Osceola the Seminole: or, The Red Fawn of the Flower Land

As she uttered these interrogatives, she raised her hand to her head, as if to assist her memory.

“Oh! now I remember. Hulwak (it is bad). I lose time. You may be killed, young mico – you may be killed, and then – Go! begone, begone, begone! back to the topekee (fort). Shut yourself up; keep among your people: do not stray from your blue soldiers; do not wander in the woods! Your life is in danger.”

All this was spoken in a tone of earnestness that astonished me. More than astonished, I began to feel some slight alarm, since I had not forgotten the attempted assassination of yesterday. Moreover, I knew that there were periods when this singular woman was not positively insane. She had her lucid intervals, during which she both talked and acted rationally, and often with extraordinary intelligence. This might be one of those intervals. She might be privy to some scheme against my life, and had come, as she alleged, to defeat it.

But who was my enemy or enemies? and how could she have known of their design?

In order to ascertain this, I said to her:

“I have no enemy, Ewa; why should my life be in danger?”

“I tell you, pretty mico, it is – you have enemies. I-e-ela! you do not know it?”

“I never wronged a red man in my life.”

“Red – did I say red man? Cooree (boy), pretty Randolph, there is not a red man in all the land of the Seminoles that would pluck a hair from your head. Oh! if they did, what would say the Rising Sun? He would consume them like a forest fire. Fear not the red men – your enemies are not of that colour.”

“Ha! not red men? What, then?”

“Some white – some yellow.”

“Nonsense, Ewa! I have never given a white man cause to be my enemy.”

“Chepawnee (fawn) you are but a young fawn, whose mother has not told it of the savage beasts that roam the forest. There are wicked men who are enemies without a cause. There are some who seek your life, though you never did them wrong.”

“But who are they? And for what reason?”

“Do not ask, chepawnee! There is not time. Enough if I tell you, you are owner of a rich plantation, where black men make the blue dye. You have a fair sister – very fair. Is she not like a beam from yonder moon? And I was fair once – so he said. Ah! it is bad to be beautiful Ho, ho, ho!

“Why did I trust in a pale-faced lover?Ho, ho, ho! Why did I meet him —

“Hulwak!” she exclaimed, again suddenly breaking off the strain: “I am mad; but I remember. Go! begone! I tell you, go: you are but an echochee (fawn), and the hunters are upon your trail. Back to the topekee – go! go!”

“I cannot, Ewa; I am here for a purpose; I must remain till some one comes.”

“Till some one comes! hulwak! they will come soon.”

“Who?”

“Your enemies – they who would kill you; and then the pretty doe will bleed – her poor heart will bleed: she will go mad – she will be like Haj-Ewa.”

“Whom do you speak of?”

“Of – Hush! hush! hush! It is too late – they come – they come! see their shadows upon the water!”

I looked, as Haj-Ewa pointed. Sure enough there were shadows upon the pond, just where I had seen hers. They were the figures of men – four of them. They were moving among the palm-trees, and along the ridge.

In a few seconds the shadows disappeared. They who had been causing them had descended the slope, and entered among the timber.

“It is too late now,” whispered the maniac, evidently at that moment in full possession of her intellect. “You dare not go out into the open woods. They would see you – you must stay in the thicket. There!” continued she, grasping me by the wrist, and, with a powerful jerk, bringing me close to the trunk of the live-oak: “this is your only chance. Quick – ascend! Conceal yourself among the moss. Be silent – stir not till I return. Hinklas!” (It is good – it is well.)

And so saying, my strange counsellor stepped back under the shadow of the tree; and, gliding into the umbrageous covert of the grove, disappeared from my sight.

I had followed her directions, and was now ensconced upon one of the great limbs of the live-oak – perfectly hidden from the eyes of any one below by festoons of the silvery tillandsia. These, hanging from branches still higher up, draped around me like a set of gauze curtains, and completely enveloped my whole body; while I myself had a view of the pond – at least, that side of it on which the moon was shining – by means of a small opening between the leaves.

At first I fancied I was playing a very ridiculous rôle. The story about enemies, and my life being in danger, might, after all, be nothing more than some crazy fancy of the poor maniac’s brain. The men, whose shadows I had seen, might be the chiefs on their return. They would reach the ground where I had appointed to meet them, and not finding me there, would go back. What kind of report should I carry to head-quarters? The thing was ridiculous enough – and for me, the result might be worse than ridiculous.

