speech the Englishman was left alone; for, at the sound of his raised voice, Nita looked up, and flushed so rosily at sight of her lover, that he was drawn to her side as irresistibly as needle to magnet. Then, forgetful of all save each other, they strolled among the lodges of the little encampment.
Suddenly while they walked, Coacoochee started as though he had been shot. In a whisper he bade the girl at his side return to her companions, and as without comment she obeyed him, he stood motionless, his face black with rage, and his whole frame quivering with excitement. The cause of this emotion was a voice coming from the opposite side of a tent that had been appropriated to the especial use of Philip Emathla. The voice was saying:
"They tell me, old man, that you don't savey American; but I reckin you can understand enough to know what I mean when I say that if you've got any niggers to sell, I'm the man that'll buy them of you, of co'se at a reasonable figger. As things stand now, your travelling expenses are likely to be heavy, and there's two or three wenches in your camp that I'd be willing to stake you something handsome for. There ain't no drop of Injun blood in ary one of them, and they are certain to be took from you, anyway. So you, might as well make something out of 'em while you've got the chance. One of 'em, that Pacheco gal, is mine by rights, anyhow; but if—"
At this point the speaker uttered a yell of terror, and instinctively reached for his pistol, as with a bound like that of a panther and blazing eyes, Coacoochee leaped upon him. Mr. Troup Jeffers was hurled, to the ground with such force that for a moment he lay stunned and motionless. As the Wildcat glared about him for some weapon with which to complete his task, two of the guards rushed in and dragged the slave-trader beyond the lines of the camp. At the same time, Boyd, who had witnessed the scene from a distance, came hurrying up from an opposite direction.
"For Heaven's sake Coacoochee! What does this mean?" he cried; "you'll have a war on your hands right here if you don't look out."
Without answering him, the young Indian turned to Philip Emathla, who was sitting before the tent, and uttered a few hurried words in his own tongue, the purport of which was, "Look well on this man, my father; for he is my friend, whom you can trust as you would me. If he comes to thee for Nita, let her go with him."
Then he and Ralph Boyd hurried away in the direction from which they had come. As they passed the group of women, Coacoochee stopped to whisper in the ear of Nita Pacheco, who was also bidden to trust the white man now before her, and then they passed on.
"That dog, whom I would I had killed," said the young Indian, when they were safely beyond the camp, "is a catcher of slaves, who seeks to steal my promised wife. For this night, I cannot protect her, for I must meet Ah-ha-se-ho-la. If I do not, he will not stay, and there will be no peace. Before the setting of to-morrow's sun Coacoochee will be free to protect his own. For this night, then, I would have you and the white maiden, thy sister, give to Nita the shelter of thy lodge; or, if that be not possible, watch over her and see that she is not stolen away."
"Certainly, my dear fellow! Of course we will look out for her as long as you like, and glad of the chance to thus repay some portion of our indebtedness," interrupted Ralph Boyd, heartily. "But who is the rascally beggar?"
"His name I know not," replied the other; "but certain things concerning him I do know. He, more than any other, caused this war between the Iste-chatte and the white man. He broke up the home of the Pachecos and sold the mother and brother of Nita into slavery, as he would now sell her. He stole and sold into slavery the wife of Osceola."
"The scoundrel!" exclaimed Boyd.
"When my white brother was shot down at the battle of the Withlacoochee, the bullet came from behind, and from the rifle of this man."
"What!"
"When the home of my white brother was attacked by white men, painted to look like the Iste-chatte, this man was leader of the band. He it was who took the white maiden, thy sister, captive and left her to perish in the forest."
"Good Heavens, man! Do you know what you are talking about? Can all this be true?"
"The tongue of Coacoochee is straight. He would not lie to his white brother."
"Yes, but may you not be mistaken? I did not know I had an enemy in the world, who would thus injure me. Who can it be?"
"What I have said is true. Does my brother remember talking with a man under a tree the day before the white soldiers reached the ferry of the Withlacoochee, and speaking scornful words to him?"
"Yes, though I don't see how you could know of that. I inquired about him and found out his name, which proved to be the same as that of the last overseer on my plantation. I had heard bad accounts of the man, and had him discharged before taking possession."
"This man is the same who talked with my brother under the tree."
"Well, whoever he is, you may be very certain that I shall look into this thing thoroughly, and if I find him to be guilty of half of these things, I will make him suffer sweetly. Meantime, my lad, do you rest easy about your sweetheart. Anstice shall go to her, and for your sake, if not for her own, her safety shall be guarded with our lives."
By this time they had reached again the general's quarters, and the wagon that Coacoochee was to guide stood in readiness. So, with a warm handclasp, the friends parted, one to go on a mission that he fondly hoped would bring a lasting peace to his people, and the other to take measures for the safety of Nita Pacheco.
According to promise Osceola, escorted by some seventy warriors, all mounted, and preceded by a white flag, in token of the peaceful nature of their mission, arrived promptly at the appointed place of encampment. There they were met by Coacoochee with a welcome supply of provisions.
