I was among those who got first over; but I scarcely congratulated myself on the success of the enterprise. I felt sad at the prospect of being soon called upon to aid in the slaughter of defenceless people — of women and children — for around me there was no other anticipation. It was with a feeling of positive relief, almost of joy, that I heard that wild war-cry breaking through the woods — the well-known Yo-ho-ehee of the Seminoles.
Along with it came the ringing detonations of rifles, the louder report of musketry; while bullets, whistling through the air, and breaking branches from the surrounding trees, told us that we were assailed in earnest, and by a large force of the enemy.
That portion of the army already over had observed the precaution to post itself in a strong position among heavy timber that grew near the river-bank; and on this account the first volley of the Indians produced a less deadly effect. For all that, several fell; and those who were exposed to view were still in danger.
The fire was returned by the troops, repeated by the Indians, and again answered by the soldiers — now rolling continuously, now in straggling volleys or single shots, and at intervals altogether ceasing.
For a long while but little damage was done on either side; but it was evident that the Indians, under cover of the underwood, were working themselves into a more advantageous position — in fact, surrounding us. The troops, on the other hand, dare not stir from the spot where they had landed, until a larger number should cross over. After that it was intended we should advance, and force the Indians from the covert at the point of the bayonet.
The troops from the other side continued to cross. Hitherto, they had been protected by the fire of those already over; but at this crisis a manoeuvre was effected by the Indians, that threatened to put an end to the passing of the river, unless under a destructive fire from their rifles.
Just below our position, a narrow strip of land jutted out into the stream, forming a miniature peninsula. It was a sand-bar caused by an eddy on the opposite side. It was lower than the main bank, and bare of timber — except at its extreme point, where a sort of island had been formed, higher than the peninsula itself.
On this island grew a thick grove of evergreen trees — palms, live-oaks, and magnolias — in short, a hommock.
It would have been prudent for us to have occupied this hommock at the moment of our first crossing over; but our general had not perceived the advantage. The Indians were not slow in noticing it; and before we could take any steps to hinder them, a body of warriors rushed across the isthmus, and took possession of the hommock.
The result of this skillful manoeuvre was soon made manifest. The boats, in crossing, were swept down by the current within range of the wooded islet — out of whose evergreen shades was now poured a continuous stream of blue fiery smoke, while the leaden missiles did their work of death. Men were seen dropping down upon the rafts, or tumbling over the sides of the canoes, with a heavy plunge upon the water, that told they had ceased to live; while the thick fire of musketry that was directed upon the hommock altogether failed to dislodge the daring band who occupied it.
There were but few of them — for we had seen them distinctly as they ran over the isthmus — but it was evident they were a chosen few, skilled marksmen every man. They were dealing destruction at every shot.
It was a moment of intense excitement. Elsewhere the conflict was carried on with more equality — since both parties fought under cover of the trees, and but little injury was sustained or inflicted by either. The band upon the islet were killing more of our men than all the rest of the enemy.
There was no other resource than to dislodge them from the hommock — to drive them forth at the bayonet’s point — at least this was the design that now suggested itself to the commander-in-chief.
It seemed a forlorn hope. Whoever should approach from the land-side would receive the full fire of the concealed enemy — be compelled to advance under a fearful risk of life.
To my surprise, the duty was assigned to myself. Why, I know not — since it could not be from any superior courage or ardour I had hitherto evinced in the campaign. But the order came from the general, direct and prompt; and with no great spirit I prepared to execute it.
With a party of rifles — scarcely outnumbering the enemy we were to attack at such a serious disadvantage — I started forth for the peninsula.
I felt as if marching upon my death, and I believe that most of those who followed me were the victims of a similar presentiment. Even though it had been a certainty, we could not now turn back; the eyes of the whole army were upon us. We must go forwards — we must conquer or fall.
In a few seconds we were upon the island, and advancing by rapid strides towards the hommock. We had hopes that the Indians might not have perceived our approach, and that we should get behind them unawares.
They were vain hopes. Our enemies had been watchful; they had observed our manoeuvre from its beginning; had faced round, and were waiting with rifles loaded, ready to receive us.
But half conscious of our perilous position, we pressed forwards and had got within twenty yards of the grove, when the blue smoke and red flame suddenly jetted forth from the trees. I heard the bullets shower past my ears; I heard the cries and groans of my followers, as they fell thickly behind me. I looked around — I saw that every one of them was stretched upon the ground, dead or dying!
At the same instant a voice reached me from the grove:
"Go back, Randolph! go back! By that symbol upon your breast your life has been spared; but my braves are chafed, and their blood is hot with fighting. Tempt not their anger. Away! away!"
Chapter Sixty Eight
A Victory Ending in a Retreat
I saw not the speaker, who was completely hidden behind the thick trellis of leaves. It was not necessary I should see him, to know who addressed me; on hearing the voice I instantly recognised it. It was Osceola who spoke.
I cannot describe my sensations at that moment, nor tell exactly how I acted. My mind was in a chaos of confusion — surprise and fear mingling alike in my emotions.
I remember facing once more towards my followers. I saw that they were not all dead — some were still lying where they had fallen, doubled up, or stretched out in various attitudes of death — motionless — beyond doubt, lifeless. Some still moved, their cries for help showing that life was not extinct.
To my joy, I observed several who had regained their feet, and were running, or rather scrambling, rapidly away from the ground; and still another few who had risen into half-erect attitudes, and were crawling off upon their hands and knees.
These last were still being fired upon from the bushes; and as I stood wavering, I saw one or two of them levelled along the grass by the fatal bullets that rained thickly around me.
Among the wounded who lay at my feet, there was a young fellow whom I knew. He appeared to be shot through both limbs, and could not move his body from the spot. His appeal to me for help was the first thing that aroused me from my indecision; I remembered that this young man had once done me a service.
Almost mechanically, I bent down, grasped him around the waist, and raising his body, commenced dragging him away.
With my burden I hurried back across the isthmus — as fast as my strength would permit — nor did I stop till beyond the range of the Indian rifles. Here I was met by a party of soldiers, sent to cover our retreat. In their hands I left my disabled comrade, and hastened onward to deliver my melancholy report to the commander-in-chief.