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

Chapter Fifty Nine
A Hasty Messenger

In the company of Hickman, I had walked off to some distance from the crowd, in order that our conversation should be unrestrained.

As the moments passed, the old hunter warmed into greater freedom of speech, and from his manner I fancied he had still other developments to make. I had firm faith in his devotion to our family – as well as in his personal friendship for myself – and once or twice I was on the eve of revealing to him the thoughts that rendered me unhappy. In experience, he was a sage, and although a rude one, he might be the best counsellor I could find. I knew no other who possessed half his knowledge of the world – for Hickman had not always lived among the alligators; on the contrary, he had passed through various phases of life. I could safely trust to his devotedness: with equal safety I might confide in the resources of his judgment.

Under this belief, I should have unburdened myself of the heavy secrets weighing upon my mind – of some of them at least – had it not been that I fancied he already knew some of them. With the re-appearance of Yellow Jake I knew him to be acquainted: he alleged that he had never felt sure about the mulatto’s death, and had heard long ago that he was alive; but it was not of him I was thinking, but of the designs of Arens Ringgold. Perhaps Hickman knew something of these. I noticed that when his name was mentioned in connection with those of Spence and Williams, he glanced towards me a look of strange significance, as if he had something to say of these wretches.

I was waiting for him to make a disclosure, when the footfall of a fast-going horse fell upon my ear. On looking up, I perceived a horseman coming down the bank of the river, and galloping as earnestly as if riding a “quarter-race.”

The horse was white, and the rider black; I recognised both at a glance; Jake was the horseman.

I stepped out from among the trees, in order that he should see me, and not pass on to the church that stood a little beyond. I hailed him as he advanced.

He both saw and heard me; and abruptly turning his horse, came galloping up to the spot where the old hunter and I were standing.

He was evidently upon an errand; but the presence of Hickman prevented him from declaring it aloud. It would not keep, however, and throwing himself from the saddle, he drew near me, and whispered it into my ear. It was just what I was expecting to hear – Arens Ringgold was at the house.

“That dam nigga am thar, Massr George.”

Such was literally Jake’s muttered announcement.

I received the communication with as much show of tranquillity as I could assume; I did not desire that Hickman should have any knowledge of its nature, nor even a suspicion that there was anything extraordinary upon the tapis; so dismissing the black messenger with a word, I turned away with the hunter; and walking back to the church enclosure, contrived to lose him in the crowd of his comrades.

Soon after, I released my horse from his fastening; and, without saying a word to any one – not even to Gallagher – I mounted, and moved quietly off.

I did not take the direct road that led to our plantation, but made a short circuit through some woods that skirted close to the church. I did this to mislead old Hickman or any other who might have noticed the rapid arrival of the messenger; and who, had I gone directly back with him, might have held guesses that all was not right at home. To prevent this, I appeared to curious eyes, to have gone in an opposite direction to the right one.

A little rough riding through the bushes brought me out into the main up-river road; and then, sinking the spur, I galloped as if life or death were staked upon the issue. My object in making such haste was simply to get to the house in time, before the clandestine visitor – welcome guest of mother and sister – should make his adieus.

Strong reasons as I had for hating this man, I had no sanguinary purpose; it was not my design to kill Arens Ringgold – though such might have been the most proper mode to dispose of a reptile so vile and dangerous as he. Knowing him as I did, freshly spurred to angry passion by Hickman’s narrative of his atrocious behaviour, I could at that moment have taken his life without fear of remorse.

But although I felt fierce indignation, I was yet neither mad nor reckless. Prudential motives – the ordinary instinct of self-safety – still had their influence over me; and I had no intention to imitate the last act in the tragedy of Samson’s life.

The programme I had sketched out for myself was of a more rational character.

My design was to approach the house – if possible, unobserved – the drawing-room as well – where of course the visitor would be found – an abrupt entrée upon the scene – both guest and hosts taken by surprise – the demand of an explanation from all three – a complete clearing-up of this mysterious imbroglio of our family relations, that was so painfully perplexing me. Face to face, I should confront the triad – mother, sister, wooer – and force all three to confession.

