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

I was about to inquire once more, when I observed that my companion was occupied with his own affairs, and did not desire to be disturbed. I saw that he was looking to his rifle, as if examining the sights.

Glancing back into the glade, I saw that Ringgold had advanced close to where my sister was seated, and was just halting in front of the group. I heard him address her by name, and pronounce some phrase of congratulation. He appeared about to dismount with the design of approaching her on foot, while his men, still upon horseback, were galloping through the camp, huzzaing fiercely and firing pistols through the air.

“His hour is come,” muttered Osceola, as he glided past me; “a fate deserved and long delayed – it is come at last,” and with these words, he stepped forth into the open ground.

I saw him raise his piece to the level, its muzzle pointed towards Ringgold, and the instant after, the report rang over the camp.

The shrill “Car-ha-queené” pealed from his lips, as the planter’s horse sprang forwards with an empty saddle, and the rider himself was seen struggling upon the grass.

The others uttered a terrific cry, and with fear and astonishment depicted in their looks, galloped back into the bushes – without waiting to exchange a word with their wounded leader, or a shot with the man who had wounded him.

“My aim has not been true,” said Osceola, with singular coolness; “he still lives. I have received much wrong from him and his – ay, very much wrong – or I might spare his wretched life. But no – my vow must be kept – he must die!”

As he said this he, rushed after Ringgold, who had regained his feet, and was making towards the bushes, as with a hope of escape.

A wild scream came from the terrified wretch, as he saw the avenger at his heels. It was the last time his voice was heard.

In a few bounds Osceola was by his side – the long blade glittered for an instant in the air – and the downward blow was given, so rapidly, that the stroke could scarce be perceived.

The blow was instantaneously fatal. The knees of the wounded man suddenly bent beneath him, and he sank lifeless on the spot where he had been struck – his body after death remaining doubled up as it had fallen.

“The fourth and last of my enemies,” said Osceola, as he returned to where I stood; “the last of those who deserved my vengeance, and against whom I had vowed it.”

“Scott?” I inquired.

“He was the third – he was killed yesterday, and by this hand. Hitherto I have fought for revenge – I have had it – I have slain many of your people – I have had full satisfaction, and henceforth – ”

The speaker made a long pause.

“Henceforth?” I mechanically inquired.

“I care but little how soon they kill me.”

As Osceola uttered these strange words, he sank down upon a prostrate trunk, covering his face with his hands. I saw that he did not expect a reply.

There was a sadness in his tone, as though some deep sorrow lay upon his heart, that could neither be controlled nor comforted. I had noticed it before; and thinking he would rather be left to himself, I walked silently away.

A few moments after I held my dear sister in my arms, while Jake was comforting Viola in his black embraces.

His old rival was no longer near. During the sham attack he had imitated his followers, and disappeared from the field; but though most of the latter soon returned, the yellow king, when sought for, was not to be found in the camp. His absence roused the suspicions of Osceola, who was now once more in action. By a signal his warriors were summoned; and came galloping up. Several were instantly dispatched in search of the missing chief, but after a while these came back without having found any traces of him. One only seemed to have discovered a clue to his disappearance. The followers of Ringgold consisted of only five men.

The Indian had gone for some distance on the path by which they had retreated. Instead of five, there were six sets of horse tracks upon the trail.

The report appeared to produce an unpleasant impression upon the mind of Osceola. Fresh scouts were sent forth, with orders to bring back the mulatto, living or dead.

The stern command proved that there were strong doubts about the fealty of the Yellow Chief, and the warriors of Osceola appeared to share the suspicions of their leader.

The patriot party had suffered from defections of late. Some of the smaller clans, wearied of fighting, and wasted by a long season of famine, had followed the example of the tribe Omatla, and delivered themselves up at the forts. Though in the battles hitherto fought, the Indians had generally been successful, they knew that their white foemen far outnumbered them, and that in the end the latter must triumph. The spirit of revenge, for wrongs long endured, had stimulated them at the first; but they had obtained full measure of vengeance, and were content. Love of country – attachment to their old homes – mere patriotism was now balanced against the dread of almost complete annihilation. The latter weighed heaviest in the scale.

