THE JOURNEY IN SEARCH OF FOOD
As the paddles flashed brightly in the moonshine, and the light craft
in which Réné and Has-se were seated moved swiftly and silently down
the broad river, the former related to his companion all the
particulars of his leaving the fort, and the delays that had detained
him past their appointed time of meeting. As he concluded his story,
Has-se, who until then had remained silent, said,
"Thou hast done well, Ta-lah-lo-ko, and thy success at the outset is
proof to me that the Great Spirit favors our undertaking."
Réné was not so convinced of this as his companion, for he was not at
all certain that he was acting rightly; but he did not seek to disturb
the other's confidence, and only said,
"Now tell me of thy escape, Has-se; for I must confess that I would
have deemed it impossible, and am not a little concerned to find Fort
Caroline such a sieve as thy easy leave-taking would seem to prove it."
Has-se was silent for some minutes, and then he said,
"I would have no secrets from thee, my brother, and would gladly tell
thee that thou askest; but I may not now, though at another time my
tongue may be loosed. For the present I am bound not to reveal that
which must needs be known were the manner of my escape described to
thee."
Réné felt somewhat hurt at this answer, which seemed to imply a want of
confidence in him; but he knew his friend's character too well to press
the subject further, and so, smothering his curiosity, he turned the
conversation to other things.
After they had travelled for several miles down the river, Has-se
turned the bow of the canoe into a sluggish bayou, that wound, with
innumerable turnings, amid vast limitless expanses of salt-marsh. This
stream led into others that formed such a maze that it seemed to Réné
impossible that they should ever discover a way out of it.
As Has-se kept the canoe to its course, never for an instant hesitating
as to which way he should turn, they startled from their resting-places
myriads of water-fowl and strange birds, that flew away with harsh
notes of alarm. These were answered from the distant forest by the
melancholy howlings of wolves and the cries of other night-prowling
wild beasts, that sounded very fearful to Réné's unaccustomed ears.
At length their craft was run ashore at the foot of a small shell mound
that formed quite an elevation amid the wide levels of the marshes, and
Has-se said they would rest there until sunrise. After hauling the
canoe well up out of the water, he led the way to a small hut, thatched
with palmetto-leaves, that stood half-way up the side of the mound. In
it was piled a quantity of long gray moss, that formed a most
acceptable bed to the tired boys; and throwing themselves down on it,
they were in a few minutes fast asleep.
It seemed to Réné that he had but just fallen asleep when he was
awakened by a light touch upon his forehead. Springing to his feet, he
found Has-se standing smiling beside him, and saw that the sun had
already risen. Running down to the beach, he bathed his face in the
cool salt-water, used a handful of moss as a towel, and turned to the
breakfast that Has-se had spent an hour in preparing.
When Réné saw what a luxurious repast the ingenuity of the young Indian
had provided, he opened his eyes wide in astonishment. He knew that a
bag of parched corn and several gourds of fresh water had been brought
along, and upon this simple fare he had expected to break his fast.
Now, in addition to the parched corn, he saw fish, oysters, eggs, and a
vegetable, all smoking hot, cooked to a nicety, and temptingly spread
on some freshly cut palm-leaves.
The fish were mullet, that Has-se had speared from the canoe as they
swam in the clear water. He had cleaned them, wrapped them in fresh,
damp leaves, raked aside a portion of the fire that he had kindled when
he first arose, buried them in the hot sand beneath it, and covered the
spot with live coals.
The oysters had also come from the water, in a great bunch that Has-se
had just been able to lift and carry to the fire. To cook them he had
simply placed the entire bunch on the coals, where they had roasted in
their shells, which now gaped wide open, offering their contents to be
eaten.
The eggs were plover's eggs, of which Has-se had discovered several
nests among the tall marsh grass. They also had been roasted in the
hot sand, from which the fire had been raked one side.
The vegetable puzzled Réné considerably, for he had never seen its
like, and knew not what to make of it. When he asked Has-se what it
was, the latter laughed, with the soft, musical laugh, peculiar to his
people, and answered,
"Dost thou not know thy namesake, Ta-lah-lo-ko? It is the leaf bud of
a young palm-tree, and with us Indians it takes the place of bread when
we have neither a-chee" (the maize) "nor koonti-katki" (the
starch-root).
It was indeed the tender leaf bud of the cabbage-palm, roasted in its
own husk, and to Réné it tasted much like roasted chestnuts.
From the shells on the beach he obtained a small quantity of salt, that
had been left in them by the evaporated water of some former high tide.
