Chapter FIFTY NINE: A Hasty Messenger (3)

We had escaped from the blockhouse in boats, down the river to its mouth, and by sea to Saint Marks. Thence the volunteers scattered to their homes--their term of service having expired. They went as they listed; journeying alone, or in straggling squads of three and four together.

One of these groups consisted of old Hickman the hunter, a companion of like kidney, myself, and my ever faithful henchman.

Jake was no longer the "Black Jake" of yore. A sad change had come over his external aspect. His cheek-bones stood prominently out, while the cheeks themselves had fallen in; his eyeballs had retreated far within their sockets, and the neglected wool stood out over his temples in a thick frizzled shock. His skin had lost its fine ebon polish, and showed distinct traces of corrugation. Wherever "scratched" by his now elongated finger-nails, a whitish dandruffy surface was exhibited.

The poor fellow had fared badly in the blockhouse; and three weeks of positive famine had played sad havoc with his outward man.

Starvation, however, but little affected his spirits. Throughout all, he had preserved his jovial mood, and his light humour often roused me from my despondency. While gnawing the corn cob, and washing down the dry maize with a gourd of cold water, he would indulge in rapturous visions of "hominy and hog-meat," to be devoured whenever it should please fate to let him return to the "ole plantayshun." Such delightful prospects of future enjoyment enabled him the better to endure the pinching present--for anticipation has its joys. Now that we were free, and actually heading homewards; now that his visions were certain soon to become realities, Jake's jovialty could no longer be kept within bounds; his tongue was constantly in motion; his mouth ever open with the double tier of "ivories" displayed in a continuous smile; while his skin seemed to be rapidly recovering its dark oily lustre.

Jake was the soul of our party, as we trudged wearily along; and his gay jokes affected even the staid old hunters, at intervals eliciting from both loud peals of laughter.--For myself I scarcely shared their mirth-- only now and then, when the sallies of my follower proved irresistible. There was a gloom over my spirit, which I could not comprehend.

It should have been otherwise. I should have felt happy at the prospect of returning home--of once more beholding those who were dear--but it was not so.

It had been so on my first getting free from our blockhouse prison; but this was only the natural reaction, consequent upon escape from what appeared almost certain death. My joy had been short-lived: it was past and gone; and now that I was nearing my native home, dark shadows came over my soul; a presentiment was upon me that all was not well.

I could in no way account for this feeling, for I had heard no evil tidings. In truth, I had heard nothing of home or of friends for a period of nearly two months. During our long siege, no communication had ever reached us; and at Saint Marks we met but slight news from the settlements of the Suwanee. We were returning in ignorance of all that had transpired there during our absence--if aught _had_ transpired worthy of being known.

This ignorance itself might have produced uncertainty, doubt, even apprehension; but it was not the sole cause of my presentiment. Its origin was different. Perhaps the recollection of my abrupt departure-- the unsettled state in which I had left the affairs of our family--the parting scene, now vividly recalled--remembrances of Ringgold-- reflections upon the wicked designs of this wily villain--all these may have contributed to form the apprehensions under which I was suffering. Two months was a long period; many events could happen within two months, even in the narrow circle of one's own family. Long since it had been reported that I had perished at the hands of the Indian foe; I was believed to be dead, at home, wherever I was known; and the belief might have led to ill results. Was my sister still true to her word, so emphatically pronounced in that hour of parting? Was I returning home to find her still my loved sister? Still single and free? or had she yielded to maternal solicitation, and become the wife of the vile caitiff after all?

With such conjectures occupying my thoughts, no wonder I was not in a mood for merriment. My companions noticed my dejection, and in their rude but kind way, rallied me as we rode along. They failed, however, to make me cheerful like themselves. I could not cast the load from my heart. Try as I would, the presentiment lay heavy upon me, that all was not well.

Alas, alas! the presentiment proved true--no, not true, but worse--worse than my worst apprehensions--worse even than that I had most feared.

The news that awaited me was not of marriage, but of death--the death of my mother--and worse than death--horrid doubt of my sister's fate. Before reaching home, a messenger met me--one who told an appalling tale.

The Indians had attacked the settlement, or rather my own plantation-- for their foray had gone no further: my poor mother had fallen under their savage knives; my uncle too: and my sister? _She had been carried off_!

I stayed to hear no more; but, driving the spurs into my jaded horse, galloped forward like one suddenly smitten with madness.

CHAPTER SEVENTY THREE.

A BAD SPECTACLE.

My rate of speed soon brought me within the boundaries of the plantation; and, without pausing to breathe my horse, I galloped on, taking the path that led most directly to the house. It was not the main road, but a wood-path here and there closed up with "bars." My horse was a spirited animal, and easily leaped over them.

I met a man coming from the direction of the house--a white man--a neighbour. He made motions as if to speak--no doubt, of the calamity. I did not stop to listen. I had heard enough. My eyes alone wanted satisfaction.

I knew every turn of the path. I knew the points where I should first come in sight of the house.

I reached it, and looked forwards. Father of mercy! there was no house to be seen!

Half-bewildered, I reined up my horse. I strained my eyes over the landscape--in vain--no house.

Had I taken the wrong road, or was I looking in the wrong direction? No--no. There stood the giant tulip-tree, that marked the embouchure of the path. There stretched the savanna; beyond it the home-fields of indigo and maize; beyond these the dark wood-knoll of the hommock; but beyond this last there was nothing--nothing I could recognise.

