Kitabı oku: «Osceola the Seminole: or, The Red Fawn of the Flower Land», sayfa 29
Chapter Eighty One
An Empty Camp
We had not gone far before we came within ear-shot of voices, mingled with the hollow thumping of horses’ hoofs.
We recognised the voices as those of our comrades, and hailed them as they came nearer, for we perceived that they were advancing towards us.
They had heard the reports; and, believing them to proceed from our rifles, had fancied we were engaged with the Indians, and were now riding forwards to our aid.
“Hollow, boys!” shouted Hickman, as they drew nearer. “Is Bill Williams and Ned Spence among ye? Speak out, if ye be!”
There was no reply to this interrogatory. It was succeeded by a dead silence of some seconds’ duration. Evidently the two men were not there, else they would have answered for themselves.
“Where are they?” “Where have they gone to?” were the inquiries that passed through the crowd.
“Ay, whar are they?” repeated Hickman. “Thar not hyar, that’s plain. By the ’tarnal allygator, thar’s some ugly game afoot atween them two fellers! But, come, boys, we must forrad. The Indyuns is jest afore ye: it’s no use creepin’ any more. Thar a gwine to slope; and if we don’t git up to ’em in three shakes o’ a squirrel’s tail, thar won’t be a cussed varmint o’ ’em on the groun’. Hooraw for redskins’ scalps! Look to your guns. Let’s forrad, and gie ’em partickler hell!”
And with this emphatic utterance, the old hunter dashed into the front, and led the way towards the camp of the savages.
The men followed, helter-skelter, the horses crowding upon each other’s heels. No strategic method was observed. Time was the important consideration, and the aim was to get up to the camp before the Indians could retreat from it. A bold charge into their midst, a volley from our guns, and then with knives and pistols to close the conflict. This was the programme that had been hastily agreed upon.
We had arrived near the camp – within three hundred yards of it. There was no uncertainty as to the direction. The voices of the savages, that continued to be heard ever since the first alarm, served to guide us on the way.
All at once these voices became bushed. No longer reached us, either the shouting of the men, or the hurried trampling of their horses. In the direction of the camp all was still as death.
But we no longer needed the guidance of sounds. We were within sight of the camp fires – or at least of their light, that glittered afar among the trees. With this as our beacon, we continued to advance.
We rode forwards, but now less recklessly. The change from confused noise to perfect silence had been so sudden and abrupt as to have the effect of making us more cautious. The very stillness appeared ominous – we read in it a warning – it rendered us suspicious of an ambuscade – the more so as all had heard of the great talent of the “Redstick Chief” for this very mode of attack.
When within a hundred yards of the fires, our party halted. Several dismounted, and advanced on foot. They glided from trunk to trunk till they had reached the edge of the opening, and then came back to report.
The camp was no longer in existence – its occupants were gone. Indians, horses, captives, plunder, had all disappeared from the ground!
The fires alone remained. They showed evidence of being disturbed in the confusion of the hasty decampment. The red embers were strewed over the grass – their last flames faintly flickering away.
The scouts continued to advance among the trees, till they had made the full circuit of the little opening. For a hundred yards around it the woods were searched with caution and ease; but no enemy was encountered – no ambuscade. We had arrived too late, and the savage foes had escaped us – had carried off their captives from under our very eyes.
It was impossible to follow them in the darkness; and, with mortified spirits, we advanced into the opening, and took possession of the deserted camp. It was our determination to remain there for the rest of the night, and renew the pursuit in the morning.
Our first care was to quench our thirst by the pond – then that of our animals. The fires were next extinguished, and a ring of sentries – consisting of nearly half the number of our party – was placed among the tree-trunks, that stood thickly around the opening. The horses were staked over the ground, and the men stretched themselves along the sward so lately occupied by the bodies of their savage foes. In this wise we awaited the dawning of day.
To none of our party – not even to myself – was this escape of the enemy, or “circumvention,” as he termed it, so mortifying as to old Hickman, who, though priding himself upon his superior cunning and woodcraft, was obliged to confess himself outwitted by a rascally Redstick.
Chapter Eighty Two
A Dead Forest
My comrades, wearied with the long ride, were soon in deep slumber – the sentries only keeping awake. For me, was neither rest nor sleep – my misery forbade repose.
Most of the night I spent in passing to and fro around the little pond, that lay faintly gleaming in the centre of the open ground.
I fancied I found relief in thus roving about; it seemed to still the agitation of my spirit, and prevented my reflections from becoming too intense.
