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Osceola the Seminole: or, The Red Fawn of the Flower Land

Chapter Seventy Five
The Alarm

There were other circumstances connected with the bloody affair, that upon reflection appeared peculiar and mysterious. By the sudden shock, my soul had been completely benighted; and these circumstances had escaped my notice. I merely believed that there had been an onslaught of the Indians, in which my mother had been massacred, and my sister borne away from her home – that the savages, not satisfied with blood, had added fire – that these outrages had been perpetrated in revenge for past wrongs, endured at the hands of their pale-faced enemies – that the like had occurred elsewhere, and was almost daily occurring – why not on the banks of the Suwanee, as in other districts of the country? In fact, it had been rather a matter of wonder, that the settlement had been permitted to remain so long unmolested. Others – far more remote from the Seminole strongholds – had already suffered a like terrible visitation; and why should ours escape? The immunity had been remarked, and the inhabitants had become lulled by it into a false security.

The explanation given was that the main body of the Indians had been occupied elsewhere, watching the movements of Scott’s triple army; and, as our settlement was strong, no small band had dared to come against it.

But Scott was now gone – his troops had retired within the forts – their summer quarters – for winter is the season of campaigning in Florida; and the Indians, to whom all seasons are alike, were now free to extend their marauding expeditions against the trans-border plantations.

This appeared the true explanation why an attack upon the settlement of the Suwanee had been so long deferred.

During the first burst of my grief, on receiving news of the calamity, I accepted it as such: I and mine had merely been the victims of a general vengeance.

But the moments of bewilderment soon passed; and the peculiar circumstances, to which I have alluded, began to make themselves apparent to my mind.

First of all, why was our plantation the only one that had been attacked? – our house the only one given to the flames? – our family the only one murdered?

These questions startled me; and natural it was that they did so. There were other plantations along the river equally unprotected – other families far more noted for their hostility to the Seminole race – nay, what was yet a greater mystery, the Ringgold plantation lay in the very path of the marauders; as their trail testified, they had passed around it to reach our house; and both Arens Ringgold and his father had long been notorious for bitter enmity to the red men, and violent aggressions against their rights.

Why, then, had the Ringgold plantation been suffered to remain unmolested, while ours was singled out for destruction? Were we the victims of a particular and special vengeance?

It must have been so; beyond a doubt, it was so. After long reflection, I could arrive at no other conclusion. By this alone could the mystery be solved.

And Powell – oh! could it have been he? – my friend, a fiend guilty of such an atrocious deed? Was it probable? was it possible? No – neither.

Despite the testimony of the two men – vile wretches I knew them to be – despite what they had seen and said – my heart refused to believe it.

What motive could he have for such special murder? – ah! what motive?

True, my mother had been unkind to him – more than that, ungrateful; she had once treated him with scorn. I remembered it well – he, too, might remember it.

But surely he, the noble youth – to my mind the beau idéal of heroism – would scarcely have harboured such petty spite, and for so long? – would scarcely have repaid it by an act of such bloody retribution? No – no – no.

Besides, would Powell have left untouched the dwelling of the Ringgolds? of Arens Ringgold, one of his most hated foes – one of the four men he had sworn to kill? This of itself was the most improbable circumstance connected with the whole affair.

Ringgold had been at home – might have been entrapped in his sleep – his black retainers would scarcely have resisted; at all events, they could have been overcome as easily as ours.

Why was he permitted to live? Why was his house not given to the flames?

Upon the supposition that Osceola was the leader of the band, I could not comprehend why he should have left Arens Ringgold to live, while killing those who were scarcely his enemies.

New information imparted to me as we advanced along the route, produced new reflections. I was told that the Indians had made a hasty departure – that they had in fact retreated. The conflagration had attracted a large body of citizen soldiery – a patrol upon its rounds – and the appearance of these, unexpected by the savages, had caused the latter to scamper off to the woods. But for this, it was conjectured other plantations would have suffered the fate of ours – perhaps that of Ringgold himself.

The tale was probable enough. The band of marauders was not large – we knew by their tracks there were not more than fifty of them – and this would account for their retreat on the appearance even of a smaller force. The people alleged that it was a retreat.

This information gave a different complexion to the affair – I was again driven to conjectures – again forced to suspicions of Osceola.

Perhaps I but half understood his Indian nature; perhaps, after all, he was the monster who had struck the blow.

Once more I interrogated myself as to his motive – what motive?

