The Flamingo Feather by Kirk Munroe

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From the very first Has-se and Chitta easily excelled all their
competitors in the contests; but they two were most evenly matched.
Has-se scored the most points in hurling the javelin, and Chitta won in
the foot-race. In shooting with the bow both were so perfect that the
judges could not decide between them, and the final result of the trial
became dependent upon their skill at wrestling. When they stood up
together for this contest, Has-se's slight form seemed no match for that
of the taller and heavier Chitta; and when in the first bout the former
was thrown heavily to the ground, a murmur of disapprobation arose from
the white spectators, though the Indians made no sign to express their
feelings.

In the second bout, after a sharp struggle, Has-se seemed suddenly to
give way, and almost immediately afterwards Chitta was hurled to earth,
but how, no one could tell, except Rene, who with the keenest interest
watched the effect of his lesson. As Chitta rose to his feet he seemed
dazed, and regarded his opponent with a bewildered air, as though there
were something about him he could not understand.

Again they clinched and strained and tugged, until the perspiration
rolled in great beads from their shining bodies, and their breath came in
short gasps. It seemed as though Rene's friend must give in, when,
presto! down went Chitta again; while Has-se stood erect, a proud smile
on his face, winner of the games, and Bow-bearer to his father for a year.

Has-se had still to undergo one more test of endurance before he could
call himself a warrior, which he must be able to do ere he could assume
the duties of Bow-bearer. He must pass through the ordeal of the
Cassine, or black drink. This was a concoction prepared by the
medicine-men, of roots and leaves, from a recipe the secret of which was
most jealously guarded by them; and to drink of it was to subject one's
self to the most agonizing pains, which, however, were but of short
duration. In spite of his sufferings, the youth who drank from the
horrid bowl was expected to preserve a smiling face, nor admit by word or
sign that he was undergoing aught but the most pleasing sensations. If
he failed in this one thing, no matter what record he had previously
gained for courage or daring, he was ever afterwards condemned to share
the work of women, nor might he ever again bear arms or take part in the
chase or in war.

Immediately after his overthrow of Chitta, and while the shouts of joy
over his victory were still ringing in his ears, Has-se was led to an
elevated seat, where he could be seen of all the people, and a bowl of
the awful mixture was handed him. Without hesitation, and with a proud
glance around him, the brave youth swallowed the nauseous draught, and
then folding his arms, gazed with a smiling face upon the assembled
multitude. For fifteen minutes he sat there amid a death-like silence,
calm and unmoved, though the great beads of perspiration rolling from his
forehead showed what he was enduring. At the end of that time a great
shout from the people told him that his ordeal was over; and, weak and
faint, he was led away to a place where he might recover in quiet from
the effects of his terrible sufferings, and enjoy in peace the first
glorious thoughts that now he was indeed a Bow-bearer and a warrior.

Rene sprang forward from his seat to seize and shake his friend's hand,
while from all, Indians as well as whites, arose shouts of joy at the
victory of the brave and much-loved lad who wore the Flamingo Feather.

As the angry Chitta turned away from the scene of his defeat, his heart
was filled with rage at these shouts, and he muttered a deep threat of
vengeance upon all who uttered them, those of his own race as well as the
pale-faces.

CHAPTER III

CHITTA'S REVENGE

So Has-se the Sunbeam became Bow-bearer to his father, the great chief
Micco, and Chitta the Snake was disappointed of his ambition. By some
means he became convinced that Rene de Veaux had instructed Has-se in
his newly acquired trick of wrestling; and though he had no proof of
this, he conceived a bitter hatred against the white lad. He had
especially included him in his muttered threat of vengeance against all
those who greeted his final overthrow with shouts of joy; but, like the
wily reptile whose name he bore, he was content to bide his time and
await his opportunity to strike a deadly blow. After the games were
ended he disappeared, and was seen no more that day.

His absence was hardly noted, for immediately after Has-se's victory
the entire assembly repaired to the great mound which had gradually
been raised by the accumulation of shells, bones, broken pottery, and
charred wood that many generations of Indian feasters had left behind
them, and here was spread the feast of the day. Then followed dancing
and singing, which were continued far into the night.

