The council soon performed its duty. The treason of Omatla was too well-known to require much canvassing; and, of course, he was found guilty, and condemned to expiate the crime with his life.
The sentence was pronounced in the hearing of all present. The traitor must die.
A question arose — who was to be his executioner?
There were many who would have volunteered for the office — for to take the life of a traitor, according to Indian philosophy, is esteemed an act of honour. There would be no difficulty in procuring an executioner.
Many actually did volunteer; but the services of these were declined by the council. This was a matter to be decided by vote.
The vote was immediately taken. All knew of the vow made by Osceola. His followers were desirous he should keep it; and on this account, he was unanimously elected to do the deed. He accepted the office.
Knife in hand, Osceola approached the captive, now cowering in his bonds. All gathered around to witness the fatal stab. Moved by an impulse I could not resist, I drew near with the rest.
We stood in breathless silence, expecting every moment to see the knife plunged into the heart of the criminal.
We saw the arm upraised, and the blow given, but there was no wound — no blood! The blow had descended upon the thongs that bound the captive, and Omatla stood forth free from his fastenings!
There was a murmur of disapprobation. What could Osceola mean? Did he design that Omatla should escape — the traitor condemned by the council — by all?
But it was soon perceived he had no such intention — far different was his design.
"Omatla!" said he, looking his adversary sternly in the face, "you were once esteemed a brave man, honoured by your tribe — by the whole Seminole nation. The white men have corrupted you — they have made you a renegade to your country and your cause; for all that, you shall not die the death of a dog. I will kill, but not murder you. My heart revolts to slay a man who is helpless and unarmed. It shall be a fair combat between us, and men shall see that the right triumphs. Give him back his weapons! Let him defend himself, if he can."
The unexpected proposal was received with some disapprobation. There were many who, indignant at Omatla’s treason, and still wild with the excitement produced by the late conflict, would have butchered him in his bonds. But all saw that Osceola was determined to act as he had proposed; and no opposition was offered.
One of the warriors, stepping forward, handed his weapons to the condemned chief — only his tomahawk and knife, for so Osceola was himself armed.
This done, by a sort of tacit understanding, the crowd drew back, and the two combatants stood alone in the centre.
The struggle was brief as bloody. Almost at the first blow, Osceola struck the hatchet from his antagonist’s hand, and with another stroke, rapidly following, felled Omatla to the earth.
For a moment the victor was seen bending over his fallen adversary, with his long knife unsheathed, and glittering in the moonlight.
When he rose erect, the steel had lost its sheen — it was dimmed with crimson blood.
Osceola had kept his oath. He had driven his blade through the heart of the traitor — Omatla had ceased to live.
White men afterwards pronounced this deed an assassination — a murder. It was not so, any more than the death of Charles, of Caligula, of Tarquin — of a hundred other tyrants, who have oppressed or betrayed their country.
Public opinion upon such matters is not honest; it takes its colour from the cant of the times, changing like the hues of the chameleon. Sheer hypocrisy, shameful inconsistency! He only is a murderer who kills from a murderer’s motive. Osceola was not of this class.
My situation was altogether singular. As yet, the chiefs had taken no notice of my presence; and notwithstanding the courtesy which had been extended to me by those who conducted me thither, I was not without some apprehensions as to my safety. It might please the council, excited as they were with what had just transpired, and now actually at war with our people, to condemn me to a fate similar to that which had befallen Omatla. I stood waiting their pleasure therefore in anything but a comfortable frame of mind.
It was not long before I was relieved from my apprehensions. As soon as the affair with Omatla was ended, Osceola approached, and in a friendly manner stretched out his hand, which I was only too happy to receive in friendship.
He expressed regret that I had been wounded and made captive by his men — explained the mistake; and then calling one of his followers, ordered him to guide me back to the fort.
I had no desire to remain longer than I could help upon such tragic ground; and, bidding the chief adieu, I followed my conductor along the path.
Near the pond, the Indian left me; and, without encountering any further adventures, I re-entered the gates of the fort.
Chapter Sixty Four
A Banquet with a Bad Ending
As by duty bound, I delivered a report of the scene I had involuntarily been witness to. It produced a lively excitement within the fort, and an expedition was instantly ordered forth, with myself to act as guide.
A bit of sheer folly. The search proved bootless, as any one might have prophesied. Of course, we found the place, and the bodies of those who had fallen — upon which the wolves had already been ravening — but we discovered no living Indians — not even the path by which they had retreated!
The expedition consisted of several hundred men — in fact, the whole garrison of the fort. Had we gone out with a smaller force, in all probability, we should have seen something of the enemy.
The death of Omatla was the most serious incident that had yet occurred; at all events, the most important in its bearings. By the whites, Omatla had been constituted king; by killing, the Indians shewed their contempt for the authority that had crowned him, as well as their determination to resist all interference of the kind. Omatla had been directly under the protection of the white chiefs: this had been guaranteed to him by promise as by treaty; and therefore the taking his life was a blow struck against his patrons. The government would now be under the necessity of avenging his death.
But the incident had its most important bearings upon the Indians, especially upon Omatla’s own people. Terrified by the example, and dreading lest similar retribution might be extended to themselves, many of Omatla’s tribe — sub-chiefs and warriors — forsook their alliance, and enrolled themselves in the ranks of the patriots. Other clans that had hitherto remained undecided, acting under similar motives, now declared their allegiance to the national will, and took up arms without further hesitation.
The death of Omatla, besides being an act of stern justice, was a stroke of fine policy on the part of the hostile Indians. It proved the genius of him who had conceived and carried it into execution.
Omatla was the first victim of Osceola’s vow of vengeance. Soon after appeared the second. It was not long before the tragedy of the traitor’s death was eclipsed by another, far more thrilling and significant. One of the chief actors in this drama disappears from the stage.
On our arrival at the fort, it was found that the commissariat was rapidly running short. No provision had been made for so large a body of troops, and no supplies could possibly reach Fort King for a long period of time. We were to be the victims of the usual improvidence exhibited by governments not accustomed to warlike operations. Rations were stinted to the verge of starvation; and the prospect before us began to look very like starvation itself.
In this emergency, the commander-in-chief performed an act of great patriotism. Independent of his military command, General Clinch was a citizen of Florida — a proprietor and planter upon a large scale. His fine plantation lay at a short distance from Fort King. His crop of maize, covering nearly a hundred acres, was just ripening; and this, without more ado, was rationed out to the army.