The war spirit was no longer in the ascendant. Perhaps at this time had overtures of peace been made, the Indians would have laid down their arms, and consented to the removal. Even Osceola could scarce have prevented their acceptance of the conditions, and it was doubted whether he would have made the attempt.

Gifted with genius, with full knowledge of the strength and character of his enemies, he must have foreseen the disasters that were yet to befall his followers and his nation. It could not be otherwise.

Was it a gloomy forecast of the future that imparted to him that melancholy air, now observable both in his words and acts? Was it this, or was there a still deeper sorrow – the anguish of a hopeless passion – the drear heart-longing for a love he might never obtain?

To me it was a moment of strong emotions, as the young chief approached the spot where my sister was seated. Even then was I the victim of unhappy suspicions, and with eager scrutiny I scanned the countenances of both.

Surely I was wrong. On neither could I detect a trace of aught that should give me uneasiness. The bearing of the chief was simply gallant and respectful. The looks of my sister were but the expressions of a fervent gratitude. Osceola spoke first.

“I have to ask your forgiveness, Miss Randolph, for the scene you have been forced to witness; but I could not permit this man to escape. Lady, he was your greatest enemy, as he has been ours. Through the cooperation of the mulatto, he had planned this ingenious deception, with the design of inducing you to become his wife; but failing in this, the mask would have been thrown off, and you – I need not give words to his fool intent. It is fortunate I arrived in time.”

“Brave chief!” exclaimed Virginia – “twice have you preserved the lives of my brother and myself – more than our lives. We have neither words nor power to thank you. I can offer only this poor token to prove my gratitude.”

As she said this, she advanced towards the chief, and handed him a folded parchment, which she had drawn from her bosom.

Osceola at once recognised the document. It was the title deeds of his patrimonial estate.

“Thanks, thanks!” he replied, while a sad smile played over his features. “It is, indeed, an act of disinterested friendship. Alas! it has come too late. She who so much desired to possess this precious paper, who so much longed to return to that once loved home, is no more. My mother is dead. On yesternight her spirit passed away.”

It was news even to Maümee, who, bursting into a wild paroxysm of grief, fell upon the neck of my sister. Their arms became entwined, and both wept – their tears mingling as they fell.

There was silence, broken only by the sobbing of the two girls and at intervals the voice of Virginia murmuring words of consolation. Osceola himself appeared too much affected to speak.

After a while, the chief aroused himself from his sorrowing attitude.

“Come, Randolph!” said he – “we must not dwell on the past, while such a doubtful future is before us. You must go back to your home and rebuild it. You have lost only a house. Your rich lands still remain, and your negroes will be restored to you. I have given orders; they are already on the way. This is no place for her,” and he nodded towards Virginia. “You need not stay your departure another moment. Horses are ready for you; I myself will conduct you to the borders, and beyond that you have no longer an enemy to fear.”

As he pronounced the last words, he looked significantly towards the body of the planter, still lying near the edge of the woods. I understood his meaning, but made no reply.

“And she,” I said – “the forest is a rude home, especially in such times – may she go with us?”

My words had reference to Maümee. The chief grasped my hand and held it with earnest pressure. With joy I beheld gratitude sparkling in his eye.

“Thanks!” he exclaimed, “thanks for that friendly offer. It was the very favour I would have asked. You speak true; the trees must shelter her no more. Randolph, I can trust you with her life – with her honour. Take her to your home!”

Chapter Ninety Five

The Death Warning

The sun was going down as we took our departure from the Indian camp. For myself, I had not the slightest idea of the direction in which we were to travel, but with such a guide there was no danger of losing the way.

We were far from the settlements of the Suwanee – a long day’s journey – and we did not expect to reach home before another sun should set. That night there would be moonlight, if the clouds did not hinder it; and it was our intention to travel throughout the early part of the night, and then encamp. By this means the journey of to-morrow would be shortened.

