Osceola the Seminole Part 57

The general said not a word; and, without giving time for explanation, ordered me to another part of the field.

All blamed his imprudence in having ordered such a desperate charge-- especially with so small a force. For myself, I had gained the credit of a bold leader; but how I chanced to be the only one, who came back unscathed out of that deadly fire, was a puzzle which at that moment I did not choose to explain.

For an hour or more the fight continued to be carried on, in the shape of a confused skirmish among swamps and trees, without either party gaining any material advantage. Each held the position it had taken up--though the Indians retained the freedom of the forest beyond. To have retired from ours, would have been the ruin of the whole army; since there was no other mode of retreat, but by recrossing the stream, and that could only have been effected under the fire of the enemy.

And yet to hold our position appeared equally ruinous. We could effect nothing by being thus brought to a stand-still, for we were actually besieged upon the bank of the river. We had vainly endeavoured to force the Indians from the bush. Having once failed, a second attempt to cut our way through them would be a still more perilous emprise; and yet to remain stationary had also its prospects of danger. With scanty provisions, the troops had marched out of their cantonments. Their rations were already exhausted--hunger stared the army in the face. Its pangs were already felt, and every hour would render them more severe.

We began to believe that we were _besieged_; and such was virtually the fact. Around us in a semi-circle swarmed the savages, each behind his protecting tree--thus forming a defensive line equal in strength to a fortified intrenchment. Such could not be forced, without the certainty of great slaughter among our men.

We perceived, too, that the number of our enemies was hourly increasing.

A peculiar cry--which some of the old "Indian fighters" understood-- heard at intervals, betokened the arrival of fresh parties of the foe.

We felt the apprehension that we were being outnumbered, and might soon be overpowered. A gloomy feeling was fast spreading itself through the ranks.

During the skirmishes that had already occurred, we noticed that many of the Indians were armed with fusils and muskets. A few were observed in uniform, with military accoutrements! One--a conspicuous leader--was still more singularly attired. From his shoulders was suspended a large silken flag, after the fas.h.i.+on of a Spanish cloak of the times of the _conquistadores_. Its stripes of alternate red and white, with the blue starry field at the corner, were conspicuous. Every eye in the army looked upon it, and recognised in the fantastic draping, thus tauntingly displayed, the loved flag of our country.

These symbols were expressive. They did not puzzle us. Their presence among our enemies was easily explained. The flag, the muskets and fusils, the uniforms and equipments, were trophies from the battle-field where Dade had fallen.

Though the troops regarded these objects with bitter indignation, their anger was impotent: the hour for avenging the disastrous fate of their comrades had not yet arrived.

It is not improbable we might have shared their destiny, had we remained much longer upon the ground; but a plan of retreat offered, of which our general was not loath to take advantage. It was the happy idea of a volunteer officer--an old campaigner of the "Hickory" wars--versed in the tactics of Indian fighting.

By his advice, a feint was made by the troops who had not yet crossed-- the volunteers. It was a pretended attempt to effect the pa.s.sage of the river at a point higher up stream. It was good strategy. Had such a pa.s.sage been possible, it would have brought the enemy between two fires, and thus put an end to the "surround;" but a crossing was not intended--only a ruse.

It had the effect designed; the Indians were deceived by it, and rushed in a body up the bank to prevent the attempt at crossing. Our beleaguered force took advantage of their temporary absence; and the "regulars," making an adroit use of the time, succeeded in getting back to the "safe side" of the river. The wily foe was too prudent to follow us; and thus ended the "battle of the Ouithlacoochee."

In the hurried council that was held, there was no two opinions as to what course of action we should pursue. The proposal to march back to Fort King was received with a wonderful unanimity; and, with little loss of time, we took the route, and arrived without farther molestation at the fort.

CHAPTER SIXTY NINE.

ANOTHER "SWAMP-FIGHT."

After this action, a complete change was observed in the spirit of the army. Boasting was heard no more; and the eagerness of the troops to be led against the enemy was no longer difficult to restrain. No one expressed desire for a second expedition across the Ouithlacoochee, and the "Cove" was to remain unexplored until the arrival of reinforcements.

The volunteers were disheartened, wearied of the campaign, and not a little cowed by the resistance they had so unexpectedly encountered-- bold and b.l.o.o.d.y as it was unlooked for. The enemy, hitherto despised, if it had aroused by its conduct a strong feeling of exasperation and vengeance, had also purchased the privilege of respect.

The battle of the Ouithlacoochee cost the United States army nearly a hundred men. The Seminole loss was believed to be much greater; though no one could give a better authority for this belief than that of a "guess." No one had _seen_ the enemy's slain; but this was accounted for by the a.s.sertion, that during the fight they _had carried their dead and wounded from the field_!