Under these reflections, I felt strongly inclined to descend, and meet the men – whoever they might be – face to face.

Other reflections, however, hindered me. The chiefs were only two– there were four shadows. True, the chiefs might be accompanied by some of their followers – for better security to themselves on such a traitorous mission – but I had noticed, as the shadows were passing over the pond – and notwithstanding the rapidity with which they moved – that the figures were not those of Indians. I observed no hanging drapery, nor plumes. On the contrary, I fancied there were hats upon their heads, such as are worn only by white men. It was the observation of this peculiarity that made me so ready to yield obedience to the solicitations of Haj-ewa.

Other circumstances had not failed to impress me: the strange assertions made by the Indian woman – her knowledge of events, and the odd allusions to well-known persons – the affair of yesterday: all these, commingling in my mind, had the effect of determining me to remain upon my perch, at least for some minutes longer. I might be relieved from my unpleasant position sooner than I expected.

Without motion, almost without breathing, I kept my seat, my eyes carefully watching, and ears keenly bent to catch every sound.

My suspense was brief. The acuteness of my eyes was rewarded by a sight, and my ears by a tale, that caused my flesh to creep, and the blood to run cold in my veins. In five minutes’ time, I was inducted into a belief in the wickedness of the human heart, exceeding in enormity all that I had ever read or heard of.

Four demons filed before me – demons, beyond a doubt: their looks, which I noted well – their words, which I heard – their gestures, which I saw – their designs, with which I in that hour became acquainted – fully entitled them to the appellation.

They were passing around the pond. I saw their faces, one after another, as they emerged into the moonlight.

Foremost appeared the pale, thin visage of Arens Ringgold; next, the sinister aquiline features of Spence; and, after him, the broad brutal face of the bully Williams.

There were four– who was the fourth?

“Am I dreaming? – Do my eyes deceive me? Is it real? Is it an illusion? Are my senses gone astray – or is it only a resemblance, a counterpart? No – no – no! It is no counterpart, but the man himself! – that black curling hair, that tawny skin, the form, the gait – all, all are his. O God! it is Yellow Jake!”

Chapter Thirty Four

A Pretty Plot

To dispute the identity was to doubt the evidence of my senses. The mulatto was before me – just as I remembered him – though with changed apparel, and perhaps grown a little bigger in body. But the features were the same – that tout ensemble the same as that presented by Yellow Jake, the ci-devant woodman of our plantation.

And yet how could it possibly be he? And in the company of Arens Ringgold too, one of the most active of his intended executioners? No, no, no! altogether improbable – utterly impossible! Then must I be deluded – my eyes deceiving me – for as certain as I looked upon man, I was looking upon Jake the mulatto! He was not twenty feet from where I lay hidden; his face was full towards me; the moon was shining upon it with a brilliancy scarcely inferior to the light of day. I could note the old expression of evil in his eyes, and mark the play of his features. It was Yellow Jake.

To confirm the impression, I remembered that, notwithstanding all remonstrance and ridicule, the black pertinaciously adhered to his story. He would listen to no compromise, no hypothesis founded upon resemblance. He had seen Yellow Jake, or his ghost. This was his firm belief, and I had been unable to shake it.

Another circumstance I now remember: the strange behaviour of the Ringgolds during the postprandial conversation – the action of Arens when I mentioned the mulatto’s name. It had attracted my attention at the time, but what was I to think now? Here was a man supposed to be dead, in company of three others who had been active in assisting at his death – one of them the very keenest of his executioners, and all four now apparently as thick as thieves! How was I to explain, in one moment, this wonderful resurrection and reconciliation?

I could not explain it – it was too complicated a mystery to be unravelled by a moment’s reflection; and I should have failed, had not the parties themselves soon after aided me to an elucidation.

I had arrived at the only natural conclusion, and this was, that the mulatto, notwithstanding the perfect resemblance, could not be Yellow Jake. This, of course, would account for everything, after a manner; and had the four men gone away without parley, I should have contented myself with this hypothesis.