To our guide the country was well-known, and every road that led through it.

For a long distance the route conducted through open woods, and we could all ride abreast; but the path grew narrower, and we were compelled to go by twos or in single file.

Habitually the young chief and I kept in the advance – our sisters riding close behind us. Behind them came Jake and Viola, and in the rear half a dozen Indian horsemen – the guard of Osceola. I wondered he had not brought with him more of his followers, and even expressed my surprise.

He made light of the danger.

The soldiers, he said, knew better than to be out after night, and for that part of the country through which we would travel by daylight, no troops ever strayed into it. Besides, there had been no scouting of late – the weather was too hot for the work. If we met any party they would be of his own people. From them, of course, we had nothing to fear. Since the war began he had often travelled most of the same route alone. He appeared satisfied there was no danger.

For my part, I was not satisfied. I knew that the path we were following would pass within a few miles of Fort King. I remembered the escape of Ringgold’s crew. They were likely enough to have ridden straight to the fort, and communicated an account of the planter’s death, garnished by a tale of their own brave attack upon the Indian camp. Among the authorities, Ringgold was no common man; a party might be organised to proceed to the camp. We were on the very road to meet them.

Another circumstance I thought of – the mysterious disappearance of the mulatto, as was supposed, in company with these men. It was enough to create suspicion. I mentioned my suspicion to the chief:

“No fear,” said he, in reply, “my trackers will be after them – they will bring me word in time – but no,” he added, hesitatingly, and for a moment appearing thoughtful; “they may not get up with them before the night falls, and then – you speak true, Randolph – I have acted imprudently. I should not care for these foolish fellows – but the mulatto – that is different – he knows all the paths, and if it should be that he is turning traitor – if it – Well! we are astart now, and we must go on. You have nothing to fear – and as for me – Osceola never yet turned his back upon danger, and will not now. Nay, will you believe me, Randolph, I rather seek it than otherwise?”

“Seek danger?”

“Ay – death – death!”

“Speak low – do not let them hear you talk thus.”

“Ah! yes,” he added, lowering his tone, and speaking in a half soliloquy, “in truth, I long for its coming.”

The words were spoken with a serious emphasis that left no room to doubt of their earnestness.

Some deep melancholy had settled upon his spirit and preyed upon it continually. What could be its cause?

I could remain silent no longer. Friendship, not curiosity, incited me. I put the inquiry.

“You have observed it, then? But not since we set out – not since you made that friendly offer? Ah! Randolph, you have rendered me happy. It was she alone that made the prospect of death so gloomy.”

“Why speak you of death?”

“Because it is near.”

“Not to you?”

“Yes – to me. The presentiment is upon me that I have not long to live.”

“Nonsense, Powell.”

“Friend, it is true – I have had my death warning.”

“Come, Osceola! This is unlike – unworthy of you. Surely you are above such vulgar fancies. I will not believe you can entertain them.”

“Think you I speak of supernatural signs? Of the screech of the war-bird, or the hooting of the midnight owl? Of omens in the air, the earth, or the water? No – no. I am above such shallow superstitions. For all that, I know I must soon die. It was wrong of me to call my death warning a presentiment – it is a physical fact that announces my approaching end – it is here.”

As he said this, he raised his hand, pointing with his fingers as if to indicate the chest.

I understood his melancholy meaning.

“I would rather,” he continued, after a pause, “rather it had been my fate to fall upon the field of battle. True, death is not alluring in any shape, but that appears to me most preferable. I would choose it rather than linger on. Nay, I have chosen it. Ten times have I thus challenged death – gone half-way to meet it; but like a coward, or a coy bride, it refuses to meet me.”

There was something almost unearthly in the laugh that accompanied these last words – a strange simile – a strange man!

I could scarce make an effort to cheer him. In fact, he needed no cheering: he seemed happier than before. Had it not been so, my poor speech, assuring him of his robust looks, would have been words thrown away. He knew they were but the false utterances of friendship.

