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

Chapter Sixty Eight
A Victory Ending in a Retreat

I saw not the speaker, who was completely hidden behind the thick trellis of leaves. It was not necessary I should see him, to know who addressed me; on hearing the voice I instantly recognised it. It was Osceola who spoke.

I cannot describe my sensations at that moment, nor tell exactly how I acted. My mind was in a chaos of confusion – surprise and fear mingling alike in my emotions.

I remember facing once more towards my followers. I saw that they were not all dead – some were still lying where they had fallen, doubled up, or stretched out in various attitudes of death – motionless – beyond doubt, lifeless. Some still moved, their cries for help showing that life was not extinct.

To my joy, I observed several who had regained their feet, and were running, or rather scrambling, rapidly away from the ground; and still another few who had risen into half-erect attitudes, and were crawling off upon their hands and knees.

These last were still being fired upon from the bushes; and as I stood wavering, I saw one or two of them levelled along the grass by the fatal bullets that rained thickly around me.

Among the wounded who lay at my feet, there was a young fellow whom I knew. He appeared to be shot through both limbs, and could not move his body from the spot. His appeal to me for help was the first thing that aroused me from my indecision; I remembered that this young man had once done me a service.

Almost mechanically, I bent down, grasped him around the waist, and raising his body, commenced dragging him away.

With my burden I hurried back across the isthmus – as fast as my strength would permit – nor did I stop till beyond the range of the Indian rifles. Here I was met by a party of soldiers, sent to cover our retreat. In their hands I left my disabled comrade, and hastened onward to deliver my melancholy report to the commander-in-chief.

My tale needed no telling. Our movement had been watched, and our discomfiture was already known throughout the whole army.

The general said not a word; and, without giving time for explanation, ordered me to another part of the field.

All blamed his imprudence in having ordered such a desperate charge – especially with so small a force. For myself, I had gained the credit of a bold leader; but how I chanced to be the only one, who came back unscathed out of that deadly fire, was a puzzle which at that moment I did not choose to explain.

For an hour or more the fight continued to be carried on, in the shape of a confused skirmish among swamps and trees, without either party gaining any material advantage. Each held the position it had taken up – though the Indians retained the freedom of the forest beyond. To have retired from ours, would have been the ruin of the whole army; since there was no other mode of retreat, but by recrossing the stream, and that could only have been effected under the fire of the enemy.

And yet to hold our position appeared equally ruinous. We could effect nothing by being thus brought to a stand-still, for we were actually besieged upon the bank of the river. We had vainly endeavoured to force the Indians from the bush. Having once failed, a second attempt to cut our way through them would be a still more perilous emprise; and yet to remain stationary had also its prospects of danger. With scanty provisions, the troops had marched out of their cantonments. Their rations were already exhausted – hunger stared the army in the face. Its pangs were already felt, and every hour would render them more severe.

We began to believe that we were besieged; and such was virtually the fact. Around us in a semi-circle swarmed the savages, each behind his protecting tree – thus forming a defensive line equal in strength to a fortified intrenchment. Such could not be forced, without the certainty of great slaughter among our men.

We perceived, too, that the number of our enemies was hourly increasing. A peculiar cry – which some of the old “Indian fighters” understood – heard at intervals, betokened the arrival of fresh parties of the foe. We felt the apprehension that we were being outnumbered, and might soon be overpowered. A gloomy feeling was fast spreading itself through the ranks.

During the skirmishes that had already occurred, we noticed that many of the Indians were armed with fusils and muskets. A few were observed in uniform, with military accoutrements! One – a conspicuous leader – was still more singularly attired. From his shoulders was suspended a large silken flag, after the fashion of a Spanish cloak of the times of the conquistadores. Its stripes of alternate red and white, with the blue starry field at the corner, were conspicuous. Every eye in the army looked upon it, and recognised in the fantastic draping, thus tauntingly displayed, the loved flag of our country.

These symbols were expressive. They did not puzzle us. Their presence among our enemies was easily explained. The flag, the muskets and fusils, the uniforms and equipments, were trophies from the battle-field where Dade had fallen.

Though the troops regarded these objects with bitter indignation, their anger was impotent: the hour for avenging the disastrous fate of their comrades had not yet arrived.

It is not improbable we might have shared their destiny, had we remained much longer upon the ground; but a plan of retreat offered, of which our general was not loath to take advantage. It was the happy idea of a volunteer officer – an old campaigner of the “Hickory” wars – versed in the tactics of Indian fighting.

