Chapter Fifty Eight Old Hickman - Osceola the Seminole by Mayne Reid
The morning after, I went as usual to the recruiting quarters. Gallagher was along with me, as upon this day the volunteers were to be "mustered into service," (Note 1) and our presence was necessary at the administering of the oath.
A goodly company was collected, forming a troop more respectable in numbers than appearance. They were "mounted volunteers;" but as each individual had been his own quartermaster, no two were either armed or mounted alike. Nearly all carried rifles, though there were a few who shouldered the old family musket — a relic of revolutionary times — and were simply armed with single or double barrelled shot-guns. These, however, loaded with heavy buck-shot, would be no contemptible weapons in a skirmish with Indians. There were pistols of many sorts — from the huge brass-butted holsters to small pocket-pistols — single and double barrelled — but no revolvers, for as yet the celebrated "Colt" (Note 2) had not made its appearance in frontier warfare. Every volunteer carried his knife — some, dagger-shaped with ornamented hafts; while the greater number were long, keen blades, similar to those in use among butchers. In the belts of many were stuck small hatchets, an imitation of the Indian tomahawk. These were to serve the double purpose of cutting a way through the brushwood, or breaking in the skull of a savage, as opportunity might offer.
The equipments consisted of powder-horns, bullet-pouches, and shot-belts — in short, the ordinary sporting gear of the frontiersman or amateur hunter when out upon the "still-hunt," of the fallow deer.
The "mount" of the troop was as varied as the arms and accoutrements: horses from thirteen hands to seventeen; the tall, raw-boned steed; the plump, cob-shaped roadster; the tight, wiry native of the soil, of Andalusian race (Note 3); the lean, worn-out "critter," that carried on his back the half-ragged squatter, side by side with the splendid Arabian charger, the fancy of some dashing young planter who bestrode him, with no slight conceit in the grace and grandeur of his display. Not a few were mounted upon mules, both of American and Spanish origin; and these, when well trained to the saddle, though they may not equal the horse in the charge, are quite equal to him in a campaign against an Indian foe. Amid thickets — through forests of heavy timber, where the ground is a marsh, or strewn with logs, fallen branches, and matted with protrate parasites, the hybrid will make way safely, when the horse will sink or stumble. Some of the most experienced backwoods hunters, while following the chase, prefer a mule to the high-mettled steed of Arabia.
Motley were the dresses of the troop. There were uniforms, or half-uniforms, worn by some of the officers; but among the men no two were dressed in like fashion. Blanket-coats of red, blue, and green; linsey woolseys of coarse texture, grey or copper-coloured; red flannel shirts; jackets of brown linen, or white — some of yellow nankin cotton — a native fabric; some of sky-blue cottonade; hunting-shirts of dressed deer-skin, with moccasins and leggins; boots of horse or alligator hide, high-lows, brogans — in short, every variety of chaussure known throughout the States.
The head-gear was equally varied and fantastic. No stiff shakos were to be seen there; but caps of skin, and hats of wool and felt, and straw and palmetto-leaf, broad-brimmed, scuffed, and slouching. A few had forage-caps of blue cloth, that gave somewhat of a military character to the wearers.
In one respect, the troop had a certain uniformity; they were all eager for the fray — burning for a fight with the hated savages, who were committing such depredations throughout the land. When were they to be led against them? This was the inquiry constantly passing through the ranks of the volunteer array.
Old Hickman was among the most active. His age and experience had procured him the rank of sergeant by free election; and I had many opportunities of conversing with him. The alligator-hunter was still my true friend, and devoted to the interests of our family. On this very day I chanced to be with him alone, when he gave proof of his attachment by volunteering a conversation I little expected from him. Thus he began:
"May a Injun sculp me, lootenant, if I can bar the thought o’ that puke a marrin’ yur sister."
"Marrying my sister — who?" I inquired in some surprise. Was it Gallagher he meant?
"Why, in coorse the fellar as everybody sez is a goin’ to — that cussed polecat o’ a critter, Ary Ringgold."
