Майн Рид
The White Squaw
Chapter Sixteen.
A Changed Character
A wonderful change had taken place in the conduct of Elias Rody.
He was most gracious – most condescending.
He kissed all the children, chatted with the mothers, and listened to their narratives of infant ailments, husbands’ delinquencies, or household troubles.
To the surprise of many of the poorer settlers the hitherto aristocratic governor took, or appeared to take, great interest in their affairs, and, more wonderful still, in some instances, put his hand into his pocket to relieve their pressing necessities.
Petty matters seemed to become deeply interesting to him, and he devoted time and attention to their adjustment.
Through all this his temper was conciliating and amiable.
Many personal quarrels, amongst settlers, were forgotten and forgiven through his means, whilst coolness were warmed into new friendships by his mediation.
This was the work of some time, and the astonishment of his amiability gave way to self censure on the part of the observers, who charged themselves with having done him great injustice.
No churlish man would have sent down provisions for the poor, have rebuilt Widow Jones’s barn, or bought Seth Cheshire a new horse; and what mean man would have lent money to that drunken but popular Jake Stebbins, whose fiery nose, should Jake be abroad, was as a lighthouse on a dark night to any belated traveller?
This was the impression that gradually got abroad about Elias Rody.
He only smiled, rubbed his hands softly together, and muttered, “Humph!”
The monosyllable was full of meaning.
It meant that he thought his labour well bestowed, and that the design he had in view prospered even beyond his expectations.
What this design was must be already apparent.
He had courted this popularity to enable him to accomplish the dearest wish of his heart.
After his bland dismissal of Oluski, laden with gifts, he had acquired a control over his own naturally impetuous temper which astonished himself.
The refusal of the Seminole chief to give him quiet possession of the hill was the more annoying because it seemed to close for ever any further attempt at negotiation.
He understood the Indian character sufficiently to know that they were unchangeable in their opinions, and seldom, if ever, to be moved from a resolution once taken.
This tenacity of purpose had, time out of mind, brought ruin and devastation upon themselves as on those who sought to coerce them, and Rody ground his teeth with impotent rage when Oluski had announced the decision of the Indian council.
The Judas smile that succeeded had root in another thought, which the governor had left out of his mind until the supreme moment of his defeat.
Hence his changed conduct towards his fellow-settlers.
They became almost to a man believers in him, and ready to do his bidding.
He did not neglect, in his Machiavelian policy, to insinuate in every artful way his pet project of possessing the property on which the Indians were encamped. So artfully, indeed, that in most instances the idea seemed to have originated in his listener’s mind, and by them to have been suggested to Elias, thus skilfully reversing the true facts of the case.
This once accomplished the rest was simple.
A general feeling got abroad that the red men were interlopers, and had no right to usurp a spot so necessary and so useful to the colonists. This feeling, although not loudly expressed, was very deep, and, in nearly every instance, sincere.
The few clear-headed and impartial planters who, proof against Rody’s sophistical speeches, were assailed by him in a different manner – by specious promises of enlarged possessions, or by matter-of-fact appeals for the advancement of civilisation. If he did not gain their approval, he, at any rate, made their objections seem narrow-minded and selfish.
Only a few sturdy, honest men held out. These Elias could do nothing with. They rejected his proposals, laid bare his false arguments, and laughed at his facts – but as they were a very small minority, they had little influence.
Ere Rody had accomplished this pacific revolution of opinion, the autumn had waned, and the winter months – if such a word can be used where there is no winter – approached, and with it the limit of the term of the Indians’ stay upon the hill.
With the first appearance of cool weather, Oluski and his tribe repacked their household gods, took their dwellings to pieces, and with their wives, children, horses, and cattle, quitted their late encampment.
The bare poles again appeared cutting against the clear sky.
The hill was once more uninhabited.
A new sort of activity had sprung into existence upon its table top.
In the place of Indians, with their painted plumes and primitive finery, the ground was occupied by white men – carpenters and other artisans, along with their negro attendants.
Piles of prepared lumber, stones, and other building materials strewed the ground, whilst the busy workmen, black and white, made the air resonant with their jocund voices.
A finished frame-house soon made its appearance on the spot where the Indians had but recently dwelt – a large structure, substantially built, and ornamental in finish.
It belonged to Elias Rody.
He had secured the sanction of the settlers, and they had determined to support him in his piratical design. Only a very few of them had stood out against it.
Thus strengthened, he had resolved upon, and had now completed his act of usurpation.
