Kitabı oku: «Osceola the Seminole: or, The Red Fawn of the Flower Land», sayfa 28
Chapter Seventy Eight
Crossing the Savanna
We now suffered the very acme of misery. While riding in hot haste along the trail, there was an excitement, almost continuous, that precluded the possibility of intense reflection, and kept my mind from dwelling too minutely upon the calamity that had befallen me. The prospect of retribution, ever appearing nearer at hand – at every step nearer – all but cancelled my emotions of grief; and motion itself – knowing it to be forward, and towards the object of hatred – had a certain effect in soothing my troubled soul.
Now that the pursuit was suspended, and I was free to reflect on the events of the morning, my soul was plunged into the deepest misery. My fancy distressed me with dire images. Before me appeared the corpse of my murdered mother – her arms outstretched, waving me on to vengeance. My sister, too, wan, tearful, dishevelled! dishonoured!
No wonder that with painful impatience I awaited the going down of the sun. I thought I had never seen that grand orb sink so slowly. The delay tortured me almost to distraction.
The sun’s disc was blood red, from a thick haze that hung over the woods. The heavens appeared lowering, and angry – they had the hue of my own spirit.
At length, twilight came on. Short it was – as is usual in Southern latitudes – though it appeared long and tardy in passing away. Darkness followed, and once more springing to my saddle, I found relief in motion.
Emerging from the timber, we rode out upon the open savanna. The two hunters, acting as guides, conducted us across. There was no attempt made to follow any of the numerous trails. In the darkness, it would have been impossible, but even had there been light enough left them, the guides would have pursued a different course.
Hickman’s conjecture was, that on reaching the opposite side, the marauding party would come together at some rendezvous previously agreed upon. The trail of any one, therefore, would be sufficient for our purpose, and in all probability would conduct us to their camp. Our only aim, then, was to get across the savanna unobserved; and this the darkness might enable us to accomplish.
Silently as spectres we marched over the open meadow. We rode with extreme slowness, lest the hoof-strokes should be heard. Our tired steeds needed no taming down. The ground was favourable – a surface of soft, grassy turf, over which our animals glided with noiseless tread. Our only fears were, that they should scent the horses of the Indians, and betray us by their neighing.
Happily our fears proved groundless; and, after half an hour’s silent marching, we reached the other side of the savanna, and drew up under the shadowy trees.
It was scarce possible we could have been observed. If the Indians had left spies behind them, the darkness would have concealed us from their view, and we had made no noise by which our approach could have been discovered, unless their sentinels had been placed at the very point where we re-entered the woods. We saw no signs of any, and we believed that none of the band had lingered behind, and we had not been seen.
We congratulated one another in whispers; and in like manner deliberated on our future plans of proceeding. We were still in our saddles – with the intention to proceed further. We should have dismounted upon the spot, and waited for the light of morning to enable us to take up the trail, but circumstances forbade this. Our horses were suffering from thirst, and their riders were no better off. We had met with no water since before noon, and a few hours under the burning skies of Florida are sufficient to render thirst intolerable. Whole days in a colder climate would scarce have an equal effect.
Both horses and men suffered acutely – we could neither sleep nor rest, without relief – water must be sought for, before a halt could be made.
We felt hunger as well, for scarce any provision had been made for the long march – but the pangs of this appetite were easier to be endured. Water of itself would satisfy us for the night, and we resolved to ride forward in search of it.
In this dilemma, the experience of our two guides promised relief. They had once made a hunting excursion to the savanna we had crossed. It was in the times when the tribes were friendly, and white men were permitted to pass freely through the “reserve.” They remembered a pond, at which, upon that occasion, they had made their temporary encampment. They believed it was not far distant from the spot where we had arrived. It might be difficult to find in the darkness, but to suffer on or search for it were our only alternatives.
The latter was of course adopted; and once more allowing Hickman and Weatherford to pioneer the way, the rest of us rode silently after.
We moved in single file, each horse guided by the one that immediately preceded him; in the darkness no other mode of march could be adopted. Our party was thus strung out into a long line, here and there curving according to the sinuosities of the path, and gliding like some monstrous serpent among the trees.
Chapter Seventy Nine
Groping among the Timber
At intervals the guides were at fault; and then the whole line was forced to halt and remain motionless. Several times both Hickman and Weatherford were puzzled as to the direction they should take. They had lost the points of the compass, and were bewildered.
