Cofachiqui, and Other Poems

Front matter

AND

S.

BY

Cofachiqui

COFACHIQUI.

tpp| <>PART I

{sm}<>THE MEETING OF DE SOTO AND COFACHIQUI.

OF all the wild romances done or told, When first old Europe with the New World met, None had beginning brighter or more bold, Or saw its sun more darkly clouded set, Or of its hero's crimes and faults the debt Demanded payment fuller and more dire, Than that begun on Tampa's beach (while yet 'Twas music, sunshine, steeds, silk, steel and fire) And ended low and lone in Mississippi's mire. >><< As fresh and pleasant was the day As well might be at close of May

So near the torrid belt.

Fresh from the gulf the breezes blew For thirty leagues the pine woods through And with the odorous turpentine Deep-laden stirred the blood like wine

And left the heat unfelt.

Near where the belt of pine woods broke And merged into a greener wood Of sycamore, magnolia, oak And gum, an Indian village stood, |end=follow

Not many leagues above where rolled Into the Chattahachi bold The Tronstisca's tide, With orange ocher slightly tinged, Now here with wood or cane-brake fringed And there a meadow-side. Broad space about the town was seen The tasseled corn-fields waving green. No tepees of the bison skin, As dwelt the fierce Dakotas in; No lodges of the birchen bark, Like those built by the Chippewas dark; No squalid huts of bulrush mats, Such as the Winnebago plaits, Composed this Indian ville; But spacious houses good and high, And with long grass thatched thick and dry, With walls of tree-trunks peeled or dress'd, Did for their builders well attest Both industry and skill.

The ruler of this Indian town Was not some warrior of renown, In battle skillful, strong and bold, Nor yet a wizard sage and old, But sooth! a maiden young. The daughter of a dead cacique, Through all the place in vain you'd seek For wiser head or tongue. Her graceful form of middle hight At once seemed plump and airy light; Her crown of thick, long, jet-black hair,

Her eyes of depth and luster rare, And many traits in that dark face Were like a maid's of Jewish race. So maiden Esther might have seemed When on the Persian king she beamed. It was not beauty that one saw— Each feature perfect, not a flaw— But some expression which alone Brighter than faultless beauty shone, Something too vague for words to speak, Which makes a woman's face unique And prints it on one's memory clear, To haunt his fancy many a year And bid his pulses thrill, When after, in another face, Some slight resemblance he may trace To the charm that haunts him still. That such high gifts of face and mind Should 'mong that simple people find A lover ready to admire In each young chief who dared aspire To Cofachiqui's hand, Was sure to be, and at the time To which refers our opening rhyme Two young cacicques, both of renown, As suitor guests were in the town, Each with attendant band.

The first was Vitachuco bold, A high cacique whose deeds were told In many a southern battle-song. Full oft his arm had been proved strong,

Upon the "Dark and Bloody Ground," Against the Shawnees swarming 'round, Whene'er that savage northern horde Had o'er the broad Ohio poured. O'er neighboring tribes his royal sway Stretched far from Pensacola Bay To where the swirling Tennessee Breaks forth from northern mountains free.

The other chief who dared to stand A rival for the princess' hand Was younger, but of giant frame, And Talladega was his name. His father was an Indian king Of giant size and high renown, Who ruled o'er many a populous town; And Tascaluza's name did ring From Florida's southeastern strand Far to the Mississippi grand. And Talladega, though yet young, Had given the Natchez cause to dread And quail before his war-club swung Broad-sweeping 'round his towering head.

In honor of her noble guests, And urged thereto by strong requests, Fair Cofachiqui did proclaim A grand match of that stirring game, The Indians' favorite, football free, Where all might either play or see, Upon a meadow fair and wide. Of all the players there, one side

Should be by Vitachuco led, The other Talladega head. The first the color green should wear In paint on chest and plumes in hair; The other should be marked by red From waist-belt to the feathered head.