Ha! my sister, Virginia – O God! could love – passion – fiendish desire to possess —

“The Indyens! Indyens! Indyens!”

Chapter Seventy Six
A False Alarm

The significant shout at once put a period to my reflections.

Believing the savages to be in sight, I spurred towards the front. The horsemen had drawn bridle and halted. A few, who had been straggling from the path, hurried up and ranged themselves close to the main body, as if for protection. A few others, who had been riding carelessly in the advance, were seen galloping back. It was from these last the cry of “Indyens” had come, and several of them still continued to repeat it.

“Indyuns?” cried Hickman, interrogatively, and with an air of incredulity. “Whar did ye see them?”

“Yonder,” responded one of the retreating horsemen – “in yon clump o’ live-oaks. It’s full o’ them.”

“I’ll be dog-goned if I believe it,” rejoined the old hunter, with a contemptuous toss of the head. “I’ll lay a plug o’ Jeemes’s River, it war stumps yez seed! Indyuns don’t show ’emselves in timmer like this hyar – specially to sech verdunts as you. Ye’ll hear ’em afore you see ’em, I kalklate.”

“But we did hear them,” replied one, “we heard them calling out to one another.”

“Bah!” exclaimed the hunter; “y’ull hear ’em different from that, I guess, when you gets near enough. It’ll be the spang o’ thar rifles y’ull hear fust thing. Dog-gone the Indyun’s thar. Twar a coon or a cat-bird ye’ve heern a screamin’! I know’d ye’d make a scamper the fust thing as flittered afore ye.”

“Stay whar yez are now,” he added in a tone of authority, “jest stay whar yez are a bit.”

So saying, he slipped down from his saddle, and commenced hitching his bridle to a branch.

“Come, Jim Weatherford,” he said, addressing himself to his hunter comrade, “you come along – we’ll see whether it be Indyuns or stumps thet’s gin these fellows sech a dog-goned scare.”

Weatherford, anticipating the request, had already dropped to the ground; and the two having secured their horses, rifle in hand, slunk silently off into the bushes.

The rest of the party, gathering still more closely together, remained in their saddles to await the result.

There was but slight trial upon their patience; for the two pioneers were scarce out of sight, when we heard their voices ringing together in loud peals of laughter.

This encouraged us to advance. Where there was so much merriment there could be but little danger; and, without waiting for the return of the scouts, we rode forwards, directing our course by their continued cachinnations.

An opening brought both of them into view; Weatherford was gazing downwards, as if examining some tracks; while Hickman, who saw us coming up, stood with extended arm, pointing toward the straggling woods that lay beyond.

We turned our eyes in the direction indicated. We observed a number of half-wild, horned cattle, that, startled by the trampling of our troops, were scampering off among the trees.

“Now,” cried the hunter, triumphantly; “thar’s yur Indyuns! Ain’t they a savage consarn? Ha! ha! ha!”

Every one joined in the laugh except those who had given the false alarm.

“I know’d thar war no Indyuns,” continued the alligator-hunter. “That ain’t the way they’ll make thar appearance. Yu’ll hear ’em afore you sees ’em; an’ jest one word o’ advice to you greenhorns – as don’t know a red Indyun from a red cow – let somebody as diz know, go in the devance, an’ the rest o’ ye keep well togither; or I’ll stake high on’t thet some o’ yez ’ll sleep the night ’ithout har on yur heads.”

All acknowledged that Hickman’s advice was sage and sound. The hint was taken, and leaving the two old hunters henceforth to lead the pursuit, the rest drew more closely together, and followed them along the trail.

The plan adopted in this instance, was that followed in all well-devised tracking parties when in pursuit of an enemy. It matters not of what elements the body is composed – be it naval, military or civilian – be there present, commodores, generals or governors – all yield the pas to some old hunter or scout, who follows the trail like a sleuth hound, and whose word is supreme law for the nonce.

It was evident the pursued party could not be far in advance of us. This we knew from the hour at which they had been seen retreating from the settlement. After my arrival on the plantation, no time had been lost – only ten minutes spent in preparation – and altogether there was scarce an hour’s difference between the times of our starting. The fresh trail confirmed the fact – they could not be a league ahead of us, unless they had ridden faster than we. This was scarce probable, encumbered as they were with their black captives, whose larger tracks, here and there distinctly perceptible, showed that they were marching afoot. Of course, the savage horsemen would be detained in getting them forwards; and in this lay our main hope of overtaking them.