Had there been light, they could have recovered this knowledge by observing the bark upon the trees – a craft well-known to the backwoods hunter – but it was too dark to make such an observation. Even amidst the darkness, Hickman alleged he could tell north from south by the “feel” of the bark: and for this purpose I now saw him groping against the trunks. I noticed that he passed from one to another, trying several of them, the better to confirm his observations.
After carrying on these singular manoeuvres for a period of several minutes, he turned to his comrade with an exclamation that betokened surprise: —
“Dog-gone my cats, Jim,” said he, speaking in an undertone, “these woods are altered since you and I war hyar – what the ole scratch kin be the matter wi’ ’em? The bark’s all peeled off and thar as dry as punk.”
“I was thinkin’ they had a kewrious look,” replied the other, “but I s’posed it was the darkness o’ the night.”
“Neer a bit of it – the trees is altered someways, since we war hyar afore! They are broom pines – that I recollect well enough – let’s git a bunch o’ the leaves, and see how they looks.”
Saying this, he reached his hand upwards, and plucked one of the long fascicles that drooped overhead.
“Ugh!” continued he, crushing the needles between his fingers, “I see how it are now. The darnationed moths has been at ’em – the trees are dead.
“D’yer think thar all dead?” he inquired after a pause, and then advancing a little, he proceeded to examine some others.
“Dead as durnation! – every tree o’ ’em – wal! we must go by guess-work – thar’s no help for it, boys. Ole Hick kin guide you no furrer. I’m dead beat, and know no more ’bout the direkshun o’ that ere pond, than the greenest greenhorn among ye.”
This acknowledgment produced no very pleasant effect. Thirst was torturing all those who heard it. Hitherto, trusting that the skill of the hunters would enable them to find water, they had sustained it with a degree of patience. It was now felt more acutely than ever.
“Stay,” said Hickman, after a few moments had elapsed. “All’s not lost that’s in danger. If I arn’t able to guide ye to the pond, I reckon I’ve got a critter as kin. Kin you, ole hoss?” he continued, addressing himself to the animal he bestrode – a wiry old jade that Hickman had long been master of – “kin you find the water? Gee up, ole beeswax! and let’s see if you kin.”
Giving his “critter” a kick in the ribs, and at the same time full freedom of the bridle, he once more started forwards among the trees.
We all followed as before, building fresh hopes upon the instinct of the animal.
Surely the pride of man ought to be somewhat abased, when he reflects, that he, “the lord of the creation,” is oftentimes foiled in attempts which, by the mere instincts of the lower animals, are of easy accomplishment. What a lesson of humility this ought to teach to the wanton and cruel oppressor of those noble animals, whose strength, and instinct, and endurance, are all made subservient to his comfort. It is in the hour of danger and peril alone, that man realises his dependence upon agencies other than his own lordly will.
We had not proceeded far, when it became known that Hickman’s horse had got scent of the water. His owner alleged that he “smelt” it, and the latter knew this, as well as if it had been one of his hounds taking up the trail of a deer.
The horse actually exhibited signs of such an intelligence. His muzzle was protruded forwards, and now and then he was heard to sniff the air; while, at the same time, he walked forward in a direct line – as if making for some object. Surely he was heading for water. Such was the belief.
It produced a cheering effect, and the men were now advancing in better spirits, when, to their surprise, Hickman suddenly drew up, and halted the line I rode forward to him to inquire the cause. I found him silent and apparently reflective.
“Why have you stopped?” I inquired.
“You must all o’ ye wait here a bit.”
“Why must we?” demanded several, who had pressed along side.
“’Taint safe for us to go forrad this way; I’ve got a idea that them red skins is by the pond – they’ve camped there for sartin – it’s the only water that is about hyar; and its devilitch like that thar they’ve rendevoozed an’ camped. If that be the case, an’ we ride forrad in this fashion, they’ll hear us a-comin’ an’ be off agin into the bushes, whar we’ll see no more o’ them. Ain’t that like enough, fellers?”
This interrogatory was answered in the affirmative.
“Wal then,” continued the guide; “better for yous all to stay hyar, while me and Jim Weatherford goes forrad to see if the Indyuns is thar. We kin find the pond now. I know whar it lies by the direkshun the hoss war taken. It aint fur off. If the red skins aint thar, we’ll soon be back, an’ then ye kin all come on as fast as ye like.”
