"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.