Chapter Fifty Tracing a Strange Horseman - Osceola the Seminole by Mayne Reid
As yet but few troops had reached Florida, though detachments were on the way from New Orleans, Fort Moultrie, Savannah, Mobile, and other depots, where the soldiers of the United States are usually stationed. Corps of volunteers, however, were being hastily levied in the larger towns of Georgia, Carolina, and Florida itself; and every settlement was mustering its quota to enter upon the campaign.
It was deemed advisable to raise a force in the settlements of the Suwanee — my native district — and on this duty my friend Gallagher was dispatched, with myself to act as his lieutenant.
Right gladly did I receive this order. I should escape from the monotonous duties of the fort garrison, of which I had grown weary enough; but what was a still more pleasant prospect, I should have many days at home — for which I was not without longing.
Gallagher was as overjoyed as myself. He was a keen sportsman; though, having spent most of his life within the walls of cities, or in forts along the Atlantic seaboard, he had found only rare opportunities of enjoying either the "fox-chase" or "deer-drive." I had promised him both to his heart’s content, for both the game and the "vermin" were plenteous in the woods of the Suwanee.
Not unwillingly, therefore, did we accept our recruiting commission; and, bidding adieu to our companions at the fort, set out with light hearts and pleasant anticipations. Equally joyous was Black Jake to get back once more to the "ole plantayshun."
In the quarter of the Suwanee settlements, the Indian marauders had not yet shown themselves. It lay remote from the towns of most of the hostile tribes, though not too distant for a determined foray. In a sort of lethargic security, the inhabitants still remained at their houses — though a volunteer force had already been mustered — and patrols were kept in constant motion.
I had frequent letters from my mother and Virginia; neither appeared to feel any alarm: my sister especially declared her confidence that the Indians would not molest them.
Withal, I was not without apprehension; and with so much the greater alacrity did I obey the order to proceed to the settlements.
Well mounted, we soon galloped over the forest road, and approached the scenes of my early life. This time, I encountered no ambuscade, though I did not travel without caution. But the order had been given us within the hour; and having almost immediately set forth, my assassin-enemies could have had no warning of my movements. With the brave Gallagher by my side, and my stout henchman at my back, I dreaded no open attack from white men.
My only fear was, that we might fall in with some straggling party of red men — now our declared enemies. In this there was a real danger; and we took every precaution to avoid such an encounter.
At several places we saw traces of the Indians nearly fresh. There were moccasin prints, in the mud, and the tracks of horses that had been mounted. At one place we observed the debris of a fire still smouldering, and around it were signs of the red men. A party had there bivouacked.
But we saw no man, red or white, until we had passed the deserted plantation upon the creek, and were approaching the banks of the river. Then for the first time during our journey a man was in sight.
He was a horseman, and at a glance we pronounced him an Indian. He was at too great a distance for us to note either his complexion or features; but the style of dress, his attitude in the saddle, the red sash and leggings, and above all, the ostrich-plumes waving over his head, told us he was a Seminole. He was mounted upon a large black horse; and had just emerged from the wood into the opening, upon which we had ourselves entered. He appeared to see us at the same time we caught sight of him, and was evidently desirous of avoiding us.
After scanning us a moment, he wheeled his steed, and dashed back into the timber.
Imprudently enough, Gallagher put spurs to his horse and galloped after. I should have counselled a contrary course; but that the belief was in my mind that the horseman was Osceola. In that case, there could be no danger; and from motives of friendship, I was desirous of coming up with the young chief, and exchanging a word with him. With this view I followed my friend at a gallop — Jake coming on in the rear.
I was almost sure the strange horseman was Osceola. I fancied I recognised the ostrich-plumes; and Jake had told me that the young chief rode a fine black horse. In all likelihood, then it was he; and in order to hail, and bring him to a halt, I spurred ahead of Gallagher — being better mounted.
We soon entered the timber, where the horseman had disappeared. I saw the fresh tracks, but nothing more. I shouted aloud, calling the young chief by name, and pronouncing my own; but there was no reply, save the echo of my voice.
I followed the trail for a short distance, continuing to repeat my cries; but no heed was given to them. The horseman did not wish to answer my hail, or else had ridden too far away to understand its intent.
Of course, unless he made a voluntary halt, it was vain to follow. We might ride on his trail for a week without coming up with him. Gallagher saw this as well as myself; and abandoning the pursuit, we turned once more towards the road, with the prospect of soon ending our journey.
A cross-path, which I remembered, would bring us by a shorter route to the landing; and for this we now headed.
We had not ridden far, when we again struck upon the tracks of a horse — evidently those made by the horseman we had just pursued, but previously to our having seen him. They led in a direct line from the river, towards which we were steering.
Some slight thought prompted me to an examination of the hoof-prints. I perceived that they were wet — water was oozing into them from the edges; there was a slight sprinkling of water upon the dead leaves that lay along the trail. The horseman had been swimming — he had been across the river!
This discovery led me into a train of reflection. What could he — an Indian — want on the other side? If Osceola, as I still believed, what could he be doing there? In the excited state of the country, it would have been risking his life for an Indian to have approached the settlement — and to have been discovered and captured would have been certain death. This Indian, then, whoever he was, must have some powerful-motive for seeking the other side. What motive? If Osceola, what motive?
I was puzzled — and reflected; I could think of no motive, unless that the young chief had been playing the spy — no dishonourable act on the part of an Indian.
The supposition was not improbable, but the contrary; and yet I could not bring myself to believe it true. A cloud had swept suddenly over my soul, a presentiment scarcely defined or definable was in my thoughts, a demon seemed to whisper in my ears: It is not that.
Certainly had the horseman been across the river? Let us see!
We rode rapidly along the trail, tracing it backwards.
In a few minutes it guided us to the bank, where the tracks led out from the water’s edge. No corresponding trail entered near. Yes, he had been across.
I plied the spur, and plunging in, swam for the opposite shore. My companion followed without asking any questions.
Once more out of the river, I rode up the bank. I soon discovered the hoof-marks of the black horse where he had sprung off into the stream.
Without pausing, I continued to trace them backwards, still followed by Gallagher and Jake.
The former wondered at my eagerness, and put some questions, which I scarcely answered coherently. My presentiment was each moment growing darker — my heart throbbed in my bosom with a strange indescribable pain.
The trail brought us to a small opening in the heart of a magnolia grove. It went no further. We had arrived at its end.
My eyes rested upon the ground with a sort of mechanical gaze. I sat in the saddle in a kind of stupor. The dark presentiment was gone, but a far darker thought occupied its place.
The ground was covered with hoof-tracks, as if horses had been halted there. Most of the tracks were those of the black horse; but there were others of not half their dimensions. There was the tiny shoe-mark of a small pony.
"Golly! Mass’r George," muttered Jake, coming forward in advance of the other, and bending his eyes upon the ground; "lookee dar — dat am tha track ob de leetle White Fox. Missa Vaginny’s been hya for sartin."