The spectacle of yesterday was repeated: the troops in serried lines of
blue and steel--the officers in full uniform with shining epaulettes--in
the centre the staff grouped around the general, close buttoned and of
brilliant sheen; fronting these the half-circle of chiefs, backed by
concentric lines of warriors, plumed, painted, and picturesque--horses
standing near, some neighing under ready saddles, some picketed and
quietly browsing--Indian women in their long _hunnas_, hurrying to and
fro--boys and babes at play upon the grass--flags waring above the
soldiers--banners and pennons floating over the heads of the red
warriors--drums beating--bugles braying; such was the array.
Again the spectacle was imposing, yet scarcely so much as that of the
preceding day. The eye at once detected a deficiency in the circle of
the chiefs, and nearly half of the warriors were wanting. The
assemblage no longer impressed you with the idea of a multitude--it was
only a respectable crowd, with room enough for all to gather close
around the council.
The absence of many chiefs was at once perceived. King Onopa was not
there. The coronet of British brass--lacquered symbol of royalty,
yesterday conspicuous in the centre--was no longer to be seen. Holato
Mico was missing, with other leaders of less note; and the thinness in
the ranks of the common warriors showed that these chiefs had taken
their followers along with them. Most of the Indians on the ground
appeared to be of the clans of Omatla, "Black Dirt," and Ohala.
Notwithstanding the fewness of their following, I saw that
Hoitle-mattee, Arpiucki, negro Abram, and the dwarf were present.
Surely these stayed not to sign?
I looked for Osceola. It was not difficult to discover one so
conspicuous, both in figure and feature. He formed the last link in the
now contracted curve of the chiefs. He was lowest in rank, but this did
not signify, as regarded his position. Perhaps he had placed himself
there from a feeling of modesty--a well-known characteristic of the man.
He was in truth the very youngest of the chiefs, and by birthright
entitled to a smaller command than any present; but, viewing him as he
stood--even at the bottom of the rank--one could not help fancying that
he was the head of all.
As upon the preceding day, there was no appearance of bravado about him.
His attitude, though stately and statuesque, was one of perfect ease.
His arms were folded over his full chest--his weight resting on one
limb, the other slightly retired--his features in repose, or now and
then lit up by an expression rather of gentleness. He seemed the
impersonation of an Apollo--or, to speak less mythologically, a
well-behaved gentleman waiting for some ceremony, of which he was to be
a simple spectator. As yet, nothing had transpired to excite him; no
words had been uttered to rouse a spirit that only _seemed_ to slumber.
Ere long, that attitude of repose would pass away--that soft smile would
change to the harsh frown of passion.
Gazing upon his face, one could hardly fancy such a transformation
possible, and yet a close observer might. It was like the placid sky
that precedes the storm--the calm ocean that in a moment may be
convulsed by the squall--the couchant lion that on the slightest
provocation may be roused to ungovernable rage.
During the moments that preceded the inauguration of the council, I kept
my eyes upon the young chief. Other eyes were regarding him as well; he
was the cynosure of many, but mine was a gaze of peculiar interest.
I looked for some token of recognition, but received none--neither nod
nor glance. Once or twice, his eye fell upon me, but passed on to some
one else, as though I was but one among the crowd of his pale-faced
adversaries. He appeared not to remember me. Was this really so? or
was it, that his mind, preoccupied with great thoughts, hindered him
from taking notice?
I did not fail to cast my eyes abroad--over the plain--to the tents--
towards the groups of loitering women. I scanned their forms, one after
another.
I fancied I saw the mad queen in their midst--a centre of interest. I
had hopes that her _protegee_ might be near, but no. None of the
figures satisfied my eye: they were all too _squaw-like_--too short or
too tall--too corpulent or too _maigre_. She was not there. Even under
the loose _hunna_ I should have recognised her splendid form--_if still
unchanged_.
If--the hypothesis excites your surprise. Why changed, you ask?
Growth?--development?--maturity? Rapid in this southern clime is the
passage from maiden's form to that of matron.
No; not that, not that. Though still so young, the undulating outlines
had already shown themselves. When I last looked upon her, her stature
had reached its limits; her form exhibited the bold curve of Hogarth, so
characteristic of womanhood complete. Not that did I fear.
And what then? The contrary? Change from attenuation--from illness or
grief? Nor this.
I cannot explain the suspicions that racked me--sprung from a stray
speech. That jay bird, that yestreen chattered so gaily, had poured
poison into my heart. But no; it could not be Maumee? She was too
innocent. Ah! why do I rave? There is no guilt in love. If true--if
she--hers was not crime; he alone was the guilty one.
I have ill described the torture I experienced, consequent upon my
unlucky "eaves-dropping." During the whole of the preceding days it had
been a source of real suffering. I was in the predicament of one who
had, heard too much, and to little.
You will scarcely wonder that the words of Haj-Ewa cheered me; they
drove the unworthy suspicion out of my mind, and inspired me with fresh
hopes. True, she had mentioned no name till I myself had pronounced it;
but to whom could her speech refer? "Poor bird of the forest--her heart
will bleed and break." She spoke of the "Rising Sun:" that was Osceola,
who could the "haintclitz" be? who but Maumee?
It might be but a tale of bygone days--a glimpse of the past deeply
impressed upon the brain of the maniac, and still living in her memory.
This was possible. Haj-Ewa had known us in these days, had often met us
in our wild wood rambles, had even been with us upon the island--for the
mad queen could paddle her canoe with skill, could ride her wild steed,
could go anywhere, went everywhere.
It might only be a souvenir of these happy days that caused her to speak
as she had done--in the chaos of her intellect, mistaking the past for
the present. Heaven forbid!
The thought troubled me, but not long; for I did not long entertain it.
I clung to the pleasanter belief. Her words were sweet as honey, and
formed a pleasing counterpoise to the fear I might otherwise have felt,
on discovering the plot against my life. With the knowledge that Maumee
once loved--still loved me--I could brave dangers a hundred-fold greater
than that. It is but a weak heart that would not be gallant under the
influence of love. Encouraged by the smiles of a beautiful mistress,
even cowards can be brave. Arens Ringgold was standing by my side.
Entrained in the crowd, our garments touched; we conversed together!
He was even more polite to me than was his wont--more _friendly_! His
speech scarcely betrayed the habitual cynicism of his nature; though,
whenever I looked him in the face, his eye quailed, and his glance
sought the ground.
For all that, he had no suspicion--not the slightest--that I knew I was
side by side with the man who designed to murder me.