Osceola the Seminole Part 60

I reached it, and looked forwards. Father of mercy! there was no house to be seen!

Half-bewildered, I reined up my horse. I strained my eyes over the landscape--in vain--no house.

Had I taken the wrong road, or was I looking in the wrong direction?

No--no. There stood the giant tulip-tree, that marked the embouchure of the path. There stretched the savanna; beyond it the home-fields of indigo and maize; beyond these the dark wood-knoll of the hommock; but beyond this last there was nothing--nothing I could recognise.

The whole landscape appeared to have undergone a change. The gay white walls--the green _jalousies_--the cheerful aspect of home, that from that same spot had so often greeted me, returning hungry and wearied from the hunt--were no longer to be seen. The sheds, the negro-cabins, the offices, even the palings had disappeared. From their steads I beheld thick volumes of smoke ascending to the sky, and rolling over the sun till his disc was red. The heavens were frowning upon me.

From what I had already learned, the spectacle was easy of comprehension. It caused no new emotion either of surprise or pain. I was not capable of suffering more.

Again putting my horse to his speed, I galloped across the fields towards the scene of desolation.

As I neared the spot, I could perceive the forms of men moving about through the smoke. There appeared to be fifty or a hundred of them.

Their motions did not betoken excitement. Only a few were moving at all, and these with a leisurely gait, that told they were not in action.

The rest stood in groups, in lounging att.i.tudes, evidently mere spectators of the conflagration. They were making no attempt to extinguish the flames, which I now observed mingling with the smoke. A few were rushing to and fro--most of them on horseback--apparently in the endeavour to catch some horses and cattle, that, having escaped from the burnt inclosure, were galloping over the fields, neighing and lowing.

One might have fancied that the men around the fire were those who had caused it; and for a moment such an idea was in my mind. The messenger had said that the foray had just taken place--that very morning at daybreak. It was all I had heard, as I hurried away.

It was yet early--scarcely an hour after sunrise--for we had been travelling by night to avoid the hot hours. Were the savages still upon the ground? Were those men Indians? In the lurid light, amidst the smoke, chasing the cattle--as if with the intention of driving them off--the conjecture was probable enough.

But the report said they had gone away: how else could the details have been known?--the murder of my mother, the rape of my poor sister? With the savages still upon the ground, how had these facts been ascertained?

Perhaps they had gone, and returned again to collect the booty, and fire the buildings? For an instant such fancies were before my mind.

They had no influence in checking my speed. I never thought of tightening the rein--my bridle arm was not free; with both hands I was grasping the ready rifle.

Vengeance had made me mad. Even had I been certain that the dark forms before me were those of the murderers, I was determined to dash forwards into their midst, and perish upon the body of a savage.

I was not alone. The black was at my heels; and close behind, I could hear the clattering hoofs of the hunters' horses.

We galloped up to the selvidge of the smoke. The deception was at an end. They were not Indians or enemies, but friends who stood around, and who hailed our approach neither with words nor shouts, but with the ominous silence of sympathy.

I pulled up by the fire, and dismounted from my horse: men gathered around me with looks of deep meaning. They were speechless--no one uttered a word. All saw that it was a tale that needed no telling.

I was myself the first to speak. In a voice so husky as scarcely to be heard, I inquired: "Where?"

The interrogatory was understood--it was antic.i.p.ated. One had already taken me by the hand, and was leading me gently around the fire. He said nothing, but pointed towards the hommock. Unresistingly I walked by his side.

As we neared the pond, I observed a larger group than any I had yet seen. They were standing in a ring, with their faces turned inwards, and their eyes bent upon the earth. _I knew she was there_.

At our approach, the men looked up, and suddenly the ring opened--both sides mechanically drawing back. He who had my hand conducted me silently onwards, till I stood in their midst. I looked upon the corpse of my mother.

Beside it was the dead body of my uncle, and beyond, the bodies of several black men--faithful slaves, who had fallen in defence of their master and mistress.