Among the Greens the second place Held young Ateamba—manly grace Combined he with a comely face. Proved good in war and good in chase, Good in the wrestle and the race. The princess' townsman was the youth, And rumor whispered that in truth Of all her suitors proud and high He found most favor in her eye.

At either end, to mark the bound Of that long, level playing ground, Three poles were placed to form a gate— The rude game's passage—way of fate— Bedecked with plumage brave and bright And trophies of the chase and fight Half way between the boundary gates The crowd the opening signal waits. On each side ranged in order fair, The players stood in silence there— To east the Red, to west the Green— Twelve paces wide was clear between. In this wide opening. took his stand An umpire holding in his hand. A huge ball filled with mosses light

And bound with buckskin strong and tight. When ready, with a startling cry Straight up he tossed the huge ball high.

Then Talledega's giant stride Clears quickly half that opening wide, And with his arms of matchless length And supple hands of iron strength Stretched far above all other grasps, The swift-descending ball he clasps. With instant rush both friends and foes Impetuous 'round him densely close. With trips and pushes, tugs and blows The Greens that giant form assail To overthrow, without avail, And struggling strong in his defense, The Reds mix in the mêlée dense. Short space they strove with clamor loud, Till showed some opening through the crowd; Then Vitachuco, who had eyed As yet the struggling throng aside, Leaped instant through the opening way, And like a tiger on his prey, All his vast force with one quick spring Did he on Talladega fling. When that tremendous onset came An instant reeled that giant frame And then came crashing to the ground Amid the struggling mass around, Like some lone lighthouse whose tall form. Long has defied the raging storm, Till iron thews and ribs of rock

Give way to the resistless shock, When on it full the cyclone raves In utmost wrath of winds and waves.

But Talladega, as he fell, Flung off the ball, and aimed so well, Though in such strait, and cast so strong, It flew beyond the struggling throng To where a Red had ta'en his stand. This caught the ball with skillful hand And for the green goal 'gan a race, While many a Green gave instant chase. But as the hostile goal he neared, A keeper of the gate appeared And on the weary runner came Like the fresh hound on tired game. The Red, to meet this danger near, Was forced from his straight course to sheer And losing way, quick from the rear Three Greens at once upon him clenched And from his grasp the huge ball wrenched. Quick toward the red goal they began Their flight, but quickly as they ran About them closed with clamor loud Of Red and Green a mingled crowd.

Then higher still the turmoil rose; With yells and leaps and kicks and blows Strove every frantic one. The plumage which so gay had tossed Now vanished quickly like white frost Before the morning sun.

Blood flowed from many a swollen limb, Each face with sweat and dust was grim, On each broad chest the paint that gleamed Was furrowed thick with sweat that streamed;

Showed Vitachuco in the throng A player agile, skilled and strong; And Talladega's giant stride Broke through the turmoil far and wide. His long arms griped and headlong tossed Th' opposing Greens whose way he crossed. But inch by inch the Reds did yield, And toward the middle of the field Back, slowly back, the ball was urged, And there the contest doubtful surged. At last, with one decisive kick, Which mingled fortune, skill and trick, Did Vitachuco spurn the ball. It flew high o'er the heads of all, And quick of limb and keen of eye, Ateamba caught it on the fly. As the great rabbit of the West Darts through the sage when hotly pressed, So with the ball Ateamba sped Right toward the goal kept by the Red.

A goalman red sprang forth to meet And grapple with the runner fleet; But swerving swift as swallows sweep, Ateamba, with one nimble leap, Apast the baffled goalman flashed And onward for the red gate dashed.

Forth instant sprang five goalmen red, Alert and swift, with hands outspread To form a line through which must break Ateamba, if the goal he'd make. Too long the line to pass around, Through it he scarce might hope to bound. To the goal 't was three score paces yet When those stretched arms Atcamba met. Like lightning back his arm he drew And hurled the ball with aim so true And with such unexpected force That with high curve it struck the ground So near the gate that in its course It passed with thrice repeated bound Quite through the now unguarded gate, Deciding thus the hot game's fate.

