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Authors: Lalita Tademy
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by surprise a second time.
Come morning, they tackled the gruesome task of burial. There were eleven in all to be put to ground, including the dragoon the general sent with them from Fort King, and an unlucky soldier from the infirmary who spat up blood before his choked breath stopped in the middle of the night. Billy helped them dig, and Harry said some impressive words over the bodies, but Cow Tom was so tired he could barely remember from one moment to the next. Without the dragoon as escort, they knew they had to return directly to Fort King, along the military trail. They couldn’t risk being caught alone, two slaves with neither Indian nor white to claim them, vulnerable to slave catchers, vulnerable to hostiles, vulnerable to road thieves.
And how could Cow Tom maneuver a trip to Fort Volusia now, to search for his mother? He feared that opportunity as vanished as Osceola.
Chapter 10
COW TOM AND Harry kept mostly to the main military road, ducking into the woods if they heard a traveler. Often, on the trail, Cow Tom touched the makeshift bandage on his missing ear to reassure himself he was still alive. They arrived back at Fort Brooke in less than a day.
Cow Tom barely took the time to knock the dust of the trail from his moccasins before rushing to the general’s office. The general was a volatile man, lately more paranoid than ever, and Cow Tom didn’t want any parts of their story to drift back to the commander without explanation. When he entered the room Jesup used for business, the general sat behind his desk, cleaning the blade of his small boot knife. Though all the windows were open, the room carried a musty smell, and Cow Tom took a deep breath before announcing himself.
“Are the chiefs still ready to Remove?” the general asked, his tone mild. He didn’t bother to look up from his papers.
“No, sir,” said Cow Tom.
The general gave full attention then, and when he noticed the crude bandage where Cow Tom’s ear used to be, his manner changed. “Egads, man, what happened to you?”
“Osceola,” Cow Tom said. He hurried to share the worst news. “The Seminoles escaped. Almost all. And ten soldiers killed.”
The general pounded his desk, his eyes gone flinty. “How?”
Cow Tom launched into an accounting of the twenty-four hours spent at Fort Brooke, the lack of sentries, the measles outbreak, the hoarded rations, the midnight raid by Osceola and his braves, Micanopy’s change of heart, the slashing of his ear, the looting of the fort, the killing of the soldiers, the few straggler Seminoles, the confounding pardon of himself and Harry Island at Osceola’s hands, the infirmary, even young Billy. He waited for the general’s reaction.
“You and Harry Island were the only healthy men to escape—not by hiding or throwing in your lot with the soldiers, but by . . . ?” He stopped to light his cigar, and let his thought trail off. The general’s icy calm was not a good sign.
“It was whim,” Cow Tom said. “We’ve no notion why he spared us.”
“Remove the bandage.”
“Sir?”
“The bandage.” The general moved fast for a big man, around the desk and at Cow Tom’s side in a flash. He ripped the bandage from his head and examined the wound, poking at the exposed flesh. “So,” he said, “it’s real.”
Cow Tom knew better than to complain, though the general’s touch set off a deepening round of the stinging pain, and bleeding started afresh. He reattached the bandage as best he could.
“Osceola—” Cow Tom began, but the general interrupted.
“A year ago, I started out with over seven hundred Creek warriors to help round the Seminoles up for Removal.”
Cow Tom had no idea where the general might be going with this line of thought. When the general ranted, it was always best to stay silent until he calmed. But when the general went cold, it sometimes served better to introduce some new consideration before too late. He decided to respond. “Yes, sir,
Come morning, they tackled the gruesome task of burial. There were eleven in all to be put to ground, including the dragoon the general sent with them from Fort King, and an unlucky soldier from the infirmary who spat up blood before his choked breath stopped in the middle of the night. Billy helped them dig, and Harry said some impressive words over the bodies, but Cow Tom was so tired he could barely remember from one moment to the next. Without the dragoon as escort, they knew they had to return directly to Fort King, along the military trail. They couldn’t risk being caught alone, two slaves with neither Indian nor white to claim them, vulnerable to slave catchers, vulnerable to hostiles, vulnerable to road thieves.
And how could Cow Tom maneuver a trip to Fort Volusia now, to search for his mother? He feared that opportunity as vanished as Osceola.
Chapter 10
COW TOM AND Harry kept mostly to the main military road, ducking into the woods if they heard a traveler. Often, on the trail, Cow Tom touched the makeshift bandage on his missing ear to reassure himself he was still alive. They arrived back at Fort Brooke in less than a day.
Cow Tom barely took the time to knock the dust of the trail from his moccasins before rushing to the general’s office. The general was a volatile man, lately more paranoid than ever, and Cow Tom didn’t want any parts of their story to drift back to the commander without explanation. When he entered the room Jesup used for business, the general sat behind his desk, cleaning the blade of his small boot knife. Though all the windows were open, the room carried a musty smell, and Cow Tom took a deep breath before announcing himself.
“Are the chiefs still ready to Remove?” the general asked, his tone mild. He didn’t bother to look up from his papers.
“No, sir,” said Cow Tom.
The general gave full attention then, and when he noticed the crude bandage where Cow Tom’s ear used to be, his manner changed. “Egads, man, what happened to you?”
“Osceola,” Cow Tom said. He hurried to share the worst news. “The Seminoles escaped. Almost all. And ten soldiers killed.”
The general pounded his desk, his eyes gone flinty. “How?”
Cow Tom launched into an accounting of the twenty-four hours spent at Fort Brooke, the lack of sentries, the measles outbreak, the hoarded rations, the midnight raid by Osceola and his braves, Micanopy’s change of heart, the slashing of his ear, the looting of the fort, the killing of the soldiers, the few straggler Seminoles, the confounding pardon of himself and Harry Island at Osceola’s hands, the infirmary, even young Billy. He waited for the general’s reaction.
“You and Harry Island were the only healthy men to escape—not by hiding or throwing in your lot with the soldiers, but by . . . ?” He stopped to light his cigar, and let his thought trail off. The general’s icy calm was not a good sign.
“It was whim,” Cow Tom said. “We’ve no notion why he spared us.”
“Remove the bandage.”
“Sir?”
“The bandage.” The general moved fast for a big man, around the desk and at Cow Tom’s side in a flash. He ripped the bandage from his head and examined the wound, poking at the exposed flesh. “So,” he said, “it’s real.”
Cow Tom knew better than to complain, though the general’s touch set off a deepening round of the stinging pain, and bleeding started afresh. He reattached the bandage as best he could.
“Osceola—” Cow Tom began, but the general interrupted.
“A year ago, I started out with over seven hundred Creek warriors to help round the Seminoles up for Removal.”
Cow Tom had no idea where the general might be going with this line of thought. When the general ranted, it was always best to stay silent until he calmed. But when the general went cold, it sometimes served better to introduce some new consideration before too late. He decided to respond. “Yes, sir,
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