Kitabı oku: «Osceola the Seminole: or, The Red Fawn of the Flower Land», sayfa 6
Chapter Fourteen
Ringgold’s Revenge
Only the ruder spirits indulged in this ill-timed levity; others of more refined nature regarded the incident with due solemnity – some even with a feeling of awe.
Certainly it seemed as if the hand of God had interposed, so appropriate had been the punishment – almost as if the criminal had perished by his own contrivance.
It was an awful death, but far less hard to endure than that which had been decreed by man. The Almighty had been more merciful: and in thus mitigating the punishment of the guilty wretch, had rebuked his human judges.
I looked around for the young Indian: I was gratified to find he was no longer among the crowd. His quarrel with Ringgold had been broken off abruptly. I had fears that it was not yet ended. His words had irritated some of the white men, and it was through his being there, the criminal had found the opportunity to get off. No doubt, had the latter finally escaped, there would have been more of it: and even as matters stood, I was not without apprehensions about the safety of the bold half-blood. He was not upon his own ground – the other side of the river was the Indian territory; and, therefore, he might be deemed an intruder. True, we were at peace with the Indians; but for all that, there was enough of hostile feeling between the two races. Old wounds received in the war of 1818 still rankled.
I knew Ringgold’s resentful character – he had been humiliated in the eyes of his companions; for, during the short scuffle, the half-blood had the best of it. Ringgold would not be content to let it drop – he would seek revenge.
I was glad, therefore, on perceiving that the Indian had gone away from the ground. Perhaps he had himself become apprehensive of danger, and recrossed the river. There he would be safe from pursuit. Even Ringgold dare not follow him to the other side, for the treaty laws could not have been outraged with impunity. The most reckless of the squatters knew this. An Indian war would have been provoked, and the supreme government, though not over scrupulous, had other views at the time.
I was turning to proceed homeward, when it occurred to me that I would accost Ringgold, and signify to him my disapproval of his conduct. I was indignant at the manner in which he had acted – just angry enough to speak my mind. Ringgold was older than myself, and bigger; but I was not afraid of him. On the contrary, I knew that he was rather afraid of me. The insult he had offered to one who, but the hour before, had risked his life for us, had sufficiently roused my blood, and I was determined to reproach him for it. With this intention, I turned back to look for him. He was not there.
“Have you seen Arens Ringgold?” I inquired of old Hickman.
“Yes – jest gone,” was the reply.
“In what direction?”
“Up-river. See ’im gallop off wi’ Bill Williams an’ Ned Spence – desprit keen upon somethin’ they ’peered.”
A painful suspicion flashed across my mind.
“Hickman,” I asked, “will you lend me your horse for an hour?”
“My old critter? Sartin sure will I: a day, if you wants him. But, Geordy, boy, you can’t ride wi’ your arm that way?”
“O yes; only help me into the saddle.”
The old hunter did as desired; and after exchanging another word or two, I rode off in the up-river direction.
Up the river was a ferry; and at its landing it was most likely the young Indian had left his canoe. In that direction, therefore, he should go to get back to his home, and in that direction Ringgold should not go to return to his, for the path to the Ringgold plantation led in a course altogether opposite. Hence the suspicion that occurred to me on hearing that the latter had gone up the river. At such a time it did not look well, and in such company, still worse; for I recognised in the names that Hickman had mentioned, two of the most worthless boys in the settlement. I knew them to be associates, or rather creatures, of Ringgold.
My suspicion was that they had gone after the Indian, and of course with an ill intent. It was hardly a conjecture; I was almost sure of it; and as I advanced along the river road, I became confirmed in the belief. I saw the tracks of their horses along the path that led to the ferry, and now and again I could make out the print of the Indian moccasin where it left its wet mark in the dust. I knew that his dress had not yet dried upon him, and the moccasins would still be saturated with water.
I put the old horse to his speed. As I approached the landing, I could see no one, for there were trees all around it; but the conflict of angry voices proved that I had conjectured aright.
I did not stop to listen; but urging my horse afresh, I rode on. At a bend of the road, I saw three horses tied to the trees. I knew they were those of Ringgold and his companions, but I could not tell why they had left them.
