THE MARK OF THE WILDCAT
In vain did the soldiers ransack the empty huts of the village, and
scour the island from end to end. Not a single human being or evidence
of life did they discover, nor were they fired upon from the belt of
timber surrounding the cleared fields. The hundreds of men, women, and
children, Indians and negroes, who had been at home in this place less
than an hour before, had vanished as mysteriously and completely as
though the earth had opened and swallowed them. Even the secret place
of exit through the swamp, provided for just such an emergency as
the present, had not been discovered when darkness put an end to the
search, and the troops camped in and about the Indian village for the
night.
The officer commanding the expedition was furious. He had expected
to destroy or capture the entire force of the enemy gathered at this
point. Instead of so doing, he had not only failed to capture a single
prisoner, but could not discover that his fire had resulted in the
killing or even wounding of a single warrior. On the other hand, the
dead of his own command numbered seven, while a score of others were
more or less severely wounded. His anger was in nowise diminished
by what he was pleased to term the culpable ignorance of Lieutenant
Douglass concerning the strength and movements of the Indians.
When questioned on these points, the young officer, with a delicacy
that forbade the part taken by Anstice Boyd in his rescue becoming
common talk of the camp, would only say that, having been confined in
a closed hut, he had no opportunity of knowing what was taking place
outside.
"Were you bound, blind-folded, or in any other way deprived of the use
of your faculties?" demanded the commander.
"No, sir, I was not."
"In that case it is incredible that you could not have found some
opportunity for making observations of what was taking place about
you; and that you failed to do so, must be regarded as a grave neglect
of duty. The very fact that the savages, having you in their power,
presented you with both life and liberty, would seem to argue a closer
sympathy between you and them than is permissible between an officer of
the United States army and the enemies of his Government. Therefore,
sir, I shall take it upon myself to suspend you from duty, and shall
prefer charges against you which you will be allowed to meet before a
court martial. That is all, sir. You may go."
"Very good, sir," replied the younger officer, bowing, and retiring
with a pale face, and a mind filled with bitter thoughts.
That night the island seemed a very abode of malicious spirits.
Low-hanging clouds covered it with a veil of darkness so intense as to
be oppressive. A strong wind moaned among the forest trees, and borne
on it from the surrounding swamp came blood-chilling shrieks and yells,
weird and foreboding, but whether produced by wild beasts or wild men,
the shuddering listeners, gathered closely about flaring camp-fires,
could not determine. So terrible were some of these wind-borne
cries, that certain among those who listened declared them to be the
despairing accents of lost souls; for which sentiment they were derided
by the bolder of their comrades. But when the midnight relief went its
round of the outposts, and found four of them guarded only by corpses,
even the scoffers were willing to admit that in the rush of the night
wind they had heard the wings of the angel of death.
As, one after another, the dead sentinels were brought in to the
firelight, they were found to be without wounds, unless a scratch of
five fine lines on each pallid forehead could be called such. In each
case the cause of death was a broken neck. From this and the scratches,
that looked as though they might have been made by the brushing of a
mighty paw, it was at first thought that the unfortunate soldiers
might have been done to death by one of the more powerful beasts of the
forest.
This belief was, however, quickly upset by an old frontiersman who
accompanied the troops as a scout. Pointing out that all the scratches
were located in the same place, and all had been made with equal
lightness of touch, he declared them to be the mark of Coacoochee the
Wildcat.
Already the terror of this name had spread so far, that when Ralph Boyd
asserted that Coacoochee was indeed leader of the band just driven from
that stronghold, a great fear fell upon the soldiers, and to a man they
refused to perform outpost duty beyond the limit of firelight.
To enlarge this lighted circle, one hut after another was set on
fire, until the whole village, including the great storehouses full
of provisions and the granaries of corn, was one roaring, leaping
mass of flame. The leafy crowns of the giant oaks that had shaded it,
shrivelled, crackled, and burst into a myriad tongues of fire; while to
render the destruction of the forest monarchs more certain, some of the
soldiers seized axes and girdled their trunks.
So bright was the circle of light in which the troops foolishly sought
for safety, that had Coacoochee been leader of one hundred warriors at
that moment, he could have wiped out the entire force of invaders; but
he was alone, and from the black recesses of a thicket he gazed upon
the scene of destruction in impotent wrath.
Having seen the band intrusted to his care safely across the great
swamp, and well on their way to another place of refuge, he had
returned alone to watch the invasion of Osceola's stronghold. With the
noiseless movements of a gliding shadow he had skirted the camp of the
soldiers, and four times had he left silent but terrible witnesses of
his presence. With a heavy heart he now watched the burning of the
great stores of food that he had gathered for the support of his people
during months of fighting; for he knew that with this destruction a
heavy blow had been dealt against the Seminole cause.
With the earliest coming of daylight, the troops, impatient to finish
their task and leave that place of terror, began to destroy the growing
crops beyond the village. Safe hidden among the spreading branches
of a live-oak, where he was screened by great clusters of pale-green
mistletoe, Coacoochee watched them tear up acres of tasselled corn, and
laden vines, cut down scores of trees heavy with ripening fruit, and
burn broad areas of waving cane.
At length, the work of destruction was completed, all stragglers were
called in by a blast of bugles, a parting volley was fired over the
single long grave, in which a dozen dead soldiers lay buried; and,
taking their wounded with them, the blue-coated column marched gladly
away from the place they had so little reason to love.
Descending from his post of observation, the young Indian followed
them, until he had seen the last trooper disappear along the narrow
causeway, amid the sombre cypresses of the Great Swamp. Then slowly and
thoughtfully he retraced his steps, walking now in the full glare of
sunlight, until he stood again beneath the clump of dying trees that,
but a few hours before, had shaded the peaceful village. As he gazed
about him on charred embers, and smoking ruins, deserted fields, and
prostrate orchards, the bold heart of the young war-chief sank like a
leaden weight within him.
