Osceola the Seminole Part 59

There was much rejoicing at the appointment; and preparations were made for a campaign on a far more extensive scale than had fallen to the lot of either of the chiefs who preceded him. The army was doubled--almost trebled--the commissariat amply provided for, before the great general would consent to set foot upon the field.

He arrived at length, and the army was put in motion.

I am not going to detail the incidents of this campaign; there were none of sufficient importance to be chronicled, much less of sufficient interest to be narrated. It consisted simply of a series of hara.s.sing marches, conducted with all the pomp and regularity of a parade review.

The army was formed into three divisions, somewhat bombastically styled "right wing," "left wing," and "centre." Thus formed, they were to approach the "Cove of the Ouithlacoochee"--again that fatal Cove--from three different directions, Fort King, Fort Brooke, and the Saint John's. On arriving on the edge of the great swamp, each was to fire minute-guns as signals for the others, and then all three were to advance in converging lines towards the heart of the Seminole fastness.

The absurd manoeuvre was carried out, and ended as might have been expected, in complete failure. During the march, no man saw the face of a red Indian. A few of their camps were discovered, but nothing more.

The cunning warriors had heard the signal guns, and well understood their significance. With such a hint of the position of their enemy, they had but little difficulty in making their retreat between the "wings."

Perhaps the most singular, if not the most important, incident occurring in Scott's campaign was one which came very near costing me my life. If not worthy of being given in detail, it merits mention as a curious case of "abandonment."

While marching for the "Cove" with his centre wing, the idea occurred to our great commander to leave behind him, upon the banks of the Amazura, what he termed a "post of observation." This consisted of a detachment of forty men--mostly our Suwanee volunteers, with their proportion of officers, myself among the number.

We were ordered to fortify ourselves on the spot, and _stay_ there until we should be relieved from our duty, which was somewhat indefinitely understood even by him who was placed in command of us. After giving these orders, the general, at the head of his "central wing," marched off, leaving us to our fate.

Our little band was sensibly alive to the perilous position in which we were thus placed, and we at once set about making the best of it. We felled trees, built a blockhouse, dug a well, and surrounded both with a strong stockade.

Fortunately we were not _discovered_ by the enemy for nearly a week after the departure of the army, else we should most certainly have been destroyed to a man. The Indians, in all probability, had followed the "centre wing," and thus for a time were carried out of our neighbourhood.

On the sixth day, however, they made their appearance, and summoned us to surrender.

We refused, and fought them--again, and again, at intervals, during a period of fifty days!

Several of our men were killed or wounded; and among the former, the gallant chief of our devoted band, Holloman, who fell from a shot fired through the interstices of the stockade.

Provisions had been left with us to serve us for _two weeks_; they were eked out to last for seven! For thirty days we subsisted upon raw corn and water, with a few handfuls of acorns, which we contrived to gather from the trees growing within the inclosure.

In this way we held out for a period of fifty days, and still no commander-in-chief--no army came to relieve us. During all that gloomy siege, we never heard word of either; no white face ever showed itself to our anxious eyes, that gazed constantly outward. We believed ourselves abandoned--forgotten.

And such in reality was the fact--General Scott, in his eagerness to get away from Florida, had quite forgotten to relieve the "post of observation;" and others believing that we had long since perished, made no effort to send a rescue.

Death from hunger stared us in the face, until at length the brave old hunter, Hickman, found his way through the lines of our besiegers, and communicated our situation to our "friends at home."

His tale produced a strong excitement, and a force was dispatched to our relief, that succeeded in dispersing our enemies, and setting us free from our blockhouse prison.

Thus terminated "Scott's campaign," and with it his command in Florida.

The whole affair was a burlesque, and Scott was only saved from ridicule and the disgrace of a speedy recall, by a lucky accident, that fell in his favour. Orders had already reached him to take control of another, "Indian war"--the "Creek"--that was just breaking out in the States of the southwest; and this afforded the discomfited general a well-timed excuse for retiring from the "Flowery Land."

Florida was destined to prove to American generals a land of melancholy remembrances. No less than seven of them were successively beaten at the game of Indian warfare by the Seminoles and their wily chieftains.

It is not my purpose to detail the history of their failures and mishaps. From the disappearance of General Scott, I was myself no longer with the main army. My destiny conducted me through the more romantic by-ways of the campaign--the paths of _la pet.i.te guerre_--and of these only am I enabled to write. Adieu, then, to the grand historic.

Note 1. Scott's whole career, political as well as military, had been a series of _faux pas_. His campaign in Mexico will not bear criticism.

The numerous blunders he there committed would have led to most fatal results, had they not been neutralised by the judgment of his inferior officers, and the indomitable valour of the soldiery. The battle of Moline del Rey--the armistice with Santa Anna, were military errors unworthy of a cadet fresh from college. I make bold to affirm that every action was a mob-fight--the result depending upon mere chance; or rather on the desperate bravery of the troops upon one side, and the infamous cowardice of those on the other.

CHAPTER SEVENTY TWO.