There were but few who feared for the result, should we only be able to come up with the enemy. The white men were full of wrath and revenge, and this precluded all thoughts of fear. Besides, we could tell by their trail that the Indians scarce outnumbered us. Not above fifty appeared to constitute the band. No doubt they were able warriors, and our equals man to man; but those who had volunteered to assist me were also the “true grit” – the best men of the settlement for such a purpose.

No one talked of going back. All declared their readiness to follow the murderers even to the heart of the Indian territory – even into the “Cove” itself.

The devotion of these men cheered me; and I rode forwards with lighter heart – lighter with the prospect of vengeance, which I believed to be near.

Chapter Seventy Seven
“A Split Trail.”

It proved not to be so near us as we had anticipated. Pressing forward, as fast as our guides could lift the trail, we followed it for ten miles. We had hoped to find revenge at half the distance.

The Indians either knew that we were after them; or, with their wonted wisdom were marching rapidly under the mere suspicion of a pursuit. After the committal of such horrid atrocities, it was natural for them to suppose they would be pursued.

Evidently they were progressing as fast as we – but not faster; though the sun was broiling hot, sap still oozed from the boughs they had accidentally broken – the mud turned up by their horses’ hoofs, as the guides expressed it, had not yet “crusted over,” and the crushed herbage was wet with its own juice and still procumbent.

To the denizen of the city, accustomed to travel from street to street by the assistance of sign boards at every corner and numbers on every door, it must appear almost incredible that the wild savage, or untutored hunter, can, without guide or compass, unerringly follow, day after day, the track of some equally cunning foe. To the pursuing party every leaf, every twig, every blade of grass is a “sign,” and they read them as plainly as if the route were laid down upon a map. While the pursuing party is thus attentive to detect “sign,” the escaping one is as vigilant to avoid leaving any – and many are the devices resorted to, to efface the trail.

“Jest helf a hour ahead,” remarked old Hickman, as he rose erect after examining the tracks for the twentieth time – “jest helf a hour, dog-darn ’em! I never knowed red skins to travel so fast afore. Thar a streakin’ it like a gang o’ scared bucks, an’ jest ’bout now thar breech clouts are in a purty considerable sweat, an’ some o’ thar duds is stannin at an angle o’ forty-five, I reckon.”

A peal of laughter was the reply to this sally of the guide.

“Not so loud, fellars! not so loud,” said he, interrupting the laughter by an earnest wave of his hand. “By jeroozalim! tha’ll hear ye; an if they do, tha’ll be some o’ us ’ithout scalps afore sundown. For yer lives, boys, keep still as mice – not a word, or we’ll be heern – tha’r as sharp eared as thar own dogs, and, darn me, if I believe thar more’n helf a mile ahead o’ us.”

The guide once more bent himself over the trail, and after a short reconnoissance of the tracks, repeated his last words with more emphasis.

“No, by – ! not more’n half a mile – Hush, boys, keep as quiet as possums, an’ I promise ye we’ll tree the varmints in less’n a hour. Hush!”

Obedient to the injunctions, we rode forwards, as silently as it was possible for us to proceed on horseback.

We strove to guide our horses along the softer borders of the path to prevent the thumping of their hoofs. No one spoke above a whisper; and even then there was but little conversation, as each was earnestly gazing forwards, expecting every moment to see the bronzed savages moving before us.

In this way we proceeded for another half mile, without seeing aught of the enemy except their tracks.

A new object, however, now came in view – the clear sky shining through the trunks of the trees. We were all woodsmen enough to know that this indicated an “opening” in the forest.

Most of my companions expressed pleasure at the sight. We had now been riding a long way through the sombre woods – our path often obstructed by slimy and fallen logs, so that a slow pace had been unavoidable. They believed that in the open ground we should move faster; and have a better chance of sighting the pursued.

Some of the older heads, and especially the two guides, were affected differently by the new appearance. Hickman at once gave expression to his chagrin.

“Cuss the clarin,” he exclaimed; “it are a savanner, an’ a big ’un, too – dog-gone the thing – it’ll spoil all.”

“How?” I inquired.

“Ye see, Geordy, if thar a’ready across it, they’ll leave some on t’other side to watch – they’ll be sarten to do that, whether they know we’re arter ’em or not. Wall, what follers? We kin no more cross ’ithout bein’ seen, than a carryvan o’ kaymils. An’ what follers that? Once they’ve sighted us, in coorse they’ll know how to git out o’ our way; judjin’ from the time we’ve been a travellin’ – hey! it’s darned near sundown! – I reckon we must be clost to thar big swamp. If they spy us a-comin’ arter, they’ll make strait custrut for thar, and then I know what they’ll do.”