Up quickly came the surging crowd, One party filled with triumph proud, The other stung with fierce chagrin Almost intolerably keen. So hot their blood, so deeply stirred Their spirits, that a taunting word Might well have signaled bloody strife And cost full many a brave his life, But that before the game began Strictly disarmed was every man.

Ere this excitement was allayed, A messenger arrived and said That thither marched in rapid course A strange if not a hostile force;

Strange beasts they rode, strange dress they wore, And stranger still the arms they bore. Each chief well knew the courier told Of Soto and the Spaniards bold, Who'd ten days since come sweeping down Upon a neighboring chieftain's town, Whose warriors some resistance made, But quailed before a fusilade That seemed to them the fatal flash Of lightning and the thunder's crash. Then, when resistance vain did cease, The strangers sat them down in peace.

Such news Tascambia had heard In wonder vague, but now was stirred To tumult every heart in town, From princess, chief and warrior down, At thought of meeting face to face These warriors of an unknown race. And then the question quickly rose, "Meet we these men as friends or foes?" Most deemed it vain and rash to fight— As gods they held the strangers white. For war was Vitachuco's voice And such was Talladega's choice, Both burning in their princess' sight To show their prowess in the fight. But Cofachiqui's gentle heart Impelled her to the peaceful part, And her good sense bade her refrain From strife disastrous, bloodshed vain.

Her gentle words to silence quelled The spirit fierce and proud which swelled Bold Vitachuco's heart with ire And blazed in Talladega's eyes like fire.

A quiet deep then settled down Upon the lately clamorous town. From child and squaw to chief and brave, With eager hearts but faces grave, With wondering minds but lips all dumb, The Indians waited till should come Their visitors with faces fair Who bore the lightnings of the air. Into the woods no Indian scout To watch the strangers ventured out.

Thus in suspense the long hours passed; Upon their waiting ears at last Came suddenly a bugle's blast; A peal of martial music broke From the dark woods of gum and oak That rose a bowshot's space or more Beyond the river's farther shore. Soon as they heard the warning blast The Indians thronged the bank full fast, And, gazing o'er the stream, they saw A scene of wonder and of awe.

Forth from the greenwood's sounding aisles Emerged the Spaniards' glittering files. A score of horsemen first advanced— Their guidons streamed, their horses pranced;

Like lightning flashed each polished sword; And then the musketeers outpoured. Behind the swarming musketeers Rode out three hundred cavaliers. With sash and plume each knight was gay, With silk and steel gleamed their array. With jingling spurs and scabbards' clank They swept around the footmen's flanks, And nearer toward the river bank They formed their long and brilliant ranks; And as the low, unclouded sun Shone full on breast-plate, sword and gun, The polished steel intensely gleamed, Above it silken banners streamed.

A space the Spaniards silent stood As at their backs the dark-green wood; Then from the line of muskets broke A sudden fringe of flame and smoke; Rang out the bugles' brazen throats, The drums pealed thick their thrilling notes. Forth from the ranks De Soto rode— Fast by each side a footman strode. From golden spurs to helmet bright De Soto seemed the perfect knight, And port and presence well became The bold adventurer's world-wide fame. His form showed litheness, strength and grace, His pleasant, frank and manly face (Albeit somewhat grave and cold) Was shaded by a mustache bold Turned backward with majestic sweep—

Its hue, once glossy black and deep, Now flecked with many a silver hair, But less from age than toil and care.

The Spaniard at De Soto's side, Juan Ortiz, a soldier tried, Was shipwrecked many a year before And cast on Florida's wild shore. He'd sojourned long the Indians 'mong And well had learned their uncouth tongue. At Soto's other hand An Indian brought from Tampa's beach Who knew full well the differing speech Of this interior land.