But they went not, until after affording me an opportunity of overhearing a conversation, which gave me to know, that, not only was Yellow Jake still in the land of the living, but that Haj-Ewa had spoken the truth, when she told me my life was in danger.

“Damn! he’s not here, and yet where can he have gone?”

The ejaculation and interrogative were in the voice of Arens Ringgold, uttered in a tone of peevish surprise. Some one was sought for by the party who could not be found. Who that was, the next speaker made manifest.

There was a pause, and then reached my ears the voice of Bill Williams – which I easily recognised, from having heard it but the day before.

“You are sartint, Master Arens, he didn’t sneak back to the fort ’long wi’ the ginral?”

“Sure of it,” replied Master Arens; “I was by the gate as they came in. There were only the two – the general and the commissioner. But the question is, did he leave the hommock along with them? There’s where we played devil’s fool with the business – in not getting here in time, and watching them as they left. But who’d have thought he was going to stay behind them; if I had only known that – You say,” he continued, turning to the mulatto – “you say, Jake, you came direct from the Indian camp? He couldn’t have passed you on the path.”

“Carajo! Señor Aren! No?”

The voice, the old Spanish expression of profanity, just as I had heard them in my youth. If there had been doubt of the identity, it was gone. The testimony of my ears confirmed that of my eyes. The speaker was Yellow Jake.

“Straight from Seminole come. Cat no pass me on the road; I see her. Two chiefs me meet. I hide under the palmettoes; they no me see. Carrambo! no.”

“Deuce take it! where can he have gone! There’s no signs of him here. I know he might have a reason for paying a visit to the Indians – that I know; but how has he got round there without Jake seeing him!”

“What’s to hinder him to hev goed round the tother road?”

“By the open plain?”

“Yes – that away.”

“No – he would not be likely. There’s only one way I can explain it: he must have come as far as the gate along with the general, and then kept down the stockade, and past the sutler’s house – that’s likely enough.”

This was said by Ringgold in a sort of half soliloquy.

“Devils?” he exclaimed in an impatient tone, “we’ll not get such a chance soon again.”

“Ne’er a fear, Master Arens,” said Williams – “ne’er a fear. Plenty o’ chances, I kalkerlate – gobs o’ chances sech times as these.”

“We’ll make chances,” pithily added Spence, who now spoke for the first time in my hearing.

“Ay, but here was a chance for Jake – he must do it, boys; neither of you must have a hand in it. It might leak out; and then we’d all be in a pretty pickle. Jake can do it, and not harm himself, for he’s dead, you know, and the law can’t reach him! Isn’t it so, my yellow boy?”

“Carrambo! si, señor. No fear have, Don Aren Ringgol; ’for long, I opportunity find. Jake you get rid of enemy – never hear more of him; soon Yellow Jake good chance have. Yesterday miss. She bad gun, Don Aren – not worth shuck gun.”

“He has not yet returned inside the fort,” remarked Ringgold, again speaking in a half soliloquy. “I think he has not. If no, then he should be at the camp. He must go back to-night. It may be after the moon goes down. He must cross the open ground in the darkness. You hear, Jake, what I am saying?”

“Si, señor; Jake hear all.”

“And you know how to profit by the hint, eh?”

“Carrambo! si, señor. Jake know.”

“Well, then, we must return. Hear me, Jake – if – ”

Here the voice of the speaker fell into a half whisper, and I could not hear what was said. Occasionally there were phrases muttered so loudly that I could catch their sound, and from what had already transpired, was enabled to apprehend something of their signification. I heard frequently pronounced the names of Viola the quadroon, and that of my own sister; the phrases – “only one that stands in our way,” – “mother easily consent,” – “when I am master of the plantation,” – “pay you two hundred dollars.”

These, with others of like import, satisfied me that between the two fiends some contract for the taking of my life had already been formed; and that this muttered dialogue was only a repetition of the terms of the hideous bargain!

No wonder that the cold sweat was oozing from my temples, and standing in bead-like drops upon my brow. No wonder that I sat upon my perch shaking like an aspen – far less with fear than with horror at the contemplated crime – absolute horror. I might have trembled in a greater degree, but that my nerves were to some extent stayed by the terrible indignation that was swelling up within my bosom.