“Yes!” soliloquised I, with the eagerness of my intention driving the spur into the flanks of my horse – “Yes – confess they shall – they must – one and all, or – ”

With the first two I could not define the alternative; though some dark design, based upon the slight of filial and fraternal love, was lurking within my bosom.

For Ringgold, should he refuse to give the truth, my resolve was first to “cowhide” him, then kick him out of doors, and finally command him never again to enter the house – the house, of which henceforth I was determined to be master.

As for etiquette, that was out of the question; at that hour, my soul was ill attuned to the observance of delicate ceremony. No rudeness could be amiss, in dealing with the man who had tried to murder me.

Chapter Sixty
A Lover’s Gift

As I have said, it was my design to make an entrance unobserved; consequently, it was necessary to observe caution in approaching the house. To this end, as I drew near the plantation, I turned off the main road into a path that led circuitously by the rear. This path would conduct me by the hommock, the bathing-pond, and the orange-groves, without much danger of my approach being noticed by any one. The slaves at work within the enclosures could see me as I rode through the grounds; but these were the “field-hands.” Unless seen by some of the domestics, engaged in household affairs, I had no fear of being announced.

My messenger had not gone directly back; I had ordered him to await me in an appointed place, and there I found him.

Directing him to follow me, I kept on; and having passed through the fields, we rode into the thick underwood of the hommock, where halting, we dismounted from our horses. From this point I proceeded alone.

As the hunter steals upon the unexpecting game, or the savage upon his sleeping foe, did I approach the house – my home, my father’s home, the home of mother and sister. Strange conduct in a son and a brother – a singular situation.

My limbs trembled under me as I advanced, my knees knocked together, my breast was agitated by a tumult of wild emotions. Once I hesitated and halted. The prospect of the unpleasant scene I was about to produce stayed me. My resolution was growing weak and undecided.

Perhaps I might have gone back – perhaps I might have waited another opportunity, when I might effect my purpose by a less violent development – but just then voices fell upon my ear, the effect of which was to strengthen my wavering resolves. My sister’s voice was ringing in laughter, that sounded light and gay. There was another – only one. I easily recognised the squeaking treble of her despicable suitor. The voices remaddened me – the tones stung me, as if they had been designedly uttered in mockery of myself. How could she behave thus? how riot in joy, while I was drooping under dark suspicions of her misbehaviour?

Piqued as well as pained, I surrendered all thought of honourable action; I resolved to carry through my design, but first – to play the listener.

I drew nearer, and heard clearer. The speakers were not in the house, but outside, by the edge of the orange grove. Softly treading, gently parting the boughs, now crouching beneath them, now gliding erect, I arrived unobserved within six paces of where they stood – near enough to perceive their dresses glistening through the leaves – to hear every word that passed between them.

Not many had been spoken, before I perceived that I had arrived at a peculiar moment – a crisis. The lover had just offered himself for a husband – had, perhaps for the first time, seriously made his declaration. In all probability it was this had been eliciting my sister’s laughter.

“And really, Mr Ringgold, you wish to make me your wife? You are in earnest in what you have said?”

“Nay, Miss Randolph, do not mock me; you know for how many years I have been devoted to you.”

“Indeed, I do not. How could I know that?”

“By my words. Have I not told you so a hundred times?”

“Words! I hold words of little value in a matter of this kind. Dozens have talked to me as you, who, I suppose, cared very little about me. The tongue is a great trifler, Mr Arens.”

“But my actions prove my sincerity. I have offered you my hand and my fortune; is not that a sufficient proof of devotion?”

“No, silly fellow; nothing of the sort. Were I to become your wife, the fortune would still remain your own. Besides, I have some little fortune myself, and that would come under your control. So you see the advantage would be decidedly in your favour. Ha, ha, ha!”

“Nay, Miss Randolph; I should not think of controlling yours; and if you will accept my hand – ”

“Your hand, sir? If you would win a woman, you should offer your heart– hearts, not hands, for me.”