Chapter Seventeen.
Over Confidence
Oluski’s dwelling, in his place of permanent abode, was a more pretentious affair than the wigwam temporarily inhabited by him at Tampa Bay.
This eastern residence was an old Indian town that had been built long before the Spaniards had landed in Florida, and in it his people, for many generations, had dwelt.
The chief having returned from an extended hunting excursion, was pleased to find himself once more beneath his paternal roof.
Doubly pleased; for he had brought back with him his nephew, Wacora, who, thinking of his pretty cousin, had accepted his uncle’s invitation with alacrity.
Behold them, then, with pipes lighted, seated inside the house, Sansuta in attendance.
Wacora watched the lithe-limbed maiden; as she flitted to and fro, engaged in household duties, he thought her as attractive as ever. A certain consciousness on her part of the fact, in no way detracted from her beauty.
“I am pleased, nephew,” said Oluski, “pleased to see you here again. I feel that I am no longer young, the support of your arm in a wearying day’s march has been very welcome.”
“It is always at your service, uncle.”
“I am sure of it. If Oluski thought otherwise he would be unhappy. Your cousin, Sansuta,” addressing his daughter, “came to see you as much as to bear me company. You should thank him for it.”
“I do.”
“Wacora is thanked already in the smile of welcome that met him in Sansuta’s eyes.”
The young girl blushed at the delicate compliment, and, going out, left the two chiefs together.
“You tell me, Wacora, that the affairs of your tribe are prosperous, and that there is peace and harmony in your council chamber?”
“Yes, uncle, the same as in my father’s lifetime.”
“That is well, for without that there is no real strength. So it is with us.”
“You have told me nothing of the pale-faces at Tampa Bay.”
“They are our firm friends still. In spite of your fears, Wacora, to the contrary, Rody and the colonists are true to their promises.”
“I am pleased to hear Oluski say so,” was the nephew’s reply.
“I did not tell you that he had made an offer to buy the hill.”
“To buy the hill! What hill?”
“That on which we make our annual encampment. We call it Tampa after the bay.”
“Indeed! He wants that, too?” rejoined the young chief, in a tone savouring of indignation.
“Yes; I called our council together, and told them of the offer.”
“And their answer?”
“The same as my own; they refused.”
Wacora gave a sigh of relief.
“When I carried that answer to the white he was not angry, but met me like a friend.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes; he pressed upon my acceptance rich presents, and told me that Oluski’s friendship was worth more than land.”
“But you refused the presents,” said the young Indian, eagerly.
“I could not; my old friend would take no denial. Fearing to offend him, I yielded.”
The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of an Indian, one of the warriors of the tribe.
“What does Maracota want?” asked Oluski.
“To speak to Wacora, the chief.”
Wacora desired him to express his wishes in the presence of his uncle.
“Marcota must speak to Wacora alone, if Oluski will allow it.”
Oluski made a sign to his nephew, who rising, followed the man outside the door.
“Wacora must follow me further,” signified the Indian.
“Go on, I will do so.”
Maracota led the way, and only paused in his walk when he had got some distance from the dwelling.
“Has Wacora faith in Maracota?”
The young chief started at the question which his guide had put to him in a tone of strange earnestness.
“Yes. I have faith in you.”
“And he would serve Oluski, our chief?”
“With my life!”
“Sansuta is dear to Oluski.”
Again Wacora started. Maracota’s words were enigmatical.
His guide continued —
“Sansuta is beautiful.”
“We all know that. Was it to tell me this that you brought me here?”
“The pale-faces admire the beauty of our Indian maidens.”
“What of that?”
“One pale-face has marked Sansuta’s beauty.”
“Ha!”
“His eyes gladden at sight of her. Her cheeks grow red at sight of him.”
“His name?”
“Warren Rody.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Maracota is Oluski’s friend and watches over his chief’s happiness. To-night Warren’s messenger was in town – the negro, Crookleg.”
The young chief was silent. Maracota watched him without breaking in upon his thoughts.
Recovering himself, Wacora asked —
“Where did you see the negro?”
“In the old fort.”
“The old fort! What was he doing there?”
“Maracota followed his trail – a lame foot and a stick – and saw him as he entered the ruin; some one was waiting for him inside.”
“Who was with the negro,” demanded Wacora.
“His master,” repeated Maracota.
“Warren Rody?”
Maracota nodded.
“I heard their talk,” he said.
“What did they say?” asked the young chief.
