HAS-SE RECEIVES THE TOKEN
Far away from the scenes of sorrow, suffering, savage cruelty, and
savage rejoicing of which the shadowy depths of the great swamp were
witness, in the pleasant land of the Alachuas, the close of the second
day after the one on which Réné de Veaux had been held a prisoner into
the Seminole village presented a picture of peace and happy
contentment. A light breeze sweeping across the broad savannas brought
with it the odors of countless flowers; from the moss-hung trees many
birds poured forth their evening songs in floods of melody, and all
nature was full of beauty and rejoicing.
In the camp of deerskin lodges and palmetto huts clustered beneath the
grand trees, and occupied by those Indians who acknowledged the good
old Micco as their chief, all were in the open air enjoying the cool of
the evening. The hunters had returned from the chase laden with game,
and now lay in comfortable attitudes on the soft grass, indulging in a
well-earned rest. The women were busy about the fires, preparing the
evening meal, and the children frolicked among the lodges or around the
edge of the great spring, as free from care and as happy as the birds
above their heads. From the bank of the river but a short distance
away came the shouts of a party of lads who were bathing in the clear
waters. To these the Indian mothers listened with a certain anxiety,
fearful lest they should hear the shrill cry of warning that would
announce the presence of Allapatta, the great alligator.
In the middle of the camp stood a lodge larger and taller than the
others, and surmounted by the plume of eagles' feathers that showed it
to be that of the chief. In front of this lodge, seated on outspread
robes, and gravely smoking their long-stemmed pipes, were the old chief
Micco, several of the principal men of his tribe, and Yah-chi-la-ne,
the young Alachua chief. Behind the old chief, and ready to do his
slightest bidding, stood a tall, slender, but remarkably handsome
youth, in whose hair was braided a scarlet feather that shone against
the dark tresses like a vivid flame. His face was lighted with a quick
intelligence, and he evidently took a keen interest in the subject
which the others were discussing, though, as became his years, he took
no part in their conversation.
At length the old chief turned to the lad with a kindly smile and said,
"What is thy opinion, my brave Bow-bearer? Can there be enmity between
these white friends of thine and others of their own color who also
come from across the great waters?"
Very proud of having his opinion thus asked, Has-se--for it was none
other than the beloved Indian friend of Réné de Veaux--answered,
modestly,
"It seems to me not unlikely that there should be. Do not different
tribes of our own race and color often war against one another?"
"Well answered, my son," replied the chief; "thou art right, and I am
inclined to believe that what we have just learned is only too true.
If it be, then am I deeply grieved for the sad fate of those who were
our friends."
The tidings of which Micco spoke had been brought that day by an Indian
runner from a far-eastern tribe. They told of the arrival upon the
coast of the Spaniards under Menendez, and of their destruction of
Seloy and capture of Fort Caroline. The runner had also told of the
brutal massacre by Menendez and his soldiers of Admiral Ribault and all
who escaped with him from the wreck of the French ships. These, when
they were cast ashore by the fearful storm already described, had
thrown themselves upon the mercy of the Spaniards, and had met only
with the mercy dealt out by the sword and the dagger.
That the pale-faces should thus destroy each other had been deemed so
wonderful and of such importance by those eastern tribes who knew of
these occurrences, that they had despatched runners to all the friendly
tribes within hundreds of miles to acquaint them with the facts. Many
of Micco's warriors were inclined to doubt that such things could be,
and it was to discuss the matter that he had summoned his advisers and
principal braves to his lodge.
While the chief and his wise men thus talked and smoked with a gravity
becoming their years and position, and while Has-se, the Bow-bearer,
listened to them with an eager interest, there came of a sudden loud
shouts from the lads on the river-bank. All eyes were turned in that
direction, and some anxiety was felt lest Allapatta had indeed made his
appearance, and was endeavoring to secure a meal off one of the bathers.
In another moment, however, all the lads were seen trooping towards the
camp, and surrounding a young warrior who came willingly with them, but
who was a stranger to all present. The lads conducted him directly to
where the little circle was formed in front of the chief's lodge. Here
one from among them explained that this stranger had come down the
river alone in a canoe, and had asked of them information concerning
the land of the Alachuas, and particularly for that tribe of Indians
led by a chief called Micco.
As the young warrior, whose person bore every evidence of long and
hasty travel, stood silently before him, the old chief said,
"I am Micco. Who art thou, and what is thy errand here?"
