Over the mess-table I gathered much knowledge. Men talk freely while
the wine is flowing, and under the influence of champagne, the wisest
grow voluble.
The commissioner made little secret either of his own designs or the
views of the President, but most already guessed them.
He was somewhat gloomed at the manner in which the day's proceedings had
ended, and by the reflection that his diplomatic fame would suffer--a
fame ardently aspired to by all agents of the United States government.
Personal slights, too, had he received from Osceola and others--for the
calm cold Indian holds in scorn the man of hasty temper; and this
weakness had he displayed to their derision throughout the day. He felt
defeated, humiliated, resentful against the men of red skin. On the
morrow, he flattered himself that he would make them feel the power of
his resentment--teach them that, if passionate, he was also firm and
daring.
As the wine warmed him, he said as much in a half boasting way; he
became more reckless and jovial.
As for the military officers, they cared little for the _civil_ points
of the case, and took not much part in the discussion of its merits.
Their speculations ran upon the probability of strife--war, or no war?
That was the question of absorbing interest to the men of the sword. I
heard much boasting of _our_ superiority, and decrying of the strength
and the courage of the prospective enemy. But to this, there were
dissentient opinions expressed by a few old "Indian fighters" who were
of the mess.
It is needless to say that Oceola's character was commented upon; and
about the young chief, opinions were as different as vice from virtue.
With some, he was the "noble savage" he seemed; but I was astonished to
find the majority dissent from this view. "Drunken savage," "cattle
thief," "impostor," and such-like appellations were freely bestowed upon
him.
I grew irate; I could not credit these accusations. I observed that
most of those who made them were comparative strangers--new comers--to
the country, who could not know much of the past life of him with whose
name they were making so free.
The Ringgolds joined in the calumny, and they must have known him well;
but I comprehended _their_ motives.
I felt that I owed the subject of the conversation a word of defence;
for two reasons: he was absent--he had saved my life. Despite the
grandeur of the company, I could not restrain my tongue.
"Gentlemen," I said, speaking loud enough to call the attention of the
talkers, "can any of you prove these accusations against Osceola?"
The challenge produced an awkward silence. No one could exactly prove
either the drunkenness, the cattle-stealing, or the imposture.
"Ha?" at length ejaculated Arens Ringgold, in his shrill squeaky voice,
"you are his defender, are you, Lieutenant Randolph?"
"Until I hear better evidence than mere assertion, that he is not worthy
of defence."
"Oh! that may be easily obtained," cried one; "everybody knows what the
fellow is, and has been--a regular cow-stealer for years."
"You are mistaken there," I replied to this confident speaker; "I do not
know it--do you, sir?"
"Not from personal experience, I admit," said the accuser, somewhat
taken aback by the sudden interrogation.
"Since you are upon the subject of cattle-stealing, gentlemen, I may
inform you that I met with a rare incident only yesterday, connected
with the matter. If you will permit me, I shall relate it."
"Oh! certainly--by all means, let us have it."
Being a stranger, I was indulged with a patient hearing. I related the
episode of lawyer Grubb's cattle, omitting names. It created some
sensation. I saw that the commander-in-chief was impressed with it,
while the commissioner looked vexed, as if he would rather I had held my
tongue. But the strongest effect was produced upon the Ringgolds--
father and son. Both appeared pale and uneasy; perhaps no one noticed
this except myself, but I observed it with sufficient distinctness to be
left under the full impression, that both knew more of the matter than I
myself!
The conversation next turned upon "runaways"--upon the number of negroes
there might be among the tribes--upon the influence they would exert
against us in case of a conflict.
These were topics of serious importance. It was well-known there were
large numbers of black and yellow men "located," in the reserve: some as
agriculturists--some graziers--not a few wandering through the savannas
and forests, rifle in hand--having adopted the true style of Indian
hunter-life.
The speakers estimated their numbers variously: the lowest put them at
500, while some raised their figure to a 1000.
_All these would be against us to a man_. There was no dissent to that
proposition.
Some alleged they would fight badly; others, bravely; and these spoke
with more reason. All agreed that they would greatly aid the enemy, and
give us trouble, and a few went so far as to say, that we had more to
fear from the "black runaways" than the "red runaways." In this
expression, there was a latent jest.
[The Seminoles were originally of the great tribe of Muscogees (Creeks).
Seceding from these, for reasons not known, the Seminoles passed
southward into Florida; and obtained from their former kindred the name
they now bear, which in their own tongue has the signification of
"runaway."]