“At first, I could not hear – they spoke in whispers. After a time they grew angry. Warren abused Crookleg and struck him. The black man uttered a fierce oath and leaped over the wall of the fort at the side opposite to where I lay hid.”
“Did you hear their conversation before they quarrelled?”
“I heard the pale-face say Crookleg had only half done his errand and must return to complete it. The black refused. It was then the other got angry and struck him.”
“This is very strange, Maracota. It is some treachery I cannot understand. The negro must be found and questioned!”
“Well, Massa Injun, dat ain’t hard to do. He, he, he!”
Had the fiend of darkness himself risen between the two Indians, they could not have been more startled than when these words were uttered in their ears, for it was Crookleg who spoke.
The darkey appeared delighted at the effect his sudden appearance had created, and continued for some time to chuckle in great glee.
“Yas! here be de ’dentical nigger wot you was a-wishin’ for. You hab found him ’ithout gwin far. He, he, he!”
Wacora turned sternly towards him.
“And having found you, wretch, I mean to keep you till I’ve made you speak the truth.”
“De trufe, Massa Injun, am what dis ole nigga always ’peak. He can’t help it, kase it comes so na’tral to him. Trufe an’ innocence is dis chile’s on’y riches, tank heaven!”
The look which accompanied this impious speech was almost diabolical.
Wacora cut him short in an attempt to continue his speech, by a command instantly to make known what Warren Rody wanted, with what message he had been charged, and to whom.
Crookleg, however was not easily taken at a disadvantage.
“Well, Massa Injun, I don’t mind tellin’ you somet’ing, but I don’t like talkin’ afore other folk. You send dis indiwiddle away,” pointing to Maracota, “an’ ole Crook’ll tell you all about it. He meant to do so, when he comed here so sudden.”
With a sign the chief dismissed Maracota, and telling the black to follow, led him a little distance further from the town.
A long, and apparently interesting conversation ensued, in which Crookleg’s gesticulations were, as usual, violent, while the young chief, with arms folded, and brows knit, listened to his narration.
It was late ere they separated, the negro hobbling back in the direction of the ruin, while Wacora returned to his uncle’s dwelling.
Chapter Eighteen.
A Love Meeting
The old fort, as already said, was in a ruinous condition.
It had at one time been a stronghold of the Spaniards, but on their quitting that part of the country, it had been suffered to fall into decay.
Early in the morning succeeding Wacora’s interview with Crookleg, two persons stood conversing near the inner wall of the ruin.
They were Sansuta and Warren Rody.
The Indian girl had stolen from her father’s house unnoticed by the few early risers, and with cautious steps had gained the fort.
Warren’s presence at such a distance from Tampa Bay, as well as Crookleg’s attendance upon him, were thus explained: —
“I am very grateful to you, Sansuta, for coming here to meet me.”
“I am afraid I have done wrong.”
“Wrong! What can you mean?”
“That I am deceiving my father, my kind father; but it is for the last time.”
“The last time?”
“Yes, I have determined that this shall be our last meeting. I could not endure my father’s reproaches, if he knew that I betrayed his confidence.”
“Do you doubt my love for you, Sansuta? Will it not make up for Oluski’s anger?”
“Warren!”
The reproachful tone in which Sansuta uttered his name, recalled young Rody to himself.
He immediately changed his tactics.
“But why talk of Oluski’s anger? Rather speak of my love. Surely you do not doubt it?”
The Indian maiden heaved a sigh.
“Sansuta does not doubt you, but she is unhappy.”
“Unhappy! Why?”
“Because an Indian girl would make but a poor wife to a white gentleman.”
A strange smile crossed the young man’s face. He did not, however, interrupt her.
“If Sansuta cared for you less, she would not have been here this morning; she would not have seen you again.”
“Come, come, dearest, you alarm yourself without reason. Need I tell you how much I love you – how I have always loved you? Have we not grown up together? What more natural than love like mine?”
“But your father – ”
“He will not object. Why should he? Is he not Oluski’s best friend?”
“Yes, they are friends, but still – ”
Warren saw that the girl was nervous and alarmed. He lost no time in reassuring her.
“And, after all, dearest, we need not tell them of our love until we are sure of their consent. In the meantime, let us think only of ourselves. You have not yet told me what I longed to hear.”
“What is that?”
“The whispering assurance that your heart is mine?”
A painful struggle was evidently taking place in the maiden’s breast. Filial duty and self-reproach contended with that feeling, nurtured by the soft blandishments of the scoundrel by her side.
