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Osceola the Seminole: or, The Red Fawn of the Flower Land
Chapter Eighty Four
A Dead Shot by Jake
For fall two hours this singular conflict was continued, without any material change in the disposition of the combatants. Now and then an odd man might be seen darting from tree to tree, with a velocity as if projected from a howitzer – his object either to find a trunk that would afford better cover to his own body, or a point that would uncover the body – or a portion of it – of some marked antagonist.
The trunks were barely thick enough to screen us; some kept on their feet, taking the precaution to make themselves as “small” as possible, by standing rigidly erect, and keeping their bodies carefully aligned. Others, perceiving that the pines “bulged” a little at the roots, had thrown themselves flat upon their faces, and in this attitude continued to load and fire.
The sun was long since ascending the heavens – for it had been near sunrise when the conflict began. There was no obscurity to hide either party from the view of the other, though in this the Indians had a slight advantage on account of the opening in our rear. But even in the depth of the forest there was light enough for our purpose. Many of the dead fascicles had fallen – the ground was deeply bedded with them – and those that still drooped overhead formed but a gauzy screen against the brilliant beams of the sun. There was light sufficient to enable our marksmen to “sight” any object as large as a dollar piece, that chanced to be within range of their rifles. A hand – a portion of an arm – a leg badly aligned – a jaw bone projecting outside the bark – a pair of shoulders too brawny for the trunk that should have concealed them – even the outstanding skirt of a dress, was sure to draw a shot – perhaps two – from one side or the other. A man to have exposed his full face for ten seconds would have been almost certain of receiving a bullet through his skull, for on both sides there were sharpshooters.
Thus two hours had passed, and without any great injury received or inflicted by either party. There were some “casualties,” however, and every now and then a fresh incident added to the number, and kept up the hostile excitement. We had several wounded – one or two severely – and one man killed. The latter was a favourite with our men, and his death strengthened their desire for vengeance.
The Indian loss must have been greater. We had seen several fall to our shots. In our party were some of the best marksmen in Florida. Hickman was heard to declare he “had drawed a bead upon three, and wherever he drawed his bead he was dog-goned sartin to put his bullet.” Weatherford had shot his man, killing him on the spot. This was beyond conjecture, for the dead body of the savage could be seen lying between two trees where it had fallen. His comrades feared that in dragging it away, they might expose themselves to that terrible rifle.
The Indians had not yet learned that refinement of civilised warriors, who seek from their opponents a temporary truce in which to pay an empty compliment to the dead, while with cunning eye and wary step they seize the opportunity to scrutinise where to make the most effectual onslaught upon the living.
After a time, the Indians began to practise a chapter of tactics, which proved that in this mode of warfare they were our superiors. Instead of one, two of them would place themselves behind a tree, or two trees that stood close together, and as soon as one fired, the other was ready to take aim. Of course, the man at whom the first shot had been discharged, fancying his vis-à-vis now carried an empty gun, would be less careful about his person, and likely enough to expose it.
This proved to be the case, for before the bit of craft was discovered, several of our men received wounds, and one man of our number was shot dead by his tree. This ruse freshly exasperated our men – the more so that they could not reciprocate the strategy, since our numbers were not sufficient to have taken post by “twos.” It would have thinned our line so that we could not have defended the position.
We were compelled, therefore, to remain as we were – more careful not to expose ourselves to the cunning “fence” of our enemies.
There was one case, however, in which the savages were paid back in their own coin. Black Jake and I were partners in this revanche.
We occupied two trees almost close together; and had for antagonists no less than three savages, who had been all the morning most active in firing at us. I had received one of their bullets through the sleeve of my coat, and Jake had the dandruff driven out of his wool, but neither of us had been wounded.
During the contest I had got “sight” upon one, and fancied I had spilled his blood. I could not be certain, however, as the three were well sheltered behind a clump of trees, and covered, also, by a thicket of dwarf palmettoes.
One of these Indians, Jake wished particularly to kill. He was a huge savage – much larger than either of the others. He wore a head-dress of king vulture plumes, and was otherwise distinguished by his costume. In all probability, a chief. What was most peculiar in this man’s appearance was his face, for we could see it at intervals, though only for an instant at a time. It was covered all over with a scarlet pigment – vermilion it was – and shone through the trees like a counterpart of the sun.
It was not this, however, that had rendered the Indian an object of Jake’s vengeance. The cause was different. The savage had noticed Jake’s peculiar colour, and had taunted him with it several times during the fray. He spoke in his native tongue, but Jake comprehended it well enough. He was spited – exasperated – and vowed vengeance against the scarlet chief.
