We had scarcely settled down in our seats, when we were startled by a
volley of sharp cracks, which the ear well knew to be the reports of
rifles. At the same instant was heard that wild intonation, easily
distinguishable from the shouting of civilised men--the war-cry of the
Indians!
We needed no messenger to inform us what the noises meant: the enemy was
upon the ground, and had made an attack--we fancied upon the fort
itself.
We rushed into the open air, each arming himself as best he could.
Once outside, we saw that the fort was not assailed; but upon looking
over the stockade, we perceived that the house of the sutler was
surrounded by a crowd of savages, plumed and painted in full fighting
costume. They were in quick motion, rushing from point to point,
brandishing their weapons, and yelling the _Yo-ho-ehee_.
Straggling shots were still heard as the fatal gun was pointed at some
victim endeavouring to escape. The gates of the fort were standing wide
open, and soldiers, who had been strolling outside, now rushed through,
uttering shouts of terror as they passed in.
The sutler's house was at too great a distance for the range of
musketry. Some shots were discharged by the sentries and others who
chanced to be armed, but the bullets fell short.
The artillerists ran to their guns; but on reaching these, it was found
that the stables--a row of heavy log-houses--stood directly in the range
of the sutler's house--thus sheltering the enemy from the aim of the
gunners.
All at once the shouting ceased, and the crowd of dusky warriors was
observed moving off towards the woods.
In a few seconds they had disappeared among the trees--vanishing, as if
by magic, from our sight.
He who commanded at the fort--an officer slow of resolve--now mustered
the garrison, and ventured a sortie. It extended only to the house of
the sutler, where a halt was made, while we contemplated the horrid
scene.
The sutler himself, two young officers, several soldiers and civilians,
lay upon the floor dead, each with many wounds.
Conspicuous above all was the corpse of the commissioner. He was lying
upon his back, his face covered with gore, and his uniform torn and
bloody. Sixteen bullets had been fired into his body; and a wound more
terrible than all was observed over the left breast. It was the gash
made by a knife, whose blade had passed through his heart.
I could have guessed who gave that wound, even without the living
testimony that was offered on the spot. A negress--the cook--who had
concealed herself behind a piece of furniture, now came forth from her
hiding-place. She had been witness of all. She was acquainted with the
person of Osceola. It was he who had conducted the tragedy; he had been
the last to leave the scene; and before taking his departure, the
negress had observed him give that final stab--no doubt in satisfaction
of the deadly vow he had made.
After some consultation, a pursuit was determined upon, and carried out
with considerable caution; but, as before, it proved fruitless: as
before, even the track by which the enemy had retreated could not be
discovered!