Chapter Twenty Eight. The Rising Sun
Yes, it was Osceola, “the Rising Sun”9– he whose fame had already reached to the farthest corner of the land – whose name had excited such an interest among the cadets at college – outside the college – in the streets – in the fashionable drawing-room – everywhere; he it was who had thus unexpectedly shown himself in the circle of chiefs.
A word about this extraordinary young man.
Suddenly emerging from the condition of a common warrior – a sub-chief, with scarcely any following – he had gained at once, and as if by magic, the confidence of the nation. He was at this moment the hope of the patriot party – the spirit that was animating them to resistance, and every day saw his influence increasing. Scarcely more appropriate could have been his native appellation.
One might have fancied him less indebted to accident than design for the name, had it not been that which he had always borne among his own people. There was a sort of prophetic or typical adaptation in it, for at this time he was in reality the Rising Sun of the Seminoles. He was so regarded by them.
I noticed that his arrival produced a marked effect upon the warriors. He may have been present upon the ground all the day, but up to that moment he had not shown himself in the front circle of the chiefs. The timid and wavering became reassured by his appearance, and the traitorous chiefs evidently cowered under his glance. I noticed that the Omatlas, and even the fierce Lusta Hajo regarded him with uneasy looks.
There were others besides the red men who were affected by his sudden advent. From the position in which I stood, I had a view of the commissioner’s face; I noticed that his countenance suddenly paled, and there passed over it a marked expression of chagrin. It was clear that with him the “Rising Sun” was anything but welcome. His hurried words to Clinch reached my ears – for I stood close to the general, and could not help overhearing them.
“How unfortunate!” he muttered in a tone of vexation. “But for him, we should have succeeded. I was in hopes of nailing them before he should arrive. I told him a wrong hour, but it seems to no purpose. Deuce take the fellow! he will undo all. See! he is earwigging Onopa, and the old fool listens to him like a child. Bah! – he will obey him like a great baby, as he is. It’s all up, general; we must come to blows.”
On hearing this half-whispered harangue, I turned my eyes once more upon him who was the subject of it, and regarded him more attentively. He was still standing behind the king, but in a stooping attitude, and whispering in the ear of the latter – scarcely whispering, but speaking audibly in their native language. Only the interpreters could have understood what he was saying, and they were too distant to make it out. His earnest tone, however – his firm yet somewhat excited manner – the defiant flash of his eye, as he glanced toward the commissioner – all told that he himself had no intention to yield; and that he was counselling his superior to like bold opposition and resistance.
For some moments there was silence, broken only by the whisperings of the commissioner on one side, and the muttered words passing between Osceola and the mico on the other. After a while even these sounds were hushed, and a breathless stillness succeeded.
It was a moment of intense expectation, and one of peculiar interest. On the words which Onopa was about to utter, hung events of high import – important to almost every one upon the ground. Peace or war, and therefore life or death, was suspended over the heads of all present. Even the soldiers in the lines were observed with outstretched necks in the attitude of listening; and upon the other side, the Indian boys, and the women with babes in their arms, clustered behind the circle of warriors, their anxious looks betraying the interest they felt in the issue.
The commissioner grew impatient; his face reddened again. I saw that he was excited and angry – at the same time he was doing his utmost to appear calm. As yet he had taken no notice of the presence of Osceola, but was making pretence to ignore it, although it was evident that Osceola was at that moment the main subject of his thoughts. He only looked at the young chief by side-glances, now and again turning to resume his conversation with the general.
This by-play was of short duration. Thompson could endure the suspense no longer.
“Tell Onopa,” said he to the interpreter, “that the council awaits his answer.”
The interpreter did as commanded.
“I have but one answer to make,” replied the taciturn king, without deigning to rise from his seat; “I am content with my present home; I am not going to leave it.”
A burst of applause from the patriots followed this declaration. Perhaps these were the most popular words that old Onopa had ever uttered. From that moment he was possessed of real kingly power, and might command in his nation.
I looked round the circle of the chiefs. A smile lit up the gentlemanly features of Holata Mico; the grim face of Hoitle-mattee gleamed with joy: the “Alligator,” “Cloud,” and Arpiucki exhibited more frantic signs of their delight; and even the thick lips of Abram were drawn flat over his gums, displaying his double tier of ivories in a grin of triumphant satisfaction.
On the other hand, the Omatlas and their party wore black looks. Their gloomy glances betokened their discontent; and from their gestures and attitudes, it was evident that one and all of them were suffering under serious apprehension.
They had cause. They were no longer suspected, no longer traitors only attainted; their treason was now patent – it had been declared.
It was fortunate for them that Fort King was so near – well that they stood in the presence of that embattled line. They might need its bayonets to protect them.
The commissioner had by this time lost command of his temper. Even official dignity gave way, and he now descended to angry exclamations, threats, and bitter invective.
In the last he was personal, calling the chiefs by name, and charging them with faithlessness and falsehood. He accused Onopa of having already signed the treaty of the Oclawaha; and when the latter denied having done so, the commissioner told him he lied. (Again historically true – the very word used!) Even the savage did not reciprocate the vulgar accusation, but treated it with silent disdain.
After spending a portion of his spleen upon various chiefs of the council, he turned towards the front and in a loud, angry tone cried out: “It is you who have done this —you, Powell!”
I started at the word. I looked to see who was addressed – who it was that bore that well-known name.
The commissioner guided my glance both by look and gesture. He was standing with arm outstretched, and finger pointed in menace. His eye was bent upon the young war-chief – upon Osceola!
All at once a light broke upon me. Already strange memories had been playing with my fancy; I thought that through the vermilion paint I saw features I had seen before.
Now I recognised them. In the young Indian hero, I beheld the friend of my boyhood – the preserver of my life – the brother of Maümee.
Note 1. Osceola – written Oçeola, Asseola, Assula, Hasseola, and in a dozen other forms of orthography – in the Seminole language, signifies the Rising Sun.