Osceola! O heavens! Surely he would not have done this deed? It could not have been he?

The men might have been mistaken. It was before daylight the savages had been seen. The darkness might have deceived them. Every feat performed by the Indians--every foray made--was put down to the credit of Osceola. Osceola was everywhere. Surely he had not been there?

Who were the two men--the witnesses? Not without surprise did I listen to the answer. They were _Spence and Williams_!

To my surprise, too, I now learned that they were among the party who followed me--volunteers to aid me in obtaining revenge for my wrongs!

Strange, I thought; but stranger still that Arens Ringgold was _not_ there. He had been present at the scene of the conflagration; and, as I was told, among the loudest in his threats of vengeance. But he had returned home; at all events he was not one of the band of pursuers.

I called Spence and Williams, and questioned them closely. They adhered to their statement. They admitted that it was dark when they had seen the Indians returning from the ma.s.sacre. They could not tell for certain whether they were the warriors of the "Redstick" tribe, or those of the "Long Swamp." They believed them to be the former. As to who was their leader, they had no doubt whatever. It was Osceola who led them. They knew him by the three ostrich feathers in his head-dress, which rendered him conspicuous among his followers.

These fellows spoke positively. What interest could they have in deceiving me? What could it matter to them, whether the chief of the murderous band was Osceola, Coa Hajo, or Onopa himself?

Their words produced conviction--combined with other circ.u.mstances, deep, painful conviction. The murderer of my mother--he who had fired my home, and borne my sister into a cruel captivity--could be no other than Osceola.

All memory of our past friendship died upon the instant. My heart burned with hostility and hate, for him it had once so ardently admired.

CHAPTER SEVENTY FIVE.

THE ALARM.

There were other circ.u.mstances connected with the b.l.o.o.d.y affair, that upon reflection appeared peculiar and mysterious. By the sudden shock, my soul had been completely benighted; and these circ.u.mstances had escaped my notice. I merely believed that there had been an onslaught of the Indians, in which my mother had been ma.s.sacred, and my sister borne away from her home--that the savages, not satisfied with blood, had added fire--that these outrages had been perpetrated in revenge for past wrongs, endured at the hands of their pale-faced enemies--that the like had occurred elsewhere, and was almost daily occurring--why not on the banks of the Suwanee, as in other districts of the country? In fact, it had been rather a matter of wonder, that the settlement had been permitted to remain so long unmolested. Others--far more remote from the Seminole strongholds--had already suffered a like terrible visitation; and why should ours escape? The immunity had been remarked, and the inhabitants had become lulled by it into a false security.

The explanation given was that the main body of the Indians had been occupied elsewhere, watching the movements of Scott's triple army; and, as our settlement was strong, no small band had dared to come against it.

But Scott was now gone--his troops had retired within the forts--their summer quarters--for winter is the season of campaigning in Florida; and the Indians, to whom all seasons are alike, were now free to extend their marauding expeditions against the trans-border plantations.

This appeared the true explanation why an attack upon the settlement of the Suwanee had been so long deferred.

During the first burst of my grief, on receiving news of the calamity, I accepted it as such: I and mine had merely been the victims of a general vengeance.

But the moments of bewilderment soon pa.s.sed; and the peculiar circ.u.mstances, to which I have alluded, began to make themselves apparent to my mind.

First of all, why was our plantation the only one that had been attacked?--our house the only one given to the flames?--our family the only one murdered?

These questions startled me; and natural it was that they did so. There were other plantations along the river equally unprotected--other families far more noted for their hostility to the Seminole race--nay, what was yet a greater mystery, the Ringgold plantation lay in the very path of the marauders; as their trail testified, they had pa.s.sed around it to reach our house; and both Arens Ringgold and his father had long been notorious for bitter enmity to the red men, and violent aggressions against their rights.

Why, then, had the Ringgold plantation been suffered to remain unmolested, while ours was singled out for destruction? Were we the victims of a _particular and special vengeance_?