A new regret occupied my thoughts – I regretted that I had not carried out my intention to fire at the chief of the murderers – I regretted I had not killed him on the spot – the monster had escaped, and my sister was still in his power – perhaps beyond the hope of rescue. As I thought thus, I blamed the hunters for having hindered me.
Had they foreseen the result, they might have acted otherwise; but it was beyond human foresight to have anticipated the alarm.
The two men who had caused it were again with us. Their conduct, so singular and mysterious, had given rise to strong suspicion of their loyalty, and their re-appearance – they had joined us while advancing towards the camp – had been hailed with an outburst of angry menace. Some even talked of shooting them out of their saddles, and this threat would most probably have been carried into effect, had the fellows not offered a ready explanation.
They alleged that they had got separated from the troop before it made its last halt, how they did not say; that they knew nothing of the advance of the scouts, or that the Indians were near; that they had got lost in the woods, and had fired their guns as signals in hopes that we should answer them. They acknowledged having met three men afoot, but they believed them to be Indians, and kept out of their way; that afterwards seeing the party near, they had recognised and ridden up to it.
Most of the men were contented with this explanation. What motive, reasoned they, could the two have in giving an alarm to the enemy? Who could suspect them of rank treason?
Not all, however, were satisfied; I heard old Hickman whisper some strange words to his comrade, as he glanced significantly towards the estrays.
“Keep yur eye skinned, Jim, and watch the skunks well; thares somethin’ not hulsome about ’em.”
As there was no one who could openly accuse them, they were once more admitted into the ranks, and were now among those who were stretched out and sleeping.
They lay close to the edge of the water. In my rounds, I passed them repeatedly; and in the sombre darkness, I could just distinguish their prostrate forms. I regarded them with strange emotions, for I shared the suspicions of Hickman and Weatherford. I could scarce doubt that these fellows had strayed off on purpose – that, actuated by some foul motive, they had fired their guns to warn the Indians of the approach of our party.
After midnight there was a moon. There were no clouds to intercept her beams, and on rising above the tree-tops, she poured down a flood of brilliant light.
The sleepers were awakened by the sudden change; some rose to their feet, believing it to be day. It was only upon glancing up to the heavens they became aware of their mistake.
The noise had put every one on the alert, and some talked of continuing the pursuit by the light of the moon.
Such a course would have coincided with my own wishes; but the hunter-guides opposed it. Their reasons were just. In open ground they could have lifted the trail, but under the timber the moon’s light would not have availed them.
They could have tracked by torch-light, but this would only be to expose us to an ambuscade of the enemy. Even to advance by moonlight would be to subject ourselves to a like danger. Circumstances had changed. The savages now knew we were after them. In a night-march the pursued have the advantage of the pursuers – even though their numbers be inferior. The darkness gives them every facility of effecting a surprise.
Thus reasoned the guides. No one made opposition to their views, and it was agreed that we should keep our ground till daylight.
It was time to change the sentinels. Those who had slept now took post, and the relieved guard came in and flung themselves down, to snatch a few hours of rest.
Williams and Spence took their turn with the rest. They were posted on one side the glade, and next to one another Hickman and Weatherford had fulfilled their guard tour.
As they stretched themselves along the grass, I noticed that they had chosen a spot near to where the suspected men were placed. By the moonlight, they must have had a view of the latter.
Notwithstanding their recumbent attitudes, the hunters did not appear to go to sleep. I observed them at intervals. Their heads were close together, and slightly raised above the ground, as if they were whispering to one another.
As before, I walked round and round – the moonlight enabling me to move more rapidly. Ofttimes did I make the circuit of the little pond – how oft, it would be difficult to determine.
My steps were mechanical – my thoughts had no connection with the physical exertions I was making, and I took no note of how I progressed.
After a time there came a lull over my spirits. For a short interval both my griefs and vengeful passions seemed to have departed.
I knew the cause. It was a mere psychological phenomenon – one of common occurrence. The nerves that were organs of the peculiar emotions under which I had been suffering, had grown wearied and refused to act. I knew it was but a temporary calm – the lull between two billows of the storm.
During its continuance, I was sensible to impressions from external objects. I could not help noticing the singularity of the scene around me. The bright moonlight enabled me to note its features somewhat minutely.
We were encamped upon what, by backwoodsmen, is technically termed a glade– oftener, in their idiom, a “gleed” – a small opening in the woods, without timber or trees of any sort. This one was circular – about fifty yards in diameter – with the peculiarity of having a pond in its midst. The pond, which was only a few yards in circumference, was also a circle, perfectly concentric with the glade itself. It was one of those singular natural basins found throughout the peninsula, and appearing as if scooped out by mechanic art. It was deeply sunk in the earth, and filled with water till within three feet of its rim. The liquid was cool and clear, and under the moonbeams shone with a silvery effulgence.