Long and earnestly did the two young chieftains talk together that night, in planning for the morrow, on which they believed the fate of their nation would be decided. On one point they were fully agreed. The negro allies, who had fought so bravely with them, and who were as free as themselves, must be considered as equal with them, and must, in any negotiations, be granted the same terms as themselves. If this should not be allowed, they would refuse to make peace, and would return under protection of their white flag, whence they came.
At ten o'clock on the following morning a blare of trumpets announced the coming of the general. He was accompanied by a staff of uncommon gorgeousness, and escorted by one hundred mounted militiamen, all armed to the teeth. Behind these rumbled several large, covered wagons similar in appearance to the one that had brought provisions the evening before. These were halted a short distance away, where they were partially hidden in the palmetto scrub.
Coacoochee, Osceola, Coa Hadjo, and Talmus, arrayed in such finery as befitted the occasion, stood forth to meet the newcomers, while their handful of warriors clustered close behind them. Above their heads fluttered the white flag of truce.
Approaching to within a few yards of them, and utterly ignoring the formalities usual at such a time, and so dear to the heart of an Indian, the general began abruptly to read a list of questions from a paper that he held in his hand. The first of these struck like a blow:
"Are you prepared to deliver up at once all negroes taken from citizens?
"Why have you not done this already?
"Where are the other chiefs, and why have they not surrendered?"
There were other questions of a similar nature, and realizing from these, as well as from the tone of the speaker's voice, that the whites had not come there with any thought of discussing a treaty, Osceola, with a quick glance about him, like a stag brought to bay, attempted to speak, but his voice choked and failed him. He looked appealingly at Coacoochee, as though requesting him to frame an answer; but the son of Philip Emathla stood like one who is stunned.
"You, Powell," continued the general, harshly, "having signed the treaty of Fort King, shall be made to abide by it.
"As for you, Wildcat, I have learned of your recent outrages in the Withlacoochee Swamp. Never again shall you have a chance to murder white men, like the cowardly beast whose name you bear."
Thus saying, the speaker waved his arm, a loud command rang out, there came a rush through the palmettoes, a clash of weapons, and the too trusting Seminoles found themselves hemmed in on all sides by a hedge of glittering bayonets.
A strong body of infantry, brought in the supposed provision wagons, had gathered in a circle about the unsuspecting Indians. Thus, within ten minutes after the arrival of the troops, under the very shadow of a truce flag, was this most shameful deed of treachery accomplished.
Disarmed and bound like so many slaves, and guarded by double ranks of soldiers, the forest warriors were driven, like sheep, to the city and through the massive gateway of its frowning fortress. Here Coacoochee was separated forever from Osceola, who was soon afterwards taken to Fort Moultrie in Charleston harbor. There, a few weeks later, he died of a broken heart, far away from his friends and from the dear land for which he had fought so bravely.
With only Talmus Hadjo for a companion, the Wildcat was roughly thrust into one of those narrow dungeons from the deadly gloom of which he had shrunk with such horror on the occasion of his long-ago visit to the fort in company with Louis Pacheco.
CHAPTER XXX
IN THE DUNGEONS OF THE ANCIENT FORTRESS
Thecapture of Coacoochee and Osceola created an extraordinary degree of excitement in St. Augustine, where the news of this most important event was hailed with extravagant joy and openly expressed sorrow. Those who rejoiced were of that class who wanted the war ended, and the Seminoles removed by any means, fair or foul, they cared not which. To such persons an Indian was only a species of noxious animal, for the trapping of which any deception was justifiable. On the other hand were many honorable men and women whose indignation, at the deed of treachery by which the fair name of the Government had been smirched, knew no bounds. Of all these, none was so filled with righteous wrath as were Ralph and Anstice Boyd.
"I was not wholly unprepared for some such rascality," said the former, "and I tried to convey my suspicions to Coacoochee yesterday; though, knowing nothing definite, I dared not speak plainly. He, poor fellow, is so entirely honest and incapable of such a cowardly act himself, that he failed to comprehend what I was driving at. To his simple mind, a great chief must be an honorable man; otherwise he would not be a great chief, or, indeed, a chief of any degree. Rather different from the idea prevailing in most white communities, is it not?"
"I should say so, judging from what we have seen lately," cried Anstice. "But I am too furious to talk about it. I am almost ashamed of being white. I only wish I were a man!"
"What would you do in that case?" inquired her brother curiously.
"Do? I would fight, and devote my life to fighting just such outrageous wrongs as this. That's what I would do."
"I don't doubt you would, you precious little spitfire, and a mighty plucky fight you'd put up. You'd lose, though, every time; for, besides pluck and pugnacity, it takes coolness and infinite patience to fight the battle of right against might. But, to return to practical matters, what is to become of our guest, now that Coacoochee is no longer in a position to elope with her, or afford her other protection than that of his prayers?"
"She is to stay with us, of course, for just as long as we can keep her. In the meantime, we must manage in some way to get him out of that terrible prison. Poor fellow! How he must be suffering at this minute. I only hope he remembers that he still has some friends, and that there are still a few faint sparks of honor and gratitude glowing in the bosoms of the 'Iste-hatke,' as he calls us. We must get Irwin Douglass to help us, and I only hope he will call to-day, so that we can begin to plan at once."