In such a contest love is always the victim.
This case was not exceptional. Softly murmuring the young man’s name, Sansuta hid her head upon his shoulder.
His arm enclasped her waist.
The confession had been made. The die was cast!
They were both startled by a sound heard near. It was like some one sighing.
Warren, with the eye of a lynx, searched among the weeds and wild vines, and pierced through the foliage on all sides, but saw nothing.
Reassuring her with honeyed words, he then led the girl away from the spot.
As soon as they had disappeared a man’s form was seen standing upon the place they had last occupied; while another was visible at no great distance from it.
He who first made appearance seemed utterly bowed down with grief, whilst a cloud black as night was visible on his brow. It was the chief, Wacora!
With an angry and contemptuous action he flung some pieces of money to the other who had followed him, and was the negro Crookleg.
“Begone! Wacora may use you for his revenge – you shall not witness his grief. Begone!”
The black picked up the coins, grinned hideously and hobbled away.
Wacora stood for some time rapt in his own sad thoughts. Then, turning his back upon the old fort, he retraced his steps to Oluski’s dwelling.
The old chief found but a dull guest in his nephew during that and many succeeding days.
He would sit for hours seemingly lost to all that was passing around him.
Then starting up suddenly he would stride out of the dwelling with rapid steps, pass out of the town, and on to the adjoining woods, plunging into their depths, to emerge from them hours after, sullen and abstracted as ever!
His anxiety to return to his own tribe seemed to have passed away; and day by day he deferred his departure on the plea of some trivial excuse of remaining.
He watched Sansuta’s movements, however, with the jealous care a mother might exercise over her infant child. Every look, word, and action seemed to command the closest scrutiny.
The girl often trembled as she caught the young chief’s eye gazing upon her. His stern demeanour agitated her. She suspected that he knew her secret; although neither by word or action did he betray the knowledge.
Oluski was amazed at his conduct. In their conversation there was a renewed bitterness when they talked of the pale-faces and their actions. It astonished the old Seminole chief. He could not understand the sudden growth of such an unjust antipathy; therefore became more reticent, and would sit for hours without exchanging a word with his nephew.
Time passed in this manner until the period for the annual migration of the tribe to Tampa Bay. To Oluski’s surprise, Wacora signified his intention to accompany them, and along with them he went.
Chapter Nineteen.
A Changed Scene
A still greater surprise was in store for the Seminole chief and his tribe.
The Indians stood as if petrified, when they came within eight of the well-known hill.
Upon its table top, and visible for miles around, stood a frame mansion, in all the glitter of fresh paint.
When Oluski first saw it, he uttered an exclamation of agonised anger, at the same time clutching hold of Wacora’s arm; but for its friendly support he had fallen to the ground.
“Look, Wacora; look yonder! What is it we see?”
As he spoke, he passed his hands across his eyes to shade off the sun.
No; they had not deceived him; there was no glamour over them. The sun’s beams were shining brightly upon a house.
His nephew looked sadly into the old man’s face, fervently pressing his hand. He dared not trust himself to speak.
“And this is the act of a friend. So much for my blind faith in the traitor’s deceitful words. May the curse of the Great Spirit fall on him and his!”
Wacora added – “Yes; may both be accursed!”
Then drawing his uncle away from the contemplation of the painful sight, he conducted him to a neighbouring grove of oaks; the tribe halting near the spot.
A council of the chief men was instantly called, and a plan of action resolved on.
Oluski and Wacora were commissioned to visit the white settlement, and demand the reason of this scandalous usurpation.
The Indians proceeded no farther.
That night they encamped upon the spot where they had halted, and early the next morning the two chiefs departed on their mission.
As they approached the hill another surprise awaited them.
Surrounding it was a strong wooden stockade, with substantially built block-houses at regular distances from each other. Behind the palisading men were seen, as if watching the approach, and ready to receive them in a hostile manner.
“See!” cried Wacora, “they are prepared for our reception. The robbers have determined to maintain themselves in their stolen possession.”
“Yes, yes! I see. But let us not act rashly. We will first make an appeal in the name of justice. If they refuse that, then we must prove ourselves worthy the blood in our veins! worthy of our ancestors! Oh, I would rather be lying among them in yonder graveyard than that this should have arisen! The fault has been mine, and upon me let fall the punishment. Come on!”
They reached the central block-house, and were summoned to a halt by one of the settlers, who, gun in hand, stood by the entrance.