Of the glade itself nothing more – except that it was covered with sweet-smelling flowers, that now, crushed under the hoofs of horses and the heels of man, gave forth a redoubled fragrance.
The picture was pretty.
Under happier circumstances, I should have contemplated it with pleasure. But it was not the picture that so much occupied my attention at that moment. Rather was it the framing.
Around the glade stood a ring of tall trees, as regular as if they had been planted; and beyond these, as far as the eye could penetrate the depths of the forest, were others of like size and aspect. The trunks of all were nearly of one thickness – few of them reaching a diameter of two feet, but all rising to the height of many yards, without leaf or branch. They stood somewhat densely over the ground, but in daylight the eye might have ranged to a considerable distance through the intervals, for there was no underwood – save the low dwarf palmetto – to interrupt the view. They were straight, and almost cylindrical as palms; and they might have been mistaken for trees of this order, had it not been for their large heads of leaves terminating in cone-shaped summits.
They were not palms – they were pines – “broom” pines (Pinus Australis), a species of trees with which I was perfectly familiar, having ridden many hundreds of miles shaded by the pendant fascicles of their acicular foliage.
The sight of these trees, therefore, would have created no curiosity, had I not noticed in their appearance something peculiar. Instead of the deep green which should have been exhibited by their long, drooping leaves, they appeared of a brownish yellow.
Was it fancy? or was it the deceptive light of the moon that caused this apparent change from their natural hue?
One or the other, soliloquised I, on first noticing them; but as I continued to gaze, I perceived that I was in error. Neither my own fancy nor the moon’s rays were at fault; the foliage was really of the colour it appeared to be. Drawing nearer to them, I observed that the leaves were withered, though still adhering to the twigs. I noticed, moreover, that the trunks were dry and dead-like – the bark scaled or scaling off – that the trees, in short, were dead and decaying.
I remembered what Hickman had stated while groping for the direction. That was at some distance off; but, as far as I could see, the woods presented the same dim colour.
I came to the conclusion that the whole forest was dead.
The inference was correct, and the explanation easy. The sphinx21 had been at work. The whole forest was dead.
Chapter Eighty Three
A Circular Conflict
Strange as it may seem, even in that hour these observations had interested me; but while making them I observed something that gratified me still more. It was the blue dawn that, mingling with the yellower light of the moon, affected the hue of the foliage upon which I had been gazing. Morning was about to break.
Others had noticed it at the same instant, and already the sleepers were rising from their dewy couch, and looking to the girths of their saddles.
We were a hungry band; but there was no hope of breakfast, and we prepared to start without it.
The dawn was of only a few minutes’ duration, and, as the sky continued to brighten, preparations were made for the start. The sentries were called in – all except four, who were prudently left to the last minute, to watch in four different directions. The horses were unpicketed and bridled – they had worn their saddles all night – and the guns of the party were carefully re-primed or capped.
Many of my comrades were old campaigners, and every precaution was taken that might influence our success in a conflict.
It was expected that before noon we should come up with the savages, or track them home to their lair. In either case, we should have a fight, and all declared their determination to go forwards.
Some minutes were spent in arranging the order of our march. It was deemed prudent that a few of the more skilled of the men should go forwards as scouts on foot, and thoroughly explore the woods before the advance of the main body. This would secure us from any sudden attack, in case the enemy had formed an ambuscade. The old hunters were once more to act as trackers, and lead the van.
These arrangements were completed, and we were on the point of starting – the men had mounted their horses, the scouts were already entering the edge of the timber, when, all on a sudden, several shots were heard, and at the same time, the alarm-cries of the sentries who had fired them. The four had discharged their pieces almost simultaneously.
The woods appeared to ring with a hundred echoes. But they were not echoes – they were real reports of rifles and musketry; and the shrill war-cry that accompanied them was easily distinguished above the shouting of our own sentries. The Indians were upon us.
Upon us, or, to speak less figuratively, around us. The sentries had fired all at once, therefore, each must have seen Indians in his own direction. But it needed not this to guide us to the conclusion that we were surrounded. From all sides came the fierce yells of the foe – as if echoing one another – and their bullets whistled past us in different directions. Beyond doubt, the glade was encompassed within their lines.
In the first volley two or three men were hit, and as many horses. But the balls were spent and did but little damage.
From where they had fired, the glade was beyond the “carry” of their guns. Had they crept a little nearer, before delivering their fire, the execution would have been fearful – clumped together as we were at the moment.
Fortunately, our sentries had perceived their approach, and in good time given the alarm.
It had saved us.