I stayed not to speculate, but galloped forward upon the ground. Just as I had anticipated, the three were there – the half-blood was in their hands!
They had crept upon him unawares – that was why their horses had been left behind – and caught him just as he was about stepping into his canoe. He was unarmed – for the rifle I had given him was still wet, and the mulatto had made away with his knife – he could offer no resistance, and was therefore secured at once.
They had been quick about it, for they had already stripped off his hunting-shirt, and tied him to a tree. They were just about to vent their spite on him – by flogging him on the bare back with cowhides which they carried in their hands. No doubt they would have laid them on heavily, had I not arrived in time.
“Shame, Arens Ringgold! shame!” I cried as I rode up. “This is cowardly, and I shall report it to the whole settlement.”
Ringgold stammered out some excuse, but was evidently staggered at my sudden appearance.
“The darned Injun desarves it,” growled Williams.
“For what, Master Williams?” I inquired.
“For waggin his jaw so imperent to white men.”
“He’s got no business over here,” chimed in Spence; “he has got no right to come this side of the river.”
“And you have no right to flog him, whether on this side or the other – no more than you have to flog me.”
“Ho, ho! That might be done, too,” said Spence, in a sneering tone, that set my blood in a boil.
“Not so easily,” I cried, leaping from the old horse, and running forward upon the ground.
My right arm was still sound. Apprehensive of an awkward affair, I had borrowed old Hickman’s pistol, and I held it in my hand.
“Now, gentlemen,” said I, taking my stand beside the captive, “go on with the flogging; but take my word for it, I shall send a bullet through the first who strikes!”
Though they were but boys, all three were armed with knife and pistol, as was the custom of the time. Of the three, Spence seemed most inclined to carry out his threat; but he and Williams saw that Ringgold, their leader, had already backed out, for the latter had something to lose, which his companions had not. Besides, he had other thoughts, as well as fears for his personal safety.
The result was, that all three, after remonstrating with me for my uncalled-for interference in a quarrel that did not concern me, made an angry and somewhat awkward exit from the scene.
The young Indian was soon released from his unpleasant situation. He uttered few words, but his looks amply expressed his gratitude. As he pressed my hand at parting, he said:
“Come to the other side to hunt whenever you please – no Indian will harm you – in the land of the red men you will be welcome.”
Chapter Fifteen
Maümee
An acquaintance thus acquired could not be lightly dropped. Should it end otherwise than in friendship? This half-blood was a noble youth, the germ of a gentleman. I resolved to accept his invitation, and visit him in his forest home.
His mother’s cabin, he said, was on the other side of the lake, not far off. I should find it on the bank of a little stream that emptied into the main river, above where the latter expands itself.
I felt a secret gratification as I listened to these directions. I knew the stream of which he was speaking; lately, I had sailed up it in my skiff. It was upon its banks I had seen that fair vision – the wood-nymph whose beauty haunted my imagination. Was it Maümee?
I longed to be satisfied. I waited only for the healing of my wound – till my arm should be strong enough for the oar. I chafed at the delay; but time passed, and I was well.
I chose a beautiful morning for the promised visit, and was prepared to start forth. I had no companion – only my dogs and gun.
I had reached my skiff, and was about stepping in, when a voice accosted me; on turning, I beheld my sister.
Poor little Virgine! she had lost somewhat of her habitual gaiety, and appeared much changed of late. She was not yet over the terrible fright – its consequences were apparent in her more thoughtful demeanour.
“Whither goest thou, Georgy?” she inquired as she came near.
“Must I tell, Virgine?”
“Either that or take me with you.”
“What! to the woods?”
“And why not? I long for a ramble in the woods. Wicked brother! you never indulge me.”
“Why, sister, you never asked me before.”
“Even so, you might know that I desired it. Who would not wish to go wandering in the woods? Oh! I wish I were a wild bird, or a butterfly, or some other creature with wings; I should wander all over those beautiful woods, without asking you to guide me, selfish brother.”