“Who are you? What do you want?”
Oluski answered —
“White man, go tell your governor that Oluski, the Seminole chief, would speak with him.”
The sentinel answered sharply —
“The governor is not here. He is at his house, and cannot be disturbed.”
Wacora’s hand clutched his tomahawk. Oluski perceiving the act, laid hold of his nephew’s arm.
“Patience, Wacora, patience! The time for bloodshed will come soon enough. For my sake be patient.”
Then, turning to the sentry, he continued, his eyes flashing in their sockets. “Fool!” said he, “go with my message; the lives of hundreds may depend upon it. Tell your chief that I am here! Bring him instantly before me!”
The dignity of the old Indian’s manner struck the man with respect. Perhaps the nervous twitching of Wacora’s fingers about the handle of his tomahawk had also its effect.
Calling out to a comrade who was near, and placing him at the post, he hastened off towards the house.
The two Indians, without exchanging speech, patiently awaited his return.
There was evidently some commotion within the frame dwelling at the reception of the news, as several men, well armed, were observed hurrying off in different directions, and taking station along the line of the stockade.
Shortly after, the man who had been sent was seen coming back.
Throwing open the strong slab door, he beckoned the two chiefs to enter.
They did so; and then, leading them inside the block-house, the man told them there to await the governor’s arrival. It was not long delayed.
Elias Rody was seen coming forth from his new mansion, followed by five or six stalwart settlers.
All save himself carried rifles.
The Indians stood still as statues.
They made no movement to lessen the distance between themselves and the white men.
At length Elias Rody and Oluski stood face to face.
A close observer might have detected signs of fear in the governor’s countenance.
Despite his assumed boldness of bearing, he found it hard to look into the face of the man he had so cruelly wronged.
It was he, however, who first broke the silence so painful to himself.
“What does Oluski wish to say to me?”
“What is the meaning of this?” asked the chief, pointing to the mansion as he spoke.
“That is my new residence.”
“By what right have you built it on this ground?”
“By the right of possession – bought and paid for?”
Oluski started as if a shot had struck him.
“Bought and paid for? Dog of a liar! What do you mean?”
“Only that I have built my house upon land purchased from you. Your memory appears bad, my old Indian friend.”
“Purchased from me? When – how?”
“Do you already forget the guns, powder, and valuables I gave you? Fie, fie! you are trying to cheat me! Surely you must remember your bargain! But if your memory fail you, these gentlemen,” here Rody pointed to the settlers, “these gentlemen are prepared to certify to the truth of what I say.”
Oluski only groaned.
The audacious treachery of the white man was beyond his simple belief.
Wacora, burning with indignation, spoke for him.
“False wretch, the lie these men are ready to swear to is too monstrous to be believed, even were they upon their oaths! Those gifts were thrust upon my uncle, falsely bestowed as the lands he gave you were falsely claimed for services done to him! Your black heart never conceived a generous thought or a just deed! All was for a treacherous end – the betrayal of this noble-minded chief, as much your superior as the Deity you profess to worship is above the white man himself! Wacora despises you! Wacora has said it!”
He drew Oluski towards him, and stood erect and proud in the consciousness of right before the trembling usurper and his adherents.
The aged chief had recovered himself while his nephew was speaking.
“What Wacora has said is good, and he only utters my own thoughts. I came here ready to receive atonement for the wrong done me and my people. I now see that there is a darker depth of treachery in you, even than this which has robbed a confiding man of his best-loved possession. I, Oluski, the Seminole, spit at and despise you! I have spoken!”
With a kingly dignity the old chief folded his blanket around him, and leaning on his nephew’s arm, slowly departed from the spot.
Rody and his followers, as if transfixed by the withering contempt with which the Indians had treated, them, suffered the two to depart without molestation.
They now redoubled their watchfulness, stationed additional sentinels around the stockade, and looked after the arms and ammunition, with which they would, no doubt, have to defend the usurped possession.
The small cloud that had been slowly gathering over the settlement was growing dark and portentous. The soft breeze was rapidly rising to a storm.
The people of the settlement, alarmed by the news of the interview between Rody and the Indian chief’s, which spread rapidly among them, hastened to take measures for the safety of their families. The women and children were hurriedly brought in from the outlying plantations, and lodged in temporary abodes within the stockade, whilst provisions in plenty were carried to the same place.
The war signal had sounded, and before long the work of carnage would commence!