At length the dancers became exhausted; the men who beat the drums and
rattled the terrapin shells filled with dried palmetto berries grew so
drowsy that their music sounded fainter and fainter, until it finally
ceased altogether, and by two hours after midnight the whole encampment
was buried in profound slumber. Even those whose duty it was to stand
guard dozed at their posts, and the silence of the night was only
broken by the occasional hootings of Hup-pe (the great owl).

Had the guards been awake instead of dreaming, it is possible that they
might have noticed the dark figure of a man who noiselessly and
stealthily crept amid the heavy shadows on the edge of the forest
towards the great granary, or storehouse, in which was kept all the
ripe maize of the tribe, together with much starch-root (koonti katki)
and a large quantity of yams. The granary was built of pitch-pine
posts and poles, heavily thatched with palm-leaves, that the summer
suns had dried to a tinder.

Occasionally the dark figure skulking among the shadows came to little
patches of bright moonlight, and to cross these he lay flat on the
ground and writhed his way through the grass like a snake. A close
observer would have noticed a dull, steady glow which came from a round
object that the skulker carried with great care. If he had been near
enough he would have seen that this was a large gourd, in which, on a
bed of sand, were a quantity of live coals taken from one of the fires
that still smouldered about the epola, or place of dancing. In his
other hand the man carried a few fat-pine splinters that would burn
almost like gun-powder.

At length, without having attracted attention from any one of the
encamped Indians, or the drowsy guards upon whom they depended for
safety, the figure reached the granary, and disappeared amid the dark
shadows of its walls. Crouching to the ground, and screening his gourd
of coals with his robe, he thrust into it one end of the bundle of
fat-pine splinters and blew gently upon them. They smoked for a
minute, and then burst into a quick blaze.

Beginning at one end of the granary, this torch was applied to the dry
thatch that covered it, and it instantly sprang into flame. As the
figure ran along the end of the structure, around the corner, and down
the entire length of its side, always keeping in the shadow, he applied
the torch in a dozen places, and then flinging it on top of the low
roof, where it speedily ignited the covering, he bounded away into the
darkness, uttering, as he did so, a long-drawn, ear-piercing yell of
triumph.

By the time the nodding guards had discovered the flames and given the
alarm, the whole granary was in a blaze, and the startled Indians, who
rushed out from the lodges and palmetto booths, could do nothing but
stand helpless and gaze at the destruction of their property. All
asked how it had happened, and who had done this thing, but not even
the guards could offer the slightest explanation.

Meantime the author of all this mischief stopped when he had gained
what he considered a safe distance from the fire, and, concealed by the
friendly shadows of the forest, stood with folded arms and scowling
features gazing at the result of his efforts. At length the light from
the burning building grew so bright that even the shadow in which he
stood began to be illuminated, and he turned to go away. As he did so
he shook his clenched hand towards the burning granary, and muttered,
"The white man and the red man shall both learn to dread the fangs of
the Snake, for thus do I declare war against them both."

As he spoke, a voice beside him, that he instantly recognized as that
of Has-se, exclaimed, "What! is this thy work, Chitta?"

For answer Has-se received a terrible blow, full in the face, that
stretched him, stunned and bleeding, on the ground; and Chitta, saying,
"Lie there, miserable Bow-bearer, I will meet thee again," sprang out
into the forest and disappeared.

When Has-se, aroused by the shouts of the guards and the glare of
light, had rushed from the lodge in which he slept, he had seen a
figure standing between him and the light, and had approached it to
learn the cause of all the excitement. He was just about to speak,
when he recognized Chitta, and heard him utter the words that at once
declared him to be the author of the conflagration and the enemy of his
people and their friends.

Not being able to appreciate the petty spirit of revenge that
influenced the Snake, Has-se gave utterance to his exclamation of
surprise, and in return received the cruel blow for which he was so
little prepared.

When he recovered consciousness he found himself in his father's lodge,
lying on a bed of deer-skins, while his sister, the beautiful Nethla,
was bathing his temples with cold water.

