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Chapter Seventy Nine Groping among the Timber - Osceola the Seminole by Mayne Reid

At intervals the guides were at fault; and then the whole line was forced to halt and remain motionless. Several times both Hickman and Weatherford were puzzled as to the direction they should take. They had lost the points of the compass, and were bewildered.
Had there been light, they could have recovered this knowledge by observing the bark upon the trees — a craft well-known to the backwoods hunter — but it was too dark to make such an observation. Even amidst the darkness, Hickman alleged he could tell north from south by the "feel" of the bark: and for this purpose I now saw him groping against the trunks. I noticed that he passed from one to another, trying several of them, the better to confirm his observations.
After carrying on these singular manoeuvres for a period of several minutes, he turned to his comrade with an exclamation that betokened surprise: -
"Dog-gone my cats, Jim," said he, speaking in an undertone, "these woods are altered since you and I war hyar — what the ole scratch kin be the matter wi’ ’em? The bark’s all peeled off and thar as dry as punk."
"I was thinkin’ they had a kewrious look," replied the other, "but I s’posed it was the darkness o’ the night."
"Neer a bit of it — the trees is altered someways, since we war hyar afore! They are broom pines — that I recollect well enough — let’s git a bunch o’ the leaves, and see how they looks."
Saying this, he reached his hand upwards, and plucked one of the long fascicles that drooped overhead.
"Ugh!" continued he, crushing the needles between his fingers, "I see how it are now. The darnationed moths has been at ’em — the trees are dead.
"D’yer think thar all dead?" he inquired after a pause, and then advancing a little, he proceeded to examine some others.
"Dead as durnation! — every tree o’ ’em — wal! we must go by guess-work — thar’s no help for it, boys. Ole Hick kin guide you no furrer. I’m dead beat, and know no more ’bout the direkshun o’ that ere pond, than the greenest greenhorn among ye."
This acknowledgment produced no very pleasant effect. Thirst was torturing all those who heard it. Hitherto, trusting that the skill of the hunters would enable them to find water, they had sustained it with a degree of patience. It was now felt more acutely than ever.
"Stay," said Hickman, after a few moments had elapsed. "All’s not lost that’s in danger. If I arn’t able to guide ye to the pond, I reckon I’ve got a critter as kin. Kin you, ole hoss?" he continued, addressing himself to the animal he bestrode — a wiry old jade that Hickman had long been master of — "kin you find the water? Gee up, ole beeswax! and let’s see if you kin."
Giving his "critter" a kick in the ribs, and at the same time full freedom of the bridle, he once more started forwards among the trees.
We all followed as before, building fresh hopes upon the instinct of the animal.
Surely the pride of man ought to be somewhat abased, when he reflects, that he, "the lord of the creation," is oftentimes foiled in attempts which, by the mere instincts of the lower animals, are of easy accomplishment. What a lesson of humility this ought to teach to the wanton and cruel oppressor of those noble animals, whose strength, and instinct, and endurance, are all made subservient to his comfort. It is in the hour of danger and peril alone, that man realises his dependence upon agencies other than his own lordly will.
We had not proceeded far, when it became known that Hickman’s horse had got scent of the water. His owner alleged that he "smelt" it, and the latter knew this, as well as if it had been one of his hounds taking up the trail of a deer.
The horse actually exhibited signs of such an intelligence. His muzzle was protruded forwards, and now and then he was heard to sniff the air; while, at the same time, he walked forward in a direct line — as if making for some object. Surely he was heading for water. Such was the belief.
It produced a cheering effect, and the men were now advancing in better spirits, when, to their surprise, Hickman suddenly drew up, and halted the line I rode forward to him to inquire the cause. I found him silent and apparently reflective.
"Why have you stopped?" I inquired.
"You must all o’ ye wait here a bit."
"Why must we?" demanded several, who had pressed along side.
"’Taint safe for us to go forrad this way; I’ve got a idea that them red skins is by the pond — they’ve camped there for sartin — it’s the only water that is about hyar; and its devilitch like that thar they’ve rendevoozed an’ camped. If that be the case, an’ we ride forrad in this fashion, they’ll hear us a-comin’ an’ be off agin into the bushes, whar we’ll see no more o’ them. Ain’t that like enough, fellers?"
This interrogatory was answered in the affirmative.
"Wal then," continued the guide; "better for yous all to stay hyar, while me and Jim Weatherford goes forrad to see if the Indyuns is thar. We kin find the pond now. I know whar it lies by the direkshun the hoss war taken. It aint fur off. If the red skins aint thar, we’ll soon be back, an’ then ye kin all come on as fast as ye like."
This prudent course was willingly agreed to, and the two hunters, once more dismounting, stole forwards afoot. They made no objection to my going along with them. My misfortunes gave me a claim to be their leader; and, leaving my bridle in the hands of one of my companions, I accompanied the guides upon their errand.
We walked with noiseless tread. The ground was thickly covered with the long needles of the pine, forming a soft bed, upon which the footstep made no sound. There was little or no underwood, and this enabled us to advance with rapidity, and in a few minutes we were a long way from the party we had left behind.
Our only care was about keeping the right direction, and this we had almost lost — or believed so — when, to our astonishment we beheld a light shining through the trees. It was the gleam of a fire that appeared to be blazing freely. Hickman at once pronounced it the camp fire of the Indians.
At first we thought of returning, and bringing on our comrades to the attack; but upon reflection, we determined to approach nearer the fire, and make certain whether it was the enemy’s camp.
We advanced no longer in erect attitudes; but crawling upon our hands and knees. Wherever the glare penetrated the woods, we avoided it, and kept under the shadow of the tree-trunks. The fire burned in the midst of an opening. The hunters remembered that the pond was so placed; and now observing the sheen of water, we knew it must be the same.
We drew nearer and nearer, until it was no longer safe to advance. We were close to the edge of the timber that concealed us. We could see the whole surface of the open ground. There were horses picketed over it, and dark forms recumbent under the fire light. They were murderers asleep.
Close to the fire, one was seated upon a saddle. He appeared to be awake, though his head was drooped to the level of his knees. The blaze was shining upon this man’s face; and both his features and complexion might have been seen, but for the interposition of paint and plumes.
The face appeared of a crimson red, and three black ostrich feathers, bending over the brow, hung straggling down his cheeks. These plumed symbols produced painful recognition. I knew that it was the head-dress of Osceola.
I looked further. Several groups were beyond — in fact, the whole open space was crowded with prostrate human forms.
There was one group, however, that fixed my attention. It consisted of three or four individuals, seated or reclining along the grass. They were in shade, and from our position, their features could not be recognised; but their white dresses, and the outlines of their forms, soft even in the obscurity of the shadow, told that they were females.
Two of them were side by side, a little apart from the others; one appeared to be supporting the other, whose head rested in her lap.
With emotions fearfully vivid, I gazed on these two forms. I had no doubt they were Viola and my sister.

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