“You know that is yours already; and has been for long years: all the world knows it.”

“You must have told the world, then; and I don’t like it a bit.”

“Really, you are too harsh with me: you have had many proofs of how long and devotedly I have admired you. I would have declared myself long since, and asked you to become my wife – ”

“And why did you not?”

Ringgold hesitated.

“The truth is, I was not my own master – I was under the control of my father.”

“Indeed?”

“That exists no longer. I can now act as I please; and, dearest Miss Randolph, if you will but accept my hand – ”

“Your hand again! Let me tell you, sir, that this hand of yours has not the reputation of being the most open one. Should I accept it, it might prove sparing of pin-money. Ha, ha, ha!”

“I am aspersed by enemies. I swear to you, that in that sense you should have no cause to complain of my liberality.”

“I am not so sure of that, notwithstanding the oath you would take. Promises made before marriage are too often broken after. I would not trust you, my man – not I, i’ faith.”

“But you can trust me, I assure you.”

“You cannot assure me; besides, I have had no proofs of your liberality in the past. Why, Mr Ringgold, you never made me a present in your life. Ha, ha, ha!”

“Had I known you would have accepted one – it would gratify me – Miss Randolph, I would give you anything I possess.”

“Good! Now, I shall put you to the test: you shall make me a gift.”

“Name it – it shall be yours.”

“Oh, you fancy I am going to ask you for some trifling affair – a horse, a poodle, or some bit of glittering bijouterie. Nothing of the sort, I assure you.”

“I care not what. I have offered you my whole fortune, and therefore will not hesitate to give you a part of it. Only specify what you may desire, and I shall freely give it.”

“That sounds liberal indeed. Very well, then, you have something I desire to possess – and very much desire it – in truth, I have taken a fancy to be its owner, and had some designs of making offers to you for the purchase of it.”

“What can you mean, Miss Randolph?”

“A plantation.”

“A plantation!”

“Exactly so. Not your own, but one of which you are the proprietor.”

“Ah!”

“I mean that which formerly belonged to a family of half-bloods upon Tupelo Creek. Your father purchased it from them, I believe!”

I noted the emphasis upon the word “purchased.” I noted hesitation and some confusion in the reply.

“Yes – yes,” said he; “it was so. But you astonish me, Miss Randolph. Why care you for this, when you shall be mistress of all I possess?”

“That is my affair. I do care for it. I may have many reasons. That piece of ground is a favourite spot with me; it is a lovely place – I often go there. Remember, my brother is owner here – he is not likely to remain a bachelor all his life – and my mother may desire to have a home of her own. But no; I shall give you no reasons; make the gift or not, as you please.”

“And if I do, you will – ”

“Name conditions, and I will not accept it – not if you ask me on your knees. Ha, ha, ha!”

“I shall make none, then: if you will accept it, it is yours.”

“Ah, that is not all, Master Arens. You might take it back just as easily as you have given it. How am I to be sure that you would not? I must have the deeds.”

“You shall have them.”

“And when?”

“Whenever you please – within the hour, if you desire it.”

“I do, then. Go, get them! But remember, sir, I make no conditions – remember that?”

“Oh,” exclaimed the overjoyed lover, “I make none. I have no fears: I leave all to you. In an hour, you shall have them. Adieu!”

And so saying, he made a hurried departure.

I was so astonished by the nature of this dialogue – so taken by surprise at its odd ending – that for a time I could not stir from the spot. Not until Ringgold had proceeded to some distance did I recover self-possession; and then I hesitated what course to pursue – whether to follow him, or permit him to depart unmolested.

Virginia had gone away from the ground, having glided silently back into the house. I was even angrier with her than with him; and, obedient to this impulse, I left Ringgold to go free, and went straight for an explanation with my sister.

It proved a somewhat stormy scene. I found her in the drawing-room in company with my mother. I stayed for no circumlocution; I listened to no denial or appeal, but openly announced to both the character of the man who had just left the house – openly declared him my intended murderer.