I had sufficient command of my temper to remain silent; it was prudent I did so; had I discovered myself at that moment, I should never have left the ground alive. I felt certain of this, and took care to make no noise that might betray my presence.

And yet it was hard to hear four men coolly conspiring against one’s life – plotting and bargaining it away like a piece of merchandise – each expecting some profit from the speculation!

My wrath was as powerful as my fears – almost too strong for prudence. There were four of them, all armed. I had sword and pistols; but this would not have made me a match for four desperadoes such as they. Had there been only two of them – only Ringgold and the mulatto – so desperate was my indignation, at that moment, I should have leaped from the tree and risked the encounter coûte qui coûte.

But I disobeyed the promptings of passion, and remained silent till they had moved away.

I observed that Ringgold and his brace of bullies went towards the fort, while the mulatto took the direction of the Indian camp.

Chapter Thirty Five

Light after Darkness

I stirred not till they were gone – till long after. In fact, my mind was in a state of bewilderment, that for some moments hindered me either from acting or thinking; and I sat as if glued to the branch. Reflection came at length, and I began to speculate upon what I had just heard and seen.

Was it a farce to frighten me? No, no – they were not the characters of a farce – not one of the four; and the re-appearance of Yellow Jake, partaking as it did of the wild and supernatural, was too dramatic, too serious to form an episode in comedy.

On the contrary, I had just listened to the prologue of an intended tragedy, of which I was myself to be the victim. Beyond doubt, these men had a design upon my life!

Four men, too, not one of whom could charge me with ever having done him a serious injury. I knew that all four disliked me, and ever had – though Spence and Williams could have no other cause of offence than what might spring from boyish grudge – long-forgotten by me; but doubtless their motive was Ringgold’s. As for the mulatto, I could understand his hostility; though mistaken, it was of the deadliest kind.

But what was I to think of Arens Ringgold, the leader in this designed assassination? A man of some education – my equal in social rank – a gentleman!

O Arens Ringgold – Arens Ringgold! How was I to explain it? How account for conduct so atrocious, so fiendish?

I knew that this young man liked me but little – of late less than ever. I knew the cause too. I stood in the way of his relations with my sister – at least so thought he. And he had reason; for, since my father’s death, I had spoken more freely of family affairs. I had openly declared that, with my consent, he should never be my brother; and this declaration had reached him. I could easily believe, therefore, that he was angry with me; but anger that would impel a man to such demoniac purpose, I could not comprehend.

And what meant those half-heard phrases – “one that stands in our way,” “mother easily consent,” “master of the plantation,” coupled with the names of Viola and my sister? What meant they?

I could give them but one, and that a terrible interpretation – too fearful to dwell upon.

I could scarcely credit my senses, scarcely believe that I was not labouring under some horrid hallucination, some confusion of the brain produced by my having been en rapport with the maniac!

But no; the moon had been over them – my eyes open upon them – my ears open, and could not have deceived me. I saw what they did – I heard what they said. They designed to kill me!

“Ho, ho, young mico, you may come down. The honowaw-hulwa (bad men) are gone. Hinklas! Come down, pretty mico – down, down, down!”

I hastened to obey, and stood once more in the presence of the mad queen.

“Now you believe Haj-Ewa? Have an enemy, young mico? Ho – four enemies. Your life in danger? Ho? ho?”

“Ewa, you have saved my life; how am I to thank you for the service you have done me?”

“Be true to her– true – true – true.”

“To whom?”

“Great Spirit! he has forgotten her! False young mico! false pale-face! Why did I save him? Why did I not let his blood fall to the ground?”

“Ewa!”

“Hulwak, hulwak! Poor forest-bird! the beauty-bird of all; her heart will sicken and die, her head will go mad.”

“Ewa, explain.”

“Hulwak! better he should die than desert her. Ho, ho! false pale-face, would that he had died before he broke poor Ewa’s heart; then Ewa would have lost only her heart; but her head – her head, that is worse. Ho, ho, ho!

“Why did I trust in a pale-faced lover?Ho, ho, ho!Why did I meet him – ”

“Ewa,” I exclaimed with an earnestness that caused the woman to leave off her wild song, “tell me! of whom do you speak?”