By his advice, a feint was made by the troops who had not yet crossed – the volunteers. It was a pretended attempt to effect the passage of the river at a point higher up stream. It was good strategy. Had such a passage been possible, it would have brought the enemy between two fires, and thus put an end to the “surround;” but a crossing was not intended – only a ruse.

It had the effect designed; the Indians were deceived by it, and rushed in a body up the bank to prevent the attempt at crossing. Our beleaguered force took advantage of their temporary absence; and the “regulars,” making an adroit use of the time, succeeded in getting back to the “safe side” of the river. The wily foe was too prudent to follow us; and thus ended the “battle of the Ouithlacoochee.”

In the hurried council that was held, there was no two opinions as to what course of action we should pursue. The proposal to march back to Fort King was received with a wonderful unanimity; and, with little loss of time, we took the route, and arrived without farther molestation at the fort.

Chapter Sixty Nine
Another “Swamp-Fight.”

After this action, a complete change was observed in the spirit of the army. Boasting was heard no more; and the eagerness of the troops to be led against the enemy was no longer difficult to restrain. No one expressed desire for a second expedition across the Ouithlacoochee, and the “Cove” was to remain unexplored until the arrival of reinforcements. The volunteers were disheartened, wearied of the campaign, and not a little cowed by the resistance they had so unexpectedly encountered – bold and bloody as it was unlooked for. The enemy, hitherto despised, if it had aroused by its conduct a strong feeling of exasperation and vengeance, had also purchased the privilege of respect.

The battle of the Ouithlacoochee cost the United States army nearly a hundred men. The Seminole loss was believed to be much greater; though no one could give a better authority for this belief than that of a “guess.” No one had seen the enemy’s slain; but this was accounted for by the assertion, that during the fight they had carried their dead and wounded from the field!

How often has this absurd allegation appeared in the dispatches of generals both victorious and defeated! It is the usual explanation of a battle-field found too sparsely strewn by the bodies of the foe. The very possibility of such an operation argues either an easy conflict, or a strong attachment between comrade and comrade – too strong, indeed, for human nature. With some fighting experience, I can affirm that I never saw a dead body, either of comrade or foeman, moved from the ground where he had fallen, so long as there was a shot ringing upon the ear.

In the battle of the Ouithlacoochee, no doubt some of our enemies had “bit the dust;” but their loss was much less than that of our own troops. For myself – and I had ample opportunity for observation – I could not swear to a single “dead Indian;” nor have I met with a comrade who could.

Notwithstanding this, historians have chronicled the affair as a grand “victory,” and the dispatch of the commander-in-chief is still extant – a curious specimen of warlike literature. In this document may be found the name of almost every officer engaged, each depicted as a peerless hero! A rare monument of vanity and boasting.

To speak the honest truth, we had been well “whipped” by the red skins; and the chagrin of the army was only equalled by its exasperation.

Clinch, although esteemed a kind general – the “soldier’s friend,” as historians term him – was no longer regarded as a great warrior. His glory had departed. If Osceola owed him any spite, he had reason to be satisfied with what he had accomplished, without molesting the “old veteran” further. Though still living, he was dead to fame.

A fresh commander-in-chief now made his appearance, and hopes of victory were again revived. The new general was Gaines, another of the “veterans” produced by seniority of rank. He had not been ordered by the Government upon this especial duty; but Florida being part of his military district, had volunteered to take the guidance of the war.

Like his predecessor, Gaines expected to reap a rich harvest of laurels, and, like the former, was he doomed to disappointment. Again, it was the cypress wreath.

Without delay, our army – reinforced by fresh troops from Louisiana and elsewhere – was put in motion, and once more marched upon the “Cove.”

We reached the banks of the Amazura, but never crossed that fatal stream – equally fatal to our glory as our lives. This time, the Indians crossed.

Almost upon the ground of the former action – with the difference that it was now upon the nether bank of the stream – we were attacked by the red warriors; and, after some hours of sharp skirmishing, compelled to shelter our proud battalions within the protecting pickets of a stockade! Within this inclosure we were besieged for a period of nine days, scarcely daring to trust ourselves outside the wooden walls. Starvation no longer stared us in the face – it had actually come upon us; and but for the horses we had hitherto bestrode – with whose flesh we were fain to satisfy the cravings of our appetites – one half the army of “Camp Izard” would have perished of hunger.