The whole landscape appeared to have undergone a change. The gay white walls--the green _jalousies_--the cheerful aspect of home, that from that same spot had so often greeted me, returning hungry and wearied from the hunt--were no longer to be seen. The sheds, the negro-cabins, the offices, even the palings had disappeared. From their steads I beheld thick volumes of smoke ascending to the sky, and rolling over the sun till his disc was red. The heavens were frowning upon me.

From what I had already learned, the spectacle was easy of comprehension. It caused no new emotion either of surprise or pain. I was not capable of suffering more.

Again putting my horse to his speed, I galloped across the fields towards the scene of desolation.

As I neared the spot, I could perceive the forms of men moving about through the smoke. There appeared to be fifty or a hundred of them. Their motions did not betoken excitement. Only a few were moving at all, and these with a leisurely gait, that told they were not in action. The rest stood in groups, in lounging attitudes, evidently mere spectators of the conflagration. They were making no attempt to extinguish the flames, which I now observed mingling with the smoke. A few were rushing to and fro--most of them on horseback--apparently in the endeavour to catch some horses and cattle, that, having escaped from the burnt inclosure, were galloping over the fields, neighing and lowing.

One might have fancied that the men around the fire were those who had caused it; and for a moment such an idea was in my mind. The messenger had said that the foray had just taken place--that very morning at daybreak. It was all I had heard, as I hurried away.

It was yet early--scarcely an hour after sunrise--for we had been travelling by night to avoid the hot hours. Were the savages still upon the ground? Were those men Indians? In the lurid light, amidst the smoke, chasing the cattle--as if with the intention of driving them off--the conjecture was probable enough.

But the report said they had gone away: how else could the details have been known?--the murder of my mother, the rape of my poor sister? With the savages still upon the ground, how had these facts been ascertained?

Perhaps they had gone, and returned again to collect the booty, and fire the buildings? For an instant such fancies were before my mind.

They had no influence in checking my speed. I never thought of tightening the rein--my bridle arm was not free; with both hands I was grasping the ready rifle.

Vengeance had made me mad. Even had I been certain that the dark forms before me were those of the murderers, I was determined to dash forwards into their midst, and perish upon the body of a savage.

I was not alone. The black was at my heels; and close behind, I could hear the clattering hoofs of the hunters' horses.

We galloped up to the selvidge of the smoke. The deception was at an end. They were not Indians or enemies, but friends who stood around, and who hailed our approach neither with words nor shouts, but with the ominous silence of sympathy.

I pulled up by the fire, and dismounted from my horse: men gathered around me with looks of deep meaning. They were speechless--no one uttered a word. All saw that it was a tale that needed no telling.

I was myself the first to speak. In a voice so husky as scarcely to be heard, I inquired: "Where?"

The interrogatory was understood--it was anticipated. One had already taken me by the hand, and was leading me gently around the fire. He said nothing, but pointed towards the hommock. Unresistingly I walked by his side.

As we neared the pond, I observed a larger group than any I had yet seen. They were standing in a ring, with their faces turned inwards, and their eyes bent upon the earth. _I knew she was there_.

At our approach, the men looked up, and suddenly the ring opened--both sides mechanically drawing back. He who had my hand conducted me silently onwards, till I stood in their midst. I looked upon the corpse of my mother.

Beside it was the dead body of my uncle, and beyond, the bodies of several black men--faithful slaves, who had fallen in defence of their master and mistress.

My poor mother!--shot--stabbed--_scalped_. Even in death had she been defeatured!

Though I had anticipated it, the spectacle shocked me.

My poor mother! Those glassy eyes would never smile upon me again-- those pale lips would neither chide nor cheer me more.

I could control my emotions no longer. I burst into tears; and falling upon the earth, flung my arms around the corpse, and kissed the cold mute lips of her who had given me birth.

CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR.

TO THE TRAIL.

My grief was profound--even to misery. The remembrance of occasional moments of coldness on the part of my mother--the remembrance more especially of the last parting scene--rendered my anguish acute. Had we but parted in affection--in the friendly confidence of former years--my loss would have been easier to endure. But no; her last words to me were spoken in reproach--almost in anger--and it was the memory of these that now so keenly embittered my thoughts. I would have given the world could she have heard but one word--to know how freely I forgave her.

My poor mother! all was forgiven. Her faults were few and venial. I remembered them not. Ambition was her only sin--among those of her station, almost universal--but I remembered it no more. I remembered only her many virtues--only that she was my _mother_. Never until that moment had I known how dearly I loved her.

It was no time to indulge in grief. Where was my sister?

I sprang to my feet, as I gave wild utterance to the interrogatory.

It was answered only by signs. Those around me pointed to the forest. I understood the signs--the savages had borne her away.

Up to this hour I had felt no hostility towards the red men; on the contrary, my sentiments had an opposite inclination. If not friendship for them, I had felt something akin to it. I was conscious of the many wrongs they had endured, and were now enduring at the hands of our people. I knew that in the end they would be conquered, and must submit. I had felt sympathy for their unfortunate condition.

It was gone. The sight of my murdered mother produced an instantaneous change in my feelings; and sympathy for the savage was supplanted by fierce hostility. Her blood called aloud for vengeance, and my heart was eager to obey the summons.

