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.