I even suspected it myself. I had already noticed the pallid skin – the attenuated fingers – the glazed and sunken eye. This, then, was the canker that was prostrating that noble spirit – the cause of his deep melancholy. I had assigned to it one far different.

The future of his sister had been the heaviest load upon his heart. He told me so as we moved onward.

I need not repeat the promises I then made to him. It was not necessary they should be vows: my own happiness would hinder me from breaking them.

Chapter Ninety Six

Osceola’s Fate – Conclusion

We were seated near the edge of the little opening where we had encamped, a pretty parterre, fragrant with the perfume of a thousand flowers. The moon was shedding down a flood of silvery light, and objects around appeared almost as distinct as by day. The leaves of the tall palms – the waxen flowers of the magnolias – the yellow blossoms of the zanthoxylon trees could all be distinguished in the clear moonbeams.

The four of us were seated together, brothers and sisters, conversing freely, as in the olden times, and the scene vividly recalled those times to all of us. But the memory now produced only sad reflections, as it suggested thoughts of the future. Perhaps we four should never thus meet again. Gazing upon the doomed form before me, I had no heart for reminiscences of joy.

We had passed Fort King in safety – had encountered no white face – strange I should fear to meet men of my own race – and no longer had we any apprehension of danger, either from ambush or open attack.

The Indian guards, with black Jake in their midst, were near the centre of the glade, grouped by a fire, and cooking their suppers. So secure did the chieftain feel that he had not even placed a sentinel on the path. He appeared indifferent to danger.

The night was waning late, and we were about retiring to the tents, which the men had pitched for us, when a singular noise reach us from the woods. To my ears it sounded like the surging of water – as of heavy rain, or the sough of distant rapids.

Osceola interpreted it otherwise. It was the continuous “whistling” of leaves, caused by numerous bodies passing through the bushes, either of men, or animals.

We instantly rose to our feet, and stood listening.

The noise continued, but now we could hear the snapping of dead branches, and the metallic clink of weapons.

It was too late to retreat. The noise came from every ride. A circle of armed men were closing around the glade.

I looked towards Osceola. I expected to see him rush to his rifle that lay near. To my surprise he did not stir.

His few followers were already on the alert, and had hastened to his side to receive his orders. Their words and gestures declared their determination to die in his defence.

In reply to their hurried speeches, the chieftain made a sign that appeared to astonish them. The butts of their guns suddenly dropped to the ground, and the warriors stood in listless attitudes, as if they had given up the intention of using them.

“It is too late,” said Osceola in a calm voice, “too late! we are completely surrounded. Innocent blood might be spilled, and mine is the only life they are in search of. Let them come on – they are welcome to it now. Farewell, sister! Randolph, farewell! – farewell, Virg – .”

The plaintive screams of Maümee – of Virginia – my own bursting, and no longer silent grief, drowned the voice that was uttering those wild adieus.

Clustered around the chief, we knew not what was passing, until the shouts of men, and the loud words of command proceeding from their officers, warned us that we were in the midst of a battalion of soldiers. On looking up we saw that we were hemmed in by a circle of men in blue uniform, whose glancing barrels and bayonets formed a chevaux de frise around us.

As no resistance was offered, not a shot had been fired; and save the shouting of men, and the ringing of steel, no other sounds were heard. Shots were fired afterwards, but not to kill. It was a feu-de-joie to celebrate the success of this important capture.

The capture was soon complete – Osceola, held by two men, stood in the midst of his pale-faced foes a prisoner. His followers were also secured, and the soldiers fell back into more extended line – the prisoners still remaining in their midst.

At this moment a mail appeared in front of the ranks, and near to where the captives were standing. He was in conversation with the officer who commanded. His dress bespoke him an Indian; but his yellow face contradicted the supposition. His head was turbaned, and three black plumes drooped over his brow. There was no mistaking the man. The sight was maddening. It restored all his fierce energy to the captive chief; and flinging aside the soldiers, as if they had been tools, he sprang forth from their grasp, and bounded towards the yellow man. Fortunate for the latter, Osceola was unarmed. He had no weapon left him – neither pistol nor knife – and while wringing a bayonet from the gun of a soldier, the traitor found time to escape.