We were saved from destruction by the timely arrival of a large force that had been dispatched to our rescue under Clinch, still commanding his brigade. Having marched direct from Fort King, our former general had the good fortune to approach the enemy from their rear, and, by surprising our besiegers, disentangled us from our perilous situation.

The day of our delivery was memorable by a singular incident – an armistice of a peculiar character.

Early in the morning, while it was yet dark, a voice was heard hailing us from a distance, in a loud “Ho there! – Halloa!”

It came from the direction of the enemy – since we were surrounded, it could not be otherwise – but the peculiar phraseology led to the hope that Clinch’s brigade had arrived.

The hail was repeated, and answered; but the hope of a rescue vanished when the stentorian voice was recognised as that of Abram, the black chief, and quondam interpreter of the council.

“What do you want?” was the interrogatory ordered by the commander-in-chief.

“A talk,” came the curt reply.

“For what purpose?”

“We want to stop fighting.”

The proposal was agreeable as unexpected. What could it mean? Were the Indians starring, like ourselves, and tired of hostilities? It was probable enough: for what other reason should they desire to end the war so abruptly? They had not yet been defeated, but, on the contrary, victorious in every action that had been fought.

But one other motive could be thought of. We were every hour expecting the arrival of Clinch’s brigade. Runners had reached the camp to say that he was near, and, reinforced by it, we should be not only strong enough to raise the siege, but to attack the Indians with almost a certainty of defeating them. Perhaps they knew, as well as we, that Clinch was advancing, and were desirous of making terms before his arrival.

The proposal for a “talk” was thus accounted for by the commander-in-chief, who was now in hopes of being able to strike a decisive blow. His only apprehension was, that the enemy should retreat, before Clinch could get forward upon the field. An armistice would serve to delay the Indians upon the ground; and without hesitation, the distant speaker was informed that the talk would be welcome.

A meeting of parlementaires from each side was arranged; the hour, as soon as it should be light. There were to be three of the Indians, and three from the camp.

A small savanna extended from the stockade. At several hundred yards’ distance it was bounded by the woods. As soon as the day broke, we saw three men emerge from the timber, and advance into the open ground. They were Indian chiefs in full costume; they were the commissioners. All three were recognised from the camp – Abram, Coa Hajo, and Osceola.

Outside musket-range, they halted, placing themselves side by side in erect attitudes, and facing the inclosure.

Three officers, two of whom could speak the native tongue, were sent forth to meet them. I was one of the deputation.

In a few seconds we stood face to face with the hostile chiefs.

Chapter Seventy
The Talk

Before a word was uttered, all six of us shook hands – so far as appearance went, in the most friendly manner. Osceola grasped mine warmly; as he did so, saying with a peculiar smile:

“Ah, Randolph! friends sometimes meet in war as well as in peace.”

I knew to what he referred, but could only answer him with a significant look of gratitude.

An orderly, sent to us with a message from the general, was seen approaching from the camp. At the same instant, an Indian appeared coming out of the timber, and, keeping pace with the orderly, simultaneously with the latter arrived upon the ground. The deputation was determined we should not outnumber it.

As soon as the orderly had whispered his message, the “talk began.”

Abram was the spokesman on the part of the Indians, and delivered himself in his broken English. The others merely signified their assent by a simple nod, or the affirmation “Ho;” while their negative was expressed by the exclamation “Cooree.”

“Do you white folk want to make peace?” abruptly demanded the negro.

“Upon what terms?” asked the head of our party.

“Da tarms we gib you are dese: you lay down arm, an’ stop de war; your sogas go back, an’ stay in dar forts: we Indyen cross ober da Ouithlacoochee; an’ from dis time forth, for ebber after, we make the grand ribber da line o’ boundary atween de two. We promise lib in peace an’ good tarms wi’ all white neighbour. Dat’s all got say.”

“Brothers!” said our speaker in reply, “I fear these conditions will not be accepted by the white general, nor our great father, the president. I am commissioned to say, that the commander-in-chief can treat with you on no other conditions than those of your absolute submission, and under promise that you will now agree to the removal.”

“Cooree! cooree! never!” haughtily exclaimed Coa Hajo and Osceola in one breath, and with a determined emphasis, that proved they had no intention of offering to surrender.

