CAPTURE AND ESCAPE OF NITA PACHECO
For a minute Nita, trembling with excitement and terror, stood
irresolute. Then, noticing that a few embers still smouldered on the
hearth, she found a sliver of fat pine and thrust it among them. As it
flared up with a bright blaze, its light disclosed a scene that filled
the girl with despair and told the whole sad story--the child with whom
her mother was to watch that night lay dead on the only bed in the
room. The rest of the scanty furniture was overturned and broken; while
the whole appearance of the place denoted that it had been the scene of
a fierce struggle.
In vain did Nita seek for any trace of her mother. It was only too
evident that the slave-catchers had been here, made captives of all
the living inmates, and removed them to a place of safe keeping before
visiting the Pacheco house. Sick at heart and undecided as to her
course of action, the poor girl left the cabin. As she emerged from its
shattered doorway, she was rudely clasped in a pair of strong arms, and
with a hoarse chuckle of satisfaction a voice, that she recognized as
belonging to one of the men she had left with Louis, exclaimed:
"So, gal, ye thought ye was gwine to give us the slip, eh? and maybe
bring help to your brother? We uns is up to them games though, and
ye've got to be oncommon spry to git ahead of us. I suspicioned whar
ye'd gone the minit I found ye'd lit out without so much as saying by
your leave, and I was on to yer trail in less'n no time. Now ye might
as well give in and go along quiet with us. We'll find ye a nice easy
place whar ye won't hev much to do, and whar ye kin live happier than
ye ever could in this here forsaken wilderness."
While thus talking, the man, with a firm grasp of the girl's arm, was
leading her back along the trail they had come. She had not spoken
since uttering a cry of terror when he first seized her, and she now
walked beside him so quietly and unresistingly that he imagined her
spirit to be broken beyond further thought of escape.
The darkness of the hammock was intense, and being unaccustomed to the
narrow path, Ruffin found difficulty in following it. All at once, as
he swerved slightly from the trail, his foot caught in a loose root,
and he pitched headlong to the ground, releasing the girl's arm as
he fell. In an instant she was gone. Her light footfall gave back no
sound to indicate the direction she had taken, and only the mocking
forest echoes answered the man's bitter curses which were coupled with
commands that she return to him.
Time was precious with the slave-catchers, and to pursue the girl would
be a hopeless task. Ross Ruffin realized this, and so, baffled and
raging, he made his way to that point on the river where, in a small
boat, with Louis still bound and helpless, Troup Jeffers impatiently
awaited his coming. The latter upbraided his confederate in unmeasured
terms for allowing the girl to escape, and so fierce was their quarrel
that it seemed about to result in bloodshed. Finally their interests,
rather than their inclinations, led them to control their anger and to
reflect that with the captives already secured, including Louis, his
mother, and the family of their negro neighbors, the venture promised
to be very profitable, after all. So they pulled down the dark river
and out to a small schooner that, in charge of two other white men, lay
off its mouth, awaiting them.
Louis had listened eagerly to Ruffin's report of his sister's flight,
and thus assured of her escape, he became more reconciled to the fate
in store for himself. As the boat in which he lay glided from the
river's mouth, there came to him the sound of a dear voice that in
all probability he would never hear again. It was a passionate cry
of farewell from the sister whom he loved better than all the world
beside. With a mighty effort the captive raised himself to a sitting
posture.
"Good-bye, Nita!" he shouted; "God bless--"
Then he was silenced and struck down by a blow in the face. At the same
instant a flash of fire leaped from the boat, and a rifle bullet sped
angrily through the forest in the direction from which Nita's voice had
come. It did not harm her, but she dared not call again. Nor did she
dare remain longer in that vicinity.
Returning to her deserted home, the poor girl hastily gathered a
slender store of provisions and then set forth, fearfully and with
a breaking heart, to thread the shadowy trails leading to the only
place of refuge that she knew,--the village of Philip Emathla the
Seminole. For two days she travelled, guided by instinct rather than
by a knowledge of the way, and at the end of the second she came to
the place where Coacoochee was standing. As her presence was betrayed
by Ul-we, and the young Indian sprang to her side, the girl sank into
his arms, faint and speechless from exhaustion. Her dress hung in
rags, her feet were bare and bleeding, and her tender skin was torn by
innumerable thorns.