“Any other day, Virgine, but to-day – ”
“Why, but? Why not this very day? Surely it is fine – it is lovely!”
“The truth, then, sister – I am not exactly bound for the woods to-day.”
“And whither bound? whither bound, Georgy? – that’s what they say in ships.”
“I am going to visit young Powell at his mother’s cabin. I promised him I should.”
“Ha!” exclaimed my sister, suddenly changing colour, and remaining for a moment in a reflective attitude.
The name had recalled that horrid scene. I was sorry I had mentioned it.
“Now, brother,” continued she, after a pause; “there is nothing I more desire to see than an Indian cabin – you know I have never seen one. Good Georgy! good Georgy! pray take me along with you!”
There was an earnestness in the appeal I could not resist, though I would rather have gone alone. I had a secret that I would not have trusted even to my fond sister. I had an indefinite feeling, besides, that I ought not to take her with me, so far from home, into a part of the country with which I was so little acquainted.
She appealed a second time.
“If mother will give her consent – ”
“Nonsense, Georgy – mamma will not be angry. Why return to the house? You see I am prepared; I have my sun-bonnet. We can be back before we are missed – you’ve told me it was not far.”
“Step in, sis! Sit down in the stern. There – yo ho! we are off!”
There was not much strength in the current, and half an hour’s rowing brought the skiff to the mouth of the creek. We entered it, and continued upward. It was a narrow stream, but sufficiently deep to float either skiff or canoe. The sun was hot, but his beams could not reach us; they were intercepted by the tupelo trees that grew upon the banks – their leafy branches almost meeting across the water.
Half a mile from the mouth of the creek, we approached a clearing. We saw fields under cultivation. We noticed crops of maize, and sweet potatoes, with capsicums, melons, and calabashes. There was a dwelling-house of considerable size near the bank, surrounded by an enclosure, with smaller houses in the rear. It was a log structure – somewhat antique in its appearance, with a portico, the pillars of which exhibited a rude carving. There were slaves at work in the field – that is, there were black men, and some red men too – Indians!
It could not be the plantation of a white man – there were none on that side the river. Some wealthy Indian, we conjectured, who is the owner of land and slaves. We were not surprised at this – we knew there were many such.
But where was the cabin of our friend? He had told me it stood upon the bank of the stream not more than half a mile from its mouth. Had we passed without seeing it? or was it still higher up?
“Shall we stop, and inquire, Virgine?”
“Who is it standing in the porch?”
“Ha! your eyes are better than mine, sis – it is the young Indian himself. Surely he does not live there? That is not a cabin. Perhaps he is on a visit? But see! he is coming this way.”
As I spoke, the Indian stepped out from the house, and walked rapidly towards us. In a few seconds, he stood upon the bank, and beckoned us to a landing. As when seen before, he was gaily dressed, with plumed “toque” upon his head, and garments richly embroidered. As he stood upon the bank above us, his fine form outlined against the sky, he presented the appearance of a miniature warrior. Though but a boy, he looked splendid and picturesque. I almost envied him his wild attire.
My sister seemed to look on him with admiration, though I thought I could trace some terror in her glance. From the manner in which her colour came and went, I fancied that his presence recalled that scene, and again I regretted that she had accompanied me.
He appeared unembarrassed by our arrival. I have known it otherwise among whites; and those, too, making pretensions to haut ton. This young Indian was as cool and collected as though he had been expecting us, which he was not. He could not have expected both.
There was no show of coldness in our reception. As soon as we approached near enough, he caught the stem of the skiff, drew her close up to the landing, and with the politeness of an accomplished gentleman, assisted us to debark.
“You are welcome,” said he – “welcome!” and then turning to Virginia with an inquiring look, he added:
“I hope the health of the señorita is quite restored. As for yours, sir, I need not inquire: that you have rowed your skiff so far against the current, is a proof you have got over your mishap.”
