We passed out of the gate, and turned northward around the stockade. The tents of the Indians were upon the southwest, placed irregularly along the edge of a broad belt of “hommocky” woods that extended in that direction. Another tract of hommock lay to the north, separated from the larger one by savannas and open forests of pine timber. Here was the “Sink.” It was nearly half a mile distant from the stockade; but in the darkness we could easily reach it without being observed from any part of the Seminole camp.
We soon arrived upon the ground. The chiefs were before us. We found them standing under the shadows of the trees by the edge of the pond.
My duty now began. I had little anticipation that it was to have been so disagreeable.
“Ask Omatla what is the number of his people—also those of Black Dirt, and the other chiefs who are for us.”
I put the question as commanded.
“One-third of the whole Seminole nation,” was the ready reply.
“Tell them that ten thousand dollars shall be given to the friendly chiefs, on their arrival in the west, to be shared among them as they deem best—that this sum is independent of the appropriation to the whole tribe.”
“It is good,” simultaneously grunted the chiefs, when the proposition was explained to them.
“Does Omatla and his friends think that all the chiefs will be present to-morrow?”
“No—not all.”