As I rose to my feet, I registered vows of revenge.

I stood not alone. Old Hickman and his fellow-hunter were at my back, and fifty others joined their voices in a promise to aid me in the pursuit.

Black Jake was among the loudest who clamoured for retribution. He too had sustained his loss. Viola was nowhere to be found--she had been carried off with the other domestics. Some may have gone voluntarily, but all were absent--all who were not dead. The plantation and its people had no longer an existence. I was homeless as well as motherless.

There was no time to be wasted in idle sorrowing; immediate action was required, and determined upon. The people had come to the ground armed and ready, and a few minutes sufficed to prepare for the pursuit.

A fresh horse was procured for myself; others for the companions of my late journey; and after snatching a breakfast hastily prepared, we mounted, and struck off upon the trail of the savages.

It was easily followed, for the murderers had been mounted, and their horses' tracks betrayed them.

They had gone some distance up the river before crossing, and then swam their horses over to the Indian side. Without hesitation, we did the same.

The place I remembered well. I had crossed there before--two months before--while tracking the steed of Osceola. It was the path that had been taken by the young chief. The coincidence produced upon me a certain impression; and not without pain did I observe it.

It led to reflection. There was time, as the trail was in places less conspicuous, and the finding it delayed our advance. It led to inquiry.

Had any one seen the savages?--or noted to what band they belonged? Who was their leader?

Yes. All these questions were answered in the affirmative. Two men, lying concealed by the road, had seen the Indians passing away--had seen their captives, too; my sister--Viola--with other girls of the plantation. These were on horseback, each clasped in the arms of a savage. The blacks travelled afoot. They were _not_ bound. They appeared to go willingly. The Indians were "Redsticks"--_led by Osceola_.

Such was the belief of those around me, founded upon the report of the men who had lain in ambush.

It is difficult to describe the impression produced upon me. It was painful in the extreme. I endeavoured not to believe the report. I resolved not to give it credence, until I should have further confirmation of its truthfulness.

Osceola! O heavens! Surely he would not have done this deed? It could not have been he?

The men might have been mistaken. It was before daylight the savages had been seen. The darkness might have deceived them. Every feat performed by the Indians--every foray made--was put down to the credit of Osceola. Osceola was everywhere. Surely he had not been there?

Who were the two men--the witnesses? Not without surprise did I listen to the answer. They were _Spence and Williams_!

To my surprise, too, I now learned that they were among the party who followed me--volunteers to aid me in obtaining revenge for my wrongs!

Strange, I thought; but stranger still that Arens Ringgold was _not_ there. He had been present at the scene of the conflagration; and, as I was told, among the loudest in his threats of vengeance. But he had returned home; at all events he was not one of the band of pursuers.

I called Spence and Williams, and questioned them closely. They adhered to their statement. They admitted that it was dark when they had seen the Indians returning from the massacre. They could not tell for certain whether they were the warriors of the "Redstick" tribe, or those of the "Long Swamp." They believed them to be the former. As to who was their leader, they had no doubt whatever. It was Osceola who led them. They knew him by the three ostrich feathers in his head-dress, which rendered him conspicuous among his followers.

These fellows spoke positively. What interest could they have in deceiving me? What could it matter to them, whether the chief of the murderous band was Osceola, Coa Hajo, or Onopa himself?

Their words produced conviction--combined with other circumstances, deep, painful conviction. The murderer of my mother--he who had fired my home, and borne my sister into a cruel captivity--could be no other than Osceola.

All memory of our past friendship died upon the instant. My heart burned with hostility and hate, for him it had once so ardently admired.

CHAPTER SEVENTY FIVE.

THE ALARM.

There were other circumstances connected with the bloody affair, that upon reflection appeared peculiar and mysterious. By the sudden shock, my soul had been completely benighted; and these circumstances had escaped my notice. I merely believed that there had been an onslaught of the Indians, in which my mother had been massacred, and my sister borne away from her home--that the savages, not satisfied with blood, had added fire--that these outrages had been perpetrated in revenge for past wrongs, endured at the hands of their pale-faced enemies--that the like had occurred elsewhere, and was almost daily occurring--why not on the banks of the Suwanee, as in other districts of the country? In fact, it had been rather a matter of wonder, that the settlement had been permitted to remain so long unmolested. Others--far more remote from the Seminole strongholds--had already suffered a like terrible visitation; and why should ours escape? The immunity had been remarked, and the inhabitants had become lulled by it into a false security.

The explanation given was that the main body of the Indians had been occupied elsewhere, watching the movements of Scott's triple army; and, as our settlement was strong, no small band had dared to come against it.

But Scott was now gone--his troops had retired within the forts--their summer quarters--for winter is the season of campaigning in Florida; and the Indians, to whom all seasons are alike, were now free to extend their marauding expeditions against the trans-border plantations.

This appeared the true explanation why an attack upon the settlement of the Suwanee had been so long deferred.

During the first burst of my grief, on receiving news of the calamity, I accepted it as such: I and mine had merely been the victims of a general vengeance.

But the moments of bewilderment soon passed; and the peculiar circumstances, to which I have alluded, began to make themselves apparent to my mind.

First of all, why was our plantation the only one that had been attacked?--our house the only one given to the flames?--our family the only one murdered?