It was now broad daylight, and the great granary, with all its
contents, had been reduced to a heap of smouldering ruins. About the
lodge in which Has-se lay were gathered a great crowd of Indians,
awaiting his return to consciousness, to learn what he knew of the
occurrences of the past few hours, and in what way he had been
connected with them. By the earliest light of day a band of
experienced warriors had tracked his assailant from the spot in which
the young Bow-bearer had been discovered, through the tall grass and
underbrush from which the fugitive had brushed the dew in his flight to
the river's edge. Here one of the canoes that had been drawn up on the
beach was found to be missing, and search parties had been sent both up
and down the river, but as yet they had not returned.

As Has-se slowly recovered consciousness, and opened his eyes, his
sister bent over him and whispered, "Who dealt thee the cruel blow, oh,
my brother?"

Receiving his faint answer, she sprang to her feet, and turning to her
father, who stood near, exclaimed, "'Tis Chitta the Snake who has done
this thing in revenge for our Has-se's success in the games of
yesterday."

From the entrance of the lodge the old chief proclaimed the news, and
all through the great assembly were heard cries of anger against Chitta
the Snake.

The destruction of this winter's supply of food was not only a serious
blow to the Indians, but to the little garrison of Fort Caroline as
well, for Laudonniere had just completed arrangements with Micco for
the purchase of the greater part of it. Only a small quantity of
provisions remained in the fort, and though the forest contained an
abundance of game, and the river teemed with fish, the French soldiers
were not skilled in either hunting or fishing, and had become dependent
upon their Indian neighbors for what they needed of such food. It was
therefore with feelings of surprised alarm that, on the second day
after the burning of the granary, they noticed the absence of all
Indians from the vicinity of the fort. Scouts were sent to the Indian
encampment to discover the cause of this unusual state of affairs, and
they soon returned with the report that the place was wholly deserted,
and that not an Indian was to be found.

Not only had all the visiting Indians disappeared, but also every soul
of Micco's tribe; and, what was more significant, they had taken with
them their lodges and all portable property.

Laudonniere at once realized the full force of the situation. His
soldiers were worn out with the labor of building the fort, and many of
them were prostrated by a peculiar fever that racked their joints with
severe pains and unfitted them for duty. The store of provisions upon
which he had depended to feed his men through the approaching winter
had been destroyed. The Indians who might have provided him with game
had abandoned him and gone he knew not whither. His men knew nothing
of the art of winning for themselves a livelihood from the wilderness
that surrounded them. Although the soldiers had been allowed to think
differently, he knew that some months must still elapse before the
arrival of reinforcements and supplies from France. He himself, worn
out by anxiety and overwork, was beginning to feel symptoms of the
approach of the dreaded fever, and he feared that ere long he would be
unfitted to perform the duties of his important position.

In this emergency, he decided to hold a council with the officers of
the garrison, and ask their aid in deciding what was to be done. He
therefore sent word to Soisson, his lieutenant, old Hillaire, the
captain of artillery, Martinez, the quartermaster, Chastelleux, the
chief of engineers, Le Moyne, the artist, and to Rene, his nephew,
bidding them meet him in council. He added Rene to the number, for his
uncle wished him to fully comprehend the difficulties of their position.

The council met in the commandant's private room, and Laudonniere,
stating the situation clearly to them, asked what was to be done. Some
suggested one thing and some another, and the discussion was long and
earnest. Le Moyne, the artist, added to the perplexities of the
commandant by stating that he had heard rumors of dissatisfaction among
the garrison, and threats that unless provisions were speedily obtained
they would build a vessel, abandon the fort and country, and attempt to
make their way back to France.

While the discussion was at its height, two soldiers appeared at the
door, leading between them a slender young Indian, whom Rene, with a
joyful cry, at once recognized as his friend Has-se the Sunbeam.

CHAPTER IV

HAS-SE IS HELD PRISONER

Saluting his commandant, the sergeant of the guard, who held the
prisoner on the right, reported that this young savage had been seen
skulking in the forest near the fort, and that, deeming his presence
and movements very suspicious, he had sent a party of men to capture
him. They had gone out by a rear gate, and, making a long detour, had
surprised him just as he was making off through the underbrush, and
after a sharp tussle had secured and brought him into the fort.

At the first appearance of his friend, Rene had started up with an
exclamation of joy to go to him, but his uncle sternly bade him keep
his seat. He obeyed, but scowled angrily at the soldiers, who still
retained their hold of Has-se, as though fearful that if they let go he
might in some mysterious way vanish from their sight.