I contrived at length to give him an opportunity. Cunningly adjusting my cap, so that it appeared to contain my head, I caused it to protrude a little around the trunk of the tree. It was an old and well-known ruse, but for all that, in Jake’s phraseology, it “fooled” the Indian.
The red countenance appeared above the palmettoes. A puff of smoke rose from below it. The cap was jerked out of my hand as I heard the report of the shot that had done it.
A little after, I heard another crack, louder and nearer – the report of the negro’s piece. I peeped around the tree to witness the effect. A spot of darker red dappled the bright disk of the Indian’s face – the vermilion seemed suddenly encrimsoned. It was but a glance I had, for in the next instant the painted savage doubled back among the bushes.
During all the time we had been engaged, the Indians did not appear desirous of advancing upon us – although, certainly, they were superior to us in point of numbers. The party we had been pursuing must have been joined by another one as numerous as itself. Not less than a hundred were now upon the ground, and had been so from the beginning of the fight. But for this accession they would hardly have dared to attack us, and but for it we should have charged them at once, and tried the chances of a hand-to-hand conflict. We had seen, however, that they far outnumbered us, and were content to hold our position.
They appeared satisfied with theirs, though by closing rapidly inwards they might have overpowered us. After all, their ranks would have been smartly thinned before reaching our line, and some of their best men would have fallen. No men calculate such chances more carefully than Indians; and perhaps none are inferior to them in charging a foe that is entrenched. The weakest fort – even the most flimsy stockade – can be easily defended against the red warriors of the West.
Their intention having been foiled by the failure of their first charge, they appeared not to contemplate another – contented to hold us in siege – for to that situation were we, in reality, reduced. After a time, their firing became less frequent, until it nearly ceased altogether, but we knew that this did not indicate any intention to retreat; on the contrary, we saw some of them kindling fires afar off in the woods, no doubt with the design of cooking their breakfasts.
There was not a man among us who did not envy them their occupation.
Chapter Eighty Five
A Meagre Meal
To us the partial armistice was of no advantage. We dared not stir from the trees. Men were athirst, and water within sight – the pond glittering in the centre of the glade. Better there had been none, since they dared not approach it. It only served to tantalise them. The Indians were seen to eat, without leaving their lines. A few waited on the rest, and brought them food from the fires. Women were observed passing backwards and forwards, almost within range of our guns.
We were, all of us, hungry as famished wolves. We had been twenty-four hours without tasting food – even longer than that – and the sight of our enemies, feasting before our very faces, gave a keen edge to our appetites, at the same time rekindling our indignation. They even taunted us on our starving condition.
Old Hickman had grown furious. He was heard to declare that he “war hungry enough to eat a Indyen raw, if he could git his teeth upon one,” and he looked as if he would have carried but the threat.
“The sight o’ cussed red skins,” continued he, “swallerin’ hul collops o’ meat, while Christyian whites haint neery a bone to pick, are enough to rile one to the last jeint in the eends o’ the toes – by the tarnal allygator, it ar!”
It is a bare place, indeed, where such men as Hickman and Weatherford will not find resources; and the energies of both were now bent upon discovery. They were seen scratching among the dead needles of the pines, that, as already stated, formed a thick layer over the surface of the ground.
Of what were they in search? worms? – grubs? – larvae or lizards? One might have fancied so; but no – it had not come to that. Hungry as they were, they were not yet ready to feed upon the reptilia. A better resource had suggested itself to them; and shortly after, an exclamation of joy announced that they had discovered the object of their search.
Hickman was seen holding up a brownish coloured mass, of conical form, somewhat resembling a large pineapple. It was a cone of the broom pine, easily recognisable by its size and shape.
“Now, fellers!” shouted he, in a voice loud enough to be heard by all around the glade, “jest gather a wheen o’ these hyar tree-eggs, and break ’em open; ye’ll find kurnels inside o’ ’em that aint bad chawin’ – they aint equal to hog an’ hominy; but we hant got hog an’ hominy, and these hyar’ll sarve in a pinch, I reck’n. Ef ye’ll only root among the rubbage aroun’ ye, ye’ll scare up a wheen – jest try it.”
The suggestion was eagerly adopted, and in an instant “all hands” were seen scratching up the dead leaves in search of pine cones.
Some of these were found lying upon the surface, near at hand, and were easily procured, while others, were jerked within reach by ramrods or the barrels of rifles. Less or more, every one was enabled to obtain a supply.
The cones were quickly cut open, and the kernels greedily devoured. It was by no means an inferior food; for the seeds of the broom pine are both nutritive and pleasant to the palate. Their quality gave universal satisfaction – it was only in quantity they were deficient, for there was not enough of them within reach to stay the cravings of fifty stomachs hungry as ours were.
