Osceola the Seminole Part 31

Shortly after daylight the brave fellow was by my side. I told him all.

He appeared very little surprised. Some suspicion of such a plot had already taken possession of his mind, and it was his intention to have revealed it to me that very morning. Least of all did he express surprise about Yellow Jake. That was but the confirmation of a belief, which he entertained already, without the shadow of a doubt. He knew positively that the mulatto was living--still more, he had ascertained the mode by which the latter had made his almost miraculous escape.

And yet it was simple enough. The alligator had seized him, as was supposed; but the fellow had the adroitness to "job" its eyes with the knife, and thus cause it to let go its hold. He had followed the example of the young Indian, using the same weapon!

This occurred under water, for the mulatto was a good diver. His limbs were lacerated--hence the blood--but the wounds did not signify, nor did they hinder him from making further efforts to escape.

He took care not to rise to the surface until after swimming under the bank; there, concealed by the drooping branches, he had glided out, and climbed up into a live-oak--where the moss sheltered him from the eyes of his vengeful pursuers. Being entirely naked, there was no sign left by dripping garments, to betray him; besides, the blood upon the water had proved his friend. On seeing that, the hunters were under the full belief that he had "gone under," and therefore took but little pains to search further.

Such was Black Jake's account of this affair. He had obtained it the evening before from one of the friendly Indians at the fort, who professed to have the narration from the mulatto's own lips.

There was nothing improbable in the story, but the contrary. In all likelihood, it was strictly true; and it at once dispersed the half-dozen mysteries that had gathered in my mind.

The black had received other information. The runaway had taken refuge with one of the half-negro tribes established amid the swamps that envelop the head-waters of the Amazura. He had found favour among his new a.s.sociates, had risen to be a chief, and now pa.s.sed under the cognomen of the "Mulatto-mica."

There was still a little mystery: how came he and Arens Ringgold in "cahoot?"

After all, there was not much puzzle in the matter. The planter had no particular cause for hating the runaway. His activity during the scene of the baffled execution was all a sham. The mulatto had more reason for resentment; but the loves or hates of such men are easily set aside--where self-interest interferes--and can, at any time, be commuted for gold.

No doubt, the white villain had found the yellow one of service in some base undertaking, and _vice versa_. At all events, it was evident that the "hatchet had been buried" between them, and their present relations were upon the most friendly footing.

"Jake!" said I, coming to the point on which I desired to hear his opinion, "what about Arens Ringgold--shall I call him out?"

"Golly, Ma.s.sr George, he am out long 'go--I see um 'bout, dis two hour an' more--dat ar bossy doant sleep berry sound--he hant got de good conscience, I reck'n."

"Oh! that is not what I mean, my man."

"Wha--what ma.s.sr mean?"

"To call him out--challenge him to fight me."

"Whaugh! ma.s.sr, d'you mean to say a dewel ob sword an' pistol?"

"Swords, pistols, or rifles--I care not which weapon he may choose."

"Gorramity! Ma.s.sr George, don't talk ob such a thing. O Lordy! no--you hab moder--you hab sister. 'Spose you get kill--who know--tha bullock he sometime kill tha butcha--den, Ma.s.sr George, no one lef--who lef take care on ya moder?--who be guardium ob ya sister Vagin? who 'tect Viola-- who 'tect all ob us from dese bad bad men? Gorramity! ma.s.sr, let um lone--doant call 'im out!"

At that moment, I was myself called out. The earnest appeal was interrupted by the braying of bugles and the rolling of drums, announcing the a.s.sembling of the council; and without waiting to reply to the disinterested remonstrance of my companion, I hastened to the scene of my duties.

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

THE FINAL a.s.sEMBLY.

The spectacle of yesterday was repeated: the troops in serried lines of blue and steel--the officers in full uniform with shining epaulettes--in the centre the staff grouped around the general, close b.u.t.toned and of brilliant sheen; fronting these the half-circle of chiefs, backed by concentric lines of warriors, plumed, painted, and picturesque--horses standing near, some neighing under ready saddles, some picketed and quietly browsing--Indian women in their long _hunnas_, hurrying to and fro--boys and babes at play upon the gra.s.s--flags waring above the soldiers--banners and pennons floating over the heads of the red warriors--drums beating--bugles braying; such was the array.

Again the spectacle was imposing, yet scarcely so much as that of the preceding day. The eye at once detected a deficiency in the circle of the chiefs, and nearly half of the warriors were wanting. The a.s.semblage no longer impressed you with the idea of a mult.i.tude--it was only a respectable crowd, with room enough for all to gather close around the council.

The absence of many chiefs was at once perceived. King Onopa was not there. The coronet of British bra.s.s--lacquered symbol of royalty, yesterday conspicuous in the centre--was no longer to be seen. Holato Mico was missing, with other leaders of less note; and the thinness in the ranks of the common warriors showed that these chiefs had taken their followers along with them. Most of the Indians on the ground appeared to be of the clans of Omatla, "Black Dirt," and Ohala.

Notwithstanding the fewness of their following, I saw that Hoitle-mattee, Arpiucki, negro Abram, and the dwarf were present.

