Chapter Seventy. The Talk
Before a word was uttered, all six of us shook hands – so far as appearance went, in the most friendly manner. Osceola grasped mine warmly; as he did so, saying with a peculiar smile:
“Ah, Randolph! friends sometimes meet in war as well as in peace.”
I knew to what he referred, but could only answer him with a significant look of gratitude.
An orderly, sent to us with a message from the general, was seen approaching from the camp. At the same instant, an Indian appeared coming out of the timber, and, keeping pace with the orderly, simultaneously with the latter arrived upon the ground. The deputation was determined we should not outnumber it.
As soon as the orderly had whispered his message, the “talk began.”
Abram was the spokesman on the part of the Indians, and delivered himself in his broken English. The others merely signified their assent by a simple nod, or the affirmation “Ho;” while their negative was expressed by the exclamation “Cooree.”
“Do you white folk want to make peace?” abruptly demanded the negro.
“Upon what terms?” asked the head of our party.
“Da tarms we gib you are dese: you lay down arm, an’ stop de war; your sogas go back, an’ stay in dar forts: we Indyen cross ober da Ouithlacoochee; an’ from dis time forth, for ebber after, we make the grand ribber da line o’ boundary atween de two. We promise lib in peace an’ good tarms wi’ all white neighbour. Dat’s all got say.”
“Brothers!” said our speaker in reply, “I fear these conditions will not be accepted by the white general, nor our great father, the president. I am commissioned to say, that the commander-in-chief can treat with you on no other conditions than those of your absolute submission, and under promise that you will now agree to the removal.”
“Cooree! cooree! never!” haughtily exclaimed Coa Hajo and Osceola in one breath, and with a determined emphasis, that proved they had no intention of offering to surrender.
“An’ what for we submit,” asked the black, with some show of astonishment. “We not conquered! We conquer you ebbery fight – we whip you people, one, two, tree time – we whip you; dam! we kill you well too. What for we submit? We come here gib condition – not ask um.”
“It matters little what has hitherto transpired,” observed the officer in reply; “we are by far stronger than you – we must conquer you in the end.”
Again the two chiefs simultaneously cried “Cooree!”
“May be, white men, you make big mistake ’bout our strength. We not so weak you tink for – dam! no. We show you our strength.”
As the negro said this, he turned inquiringly towards his comrades, as if to seek their assent to some proposition.
Both seemed to grant it with a ready nod; and Osceola, who now assumed the leadership of the affair, faced towards the forest, at the same time giving utterance to a loud and peculiar intonation.
The echoes of his voice had not ceased to vibrate upon the air, when the evergreen grove was observed to be in motion along: its whole edge; and the next instant, a line of dusky warriors shewed itself in the open ground. They stepped forth a pace or two, then halted in perfect order of battle – so that their numbers could easily be told off from where we stood.
“Count the red warriors!” cried Osceola, in a triumphant tone – “count them, and be no longer ignorant of the strength of your enemy.”
As the Indian uttered these words, a satirical smile played upon his lips; and he stood for some seconds confronting us in silence.
“Now,” continued he, once more pointing to his followers, “do yonder braves – there are fifteen hundred of them – do they look starving and submissive? No! they are ready to continue the war till the blood of the last man sinks into the soil of his native land. If they must perish, it will be here – here in Florida – in the land of their birth, upon the graves of their fathers.
“We have taken up the rifle because you wronged us, and would drive us out. For the wrongs we have had revenge. We have killed many of your people, and we are satisfied with the vengeance we have taken. We want to kill no more. But about the removal, we have not changed our minds. We shall never change them.
“We have made you a fair proposition: accept it, and in this hour the war shall cease; reject it, and more blood shall be spilled – ay, by the spirit of Wykomé! rivers of blood shall flow. The red poles of our lodges shall be painted again and again with the blood of our pale-faced foes. Peace or war, then – you are welcome to your choice.”
As Osceola ceased speaking, he waved his hand towards his dusky warriors by the wood, who at the sign disappeared among the trees, silently, rapidly, almost mysteriously.
A meet reply was being delivered to the passionate harangue of the young chief, when the speaker was interrupted by the report of musketry, heard in the direction of the Indians, but further off. The shots followed each other in rapid succession, and were accompanied by shouts, that, though feebly borne from the far distance, could be distinguished as the charging cheers of men advancing into a battle.
“Ha! foul play!” cried the chiefs in a breath; “pale-faced liars! you shall rue this treason;” and, without waiting to exchange another sentence, all three sprang off from the spot, and ran at full speed towards the covert of the woods.
We turned back within the lines of the camp, where the shots had also been heard, and interpreted as the advance of Clinch’s brigade attacking the Indian outposts in the rear. We found the troops already mustered in battle-array, and preparing to issue forth from the stockade. In a few minutes, the order was given, and the army marched forth, extending itself rapidly both right and left along the bank of the river.
As soon as the formation was complete, the line advanced. The troops were burning for revenge. Cooped up as they had been for days, half-famished, and more than half disgraced, they had now an opportunity to retrieve their honour; and were fully bent upon the punishment of the savage foe. With an army in their rear, rapidly closing upon them by an extended line – for this had been pre-arranged between the commanders – another similarly advancing upon their front, how could the Indians escape? They must fight – they would be conquered at last.
This was the expectation of all – officers and soldiers. The commander-in-chief was himself in high spirits. His strategic plan had succeeded. The enemy was surrounded – entrapped; a great victory was before him – a “harvest of laurels.”
We marched forward. We heard shots, but now only solitary or straggling. We could not hear the well-known war-cry of the Indians.
We continued to advance. The hommocks were carried by a charge, but in their shady coverts we found no enemy.
Surely they must still be before us – between our lines and those of the approaching reinforcement? Is it possible they can have retreated – escaped?
No! Yonder they are – on the other side of the meadow – just coming out from the trees. They are advancing to give us battle! Now for the charge – now —
Ha! those blue uniforms and white belts – those forage-caps and sabres – these are not Indians! It is not the enemy! They are our friends – the soldiers of Clinch’s brigade!
Fortunate it was that at that moment there was a mutual recognition, else might we have annihilated one another.