"Hold hard, sister! Remember that the awkward situation Douglass is already in is largely owing to us. If you take my advice, you will not mention to him our desire that Coacoochee should escape, or disclose to him the identity of our guest. I agree with you, that we are bound to do whatever we can to aid our Indian friend, and that the forest maiden shall make her home with us so long as she chooses to do so; but, for the present, I beg that no one else, not even Irwin Douglass, be admitted to our secret."
"Very well, Mr. wise man, I will let you have your own way for a time; but don't try my patience too far, lest I do something desperate. Red-headed girls aren't expected to be cool-headed as well, you know, and so when I have once set my heart on having a thing done, I want it done without delay."
Thus it happened that, when Lieutenant Douglass called on the Boyds that evening, and was formally presented to a Miss Annette Felipe, he did not, for a moment, doubt that she belonged to one of the old Spanish-American families of the Territory. She had a darkly beautiful face, was quietly but stylishly dressed, and was demurely silent. That she spoke so little was explained by Anstice on the ground that Spanish was her native tongue, and that she was visiting her in order to improve her English.
As the lieutenant did not speak nor understand Spanish, he was more than content to devote himself to Miss Anstice, leaving the stranger to be entertained by Ralph Boyd. Douglass and the English girl discussed his present prospects, and wondered how long he would be obliged to wait in idleness before a court-martial could be convened to hear his case, and of course dismiss the absurd charges preferred against him. They talked of their recent exciting experiences, and finally Anstice said:
"By the way, Mr. Douglass, I wish you would take us to visit the prisoners in the old fort. I am so anxious to see that splendid Osceola. Besides, we want to do everything we can to make Annette's visit pleasant, and there is so little to amuse one in this stupid place. I am sure she would be so interested in those Indians. Won't you please arrange it, like a dear man?"
"Certainly, I will if I can," replied the young officer. "At the same time, I am not at all sure that the general will regard with favor an application for a permit from one in my peculiar position."
"Oh, I fancy he will. At any rate, you manage it for us somehow, and make as early a date as possible; for Annette may be compelled to leave us at any time, and I wouldn't have her miss seeing the interior of the fort. She has never seen anything like it, you know. We are going to take a walk to-morrow morning just to show her the outside of it, and you may come with us if you choose."
So Douglass promised to do what he could, and when he joined the walking party on the morrow, he announced that he had thought of a plan which he believed would work. "You see," he said, "Mrs. Canby, wife of Canby of the Rifles, has just arrived from the North, and as she has never seen any Indians, of course she will be anxious to visit the fort. So I will get Canby to secure the permit, and invite us all to join his party."
While discussing this plan and deciding that it would be the very thing, they reached the ancient fortress, and as they skirted its frowning walls, Miss Felipe, who had hardly spoken since starting, and then only to Anstice, became so visibly affected, that the English girl threw an arm protectingly about her, exclaiming, "Annette is so tender-hearted that she can't bear the thought of captives being shut up in that gloomy place."
"It is tough luck," agreed the young officer. "And there is not the slightest chance of their escaping either, for the only openings into the cells are those small embrasures through which even a boy would find it difficult to squeeze. They are some eighteen feet above the floor, too, so that it would be impossible to reach them without a ladder."
A few days later, a permit for a party of six to visit the fort having been secured, Mrs. Canby, the Boyds, their guest, and Douglass set forth, Mr. Canby being detained by urgent duty, and excusing himself at the last moment. After passing the strong guard stationed at the gateway, the sightseers found themselves in a large, open space, where many of the captives were lounging or walking about. In these, the Spanish girl showed not the slightest interest, but seemed inclined to hasten on. She carried a light shawl thrown over her arm, of which slight burden Douglass had politely but in vain attempted to relieve her.
"Your friend seems very odd, and not at all like other girls," he confided to Anstice Boyd.
"Yes. Isn't she?" replied the English girl, readily. "But then you must remember her bringing up. I wonder if Osceola is among these Indians?"
"Oh no, miss," answered the sergeant who had been detailed to act as guide. "The chiefs are only allowed out, one at a time, under guard, after the others have gone in. They are in their cells now."
"Well, take us to them, then," said Anstice, "for they are the ones we care most to see. Don't you think so, Mrs. Canby?"
"Yes, indeed," agreed that lady; "only I hope they will prove better looking and more interesting than these creatures out here."
So the party was guided to the cell occupied by Osceola, in front of which paced a sentry, and its massive door was swung back on creaking hinges. The haughty chieftain, still clad in his most splendid costume, was seated on a stool, gazing blankly at the opposite wall. He roused slightly as the sergeant said:
"Here's some ladies come to visit you, Powell," and when Mrs. Canby and Anstice expressed a wish to shake hands with him, he extended his hand to them mechanically. When, however, the lieutenant also offered to shake hands, a fierce flash of anger leaped into the eyes of the forest warrior, and he drew back haughtily, exclaiming as he did so:
"No, sir! Never again shall the hand of Ah-ha-se-ho-la meet in friendship that of one wearing the disgraced livery of a United States officer."