The word “señorita” betrayed a trace of the Spaniards – a remnant of those relations that had erewhile existed between the Seminole Indians and the Iberian race. Even in the costume of our new acquaintance could be observed objects of Andalusian origin – the silver cross hanging from his neck, the sash of scarlet silk around his waist, and the bright triangular blade that was sheathed behind it. The scene, too, had Spanish touches. There were exotic plants, the China orange, the splendid papaya, the capsicums (chilés), and love-apples (tomatoes); almost characteristics of the home of the Spanish colonist. The house itself exhibited traces of Castilian workmanship. The carving was not Indian.
“Is this your home?” I inquired with a little embarrassment.
He had bid us welcome, but I saw no cabin; I might be wrong.
His answer set me at rest. It was his home – his mother’s house – his father was long since dead – there were but the three – his mother, his sister, himself.
“And these?” I inquired, pointing to the labourers.
“Our slaves,” he replied, with a smile. “You perceive we Indians are getting into the customs of civilisation.”
“But these are not all negroes? There are red men; are they slaves?”
“Slaves like the others. I see you are astonished. They are not of our tribe – they are Yamassees. Our people conquered them long ago; and many of them still remain slaves.”
We had arrived at the house. His mother met us by the door – a woman of pure Indian race – who had evidently once possessed beauty. She was still agreeable to look upon – well-dressed, though in Indian costume – maternal – intelligent.
We entered – furniture – trophies of the chase – horse accoutrements in the Spanish style – a guitar – ha! books!
My sister and I were not a little surprised to find, under an Indian roof, these symbols of civilisation.
“Ah!” cried the youth, as if suddenly recollecting himself, “I am glad you are come. Your moccasins are finished. Where are they, mother? Where is she? Where is Maümee?”
He had given words to my thoughts – their very echo.
“Who is Maümee?” whispered Virgine.
“An Indian girl – his sister, I believe.”
“Yonder – she comes!”
A foot scarce a span in length; an ankle that, from the broidered flap of the moccasin, exhibits two lines widely diverging upward; a waist of that pleasing flexure that sweeps abruptly inward and out again; a bosom whose prominence could be detected under the coarsest draping; a face of rich golden brown; skin diaphanous; cheeks coral red; lips of like hue; dark eyes and brows; long crescent lashes; hair of deepest black, in wantonness of profusion!
Fancy such a form – fancy it robed in all the picturesque finery that Indian ingenuity can devise – fancy it approaching you with a step that rivals the steed of Arabia, and you may fancy – no, you may not fancy Maümee.
My poor heart – it was she, my wood-nymph!
I could have tarried long under the roof of that hospitable home; but my sister seemed ill at ease – as if there came always recurring to her the memory of that unhappy adventure.
We stayed but an hour; it seemed not half so long – but short as was the time, it transformed me into a man. As I rowed back home, I felt that my boy’s heart had been left behind me.
Chapter Sixteen
The Island
I longed to revisit the Indian home; and was not slow to gratify my wish. There was no restraint upon my actions. Neither father nor mother interfered with my daily wanderings: I came and went at will; and was rarely questioned as to the direction I had taken. Hunting was supposed to be the purpose of my absence. My dogs and gun, which I always took with me, and the game I usually brought back, answered all curiosity.
My hunting excursions were always in one direction – I need hardly have said so – always across the river. Again and again did the keel of my skiff cleave the waters of the creek – again and again, till I knew every tree upon its banks.
My acquaintance with young Powell soon ripened into a firm friendship. Almost daily were we together – either upon the lake or in the woods, companions in the chase; and many a deer and wild turkey did we slaughter in concert. The Indian boy was already a skilled hunter; and I learned many a secret of woodcraft in his company.
I well remember that hunting less delighted me than before. I preferred that hour when the chase was over, and I halted at the Indian house on my way home – when I drank the honey-sweetened conti out of the carved calabash – far sweeter from the hands out of which I received the cup – far sweeter from the smiles of her who gave it – Maümee.
For weeks – short weeks they seemed – I revelled in this young dream of love. Ah! it is true there is no joy in afterlife that equals this. Glory and power are but gratifications – love alone is bliss – purest and sweetest in its virgin bloom.
Often was Virginia my companion in these wild wood excursions. She had grown fond of the forest – she said so – and willingly went along. There were times when I should have preferred going alone; but I could not gainsay her. She had become attached to Maümee. I did not wonder.