There could be no doubt that the negroes would take up arms in the
pending struggle; and no more, that they would act with efficiency
against us. Their knowledge of the white man's "ways" would enable them
to do so. Besides, the negro is no coward; their courage has been
ofttimes proved. Place him in front of a _natural_ enemy--a thing of
flesh, bone, and blood, armed with gun and bayonet--and the negro is not
the man to flinch. It is otherwise if the foe be not physical, but
belonging to the world of Obeah. In the soul of the unenlightened child
of Afric, superstition is strong indeed; he lives in a world of ghosts,
ghouls, and goblins, and his dread of these supernatural spirits is real
cowardice.
As the conversation continued on the subject of the blacks, I could not
help noticing the strong animus that actuated the speakers--especially
the planters in the civilian garb. Some waxed indignant--even wroth to
vulgarity--threatening all sorts of punishment to such runaways as might
be captured. They gloated over the prospect of restoration, but as much
at the idea of a not distant revenge. Shooting, hanging, burning,
_barbecuing_, were all spoken of, besides a variety of other tortures
peculiar to this southern land. Rare punishments--no lack of them--were
promised in a breath to the unfortunate absconder who should chance to
get caught.
You who live far away from such sentiments can but ill comprehend the
moral relations of caste and colour. Under ordinary circumstances,
there exists between white and black no feeling of hostility--quite the
contrary. The white man is rather kindly disposed towards his coloured
_brother_; but only so long as the latter opposes not his will. Let the
black but offer resistance--even in the slightest degree--and then
hostility is quickly kindled, justice and mercy are alike disregarded--
vengeance is only felt.
This is a general truth; it will apply to every one who owns a slave.
Exceptionally, the relation is worse. There are white my in the
southern States who hold the life of a black at but slight value--just
the value of his market price. An incident in the history of young
Ringgold helps me to an illustration. But the day before, my "squire,"
Black Jake had given me the story.
This youth, with some other boys of his acquaintance, and of like
dissolute character, was hunting in the forest. The hounds had passed
beyond hearing, and no one could tell the direction they had taken. It
was useless riding further, and the party halted, leaped from their
saddles, and tied their horses to the trees.
For a long time the baying of the beagles was not heard, and the time
hung heavily on the hands of the hunters. How were they to pass it?
A negro boy chanced to be near "chopping" wood. They knew the boy well
enough--one of the slaves on a neighbouring plantation.
"Let's us have some sport with the darkie," suggested one.
"What sport?"
"Let us hang him for sport."
The proposal of course produced a general laugh.
"Joking apart," said the first speaker, "I should really like to try how
much hanging a nigger _could_ bear without being killed outright."
"So should I," rejoined a second.
"And so I, too," added a third.
The idea took; the experiment promised to amuse them.
"Well, then, let us make trial; that's the best way to settle the
point."
The trial _was_ made--I am relating a _fact_--the unfortunate boy was
seized upon, a noose was adjusted round his neck, and he was triced up
to the branch of a tree.
Just at that instant, a stag broke past with the hounds in full cry.
The hunters ran to their horses, and in the excitement, forgot to cut
down the victim of their deviltry. One left the duty to another, and
all neglected it!
When the chase was ended, they returned to the spot; the negro was still
hanging from the branch--he was dead!
There was a trial--the mere mockery of a trial. Both judge and jury
were the relatives of the criminals; and the sentence was, that the
negro _should be paid for_! The owner of the slave was contented with
the price; justice was satisfied, or supposed to be; and Jake had heard
hundreds of white Christians, _who knew the tale to be true_, laughing
at it as a capital joke. As such, Arens Ringgold was often in the habit
of detailing it!
You on the other side of the Atlantic hold up your hands and cry
"Horror!" You live in the fancy you have no slaves--no cruelties like
this. You are sadly in error. I have detailed an exceptional case--an
individual victim. Land of the workhouse and the jail! your victims are
legion.
Smiling Christian! you parade your compassion, but you have made the
misery that calls it forth. You abet with easy concurrence the _system_
that begets all this suffering; and although you may soothe your spirit
by assigning crime and poverty to _natural causes_, nature will not be
impugned with impunity. In vain may you endeavour to shirk your
individual responsibility. For every cry and canker, you will be held
responsible in the sight of God.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The conversation about runaways naturally guided my thoughts to the
other and more mysterious adventure of yesterday; having dropped a hint
about this incident, I was called upon to relate it in detail. I did
so--of course scouting the idea that my intended assassin could have
been Yellow Jake. A good many of those present knew the story of the
mulatto, and the circumstances connected with his death.
Why was it, when I mentioned his name, coupled with the solemn
declaration of my sable groom--why was it that Arens Ringgold started,
turned pale, and whispered some words in the ear of his father?