Talk over the Table.
Over the mess-table I gathered much knowledge. Men talk freely while the wine is flowing, and under the influence of champagne, the wisest grow voluble.
The commissioner made little secret either of his own designs or the views of the President, but most already guessed them.
He was somewhat gloomed at the manner in which the day’s proceedings had ended, and by the reflection that his diplomatic fame would suffer—a fame ardently aspired to by all agents of the United States government. Personal slights, too, had he received from Osceola and others—for the calm cold Indian holds in scorn the man of hasty temper; and this weakness had he displayed to their derision throughout the day. He felt defeated, humiliated, resentful against the men of red skin. On the morrow, he flattered himself that he would make them feel the power of his resentment—teach them that, if passionate, he was also firm and daring.
As the wine warmed him, he said as much in a half boasting way; he became more reckless and jovial.
As for the military officers, they cared little for the civil points of the case, and took not much part in the discussion of its merits. Their speculations ran upon the probability of strife—war, or no war? That was the question of absorbing interest to the men of the sword. I heard much boasting of our superiority, and decrying of the strength and the courage of the prospective enemy. But to this, there were dissentient opinions expressed by a few old “Indian fighters” who were of the mess.
It is needless to say that Oceola’s character was commented upon; and about the young chief, opinions were as different as vice from virtue. With some, he was the “noble savage” he seemed; but I was astonished to find the majority dissent from this view. “Drunken savage,” “cattle thief,” “impostor,” and such-like appellations were freely bestowed upon him.
I grew irate; I could not credit these accusations. I observed that most of those who made them were comparative strangers—new comers—to the country, who could not know much of the past life of him with whose name they were making so free.
The Ringgolds joined in the calumny, and they must have known him well; but I comprehended their motives.
I felt that I owed the subject of the conversation a word of defence; for two reasons: he was absent—he had saved my life. Despite the grandeur of the company, I could not restrain my tongue.