The chief uttered a groan as he saw the mulatto pass through the serried line, and stand secure beyond the reach of his vengeance.

It was but a fancied security on the part of the mulatto. The death of the renegade was decreed, though it reached him from an unexpected quarter.

As he stood outside, bantering the captives, a dark form was seen gliding up behind him. The form was that of a woman – a majestic woman – whose grand beauty was apparent even in the moonlight. But few saw either her or her beauty. The prisoners alone were facing towards her, and witnessed her approach.

It was a scene of only a few seconds’ duration. The woman stole close up to the mulatto, and for a moment her arms appeared entwined around his neck. There was the sheen of some object that in the moonlight gleamed like metal. It was a living weapon – it was the dread crotalus!

Its rattle could be heard distinctly, and close following came a wild cry of terror, as its victim felt the cold contact of the reptile around his neck, and its sharp fangs entering his flesh.

The woman was seen suddenly to withdraw the serpent, and holding its glistening body over her head, she cried out:

“Grieve not, Osceola! thou art avenged! – the chitta mico has avenged you!”

Saying this, she glided rapidly away, and before the astonished listeners could intercept her retreat, she had entered among the bushes and disappeared.

The horror-struck wretch tottered over the ground, pale and terrified, his eyes almost starting from their sockets.

Men gathered around and endeavoured to administer remedies. Gunpowder and tobacco were tried, but no one knew the simples that would cure him.

It proved his death-stroke; and before another sun went down, he had ceased to live.

With Osceola’s capture the war did not cease – though I bore no further part in it. Neither did it end with his death, which followed a few weeks after – not by court-martial execution, for he was no rebel, and could claim the privilege of a prisoner of war, but of that disease which he knew had long doomed him. Captivity may have hastened the event. His proud spirit sank under confinement, and with it the noble frame that contained it.

Friends and enemies stood around him in his last hour, and listened to his dying words. Both alike wept. In that chamber there was not a tearless cheek – and many a soldier’s eye was moist as he listened to the muffled dram that made music over the grave of the noble Osceola.

After all, it proved to be the jovial captain who had won the heart of my capricious sister. It was long before I discovered their secret – which let light in upon a maze of mysteries – and I was so spited about their having concealed it from me, that I almost refused to share the plantation with them.

When I did so at length, under threat of Virginia – not her solicitor – I kept what I considered the better half for myself and Maümee. The old homestead remained ours, and a new house soon appeared upon it – a fitting casket for the jewel it was destined to contain.

I had still an out-plantation to spare – the fine old Spanish clearing on the Tupelo Greek. I wanted a man to manage it – or rather a “man and wife of good character without incumbrances.”

And for the purpose, who could have been better than black Jake and Viola, since they completely answered the above conditions?

I had another freehold at my disposal – a very small one. It was situated by the edge of the swamp, and consisted of a log cabin, with the most circumscribed of all “clearings” around it. But this was already in possession of a tenant whom, although he paid no rent, I would not have ejected for the world. He was an old alligator-hunter of the name of Hickman.

Another of like “kidney” – Weatherford by name – lived near on an adjoining plantation; but the two were oftener together than apart. Both had suffered a good deal of rough handling in their time, from the claws of “bars,” the jaws and tails of alligators, and the tomahawk of Indians. When together or among friends, they were delighted to narrate their hair-breadth escapes, and both were often heard to declare that the “toughest scrape they ever come clar out o’, wor when they wor on a jury-trial, surrounded by a burnin’ forest o’ dog-goned broom pines, an’ about ten thousand red Indyuns.”

They did come clear out of it, however, and lived long after to tell the tale with many a fanciful exaggeration.

The End

1

That portion of Florida reserved for the Seminoles by the treaty of Moultrie Creek made in 1823. It was a large tract, and occupied the central part of the peninsula.