Osceola the Seminole Part 17

I soon found that in this kind of knowledge he was now my master; and almost on the instant I had cause to be astonished at his acuteness.

I have said that the sight of the cattle-tracks created no surprise in either of us. At _first_ it did not; but we had not ridden twenty paces further, when I saw my companion suddenly rein up, at the same instant giving utterance to one of those e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns peculiar to the negro thorax, and closely resembling the "wugh" of a startled hog.

I looked in his face. I saw by its expression that he had some revelation to make.

"What is it, Jake?"

"Golly! Ma.s.sr George, d'you see daat?"

"What?"

"Daat down dar."

"I see a ruck of cow-tracks--nothing more."

"Doant you see dat big 'un?"

"Yes--there is one larger than the rest."

"By Gosh! it am de big ox Ballface--I know um track anywha--many's tha load o' cypress log dat ar ox hab toated for ole ma.s.sr."

"What? I remember Baldface. You think the cattle are ours?"

"No, Ma.s.sr George--I 'spect tha be da lawya Grubb's cattle. Ole ma.s.sr sell Ballface to Ma.s.sr Grubb more'n a year 'go. Daat am Bally's track for sartin."

"But why should Mr Grubb's cattle be here in Indian ground, and so far from his plantation?--and with Indian drivers, too?"

"Dat ere's just what dis chile can't clarly make out, Ma.s.sr George."

There was a singularity in the circ.u.mstance that induced reflection.

The cattle could not have strayed so far of themselves. The voluntary swimming of the river was against such a supposition. But they were not _straying_. They were evidently _concluded_--and by Indians. Was it a _raid_?--were the beeves being stolen?

It had the look of a bit of thievery, and yet it was not crafty enough.

The animals had been driven along a frequented path, certain to be taken by those in quest of them; and the robbers--if they were such--had used no precaution to conceal their tracks.

It looked like a theft, and it did not; and it was just this dubious aspect that stimulated the curiosity of my companion and myself--so much so that we made up our minds to follow the trail, and if possible ascertain the truth.

For a mile or more the trail coincided with our own route; and then turning abruptly to the left, it struck off towards a track of "hommock"

woods.

We were determined not to give up our intention lightly. The tracks were so fresh, that we knew the herd must have pa.s.sed within the hour-- within the quarter--they could not be distant. We could gallop back to the main road, through some thin pine timber we saw stretching away to the right; and with these reflections, we turned head along the cattle-trail.

Shortly after entering the dense forest, we heard voices of men in conversation, and at intervals the routing of oxen.

We alit, tied our horses to a tree, and moved forward afoot.

We walked stealthily and in silence, guiding ourselves by the sounds of the voices, that kept up an almost continual clatter. Beyond a doubt, the cattle whose bellowing we heard were those whose tracks we had been tracing; but equally certain was it, that the voices we now listened to were _not_ the voices of those who had driven them!

It is easy to distinguish between the intonation of an Indian and a white man. The men whose conversation reached our ears were whites-- their language was our own, with all its coa.r.s.e embellishments. My companion's discernment went beyond this--he recognised the individuals.

"Golly! Ma.s.sr George, it ar tha two dam ruffins--Spence and Bill William!"

Jake's conjecture proved correct. We drew closer to the spot. The evergreen trees concealed us perfectly. We got up to the edge of an opening; and there saw the herd of beeves, the two Indians who had driven them, and the brace of worthies already named.

We stood under cover watching and listening; and in a very short while, with the help of a few hints from my companion, I comprehended the whole affair.

Each of the Indians--worthless outcasts of their tribe--was presented with a bottle of whisky and a few trifling trinkets. This was in payment for their night's work--the plunder of lawyer Grubb's pastures.

Their share of the business was now over; and they were just in the act of delivering up their charge as we arrived upon the ground. Their employers, whose droving bout was here to begin, had just handed over their rewards. The Indians might go home and get drunk: they were no longer needed. The cattle would be taken to some distant part of the country--where a market would be readily found--or, what was of equal probability, they would find their way back to lawyer Grubb's own plantation, having been rescued by the gallant fellows Spence and Williams from a band of Indian rievers! This would be a fine tale for the plantation fireside--a rare chance for a representation to the police and the powers.

Oh, those savage Seminole robbers! they must be got rid of--they must be "moved" out.

As the cattle chanced to belong to lawyer Grubbs, I did not choose to interfere. I could tell my tale elsewhere; and, without making our presence known, my companion and I turned silently upon our heels, regained our horses, and went our way reflecting.

I entertained no doubt about the justness of our surmise--no doubt that Williams and Spence had employed the drunken Indians--no more that lawyer Grubbs had employed Williams and Spence, in this circuitous transaction.

The stream must be muddied upward--the poor Indian must be driven to desperation.

Note 1. It is art, not nature, that causes this peculiarity; it is done in the cradle.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

REFLECTIONS BY THE WAY.

At college, as elsewhere, I had been jeered for taking the Indian side of the question. Not unfrequently was I "twitted" with the blood of poor old Powhatan, which, after two hundred years of "whitening," must have circulated very spa.r.s.ely in my veins. It was said I was not _patriotic_, since I did not join in the vulgar clamour, so congenial to nations when they talk of an enemy.

Nations are like individuals. To please them, you must be as wicked as they--feel the same sentiment, or speak it--which will serve as well-- affect like loves and hates; in short, yield up independence of thought, and cry "crucify" with the majority.

This is the world's man--the patriot of the times.

He who draws his deductions from the fountain of truth, and would try to stem the senseless current of a people's prejudgments, will never be popular during life. Posthumously he may, but not this side the grave.

Such need not seek the "living Fame" for which yearned the conqueror of Peru: he will not find it. If the true patriot desire the reward of glory, he must look for it only from posterity--long after his "mouldering bones" have rattled in the tomb.

Happily there is another reward. The _mens conscia recti_ is not an idle phrase. There are those who esteem it--who have experienced both sustenance and comfort from its sweet whisperings.

Though sadly pained at the conclusions to which I was compelled--not only by the incident I had witnessed, but by a host of others lately heard of--I congratulated myself on the course I had pursued. Neither by word nor act, had I thrown one feather into the scale of injustice.

I had no cause for self-accusation. My conscience cleared me of all ill-will towards the unfortunate people, who were soon to stand before me in the att.i.tude of enemies.

My thoughts dwelt not long on the general question--scarcely a moment.

That was driven out of my mind by reflections of a more painful nature-- by the sympathies of friendship, of love. I thought only of the ruined widow, of her children, of Maumee. It were but truth to confess that I thought only of the last; but this thought comprehended all that belonged to her. All of hers were endeared, though she was the centre of the endearment.

And for all I now felt sympathy, sorrow--ay, a far more poignant bitterness than grief--the ruin of sweet hopes. I scarcely hoped ever to see them again.

Where were they now? Whither had they gone? Conjectures, apprehensions, fears, floated upon my fancy. I could not avoid giving way to dark imaginings. The men who had committed that crime were capable of any other, even the highest known to the calendar of justice.

What had become of these friends of my youth?