Our arrival had set the camp in motion. Men came out to meet us, and women stooped over us, as we lay on our backs. There were Indian squaws among them, but, to my surprise, I noticed that most of them were of African race--mulattoes, samboes, and negresses!

For some time they stood over, jeering and taunting us. They even proceeded to inflict torture--they spit on us, pulled out handfuls of our hair by the roots, and stuck sharp thorns into our skin, all the while yelling with a fiendish delight, and jabbering an unintelligible patois, that appeared a mixture of Spanish and Yama.s.see.

My fellow-captive fared as badly as myself. The h.o.m.ogenous colour of his skin elicited no sympathy from these female fiends. Black and white were alike the victims of their h.e.l.lish spite.

Part of their jargon I was able to comprehend, aided by a slight acquaintance with the Spanish tongue, I made out what was intended to be done with us--we were to be _tortured_.

We had been brought to the camp to be _tortured_. We were to be the victims of a grand spectacle, and these infernal hags were exulting in the prospect of the sport our sufferings should afford them. For this only had, we been _captured_, instead of being _killed_.

Into whose hound hands had we fallen? Were they human beings? Were they Indians? Could they be Seminoles, whose behaviour to their captives. .h.i.therto, had repelled every insinuation of torture?

A shout arose as if in answer to my questions. The voices of all around were mingled in the cry, but the words were the same:

"_Mulato-mico! mulato-mico! viva, mulato-mico_!"

The trampling of many hoofs announced the arrival of a band. They were the warriors who had been engaged in the fight--who had conquered and made us captive. Only half a dozen guards had been with us on the night-march, and had reached the camp at daybreak. The new comers were the main body, who had stayed upon the field to complete the despoliation of their fallen foes. I could not see them, though they were near, for I heard their horses trampling around.

I lay listening to that significant shout:

"_Mulato-mico! viva, mulato-mico_!"

To me the words were full of terrible import. The phrase "Mulato-mico"

was not new to me, and I heard it with a feeling of dread. But it was scarce possible to increase apprehensions already excited to the full.

A hard fate was before me. The presence of the fiend himself could not make it more certain.

My fellow-victim shared my thoughts. We were near, and could converse.

On comparing our conjectures, we found that they coincided.

But the point was soon settled beyond conjecture. A harsh voice sounded in our ears, issuing an abrupt order, that scattered the women away; a heavy footstep was heard behind--the speaker was approaching.

In another instant his shadow fell upon my face; and the man himself stood within the limited circle of my vision.

Despite the pigment that disguised his natural complexion--despite the beaded shirt, the sash, the embroidered leggins--despite the _three black plumes_, that waved over his brow, I easily identified the man.

He was no Indian, but a mulatto--"yellow Jake" himself.

CHAPTER NINETY TWO.

BURIED ALIVE.

I had expected the man. The cry "Mulato-mico," and afterwards his voice--still well remembered--had warned me of his coming. I expected to gaze upon him with dread; strange it may seem, but such was not the case. On the contrary, I beheld him, with a feeling akin to joy. Joy at the sight of _those three blade plumes_ that nodded above his scowling temples.

For a moment I marked not his angry frowns, nor the wicked triumph that sparkled in his eye. The ostrich feathers were alone the objects of my regard--the cynosure of my thoughts. Their presence upon the crest of the "mulatto king" elucidated a world of mystery--foul suspicion was plucked from out my bosom--the preserver of my life--the hero of my heart's admiration was still true--Osceola was true!

In the momentary exultation of this thought, I almost forgot the gloom of my situation; but soon the voice of the mulatto once more roused me to a consciousness of its peril.

"_Carajo_!" cried he, in a tone of malignant triumph. "_Al fin venganza_! (At last vengeance!)--Both, too, white and black--master and slave--my young tyrant and my rival! ha! ha! ha!

"Me tie to tree," continued he, after a burst of hoa.r.s.e laughter. "Me burn, eh? burn 'live? Your turn come now--trees plenty here; but no, me teach you better plan. _Corrambo, si_! far better plan. Tie to tree, captive sometime 'scape, ha! ha! ha! Before burn, me show you sight.

Ho, there!" he shouted, motioning to some of the bystanders to come near. "Untie hands--raise 'em up--both faces turn to camp--_basta_!

_basta_! that do. Now white rascal--Black rascal look!--what see yonder?"

As he issued these orders, several of his creatures pulled up the stakes that had picketed down our arms, and raised us into a sitting posture, our bodies slewed round, till our faces bore full upon the camp. It was broad daylight--the sun shining brightly in the heavens. Under such a light every object in the camp was distinctly visible--the tents--the horses--the motley crowd of human occupants. We regarded not these. On two forms alone our eyes rested--they were my sister and Viola.