"Thus must it be to the end," he said half aloud, as though his
brimming thoughts were struggling for expression. "Ruin and destruction
follow ever the tread of the Iste-hatke. He is strong, and we are weak.
He is many, and we are few. We may kill his hundreds, and he brings
thousands to devour us. We may plant, but he will gather the fruit. The
Seminole may starve, and at the cry of his children for food the white
man will make merry. My father was right when he said that to fight
the white man was like fighting the waves of the great salt waters.
What now shall be done? Shall we continue to fight, and die fighting
in our own land, or shall we again trust to the lying tongue of the
Iste-hatke, and go to the place in which he says we may dwell at peace
with him? Oh, Allala! my sister, hear me, and come to me with thy words
of wisdom."
At that moment, as though in answer to his prayer, Coacoochee caught
sight of a figure advancing hesitatingly towards where he stood. It was
that of a warrior, whom he recognized even at a distance as belonging
to his own band. The newcomer cast troubled glances over the pitiful
scene of ruin outspread on all sides. Until now he had not noted the
presence of his chief; but, when the latter uttered the cry of a hawk,
which was the familiar signal of his band, the warrior quickened his
steps, and came to where the young man stood.
He proved to be a runner, sent out by Louis Pacheco, to notify
Coacoochee that Philip Emathla with all the people of his village had
been captured and conveyed to St. Augustine, whence it was proposed
to remove them to the unknown land of the far west. The old chief had
begged so earnestly for an interview with his eldest son, that the
general in command had sent out a written safe-conduct for the latter
to come and go again in safety. This the runner now delivered to
Coacoochee, assuring him at the same time that Louis Pacheco had looked
at it and pronounced it good.
The young chief took the paper, regarded it curiously, and thrust it
into his girdle, then without delay, he set forth on his long journey
to the eastern coast. The runner was able to inform him of the present
location of Osceola, and accordingly he first directed his steps to the
camp of that fiery young chieftain to apprise him of the destruction of
his swamp stronghold.
Here he found a delegation of Cherokees, bearing an address from John
Ross, their head chief, to Coacoochee and Osceola, who were regarded as
the most important leaders of the Florida Indians. This address prayed
the Seminoles to end their fruitless struggle against the all-powerful
whites. It assured them that should they consent to removal, the
promises made by the latter would be kept, and that the Cherokees, as
their nearest neighbors in the western land, would ever be their firm
allies in resistance to further oppression.
The conference was long and earnest. Osceola, discouraged by the
loss of his stronghold, and by the destruction of its great store of
provisions, which he foresaw would entail much suffering among his
people during the coming winter, was inclined to make peace, though
still resolutely opposed to removal.
Coacoochee, filled with thoughts of his aged father and Nita Pacheco
held captives by the whites, was even more anxious to make an honorable
peace than was his brother chieftain. So it was finally decided that
he should take advantage of his safe-conduct, to visit St. Augustine,
advise with Philip Emathla, talk with the general in command, so as to
ascertain the exact views of the whites, and return to Osceola with
his report.
Thus, three days later the young war-chief, clad as befitted his rank,
and bearing a superb calumet as a present from Osceola, presented
himself boldly before the gates of St. Augustine, exhibited his
safe-conduct, and demanded to be taken to the general.
The manly beauty of his features, his haughty bearing, and gorgeous
costume attracted universal admiration, as he strode proudly through
the narrow streets of the quaint old city. Before he reached the house
in which the commandant was lodged, he was surrounded by a curious
throng of citizens, through which the corporal's guard escorting him
found some difficulty in clearing a passage.
The general greeted the son of Philip Emathla with honeyed words,
and caused him to be treated with the consideration due his rank and
importance. His father was brought to welcome him, and the two were
allowed to depart together to the encampment of the captives, which was
in the plaza, or central square of the city, where it was surrounded
by a cordon of soldiers. Here, after a separation of many months, the
young chief met her to whom he had plighted his troth by the blue
Ahpopka Lake. In his eyes she appeared more lovely than ever, and he
longed ardently for the time of peace that should enable him to make
for her a home in which they might dwell together in safety.
So much was there to tell and to hear, and so many grave questions to
be discussed, that the night was spent in talking, and the dawn of
another day found them still seated about the cold embers of a small
fire in front of King Philip's lodge.
The old man advised earnestly for peace, even at the cost of removal,
though at the same time declaring that with leaving his own land his
heart would break, so that he should never live to reach the strange
place set apart for his people.
Nita, happily content to sit close beside her lover, only leaving him
now and then to replenish the fire, refill the pipes, or to bring from
the lodge some dainty morsel of food, had little to say; but such words
as she uttered were in favor of peace.
Thus was the mind of Coacoochee the Wildcat turned from thoughts
of fighting and vengeance, to those of peace and happiness for his
loved ones, his oppressed people, and himself. So convinced was he
that the war must be ended, that he readily consented to go again to
Osceola, and persuade him to come in, with such other chiefs as could
be gathered, to attend a solemn council, with a view to the speedy
settlement of all existing troubles. On leaving the city, he was laden
with presents, both for himself and Osceola, and promising to return in
ten days, he set forth with a lighter heart than he had known for more
than a year.
Alas for human nature, that they who trust most should be most often
deceived! By the swift turning of affairs that gave the army in
Florida a new commanding general every few months during the Seminole
War, General Scott had been succeeded by General Jesup. From him the
commandant at St. Augustine had recently received a despatch which,
could Coacoochee have known its contents, would have filled the young
chief's heart with renewed bitterness, and turned his peaceful longings
into a fierce resolve for a fight to the death.