Wacora was unanimously elected war chief of the tribe over which his
uncle had long ruled. Nelatu's claims were so slight, his ability so
deficient, that not one of the warriors wished to nominate him for the
important position.
To Wacora the honour was of inestimable value. By its means there was
now a hope for the realisation of his long-cherished dream--the
redemption of the red-man by the union of all the tribes into one
powerful nation.
He instantly dispatched messengers to the braves of his own sub-tribe,
summoning them to Tampa Bay, to take part in the conflict.
He was answered by the speedy arrival of a large and well-armed force,
who, mingling with Oluski's people, now became one community.
Obedient to his mandate, they continued to preserve an ominously
peaceful attitude towards the settlers, who, but for a knowledge to the
contrary, might have comforted themselves with a belief that the red men
had left the bay.
But although unseen, their presence was not unfelt. The news of
Oluski's death had spread a feeling of alarm among the white colonists,
which the heartless and assumed indifference of Elias Rody and his
adherents could not dismiss from their minds.
The "governor" seemed to have returned to the courses of his early life.
He had for many years been a man of sober habits; but since the
building of his new house a change had come over him. He had begun to
drink freely, and in the excitement of preparation for the defence of
his usurped property, he found a thousand excuses for the indulgence of
that appetite so long kept under control.
Still another matter gave discomfort to the governor. His son had been
for some time missing from the settlement, and in a mysterious manner.
His disappearance had a marked effect on his father's temper, and when
not cursing himself for the general discomfort he had caused, he cursed
the son for adding to it!
It will thus be seen that although Elias Rody had prepared his own bed,
and was obliged to lie upon it, it was proving anything but a bed of
roses.
Had it not been for the presence of his daughter Alice, the new mansion
in which he now lived, and for which he might yet have to pay dearly,
would have been a perfect pandemonium to him.
That amiable girl, by her gentle behaviour, did much to soften the rude,
inharmonious elements around her; and the roughest of her father's
roystering companions were silent and respectful in her presence.
She was like a ministering angel among those who had taken refuge within
the stockade. She never seemed to tire of attending upon them or their
wants. Her kind sympathetic voice and assiduous care were of
inestimable service to the sick, who blessed her in their hearts.
Nothing in the meantime had been heard of her brother Warren.
Crookleg had also disappeared, although no one particularly missed him.
Cris Carrol, the hunter, had not returned to the settlement. In some
distant savanna he was no doubt tranquilly passing his time, at peace
with all the world. Such was the condition of affairs.
The first preparations for strife between the Whites and Indians had
been made; and to several other outrages, similar to that committed by
Elias Rody, may be traced the causes of that Seminole war which cost the
government of the United States some thousands of lives, along with
several millions of dollars, to say nought of the reputation of six
hitherto distinguished generals.