The stranger answered, "I am known as E-chee, and am of that place by
the great waters called Seloy. He whom I seek most anxiously among thy
people is named to me as thy son, Has-se, the Bow-bearer."
"Then is thy search ended," replied Micco, "for Has-se, my son and
Bow-bearer, is even here in attendance. What is thy business with him?"
As Has-se, greatly surprised at being thus singled out, stepped
forward, the stranger drew from his breast a scarlet flamingo feather.
It was exactly like the one that glowed so vividly amid the dark
tresses of the young Bow-bearer, and from it hung a slender gold chain,
to which was attached a golden pin. Handing it to Has-se, E-chee said,
"He who sends thee this token is in danger of speedily losing his life,
and he prays that thou wilt come to his rescue."
Eagerly seizing the feather, Has-se exclaimed, "It comes from
Ta-lah-lo-ko, the young white chief! Where is he, and in what danger?"
Then, while all present listened with the closest attention, E-chee
told of the destruction of Seloy and the capture of Fort Caroline by
the Spaniards; of his own capture, and that of Réné de Veaux and two
other white men, by the Seminoles; of his escape, and of the terrible
fate now awaiting those still in the hands of the outlaws.
When he had finished, Has-se, who had followed the story with
breathless attention and flashing eyes, turned to the chief and said,
"My father, this pledge I would redeem with life itself, for he who
sends it is my best beloved friend and brother."
"And if he still lives, and it can be accomplished, he shall yet be
saved," answered the old chief, promptly, with the fire of a young
warrior blazing in his eyes. Then of E-chee he asked, "Dost thou know
the trail back to this den of wolves? and is thy strength sufficient to
allow of thy immediate departure to guide a party of my warriors to it?"
"As the wounded deer knows the trail marked by his own blood, so know I
it; and if my strength should fail, hatred of these Seminoles would
take its place and still bear me on," was the answer.
"It is well spoken," said the old chief. Then turning to
Yah-chi-la-ne, his son-in-law, he said, "Take thou twenty picked
braves, my eagle, and with them find out this hiding-place of
Seminoles. If Ta-lah-lo-ko still lives, effect his rescue, and that of
the other prisoners, and return with them. I send no more with thee,
for fear that with a stronger party thy hot blood would lead thee to
attack this nest of swamp foxes. Such a measure could only result in
failure; for if it be situated as this young man describes, not the
whole force of our tribe, together with that of thy brave Alachuas,
could prevail against it. Therefore the rescue must be effected by
cunning and not by mere valor; but take thou careful note of the
locality, and bring again word to me. If there is any chance of
success in attacking it, we will then send forth a war-party that shall
blot from existence this plague-spot."
Gladly did the brave Yah-chi-la-ne set about the execution of this
order; and within an hour he and his war-party of twenty picked braves,
of whom Has-se was the first chosen, were ready to start on their
dangerous mission.
During that hour E-chee, who was to be their guide, had bathed in the
life-giving waters of the spring and eaten a hearty meal; so that he
now felt like a new man, and equal to any amount of fresh hardships and
fatigue.
In the darkness of the early night the little party entered their
canoes, and with lusty strokes of the paddles started swiftly up the
narrow river towards the terrible swamp, and the more terrible scenes
that it concealed.
E-chee occupied the foremost canoe with Yah-chi-la-ne and Has-se; and
as they sped onward he told them at greater length than before of the
tragic events of the past few days, and of the captivity of
Ta-lah-lo-ko.
He also told the story of his own escape, which would doubtless have
interested the Seminoles greatly could they have heard it. Having made
up his mind that if he was to be of service to the young white chief he
must set about it immediately, he had determined to attempt an escape
on the very night of his arrival at the Seminole village. As he knew
that he would not be permitted on any account to pass the guard at the
end of the trail, he conceived a plan that would draw the sentinel from
his post for a few moments, and as soon as darkness came on proceeded
to put it into execution.