These questions startled me; and natural it was that they did so. There were other plantations along the river equally unprotected--other families far more noted for their hostility to the Seminole race--nay, what was yet a greater mystery, the Ringgold plantation lay in the very path of the marauders; as their trail testified, they had passed around it to reach our house; and both Arens Ringgold and his father had long been notorious for bitter enmity to the red men, and violent aggressions against their rights.

Why, then, had the Ringgold plantation been suffered to remain unmolested, while ours was singled out for destruction? Were we the victims of a _particular and special vengeance_?

It must have been so; beyond a doubt, it was so. After long reflection, I could arrive at no other conclusion. By this alone could the mystery be solved.

And Powell--oh! could it have been he?--my friend, a fiend guilty of such an atrocious deed? Was it probable? was it possible? No--neither.

Despite the testimony of the two men--vile wretches I knew them to be-- despite what they had seen and said--my heart refused to believe it.

What motive could he have for such special murder?--ah! what motive?

True, my mother had been unkind to him--more than that, ungrateful; she had once treated him with scorn. I remembered it well--he, too, might remember it.

But surely he, the noble youth--to my mind the _beau ideal_ of heroism-- would scarcely have harboured such petty spite, and for so long?--would scarcely have repaid it by an act of such bloody retribution? No--no-- no.

Besides, would Powell have left untouched the dwelling of the Ringgolds? of Arens Ringgold, one of his most hated foes--one of the four men he had sworn to kill? This of itself was the most improbable circumstance connected with the whole affair.

Ringgold had been at home--might have been entrapped in his sleep--his black retainers would scarcely have resisted; at all events, they could have been overcome as easily as ours.

Why was _he_ permitted to live? Why was _his_ house not given to the flames?

Upon the supposition that Osceola was the leader of the band, I could not comprehend why he should have left Arens Ringgold to live, while killing those who were scarcely his enemies.

New information imparted to me as we advanced along the route, produced new reflections. I was told that the Indians had made a hasty departure--that they had in fact retreated. The conflagration had attracted a large body of citizen soldiery--a patrol upon its rounds-- and the appearance of these, unexpected by the savages, had caused the latter to scamper off to the woods. But for this, it was conjectured other plantations would have suffered the fate of ours--perhaps that of Ringgold himself.

The tale was probable enough. The band of marauders was not large--we knew by their tracks there were not more than fifty of them--and this would account for their retreat on the appearance even of a smaller force. The people alleged that it was a retreat.

This information gave a different complexion to the affair--I was again driven to conjectures--again forced to suspicions of Osceola.

Perhaps I but half understood his Indian nature; perhaps, after all, _he_ was the monster who had struck the blow.

Once more I interrogated myself as to his motive--what motive?

Ha! my sister, Virginia--O God! could love--passion--fiendish desire to possess--

"The Indyens! Indyens! Indyens!"

CHAPTER SEVENTY SIX.

A FALSE ALARM.

The significant shout at once put a period to my reflections.

Believing the savages to be in sight, I spurred towards the front. The horsemen had drawn bridle and halted. A few, who had been straggling from the path, hurried up and ranged themselves close to the main body, as if for protection. A few others, who had been riding carelessly in the advance, were seen galloping back. It was from these last the cry of "Indyens" had come, and several of them still continued to repeat it.

"Indyuns?" cried Hickman, interrogatively, and with an air of incredulity. "Whar did ye see them?"

"Yonder," responded one of the retreating horsemen--"in yon clump o' live-oaks. It's full o' them."

"I'll be dog-goned if I believe it," rejoined the old hunter, with a contemptuous toss of the head. "I'll lay a plug o' Jeemes's River, it war stumps yez seed! Indyuns don't show 'emselves in timmer like this hyar--specially to sech verdunts as you. Ye'll _hear_ 'em afore you see 'em, I kalklate."

"But we did hear them," replied one, "we heard them calling out to one another."

"Bah!" exclaimed the hunter; "y'ull hear 'em different from that, I guess, when you gets near enough. It'll be the spang o' thar rifles y'ull hear fust thing. Dog-gone the Indyun's thar. Twar a coon or a cat-bird ye've heern a screamin'! I know'd ye'd make a scamper the fust thing as flittered afore ye."

"Stay whar yez are now," he added in a tone of authority, "jest stay whar yez are a bit."

So saying, he slipped down from his saddle, and commenced hitching his bridle to a branch.

"Come, Jim Weatherford," he said, addressing himself to his hunter comrade, "you come along--we'll see whether it be Indyuns or stumps thet's gin these fellows sech a dog-goned scare."

Weatherford, anticipating the request, had already dropped to the ground; and the two having secured their horses, rifle in hand, slunk silently off into the bushes.

The rest of the party, gathering still more closely together, remained in their saddles to await the result.

There was but slight trial upon their patience; for the two pioneers were scarce out of sight, when we heard their voices ringing together in loud peals of laughter.

This encouraged us to advance. Where there was so much merriment there could be but little danger; and, without waiting for the return of the scouts, we rode forwards, directing our course by their continued cachinnations.

An opening brought both of them into view; Weatherford was gazing downwards, as if examining some tracks; while Hickman, who saw us coming up, stood with extended arm, pointing toward the straggling woods that lay beyond.

We turned our eyes in the direction indicated. We observed a number of half-wild, horned cattle, that, startled by the trampling of our troops, were scampering off among the trees.

"Now," cried the hunter, triumphantly; "thar's yur Indyuns! Ain't they a savage consarn? Ha! ha! ha!"

