CRUEL DEATH OF UL-WE THE STAGHOUND
When Coacoochee left the Indian village on the night of his betrothal
and set forth on his journey to St. Augustine, he fully realized that
the act marked a crisis in his life, and that from this hour his
irresponsible boyhood was a thing of the past. For a moment he was
staggered by the thought of what he was undertaking, together with an
overpowering sense of his own weakness and lack of worldly knowledge.
How could he, a mere lad, educated in nothing save forest craft, hope
to compete with the strength, wisdom, and subtlety of the all-powerful
white man? His heart sank at the prospect, there came a faltering in
his springy stride, he feared to advance, and dreaded to retreat.
As he wavered he became conscious of a presence beside him, and to his
ear came the voice of Allala. In tender but reproachful accents it said:
"My brother, to thee are the eyes of our people turning. Philip Emathla
is chief of a band; through long strife, bitter trial, and deepest
sorrow, Coacoochee shall become leader of a nation. Remember, my
brother, that to strive and succeed is glorious; to strive and yield is
still honorable; but to yield without striving is contemptible."
The voice ceased, and the young Indian felt that he was again alone,
but he was no longer undecided. His veins thrilled with a new life,
and his heart was filled with a courage ready to dare anything. In an
instant his determination was taken. He would strive for victories, he
would learn to bear defeat, but it should never be said of Coacoochee
that he was contemptible. Filled with such thoughts, the youth sprang
forward and again urged his way along the dim forest trail.
He had gone but a short distance when he came to a group of dark
figures evidently awaiting him. They were the six warriors chosen by
his father to accompany him on his dangerous mission. As he joined
them, a few words of greeting were exchanged, and one of them handed
him his rifle, powder-horn, and bullet-pouch. Here he took the lead,
with Ul-we close at his heels. The others followed in single file and
with long, gliding strides that maintained with slight apparent effort
yet bore them over the ground with surprising rapidity.
The night was lighted by a young moon, and such of its rays as were
sifted down through the leafy canopy served to guide their steps as
truly as though it had been day. When the moon set, the little band
halted on the edge of an open glade, and each man cut a few great
leaves of the cabbage palmetto, which he thrust stem first into the
ground to serve as protection against the drenching night dew. Then,
flinging themselves down in the long grass, they almost instantly fell
asleep, leaving only Ul-we to stand guard.
A brace of wild turkey, shot at daylight a short distance from where
they slept, furnished a breakfast, and at sunrise they were once more
on their way. That morning they crossed the St. John's River in a canoe
that had been skilfully concealed beneath a bank from all but them, and
soon after sunset they made their second camp within a few miles of St.
Augustine.
Up to this time they had seen no white man, but now they might expect
to see many; for they were near a travelled road recently opened for
the government westward into the far interior, by a man named Bellamy;
thus it was called the "Bellamy Road,"--a name that it bears to this
day.
Over it Coacoochee, accompanied only by Ul-we, walked boldly the next
morning until he came to the city. He did not carry his rifle with
him, as he knew that Indians off their reservation were apt to have
all firearms seized and taken from them. Moreover, he anticipated
no danger. These were times of peace, in which Indians as well as
whites were protected by treaty. So, cautioning his warriors to remain
concealed until his return, the young leader went in search of the
information he had been detailed to obtain.
During his journey he had carefully considered the steps to be taken
when he should reach its end. He might easily have slipped into
the town under cover of darkness, and, with little chance of being
observed, communicated with certain negroes of the place, who would
have told him what he desired to know. He might have remained concealed
in the outskirts until some of them passed that way. Several other
plans suggested themselves, but all were rejected in favor of the
one now adopted. Honest and straightforward himself, Coacoochee was
disinclined to use methods that might lie open to suspicion. He knew of
no reason why he, a free man, should not visit any portion of the land
that his people still claimed as their own, and consequently he entered
the town boldly and in broad daylight.
The sight of an Indian in the streets of St. Augustine was at that time
too common to attract unusual attention. Still, the bearing of the
young chief was so noble, and his appearance so striking, that more
than one person turned to gaze after him as he passed.
The great dog that followed close at his heels also excited universal
admiration, and several men offered to buy him from the youth as he
passed them. To these he deigned no reply, for it was part of the
Indian policy at that time, as it is now, to feign an ignorance of any
language but their own.
Within a few hours Coacoochee had learned all that was to be known
concerning the recent expedition of Jeffers and Ruffin. If they were
successful in their undertaking, they were to proceed directly to
Charleston, South Carolina, and there dispose of their captives. As
they had now been absent from St. Augustine for more than a week, this
is what they were supposed to have done.
Once during his hurried interviews with those who were able to give
him information, but were fearful of being discovered in his company,
the young Indian was vaguely warned that some new laws relating to his
people had just been passed, and that if he were not careful, he might
get into trouble through them.