How often has this absurd allegation appeared in the dispatches of generals both victorious and defeated! It is the usual explanation of a battle-field found too spa.r.s.ely strewn by the bodies of the foe. The very possibility of such an operation argues either an easy conflict, or a strong attachment between comrade and comrade--too strong, indeed, for human nature. With some fighting experience, I can affirm that I never saw a _dead_ body, either of comrade or foeman, moved from the ground where he had fallen, so long as there was a shot ringing upon the ear.

In the battle of the Ouithlacoochee, no doubt some of our enemies had "bit the dust;" but their loss was much less than that of our own troops. For myself--and I had ample opportunity for observation--I could not swear to a single "dead Indian;" nor have I met with a comrade who could.

Notwithstanding this, historians have chronicled the affair as a grand "victory," and the dispatch of the commander-in-chief is still extant--a curious specimen of warlike literature. In this doc.u.ment may be found the name of almost every officer engaged, each depicted as a peerless hero! A rare monument of vanity and boasting.

To speak the honest truth, we had been well "whipped" by the red skins; and the chagrin of the army was only equalled by its exasperation.

Clinch, although esteemed a kind general--the "soldier's friend," as historians term him--was no longer regarded as a great warrior. His glory had departed. If Osceola owed _him_ any spite, he had reason to be satisfied with what he had accomplished, without molesting the "old veteran" further. Though still living, he was dead to fame.

A fresh commander-in-chief now made his appearance, and hopes of victory were again revived. The new general was Gaines, another of the "veterans" produced by seniority of rank. He had not been ordered by the Government upon this especial duty; but Florida being part of his military district, had volunteered to take the guidance of the war.

Like his predecessor, Gaines expected to reap a rich harvest of laurels, and, like the former, was he doomed to disappointment. Again, it was the cypress wreath.

Without delay, our army--reinforced by fresh troops from Louisiana and elsewhere--was put in motion, and once more marched upon the "Cove."

We reached the banks of the Amazura, but never crossed that fatal stream--equally fatal to our glory as our lives. This time, _the Indians crossed_.

Almost upon the ground of the former action--with the difference that it was now upon the nether bank of the stream--we were attacked by the red warriors; and, after some hours of sharp skirmis.h.i.+ng, compelled to shelter our proud battalions within the protecting pickets of a stockade! Within this inclosure we were besieged for a period of nine days, scarcely daring to trust ourselves outside the wooden walls.

Starvation no longer stared us in the face--it had actually come upon us; and but for the _horses_ we had hitherto bestrode--with whose flesh we were fain to satisfy the cravings of our appet.i.tes--one half the army of "Camp Izard" would have perished of hunger.

We were saved from destruction by the timely arrival of a large force that had been dispatched to our rescue under Clinch, still commanding his brigade. Having marched direct from Fort King, our former general had the good fortune to approach the enemy from their rear, and, by surprising our besiegers, disentangled us from our perilous situation.

The day of our delivery was memorable by a singular incident--an armistice of a peculiar character.

Early in the morning, while it was yet dark, a voice was heard hailing us from a distance, in a loud "Ho there!--Halloa!"

It came from the direction of the enemy--since we were _surrounded_, it could not be otherwise--but the peculiar phraseology led to the hope that Clinch's brigade had arrived.

The hail was repeated, and answered; but the hope of a rescue vanished when the stentorian voice was recognised as that of Abram, the black chief, and quondam interpreter of the council.

"What do you want?" was the interrogatory ordered by the commander-in-chief.

"A talk," came the curt reply.

"For what purpose?"

"We want to stop fighting."

The proposal was agreeable as unexpected. What could it mean? Were the Indians starring, like ourselves, and tired of hostilities? It was probable enough: for what other reason should they desire to end the war so abruptly? They had not yet been defeated, but, on the contrary, victorious in every action that had been fought.

But one other motive could be thought of. We were every hour expecting the arrival of Clinch's brigade. Runners had reached the camp to say that he was near, and, reinforced by it, we should be not only strong enough to raise the siege, but to attack the Indians with almost a certainty of defeating them. Perhaps they knew, as well as we, that Clinch was advancing, and were desirous of making terms before his arrival.

The proposal for a "talk" was thus accounted for by the commander-in-chief, who was now in hopes of being able to strike a decisive blow. His only apprehension was, that the enemy should retreat, before Clinch could get forward upon the field. An armistice would serve to delay the Indians upon the ground; and without hesitation, the distant speaker was informed that the talk would be welcome.

A meeting of _parlementaires_ from each side was arranged; the hour, as soon as it should be light. There were to be three of the Indians, and three from the camp.

A small savanna extended from the stockade. At several hundred yards'

distance it was bounded by the woods. As soon as the day broke, we saw three men emerge from the timber, and advance into the open ground.

They were Indian chiefs in full costume; they were the commissioners.

All three were recognised from the camp--Abram, Coa Hajo, and Osceola.

Outside musket-range, they halted, placing themselves side by side in erect att.i.tudes, and facing the inclosure.

Three officers, two of whom could speak the native tongue, were sent forth to meet them. I was one of the deputation.

In a few seconds we stood face to face with the hostile chiefs.