Every one joined in the laugh except those who had given the false alarm.

"I know'd thar war no Indyuns," continued the alligator-hunter. "That ain't the way they'll make thar appearance. Yu'll hear 'em afore you sees 'em; an' jest one word o' advice to you greenhorns--as don't know a red Indyun from a red cow--let somebody as diz know, go in the devance, an' the rest o' ye keep well togither; or I'll stake high on't thet some o' yez 'll sleep the night 'ithout har on yur heads."

All acknowledged that Hickman's advice was sage and sound. The hint was taken, and leaving the two old hunters henceforth to lead the pursuit, the rest drew more closely together, and followed them along the trail.

The plan adopted in this instance, was that followed in all well-devised tracking parties when in pursuit of an enemy. It matters not of what elements the body is composed--be it naval, military or civilian--be there present, commodores, generals or governors--all yield the _pas_ to some old hunter or scout, who follows the trail like a sleuth hound, and whose word is supreme law for the nonce.

It was evident the pursued party could not be far in advance of us. This we knew from the hour at which they had been seen retreating from the settlement. After my arrival on the plantation, no time had been lost--only ten minutes spent in preparation--and altogether there was scarce an hour's difference between the times of our starting. The fresh trail confirmed the fact--they could not be a league ahead of us, unless they had ridden faster than we. This was scarce probable, encumbered as they were with their black captives, whose larger tracks, here and there distinctly perceptible, showed that they were marching afoot. Of course, the savage horsemen would be detained in getting them forwards; and in this lay our main hope of overtaking them.

There were but few who feared for the result, should we only be able to come up with the enemy. The white men were full of wrath and revenge, and this precluded all thoughts of fear. Besides, we could tell by their trail that the Indians scarce outnumbered us. Not above fifty appeared to constitute the band. No doubt they were able warriors, and our equals man to man; but those who had volunteered to assist me were also the "true grit"--the best men of the settlement for such a purpose.

No one talked of going back. All declared their readiness to follow the murderers even to the heart of the Indian territory--even into the "Cove" itself.

The devotion of these men cheered me; and I rode forwards with lighter heart--lighter with the prospect of vengeance, which I believed to be near.

CHAPTER SEVENTY SEVEN.

"A SPLIT TRAIL."

It proved not to be so near us as we had anticipated. Pressing forward, as fast as our guides could lift the trail, we followed it for ten miles. We had hoped to find revenge at half the distance.

The Indians either knew that we were after them; or, with their wonted wisdom were marching rapidly under the mere suspicion of a pursuit. After the committal of such horrid atrocities, it was natural for them to suppose they would be pursued.

Evidently they were progressing as fast as we--but not faster; though the sun was broiling hot, sap still oozed from the boughs they had accidentally broken--the mud turned up by their horses' hoofs, as the guides expressed it, had not yet "crusted over," and the crushed herbage was wet with its own juice and still procumbent.

To the denizen of the city, accustomed to travel from street to street by the assistance of sign boards at every corner and numbers on every door, it must appear almost incredible that the wild savage, or untutored hunter, can, without guide or compass, unerringly follow, day after day, the track of some equally cunning foe. To the pursuing party every leaf, every twig, every blade of grass is a "sign," and they read them as plainly as if the route were laid down upon a map. While the pursuing party is thus attentive to detect "sign," the escaping one is as vigilant to avoid leaving any--and many are the devices resorted to, to efface the trail.

"Jest helf a hour ahead," remarked old Hickman, as he rose erect after examining the tracks for the twentieth time--"jest helf a hour, dog-darn 'em! I never knowed red skins to travel so fast afore. Thar a streakin' it like a gang o' scared bucks, an' jest 'bout now thar breech clouts are in a purty considerable sweat, an' some o' thar duds is stannin at an angle o' forty-five, I reckon."

A peal of laughter was the reply to this sally of the guide.

"Not so loud, fellars! not so loud," said he, interrupting the laughter by an earnest wave of his hand. "By jeroozalim! tha'll hear ye; an if they do, tha'll be some o' us 'ithout scalps afore sundown. For yer lives, boys, keep still as mice--not a word, or we'll be heern--tha'r as sharp eared as thar own dogs, and, darn me, if I believe thar more'n helf a mile ahead o' us."

The guide once more bent himself over the trail, and after a short reconnoissance of the tracks, repeated his last words with more emphasis.

"No, by --! not more'n half a mile--Hush, boys, keep as quiet as possums, an' I promise ye we'll tree the varmints in less'n a hour. Hush!"

Obedient to the injunctions, we rode forwards, as silently as it was possible for us to proceed on horseback.

We strove to guide our horses along the softer borders of the path to prevent the thumping of their hoofs. No one spoke above a whisper; and even then there was but little conversation, as each was earnestly gazing forwards, expecting every moment to see the bronzed savages moving before us.

In this way we proceeded for another half mile, without seeing aught of the enemy except their tracks.

A new object, however, now came in view--the clear sky shining through the trunks of the trees. We were all woodsmen enough to know that this indicated an "opening" in the forest.

Most of my companions expressed pleasure at the sight. We had now been riding a long way through the sombre woods--our path often obstructed by slimy and fallen logs, so that a slow pace had been unavoidable. They believed that in the open ground we should move faster; and have a better chance of sighting the pursued.

