Chapter Forty Eight The War-Cry - Osceola the Seminole by Mayne Reid
A single "Ugh!" expressive of contemptuous surprise, was all the reply; and then a deep silence succeeded.
I broke the silence by repeating my demand.
"You must sign it."
"Never!" came the response, in a tone of emphatic determination. "Never! Sooner than do that, I will linger among these logs till decay has worn the flesh from my bones, and dried up the blood in my veins. Sooner than turn traitor to my tribe, I will rush against the bayonets of my jailers, and perish upon the spot. Never!"
"Patience, Powell, patience! You do not understand me — you, in common with other chiefs, appear to misconceive the terms of this treaty. Remember, it binds you to a mere conditional promise — to surrender your lands and move west, only in case a majority of your nation agree to it. Now, to-day a majority has not agreed, nor will the addition of your name make the number a majority."
"True, true," interrupted the chief, beginning to comprehend my meaning.
"Well, then, you may sign, and not feel bound by your signature, since the most essential condition still remains unfulfilled. And why should you not adopt this ruse? Ill-used as you certainly have been, no one could pronounce it dishonourable in you. For my part, I believe you would be justified in any expedient that would free you from so wrongful an imprisonment."
Perhaps my principles were scarcely according to the rules of moral rectitude; but at that moment they took their tone from strong emotions; and to the eyes of friendship and love the wrong was not apparent.
Osceola was silent. I observed that he was meditating on what I had urged.
"Why, Randolph," said he, after a pause, "you must have dwelt in Philadelphia, that famed city of lawyers. I never took this view before. You are right; signing would not bind me — it is true. But think you that the agent would be satisfied with my signature? He hates me; I know it, and his reasons. I hate him, for many reasons; for this is not the first outrage I have suffered at his hands. Will he be satisfied if I sign?"
"I am almost certain of it. Simulate submission, if you can. Write your name to the treaty, and you will be at once set free."
I had no doubt of this. From what I had learned since Osceola’s arrest, I had reason to believe that Thompson repented his conduct. It was the opinion of others that he had acted rashly, and that his act was likely to provoke evil consequences. Whispers of this nature had reached him; and from what the captive told me of the visit of the aide-de-camp, I could perceive that it was nothing else than a mission from the agent himself. Beyond doubt, the latter was tired of his prisoner, and would release him on the easiest terms.
"Friend! I shall act as you advise. I shall sign. You may inform the commissioner of my intention."
"I shall do so at the earliest hour I can see him. It is late: shall I say good night?"
"Ah, Randolph! it is hard to part with a friend — the only one with a white skin now left me. I could have wished to talk over other days, but, alas! this is neither the place nor the time."
The haughty mien of the proud chief was thrown aside, and his voice had assumed the melting tenderness of early years.
"Yes," he continued, "the only white friend left — the only one I have any regard for — one other whom I — "
He stopped suddenly, and with an embarrassed air, as if he had found himself on the eve of disclosing some secret, which on reflection he deemed it imprudent to reveal.
I awaited the disclosure with some uneasiness, but it came not. When he spoke again, his tone and manner were completely changed.
"The whites have done us much wrong," he continued, once more rousing himself into an angry attitude — "wrongs too numerous to be told; but, by the Great Spirit! I shall seek revenge. Never till now have I sworn it; but the deeds of this day have turned my blood into fire. Ere you came, I had vowed to take the lives of two, who have been our especial enemies. You have not changed my resolution, only strengthened it; you have added a third to the list of my deadly foes: and once more I swear — by Wykome, I swear — that I shall take no rest till the blood of these three men has reddened the leaves of the forest — three white villains, and one red traitor. Ay, Omatla! triumph in your treason — it will not be for long — soon shalt thou feel the Vengeance of a patriot — soon shalt thou shrink under the steel of Osceola!"
I made no reply, but waited in silence till this outburst of passion had passed.
In a few moments the young chief became calm, and again addressed me in the language of friendship.
"One word," said he, "before we part. Circumstances may hinder us — it may be long ere we meet again. Alas! our next meeting may be as foes in the field of fight — for I will not attempt to conceal from you that I have no intention to make peace. No — never! I wish to make a request; I know, Randolph, you will accede to it without asking an explanation. Accept this token, and if you esteem the friendship of the giver, and would honour him, wear it conspicuously upon your breast. That is all."
As he spoke, he took from around his neck a chain, upon which was suspended the image of the Rising Sun — already alluded to. He passed the chain over my head, until the glistening symbol hung down upon my breast.
I made no resistance to this offering of friendship, but promising to comply with his request, presented my watch in return, and, after another cordial pressure of hands, we parted.
As I had anticipated, there was but little difficulty in obtaining the release of the Seminole chief. Though the commissioner entertained a personal hatred against Osceola — for causes to me unknown — he dared not indulge his private spite in an official capacity. He had placed himself in a serious dilemma by what he had already done; and as I communicated the purposed submission of the prisoner, I saw that Thompson was but too eager to adopt a solution of his difficulty, easy as unexpected. He therefore lost no time in seeking an interview with the captive chief.
The latter played his part with admirable tact; the fierce, angry attitude of yesterday had given place to one of mild resignation. A night in the guard-house, hungered and manacled, had tamed down his proud spirit, and he was now ready to accept any conditions that would restore him to liberty. So fancied the commissioner.
The treaty was produced. Osceola signed it without saying a word. His chains were taken off — his prison-door thrown open — and he was permitted to depart without further molestation. Thompson had triumphed, or fancied so.
It was but fancy. Had he noticed, as I did, the fine satirical smile that played upon the lips of Osceola as he stepped forth from the gate, he would scarcely have felt confidence in his triumph.
He was not allowed to exult long in the pleasant hallucination.
Followed by the eyes of all, the young chief walked off with a proud step towards the woods.
On arriving near the edge of the timber, he faced round to the fort, drew the shining blade from his belt, waved it above his head, and in defiant tones shouted back the war-cry, "Yo-ho-ehee!"
Three times the wild signal pealed upon our ears; and at the third repetition, he who had uttered it turned again, sprang forward into the timber, and was instantly lost to our view.
There was no mistaking the intent of that demonstration; even the self-glorifying commissioner was convinced that it meant "war to the knife," and men were hurriedly ordered in pursuit.
An armed crowd rushed forth from the gate, and flung themselves on the path that had been taken by the ci-devant captive.
The chase proved bootless and fruitless; and after more than an hour spent in vein search, the soldiers came straggling back to the fort.
Gallagher and I had stayed all the morning in my quarters, expecting the order that would confine me there. To our astonishment it came not: there was no arrest.
In time, we obtained the explanation. Of my two duelling antagonists, the first had not returned to the fort after his defeat, but had been carried to the house of a friend — several miles distant. This partially covered the scandal of that affair. The other appeared with his arm in a sling; but it was the impression, as Gallagher learned outside, that his horse had carried him against a tree. For manifest reasons the interesting invalid had not disclosed the true cause of his being "crippled," and I applauded his silence. Except to my friend, I made no disclosure of what had occurred, and it was long before the affair got wind.
Upon duty, the aide-de-camp and I often met afterwards, and were frequently compelled to exchange speech; but it was always of an official character, and, I need not add, was spoken in the severest reserve.
It was not long before circumstances arose to separate us; and I was glad to part company with a man for whom I felt a profound contempt.