"Horrid thing!" cried Mrs. Canby, as the party hurriedly withdrew from the cell. "The idea of a mere savage daring to speak so to an army officer! You did well, Miss Felipe, not to go near the wretch, and I only wish I hadn't. I certainly don't want to see any more of them."
As the speaker absolutely refused to visit the remaining prisoners, which the others were still desirous of doing, Douglass remained with her, leaving but three of the party to inspect the cell occupied by Coacoochee and Talmus Hadjo. It, like the other, was guarded by a sentry, with whom the guide, after throwing open the door, stepped aside to speak.
Although the Spanish girl had remained outside the other cell, she pushed eagerly forward into this one, while Anstice and her brother stood in the doorway. Talmus Hadjo lay on a pile of forage-bags that served as a bed, while Coacoochee, the very picture of despair, stood leaning, with folded arms, against one of the walls. He hardly noticed his visitor, until in a low, thrilling tone she pronounced his name. Then, as though moved by an electric shock, he sprang forward, gasped the single word "Nita!" and clasped the girl to his breast.
A few murmured words passed between the two; then he released her, and, stooping, she slipped something from her shawl beneath one of the forage-bags lying on the floor.
When the sergeant reappeared at the doorway a second later, the Spanish girl, looking perfectly composed, was standing quietly at one side, Talmus Hadjo was regarding her with undisguised amazement, while Coacoochee, with a new light shining in his face, was silently exchanging hand-clasps with Ralph and Anstice Boyd.
"Rather a more decent and civil sort of a chap than the other," remarked the sergeant as he again locked the door, and the visitors turned away. "Now there's only one more cell, and—"
"I don't think we care to inspect any more cells to-day," interposed Anstice, hastily; and so a few minutes later the reunited party were breathing once more the outer air of freedom, while Mrs. Canby expressed very freely her opinion of Indians in general and of those whom they had just seen in particular.
While the transformation of Philip Emathla's adopted daughter into Miss Annette Felipe, clad in the costume of civilization, and guest of Anstice Boyd, may appear as surprising to the reader as it did to the captive war-chief whom she had just left filled with a new hope, it was all brought about very simply. On the evening that Coacoochee confided her to the protection of Ralph Boyd, that gentleman, accompanied by his sister, strolled down to the Indian encampment. First they received permission to speak with the aged chieftain, who was summoned to the lines for that purpose. A few minutes later their strolling carried them past the darkest corner of the camp, where they were joined by a slender figure that had slipped through the lines without attracting the attention of a guard. Over this figure Anstice threw a long cloak that she had carried on her arm, and thus disguised, Nita Pacheco accompanied her new friends to their home. Her absence from the Indian camp was not discovered until two days later, when Mr. Troup Jeffers, claiming her as his escaped slave, and armed with an authority from the general for her recapture, visited the Indian camp in search of her.
The slave-catcher made a great outcry when he found that his prey had again eluded him, but he was speedily silenced by a very unexpected meeting with Ralph Boyd, who had been watching for the man who should make that very claim.
At sight of him whom he had every reason to believe was long since dead, the scoundrel's face turned livid, and he staggered back like one who has received a knife-thrust.
"Drop this business, and leave town inside of an hour if you value your wretched life!" hissed Boyd in his ear, and an hour later St. Augustine was well rid of Mr. Troup Jeffers.
CHAPTER XXXI
A DARING ESCAPE
Notuntil his prison door was again closed, and the footsteps of his visitors had died away in the distance, did Coacoochee turn from listening, and stoop to see what it was that Nita had brought him. From under the forage-bag he first drew a Spanish hunting-knife, beautifully balanced, and with the keen edge of a razor. It was of dull blue Toledo steel, and its shapely haft was exquisitely silver-mounted. At sight of it the young Indian uttered an exclamation of joy, for it was his own well-tried weapon, endeared by long association, and his unfailing friend in many a combat with man and beast. It had been his father's before him, and with it Anstice Boyd had severed the bonds confining Irwin Douglass, when his life hung by a thread, in the swamp stronghold of Osceola. She had kept it ever since, awaiting an opportunity to restore it to its owner, and had now done so, by the hand of Nita Pacheco.
While Coacoochee gloated over this treasure, his comrade in captivity pulled aside the bag beneath which it had been concealed, and disclosed another object of equal value with the precious knife. It was a coil of rope, slender and finely twisted, but of a proved strength, capable of supporting the weight of two men.
"Now, Talmeco," cried Coacoochee, in the Indian tongue, "we have something to live for. Already do I breathe again the free air of the forest, for want of which I had died ere many days. Now will we show these dogs of the Iste-hatke that their cunning is no match for that of the Wildcat. Again shall the war-cry of Coacoochee ring through hammock and swamp, glade and savanna, and the Iste-hatke shall tremble at its sound."