Some of the older heads, and especially the two guides, were affected differently by the new appearance. Hickman at once gave expression to his chagrin.

"Cuss the clarin," he exclaimed; "it are a savanner, an' a big 'un, too--dog-gone the thing--it'll spoil all."

"How?" I inquired.

"Ye see, Geordy, if thar a'ready across it, they'll leave some on t'other side to watch--they'll be sarten to do that, whether they know we're arter 'em or not. Wall, what follers? _We_ kin no more cross 'ithout bein' seen, than a carryvan o' kaymils. An' what follers that? Once they've sighted us, in coorse they'll know how to git out o' our way; judjin' from the time we've been a travellin'--hey! it's darned near sundown!--I reckon we must be clost to thar big swamp. If they spy us a-comin' arter, they'll make strait custrut for thar, and then I know what they'll do."

"What?"

"They'll scatter thar; and ef they do, we might as well go sarchin' for bird's-nests in snow time."

"What should we do?"

"It are best for the hul o' ye to stop here a bit. Me and Jim Weatherford'll steal forbad to the edge of the timmer, an' see if they're got acrosst the savanner. Ef they are, then we must make roun' it the best way we kin, an' take up thar trail on the tother aide. Thar's no other chance. If we're seen crossin' the open ground, we may jest as well turn tail to 'em, and take the back-track home agin."

To the counsel of the alligator-hunter there was no dissenting voice. All acknowledged its wisdom, and he was left to carry out the design without opposition.

He and his companion once more dismounted from their horses, and, leaving us standing among the trees, advanced stealthily towards the edge of the opening.

It was a considerable time before they came back; and the other men were growing impatient. Many believed we were only losing time by this tardy reconnoissance, and the Indians would be getting further away. Sonde advised that the pursuit should be continued at once, and that, seen or not, we ought to ride directly onwards.

However consonant with my own feelings--burning as I was for a conflict with the murderers--I knew it would not be a prudent course. The guides were in the right.

These returned at length, and delivered their report. There _was_ a savanna, and the Indians had crossed it. They had got into the timber on its opposite side, and neither man nor horse was to be seen. They could scarcely have been out of sight, before Hickman and Weatherford arrived upon its nearer edge, and the former averred that he had seen the tail of one of their horses, disappearing among the bushes.

During their absence, the cunning trackers had learned more. From the sign they had gathered another important fact--that there was no longer _a trail for us to follow_!

On entering the Savanna the Indians had _scattered_--the paths they had taken across the grassy meadow, were as numerous as their horses. As the hunter expressed it, the trail "war split up into fifty pieces." The latter had ascertained this by crawling out among the long grass, and noting the tracks.

One in particular had occupied their attention. It was not made by the hoof-prints of horses, though some of these ran alongside, but by the feet of men. They were naked feet; and a superficial observer might have fancied that but one pair of them had passed over the ground. The skilled trackers, however, knew this to be a _ruse_. The prints were large, and misshapen, and too deeply indented in the soil to have been produced by a single individual. The long heel, and scarcely convex instep--the huge balls, and broad prints of the toes, were all signs that the hunters easily understood. They knew that it was the trail of the negro captives who had proceeded thus by the direction of their captors.

This unexpected ruse on the part of the retreating savages created chagrin, as well as astonishment. For the moment all felt outwitted--we believed that the enemy was lost--we should be cheated of our revenge. Some even talked of the idleness of carrying the pursuit further. A few counselled us to go back; and it became necessary to appeal to their hatred of the savage foe--with most of them a hereditary passion--and once more to invoke their vengeance.

At this crisis, old Hickman cheered the men with fresh hope. I was glad to hear him speak.

"We can't get at 'em to-night, boys," said he, after much talk had been spent; "we dasent cross over this hyar clearin' by daylight, an' it's too big to git roun' it. It 'ud take a twenty mile ride to circumvent the durned thing. Ne'er a mind! Let us halt hyar till the dark comes on. Then we kin steal across; an' if me an' Jim Weatherford don't scare up the trail on the tother side, then this child never ate allygator. I know they'll come thegither agin, an' we'll be like enough to find the durned varments camped somewhar in a clump. Not seein' us arter 'em any more, they'll be feelin' as safe as a bear in a bee tree--an' that's jest the time to take 'em."

The plan was adopted; and, dismounting from our jaded horses, we awaited the setting of the sun.

There are few situations more trying to the boiling blood and pent-up fury of the pursuer--especially if he have bitter cause for vengeance-- than a "check" in the chase; the loss of the trail of course often involves the escape of the foe, and though it may be after a while recovered, yet the delay affords such advantage to the enemy, that every moment serves only to increase the anxiety and whet the fury of the pursuer. This then was my case on the present occasion. While yielding to the advice of the hunter, because I knew it to be the best plan under the circumstances, I nevertheless could scarce control my impatience, or submit to the delay--but felt impelled to hurry forward, and alone and single-handed, if need be, inflict upon the savage miscreants the punishment due to their murderous deeds.

CHAPTER SEVENTY EIGHT.

CROSSING THE SAVANNA.

We now suffered the very acme of misery. While riding in hot haste along the trail, there was an excitement, almost continuous, that precluded the possibility of intense reflection, and kept my mind from dwelling too minutely upon the calamity that had befallen me. The prospect of retribution, ever appearing nearer at hand--at every step nearer--all but cancelled my emotions of grief; and motion itself-- knowing it to be forward, and towards the object of hatred--had a certain effect in soothing my troubled soul.