“An’ what for we submit,” asked the black, with some show of astonishment. “We not conquered! We conquer you ebbery fight – we whip you people, one, two, tree time – we whip you; dam! we kill you well too. What for we submit? We come here gib condition – not ask um.”

“It matters little what has hitherto transpired,” observed the officer in reply; “we are by far stronger than you – we must conquer you in the end.”

Again the two chiefs simultaneously cried “Cooree!”

“May be, white men, you make big mistake ’bout our strength. We not so weak you tink for – dam! no. We show you our strength.”

As the negro said this, he turned inquiringly towards his comrades, as if to seek their assent to some proposition.

Both seemed to grant it with a ready nod; and Osceola, who now assumed the leadership of the affair, faced towards the forest, at the same time giving utterance to a loud and peculiar intonation.

The echoes of his voice had not ceased to vibrate upon the air, when the evergreen grove was observed to be in motion along: its whole edge; and the next instant, a line of dusky warriors shewed itself in the open ground. They stepped forth a pace or two, then halted in perfect order of battle – so that their numbers could easily be told off from where we stood.

“Count the red warriors!” cried Osceola, in a triumphant tone – “count them, and be no longer ignorant of the strength of your enemy.”

As the Indian uttered these words, a satirical smile played upon his lips; and he stood for some seconds confronting us in silence.

“Now,” continued he, once more pointing to his followers, “do yonder braves – there are fifteen hundred of them – do they look starving and submissive? No! they are ready to continue the war till the blood of the last man sinks into the soil of his native land. If they must perish, it will be here – here in Florida – in the land of their birth, upon the graves of their fathers.

“We have taken up the rifle because you wronged us, and would drive us out. For the wrongs we have had revenge. We have killed many of your people, and we are satisfied with the vengeance we have taken. We want to kill no more. But about the removal, we have not changed our minds. We shall never change them.

“We have made you a fair proposition: accept it, and in this hour the war shall cease; reject it, and more blood shall be spilled – ay, by the spirit of Wykomé! rivers of blood shall flow. The red poles of our lodges shall be painted again and again with the blood of our pale-faced foes. Peace or war, then – you are welcome to your choice.”

As Osceola ceased speaking, he waved his hand towards his dusky warriors by the wood, who at the sign disappeared among the trees, silently, rapidly, almost mysteriously.

A meet reply was being delivered to the passionate harangue of the young chief, when the speaker was interrupted by the report of musketry, heard in the direction of the Indians, but further off. The shots followed each other in rapid succession, and were accompanied by shouts, that, though feebly borne from the far distance, could be distinguished as the charging cheers of men advancing into a battle.

“Ha! foul play!” cried the chiefs in a breath; “pale-faced liars! you shall rue this treason;” and, without waiting to exchange another sentence, all three sprang off from the spot, and ran at full speed towards the covert of the woods.

We turned back within the lines of the camp, where the shots had also been heard, and interpreted as the advance of Clinch’s brigade attacking the Indian outposts in the rear. We found the troops already mustered in battle-array, and preparing to issue forth from the stockade. In a few minutes, the order was given, and the army marched forth, extending itself rapidly both right and left along the bank of the river.

As soon as the formation was complete, the line advanced. The troops were burning for revenge. Cooped up as they had been for days, half-famished, and more than half disgraced, they had now an opportunity to retrieve their honour; and were fully bent upon the punishment of the savage foe. With an army in their rear, rapidly closing upon them by an extended line – for this had been pre-arranged between the commanders – another similarly advancing upon their front, how could the Indians escape? They must fight – they would be conquered at last.

This was the expectation of all – officers and soldiers. The commander-in-chief was himself in high spirits. His strategic plan had succeeded. The enemy was surrounded – entrapped; a great victory was before him – a “harvest of laurels.”

We marched forward. We heard shots, but now only solitary or straggling. We could not hear the well-known war-cry of the Indians.

We continued to advance. The hommocks were carried by a charge, but in their shady coverts we found no enemy.

Surely they must still be before us – between our lines and those of the approaching reinforcement? Is it possible they can have retreated – escaped?

No! Yonder they are – on the other side of the meadow – just coming out from the trees. They are advancing to give us battle! Now for the charge – now —

Ha! those blue uniforms and white belts – those forage-caps and sabres – these are not Indians! It is not the enemy! They are our friends – the soldiers of Clinch’s brigade!

Fortunate it was that at that moment there was a mutual recognition, else might we have annihilated one another.