I had not the slightest idea of the chief's intention, or what was the
nature of the spectacle I had been promised. Somewhat impatient, I
questioned him.
"A new way of winning a mistress," said he, with a smile.
"But who is the lover?--who to be the mistress?" I inquired.
"Patience, Randolph, and you shall see. Oh! it is a rare experiment--a
most cunning plot, and would be laughable were it not for the tragedy
mixed up with it. You shall see. But for a faithful friend, I should
not have known of it, and would not have been here to witness it. For
my presence and your life, as it now appears--more still, perhaps, the
safety of your sister--you are indebted to Haj-Ewa."
"Noble woman!"
"Hist! they are near--I hear the tread of hoofs. One--two--three. It
must be they--yes--yonder. See!"
I looked in the direction pointed out, a small party of horsemen--half a
dozen in all--was seen emerging from the timber, and riding with a brush
into the open ground. As soon as they were fairly uncovered, they
spurred their horses to a gallop, and with loud yells dashed rapidly
into the midst of the camp. On reaching this point they fired their
pieces--apparently into the air--and then continuing their shouts, rode
on.
I saw that they were _white_ men, and this surprised me, but what
astonished me still more, was that I _knew_ them. At least I knew their
faces, and recognised the men as some of the most worthless scamps of
our own settlement.
A third surprise awaited me, on looking more narrowly at their leader.
Him I knew well. Again it was Arens Ringgold.
I had not time to recover from the third surprise, when still a fourth
was before me. The men of the camp--both negroes and Yamassees--
appeared terrified at this puny attack, and scattering off, hid
themselves in the bushes. They yelled loudly enough, and some fired
their guns as they retreated; but, like the attacking party, their shots
appeared directed into the air! Mystery of mysteries! what could it
mean?
I was about to inquire once more, when I observed that my companion was
occupied with his own affairs, and did not desire to be disturbed. I
saw that he was looking to his rifle, as if examining the sights.
Glancing back into the glade, I saw that Ringgold had advanced close to
where my sister was seated, and was just halting in front of the group.
I heard him address her by name, and pronounce some phrase of
congratulation. He appeared about to dismount with the design of
approaching her on foot, while his men, still upon horseback, were
galloping through the camp, huzzaing fiercely and firing pistols through
the air.
"His hour is come," muttered Osceola, as he glided past me; "a fate
deserved and long delayed--it is come at last," and with these words, he
stepped forth into the open ground.
I saw him raise his piece to the level, its muzzle pointed towards
Ringgold, and the instant after, the report rang over the camp.
The shrill "_Car-ha-queene_" pealed from his lips, as the planter's
horse sprang forwards with an empty saddle, and the rider himself was
seen struggling upon the grass.
The others uttered a terrific cry, and with fear and astonishment
depicted in their looks, galloped back into the bushes--without waiting
to exchange a word with their wounded leader, or a shot with the man who
had wounded him.
"My aim has not been true," said Osceola, with singular coolness; "he
still lives. I have received much wrong from him and his--ay, very much
wrong--or I might spare his wretched life. But no--my vow must be
kept--he must die!"
As he said this he, rushed after Ringgold, who had regained his feet,
and was making towards the bushes, as with a hope of escape.
A wild scream came from the terrified wretch, as he saw the avenger at
his heels. It was the last time his voice was heard.
In a few bounds Osceola was by his side--the long blade glittered for an
instant in the air--and the downward blow was given, so rapidly, that
the stroke could scarce be perceived.
The blow was instantaneously fatal. The knees of the wounded man
suddenly bent beneath him, and he sank lifeless on the spot where he had
been struck--his body after death remaining doubled up as it had fallen.
"The fourth and last of my enemies," said Osceola, as he returned to
where I stood; "the last of those who deserved my vengeance, and against
whom I had vowed it."
"Scott?" I inquired.
"He was the third--he was killed yesterday, and by this hand. Hitherto
I have fought for revenge--I have had it--I have slain many of your
people--I have had full satisfaction, and henceforth--"
The speaker made a long pause.
"Henceforth?" I mechanically inquired.
"I care but little how soon they kill me."
As Osceola uttered these strange words, he sank down upon a prostrate
trunk, covering his face with his hands. I saw that he did not expect a
reply.
There was a sadness in his tone, as though some deep sorrow lay upon his
heart, that could neither be controlled nor comforted. I had noticed it
before; and thinking he would rather be left to himself, I walked
silently away.
A few moments after I held my dear sister in my arms, while Jake was
comforting Viola in his black embraces.
His old rival was no longer near. During the sham attack he had
imitated his followers, and disappeared from the field; but though most
of the latter soon returned, the yellow king, when sought for, was not
to be found in the camp. His absence roused the suspicions of Osceola,
who was now once more in action. By a signal his warriors were
summoned; and came galloping up. Several were instantly dispatched in
search of the missing chief, but after a while these came back without
having found any traces of him. One only seemed to have discovered a
clue to his disappearance. The followers of Ringgold consisted of only
five men.