"But," said Talmus, "was it not one of the Iste-hatke who brought us these things? Has my brother won the heart of a pale-faced maiden?"
"Ho, ho!" laughed the young chief. "Are the eyes of Talmeco grown so dim from long gazing at stone walls that he did not see, through the dress of the white squaw, the form of Nita Pacheco, daughter of Philip Emathla, and the beloved of Coacoochee? She it was, and no other, who found a way to this hole of rats, and brought the means of escape. Let us hasten, then, to make use of them, that she may not be disappointed."
"How can we?" queried Talmus. "There is but one opening, and it is too small for the passage of a warrior. A boy could hardly make his way through it. Besides, it is too high for us to reach, and, even if we got outside, would we not fall again into the hands of the soldiers?"
"Ho-le-wau-gus, Talmeco!" exclaimed the other. "Is thy man's heart turned by thy captivity into that of Cho-fee [the rabbit], and art thou become one who trembles at the sight of his own shadow? Listen, that thy heart may again become strong. The Wildcat will climb to yonder opening, and show his brother the way. It is small, but we will make ourselves smaller. We will go when the Great Spirit has drawn his blanket over the face of the sky, so that no light may shine from it, and no man can see us. Is it well?"
"It is well, my brother. Let Coacoochee lead, and Talmus Hadjo will follow in his steps."
For long hours during the weary days of captivity, had the young chief lain on his bed of bags, and gazed hopelessly at the single narrow opening in the wall far above him. He had believed that, if he could only reach it, he could so reduce his body as to pass through the aperture. Now he saw a way to reach it. Standing on his comrade's shoulders, and using his knife, he soon worked its point into a little crevice between the stones, just above his head. As Talmus could not support his weight very long at a time, and as there came days of such frequent interruptions that they dared not work, it was several weeks before the crevice was so enlarged that it would receive the knife up to its hilt. Then, by drawing himself up on it, Coacoochee found to his delight that he could gain the narrow slit piercing the thick wall. To his dismay, it was barely wide enough to permit his head to pass through, but not his body.
The prisoners at once decided to starve themselves, and reduce their flesh by taking medicine. This they did, until they became mere skeletons, and their keeper began to fear that they would die on his hands.
In the meantime they cut up many of the bags on which they slept, into short lengths, which they bound closely, at intervals, about their slender rope, so as to afford a grasp for their hands. When all was in readiness, they were obliged to wait many days longer for a cloudless and moonless night.
At length it came as dark as Erebus, with squalls of rain, and a fierce wind that howled mournfully about the bastions and through the embrasures of the old fort. Much to the disgust of the captives, one of the prison keepers was in an unusually sociable mood that night, and made repeated visits to their cell, talking and singing, until they feared they would be compelled to kill him, in order to get rid of his presence. Finally they pretended to be asleep when he entered, and upon this he left them for good.
The time for action had arrived; and, taking one end of the rope with him, Coacoochee, stripped to the skin, save for a breech-cloth, mounted on his comrade's shoulders, felt for the deeply cut crevice, thrust his knife into it, and, in another minute, had gained the embrasure. Here, after first regaining and securing his precious knife, he made the rope fast, by passing a loop about a projecting ledge, and leaving only enough inside for his comrade to climb up by, he passed the remainder through the opening, and let it drop, hoping that it might be long enough to reach ground at the bottom of the moat.
With great difficulty, the young Indian thrust his head through the narrow slit. Then, with the sharp stones tearing the skin from his breast and back, he slowly and painfully forced his body through, being obliged to go down the rope head foremost, until his feet were clear of the opening. With each minute of this desperate struggle, it seemed as though his weakened powers of endurance must yield to the terrible strain, and that his grasp on the slender rope must relax; in which case he would have pitched headlong into the yawning depths below. But the indomitable will that had already aided him so often finally triumphed over physical weakness, and after a half-hour of struggle, the young war-chief slid in safety down the line that led to freedom, and lay panting on the ground, twenty-five feet below the aperture that had so nearly proved fatal.
Fortunately he lay in the deep angle of a bastion, where the shadows were blackest, for just then two men, evidently officers, passed close to him engaged in earnest conversation. He overheard one of them say that arrangements were perfected for removing all the prisoners on the morrow to Charleston, South Carolina, where they would be beyond a possibility of rescue or escape.
So overjoyed was Coacoochee at thus learning of the timeliness of his venture for liberty that he became filled with fresh vigor, and feeling a movement of the rope, that he still held in one hand, he instantly gave the signal that all was well, and the way clear for his comrade to descend. As he waited in breathless anxiety, he could plainly hear the struggle that was taking place far above him. At length it ceased, and in a low, despairing voice Talmus informed him that having forced his head through the embrasure, he could get no further, nor could he even draw it back.
"Throw out thy breath, Talmeco, and try again! Throw out thy heart and soul, if needs be, and tear the flesh from thy body," urged the young chief, in a voice little above a whisper, but thrilling in its intensity.