Now that the pursuit was suspended, and I was free to reflect on the events of the morning, my soul was plunged into the deepest misery. My fancy distressed me with dire images. Before me appeared the corpse of my murdered mother--her arms outstretched, waving me on to vengeance. My sister, too, wan, tearful, dishevelled! dishonoured!

No wonder that with painful impatience I awaited the going down of the sun. I thought I had never seen that grand orb sink so slowly. The delay tortured me almost to distraction.

The sun's disc was blood red, from a thick haze that hung over the woods. The heavens appeared lowering, and angry--they had the hue of my own spirit.

At length, twilight came on. Short it was--as is usual in Southern latitudes--though it appeared long and tardy in passing away. Darkness followed, and once more springing to my saddle, I found relief in motion.

Emerging from the timber, we rode out upon the open savanna. The two hunters, acting as guides, conducted us across. There was no attempt made to follow any of the numerous trails. In the darkness, it would have been impossible, but even had there been light enough left them, the guides would have pursued a different course.

Hickman's conjecture was, that on reaching the opposite side, the marauding party would come together at some rendezvous previously agreed upon. The trail of any one, therefore, would be sufficient for our purpose, and in all probability would conduct us to their camp. Our only aim, then, was to get across the savanna unobserved; and this the darkness might enable us to accomplish.

Silently as spectres we marched over the open meadow. We rode with extreme slowness, lest the hoof-strokes should be heard. Our tired steeds needed no taming down. The ground was favourable--a surface of soft, grassy turf, over which our animals glided with noiseless tread. Our only fears were, that they should scent the horses of the Indians, and betray us by their neighing.

Happily our fears proved groundless; and, after half an hour's silent marching, we reached the other side of the savanna, and drew up under the shadowy trees.

It was scarce possible we could have been observed. If the Indians had left spies behind them, the darkness would have concealed us from their view, and we had made no noise by which our approach could have been discovered, unless their sentinels had been placed at the very point where we re-entered the woods. We saw no signs of any, and we believed that none of the band had lingered behind, and we had not been seen.

We congratulated one another in whispers; and in like manner deliberated on our future plans of proceeding. We were still in our saddles--with the intention to proceed further. We should have dismounted upon the spot, and waited for the light of morning to enable us to take up the trail, but circumstances forbade this. Our horses were suffering from thirst, and their riders were no better off. We had met with no water since before noon, and a few hours under the burning skies of Florida are sufficient to render thirst intolerable. Whole days in a colder climate would scarce have an equal effect.

Both horses and men suffered acutely--we could neither sleep nor rest, without relief--water must be sought for, before a halt could be made.

We felt hunger as well, for scarce any provision had been made for the long march--but the pangs of this appetite were easier to be endured. Water of itself would satisfy us for the night, and we resolved to ride forward in search of it.

In this dilemma, the experience of our two guides promised relief. They had once made a hunting excursion to the savanna we had crossed. It was in the times when the tribes were friendly, and white men were permitted to pass freely through the "reserve." They remembered a pond, at which, upon that occasion, they had made their temporary encampment. They believed it was not far distant from the spot where we had arrived. It might be difficult to find in the darkness, but to suffer on or search for it were our only alternatives.

The latter was of course adopted; and once more allowing Hickman and Weatherford to pioneer the way, the rest of us rode silently after.

We moved in single file, each horse guided by the one that immediately preceded him; in the darkness no other mode of march could be adopted. Our party was thus strung out into a long line, here and there curving according to the sinuosities of the path, and gliding like some monstrous serpent among the trees.

CHAPTER SEVENTY NINE.

GROPING AMONG THE TIMBER.

At intervals the guides were at fault; and then the whole line was forced to halt and remain motionless. Several times both Hickman and Weatherford were puzzled as to the direction they should take. They had lost the points of the compass, and were bewildered.

Had there been light, they could have recovered this knowledge by observing the bark upon the trees--a craft well-known to the backwoods hunter--but it was too dark to make such an observation. Even amidst the darkness, Hickman alleged he could tell north from south by the "feel" of the bark: and for this purpose I now saw him groping against the trunks. I noticed that he passed from one to another, trying several of them, the better to confirm his observations.

After carrying on these singular manoeuvres for a period of several minutes, he turned to his comrade with an exclamation that betokened surprise:--

"Dog-gone my cats, Jim," said he, speaking in an undertone, "these woods are altered since you and I war hyar--what the ole scratch kin be the matter wi' 'em? The bark's all peeled off and thar as dry as punk."

"I was thinkin' they had a kewrious look," replied the other, "but I s'posed it was the darkness o' the night."

"Neer a bit of it--the trees is altered someways, since we war hyar afore! They are broom pines--that I recollect well enough--let's git a bunch o' the leaves, and see how they looks."

Saying this, he reached his hand upwards, and plucked one of the long fascicles that drooped overhead.

"Ugh!" continued he, crushing the needles between his fingers, "I see how it are now. The darnationed moths has been at 'em--the trees are dead.

"D'yer think thar all dead?" he inquired after a pause, and then advancing a little, he proceeded to examine some others.

