CHITTA'S REVENGE
So Has-se the Sunbeam became Bow-bearer to his father, the great chief
Micco, and Chitta the Snake was disappointed of his ambition. By some
means he became convinced that Réné de Veaux had instructed Has-se in
his newly acquired trick of wrestling; and though he had no proof of
this, he conceived a bitter hatred against the white lad. He had
especially included him in his muttered threat of vengeance against all
those who greeted his final overthrow with shouts of joy; but, like the
wily reptile whose name he bore, he was content to bide his time and
await his opportunity to strike a deadly blow. After the games were
ended he disappeared, and was seen no more that day.
His absence was hardly noted, for immediately after Has-se's victory
the entire assembly repaired to the great mound which had gradually
been raised by the accumulation of shells, bones, broken pottery, and
charred wood that many generations of Indian feasters had left behind
them, and here was spread the feast of the day. Then followed dancing
and singing, which were continued far into the night.
At length the dancers became exhausted; the men who beat the drums and
rattled the terrapin shells filled with dried palmetto berries grew so
drowsy that their music sounded fainter and fainter, until it finally
ceased altogether, and by two hours after midnight the whole encampment
was buried in profound slumber. Even those whose duty it was to stand
guard dozed at their posts, and the silence of the night was only
broken by the occasional hootings of Hup-pe (the great owl).
Had the guards been awake instead of dreaming, it is possible that they
might have noticed the dark figure of a man who noiselessly and
stealthily crept amid the heavy shadows on the edge of the forest
towards the great granary, or storehouse, in which was kept all the
ripe maize of the tribe, together with much starch-root (koonti katki)
and a large quantity of yams. The granary was built of pitch-pine
posts and poles, heavily thatched with palm-leaves, that the summer
suns had dried to a tinder.
Occasionally the dark figure skulking among the shadows came to little
patches of bright moonlight, and to cross these he lay flat on the
ground and writhed his way through the grass like a snake. A close
observer would have noticed a dull, steady glow which came from a round
object that the skulker carried with great care. If he had been near
enough he would have seen that this was a large gourd, in which, on a
bed of sand, were a quantity of live coals taken from one of the fires
that still smouldered about the epola, or place of dancing. In his
other hand the man carried a few fat-pine splinters that would burn
almost like gun-powder.
At length, without having attracted attention from any one of the
encamped Indians, or the drowsy guards upon whom they depended for
safety, the figure reached the granary, and disappeared amid the dark
shadows of its walls. Crouching to the ground, and screening his gourd
of coals with his robe, he thrust into it one end of the bundle of
fat-pine splinters and blew gently upon them. They smoked for a
minute, and then burst into a quick blaze.
Beginning at one end of the granary, this torch was applied to the dry
thatch that covered it, and it instantly sprang into flame. As the
figure ran along the end of the structure, around the corner, and down
the entire length of its side, always keeping in the shadow, he applied
the torch in a dozen places, and then flinging it on top of the low
roof, where it speedily ignited the covering, he bounded away into the
darkness, uttering, as he did so, a long-drawn, ear-piercing yell of
triumph.
By the time the nodding guards had discovered the flames and given the
alarm, the whole granary was in a blaze, and the startled Indians, who
rushed out from the lodges and palmetto booths, could do nothing but
stand helpless and gaze at the destruction of their property. All
asked how it had happened, and who had done this thing, but not even
the guards could offer the slightest explanation.
Meantime the author of all this mischief stopped when he had gained
what he considered a safe distance from the fire, and, concealed by the
friendly shadows of the forest, stood with folded arms and scowling
features gazing at the result of his efforts. At length the light from
the burning building grew so bright that even the shadow in which he
stood began to be illuminated, and he turned to go away. As he did so
he shook his clenched hand towards the burning granary, and muttered,
"The white man and the red man shall both learn to dread the fangs of
the Snake, for thus do I declare war against them both."
As he spoke, a voice beside him, that he instantly recognized as that
of Has-se, exclaimed, "What! is this thy work, Chitta?"
For answer Has-se received a terrible blow, full in the face, that
stretched him, stunned and bleeding, on the ground; and Chitta, saying,
"Lie there, miserable Bow-bearer, I will meet thee again," sprang out
into the forest and disappeared.
