Chapter Sixty Two. A Knock on the Head
Excepting the memory of one short hour, Fort King had for me no pleasant reminiscences. There had been some new arrivals in my absence, but none of them worthy of companionship. They only rendered quarters more crowded, and accommodation more difficult to obtain. The sutlers and the blacklegs were rapidly making their fortunes; and these, with the quartermaster, the commissary19, and the “beef-contractor,” appeared to be the only prosperous men about the place.
The “beau” was still chief aide-de-camp, gaily caparisoned as ever; but of him I had almost ceased to think.
It was not long before I was ordered upon duty – almost the moment after my arrival – and that, as usual, of a disagreeable kind. Before I had time to obtain a moment’s rest after the long ride – even before I could wash the road-dust from my skin – I was summoned to the head-quarters of the commander-in-chief.
What could he want with me, in such hot haste? Was it about the duels? Were these old scores going to be reckoned up?
Not without some apprehension did I betake myself into the presence of the general.
It proved however, to be nothing concerning the past; though, when I learned the duty I was to perform, I half regretted that it was not a reprimand.
I found the agent closeted with the commander-in-chief. They had designed another interview with Omatla and “Black Dirt.” I was merely wanted as an interpreter.
The object of this fresh interview with the chiefs was stated in my hearing. It was to arrange a plan for concerted action between the troops and the friendly Indians, who were to act as our allies against their own countrymen; the latter – as was now known by certain information – being collected in large force in the “Cove of the Ouithlacoochee.” Their actual position was still unknown; but that, it was confidently hoped, would be discovered by the aid of the friendly chiefs, and their spies, who were constantly on the run.
The meeting had been already pre-arranged. The chiefs – who, as already stated, had gone to Fort Brooke, and were there living under protection of the garrison – were to make a secret journey, and meet the agent and general at an appointed place – the old ground, the hommock by the pond.
The meeting had been fixed for that very night – as soon as it should be dark enough to hide the approach of both tempters and traitors.
It was dark enough almost the moment the sun went down – for the moon was in her third quarter, and would not be in the sky until after sunset.
Shortly after twilight, therefore, we three proceeded to the spot – the general, the agent, and the interpreter, just as we had done on the former occasion.
The chiefs were not there, and this caused a little surprise. By the noted punctuality with which an Indian keeps his assignation, it was expected they would have been on the ground, for the hour appointed had arrived.
“What is detaining them? What can be detaining them?” mutually inquired the commissioner and general.
Scarcely an instant passed till the answer came. It came from afar, and in a singular utterance; but it could be no other than a reply to the question – so both my companions conjectured.
Borne upon the night-breeze was the sound of strife – the sharp cracking of rifles and pistols; and distinctly heard above all, the shrill Yo-ho-ehee.
The sounds were distant – away amid the far woods; but they were sufficiently distinct to admit of the interpretation, that a life-and-death struggle was going on between two parties of men.
It could be no feint, no false alarm to draw the soldiers from the fort, or terrify the sentinel on his post. There was an earnestness in the wild treble of those shrill cries, that convinced the listener that human blood was being spilled.
My companions were busy with conjectures. I saw that neither possessed a high degree of courage, for that is not necessary to become a general. In my warlike experience, I have seen more than one hiding behind a tree or piece of a wall. One, indeed, who was afterwards elected the chief of twenty millions of people, I have seen skulking in a ditch to screen himself from a stray shot, while his lost brigade, half a mile in the advance, was gallantly fighting under the guidance of a sub-lieutenant.
But why should I speak of these things here? The world is full of such heroes.
“It is they, by – ,” exclaimed the commissioner. “They have been waylaid; they are attacked by the others; that rascal Powell for a thousand!”
“It is extremely probable,” replied the other, who seemed to have a somewhat steadier nerve, and spoke more coolly. “Yes, it must be. There are no troops in that direction; no whites either – not a man. It must therefore be an affair among the Indians themselves; and what else than attack upon the friendly chiefs? You are right, Thompson; it is as you say.”
“If so, general, it will be of no use our remaining here. If they have waylaid Omatla, they will of course have superior numbers, and he must fall. We need not expect him.”
“No; he is not likely to come, neither he nor Lusta. As you say, it is idle for us to remain here. I think we may as well return to the fort.”
There was a moment’s hesitation, during which I fancied both generals were debating in their own minds whether it would be graceful thus to give up their errand and purpose.
“If they should come,” – continued the soldier.
“General,” said I, taking the liberty to interrupt him, “if you desire it, I will remain upon the ground for a while, and see. If they should come,” I added, in continuation of the broken sentence, “I can proceed to the fort, and give you notice.”
I could not have made a proposition more agreeable to the two. It was instantly accepted, and the brace of official heroes moved away, leaving me to myself.
It was not long ere I had cause to regret my generous rashness. My late companions could scarcely have reached the fort when the sounds of the strife suddenly ceased, and I heard the caha-queené– the Seminole shout of triumph. I was still listening to its wild intonations, when half-a-dozen men – dark-bodied men – rushed out of the bushes, and surrounded me where I stood.
Despite the poor light the stars afforded, I could see shining blades, guns, pistols, and tomahawks. The weapons were too near my eyes to be mistaken for the fire-flies that had been glittering around my head, besides, the clink of steel was in my ears.
My assailants made no outcry, perhaps because they were too near the fort; and my own shouts were soon suppressed by a blow that levelled me to the earth, depriving me as well of consciousness as of speech.
Note 1. In the United States army, these two offices are quite distinct. A “commissary” caters only for the inner man; a quartermaster’s duty is to shelter, clothe, arm, and equip. A wise regulation.