Laudonniere commanded them to release their hold of the prisoner and to
retire from the room, but to remain within call. They did so, and the
young Indian, left to face the council, drew himself up proudly, and
folding his arms, stood motionless. Rene tried in vain to catch his
eye, that he might, by a sympathetic glance, assure him of his
friendship; but the other betrayed no recognition of his presence, nor
once looked in his direction. He was dressed in the full costume of a
young warrior who occupied the honorable position of Bow-bearer to a
great chief, and in his hair gleamed the Flamingo Feather that
proclaimed the station in life to which he was born. His handsome
figure, proud face, and fearless bearing caused the members of the
council to regard him with approving glances, and it was with less of
sternness in his tone than usual that, after the door was closed,
Laudonniere said,

"Now, sir, explain to us the meaning of this sudden departure of thy
people, and the reason of thine own action in thus acting the part of a
spy upon us."

With flashing eyes the young Indian answered in the French that he had
learned of Rene:

"My name is Has-se. I am the son of a chief. My father and my people
have been friendly to you and your people. This country is ours, and
in it we go where we please when we are ready to go, and stay where we
please when we are ready to rest from going. I have done nothing that
I should be brought here against my will, and until I am set free I
will answer no questions. Has-se has spoken."

Rene's face flushed with pleasure at this brave speech of his friend,
and even Laudonniere admired the young Indian's coolness and courage,
but he nevertheless felt it his duty to maintain his dignity, and
questioned him sternly. To all his questions however, Has-se remained
dumb, absolutely refusing to open his lips. The expression, "Has-se
has spoken," with which he had ended his defiant speech, signified that
he had said all that he had to say, and nothing should induce him to
speak further unless his condition of being set at liberty were
complied with.

At last Laudonniere called in the soldiers and ordered them to take the
prisoner to the guard-house, and there treat him kindly, but to watch
him closely and on no account allow him to escape. When Has-se had
thus been removed, Laudonniere turned to the members of the council,
and asked what, in their opinion, should be done with him.

Le Moyne, the artist, declared that the young Indian should be set free
at once, and treated with such kindness that he might thereby be
induced to give them the information they sought to gain. Then Rene de
Veaux, blushing at his own boldness, jumped to his feet and made a
vehement little speech, in which he said that Has-se was his dear
friend, and that, as he himself had said, they had no right to make a
prisoner of him, besides much more to the same effect. He became so
excited in his defence of the Indian lad that finally his uncle
interrupted him, saying,

"Softly, softly, Rene! Thou art right to defend thy friend if indeed
he be not our enemy, but thou hast no authority for finding fault with
those who are much older and wiser than thyself."

Blushing furiously at this rebuke, Rene sat down, while his uncle
continued: "I am also of the opinion that this young savage should be
courteously entreated and set at liberty. Thus shall we win favor with
his tribe, with whom it behooves us to remain on friendly terms."

The others of the council did not, however, agree with this, but
thought the better plan would be to retain the Indian lad as a hostage,
and demand of his tribe a great quantity of provisions as his ransom.

As they were in the majority, Laudonniere hesitated to act contrary to
their counsel, and finally said that they would hold him for at least
one day, and that in the mean time Rene should visit him, and endeavor
to extract from him the desired information regarding the movements of
his people.

When Rene, armed with his uncle's authority for so doing, passed the
sentinel and entered the guard-house, he found the Indian lad seated on
a rude bench in one corner, with his face buried in his hands. He
sprang to his feet at Rene's approach, and stood silently regarding
him, not knowing but what he too had become an enemy. Carefully
closing the door behind him, the impulsive French boy stepped quickly
over to where the other stood, and embraced him, saying, as he did so,
"Surely, Has-se, my brother, thou canst not think that I am aught but
thy friend?"

Thus reassured, Has-se returned the embrace, and said, "I know thou art
my friend, Ta-lah-lo-ko, and I did wrong to doubt thee for a moment;
but it maddens me to be thus caged, and I am become like Nutcha the
hawk when restrained of his liberty, suspicious of all men."

Then both boys sat down on the bench, and Rene questioned Has-se
regarding the sudden departure of the Indians, and why he was there
alone.