There was some joking over this dry breakfast, and the more reckless of the party laughed while they ate, as though it had been a nutting frolic. But the laughter was short-lived – our situation was too serious to admit of much levity.
It was an interval while the firing of the enemy had slackened, almost ceased; and we had ample time to consider the perils of our position. Up to this time, it had not occurred to us that, in reality, we were besieged. The hurried excitement of the conflict had left us no time for reflection. We only looked upon the affair as a skirmish that must soon come to an end, by one side or the other proving victorious.
The contest no longer wore that look; it had assumed the aspect of a regular siege. We were encompassed on every side – shut up as if in a fortress, but not half so secure. Our only stockade was the circle of standing trees, and we had no blockhouse to retire to – no shelter in the event of being wounded. Each man was a sentry, with a tour of guard duty that must be continual!
Our situation was indeed perilous in the extreme. There was no prospect of escape. Our horses had all galloped off long since; one only remained, lying dead by the side of the pond. It had been killed by a bullet, but it was not from the enemy. Hickman had fired the shot; I saw him, and wondered at the time what could be his object. The hunter had his reasons, but it was only afterwards I learned them.
We could hold our ground against five times our number – almost any odds – but how about food? Thirst we did not fear. At night we should have relief. Under the cover of night we could approach the pond, one after another.
We had no apprehension from want of water; but how about food? The cones we had gathered were but a bite; there were no more within reach; we must yield to hunger – to famine.
We conversed with one another freely, as if face to face. We canvassed our prospects; they were gloomy enough.
How was the affair to end? How were we to be delivered from our perilous situation? These were the questions that occupied the thoughts of all.
We could think of only one plan that offered a plausible chance of escape; and that was to hold our position until nightfall, make a sally in the darkness, and fight our way through the lines of our foes. It would be running the gauntlet; a few of us would certainly fall – perhaps many – but some would escape. To stay where we were would be to expose our whole party to certain sacrifice. There was no likelihood of our being rescued by others; no one entertained such a hope. As soon as hunger overcame us, we should be massacred to a man.
Rather than patiently abide such a fate, we resolved, while yet strong, to risk all chances, and fight our way through the enemy’s line. Darkness would favour the attempt; and thus resolved, we awaited the going down of the sun.
Chapter Eighty Six
A Bullet from Behind
If we thought the time long, it was not from want of occupation. During the day, the Indians at intervals renewed their attack; and notwithstanding all our vigilance, we had another man killed, and several slightly wounded.
In these skirmishes, the savages showed a determination to get nearer our line, by making their advances from tree to tree.
We perfectly understood their object in this. It was not that they had any design of closing with us, though their numbers might have justified them in doing so. They were now far more numerous than at the beginning of the fight. Another fresh band had arrived upon the ground – for we had heard the shouts of welcome that hailed their coming.
But even with this accession of strength, they did not design to come to the encounter of sharp weapons. Their purpose in advancing was different. They had perceived that by getting close to our convex line, they would be near enough to fire upon those on the opposite side of the glade, who, of course, were then exposed to their aim.
To prevent this, therefore, became our chief object and anxiety, and it was necessary to redouble our vigilance.
We did so, regarding with scrutinous glances the trunks behind which we knew the savages were skulking, and eyeing them as keenly as the ferret hunter watches the burrows of the warren.
They had but slight success in their endeavours to advance. It cost them several of their boldest men; for the moment one of them essayed to rush forwards, the cracks of three or four rifles could be heard; and one of these was sure to deliver its messenger of death. The Indians soon became tired of attempting this dangerous manoeuvre; and as evening approached, appeared to give up their design, and content themselves by holding us in siege.
We were glad when the sun set and the twilight came on; it would soon pass, and we should be able to reach the water. The men were maddened with thirst, for they had been suffering from it throughout the whole day. During the daylight many would have gone to the pond, had they not been restrained by the precepts of the more prudent, and perhaps more effectually by an example of which they had all been witnesses. One, more reckless than the rest, had risked the attempt; he succeeded in reaching the water, drank to satisfaction, and was hastening back to his post, when a shot from the savages stretched him dead upon the sward. He was the man last killed; and his lifeless body now lay in the open ground, before the eyes of his comrades.
It proved a warning to all; for, despite the torture of thirst, no one cared to repeat the rash experiment.
At length the welcome darkness descended – only a glimmer of grey light lingered in the leaden sky. Men in twos and threes were now seen approaching the pond. Like spectres they moved, silently gliding over the open ground, but in stooping attitudes, and heads bent eagerly forwards in the direction of the water.
We did not all go at once – though all were alike eager to quench their thirst – but the admonitions of the old hunter had their effect: and the more continent agreed to bear their pangs a little longer, and wait till the others should get back to their posts.