The Indian had gone for some distance on the path by which they had
retreated. Instead of five, there were six sets of horse tracks upon
the trail.
The report appeared to produce an unpleasant impression upon the mind of
Osceola. Fresh scouts were sent forth, with orders to bring back the
mulatto, _living_ or _dead_.
The stern command proved that there were strong doubts about the fealty
of the Yellow Chief, and the warriors of Osceola appeared to share the
suspicions of their leader.
The patriot party had suffered from defections of late. Some of the
smaller clans, wearied of fighting, and wasted by a long season of
famine, had followed the example of the tribe Omatla, and delivered
themselves up at the forts. Though in the battles hitherto fought, the
Indians had generally been successful, they knew that their white foemen
far outnumbered them, and that in the end the latter must triumph. The
spirit of revenge, for wrongs long endured, had stimulated them at the
first; but they had obtained full measure of vengeance, and were
content. Love of country--attachment to their old homes--mere
patriotism was now balanced against the dread of almost complete
annihilation. The latter weighed heaviest in the scale.
The war spirit was no longer in the ascendant. Perhaps at this time had
overtures of peace been made, the Indians would have laid down their
arms, and consented to the removal. Even Osceola could scarce have
prevented their acceptance of the conditions, and it was doubted whether
he would have made the attempt.
Gifted with genius, with full knowledge of the strength and character of
his enemies, he must have foreseen the disasters that were yet to befall
his followers and his nation. It could not be otherwise.
Was it a gloomy forecast of the future that imparted to him that
melancholy air, now observable both in his words and acts? Was it this,
or was there a still deeper sorrow--the anguish of a hopeless passion--
the drear heart-longing for a love he might never obtain?
To me it was a moment of strong emotions, as the young chief approached
the spot where my sister was seated. Even then was I the victim of
unhappy suspicions, and with eager scrutiny I scanned the countenances
of both.
Surely I was wrong. On neither could I detect a trace of aught that
should give me uneasiness. The bearing of the chief was simply gallant
and respectful. The looks of my sister were but the expressions of a
fervent gratitude. Osceola spoke first.
"I have to ask your forgiveness, Miss Randolph, for the scene you have
been forced to witness; but I could not permit this man to escape.
Lady, he was your greatest enemy, as he has been ours. Through the
cooperation of the mulatto, he had planned this ingenious deception,
with the design of inducing you to become his wife; but failing in this,
the mask would have been thrown off, and you--I need not give words to
his fool intent. It is fortunate I arrived in time."
"Brave chief!" exclaimed Virginia--"twice have you preserved the lives
of my brother and myself--more than our lives. We have neither words
nor power to thank you. I can offer only this poor token to prove my
gratitude."
As she said this, she advanced towards the chief, and handed him a
folded parchment, which she had drawn from her bosom.
Osceola at once recognised the document. It was the title deeds of his
patrimonial estate.
"Thanks, thanks!" he replied, while a sad smile played over his
features. "It is, indeed, an act of disinterested friendship. Alas! it
has come too late. She who so much desired to possess this precious
paper, who so much longed to return to that once loved home, is no more.
My mother is dead. On yesternight her spirit passed away."
It was news even to Maumee, who, bursting into a wild paroxysm of grief,
fell upon the neck of my sister. Their arms became entwined, and both
wept--their tears mingling as they fell.
There was silence, broken only by the sobbing of the two girls and at
intervals the voice of Virginia murmuring words of consolation. Osceola
himself appeared too much affected to speak.
After a while, the chief aroused himself from his sorrowing attitude.
"Come, Randolph!" said he--"we must not dwell on the past, while such a
doubtful future is before us. You must go back to your home and rebuild
it. You have lost only a house. Your rich lands still remain, and your
negroes will be restored to you. I have given orders; they are already
on the way. This is no place for her," and he nodded towards Virginia.
"You need not stay your departure another moment. Horses are ready for
you; I myself will conduct you to the borders, and beyond that _you have
no longer an enemy to fear_."
As he pronounced the last words, he looked significantly towards the
body of the planter, still lying near the edge of the woods. I
understood his meaning, but made no reply.
"And she," I said--"the forest is a rude home, especially in such
times--may _she go_ with us?"
My words had reference to Maumee. The chief grasped my hand and held it
with earnest pressure. With joy I beheld gratitude sparkling in his
eye.
"Thanks!" he exclaimed, "thanks for that friendly offer. It was the
very favour I would have asked. You speak true; the trees must shelter
her no more. Randolph, I can trust you with her life--with her honour.
Take her to your home!"