Maümee, too, liked my sister – not from any resemblance of character. Physically, they were unlike as two young girls could well be. Virginia was all blonde and gold; Maümee, damask and dark. Intellectually they approached no nearer. The former was timid as the dove; the latter possessed a spirit bold as the falcon. Perhaps the contrast drew closer the ties of friendship that had sprung up between them. It is not an anomaly.
Far more like an anomaly was my feeling in relation to the two. I loved my sister for the very softness of her nature. I loved Maümee for the opposite; but, true, these loves were very distinct in kind – unlike as the objects that called them forth.
While young Powell and I hunted, our sisters stayed at home. They strolled about the fields, the groves, the garden. They played and sang and read, for Maümee – despite her costume – was no savage. She had books, a guitar, or rather a bandolin – a Spanish relic – and had been instructed in both. So far as mental cultivation went, she was fit society even for the daughter of a proud Randolph. Young Powell, too; was as well, or better educated than myself. Their father had not neglected his duty.
Neither Virginia nor I ever dreamed of an inequality. The association was by us desired and sought. We were both too young to know aught of caste. In our friendships we followed only the prompting of innocent nature; and it never occurred to us that we were going astray.
The girls frequently accompanied us into the forest; and to this we, the hunters, made no objection. We did not always go in quest of the wide-ranging stag. Squirrels and other small game were oftener the objects of our pursuit; and in following these we needed not to stray far from our delicate companions.
As for Maümee, she was a huntress – a bold equestrian, and could have ridden in the “drive.” As yet, my sister had scarcely been on horseback.
I grew to like the squirrel-shooting the best; my dogs were often left behind; and it became a rare thing for me to bring home venison.
Our excursions were not confined to the woods. The water-fowl upon the lake, the ibises, egrets, and white cranes, were often the victims of our hunting ardour.
In the lake, there was a beautiful island – not that which had been the scene of the tragedy, but one higher up – near the widening of the river. Its surface was of large extent, and rose to a summit in the centre. For the most part, it was clad with timber, nearly all evergreen – as the live-oak, magnolia, illicium, and the wild orage – indigenous to Florida. There was zanthoxylon trees, with their conspicuous yellow blossoms; the perfumed flowering dogwood, and sweet-scented plants and shrubs – the princely palm towering high over all, and forming, with its wide-spread umbels, a double canopy of verdure.
The timber, though standing thickly, did not form a thicket. Here and there, the path was tangled with epiphytes or parasites – with enormous gnarled vines of the fox-grape – with bignonias – with china and sarsaparilla briers – with bromilias and sweet-scented orchids; but the larger trees stood well apart; and at intervals there were openings – pretty glades, carpeted with grass, and enamelled with flowers.
The fair island lay about half-way between the two homes; and often young Powell and I met upon it, and made it the scene of our sport. There were squirrels among the trees, and turkeys – sometimes deer were found in the glades – and from its covered shores we could do execution among the water-fowl that sported upon the lake.
Several times had we met on this neutral ground, and always accompanied by our sisters. Both delighted in the lovely spot. They used to ascend the slope, and seat themselves under the shade of some tall palms that grew on the summit; while we, the hunters, remained in the game-frequented ground below, causing the woods to ring with the reports of our rifles. Then it was our custom, when satiated with the sport, also to ascend the hill, and deliver up our spoils, particularly when we had been fortunate enough to procure some rare and richly plumed bird – an object of curiosity or admiration.
For my part, whether successful or not, I always left off sooner than my companion. I was not so keen a hunter as he; I far more delighted to recline along the grass where the two maidens were seated: far sweeter than the sound of the rifle was it to listen to the tones of Maümee’s voice; far fairer than the sight of game was it to gaze into the eyes of Maümee.
And beyond this, beyond listening and looking, my love had never gone. No love-words had ever passed between us; I even knew not whether I was beloved.
My hours were not all blissful; the sky was not always of rose colour. The doubts that my youthful passion was returned were its clouds; and these often arose to trouble me.