"Oh! him you mean? Everybody says so, do they?"
"In coorse — it’s the hul talk o’ the country. Durn me, George Randolph, if I’d let him. Yur sister — the putty critter — she ur the finest an’ the hansomest gurl in these parts; an’ for a durned skunk like thet, not’ithstandin’ all his dollars, to git her, I can’t a bear to hear o’t. Why, George, I tell you, he’ll make her mis’able for the hul term o’ her nat’ral life — that ere’s whet he’ll be sartint to do — durnation to him!"
"You are kind to counsel me, Hickman; but I think the event you dread is not likely ever to come to pass."
"Why do people keep talkin’ o’t, then? Everybody says it’s a goin’ to be. If it wan’t thet I’m an old friend o’ yur father, George, I wudn’t ha’ tuk sich a liberty; but I war his friend, an’ I’m yur friend; an’ thurfor it be I hev spoke on the matter. We may talk o’ Injuns; but thur ain’t ne’er a Injun in all Floridy is as big a thief as them Ringgolds — father an’ son, an’ the hul kit o’ them. The old un’ he’s clurred out from hyar, an’ whar he’s gone to ’tain’t hard to tell. Ole Scratch hez got hold o’ him, an’ I reck’n he’ll be catchin’ it by this time for the deviltries he carried on while about hyar. He’ll git paid up slick for the way he treated them poor half-breeds on tother side the crik."
"The Powells?"
"Ye-es — that wur the durndest piece o’ unjustice I ever know’d o’ in all my time. By —, it wur!"
"You know what happened them, then?"
"Sartinly I do; every trick in the hul game. Twur a leetle o’ the meanest transackshun I ever know’d a white — an’ a white that called himself a gentleman — to have a hand in. By —, it wur!"
Hickman now proceeded, at my request, to detail with more minuteness than I had yet heard them, the facts connected with the robbery of the unfortunate family.
It appeared by his account that the Powells had not voluntarily gone away from the plantation; that, on the contrary, their removal had been to the friendless widow the most painful thing of all. Not only was the land of great value — the best in the whole district — but it had been to her the scene of a happy life — a home endeared by early love, by the memory of a kind husband, by every tie of the heart’s affection; and she had only parted from it when driven out by the strong arm of the law — by the staff of the sheriff’s officer.
Hickman had been present at the parting scene, and described it in rough but feeling terms. He told me of the sad unwillingness which the family exhibited at parting; of the indignant reproaches of the son — of the tears and entreaties of mother and daughter — how the persecuted widow had offered everything left her — her personal property — even the trinkets and jewels — souvenirs given her by her departed husband — if the ruffians would only allow her to remain in possession of the house — the old homestead, consecrated to her by long happy years spent under its roof.
Her appeals were in vain. The heartless persecutor was without compassion, and she was driven forth.
Of all these things, the old hunter spoke freely and feelingly; for although a man of somewhat vulgar speech and rough exterior, he was one whose heart beat with humanity, and who hated injustice. He had no friendship for mere wrong-doers, and he heartily detested the whole tribe of the Ringgolds. His narration re-kindled within me the indignant emotions I had experienced on first hearing of this monstrous act of cruelty; and my sympathy for Osceola — interrupted by late suspicions — was almost restored, as I stood listening to the story of his wrongs.
Note 1. In the United States, a volunteer corps or regiment "raises itself." When the numbers are complete, and the officers are elected, if the government accept its services, both officers and men are then "mustered in" — In other words, sworn to serve for a fixed period, under exactly the same regulations as the regular troops, with like pay, rations, etc.
Note 2. The military corps first armed with Colt’s pistols was the regiment of Texan Rangers. Its first trial in actual warfare occurred in the war between the United States and Mexico in a skirmish with the guerilla band of Padre Jaranta. 125 guerrilleros were put hors de combat in less than fifteen minutes by this effective weapon.
Note 3. The horse was introduced into Florida by the Spaniards; hence the breed.