This he wanted for both his fish and his eggs. Then the two boys sat
down to their feast, and ate and laughed and chatted, and enjoyed it so
thoroughly that one of them at least thought nothing had ever tasted so
good to him before.
After breakfast, as there were no dishes to be washed, and nothing to
be packed to carry with them, they were able to resume their journey at
once. Until nearly noon they were hemmed in by the monotonous
salt-marshes; then they crossed a wide sheet of open water, and entered
the mouth of a wild, dark river that flowed into it from the west. The
rest of that day and most of the next was occupied in the ascent of
this river, which ever grew darker and narrower as they neared its
source. They worked incessantly at the paddles, and made such speed
that Has-se said they must certainly overtake his people before they
reached the land of the Alachuas.
Several times during these two days he ran the canoe ashore at places
that his keen vision noted as having been the landing-places of other
canoes. At each of these places he found the ashes and charred sticks
that denoted recent camp-fires, and each time after making such a
discovery he returned to Réné with a puzzled and thoughtful expression
on his face. His companion noticed this, and finally inquired the
cause.
"What troubles thee, my Has-se?" he asked. "Thy looks betoken a
worriment of some kind. May I not share it with thee?"
For a few minutes Has-se plied his paddle vigorously and in silence;
then he said, more as if thinking aloud than in answer to Réné's
question, "Others besides ourselves are in pursuit of my people, and I
fear they are enemies."
"What is thy reason for thus thinking?"
"Because I find that each halting-place of Micco's band has been
carefully examined after their departure. I have also found the
remains of several small but recent camp-fires on opposite sides of the
river from theirs, and around them I find the traces of but two men.
One of these men is very large, and he wears moccasins that were never
made by my people. I fear they are enemies."
"But why should they be enemies?" asked Réné. "May they not be some of
thy band left behind like thyself. Or may not one of them be of thy
tribe, and the other be one of the guests who attended the Feast of
Ripe Corn?"
"That is easily answered," replied the young Indian. "If they were
friends who for some reason had been left behind, and were now anxious
to rejoin those whom they follow, they could have done so long since.
Their fires burned at the same time with those of my people, and they
have visited Micco's camps before the ashes of his fires grew cold.
Besides, in each case their own fires were carefully hidden, so that
they could not by any chance be seen by those who were in advance of
them."
"Who, then, can be following so large a band, and for what purpose?
Surely two cannot harm so many."
"That I know not, but I fear them to be of the outlawed Seminoles.[1]
If so, they are following my people for the purpose of picking up
plunder, or of snatching the prize of a scalp--a thing they could only
gain by a cowardly attack upon one defenceless, for they dare not seek
it in open fight. Or it may be that one of them is he who has
conceived a bitter enmity against those who never treated him with
aught save kindness, and that he has joined with him another equally
base."
At this thought Has-se's bright face became clouded, and for some time
he remained silent. Finally the silence was again broken by Réné, who
asked,
"Who are these Seminoles of whom thou dost speak thus contemptuously?"
"Seminole, in my language, signifies a run-away. They are a band of
thieves, murderers, and other bad Indians, who have been driven out of
my tribe and other tribes on the north. They have gradually increased
in numbers, until now they call themselves a tribe. They are always at
war with all men, and against them my people have declared a fight
forever."
"And who is he of whom thou speakest so vaguely as having conceived an
enmity unjustly against those who have harmed him not?"
"One who should be well known to thee, Ta-lah-lo-ko. I speak of Chitta
the Snake, whom I hope we may not encounter."
"It will be the worse for him if we do encounter him, and he ventures
to interfere with us," replied Réné, hotly.
"Nay, Ta-lah-lo-ko. I have a feeling within me which warns me that a
meeting with the Snake will be a sad one for us," answered Has-se, who,
though as brave as a young lion, was inclined to be superstitious, as
were all of his race.
During this conversation the course of the canoe had been through a
mere thread of a stream, and Réné now noticed that they were traversing
the mazes of a dark swamp. The little stream connected a series of
stagnant pools or bayous, and just as they came into the open water of
one of these they caught a glimpse of another canoe leaving it on the
opposite side. Even as they sighted it, it shot in among the trunks of
a dense cypress forest, and disappeared.
[1]Before the Seminoles became the powerful tribe into which they
finally grew they were a band of outlaws, composed of those who, for
some good reason, had fled or been driven from the Creeks, Cherokees,
Choctaws, Chickasaws, and other tribes of the South.--K. M.