I had no time to give way to sorrow, for the rattle of musketry showed me that the fight was still continuing; the shouts and shrieks of the Indians, which came from no greater distance than before, proving that they held their ground. It was not a time for any one with a rifle in his hand to be idle; and bidding the black remain by his master’s body, I called to the other men to accompany me, and hurried out to join my companions. There was barely sufficient light to enable me to distinguish them, but the cracks from their rifles showed where they were posted. Just as I joined them, Captain Norton appeared, and ordered us to charge the enemy, who, as we advanced, broke and, fled. We fired, pouring in a couple of volleys, which brought down several of the Indians, and hastened the flight of the rest. The captain then ordered us to retire to the neighbourhood of the hut, where we could the better defend ourselves should the enemy rally. Had we not arrived, the whole of my uncle’s party would probably have been destroyed; as it was, several had fallen, and we lost two, besides three wounded. We could not ascertain how many of the Indians had been killed, as their friends had carried off most of them. Two or three bodies, however, were still in the open, but at such a distance from our camp that it would have been dangerous to have approached them, for some of the Redskins might be lurking in the wood. As it was more than probable that we should be attacked during the night, one-half of our party remained under arms, while the rest slept with their rifles by their sides, ready for action at a moment’s notice.
I was patrolling with Tim, the moon, high above the trees, casting a bright light over the ground where the fighting had taken place, when Tim exclaimed,—“Arrah! sure, thin, one o’ them Redskins is moving.” I looked in the direction he pointed to, and directly after saw one of the apparently dead Indians rise to his feet and make towards the wood. At the same instant Tim fired. The Indian dropped, and before I could stop my companion he had rushed forward, supposing, I believed, that the man was feigning to be shot, and might still make his escape. He quickly came back, dragging the body after him.
“Sure he’s dead enough now, anyhow; but I thought I’d bring him along to show you who he is. See, it’s Black Hawk, who killed Mr Carlos; he’s got what he deserves for his treacherous murder.”
I at once recognised the features of Black Hawk. That he could not do us further harm was certain; and as no attempt had been made to rescue him, we were satisfied that the enemy had retreated to a distance. Part of the night was spent in the melancholy duty of digging graves, and burying the bodies of my poor uncle and those who had fallen with him, as we could not take them with us, the wounded requiring all the men who could be spared to carry them. The Indians, we hoped, finding us too strong for them, had retreated.
The night passed quietly away, and at early dawn we commenced our march back to Fort King.
Chapter Sixteen.
Arrival at Fort King—We resolve to return to Castle Kearney—On the way to Silver Spring—Anxiety of Juanita—A welcome sound—A message for Rochford—Our voyage down stream—Arrival home—Grief of my aunt—I visit Judge Shurtleff—A party of blacks discovered—I join the Roseville Volunteers—An encounter in the forest—The meeting with Rochford—A dispute—The prisoner before the Judge—At the Castle again—Sad news—My father’s words—The attack and defence of Castle Kearney—Our retreat on the river—Timely help—Reception at Roseville—Return to Ireland—Happiness of my cousins—The last of the Seminoles—Conclusion.
We had a weary march back to Fort King, not knowing at what moment we might be attacked by our persevering foes, who were constantly hovering in our rear; but from the admirable arrangements of the captain, and the vigilant watch kept at night, finding that they could not surprise us, they did not venture on an attack. No attempt during our absence had been made on the fort, although the garrison had been kept constantly on the alert. I need not describe the grief which the news of my uncle and cousin’s death caused to my father and Juanita. They were, of course, now more anxious than ever to get back to Castle Kearney. As the men who had followed my uncle would form a sufficient escort, it was resolved that we should set out for the Ocklawaha River, where we hoped to find boats in which we could descend to the Saint John, and from thence to continue on to Castle Kearney. The point we aimed at was known as the “Silver Spring,” a stream celebrated for the extraordinary transparency of its water, and much venerated in consequence by the Indians. It was supposed, indeed, to be the fountain of youth, of which they spoke to the Spaniards who first visited this country, and induced them to believe that its waters had the power of renovating the most aged, and restoring strength and beauty to the wrinkled and decrepit.