Filled with wonder and a premonition of evil tidings by this appearance
of his friend's sister so far from her home and in so sad a plight,
Coacoochee bore her to the open space in which he had stood, and laid
her gently down at the base of a great oak. Then, realizing that all
his strength would not suffice to carry her over the mile or more
lying between that place and his father's village, he bade the great
staghound stand guard over the fainting girl, and started off at a
speed that he alone of all his tribe possessed, to seek assistance.
The peaceful village was startled by his appearance as he dashed
breathlessly into it a few minutes later, and some of the men
instinctively grasped their weapons. With a few words, Coacoochee
assured them that there was no immediate cause for alarm, and then
ordering three stalwart young warriors to follow him, he again entered
the forest and hastened back to where he had left the exhausted girl.
A little later Nita Pacheco was borne into the village and given over
to the skilful ministrations of the women belonging to King Philip's
household. Under their kindly care the strength of the fugitive was so
restored that within an hour after her arrival she was able to relate
her sad story to the aged chief, who bent over her and listened to her
words with breathless attention.
When she finished, and Philip Emathla was possessed of all the facts
she had to communicate, he drew himself to his full height and stood
for a moment silent, while his whole frame trembled with anger.
At length he said: "It is well, my daughter. I have heard thy words,
and they have caused my heart to bleed. From this hour thou shalt be
to Philip Emathla as the child of his old age, and thy sorrows shall
be his. Sleep now and regain thy strength while he takes counsel
concerning this matter with his wise men, and in the morning he will
speak further with thee."
When the old chief repeated Nita Pacheco's story to his warriors
assembled about the council fire that night, his words were received in
silence, but with fierce scowls; clinched hands, and twitching fingers.
At its conclusion the silence was only broken by angry mutterings, but
none knew what to advise. At length King Philip addressed Coacoochee,
who, youngest of all present, had been allowed a seat at this council
for the first time. Calling him by name, the old chief said:
"My son, on account of thy friendship with Louis Pacheco, thy interest
in this matter is greater than that of any other among my councillors.
What, then, is thy opinion concerning this tale of wrong and outrage?"
Standing bravely forth in the full glow of firelight, with his athletic
form and proud profile clearly outlined against it, the lad spoke
vehemently and from a full heart as he replied:
"The words of my father have made the hearts of his children heavy.
They tell us of the wickedness of the white man. That is nothing new.
We have heard of it many times before. So many that we are weary with
listening. But now this wickedness has fallen on those who have the
right to call upon us for vengeance. They are not of our blood, but
they lived among us and trusted us to protect them. Louis Pacheco is
my friend and brother. This maiden is as a daughter to my father. They
were not born slaves. The Great Spirit created them free as the birds
of the air or the deer of the forest. Of this freedom, the gift of the
Great Spirit, the white man seeks to rob them. Are we dogs that we
should suffer this thing? No; the Seminoles are men and warriors. Let
the chief send a message to the white man, demanding that these our
friends be set free and restored to us. Let him also send out those who
will discover whither they have been taken. If they be dead or carried
away so far that he cannot find them, then let him lead his warriors
to battle with the pale-faced dogs, that the fate of our friends may
be avenged. Coacoochee has spoken, and to Philip Emathla has he made
answer."
This brave speech, delivered with all the fire and enthusiasm of youth
as well as with the eloquent gestures that Coacoochee knew so well
how to use, was received with murmurs of satisfaction by the younger
warriors, whose eyes gleamed with a fierce joy at the thought of
battle. The breast of the young orator swelled with pride as, reseating
himself in his appointed place, he glanced about him and noted the
effect of his maiden effort at public speech-making. His whole soul was
enlisted in the cause of those oppressed ones for whom he had just
pleaded so earnestly, and he longed with the earnestness of honorable,
high-strung, and fearless youth to strike a telling blow in their
behalf.
While he with the younger members of the band were thus animated by
a spirit of resistance to injustice at any cost, the older warriors
shook their heads. They could not but reflect upon their own weakness
when they considered the power of the white man and the number of his
soldiers.
The old chief who had called forth this manifestation of feeling noted
shrewdly the varied expressions of those about him and then dismissed
the council, saying that after sleeping he would announce his decision.