He simply procured a billet of heavy water-soaked wood, that would sink
like a stone, and carried it, undiscovered, to a thicket on the edge of
the island near the end of the trail. There he flung his Seminole
head-dress of feathers upon the ground, chanted a few notes of a
death-song, cried out that he was thus about to rejoin his own people,
and threw the billet of wood into the dark waters, where, with a loud
splash, it instantly sank from sight. Then he crept noiselessly from
the spot, and when the sentinel reached the thicket he had gained the
unguarded trail, and, without waiting to listen to the comments upon
his supposed suicide, made off with all speed. He had happily
succeeded in retaining his footing upon the uncertain pathway, and in
safely reaching the spot at the head of the lagoon where the Seminole
canoes were hidden. Taking possession of one of these, he had
travelled night and day towards the land of the Alachuas, guided by the
directions given him by Réné.
Has-se and Yah-chi-la-ne listened attentively to this tale, and at its
conclusion commended E-chee highly for the skill and bravery with which
he had effected his escape and made his way to their encampment. Then
they talked of their chances of still finding Réné alive, and of how
they should rescue him, until E-chee, utterly exhausted by his
prolonged efforts, dropped into a profound slumber, from which he did
not awaken until daylight.
Meantime, in the Seminole village, the preparations for the great Feast
of Rejoicing had been completed, and it had been begun on the very day
of E-chee's arrival in Micco's camp, and of the setting forth of the
rescuing party. For two days Réné de Veaux listened with a sickening
dread to the sounds of savage revelry that penetrated the hut in which
he lay. He heard the continuous beating of the kas-a-lal-ki, or Indian
drum, and the rattle of the terrapin shells, filled with dried palmetto
berries, that accompanied the dancing. He heard the fierce, wild
shouts and yells of the savages and shuddered at them. Above all he
heard, and attempted to close his ears to the sound, the cries of agony
forced from those of his own race who suffered torture at the stake.
Of all these sounds he could only guess the meaning; for none came near
him save the guard who brought him food and water, but who refused to
speak to him, and once Chitta came and stood over him with a smile of
triumph lighting his dark features. As he turned away he said, as
though speaking to himself,
"On the morrow we shall see of what stuff pale-faced chiefs are made."
This was all, but to the quick understanding of the captive boy it
meant everything. He knew at once that his turn had come, and that
with the light of another day he would be led forth, and by his
sufferings afford a brief amusement to a horde of yelling savages.
Could he endure it? Would his strength bear him bravely to the bitter
end? Or would he too break down and cry out as he had heard the
others? The agony of such thoughts was too great for the poor
friendless lad, and, throwing himself face downward upon the ground, he
burst into bitter tears.
How long he lay thus he knew not. At last, after passing what seemed
like hours of anguish, he rose slowly to his knees and poured forth his
whole soul in prayer to One who had also been tortured, and knew the
agony that preceded such sufferings. His prayer was for deliverance;
or if that might not be, then for His presence to support and
strengthen him in the hour of trial.
Having thus resigned all care of his own affairs, and placed them with
the only One who could bring him peace and strength, the boy felt
greatly comforted, and as though he should bear bravely whatever
tortures might be devised for him.
His cheerfulness astonished the guard who brought in his supper of
sof-ka (soup) and koonti-katki (starch-root), and he thought within
himself, "He cannot know what awaits him on the morrow; but he will
wear a different face when he sees the stake."
Réné had hardly finished eating with a good appetite his rather scanty
meal, when the guard again entered and loosened his bonds, and he was
led forth from the hut for the first time since his arrival in the
village. Guarded by a tall warrior on either side, he was forced to
head a sort of triumphal procession, and, accompanied by the sound of
the rattles and the kas-a-lal-ki, to march through and around the
village, to be gazed at and taunted by its entire population.
The lad walked with a firm tread, in spite of his painfully swollen
ankles, that had been cruelly bound for so long a time that they now
hardly supported him. His head was proudly lifted, and his youthful
countenance bore so brave and fearless a look that all who saw him
marvelled at it. It also caused them great joy, for they said one to
another, "He is so brave that the tortures must be many and long before
he will cry out, and we shall have rare sport with him on the morrow."
As this noisy procession passed on that side of the village nearest the
end of the trail that led away from the island through the swamp, it
attracted the attention of the warrior who was there on guard. So
great was his curiosity to see what was going on that he allowed it to
carry him a few yards from his post to a point where he could obtain a
better view.
While he thus stood, neglecting his duty for a moment and with his back
turned to the trail, three dark figures, hardly distinguishable from
the twilight shadows, glided noiselessly and swiftly from it. An
instant later they had vanished in the little thicket from which E-chee
had flung his billet of wood into the water on the night of his escape
from the Seminoles.