They were close together, as I had seen them once before--Viola seated with her head drooping, while that of Virginia rested in her lap. The hair of both was hanging in dishevelled ma.s.ses--the black tresses of the maid mingling with the golden locks of her mistress. They were surrounded by guards, and appeared unconscious of our presence. But one was dispatched to warn them.

As the messenger reached them, we saw them both start, and look inquiringly abroad. In another instant their eyes were upon us. A thrilling scream announced that we were recognised. They cried out together. I heard my sister's voice p.r.o.nouncing my name. I called to her in return. I saw her spring to her feet, toss her arms wildly above her head, and attempt to rush towards me. I saw the guards taking hold of her, and rudely dragging her back. Oh, it was a painful sight! death itself could not have been so hard to endure. But we were allowed to look upon them no longer. Suddenly jerked upon our backs, our wrists were once more staked down, and we lay in our former rec.u.mbent att.i.tudes.

Painful as were our reflections, we were not allowed to indulge in them alone. The monster continued to stand over us, taunting us with spiteful words, and, worse than all, gross allusions to my sister and Viola. Oh, it was horrible to bear! Molten lead poured into our ears could scarce have tortured us more.

It was almost a relief when he desisted from speech, and we saw him commence making preparations for our torture. We knew that the hour was nigh; for he had himself said so, as he issued the orders to his fellows. Some horrible mode of death had been promised, but what it was we were yet in ignorance.

Not long did we remain so. Several men were seen approaching the spot, with spades and pickaxes in their hands. They were negroes--old field-hands--and knew how to use such implements.

They stopped near us, and commenced digging the ground. O G.o.d! were we to be buried alive?

This was the conjecture that first suggested itself. If true, it was terrible enough; but it was not true. We were designed to undergo a still more horrible fate!

Silently, and with the solemn air of grave-diggers, the men worked on.

The mulatto stood over directing them. He was in high glee, occasionally calling to us in mockery, and boasting how skillfully he should perform the office of executioner.

The women and savage warriors cl.u.s.tered around, laughing at his sallies, or contributing their quota of grotesque wit, at which they uttered yells of demoniac laughter. We might easily have fancied ourselves in the infernal regions, in the middle of a crowd of jibbering fiends, who stood grinning down upon us, as if they drew delight from our anguish.

We noticed that few of the men were Seminoles. Indians there were; but these were of dark complexion, nearly black. They were of the tribe of Yama.s.sees--a race conquered by the Seminoles, and partially engrafted into their nation. But most of those we saw were black negroes, samboes, and mulattoes, descendants of Spanish maroons, or "runaways"

from the American plantations. There were many of the latter; for I could hear English spoken among them. No doubt there were some of my own slaves mixing with the motley crew, though none of them came near, and I could only note the faces of those who stood over me.

In about half an hour the diggers had finished their work. Our stakes were drawn, and we were dragged forwards to the spot where they had been engaged.

As soon as I was raised up, I bent my eyes upon the camp; but my sister was no longer there. Viola, too, was gone. They had been taken either inside the tents or back among the bushes.

I was glad they were not there: they would be spared this pang of a horrid spectacle; though it was not likely that from any such motive the monster had removed them.

Two dark holes yawned before us, deeply dug into the earth. They were not graves; or if so, it was not intended our bodies should be placed vertically in them.

If their shape was peculiar, so too was the purpose for which they were made.

We were soon to become acquainted with it.

We were conduced to the edge of the cavities, seized by the shoulders, and each of us plunged into the one that was nearest. They proved just deep enough to bring our throats on a level with the surface, while standing erect. The loose earth was then shovelled in, and kneaded firmly around us. More was added, until our shoulders were covered up, and only our heads appeared above ground.

The position was ludicrous enough; and we might have laughed ourselves, but that we were standing in our graves. From the fiendish spectators it drew yells of laughter. What next? Was this to be the end of their proceedings? Were we to be thus left to perish, miserably, and by inches? Hunger and thirst would in time terminate our existence; but, oh, the long hours of anguish that must be endured! Whole days of misery we must suffer before the spark of life should forsake us--whole days of horror and--Ha! they had not yet done with us!

No: a death like that we had been fancying appeared too easy to the monster who directed them. The resources of his hatred were far from being exhausted: he had still other, and far keener, torture in store for us.

"Carajo! good!" cried he, as he stood admiring his contrivance; "better than tie to tree--good fix, eh! No fear 'scape--_Carrai_, no. _Bring fire_!"

Bring fire! It was to be fire, then, the extreme instrument of torture.

We heard the word--that word of fearful sound. We were to die by fire!