“Great Spirit, hear what he asks! Of whom? – of whom? there is more than one. Ho, ho! there is more than one, and the true one forgotten. Hulwak, hulwak! what shall Ewa say? What tale can Ewa tell? Poor bird! her heart will bleed, and her brain be crushed. Ho, ho! There will be two Haj-Ewas – two mad queens of the Micosaucs.”

“For Heaven’s sake! keep me not in suspense. Tell me, Ewa, good Ewa, of whom are you speaking? Is it – ”

The name trembled upon my tongue; I hesitated to pronounce it. Notwithstanding that my heart was full of delightful hope, from the confidence I felt of receiving an affirmative answer, I dreaded to put the question.

Not a great while did I hesitate; I had gone too far to recede. I had long waited to satisfy the wish of a yearning heart; I could wait no longer. Ewa might give me the satisfaction. I pronounced the words:

“Is it – Maümee?”

The maniac gazed upon me for some moments without speaking. The expression of her eye I could not read; for the last few minutes, it had been one of reproach and scorn. As I uttered the name, it changed to a look of bewilderment; and then her glance became fixed upon me, as if searching my thoughts.

“If it be Maümee,” I continued, without awaiting her reply – for I was now carried away by the ardour of my resuscitated passion – “if it be she, know, Ewa, that her I love – Maümee I love.”

“You love Maümee? You still love Maümee?” interrogated the maniac with startling quickness.

“Ay, Ewa – by my life – by my – ”

“Cooree, cooree! swear not —his very oath. Hulwak! and he was false. Speak again, young mico? say you love Maümee – say you are true, but do not swear.”

“True – true?”

“Hinklas!” cried the woman in a loud and apparently joyful tone – “Hinklas! the mico is true – the pretty pale-faced mico is true, and the haintclitz (the pretty one) will be happy.”

Ho, ho!Now for the love, the sweet young loveUnder the tala tree (Palm, Chamaerops palmetto).Who would not be like yonder dove —The wild little dove —The soft little dove —Sitting close by his mate in the shade of the grove —Co-cooing to his mate in the shade of the grove,With none to hear or see?

“Down, chitta mico!” she exclaimed, once more addressing the rattlesnake; “and you, ocola chitta! (Green snake.) Be quiet both. It is not an enemy. Quiet, or I crush your heads!”

“Good Ewa – ”

“Ho! you call me good Ewa. Some day, you may call me bad Ewa. Hear me!” she continued, raising her voice, and speaking with increased earnestness – “hear me, George Randolph! If ever you are bad – false like him, like him, then Haj-Ewa will be your enemy; chitta mico will destroy you. You will, my king of serpents? you will? Ho, ho, ho!”

As she spoke the reptile appeared to comprehend her, for its head was suddenly raised aloft, its bright basilisk eyes gleamed as though emitting sparks of fire – its forked, glittering tongue was protruded from its mouth, and the “skirr-rr” of the rattles could be heard for some moments sounding continuously.

“Quiet! now quiet!” said she, with a motion of her fingers, causing the serpent to resume its attitude of repose. “Not he, chitta! not he, thou king of the crawlers! Quiet, I say!”

“Why do you threaten me, Ewa? You have no cause.”

“Hinklas! I believe it, fair mico, gallant mico; true, I believe it.”

“But, good Ewa, explain to me – tell me of – ”

“Cooree, cooree! not now, not to-night. There is no time, chepawnee! See! look yonder to the west! Netle-hasse (the night sun – the moon) is going to bed. You must be gone. You dare not walk in the darkness. You must get back to the topekee before the moon is hid – go, go, go!”

“But I told you, Ewa, I had business here. I dare not leave till it is done.”

“Hulwak! there is danger then. What business, mico! Ah! I guess. See! they come for whom you wait?”

“True – it is they, I believe.”

I said this, as I perceived the tall shadows of the two chiefs flitting along the further edge of the pond.

“Be quick, then: do what you must, but waste not time. In the darkness you will meet danger. Haj-Ewa must be gone. Good night, young mico: good night.”

I returned the salutation; and facing round to await the arrival of the chiefs, lost sight of my strange companion.

The Indians soon came upon the ground, and briefly delivered their report.

Holata Mico had struck his tents, and was moving away from the encampment.

I was too much disgusted with these traitorous men to spend a moment in their company; and, as soon as I had gained the required information, I hurried away from their presence.