Several times during the morning one or more of the street dogs of
the town ran snarling after Ul-we; but, in each case, one of his deep
growls and a display of his formidable teeth caused them to slink away
and leave him unmolested.
Having finished his business, Coacoochee set out on a return to the
camp where his warriors awaited him. His heart was heavy with the news
that he had just received, and as he walked, he thought bitterly of the
fate of the friend who had been dragged into slavery far beyond his
reach or power of rescue.
Thus thinking, and paying but slight attention to his surroundings, he
reached the edge of the town. He was passing its last building, a low
groggery, on the porch of which were collected a group of men, most of
them more or less under the influence of liquor.
One of the group was a swarthy-faced fellow named Salano, who had for
some unknown reason conceived a bitter hatred against all Indians, and
often boasted that he would no more hesitate to shoot one than he would
a wolf or a rattlesnake. Beside this man lay his dog, a mongrel cur
with a sneaking expression, that had gained some notoriety as a fighter.
As Coacoochee passed this group, though without paying any attention to
them, Salano called out to him in an insulting tone:
"Hello, Injun! whar did you steal that dog?"
If the young chief heard this question, he did not indicate by any sign
that he had done so; but continued calmly on his way.
Again Salano shouted after him. "I say whar did you steal that dog,
Injun?" then, with an oath, he added: "Bring him here; I want to look
at him."
Still there was no reply.
In the meantime the cur at Salano's feet was growling and showing his
teeth as he gazed after the retreating form of Ul-we.
At this juncture his master stopped, and pointing in the direction of
the staghound, said, "Go, bite him, sir!"
The cur darted forward, and made a vicious snap at Ul-we's hind legs,
inflicting a painful wound.
The temper of the big dog was tried beyond endurance. He turned, and
with a couple of leaps overtook the cur, already in yelping retreat.
Ul-we seized him by the back in his powerful jaws. There was a wild
yell, a momentary struggle, a crunching of bones, and the cur lay
lifeless in the dust. At the same moment the report of a rifle rang
out, and the superb staghound sank slowly across the body of his late
enemy, shot through the heart.
All this happened in so short a space of time that the double tragedy
was complete almost before Coacoochee realized what was taking place.
The moment he did so, he sprang to his faithful companion, and kneeling
in the dust beside him, raised the creature's head in his arms. The
great, loving eyes opened slowly and gazed pleadingly into the face of
the young Indian; with a last effort the dog feebly licked his hand,
and then all was over. Ul-we, the tall one, the noblest dog ever owned
and loved by a Seminole, was dead.
Over this pathetic scene the group about the groggery made merry with
shouts of laughter and taunting remarks. As Coacoochee, satisfied that
his dog was really dead, slowly rose to his feet, Salano jeeringly
called out, "What'll you take for your pup now, Injun?"
The next moment the man staggered back with an exclamation of terror
as the young Indian sprang to where he stood, and with a face distorted
by rage hissed between his teeth:
"From thy body shall thy heart be torn for this act! Coacoochee has
sworn it."
Even as he spoke, a pistol held in Salano's hand was levelled at his
head, and his face was burned by the explosion that instantly followed,
though the bullet intended for him whistled harmlessly over his head. A
young man who had but that moment appeared on the scene had struck up
the murderer's arm at the instant of pulling the trigger, exclaiming as
he did so:
"Are you mad, Salano!"
Then to Coacoochee he said: "Go now before further mischief is done.
The man is crazy with drink, and not responsible for his actions. I
will see that no further harm comes to you." Without a word, but with
one penetrating look at the face of the speaker, as though to fix it
indelibly on his memory, the young Indian turned and walked rapidly
away.
He had not gone more than a mile from town, and was walking slowly
with downcast head and filled with bitter thoughts, when he was roused
from his unhappy reverie by the sound of galloping hoofs behind him.
Turning, he saw two horsemen rapidly approaching the place where he
stood. At the same time he became aware that two others, who had made
a wide circuit under cover of the dense palmetto scrub on either side
of the road, and thus obtained a position in front of him, were closing
in so as to prevent his escape in that direction. He could have darted
into the scrub, and thus have eluded his pursuers for a few minutes;
and had he been possessed of his trusty rifle, he would certainly have
done so. But unarmed as he was, and as his enemies knew him to be, they
could easily hunt him out and shoot him down without taking any risk
themselves, if they were so inclined.
So Coacoochee walked steadily forward as though unconscious of being
the object toward which the four horsemen were directing their course.
He wished he were near enough to the hiding-place of his warriors to
call them to him, but they were still a couple of miles away, and even
his voice could not be heard at that distance. So, apparently unaware
of, or indifferent to, the danger closing in on him, the young Indian
resolutely pursued his way until he was almost run down by the horsemen
who were approaching him from behind. As they reined sharply up, one of
them ordered him to halt.
Coacoochee did as commanded, and turning, found himself again face to
face with Fontaine Salano, the man who but a short time before had
attempted to take his life.