“What?”

“They’ll scatter thar; and ef they do, we might as well go sarchin’ for bird’s-nests in snow time.”

“What should we do?”

“It are best for the hul o’ ye to stop here a bit. Me and Jim Weatherford’ll steal forbad to the edge of the timmer, an’ see if they’re got acrosst the savanner. Ef they are, then we must make roun’ it the best way we kin, an’ take up thar trail on the tother aide. Thar’s no other chance. If we’re seen crossin’ the open ground, we may jest as well turn tail to ’em, and take the back-track home agin.”

To the counsel of the alligator-hunter there was no dissenting voice. All acknowledged its wisdom, and he was left to carry out the design without opposition.

He and his companion once more dismounted from their horses, and, leaving us standing among the trees, advanced stealthily towards the edge of the opening.

It was a considerable time before they came back; and the other men were growing impatient. Many believed we were only losing time by this tardy reconnoissance, and the Indians would be getting further away. Sonde advised that the pursuit should be continued at once, and that, seen or not, we ought to ride directly onwards.

However consonant with my own feelings – burning as I was for a conflict with the murderers – I knew it would not be a prudent course. The guides were in the right.

These returned at length, and delivered their report. There was a savanna, and the Indians had crossed it. They had got into the timber on its opposite side, and neither man nor horse was to be seen. They could scarcely have been out of sight, before Hickman and Weatherford arrived upon its nearer edge, and the former averred that he had seen the tail of one of their horses, disappearing among the bushes.

During their absence, the cunning trackers had learned more. From the sign they had gathered another important fact – that there was no longer a trail for us to follow!

On entering the Savanna the Indians had scattered– the paths they had taken across the grassy meadow, were as numerous as their horses. As the hunter expressed it, the trail “war split up into fifty pieces.” The latter had ascertained this by crawling out among the long grass, and noting the tracks.

One in particular had occupied their attention. It was not made by the hoof-prints of horses, though some of these ran alongside, but by the feet of men. They were naked feet; and a superficial observer might have fancied that but one pair of them had passed over the ground. The skilled trackers, however, knew this to be a ruse. The prints were large, and misshapen, and too deeply indented in the soil to have been produced by a single individual. The long heel, and scarcely convex instep – the huge balls, and broad prints of the toes, were all signs that the hunters easily understood. They knew that it was the trail of the negro captives who had proceeded thus by the direction of their captors.

This unexpected ruse on the part of the retreating savages created chagrin, as well as astonishment. For the moment all felt outwitted – we believed that the enemy was lost – we should be cheated of our revenge. Some even talked of the idleness of carrying the pursuit further. A few counselled us to go back; and it became necessary to appeal to their hatred of the savage foe – with most of them a hereditary passion – and once more to invoke their vengeance.

At this crisis, old Hickman cheered the men with fresh hope. I was glad to hear him speak.

“We can’t get at ’em to-night, boys,” said he, after much talk had been spent; “we dasent cross over this hyar clearin’ by daylight, an’ it’s too big to git roun’ it. It ’ud take a twenty mile ride to circumvent the durned thing. Ne’er a mind! Let us halt hyar till the dark comes on. Then we kin steal across; an’ if me an’ Jim Weatherford don’t scare up the trail on the tother side, then this child never ate allygator. I know they’ll come thegither agin, an’ we’ll be like enough to find the durned varments camped somewhar in a clump. Not seein’ us arter ’em any more, they’ll be feelin’ as safe as a bear in a bee tree – an’ that’s jest the time to take ’em.”

The plan was adopted; and, dismounting from our jaded horses, we awaited the setting of the sun.

There are few situations more trying to the boiling blood and pent-up fury of the pursuer – especially if he have bitter cause for vengeance – than a “check” in the chase; the loss of the trail of course often involves the escape of the foe, and though it may be after a while recovered, yet the delay affords such advantage to the enemy, that every moment serves only to increase the anxiety and whet the fury of the pursuer. This then was my case on the present occasion. While yielding to the advice of the hunter, because I knew it to be the best plan under the circumstances, I nevertheless could scarce control my impatience, or submit to the delay – but felt impelled to hurry forward, and alone and single-handed, if need be, inflict upon the savage miscreants the punishment due to their murderous deeds.