It must have been so; beyond a doubt, it was so. After long reflection, I could arrive at no other conclusion. By this alone could the mystery be solved.

And Powell--oh! could it have been he?--my friend, a fiend guilty of such an atrocious deed? Was it probable? was it possible? No--neither.

Despite the testimony of the two men--vile wretches I knew them to be-- despite what they had seen and said--my heart refused to believe it.

What motive could he have for such special murder?--ah! what motive?

True, my mother had been unkind to him--more than that, ungrateful; she had once treated him with scorn. I remembered it well--he, too, might remember it.

But surely he, the n.o.ble youth--to my mind the _beau ideal_ of heroism-- would scarcely have harboured such petty spite, and for so long?--would scarcely have repaid it by an act of such b.l.o.o.d.y retribution? No--no-- no.

Besides, would Powell have left untouched the dwelling of the Ringgolds?

of Arens Ringgold, one of his most hated foes--one of the four men he had sworn to kill? This of itself was the most improbable circ.u.mstance connected with the whole affair.

Ringgold had been at home--might have been entrapped in his sleep--his black retainers would scarcely have resisted; at all events, they could have been overcome as easily as ours.

Why was _he_ permitted to live? Why was _his_ house not given to the flames?

Upon the supposition that Osceola was the leader of the band, I could not comprehend why he should have left Arens Ringgold to live, while killing those who were scarcely his enemies.

New information imparted to me as we advanced along the route, produced new reflections. I was told that the Indians had made a hasty departure--that they had in fact retreated. The conflagration had attracted a large body of citizen soldiery--a patrol upon its rounds-- and the appearance of these, unexpected by the savages, had caused the latter to scamper off to the woods. But for this, it was conjectured other plantations would have suffered the fate of ours--perhaps that of Ringgold himself.

The tale was probable enough. The band of marauders was not large--we knew by their tracks there were not more than fifty of them--and this would account for their retreat on the appearance even of a smaller force. The people alleged that it was a retreat.

This information gave a different complexion to the affair--I was again driven to conjectures--again forced to suspicions of Osceola.

Perhaps I but half understood his Indian nature; perhaps, after all, _he_ was the monster who had struck the blow.

Once more I interrogated myself as to his motive--what motive?

Ha! my sister, Virginia--O G.o.d! could love--pa.s.sion--fiendish desire to possess--

"The Indyens! Indyens! Indyens!"

CHAPTER SEVENTY SIX.

A FALSE ALARM.

The significant shout at once put a period to my reflections.

Believing the savages to be in sight, I spurred towards the front. The hors.e.m.e.n had drawn bridle and halted. A few, who had been straggling from the path, hurried up and ranged themselves close to the main body, as if for protection. A few others, who had been riding carelessly in the advance, were seen galloping back. It was from these last the cry of "Indyens" had come, and several of them still continued to repeat it.

"Indyuns?" cried Hickman, interrogatively, and with an air of incredulity. "Whar did ye see them?"

"Yonder," responded one of the retreating hors.e.m.e.n--"in yon clump o'

live-oaks. It's full o' them."

"I'll be dog-goned if I believe it," rejoined the old hunter, with a contemptuous toss of the head. "I'll lay a plug o' Jeemes's River, it war stumps yez seed! Indyuns don't show 'emselves in timmer like this hyar--specially to sech verdunts as you. Ye'll _hear_ 'em afore you see 'em, I kalklate."

"But we did hear them," replied one, "we heard them calling out to one another."

"Bah!" exclaimed the hunter; "y'ull hear 'em different from that, I guess, when you gets near enough. It'll be the spang o' thar rifles y'ull hear fust thing. Dog-gone the Indyun's thar. Twar a c.o.o.n or a cat-bird ye've heern a screamin'! I know'd ye'd make a scamper the fust thing as flittered afore ye."

"Stay whar yez are now," he added in a tone of authority, "jest stay whar yez are a bit."