Surely these stayed not to sign?

I looked for Osceola. It was not difficult to discover one so conspicuous, both in figure and feature. He formed the last link in the now contracted curve of the chiefs. He was lowest in rank, but this did not signify, as regarded his position. Perhaps he had placed himself there from a feeling of modesty--a well-known characteristic of the man.

He was in truth the very youngest of the chiefs, and by birthright ent.i.tled to a smaller command than any present; but, viewing him as he stood--even at the bottom of the rank--one could not help fancying that he was the head of all.

As upon the preceding day, there was no appearance of bravado about him.

His att.i.tude, though stately and statuesque, was one of perfect ease.

His arms were folded over his full chest--his weight resting on one limb, the other slightly retired--his features in repose, or now and then lit up by an expression rather of gentleness. He seemed the impersonation of an Apollo--or, to speak less mythologically, a well-behaved gentleman waiting for some ceremony, of which he was to be a simple spectator. As yet, nothing had transpired to excite him; no words had been uttered to rouse a spirit that only _seemed_ to slumber.

Ere long, that att.i.tude of repose would pa.s.s away--that soft smile would change to the harsh frown of pa.s.sion.

Gazing upon his face, one could hardly fancy such a transformation possible, and yet a close observer might. It was like the placid sky that precedes the storm--the calm ocean that in a moment may be convulsed by the squall--the couchant lion that on the slightest provocation may be roused to ungovernable rage.

During the moments that preceded the inauguration of the council, I kept my eyes upon the young chief. Other eyes were regarding him as well; he was the cynosure of many, but mine was a gaze of peculiar interest.

I looked for some token of recognition, but received none--neither nod nor glance. Once or twice, his eye fell upon me, but pa.s.sed on to some one else, as though I was but one among the crowd of his pale-faced adversaries. He appeared not to remember me. Was this really so? or was it, that his mind, preoccupied with great thoughts, hindered him from taking notice?

I did not fail to cast my eyes abroad--over the plain--to the tents-- towards the groups of loitering women. I scanned their forms, one after another.

I fancied I saw the mad queen in their midst--a centre of interest. I had hopes that her _protegee_ might be near, but no. None of the figures satisfied my eye: they were all too _squaw-like_--too short or too tall--too corpulent or too _maigre_. She was not there. Even under the loose _hunna_ I should have recognised her splendid form--_if still unchanged_.

If--the hypothesis excites your surprise. Why changed, you ask?

Growth?--development?--maturity? Rapid in this southern clime is the pa.s.sage from maiden's form to that of matron.

No; not that, not that. Though still so young, the undulating outlines had already shown themselves. When I last looked upon her, her stature had reached its limits; her form exhibited the bold curve of Hogarth, so characteristic of womanhood complete. Not that did I fear.

And what then? The contrary? Change from attenuation--from illness or grief? Nor this.

I cannot explain the suspicions that racked me--sprung from a stray speech. That jay bird, that yestreen chattered so gaily, had poured poison into my heart. But no; it could not be Maumee? She was too innocent. Ah! why do I rave? There is no guilt in love. If true--if she--hers was not crime; he alone was the guilty one.

I have ill described the torture I experienced, consequent upon my unlucky "eaves-dropping." During the whole of the preceding days it had been a source of real suffering. I was in the predicament of one who had, heard too much, and to little.

You will scarcely wonder that the words of Haj-Ewa cheered me; they drove the unworthy suspicion out of my mind, and inspired me with fresh hopes. True, she had mentioned no name till I myself had p.r.o.nounced it; but to whom could her speech refer? "Poor bird of the forest--her heart will bleed and break." She spoke of the "Rising Sun:" that was Osceola, who could the "haintc.l.i.tz" be? who but Maumee?

It might be but a tale of bygone days--a glimpse of the past deeply impressed upon the brain of the maniac, and still living in her memory.

This was possible. Haj-Ewa had known us in these days, had often met us in our wild wood rambles, had even been with us upon the island--for the mad queen could paddle her canoe with skill, could ride her wild steed, could go anywhere, went everywhere.

It might only be a souvenir of these happy days that caused her to speak as she had done--in the chaos of her intellect, mistaking the past for the present. Heaven forbid!

The thought troubled me, but not long; for I did not long entertain it.

I clung to the pleasanter belief. Her words were sweet as honey, and formed a pleasing counterpoise to the fear I might otherwise have felt, on discovering the plot against my life. With the knowledge that Maumee once loved--still loved me--I could brave dangers a hundred-fold greater than that. It is but a weak heart that would not be gallant under the influence of love. Encouraged by the smiles of a beautiful mistress, even cowards can be brave. Arens Ringgold was standing by my side.

Entrained in the crowd, our garments touched; we conversed together!

He was even more polite to me than was his wont--more _friendly_! His speech scarcely betrayed the habitual cynicism of his nature; though, whenever I looked him in the face, his eye quailed, and his glance sought the ground.

For all that, he had no suspicion--not the slightest--that I knew I was side by side with the man who designed to murder me.