The river's edge De Soto gained, Nor there his prancing horse he reined, But in the river dashed. Although the stream was swift and wide, The footmen struggled at his side— Their belts the waters plashed. Soon on the other side they stood, And Soto then, as best he could, Made signs of friendship to the throng Of Indians that stretched along A stone's throw from the stream And with admiring fear and awe The Spaniards' brilliant pageant saw As specters in a dream.

At Soto's sign the royal maid Advanced to meet him—not afraid.

Too proud and brave was she to fear E'en beings from another sphere. On this side Vitachuco walked, On that tall Talladega stalked; Behind the three Atcamba came— Too modest other place to claim.

As Cofachiqui near him drew, Full well her rank De Soto knew. Down from his horse he lightly sprang And on the ground his helmet rang. Ne'er courtier to his queen displayed A finer courtesy and grace Than Soto to this Indian maid With untaught mind and nut-brown face. And not the Spaniard's grace alone By manner or by speech was shown; He placed in Cofachiqui's hand Gifts that she deemed from fairy land: A tiny bell, a mirror bright And sparkling bead work red and white.

Right well the artless Indian maid Each gracious word and gift repaid. She welcome gave with accents sweet And for a counter present meet Untwined from 'round her jet-black hair A string of pearls, pure large and rare, Which might a queenly crown have graced. The string 'round Soto's neck was placed As to the little maid low bowed The Spaniard's head so high and proud.

And then De Soto turned his gaze With genial, free and flattering phrase Upon the chieftains who in pride Stood mute the gentle maid beside; And soon his compliments did chase The gloom from each vindictive face; And while his praises oped each heart, He careless spoke with covert art Of his condition proud and high As one descendant from the sky; Said his complexion strange and white Was birthright from that source of light Which gleamed upon his armor bright. The powers that armed the thunder's crash And reddened in the lightning's flash Were his; but as the powers of air Were seldom fierce and often fair, And like the sun benign and bright, He too would rather smile than smite.

The Indians soon were friends as free As with such guest they well dare be, And Cofachiqui did install De Soto in her fairest hall Where for his sojourn he might rest With honors like a royal guest. His soldiers, who had crossed the tide And bivouacked by the river side, With food were lavishly supplied, And for their horses grass and maize Were brought by those who staid to gaze With admiration and good-will,

But mixed with awe and shyness still, Upon the guests who did appear As beings from another sphere.

When next the morning mists uprolled The chieftains, Vitachuco bold And giant Talladega too, From out Tascambia withdrew And by a straight trail each returned To where his people's lodge-fires burned. In secret both were ill at ease, Despite De Soto's care to please. Though still was kind their princess' look, They could not such a rival brook, And to retire they thought it best And come again another day, What time the unexpected guest Would be, they trusted, far away.

Days passed and still De Soto staid; But woe unto the royal maid! The flower of courtesy so bright That erst had graced the gallant knight Quite withered in the baleful light Of gold, as might the rose-wreath scorch In pitchy flame of pine-knot torch. The Spaniard's greed some trinkets fired And for more gold he strait inquired. He wrongly thought that millions more In secret somewhere lay in store. His unsuspecting hostess kind Was to her house by guard confined

tpp| start=follow| And Soto all her people gave. To know that henceforth for his slave Their well loved princess he would hold Save for her weight in ransom gold.

<>4 >><< <> .

{sm}<>THE BATTLE OF THE LAKE.

AN oft repeated story—the vain clash Of rude, barbaric arms 'gainst Latin mail, Of hosts unnumbered, brave, untaught and rash, Whose onsets fierce and stubborn efforts fail While steadier skill and deadlier arms prevail. 'Gainst giant Teutons firm the Legions stand, Bide the wild onset, like tornade and hail, Of fiery Gauls; and Cortez' little band Plunge through the sea-like hosts of Montezuma's land. >><< At Vitachuco's capital, Within a high and spacious hall, Hewn from the trunks of cypress wood And roofed with grass mats many hued,

The Spanish leader sate

At noon-day meal. Among the rest Who 'round De Soto's table pressed, Rose Vitachuco's haughty crest,

With pearls and plumes ornate.