“Now, Virginia! sister! will you marry this man?” “Never, George – never! I never intended it – Never!” she repeated emphatically, as she sank upon the sofa, burying her face in her hands.

My mother was incredulous – even yet incredulous!

I was proceeding to the proofs of the astounding declaration I had made, when I heard my name loudly pronounced outside the window: some one was calling me in haste.

I ran out upon the verandah to inquire what was wanted.

In front was a man on horseback, in blue uniform, with yellow facings – a dragoon. He was an orderly, a messenger from the fort. He was covered with dust, his horse was in a lather of sweat and foam. The condition of both horse and man showed that they had been going for hours at top-speed.

The man handed me a piece of paper – a dispatch hastily scrawled. It was addressed to Gallagher and myself. I opened and read:

“Bring on your men to Fort King as fast as their horses can carry them. The enemy is around us in numbers; every rifle is wanted – lose not a moment. Clinch.”

Chapter Sixty One
The Route

The dispatch called for instant obedience. Fortunately my horse was still under the saddle, and in less than five minutes I was upon his back, and galloping for the volunteer camp.

Among these eager warriors, the news produced a joyous excitement, expressed in a wild hurrah. Enthusiasm supplied the place of discipline; and, in less than half an hour, the corps was accoutred and ready for the road.

There was nothing to cause delay. The command to march was given; the bugle sounded the “forward,” and the troop filing “by twos,” into a long somewhat irregular line, took the route for Fort King.

I galloped home to say adieu. It was a hurried leave-taking – less happy than my last – but I rode away with more contentment, under the knowledge that my sister was now warned, and there was no longer any danger of an alliance with Arens Ringgold.

The orderly who brought the dispatch rode back with the troop. As we marched along, he communicated the camp-news, and rumours in circulation at the fort. Many events had occurred, of which we had not heard. The Indians had forsaken their towns, taking with them their wives, children, cattle, and chattels. Some of their villages they had themselves fired, leaving nothing for their pale-faced enemies to destroy. This proved a determination to engage in a general war, had other proofs of this disposition been wanting. Whither they had gone, even our spies had been unable to find out. It was supposed by some that they had moved farther south, to a more distant part of the peninsula. Others alleged that they had betaken themselves to the great swamp that stretches for many leagues around the head-waters of the Amazura river, and known as the “Cove of the Ouithlacoochee.”

This last conjecture was the more likely, though so secretly and adroitly had they managed their migration, that not a trace of the movement could be detected. The spies of the friendly Indians – the keenest that could be employed – were unable to discover their retreat. It was supposed that they intended to act only on the defensive – that is, to make plundering forays on whatever quarter was left unguarded by troops, and then retire with their booty to the fastnesses of the swamp. Their conduct up to this time had rendered the supposition probable enough. In such case, the war might not be so easily brought to a termination! in other words, there might be no war at all, but a succession of fruitless marches and pursuits; for it was well enough understood that if the Indians did not choose to stand before us in action, we should have but little chance of overhauling them in their retreat.

The fear of the troops was, that their adversaries would “take to the cover,” where it would be difficult, if not altogether impossible, to find them.

However, this state of things could not be perpetual; the Indians could not always subsist upon plunder, where the booty must be every day growing less. They were too numerous for a mere band of robbers, though there existed among the whites a very imperfect idea of their numbers. Estimates placed them at from one to five thousand souls – runaway negroes included – and even the best informed frontiersmen could give only rude guesses on this point. For my part, I believed that there were more than a thousand warriors, even after the defection of the traitor clans; and this was the opinion of one who knew them well – old Hickman the hunter.

How, then, were so many to find subsistence in the middle of a morass? Had they been provident, and there accumulated a grand commissariat? No: this question could at once be answered in the negative. It was well-known that the contrary was the case – for in this year the Seminoles were without even their usual supply. Their removal had been urged in the spring; and, in consequence of the doubtful prospect before them, many had planted little – some not at all. The crop, therefore, was less than in ordinary years; and previous to the final council at Fort King, numbers of them had been both buying and begging food from the frontier citizens.