My poor mother!--shot--stabbed--_scalped_. Even in death had she been defeatured!

Though I had antic.i.p.ated it, the spectacle shocked me.

My poor mother! Those gla.s.sy eyes would never smile upon me again-- those pale lips would neither chide nor cheer me more.

I could control my emotions no longer. I burst into tears; and falling upon the earth, flung my arms around the corpse, and kissed the cold mute lips of her who had given me birth.

CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR.

TO THE TRAIL.

My grief was profound--even to misery. The remembrance of occasional moments of coldness on the part of my mother--the remembrance more especially of the last parting scene--rendered my anguish acute. Had we but parted in affection--in the friendly confidence of former years--my loss would have been easier to endure. But no; her last words to me were spoken in reproach--almost in anger--and it was the memory of these that now so keenly embittered my thoughts. I would have given the world could she have heard but one word--to know how freely I forgave her.

My poor mother! all was forgiven. Her faults were few and venial. I remembered them not. Ambition was her only sin--among those of her station, almost universal--but I remembered it no more. I remembered only her many virtues--only that she was my _mother_. Never until that moment had I known how dearly I loved her.

It was no time to indulge in grief. Where was my sister?

I sprang to my feet, as I gave wild utterance to the interrogatory.

It was answered only by signs. Those around me pointed to the forest.

I understood the signs--the savages had borne her away.

Up to this hour I had felt no hostility towards the red men; on the contrary, my sentiments had an opposite inclination. If not friendship for them, I had felt something akin to it. I was conscious of the many wrongs they had endured, and were now enduring at the hands of our people. I knew that in the end they would be conquered, and must submit. I had felt sympathy for their unfortunate condition.

It was gone. The sight of my murdered mother produced an instantaneous change in my feelings; and sympathy for the savage was supplanted by fierce hostility. Her blood called aloud for vengeance, and my heart was eager to obey the summons.

As I rose to my feet, I registered vows of revenge.

I stood not alone. Old Hickman and his fellow-hunter were at my back, and fifty others joined their voices in a promise to aid me in the pursuit.

Black Jake was among the loudest who clamoured for retribution. He too had sustained his loss. Viola was nowhere to be found--she had been carried off with the other domestics. Some may have gone voluntarily, but all were absent--all who were not dead. The plantation and its people had no longer an existence. I was homeless as well as motherless.

There was no time to be wasted in idle sorrowing; immediate action was required, and determined upon. The people had come to the ground armed and ready, and a few minutes sufficed to prepare for the pursuit.

A fresh horse was procured for myself; others for the companions of my late journey; and after s.n.a.t.c.hing a breakfast hastily prepared, we mounted, and struck off upon the trail of the savages.

It was easily followed, for the murderers had been mounted, and their horses' tracks betrayed them.

They had gone some distance up the river before crossing, and then swam their horses over to the Indian side. Without hesitation, we did the same.

The place I remembered well. I had crossed there before--two months before--while tracking the steed of Osceola. It was the path that had been taken by the young chief. The coincidence produced upon me a certain impression; and not without pain did I observe it.

It led to reflection. There was time, as the trail was in places less conspicuous, and the finding it delayed our advance. It led to inquiry.

Had any one seen the savages?--or noted to what band they belonged? Who was their leader?

Yes. All these questions were answered in the affirmative. Two men, lying concealed by the road, had seen the Indians pa.s.sing away--had seen their captives, too; my sister--Viola--with other girls of the plantation. These were on horseback, each clasped in the arms of a savage. The blacks travelled afoot. They were _not_ bound. They appeared to go willingly. The Indians were "Redsticks"--_led by Osceola_.

Such was the belief of those around me, founded upon the report of the men who had lain in ambush.

It is difficult to describe the impression produced upon me. It was painful in the extreme. I endeavoured not to believe the report. I resolved not to give it credence, until I should have further confirmation of its truthfulness.