It was prudent we so acted; for, at this crisis, the Indians – no doubt suspecting what was going forward – renewed their fire with fresh energy.
Whole volleys were discharged inwards and without aim, the darkness must have hindered an aim, but for all that, the bullets buzzed past our ears as thickly as hornets upon their flight. There was a cry raised that the enemy was closing upon us; and those who had gone to the water rushed rapidly back – some even without staying to take the much desired drink.
During all this time I had remained behind my tree. My black follower had also stuck to his post like a faithful sentinel as he was. We talked of relieving one another by turns. Jake insisted that I should “drink first.”
I had partially consented to this arrangement, when the fire of the enemy suddenly reopened. Like others, we were apprehensive that the savages were about to advance; and we knew the necessity of keeping them back. We agreed to keep our ground for a little longer.
I had “one eye round the trunk of the tree, with my rifle raised” to the level – and was watching for a flash from the gun of some savage, to guide me in my aim – when, all on a sudden, I felt my arm jerked upwards, and my gun shaken out of my grasp.
There was no mystery about it. A bullet had passed through my arm, piercing the muscles that upheld it. I had shown too much of my shoulder, and was wounded – nothing more.
My first thought was to look to my wound. I felt it distinctly enough, and that enabled me to discover the place. I saw that the ball had passed through the upper part of my right arm, just below the shoulder, and in its further progress had creased the breast of my uniform coat, where its trace was visible in the torn cloth.
There was still light sufficient to enable me to make these observations; and furthermore, that a thick stream of blood was gushing from the wound.
I commenced unbuttoning my coat, the better to get at the wound. The black was ready by my side, rending his shirt into ribbons.
All at once I heard him uttering an exclamation of surprise followed by the words, “Gorramighty! Mass George – dat shot come from ahind!”
“From behind?” I shouted, echoing his words, and once more looking to the wound.
“Yes, mass, yes – sartin he come from ahind.”
Some suspicion of this had already been in my thoughts: I fancied that I had “felt” the shot from that quarter.
It had been no fancy. On a more minute examination of the wound, and the torn traces upon the breast of my coat, the direction of the bullet was plainly perceived. Undoubtedly it had struck me from behind.
“Good God, Jake!” I exclaimed, “it is so. The Indians have advanced to the other side of the glade – we are lost!”
Under this belief, we both faced towards the opening, when at that moment, as if to confirm us, another bullet whistled past our ears, and struck with a heavy “thud” into the tree by which we were kneeling. This one had certainly been fired from the other side of the glade – we saw the flash and heard the report of the gun that had sent it.
What had become of our comrades on that side? Had they abandoned their posts, and permitted the Indians to advance? Were they all by the pond, and thus neglecting their duty?
These were the first conjectures both of my companion and myself. It was too dark for us to see our men under the shadows of the pines, but neither did they appear in the open ground. We were puzzled, and shouted aloud for an explanation.
If there were replies, we heard them not – for at that moment a wild yell from our savage enemies drowned all other cries, and a sight burst upon our eyes that caused the blood to curdle within our veins.
Directly in point of the position that Jake and I held, and close to the Indian line, a red flame was seen suddenly springing up from the earth. It rose in successive puffs, each leaping higher and higher, until it had ascended among the tops of the trees. It resembled the flashes of large, masses of gunpowder ignited upon the ground, and such in reality it was. We read the intention at a glance. The Indians were attempting to fire the forest!
Their success was almost instantaneous. As soon as the sulphureous blaze came in contact with the withered fascicles of foliage, the latter caught as though they had been tinder; and with the velocity of projected rockets, the flames shot out in different directions, and danced far above the tops of the tree. We looked around; on all sides we beheld a similar spectacle. That wild yell had been the signal for a circle of fires. The glade was encompassed by a wall of flame – red, roaring, and gigantic. The whole forest was on fire. From all points the flame appeared closing inwards, sweeping the trees as if they had been withered grass, and leaping in long spurts high into the heavens.
The smoke now came thick and heavy around us – each moment growing denser as the fire approached – while the heated atmosphere was no longer endurable. Already it stifled our breathing.
Destruction stared us in the face, and men shouted in despair. But the roar of the burning pines drowned their voices, and one could not hear even his comrade who was nearest. Their looks were significant – for before the smoke fell, the glade was lit up with intense brilliance, and we could see one another with unnatural distinctness. In the faces of all appeared the anxiety of awe.
Not long continued I to share it. Too much blood had escaped from my neglected wound; I tried to make into the open ground, as I saw others doing; but, before I got two steps from the tree, my limbs tottered beneath me, and I fell fainting to the earth.