What likelihood, then, of finding subsistence throughout a long campaign? They would be starved out of their fortresses – they must come out, and either stand fight, or sue for peace. So people believed.

This topic was discoursed as we rode along. It was one of primary interest to all young warriors thirsting for fame – inasmuch as, should the enemy determine to pursue so inglorious a system of warfare, where were the laurels to be plucked? A campaign in the miasmatic and pestilential climate of the swamps was more likely to yield a luxuriant crop of cypresses.

Most hoped, and hence believed, that the Indians would soon grow hungry, and shew themselves in a fair field of fight.

There were different opinions as to the possibility of their subsisting themselves for a lengthened period of time. Some – and these were men best acquainted with the nature of the country – expressed their belief that they could. The old alligator-hunter was of this way of thinking.

“Thuv got,” said he, “that ere durned brier wi’ the big roots they calls ‘coonty’ (Smilax pseudo-china); it grows putty nigh all over the swamp, an’ in some places as thick as a cane-brake. It ur the best o’ eatin’, an’ drinkin’ too, for they make a drink o’ it. An’ then thar’s the acorns o’ the live-oak – them ain’t such bad eatin’, when well roasted i’ the ashes. They may gather thousands of bushels, I reckon. An’ nixt thar’s the cabbidge in the head o’ the big palmetter; thet ere’ll gi’ them greens. As to their meat, thar’s deer, an’ thar’s bar – a good grist o’ them in the swamp – an’ thares allaygatur, a tol’ably goodish wheen o’ them varmint, I reckon – to say nothin o’ turtle, an’ turkey, an’ squirrels an’ snakes, an’ sandrats, for, durn a red skin! he kin eat anythin’ that crawls – from a punkin to a polecat. Don’t you b’lieve it, fellars. Them ere Injuns aint a gwine to starve, s’easy as you think for. Thu’ll hold out by thar teeth an’ toe-nails, jest so long as thar’s a eatable thing in the darnationed swamp – that’s what thu’ll do.”

This sage reasoning produced conviction in the minds of those who heard it. After all, the dispersed enemy might not be so helpless as was generally imagined.

The march of the volunteers was not conducted in a strict military style. It was so commenced; but the officers soon found it impossible to carry out the “tactics.” The men, especially the younger ones, could not be restrained from occasionally falling out of the lines – to help themselves to a pull out of some odd-looking flask; and at intervals one would gallop off into the woods, in hopes of getting a shot at a deer or a turkey he had caught a glimpse of through the trees.

Reasoning with these fellows, on the part of their officers, proved rather a fruitless affair; and getting angry with them was only to elicit a sulky rejoinder.

Sergeant Hickman was extremely wroth with some of the offenders.

“Greenhorns!” he exclaimed; “darnationed greenhorns! let ’em go on at it. May a allaygatur eet me, if they don’t behave diff’rent by-’m-by. I’ll stake my critter agin any hoss in the crowd, that some o’ them ere fellars’ll get sculped afore sundown; durned if they don’t.”

No one offered to take the old hunter’s bet, and fortunately for them, as his words proved prophetic.

A young planter, fancying himself as safe as if riding through his own sugar-canes, had galloped off from the line of march. A deer, seen browsing in the savanna, offered an attraction too strong to be resisted.

He had not been gone five minutes – had scarcely passed out of sight of his comrades – when two shots were heard in quick succession; and the next moment, his riderless horse came galloping back to the troop.

The line was halted, and faced in the direction whence the shots had been heard. An advance party moved forward to the ground. No enemy was discovered, nor the traces of any, except those exhibited in the dead body of the young planter, that lay perforated with a brace of bullets just as it had fallen out of the saddle.

It was a lesson – though an unpleasant one to his comrades – and after this, there were no more attempts at deer-stalking. The man was buried on the spot where he lay, and with the troop more regularly and compactly formed – now an easier duty for its officers – we continued the march unmolested, and before sunset were within the stockade of the fort.