The procession passed on, and the careless sentinel returned to his
post, filled with thoughts of what was to take place on the morrow, but
as utterly unconscious of the three pairs of eyes that regarded him
from the thicket as though no human beings save himself existed. Could
he have seen them, he would have instantly known them for those of
enemies, for he would have recognized E-chee, though Has-se and
Yah-chi-la-ne were strangers to him.
It was indeed these three friends and would-be rescuers of Réné de
Veaux, who had thus been fortunate enough to gain the island without
opposition and without bloodshed. From the time of their starting they
had made no stop until they had reached the head of the little lagoon
and taken to the trail through the swamps. Under E-chee's guidance
they had followed it safely and without meeting a soul, so taken up
were the Seminoles with their festivities. Within a short distance of
the island Yah-chi-la-ne had halted his men, and bade them remain where
they were while he, with Has-se and E-chee, approached more closely to
the village, to discover the best mode of operation.
Unperceived, they had stolen close up to the warrior who guarded the
end of the trail, and for some time they lay hidden within bow-shot of
him, discussing in the lowest of whispers how they should pass him.
The timely approach of the procession, with Réné at its head, had, by
diverting his attention for a few moments, offered an opportunity too
good to be neglected. They had seized it, slipped past the
unsuspecting guard, and thus safely accomplished the first stage of
their difficult undertaking.
As they lay concealed in the thicket, awaiting a later hour of the
night, and for the revellers in the village to seek their lodges,
fortune again favored them. Dense black clouds gradually spread over
the sky, one by one the stars disappeared, the air grew thick and
heavy, until at length, with a blinding flash, a terrific thunder-storm
burst upon the village. Taking advantage of the intense darkness, the
three made their way swiftly, but with every precaution against
discovery, among the now silent lodges until, guided by E-chee, they
reached the rear of the palmetto hut in which Réné was confined.
The lightning revealed to them the motionless figure of a warrior
standing in front of it, and E-chee, lying flat on the wet ground, with
a keen-headed arrow fitted to the string of his bow, was left to watch
him. Upon the slightest alarm being given, the arrow would have found
its way to his heart, and the three, taking Réné with them, would have
attempted a desperate flight. As long, however, as all remained quiet
and they could work undisturbed, they were to try another plan.
While E-chee kept watch, Yah-chi-la-ne and Has-se, with the knives
given them by Réné, attempted to cut an entrance to the hut through the
thick thatch at its rear. Fortunately the rain, which beat upon them
in torrents, prevented any slight sounds they might make from being
heard, and also moistened the palmetto leaves so that they did not
crackle, as they would have done had they been dry. Thus, though they
worked but slowly, they worked silently, and gradually cut their way
into the interior.
Upon returning to his prison, after the trying ordeal of being
subjected to the taunts and stares of the whole village, Réné threw
himself upon the ground to gain what rest he might. Supposing that
this was his last night of life, his mental sufferings kept him long
awake, but at length he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Suddenly he
found himself sitting bolt-upright, as wide-awake as ever in his life.
At first he supposed his sudden awakening to have been caused by a
terrific burst of thunder that crashed overhead, but in the deep
silence that followed he heard his own name pronounced in a whisper--
"Ta-lah-lo-ko!"
Could he be dreaming? No; it came again--
"Ta-lah-lo-ko!"
Truly he was called, and he whispered in reply, "I am here."
A slight rustling followed, and then the captive boy, whose wildly
beating heart seemed like to burst from his breast, knew that a friend
was beside him, cutting the bonds from his wrists and ankles, and
whispering,
"It is Has-se, and thou art saved, oh my brother!"
Then tremblingly, and guided by the gentle hand of the Indian lad, Réné
crept through the opening made by the keen knives of his friends. In
spite of all precautions, his passage through the leaves rustled them
so loudly that only a violent thunder-clap coming at the same moment
prevented the noise from being heard.
Without a word being spoken, the four made their way as swiftly as
might be to where the trail left the island.
The guard at this point was suddenly petrified by superstitious fear at
the sight of E-chee, whom he supposed to have been drowned. The figure
stood in front of him, and, as revealed by a flash of lightning, was
haggard and dripping, as though it had just risen from a watery grave.
Ere the frightened warrior could give an alarm, a stunning blow from
behind felled him to the wet earth, where he lay motionless and
apparently devoid of life.