This prudent course was willingly agreed to, and the two hunters, once more dismounting, stole forwards afoot. They made no objection to my going along with them. My misfortunes gave me a claim to be their leader; and, leaving my bridle in the hands of one of my companions, I accompanied the guides upon their errand.
We walked with noiseless tread. The ground was thickly covered with the long needles of the pine, forming a soft bed, upon which the footstep made no sound. There was little or no underwood, and this enabled us to advance with rapidity, and in a few minutes we were a long way from the party we had left behind.
Our only care was about keeping the right direction, and this we had almost lost – or believed so – when, to our astonishment we beheld a light shining through the trees. It was the gleam of a fire that appeared to be blazing freely. Hickman at once pronounced it the camp fire of the Indians.
At first we thought of returning, and bringing on our comrades to the attack; but upon reflection, we determined to approach nearer the fire, and make certain whether it was the enemy’s camp.
We advanced no longer in erect attitudes; but crawling upon our hands and knees. Wherever the glare penetrated the woods, we avoided it, and kept under the shadow of the tree-trunks. The fire burned in the midst of an opening. The hunters remembered that the pond was so placed; and now observing the sheen of water, we knew it must be the same.
We drew nearer and nearer, until it was no longer safe to advance. We were close to the edge of the timber that concealed us. We could see the whole surface of the open ground. There were horses picketed over it, and dark forms recumbent under the fire light. They were murderers asleep.
Close to the fire, one was seated upon a saddle. He appeared to be awake, though his head was drooped to the level of his knees. The blaze was shining upon this man’s face; and both his features and complexion might have been seen, but for the interposition of paint and plumes.
The face appeared of a crimson red, and three black ostrich feathers, bending over the brow, hung straggling down his cheeks. These plumed symbols produced painful recognition. I knew that it was the head-dress of Osceola.
I looked further. Several groups were beyond – in fact, the whole open space was crowded with prostrate human forms.
There was one group, however, that fixed my attention. It consisted of three or four individuals, seated or reclining along the grass. They were in shade, and from our position, their features could not be recognised; but their white dresses, and the outlines of their forms, soft even in the obscurity of the shadow, told that they were females.
Two of them were side by side, a little apart from the others; one appeared to be supporting the other, whose head rested in her lap.
With emotions fearfully vivid, I gazed on these two forms. I had no doubt they were Viola and my sister.
Chapter Eighty
Signal Shots
I shall not attempt to depict my emotions at that moment. My pen is unequal to the task. Think of my situation, and fancy them if you can.
Behind me, a mother murdered and basely mutilated – a near relative slain in like fashion – my home – my whole property given to the flames. Before me, a sister torn from the maternal embrace – borne ruthlessly along by savage captors – perhaps defiled by their fiendish leader. And he, too, before my eyes – the false, perfidious friend, the ravisher – the murderer! Had I not cue for indulging in the wildest emotions?
And wild they were – each moment growing wilder, as I gazed upon the object of my vengeance. They were fast rising beyond my control. My muscles seemed to swell with renewed rage – the blood coursed through my veins like streams of liquid fire.
I almost forgot the situation in which we were. But one thought was in my mind – vengeance. Its object was before me – unconscious of my presence as if he had been asleep – almost within reach of my hand; perfectly within range of my rifle.
I raised the piece to the level of those drooping plumes. I sighted their tips – I knew that the eyes were underneath them – my finger rested against the trigger.
In another instant, that form – in my eyes, hitherto heroic – would have been lifeless upon the grass; but my comrades forbade the act.
With a quick instinct, Hickman grasped the lock of my gun. Covering the nipple with his broad palm; while Weatherford clutched at and held the barrel. I was no longer master of the piece.
I was angry at the interruption, but only for an instant. A moment’s reflection convinced me they had acted right. The old hunter, putting his lips close to my ear, addressed me in an earnest whisper:
“Not yit, Geordie, not yit; for your life, don’t make a fuss! ’Twould be no use to kill him. The rest o’ the varmints ud be sartin to git off, and sartin to toat the weemen along wi’ ’em. We three aint enough to stop ’em – we’d only get scalped ourselves. We must slide back for the others; an’ then we’ll be able to surround ’em – that’s the idea, aint it, Jim?”