Thus adjured, Talmus Hadjo made one last desperate effort, with such success that he not only forced his bleeding body through the aperture, but lost his hold of the rope and came tumbling down the whole distance.
rope
HADJO LOST HIS HOLD OF THE ROPE AND CAME TUMBLING DOWN THE WHOLE DISTANCE.
With a smothered cry of horror, Coacoochee sprang to his side, and, feeling a faint heart-beat in the stunned and motionless form, dragged it to a near-by pool of water. This he dashed over the injured man with such effect that, in a few minutes, his consciousness returned. He was, however, so injured by his fall as to be unable to walk, and feebly begged Coacoochee to save himself and leave him to his fate. For answer the young chief, with an astonishing display of strength, considering his condition, picked up his helpless friend, slung him across his back, and thus bore him nearly half a mile, to where the palmetto scrub afforded temporary concealment.
Daylight was now breaking, and some means must be devised for moving rapidly. So, depositing his burden on the ground, Coacoochee turned back to an open field in which he had seen several mules. Hastily twisting some shredded palmetto leaves into a rude bridle, he had the good fortune to capture one of the animals, on which he mounted both himself and his comrade.
For several hours they rode through the trackless pine forest, and at length reached a travelled road, which it was necessary they should cross. Before doing so Coacoochee slipped from the mule to assure himself that no enemy was in sight. He had gone but a few paces, when the animal, with a loud bray, dashed into the open, and galloped madly towards a small party of mounted volunteers, who happened to be making their way towards the city.
The sight of a single naked Indian dashing toward them was too great a temptation to be resisted. A dozen rifles poured forth their deadly contents, both the mule and his helpless rider pitched headlong, and in the death struggle of the animal, the dead face of Talmus Hadjo was crushed beyond recognition. One of the white men, coolly and as neatly as though well accustomed to the operation, took the scalp of the fallen warrior. Then the party rode merrily forward, exchanging coarse jests concerning the handsome manner in which the redskin had been potted.
Filled with rage and grief at this loss of his companion, Coacoochee also hastened from the scene, plunging deep into the recesses of a near-by hammock and vowing a future but terrible vengeance upon the cowardly perpetrators of this cold-blooded murder. Living on berries, roots, and the succulent buds of cabbage palmettoes, sleeping naked on the bare ground, and slinking from hammock to hammock like a wild beast who is hunted, the fugitive worked his way southward for three days.
On the evening of the third day he walked into the camp of his own band on the headwaters of the Tomoka River. By Louis Pacheco and his warriors the young chief was greeted as one raised from the dead. When, after they had fed and clothed him, they listened to his wonderful tale of treacherous capture, long imprisonment, timely escape, and the cruel death of Talmus Hadjo, they vowed themselves to a fiercer resistance than ever of the white oppressors.
Within an hour runners were despatched to several bands who were known to be contemplating surrender, urging them to abandon their intention and continue the fight to its bitter end. Thus was the conflict which General Jesup had just declared ended, renewed with a greater fury than ever, and Coacoochee the Wildcat became the acknowledged leader of his people.
CHAPTER XXXII
NITA HEARS THAT COACOOCHEE IS DEAD
Longand anxiously had the friends of Coacoochee in St. Augustine awaited the result of their effort to aid him in regaining his freedom. They dared not attempt to visit him again, lest by so doing they should arouse suspicion and injure his cause; for the two principal chiefs were so closely guarded that visitors were only admitted to them at long intervals and as a great favor. So Nita was forced to endure a weary period of suspense and feverish anxiety, that caused her to droop like a transplanted forest lily.
Although Ralph Boyd sought daily for information concerning the prisoners, he could gain little, save that of a depressing nature, much of which he and Anstice dared not share with their guest. He heard that Coacoochee's strength was so weakened on confinement that it was believed he could not live much longer, and there was a rumor that he and Osceola were to be hanged for their perversity in continuing the war.
In the meantime, the number of Indians held captive in St. Augustine had been greatly increased by the bands of Micanopy, Cloud, Tuskogee, and Nocoosee, all of whom, urged to do so by the Cherokee delegation, had accepted General Jesup's invitation to meet him for a peace talk. Again was the flag of truce violated, again was treachery substituted for honest fighting, and again were the too trusting savages seized, disarmed, and sent to St. Augustine as prisoners of war.
So many captives were now crowded into the ancient city, that, in order to secure them beyond all hope of escape, as well as to make room for others who, it was hoped, might be enticed tomake peacein a similar manner, it was deemed advisable to transfer them to Charleston. There they could be detained in safety until the time came for their final removal to the west. Preparations for this movement were made with great secrecy, that the Indians might not learn of it until the last moment. Transports were secured, and finally it was made known to the officers of the post only that an embarkation would be effected on the following day.
Rumors of the contemplated removal had reached the Boyds, and had, of course, been communicated to Nita. She declared that, if Coacoochee did not succeed in escaping before it took place, she should resume her position as the adopted daughter of Philip Emathla, and so follow her lover into exile. In this determination, Anstice warmly upheld her friend, but begged her to wait until the latest possible moment, before exchanging her present security for the uncertain fate of a captive.