When Has-se, aroused by the shouts of the guards and the glare of
light, had rushed from the lodge in which he slept, he had seen a
figure standing between him and the light, and had approached it to
learn the cause of all the excitement. He was just about to speak,
when he recognized Chitta, and heard him utter the words that at once
declared him to be the author of the conflagration and the enemy of his
people and their friends.
Not being able to appreciate the petty spirit of revenge that
influenced the Snake, Has-se gave utterance to his exclamation of
surprise, and in return received the cruel blow for which he was so
little prepared.
When he recovered consciousness he found himself in his father's lodge,
lying on a bed of deer-skins, while his sister, the beautiful Nethla,
was bathing his temples with cold water.
It was now broad daylight, and the great granary, with all its
contents, had been reduced to a heap of smouldering ruins. About the
lodge in which Has-se lay were gathered a great crowd of Indians,
awaiting his return to consciousness, to learn what he knew of the
occurrences of the past few hours, and in what way he had been
connected with them. By the earliest light of day a band of
experienced warriors had tracked his assailant from the spot in which
the young Bow-bearer had been discovered, through the tall grass and
underbrush from which the fugitive had brushed the dew in his flight to
the river's edge. Here one of the canoes that had been drawn up on the
beach was found to be missing, and search parties had been sent both up
and down the river, but as yet they had not returned.
As Has-se slowly recovered consciousness, and opened his eyes, his
sister bent over him and whispered, "Who dealt thee the cruel blow, oh,
my brother?"
Receiving his faint answer, she sprang to her feet, and turning to her
father, who stood near, exclaimed, "'Tis Chitta the Snake who has done
this thing in revenge for our Has-se's success in the games of
yesterday."
From the entrance of the lodge the old chief proclaimed the news, and
all through the great assembly were heard cries of anger against Chitta
the Snake.
The destruction of this winter's supply of food was not only a serious
blow to the Indians, but to the little garrison of Fort Caroline as
well, for Laudonniere had just completed arrangements with Micco for
the purchase of the greater part of it. Only a small quantity of
provisions remained in the fort, and though the forest contained an
abundance of game, and the river teemed with fish, the French soldiers
were not skilled in either hunting or fishing, and had become dependent
upon their Indian neighbors for what they needed of such food. It was
therefore with feelings of surprised alarm that, on the second day
after the burning of the granary, they noticed the absence of all
Indians from the vicinity of the fort. Scouts were sent to the Indian
encampment to discover the cause of this unusual state of affairs, and
they soon returned with the report that the place was wholly deserted,
and that not an Indian was to be found.
Not only had all the visiting Indians disappeared, but also every soul
of Micco's tribe; and, what was more significant, they had taken with
them their lodges and all portable property.
Laudonniere at once realized the full force of the situation. His
soldiers were worn out with the labor of building the fort, and many of
them were prostrated by a peculiar fever that racked their joints with
severe pains and unfitted them for duty. The store of provisions upon
which he had depended to feed his men through the approaching winter
had been destroyed. The Indians who might have provided him with game
had abandoned him and gone he knew not whither. His men knew nothing
of the art of winning for themselves a livelihood from the wilderness
that surrounded them. Although the soldiers had been allowed to think
differently, he knew that some months must still elapse before the
arrival of reinforcements and supplies from France. He himself, worn
out by anxiety and overwork, was beginning to feel symptoms of the
approach of the dreaded fever, and he feared that ere long he would be
unfitted to perform the duties of his important position.
In this emergency, he decided to hold a council with the officers of
the garrison, and ask their aid in deciding what was to be done. He
therefore sent word to Soisson, his lieutenant, old Hillaire, the
captain of artillery, Martinez, the quartermaster, Chastelleux, the
chief of engineers, Le Moyne, the artist, and to Réné, his nephew,
bidding them meet him in council. He added Réné to the number, for his
uncle wished him to fully comprehend the difficulties of their position.
The council met in the commandant's private room, and Laudonniere,
stating the situation clearly to them, asked what was to be done. Some
suggested one thing and some another, and the discussion was long and
earnest. Le Moyne, the artist, added to the perplexities of the
commandant by stating that he had heard rumors of dissatisfaction among
the garrison, and threats that unless provisions were speedily obtained
they would build a vessel, abandon the fort and country, and attempt to
make their way back to France.
While the discussion was at its height, two soldiers appeared at the
door, leading between them a slender young Indian, whom Réné, with a
joyful cry, at once recognized as his friend Has-se the Sunbeam.