Soon after their departure a band of fifty negroes, who had been summoned from a distance to take part in the battle, rode up to the scene of slaughter. Disappointed at having arrived too late to participate in it, they made an eager search among the heaps of slain, for any who should still show signs of life. If such were discovered, they were immediately put to death, while even the dead bodies were mutilated and stripped. After thus gratifying their bloodthirsty instincts, these, too, laden with scalps and plunder of every description, followed their Indian allies to the swamp, and on the blood-soaked field an awful stillness succeeded the wild tumult of battle.
As darkness shrouded the pitiful scene, two human figures, the only living survivors of "Dade's Massacre," slowly disengaged themselves from the dead bodies by which they were surrounded. They were wounded, and faint from the loss of blood, but they dragged themselves painfully away and were lost in the night shadows of the forest. Five days later they reached Fort Brooke and there gave the first notice of the terrible blow by which the despised Seminole had defied the power of the United States.
The Indian loss in this battle was three killed and five wounded.
That same night, Osceola and his warriors, laden with trophies and plunder, reached the encampment in the Wahoo Swamp. They had much to tell as well as much to hear, and the whole night was devoted to feasting, dancing, drinking, and every species of savage rejoicing over their successes.
Coacoochee, though filled with a sense of exultation, took no part in these excesses. He preferred talking with Louis and several of the graver chiefs regarding the future conduct of the war, and the chances for its speedy termination. All were agreed that there would be no further fighting for some time, and as both the young men were most anxious to visit Philip Emathla's village, they determined to do so at once.
At daylight, therefore, they left the swamp and started on their journey. By noon they were threading an open forest many miles from their point of departure. They were proceeding in silence, with Louis following Coacoochee, and stepping exactly in his tracks. This precaution was taken as a matter of habit, rather than from any idea that there was an enemy within many miles of them.
Suddenly Coacoochee stopped, held up his hand in warning, and listened intently, with his head inclined slightly forward. "Does my brother hear anything?" he asked.
No; Louis heard nothing save the sound of wind among the tree-tops. His ears were not so sharp as those of Coacoochee, nor, for the matter of that, was any other pair in the whole Seminole nation. So marvellously keen was the young war-chief's sense of hearing, that his companions deemed it unsafe to utter a word not intended for his ears within sight of where he stood. They believed him to be able to hear ordinary conversation as far as he could see. Although this was undoubtedly an exaggeration, his powers in this respect were certainly remarkable, and excited astonishment in all who were acquainted with them.
Now, after standing and listening for a moment with bent head, he threw himself to the ground, and placing one ear in direct contact with the earth, covered the other with his hand. He also closed his eyes, the better to concentrate all his powers into the one effort of hearing.
He lay thus for several minutes, and then slowly regained his feet. There was now an anxious expression on his face. Louis could no longer restrain his curiosity. "What is it, Coacoochee? What do you think you hear?"