That proud cacique, whose lightest word His myriad braves with reverence heard, Had with De Soto treaty made |end=follow

And purchased peace with tribute paid Of food for horse and man. But long did he did he negotiate Before he bowed his pride and hate And curbed his hot revenge to wait The working of his plan.

With Soto master in his hall, While he was there at Soto's call, And with the Spanish fetters still On his loved princess, he could ill His rage subdue or hide. Though hard and constant was the task, He hid his hate 'neath friendship's mask, And all that Soto well could ask He lavishly suppied;

But secretly sent couriers ten, All warriors tried and wily men, To muster up his warriors all And on fierce Tascaluza call For braves three thousand more. He bade his warriors all repair To Allagarda, as though there They came to bring for Spanish fare Of grain and meat great store;

But leave their bows and war-clubs hid In lines the tall, rank grass amid, That waved on Allagarda's plain Like billows on the heaving main, And at the hour of noon

To muster promptly on that field In ranks behind their arms concealed, And be their yell of battle pealed And weapons grasped, as soon,

As they before them should espy Their chieftains 'broidered belt waved high; Then on their foes like panthers leap, Or as the black tornadoes sweep Upon the Indian Isles. But when was deepest Indian plot Against the white men ever brought, And fatal treachery did not Expose the deep-laid wiles?

One of their couriers, in dread That Spanish vengeance on his head, For part he'd taken in the plot, Would fall, if failure were its lot, Like lightning on the oak, And lest the plot, if not his own, Some other traitor tongue had shown, The details of the scheme made known— Thus was the secret broke.

He thought that squadron's charge and wheel, Those iron hearts and brands of steel, Would rend his warriors' myriad hem, And no avail were stratagem Against their vigilance. Shrewdly the traitor thought, and so The plot goes on with naught to show

To the cacique the Spaniards know While feigning ignorance.

"Brave Spaniard," Vitachuco said, "Through many lands thy band thou'st led, And much of war's array, I ween, And of its splendor thou hast seen; And wilt thou care to gaze Awhile upon whate'er array My unskilled braves in their poor way Shall in thine honor make to-day— Look while thou canst not praise?

"No steeds shall prance, no blades shall flash, No banners wave, no armor clash, No thunders roar, no trumpets ring, As when the hosts of thy great king, As I have heard thee say, Go forth against their Paynim foes— Not e'en shall war-clubs, spears or bows, Or arms at all be borne by those Whom thou shalt see to-day.

They are my people who are here To bring supplies for thee; and near Us lies a level space and free, Where all the long lines thou canst see— This is their muster ground. Like panthers they, with muzzled jaws And strong, lithe limbs bereft of claws, Whose agile movements win applause From hunters gathered 'round.

Is this, Cacique, then, all thy plot? It has without a single thought Of Soto's vigilance been made. E'en though it had not been betrayed, Sure, it were vain and weak To think that leader shrewd would go Alone to face a myriad, though Told it was but an unarmed show— Told by their own cacique.

"Thanks, brave Cacique," De Soto said, "I'll gladly look on your parade; My soldiers too will gladly see This pageant they shall go with me; And as a slight return Made for thy gracious courtesy, Thou 'lt see the sweep of cavalry; The volleyed flash of musketry In mimic fight shall burn.

"But ill, I fear, will be repaid The courtesy of your parade; For 'gainst the hosts of your broad land The thin ranks of my scanty band Will make but poor array. But true is every sword and heart, Each man well knows the soldier's art, And Spanish soldiers never part From weapons, night nor day."

One moment doubt and quick dismay The chieftain's mind held in their sway,

And 'countering De Soto's gaze, A moment quailed his black eyes' blaze Beneath that deep, stern look. But then his native hardihood That moment's panic soon withstood; His face resumed its calm, stern mood, Again the word he took.