THE CONDITION OF BLACK JAKE.

We had escaped from the blockhouse in boats, down the river to its mouth, and by sea to Saint Marks. Thence the volunteers scattered to their homes--their term of service having expired. They went as they listed; journeying alone, or in straggling squads of three and four together.

One of these groups consisted of old Hickman the hunter, a companion of like kidney, myself, and my ever faithful henchman.

Jake was no longer the "Black Jake" of yore. A sad change had come over his external aspect. His cheek-bones stood prominently out, while the cheeks themselves had fallen in; his eyeb.a.l.l.s had retreated far within their sockets, and the neglected wool stood out over his temples in a thick frizzled shock. His skin had lost its fine ebon polish, and showed distinct traces of corrugation. Wherever "scratched" by his now elongated finger-nails, a whitish dandruffy surface was exhibited.

The poor fellow had fared badly in the blockhouse; and three weeks of positive famine had played sad havoc with his outward man.

Starvation, however, but little affected his spirits. Throughout all, he had preserved his jovial mood, and his light humour often roused me from my despondency. While gnawing the corn cob, and washing down the dry maize with a gourd of cold water, he would indulge in rapturous visions of "hominy and hog-meat," to be devoured whenever it should please fate to let him return to the "ole plantayshun." Such delightful prospects of future enjoyment enabled him the better to endure the pinching present--for antic.i.p.ation has its joys. Now that we were free, and actually heading homewards; now that his visions were certain soon to become realities, Jake's jovialty could no longer be kept within bounds; his tongue was constantly in motion; his mouth ever open with the double tier of "ivories" displayed in a continuous smile; while his skin seemed to be rapidly recovering its dark oily l.u.s.tre.

Jake was the soul of our party, as we trudged wearily along; and his gay jokes affected even the staid old hunters, at intervals eliciting from both loud peals of laughter.--For myself I scarcely shared their mirth-- only now and then, when the sallies of my follower proved irresistible.

There was a gloom over my spirit, which I could not comprehend.

It should have been otherwise. I should have felt happy at the prospect of returning home--of once more beholding those who were dear--but it was not so.

It had been so on my first getting free from our blockhouse prison; but this was only the natural reaction, consequent upon escape from what appeared almost certain death. My joy had been short-lived: it was past and gone; and now that I was nearing my native home, dark shadows came over my soul; a presentiment was upon me that all was not well.

I could in no way account for this feeling, for I had heard no evil tidings. In truth, I had heard nothing of home or of friends for a period of nearly two months. During our long siege, no communication had ever reached us; and at Saint Marks we met but slight news from the settlements of the Suwanee. We were returning in ignorance of all that had transpired there during our absence--if aught _had_ transpired worthy of being known.

This ignorance itself might have produced uncertainty, doubt, even apprehension; but it was not the sole cause of my presentiment. Its origin was different. Perhaps the recollection of my abrupt departure-- the unsettled state in which I had left the affairs of our family--the parting scene, now vividly recalled--remembrances of Ringgold-- reflections upon the wicked designs of this wily villain--all these may have contributed to form the apprehensions under which I was suffering.

Two months was a long period; many events could happen within two months, even in the narrow circle of one's own family. Long since it had been reported that I had perished at the hands of the Indian foe; I was believed to be dead, at home, wherever I was known; and the belief might have led to ill results. Was my sister still true to her word, so emphatically p.r.o.nounced in that hour of parting? Was I returning home to find her still my loved sister? Still single and free? or had she yielded to maternal solicitation, and become the wife of the vile caitiff after all?

With such conjectures occupying my thoughts, no wonder I was not in a mood for merriment. My companions noticed my dejection, and in their rude but kind way, rallied me as we rode along. They failed, however, to make me cheerful like themselves. I could not cast the load from my heart. Try as I would, the presentiment lay heavy upon me, that all was not well.

Alas, alas! the presentiment proved true--no, not true, but worse--worse than my worst apprehensions--worse even than that I had most feared.

The news that awaited me was not of marriage, but of death--the death of my mother--and worse than death--horrid doubt of my sister's fate.

Before reaching home, a messenger met me--one who told an appalling tale.

The Indians had attacked the settlement, or rather my own plantation-- for their foray had gone no further: my poor mother had fallen under their savage knives; my uncle too: and my sister? _She had been carried off_!

I stayed to hear no more; but, driving the spurs into my jaded horse, galloped forward like one suddenly smitten with madness.

CHAPTER SEVENTY THREE.

A BAD SPECTACLE.

My rate of speed soon brought me within the boundaries of the plantation; and, without pausing to breathe my horse, I galloped on, taking the path that led most directly to the house. It was not the main road, but a wood-path here and there closed up with "bars." My horse was a spirited animal, and easily leaped over them.

I met a man coming from the direction of the house--a white man--a neighbour. He made motions as if to speak--no doubt, of the calamity.

I did not stop to listen. I had heard enough. My eyes alone wanted satisfaction.

I knew every turn of the path. I knew the points where I should first come in sight of the house.