Weatherford, fearing to trust his voice, nodded an affirmative.
“Come, then,” added Hickman, in the same low whisper, “we musn’t lose a minute; let’s get back as rapidly as possible. Keep your backs low down – genteely, genteely;” and as he continued giving these injunctions, he faced towards the ground, extended his body to its full length, and, crawling off like an alligator, was soon lost behind the trunks of the trees.
Weatherford and I followed in similar fashion, until safe beyond the circle of the fire light, when all three of us came to a stop, and arose erect to our feet.
We stood for a moment listening backwards. We were not without anxiety lest our retreat might have disturbed the camp; but no sounds reached us save those to which we had been listening – the snore of some sleeping savage, the “crop-crop” of the browsing horses, or the stamp of a hoof upon the firm turf.
Satisfied that we had passed away unobserved, we started upon the back-track, which the hunters could now follow like a path well-known to them.
We advanced, dark as it was, almost in a run; and were progressing rapidly, when our speed was suddenly checked by the report of a gun.
Each halted as if shot. Surprise it was that stopped us; for the report came not from the Indian camp, but the opposite direction – that in which our party had been left.
But it could not be one of them who had fired. They were at too great a distance for their guns to have been heard so distinctly. Had they advanced nearer, tired of waiting for our return? Were they still advancing? If so, the shot was most imprudent; it would be certain to put the camp on the qui vive. What had they fired at? It might have been an accidental discharge – it must have been.
These conjectures were rapid as thought itself. We did not communicate them to one another; each fancied them for himself.
We had scarce time even to speak, when a second shot rang in our ears. It came from the same direction as the former, appearing almost a repetition; and had there been time to reload, we should so have judged it; but there had not been time, even for the most accomplished rifleman. Two guns, therefore, had been fired.
My companions were puzzled as well as myself. The firing was inexplicable under any other hypothesis than that some Indians had strayed from their camp and were making signals of distress.
We had no time to reflect. We could now hear behind us the camp in full alarm, and we knew it was the shots that had caused it. We heard the shouts of men, the neighing and hurried trampling of horses.
Without pausing longer, we again hurried onwards in the direction of our friends.
Further on we perceived some men on horseback. Two there appeared to be; but in the darkness we were not certain, as their forms were scarce distinguishable.
They appeared to retreat as we approached, gliding off, like ghosts, among the trees.
No doubt these were they who had fired the shots. They were just in the direction whence the reports had come, and at the proper distance.
Were they Indians or whites? Hoping they were our friends, risking the chances of their being our foes, Old Hickman hailed them.
We paused to listen. There was no reply, not even an exclamation from either. We could hear, by the hoof-strokes of their horses, that they were hurrying off in a direction altogether different from either our party or the camp.
There was something mysterious in the behaviour of these horsemen. For what purpose had they fired their guns? If to signal the camp, why had they retreated from us, as we came from it? Why, moreover, had they gone off in a direction that did not lead to it? for its position was now known to them by the noise of the alarm they had themselves occasioned. To me their behaviour was inexplicable. Hickman appeared to have found some clue to it, and the knowledge seemed to have a angular effect upon him. He exhibited signs of surprise, mingled with strong feelings of indignation.
“Devil swamp ’em! the wuthless skunks, if’t are them, an’ I’m good as sure it are. I can’t a be mistaken in the crack o’ them two guns. What say ye, Jim Weatherford? D’ye recognise ’em?”
“I war thinkin’ I’d heern them afore somewhars, but I can’t ’zactly tell whar – stay; one on ’em’s precious like the ring o’ Ned Spence’s rifle.”
“Preecious like – it are the same; and t’other’s Bill Williams’s. What on airth kin the two be arter? We left ’em long wi’ the rest, and hyar they are now – I’m sartint it’s them, gallivantin’ about through the woods, an’ firin’ off their guns to spoil everything we’ve done. They’ve sot the Indyuns off to a sartinty. Devil swamp ’em both! – what kin they be arter? – some hellnifferous game, I ’spect! By the tarnal catawampus, I’ll make both on ’em pay for this when we git thegither! Come along, quick, fellers! Let’s git the party up, or we’ll be too late. Them Indyuns’ll make track, and slope afore we git near ’em. Darn the shots! they’ve spoilt the hull bizness. Quick! come along hyar!”
Obedient to the old hunter’s directions, we hurried on after him.