Has-se replied that while he had no secrets that all men might not
know, he would have died rather than answer the questions of those who
held him a prisoner, and as such commanded him to speak. To his friend
Ta-lah-lo-ko he would, however, talk freely and with a straight tongue.
He said that after the destruction of the storehouse containing their
supply of provisions for many months, Micco, their chief, had decided
that it would be best for his people to remove to the land of the
Alachus, their friends, who had provisions in plenty, and remain there
until the next season of corn planting. He caused their departure to
be made secretly, for fear that the white men would seek to detain them
as hunters for the fort, if they learned of the intended movement, and
he wished to avoid any shadow of trouble between his people and their
white brothers.

"He had undoubtedly the right to act as seemed to him best," said Rene;
"but why didst not thou accompany thy people, and what brings thee here
to the fort?"

"To see thee, Ta-lah-lo-ko, and thee only, did I come," answered
Has-se. "I learned, after we had been some hours on the journey, that
which affects thee so nearly that I could not leave thee in ignorance
of it and without a warning. What I learned is, that Chitta the Snake
regards thee with a deadly hatred, and has sworn to have thy life."

"Mine!" exclaimed Rene, in great surprise. "Why does the Snake bear
malice towards me? I have no quarrel with him."

"That I know not, unless he suspects that it was thou who taught me the
trick of wrestling that overthrew him, and thus lost him the position
of Bow-bearer that he so greatly desired to obtain."

"It may be so," said Rene, musingly, "though how he could learn it I
cannot think, nor why, even if he had knowledge of it, it should be
cause for his wishing my death."

"Ah, Ta-lah-lo-ko, thou dost not know Chitta. His nature is that of
the serpent whose name he bears, and for real or fancied wrongs to
himself his revenge is cruel. Having once conceived a bitter hate
against thee he will have thy life, or risk his own in attempting to
take it."

"In that case," said Rene, "I am deeply grateful for thy warning, and
will take care that master Chitta does not find me unprepared for him,
in case he seeks me out."

"Now," said Has-se, "I would speak of another matter. I know that you
white men have but little food within the fort, and must soon suffer
for want of it if more is not obtained. There is none left in this
country, but the Alachuas, to whom my people have gone, have an
abundance. If one of thy people would go with me to them, and offer
them things such as thou hast and they have not, in exchange for food,
he could thus obtain a supply for the fort. If many went, the red men
would be afraid; but with one they would talk, and if he were my friend
then would his safety be assured. Wilt thou go with me to this distant
land, Ta-lah-lo-ko?"

"Why," answered Rene, hardly knowing what to say to this sudden and
unexpected proposal, "thou art a prisoner, Has-se, and dost not even
know if my uncle will release thee. How then dost thou speak with such
confidence of journeying to the land of these Alachuas?"

With a meaning smile Has-se answered:

"Walls and bars may answer to cage men, but they cannot confine a
sunbeam. If thou wilt go with me, then meet me when the light of the
second moon from now touches the waters where Allapatta the great
alligator delivered us from Catsha the tiger. With my life will I
answer for thy safety, and at the next full moon, or soon after it,
thou shalt return to thy people."

Rene would have talked more of this plan, but just then the door of the
guard-house was opened and the sergeant appeared, saluting, and saying,
"'Tis the hour of sunset, Master De Veaux; the guard is about to be
relieved, and I must request you to retire and leave the prisoner for
the night. Surely you must be tired of talking with such a pig-headed
young savage."

Not caring to exhibit his real feelings towards Has-se before the
sergeant, Rene bade him good-night very formally, and added, "Mayhap I
will see thee on the morrow; but count not on my coming, for I may not
deem it worth my while to visit thee."

"I should think not," said the sergeant, as he closed the door behind
them and barred it. "A young gentleman such as Master De Veaux can
find but little pleasure in intercourse with such ignorant creatures.
For my part, were I commandant of this fort, I would make slaves of
them all, and kindly persuade them to my will with a lash. They--"

"Hold there!" cried Rene, as he turned towards the sergeant with
flashing eyes. "An thou speakest another word in such strain of those
who have favored us with naught save kindness, I will report thee to
that same lash of which thou pratest so glibly."

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