Up to this moment the young chief had scarcely spoken; only when Charles
Omatla took hold of the pen he had hissed out the word traitor.
He had not remained all the time in the same attitude, neither had his
countenance shown him indifferent to what was passing. There was no
constraint either in his gestures or looks--no air of affected
stoicism--for this was not his character. He had laughed at the wit of
Jumper, and applauded the patriotism of Abram and the others, as
heartily as he had frowned disapproval of the conduct of the traitors.
It was now his turn to declare himself, and he stood, with modest mien,
in the expectation of being asked. All the others had been appealed to
by name--for the names of all were well-known to the agent and his
interpreters.
I need hardly state that at this crisis silence was on tiptoe.
Throughout the ranks of the soldiery--throughout the crowd of warriors--
everywhere--there was a moment of breathless expectancy, as if every
individual upon the ground was imbued with the presentiment of a scene.
For my part I felt satisfied that an explosion was about to take place;
and, like the rest, I stood spell-bound with expectation.
The commissioner broke the silence with the words:
"At last we have come to you, _Powell_. Before proceeding further, let
me ask--Are you acknowledged as a _chief_?"
There was insult in the tone, the manner, the words. It was direct and
intended, as the countenance of the speaker clearly showed. There was
malice in his eye--malice mingled with the confidence of prospective
triumph.
The interrogation was irrelevant, superfluous. Thompson knew well that
Powell was a chief--a sub-chief, it is true, but still a chief--a
war-chief of the Redsticks, the most warlike tribe of the nation. The
question was put for mere provocation. The agent tempted an outburst of
that temper that all knew to be none of the gentlest.
Strange to say, the insult failed in its effect, or it seemed so. They
who expected an angry answer were doomed to disappointment. Osceola
made no reply. Only a peculiar smile was observed upon his features.
It was not of anger, nor yet of scorn: it was rather a smile of silent,
lordly contempt--the look which a gentleman would bestow upon a
blackguard who is abusing him. Those who witnessed it were left under
the impression that the young chief regarded his insulter as beneath the
dignity of a reply, and the insult too gross, as it really was, to be
answered. Such impression had I, in common with others around me.
Osceola's look, might have silenced the commissioner, or, at least, have
caused him to have changed his tactics, had he been at all sensitive to
derision. But no--the vulgar soul of the plebeian official was closed
against shame, as against justice; and without regarding the repulse, he
pressed on with his plan.
"I ask, are you a chief?" continued he, repeating the interrogatory in a
still more insulting tone. "Have you the right to sign?"
This time his questions were answered, and by a dozen voices at once.
Chieftains in the ring, and warriors who stood behind it; shouted in
reply:
"The Rising Sun?--a chief! He _is_ a chief. He has the right to sign."
"Why call his right in question?" inquired Jumper, with a sneering
laugh. "Time enough when he wishes to exercise it. He is not likely to
do that now."
"But I am," said Osceola, addressing himself to the orator, and speaking
with marked emphasis. "I have the right to sign--_I shall sign_."
It is difficult to describe the effect produced by this unexpected
avowal. The entire audience--white men as well as red men--was taken by
surprise; and for some moments there was a vibratory movement throughout
the assembly, accompanied by a confused murmur of voices. Exclamations
were heard on all sides--cries of varied import, according to the
political bias of those who uttered them. All, however, betokened
astonishment; with some, in tones of joy; with others, in the accents of
chagrin or anger. Was it Osceola who had spoken? Had they heard
aright? Was the "Rising Sun" so soon to sink behind the clouds? After
all that had transpired--after all he had promised--was _he_ going to
turn traitor?
Such questions passed rapidly among the hostile chiefs and warriors;
while those of the opposite party could scarcely conceal their delight.
All knew that the signing of Osceola would end the affair; and the
removal become a matter of coarse. The Omatlas would have nothing more
to fear; the hostile warriors, who had sworn it might still resist; but
there was no leader among them who could bind the patriots together as
Osceola had done. With this defection the spirit of resistance would
become a feeble thing; the patriots might despair.
Jumper, Cloud, Coa Hajo, and Abram, Arpiucki and the dwarf, seemed all
equally stricken with astonishment. Osceola--he on whom they had
reposed their fullest confidence--the bold designer of the opposition--
the open foe to all who had hitherto advocated the removal--he, the pure
patriot in whom all had believed--whom all had trusted, was now going to
desert them--now, in the eleventh hour, when his defection would be
fatal to their cause.
"He has been bribed," said they. "His patriotism has been all a sham:
his resistance a cheat. He has been bought by the agent! He has been
acting for him all along. _Holy-waugus! Iste-hulwa-stchay_. [bad
man--villain]. 'Tis a treason blacker than Omatla's!"
Thus muttered the chiefs to one another, at the same time eyeing Osceola
with the fierce look of tigers.
With regard to Powell's defection, I did not myself know what to make of
it. He had declared his resolution to sign the treaty; what more was
needed? That he was ready to do so was evident from his attitude; he
seemed only to wait for the agent to invite him.
As to the commissioner being a party to this intention, I knew he was
nothing of the kind. Any one who looked in his face, at that moment,
would have acquitted him of all privity to the act. He was evidently as
much astonished by Osceola's declaration as any one upon the ground, or
even more so; in fact, he seemed bewildered by the unexpected avowal; so
much so, that it was some time before he could make rejoinder.
He at length stammered out:
"Very well, Osceola! Step forward here, and sign then."
Thompson's tone was changed; he spoke soothingly. A new prospect was
before him. Osceola would sign, and thus agree to the removal. The
business upon which the supreme government had deputed him would thus be
accomplished, and with a dexterity that would redound to his own credit.
"Old Hickory" would be satisfied; and then what next? what next? Not a
mission to a mere tribe of savages, but an embassy to some high court of
civilisation. He might yet be ambassador? perhaps to Spain?
Ah! Wiley Thompson! thy castles in the air (_chateaux en Espagne_) were
soon dissipated. They fell as suddenly as they had been built; they
broke down like a house of cards.
Osceola stepped forward to the table, and bent over it, as if to scan
the words of the document. His eyes ran rapidly across the parchment;
he seemed to be searching for some particular place.