About this time, I became unhappy from another cause. I perceived, or fancied, that Virginia took a deep interest in the brother of Maümee, and that this was reciprocated. The thought gave me surprise and pain. Yet why I should have experienced either, I could not tell. I have said that my sister and I were too young to know ought of the prejudices of rank or caste; but this was not strictly true. I must have had some instinct, that in this free association with our dark-skinned neighbours we were doing wrong, else how could it have made me unhappy? I fancied that Virginia shared this feeling with me. We were both ill at ease, and yet we were not confidants of each other. I dreaded to make known my thoughts even to my sister, and she no doubt felt a like reluctance to the disclosing of her secret.
What would be the result of these young loves if left to themselves? Would they in due time die out? Would there arrive an hour of satiety and change? or, without interruption would they become perpetual? Who knows what might be their fate, if permitted to advance to perfect development. But it is never so – they are always interrupted.
So were ours – the crisis came – and the sweet companionship in which we had been indulging was brought to a sudden close. We had never disclosed it to our father or mother, though we had used no craft to conceal it. We had not been questioned, else should we certainly have avowed it; for we had been taught strictly to regard truth. But no questions had been asked – no surprise had been expressed at our frequent absences. Mine, as a hunter, were but natural; the only wonderment was that Virginia had grown so found of the forest, and so often bore me company; but this slight surprise on the part of my mother soon wore off, and we went freely forth, and as freely returned, without challenge of our motives.
I have said that we used no art to conceal who were our associates in these wild wanderings. That again is not strictly true. Our very silence was craft. We must both have had some secret perception that we were acting wrongly – that our conduct would not meet the approval of our parents – else why should we have cared for concealment.
It was destined that this repose should not be of long continuance. It ended abruptly – somewhat harshly.
One day we were upon the island, all four as usual. The hunt was over, and Powell and I had rejoined our sisters upon the hill. We had stretched ourselves under the shade, and were indulging in trivial conversation, but I far more in the mute language of love. My eyes rested upon the object of my thoughts, too happy that my glances were returned. I saw little besides: I did not notice that there was a similar exchange of ardent looks between the young Indian and my sister. At that moment I cared not; I was indifferent to everything but the smiles of Maümee.
There were those who did observe the exchange of glances, who saw all that was passing. Anxious eyes were bent upon the tableau formed by the four of us, and our words, looks, and gestures were noted.
The dogs rose with a growl, and ran outward among the trees. The rustling branches, and garments shining through the foliage, warned us that there were people there. The dogs had ceased to give tongue, and were wagging their tails. They were friends, then, who were near.
The leaves sheltered them no longer from our view: behold my father – my mother!
Virginia and I were startled by their appearance. We felt some apprehension of evil – arising no doubt, from our own convictions that we had not been acting aright. We observed that the brows of both were clouded. They appeared vexed and angry.
My mother approached first. There was scorn upon her lips. She was proud of her ancestry, even more than the descendant of the Randolphs.
“What!” exclaimed she – “what, my children, these your companions? Indians?”
Young Powell rose to his feet, but said nothing in reply. His looks betrayed what he felt; and that he perfectly understood the slight.
With a haughty glance towards my father and mother, he beckoned to his sister to follow him, and walked proudly away.
Virginia and I were alarmed and speechless. We dared not say adieu.
We were hurried from the spot; and homeward Virginia went with my father and mother. There were others in the boat that had brought them to the island. There were blacks who rowed; but I saw white men there too. The Ringgolds – both father and son – were of the party.
I returned alone in the skiff. While crossing the lake, I looked up. The canoe was just entering the creek. I could see that the faces of the half-blood and his sister were turned towards us. I was watched, and dared not wave an adieu, although there was a sad feeling upon my heart – a presentiment that we were parting for long – perhaps for ever!
Alas! the presentiment proved a just one. In three days from that time I was on my way to the far north, where I was entered as a cadet in the military academy of West Point. My sister, too, was sent to one of those seminaries, in which the cities of the Puritan people abound. It was long, long before either of us again set eyes upon the flowery land.
