"May be, white men, you make big mistake 'bout our strength. We not so
weak you tink for--dam! no. We show you our strength."
As the negro said this, he turned inquiringly towards his comrades, as
if to seek their assent to some proposition.
Both seemed to grant it with a ready nod; and Osceola, who now assumed
the leadership of the affair, faced towards the forest, at the same time
giving utterance to a loud and peculiar intonation.
The echoes of his voice had not ceased to vibrate upon the air, when the
evergreen grove was observed to be in motion along: its whole edge; and
the next instant, a line of dusky warriors shewed itself in the open
ground. They stepped forth a pace or two, then halted in perfect order
of battle--so that their numbers could easily be told off from where we
stood.
"Count the red warriors!" cried Osceola, in a triumphant tone--"count
them, and be no longer ignorant of the strength of your enemy."
As the Indian uttered these words, a satirical smile played upon his
lips; and he stood for some seconds confronting us in silence.
"Now," continued he, once more pointing to his followers, "do yonder
braves--there are fifteen hundred of them--do they look starving and
submissive? No! they are ready to continue the war till the blood of
the last man sinks into the soil of his native land. If they must
perish, it will be here--here in Florida--in the land of their birth,
upon the graves of their fathers.
"We have taken up the rifle because you wronged us, and would drive us
out. For the wrongs we have had revenge. We have killed many of your
people, and we are satisfied with the vengeance we have taken. We want
to kill no more. But about the removal, we have not changed our minds.
We shall never change them.
"We have made you a fair proposition: accept it, and in this hour the
war shall cease; reject it, and more blood shall be spilled--ay, by the
spirit of Wykome! rivers of blood shall flow. The red poles of our
lodges shall be painted again and again with the blood of our pale-faced
foes. Peace or war, then--you are welcome to your choice."
As Osceola ceased speaking, he waved his hand towards his dusky warriors
by the wood, who at the sign disappeared among the trees, silently,
rapidly, almost mysteriously.
A meet reply was being delivered to the passionate harangue of the young
chief, when the speaker was interrupted by the report of musketry, heard
in the direction of the Indians, but further off. The shots followed
each other in rapid succession, and were accompanied by shouts, that,
though feebly borne from the far distance, could be distinguished as the
charging cheers of men advancing into a battle.
"Ha! foul play!" cried the chiefs in a breath; "pale-faced liars! you
shall rue this treason;" and, without waiting to exchange another
sentence, all three sprang off from the spot, and ran at full speed
towards the covert of the woods.
We turned back within the lines of the camp, where the shots had also
been heard, and interpreted as the advance of Clinch's brigade attacking
the Indian outposts in the rear. We found the troops already mustered
in battle-array, and preparing to issue forth from the stockade. In a
few minutes, the order was given, and the army marched forth, extending
itself rapidly both right and left along the bank of the river.
As soon as the formation was complete, the line advanced. The troops
were burning for revenge. Cooped up as they had been for days,
half-famished, and more than half disgraced, they had now an opportunity
to retrieve their honour; and were fully bent upon the punishment of the
savage foe. With an army in their rear, rapidly closing upon them by an
extended line--for this had been pre-arranged between the commanders--
another similarly advancing upon their front, how could the Indians
escape? They must fight--they would be conquered at last.
This was the expectation of all--officers and soldiers. The
commander-in-chief was himself in high spirits. His strategic plan had
succeeded. The enemy was surrounded--entrapped; a great victory was
before him--a "harvest of laurels."
We marched forward. We heard shots, but now only solitary or
straggling. We could not hear the well-known war-cry of the Indians.
We continued to advance. The hommocks were carried by a charge, but in
their shady coverts we found no enemy.
Surely they must still be before us--between our lines and those of the
approaching reinforcement? Is it possible they can have retreated--
escaped?
No! Yonder they are--on the other side of the meadow--just coming out
from the trees. They are advancing to give us battle! Now for the
charge--now--
Ha! those blue uniforms and white belts--those forage-caps and sabres--
these are not Indians! It is not the enemy! They are our friends--the
soldiers of Clinch's brigade!
Fortunate it was that at that moment there was a mutual recognition,
else might we have annihilated one another.