"Dead as durnation!--every tree o' 'em--wal! we must go by guess-work-- thar's no help for it, boys. Ole Hick kin guide you no furrer. I'm dead beat, and know no more 'bout the direkshun o' that ere pond, than the greenest greenhorn among ye."

This acknowledgment produced no very pleasant effect. Thirst was torturing all those who heard it. Hitherto, trusting that the skill of the hunters would enable them to find water, they had sustained it with a degree of patience. It was now felt more acutely than ever.

"Stay," said Hickman, after a few moments had elapsed. "All's not lost that's in danger. If I arn't able to guide ye to the pond, I reckon I've got a critter as kin. Kin you, ole hoss?" he continued, addressing himself to the animal he bestrode--a wiry old jade that Hickman had long been master of--"kin you find the water? Gee up, ole beeswax! and let's see if you kin."

Giving his "critter" a kick in the ribs, and at the same time full freedom of the bridle, he once more started forwards among the trees.

We all followed as before, building fresh hopes upon the instinct of the animal.

Surely the pride of man ought to be somewhat abased, when he reflects, that he, "the lord of the creation," is oftentimes foiled in attempts which, by the mere instincts of the lower animals, are of easy accomplishment. What a lesson of humility this ought to teach to the wanton and cruel oppressor of those noble animals, whose strength, and instinct, and endurance, are all made subservient to his comfort. It is in the hour of danger and peril alone, that man realises his dependence upon agencies other than his own lordly will.

We had not proceeded far, when it became known that Hickman's horse had got scent of the water. His owner alleged that he "smelt" it, and the latter knew this, as well as if it had been one of his hounds taking up the trail of a deer.

The horse actually exhibited signs of such an intelligence. His muzzle was protruded forwards, and now and then he was heard to sniff the air; while, at the same time, he walked forward in a direct line--as if making for some object. Surely he was heading for water. Such was the belief.

It produced a cheering effect, and the men were now advancing in better spirits, when, to their surprise, Hickman suddenly drew up, and halted the line I rode forward to him to inquire the cause. I found him silent and apparently reflective.

"Why have you stopped?" I inquired.

"You must all o' ye wait here a bit."

"Why must we?" demanded several, who had pressed along side.

"'Taint safe for us to go forrad this way; I've got a idea that them red skins is by the pond--they've camped there for sartin--it's the only water that is about hyar; and its devilitch like that thar they've rendevoozed an' camped. If that be the case, an' we ride forrad in this fashion, they'll hear us a-comin' an' be off agin into the bushes, whar we'll see no more o' them. Ain't that like enough, fellers?"

This interrogatory was answered in the affirmative.

"Wal then," continued the guide; "better for yous all to stay hyar, while me and Jim Weatherford goes forrad to see if the Indyuns is thar. We kin find the pond now. I know whar it lies by the direkshun the hoss war taken. It aint fur off. If the red skins aint thar, we'll soon be back, an' then ye kin all come on as fast as ye like."

This prudent course was willingly agreed to, and the two hunters, once more dismounting, stole forwards afoot. They made no objection to my going along with them. My misfortunes gave me a claim to be their leader; and, leaving my bridle in the hands of one of my companions, I accompanied the guides upon their errand.

We walked with noiseless tread. The ground was thickly covered with the long needles of the pine, forming a soft bed, upon which the footstep made no sound. There was little or no underwood, and this enabled us to advance with rapidity, and in a few minutes we were a long way from the party we had left behind.

Our only care was about keeping the right direction, and this we had almost lost--or believed so--when, to our astonishment we beheld a light shining through the trees. It was the gleam of a fire that appeared to be blazing freely. Hickman at once pronounced it the camp fire of the Indians.

At first we thought of returning, and bringing on our comrades to the attack; but upon reflection, we determined to approach nearer the fire, and make certain whether it was the enemy's camp.

We advanced no longer in erect attitudes; but crawling upon our hands and knees. Wherever the glare penetrated the woods, we avoided it, and kept under the shadow of the tree-trunks. The fire burned in the midst of an opening. The hunters remembered that the pond was so placed; and now observing the sheen of water, we knew it must be the same.

We drew nearer and nearer, until it was no longer safe to advance. We were close to the edge of the timber that concealed us. We could see the whole surface of the open ground. There were horses picketed over it, and dark forms recumbent under the fire light. They were murderers asleep.

Close to the fire, one was seated upon a saddle. He appeared to be awake, though his head was drooped to the level of his knees. The blaze was shining upon this man's face; and both his features and complexion might have been seen, but for the interposition of paint and plumes.

The face appeared of a crimson red, and three black ostrich feathers, bending over the brow, hung straggling down his cheeks. These plumed symbols produced painful recognition. I knew that it was the head-dress of Osceola.

I looked further. Several groups were beyond--in fact, the whole open space was crowded with prostrate human forms.

There was one group, however, that fixed my attention. It consisted of three or four individuals, seated or reclining along the grass. They were in shade, and from our position, their features could not be recognised; but their white dresses, and the outlines of their forms, soft even in the obscurity of the shadow, told that they were females.

Two of them were side by side, a little apart from the others; one appeared to be supporting the other, whose head rested in her lap.

With emotions fearfully vivid, I gazed on these two forms. I had no doubt they were Viola and my sister.

CHAPTER EIGHTY.

SIGNAL SHOTS.

I shall not attempt to depict my emotions at that moment. My pen is unequal to the task. Think of my situation, and fancy them if you can.