As by duty bound, I delivered a report of the scene I had involuntarily
been witness to. It produced a lively excitement within the fort, and
an expedition was instantly ordered forth, with myself to act as guide.
A bit of sheer folly. The search proved bootless, as any one might have
prophesied. Of course, we found the place, and the bodies of those who
had fallen--upon which the wolves had already been ravening--but we
discovered no living Indians--not even the path by which they had
retreated!
The expedition consisted of several hundred men--in fact, the whole
garrison of the fort. Had we gone out with a smaller force, in all
probability, we should have seen something of the enemy.
The death of Omatla was the most serious incident that had yet occurred;
at all events, the most important in its bearings. By the whites,
Omatla had been constituted king; by killing, the Indians shewed their
contempt for the authority that had crowned him, as well as their
determination to resist all interference of the kind. Omatla had been
directly under the protection of the white chiefs: this had been
guaranteed to him by promise as by treaty; and therefore the taking his
life was a blow struck against his patrons. The government would now be
under the necessity of avenging his death.
But the incident had its most important bearings upon the Indians,
especially upon Omatla's own people. Terrified by the example, and
dreading lest similar retribution might be extended to themselves, many
of Omatla's tribe--sub-chiefs and warriors--forsook their alliance, and
enrolled themselves in the ranks of the patriots. Other clans that had
hitherto remained undecided, acting under similar motives, now declared
their allegiance to the national will, and took up arms without further
hesitation.
The death of Omatla, besides being an act of stern justice, was a stroke
of fine policy on the part of the hostile Indians. It proved the genius
of him who had conceived and carried it into execution.
Omatla was the first victim of Osceola's vow of vengeance. Soon after
appeared the second. It was not long before the tragedy of the
traitor's death was eclipsed by another, far more thrilling and
significant. One of the chief actors in this drama disappears from the
stage.
On our arrival at the fort, it was found that the commissariat was
rapidly running short. No provision had been made for so large a body
of troops, and no supplies could possibly reach Fort King for a long
period of time. We were to be the victims of the usual improvidence
exhibited by governments not accustomed to warlike operations. Rations
were stinted to the verge of starvation; and the prospect before us
began to look very like starvation itself.
In this emergency, the commander-in-chief performed an act of great
patriotism. Independent of his military command, General Clinch was a
citizen of Florida--a proprietor and planter upon a large scale. His
fine plantation lay at a short distance from Fort King. His crop of
maize, covering nearly a hundred acres, was just ripening; and this,
without more ado, was rationed out to the army.
Instead of bringing the commissariat to the troops, the reverse plan was
adopted; and the troops were marched upon their food--which had yet to
be gathered before being eaten.
Four-fifths of the little army were thus withdrawn from the fort,
leaving rather a weak garrison; while a new stockade was extemporised on
the general's plantation, under the title of "Fort Drane."
There were slanderous people who insinuated that in this curious matter
the good old general was moved by other motives than those of mere
patriotism. There was some talk about "Uncle Sam"--well-known as a
solvent and liberal paymaster--being called upon to give a good price
for the general's corn; besides, so long as an army bivouacked upon his
plantation, no danger need be apprehended from the Indian incendiaries.
Perhaps these insinuations were but the conceits of camp satire.
I was not among those transferred to the new station; I was not a
favourite with the commander-in-chief, and no longer upon his staff. My
duties kept me at Fort King, where the commissioner also remained.
The days passed tamely enough--whole weeks of them. An occasional visit
to Camp Drane was a relief to the monotony of garrison-life, but this
was a rare occurrence. The fort had been shorn of its strength, and was
too weak for us to go much beyond its walls. It was well-known that the
Indians were in arms. Traces of their presence had been observed near
the post; and a hunting excursion, or even a romantic saunter in the
neighbouring woods--the usual resources of a frontier station--could not
have been made without some peril.
During this period I observed that the commissioner was very careful in
his outgoings and incomings. He rarely passed outside the stockade, and
never beyond the line of sentries. Whenever he looked in the direction
of the woods, or over the distant savanna, a shadow of distrust appeared
to overspread his features, as though he was troubled with an
apprehension of danger. This was after the death of the traitor chief.
He had heard of Osceola's vow to kill Omatla; perhaps he had also heard
that the oath extended to himself; perhaps he was under the influence of
a presentiment.
Christmas came round. At this season, wherever they may be found--
whether amid the icy bergs of the north, or on the hot plains of the
tropic--on board ship, within the walls of a fortress--ay, even in a
prison--Christians incline to merry-making. The frontier post is no
exception to the general rule; and Fort King was a continued scene of
festivities. The soldiers were released from duty--alone the sentinels
were kept to their posts; and, with such fare as could be procured,
backed by liberal rations of "Monongahela," the week passed cheerily
enough.
A "sutler" in the American army is generally a thriving adventurer--with
the officers liberal both of cash and credit--and, on festive occasions,
not unfrequently their associate and boon companion. Such was he, the
sutler, at Fort King.
On one of the festal days, he had provided a sumptuous dinner--no one
about the fort so capable--to which the officers were invited--the
commissioner himself being the honoured guest.
The banquet was set out in the sutler's own house, which, as already
mentioned, stood outside the stockade, several hundred yards off, and
near to the edge of the woods.
The dinner was over, and most of the officers had returned within the
fort, where--as it was now getting near night--it was intended the
smoking and wine-drinking should be carried on.
The commissioner, with half a dozen others--officers and civilian
visitors--still lingered to enjoy another glass under the hospitable
roof where they had eaten their dinner.