"_Hulwak_!" exclaimed several in a breath, and in a tone that betokened
disappointment; and then turning aside, they conversed with each other
in a low voice.
"Fear not," said the first speaker, again standing before me, "friend of
the Rising Sun! we will not do further harm to you; but you must go with
us to the chiefs. They are not far off. Come!"
I was once more upon my feet, and perhaps by a desperate effort might
have escaped. The attempt, however, might have cost me a second
knock-down--perhaps my life. Moreover, the courtesy of my captors at
once set my mind at ease. Go where they might, I felt that I had
nothing to fear from them; and, without hesitation, I consented to
accompany them.
My captors, throwing themselves into single file, and assigning me a
position in their midst, at once started off through the woods. For
some time we walked rapidly, the path taken by the leader of the party
being easily followed, even in the darkness, by those behind. I
observed that we were going in the direction whence had been heard the
sounds of the conflict, that had long since ceased to vibrate upon the
air. Of whatever nature had been the struggle, it was evidently brought
to a close, and even the victors no longer uttered the _caha-queene_.
We had advanced about a mile when the moon arose; and the woods becoming
more open, I could see my captors more distinctly. I recognised the
features of one or two of them, from having seen them at the council.
They were warriors of the Micosauc tribe, the followers of Osceola.
From this I conjectured that he was one of the chiefs before whom I was
being conducted.
My conjecture proved correct. We had not gone much further, when the
path led into an opening in the woods, in the midst of which a large
body of Indians, about a hundred in all, were grouped together. A
little apart was a smaller group--the chiefs and head warriors. In
their midst I observed Osceola.
The ground exhibited a singular and sanguinary spectacle. Dead bodies
were lying about, gashed with wounds still fresh and bleeding. Some of
the dead lay upon their backs, their unclosed eyes glaring ghastly upon
the moon, all in the attitudes in which they had fallen. The
scalping-knife had done its work, as the whitish patch upon the crowns,
laced with seams of crimson red, shewed the skulls divested of their
hirsute covering. Men were strolling about with the fresh scalps in
their hands, or elevated upon the muzzles of their guns.
There was no mystery in what I saw; I knew its meaning well. The men
who had fallen were of the traitor tribes--the followers of Lusta Hajo
and Omatla.
According to the arrangement with the commissioner, the chiefs had left
Fort Brooke, accompanied by a chosen band of their retainers. Their
intention had become known to the patriots--their movements had been
watched--they had been attacked on the way; and, after a short struggle,
overpowered. Most of them had fallen in the melee--a few, with the
chief Lusta Hajo, had contrived to escape; while still another few--
among whom was Omatla himself--had been taken prisoners during the
conflict, and were yet alive. They had been rescued from death only to
suffer it in a more ceremonial shape.
I saw the captives where they stood, close at hand, and fast bound to
some trees. Among them I recognised their leader, by the grace of
Commissioner Thompson, "king of the Seminole nation."
By those around, his majesty was now regarded with but slight deference.
Many a willing regicide stood near him, and would have taken his life
without further ceremony. But these were restrained by the chiefs, who
opposed the violent proceeding, and who had come to the determination to
give Omatla a trial, according to the laws and customs of their nation.
As we arrived upon the ground, this trial was going on. The chiefs were
in council.
One of my captors reported our arrival. I noticed a murmur of
disappointment among the chiefs as he finished making his announcement.
They were disappointed: I was not the captive they had been expecting.
No notice was taken of me; and I was left free to loiter about, and
watch their proceedings, if I pleased.
The council soon performed its duty. The treason of Omatla was too
well-known to require much canvassing; and, of course, he was found
guilty, and condemned to expiate the crime with his life.
The sentence was pronounced in the hearing of all present. The traitor
must die.
A question arose--who was to be his executioner?
There were many who would have volunteered for the office--for to take
the life of a traitor, according to Indian philosophy, is esteemed an
act of honour. There would be no difficulty in procuring an
executioner.
Many actually did volunteer; but the services of these were declined by
the council. This was a matter to be decided by vote.
The vote was immediately taken. All knew of the vow made by Osceola.
His followers were desirous he should keep it; and on this account, he
was unanimously elected to do the deed. He accepted the office.
Knife in hand, Osceola approached the captive, now cowering in his
bonds. All gathered around to witness the fatal stab. Moved by an
impulse I could not resist, I drew near with the rest.
We stood in breathless silence, expecting every moment to see the knife
plunged into the heart of the criminal.
We saw the arm upraised, and the blow given, but there was no wound--no
blood! The blow had descended upon the thongs that bound the captive,
and Omatla stood forth free from his fastenings!
There was a murmur of disapprobation. What could Osceola mean? Did he
design that Omatla should escape--the traitor condemned by the council--
by all?
But it was soon perceived he had no such intention--far different was
his design.
"Omatla!" said he, looking his adversary sternly in the face, "you were
once esteemed a brave man, honoured by your tribe--by the whole Seminole
nation. The white men have corrupted you--they have made you a renegade
to your country and your cause; for all that, you shall not die the
death of a dog. I will kill, but not _murder_ you. My heart revolts to
slay a man who is helpless and unarmed. It shall be a fair combat
between us, and men shall see that the right triumphs. Give him back
his weapons! Let him defend himself, if he can."
The unexpected proposal was received with some disapprobation. There
were many who, indignant at Omatla's treason, and still wild with the
excitement produced by the late conflict, would have butchered him in
his bonds. But all saw that Osceola was determined to act as he had
proposed; and no opposition was offered.
One of the warriors, stepping forward, handed his weapons to the
condemned chief--only his tomahawk and knife, for so Osceola was himself
armed.
This done, by a sort of tacit understanding, the crowd drew back, and
the two combatants stood alone in the centre.
The struggle was brief as bloody. Almost at the first blow, Osceola
struck the hatchet from his antagonist's hand, and with another stroke,
rapidly following, felled Omatla to the earth.
For a moment the victor was seen bending over his fallen adversary, with
his long knife unsheathed, and glittering in the moonlight.
When he rose erect, the steel had lost its sheen--it was dimmed with
crimson blood.
Osceola had kept his oath. He had driven his blade through the heart of
the traitor--Omatla had ceased to live.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
White men afterwards pronounced this deed an assassination--a murder.
It was not so, any more than the death of Charles, of Caligula, of
Tarquin--of a hundred other tyrants, who have oppressed or betrayed
their country.
Public opinion upon such matters is not honest; it takes its colour from
the cant of the times, changing like the hues of the chameleon. Sheer
hypocrisy, shameful inconsistency! He only is a murderer who kills from
a murderer's motive. Osceola was not of this class.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
My situation was altogether singular. As yet, the chiefs had taken no
notice of my presence; and notwithstanding the courtesy which had been
extended to me by those who conducted me thither, I was not without some
apprehensions as to my safety. It might please the council, excited as
they were with what had just transpired, and now actually at war with
our people, to condemn me to a fate similar to that which had befallen
Omatla. I stood waiting their pleasure therefore in anything but a
comfortable frame of mind.
It was not long before I was relieved from _my_ apprehensions. As soon
as the affair with Omatla was ended, Osceola approached, and in a
friendly manner stretched out his hand, which I was only too happy to
receive in friendship.
He expressed regret that I had been wounded and made captive by his
men--explained the mistake; and then calling one of his followers,
ordered him to guide me back to the fort.
I had no desire to remain longer than I could help upon such tragic
ground; and, bidding the chief adieu, I followed my conductor along the
path.
Near the pond, the Indian left me; and, without encountering any further
adventures, I re-entered the gates of the fort.