One evening, Lieutenant Douglass, who, having safely passed the ordeal of a court-martial, and, honorably acquitted, had been restored to duty, called on the Boyds. In course of conversation with Anstice he casually remarked, that the morrow would probably offer the last chance they would ever have of seeing their friend Coacoochee.
"What do you mean?" asked the startled girl.
"I mean that the Indians in St. Augustine are to be embarked for Charleston to-morrow morning; and Coacoochee, poor fellow, is reported to be in such wretched health that it is not probable he can live long, especially in a climate so much colder than this."
Nita, who sat in another part of the room, listlessly engaged in a bit of fancy-work, glanced up quickly as she caught the name of her captive lover. She did not hear what else the young officer said, and waited eagerly for his going, that she might question her friend. Anstice, on her part, was so impatient to communicate to Nita the news she had just learned, and became so absent-minded in her conversation with Douglass, that he suspected something had gone wrong, and so took his departure earlier than usual.
Long and earnestly did the two girls, who had grown to love each other like sisters, talk together that night. Very early the next morning, escorted by Ralph Boyd, they left the house and turned in the direction of Philip Emathla's encampment. Nita had resumed her Indian dress, but over it she wore the same long cloak that had served to disguise her on a former occasion. Its hood was drawn over her head and about her face, so that but little of her features could be distinguished.
As they hastened through the narrow streets of the quaintly built city, their attention was attracted by a clatter of iron-shod hoofs, and a mounted officer in service uniform came dashing toward them. It was Irwin Douglass, and he reined up sharply at sight of his friends. As he lifted his cap to the ladies, he exclaimed:
"Well, you are early birds this morning! I suppose you have heard the great news and are come out to verify it?"
"No, we haven't heard any news; what is it?" asked Boyd.
"Coacoochee has escaped from the fort! got out somehow during the storm last night, and made off. The general is in a terrible temper over it. I am ordered out with a scouting party to see if we can pick up the trail. So I must hurry on. Good-bye."
In another minute the bearer of this startling bit of news was clattering away down the street, while the three who were left stood staring blankly at one another.
Nita was saying over and over to herself, "Coacoochee has escaped, has escaped, and is free. Oh! how happy I am! And that soldier is going to try and recapture him. Oh, how I hate him! But he cannot. Coacoochee is free, and will never let them take him again. Oh, how happy I am!"
As Anstice Boyd reflected upon the full meaning of what she had just heard, her heart was crying out: "Coacoochee has escaped, and I aided him. Now Irwin has gone to find him. They will meet and kill each other. I know they will! Oh! why did I do it? Why did I do it?"
Ralph Boyd expressed his feelings aloud by exclaiming: "That is one of the best bits of news I have heard in many a day. It will continue the war, no doubt, but I don't care if it does. Serve the sneaks right who thought to end it by treachery. They will get some greatly needed lessons in honest fighting now."
"You don't mean Mr. Douglass, brother?"
"Douglass? No! Bless his honest soul! He's no sneak, but only an unfortunate victim of circumstances. But never you fear, sister. Douglass won't catch Coacoochee, even if he has to ride half around the territory to avoid him. He is too honorable a fellow to do a mean thing, or forget a debt of gratitude. If Douglass is the only one sent after him, Coacoochee is all right. I am afraid, though, there are others. I'll find out as soon as I get you two back to the house. What! Not going back?"
"Not just yet, brother. Nita wants to be the first to tell the great news to Coacoochee's father, so as to give the old man courage to bear his exile and his sad journey. She wants to bid him good-bye too, for of course she will not go with him now."
"Of course not, and I suppose we must let her do as she wishes," agreed Boyd, reluctantly. "I hope, though, she will be very careful not to be recognized."
"I will see that she is careful, brother."
So the three continued their way to the Indian camp, which they found in a state of dire confusion on account of the order for removal just received. There were already many white persons in the camp; soldiers who were hastening the preparations, and mere curiosity-seekers who were retarding them by their useless presence. All of these, as well as the Indians themselves, gazed curiously at the two ladies and the stalwart young Englishman, who walked directly to the tent of Philip Emathla. The old man, who was sitting in a sort of a daze just outside, recognized Ralph Boyd at once, and when Nita stooped and whispered in his ear, he immediately rose and followed her inside the canvas shelter. Anstice also went inside, and the flap curtaining the entrance was dropped, leaving Boyd outside on guard.
As he gazed curiously on the novel scene about him, and even walked a few steps to one side the better to observe it, a white man of sinister aspect passed him twice, each time regarding him furtively but keenly. Suddenly he darted to the tent, pulled aside the flap, and thrust his head inside.
A startled cry from the interior attracted Boyd's attention, and, ere the man had time for more than a glimpse, he was seized by the collar, and jerked violently backward.
"What do you mean, scoundrel! by your rascally intrusion into other folk's privacy?" demanded the young Englishman, hotly. "I've a mind to give you the kicking you deserve."
"I didn't mean nothin', cap'n," whined the man, squirming in the other's fierce clutch. "I didn't know thar was any privacy in thar. I'm thought 'twas only Injuns; and I'm got orders to take that tent down immejiate."
