What dark mystery lay hidden in the negro’s mind, no one white knew, but all, by a common impulse, gave way to him as he passed. Children ran shrieking, and hid their faces in their mother’s aprons; the boys paused suddenly in their play as he hobbled by, while the old gossips of both sexes shook their heads and thought of the devil as he approached them!
He seemed only flattered by these signs of detestation, and chuckled with glee at the aversion he inspired.
The Indians, meanwhile, pursued their usual avocations.
The waters of Tampa Bay were dotted with their canoes. Troops of their children frolicked on the plateau, or clucked the wild flowers that grew along the sloping sides of the hill.
The women of the tribe followed their domestic duties, and the whole scene around the wigwams was one of tranquil contentment.
The white settlers were not idle neither. The fields were swelling with crops, which the planters had commenced to gather in. A goodly store of merchandise was collected upon the wharf, and several schooners had come to an anchor in the bay.
Peace and plenty abounded in the settlement.
But, as before the storm a small, dark cloud specks the bright sky, gathering as it grows, so was there a cloud, too small for human view, drifting over this peaceful scene which should carry death and destruction in its wake.
Slowly and surely it was coming!