There was a momentary confusion, with noise – the shouting of men – the neighing and prancing of horses; but above the din was heard the guiding voice of old Hickman.
“Off o’ yer horses, fellers! an’ take to the trees – down wi’ ye, quick! To the trees, an’ keep ’em back! or by the tarnal arthquake, every mother’s son o’ us’ll git sculped! To the trees! to the trees!”
The same idea had already suggested itself to others; and before the hunter had ceased calling out, the men were out of their saddles and making for the edge of the timber.
Some ran to one side, some to another – each choosing the edge that was nearest him, and in a few seconds our whole party had ensconced itself – the body of each individual sheltered behind the trunk of a tree. In this position we formed a perfect circle, our backs turned upon each other, and our faces to the foe.
Our horses, thus hurriedly abandoned, and wild with the excitement of the attack, galloped madly over the ground, with trailing bridles, and stirrups striking against their flanks. Most of them dashed past us; and, scampering off, were either caught by the savages, or breaking through their lines, escaped into the woods beyond.
We made no attempt to “head” them. The bullets were hurtling past our ears. It would have been certain death to have stepped aside from the trunks that sheltered us.
The advantage of the position we had gained was apparent at a single glance. Fortunate it was, that our sentries had been so tardily relieved. Had these been called in a moment sooner, the surprise would have been complete. The Indians would have advanced to the very edge of the glade, before uttering their war-cry or firing a shot, and we should have been at their mercy. They would have been under cover of the timber, and perfectly protected from our guns, while we in the open ground must have fallen before their fire.
But for the well-timed alarm, they might have massacred us at will.
Disposed as we now were, our antagonists had not much advantage. The trunks of the trees entrenched us both. Only the concave side of our line was exposed, and the enemy might fire at it across the opening. But as the glade was fifty yards in diameter, and at no point had we permitted the Indians to get up to its edge, we knew that their bullets could not carry across; and were under no apprehension on this score.
The manoeuvre, improvised though it was, had proved our salvation. We now saw it was the only thing we could have done to save ourselves from immediate destruction. Fortunate it was that the voice of Hickman had hurried us so quickly to our posts.
Our men were not slow in returning the enemy’s fire. Already their pieces were at play; and every now and then was heard the sharp whip-like “spang” of the rifles around the circle of the glade. At intervals, too, came a triumphant cheer, as some savage, who had too rashly exposed his red body, was known to have fallen to the shot.
Again the voice of the old hunter rang over the glade. Cool, calm, and clear, it was heard by every one.
“Mind yer hind sights, boys! an’ shoot sure. Don’t waste neer a grain o’ yer powder. Ye’ll need the hul on’t, afore we’ve done wi’ the cussed niggers. Don’t a one o’ ye pull trigger till ye’ve drawed a bead on a red skin.”
These injunctions were full of significance. Hitherto the younger “hands” had been firing somewhat recklessly – discharging their pieces as soon as loaded, and only wounding the trunks of the trees. It was to stay this proceeding that Hickman had spoken.
His words produced the desired effect. The reports became less frequent, but the triumphant cheer that betokened a “hit,” was heard as often as ever. In a few minutes after the first burst of the battle, the conflict had assumed altogether a new aspect. The wild yells uttered by the Indians in their first onslaught – intended to frighten us into confusion – were no longer heard; and the shouts of the white men had also ceased. Only now and then were heard the deep “hurrah” of triumph, or a word spoken by some of our party to give encouragement to his comrades. At long intervals only rang out the “yo-ho-ehee,” uttered by some warrior chief to stimulate his braves to the attack.
The shots were no longer in volleys, but single, or two or three at a time. Every shot was fired with an aim; and it was only when that aim proved true, or he who fired it believed it so, that voices broke out on either side. Each individual was too much occupied in looking for an object for his aim, to waste time in idle words or shouts. Perhaps in the whole history of war, there is no account of a conflict so quietly carried on – no battle so silently fought. In the interludes between the shots there were moments when the stillness was intense – moments of perfect but ominous silence.
Neither was battle ever fought, in which both sides were so oddly arrayed against each other. We were disposed in two concentric circles – the outer one formed by the enemy, the inner, by the men of our party, deployed almost regularly around the glade. These circles were scarce forty paces apart – at some points perhaps a little less, where a few of the more daring warriors, sheltered by the trees, had worked themselves closer to our line. Never was battle fought where the contending parties were so near each other without closing in hand-to-hand conflict. We could have conversed with our antagonists, without raising our voices above the ordinary tone; and were enabled to aim, literally, at the “whites of their eyes.”
Under such circumstances was the contest carried on.