"Well, you won't take it down, not yet awhile; and you'll vanish from here as quick as possible. So get!"
With the utterance of this expressive Americanism the speaker released the man, and at the same time administered a hearty kick that caused its recipient to howl with anguish. Ere he disappeared he turned a look of venomous hate at his assailant and muttered:
"I'll git even with you for this, curse you! Anyway, I saw what I wanted to see, and I know whar the gal's to be found."
He was Ross Ruffin, Mr. Troup Jeffers' human jackal, who, at the bidding of his master, had been hanging about the Indian camp for weeks, watching for the reappearance of Nita Pacheco. His suspicions had just been aroused by the disappearance, into Philip Emathla's tent, of two ladies, and in the single glimpse caught by his bold manœuvre they had been confirmed. He had seen Nita, whose cloak having fallen to the ground, was fully revealed in her Indian costume, standing with her hands on the old chieftain's shoulders and imparting to him the glorious news of Coacoochee's escape from captivity. Now all that he had to do was to discover whether the girl accompanied the Indians to Charleston or remained behind, and this information he had acquired ere nightfall.
Nita had not seen him, and it was Anstice who uttered the cry that attracted her brother's attention. Of course neither of them recognized the man, nor when, a little later, they returned to the house that Nita had believed on leaving she should never see again, did they notice that he was stealthily following them at a distance. After that he watched the embarkation of the captives, to assure himself that Nita Pacheco did not accompany them. As the transports sailed, Ross Ruffin also left the city, and that night he held a conference with Mr. Troup Jeffers.
The inmates of the Boyd house experienced mingled feelings of satisfaction at Coacoochee's escape, apprehension lest he should be recaptured, and anxiety in behalf of their friend Douglass. Only Nita was confident and light hearted.
"He will not be caught," she said, "nor will he harm your friend; we shall hear from him very soon by some means."
She was right; they did hear very soon, and when the news came, it was of such a terrible nature that the others would gladly have kept it from her. Lieutenant Douglass, returning at nightfall from his scout, went directly to the Boyds' house; and, in answer to the eager queries that greeted his entrance, said:
"Yes; I found him, poor fellow! About a dozen miles from the city we met a squad of volunteer cavalry. In reply to my question if they had seen any sign of Coacoochee, who had just escaped from the fort, one of them said: 'You bet we have, cap'n, and here's his scalp.' With that—"
Here the speaker was interrupted by a stifled cry and a heavy fall. Nita Pacheco lay unconscious on the floor. The two men bore her to a bed in an adjoining room, where they left her to the gentle care of Anstice. When they returned to the outer room, Douglass asked curiously:
"What does it mean, Boyd? What possible interest can your guest have in Coacoochee?"
"My dear fellow, I see now that we ought to have told you sooner, and so saved her this cruel blow. She is Nita Pacheco, Spanish by descent, but Indian by association and bringing up. She is the adopted daughter of Philip Emathla, and the betrothed of Coacoochee."
"Good Heavens!" cried Douglass. "No wonder she fell when struck such a blow. What a brute she must think me."
"Don't blame yourself, old man," said Boyd, soothingly; "the fault lies entirely with us. But are you certain that Coacoochee is dead?"
"The man who scalped him said he knew him well, and could swear to his identity. We went on to examine and bury the body, and it answered fully the description of Coacoochee. Oh yes, there is no doubt that he is dead, though his companion has thus far eluded all search. In one way, I suppose his death will be a good thing for the country; but I must confess, that for the sake of that poor girl, I would gladly restore him to life if I could, and take the consequences. Well, good night. Make the best apologies you can for me to Miss Anstice."
CHAPTER XXXIII
TOLD BY THE MAGNOLIA SPRING
Thereported death of Coacoochee, which was generally believed, gave great satisfaction to the people of Florida, and to the troops who had been for so long engaged in the thankless task of trying to subdue the Seminoles. With many of their leading chiefs removed beyond hope of return, and with their most daring spirit dead, the Indians must, of course, relinquish all hopes of successfully continuing the struggle. So the war was supposed to be ended, and many families of refugees now returned to their abandoned homes.
Among these were the Boyds, who had no longer any reason for remaining in St. Augustine, and who were particularly anxious to remove Nita from the sorrowful associations surrounding her there. She was slow to recover from the shock caused by the news of her lover's death, but as soon as she was able to bear the journey, they took her with them to the plantation, which they begged her to consider her own home.
Ralph Boyd began at once the energetic restoration of his property. A few of the old servants had already found their way back, and others, tired of dwelling amid the constant alarms of Indian camps, began to arrive in small bands, as soon as they heard that the proprietor had returned, until nearly the whole of the original force of the plantation was restored to it. Aided by these free and willing workmen, the young planter repaired the great house and numerous outbuildings, cleared and replanted the weed-grown fields, trimmed the luxuriant growth of climbing vines and shrubbery, and, within a few months, could gaze with honest pride over an estate unexcelled for beauty by any in Florida.