As when the hunter's bark is drawn Down through the narrow, dark cañon By the swift current's mighty sweep, Hemmed in by high walls rising steep, He 'gainst the current strives No more, but turns adown the tide And boldly trusts his skill to guide His bark from jagged rocks aside, And on through dangers drives;

So did the chief the peril meet; He hoped no longer to retreat, Or take the Spaniards unaware, And he resolved their might to dare In open, desperate fight. The meal is done: the Spanish train Is formed anon, and soon they gain, Near by the town, the open plain, With bloom and verdure bright.

On this side lies a little lake Whose wavelets 'mong the lilies break On its low shore, while far around Stretch wooded hills the plain to bound;

The intervening space From reedy lake to mountain wood For half a league showed fair and good; And here a dusky myriad stood As though in battle place.

But weapons none in hand they bore, Nor at their belts or backs they wore, Yet each one there was warrior right; With lofty plumes each crest was bright Above the dark, stern face. How soon at Vitachuco's sign, Along that still and unarmed line, Stout bows shall bend and spears incline And brandish many a mace.

The Spaniards come. Before them stride The chief and Soto side by side. The Spaniards halt; and now the dark Cacique has loosed his belt; but hark! A musket shot rings clear! Quick at that musket's signal sound Ten sturdy soldiers at a bound Th' amazed, betrayed cacique surround And hurl him to the rear.

The Indian ranks a moment wait, Astounded by their leader's fate; Then, with a startling battle cry Which seems to rend the very sky, They grasp their arms concealed. De Soto on his charger springs,

High o'er his head his saber swings, And "Charge! my men," his loud voice rings, "And hurl them from the field!"

His spurs are in his horse's flanks; He dashes on the Indian ranks; Before him rears a ridge of spears; A thousand bowmen to their ears Draw back the straining strings. A thousand feathered shafts are sped; De Soto's horse, the Indians' dread, Pierced by ten arrows, floundering dead, To earth his rider flings.

So near his foes, in deadly plight A moment seems the unhorsed knight. But as he nimbly gains his feet And grasps his sword his foes to meet, His comrades past him go. On the three hundred horsemen dash And high three hundred sabers flash; Down through the tall, bright plumes they crash And through the heads below.

And quickly as they rise again They dimly gleam through blood, as when The carbine's flash red through the smoke Is seen; at each successive stroke More redly dim the steel. As through the Indian ranks they rush, The fiery horses 'neath them crush The natives, and a crimson flush

Soon dyes each iron heel.

But while the horsemen's bloody swords Rage through the right wing's dusky hordes, The deep ranks of the long left wing Around the slower footmen swing With a shrill battle scream. But, as their swarming foes advance, The close-ranked footmen keep their stance And fast their arquebuses glance And their keen halberds gleam.

The horsemen's sabers rise and fall To frantic shout and bugle call High swells the muskets' rattling roar, The clattering drums their wild notes pour, Swords clash and cymbals clang; Flint spears are hurled with vengeful throw; Around them hiss like driving snow The volleyed shafts that many a bow Sends forth with spiteful twang.

'Neath them the Spanish armor rung, And like a maddened hornet stung, At times, a keen and flinty point That chanced to strike a loosened joint Or place devoid of mail. The heavy war-clubs downward swung Upon the bright steel helmets rung Dull, like a bell with muffled tongue Tolled by the passing gale.

But war-clubs' blows and archers' rain

And savage valor all were vain: The sweeping saber's fearful clash, The arquebuse's fatal flash, Such dreadful havoc made Among the dense, disordered throng That late had marched ten thousand strong In savage pomp and pride along, In paint and plumes arrayed.

The strange and dreadful Spanish arms And horses filled them with alarms; But long before they turned and fled The battle plain was strewn with dead And slippery with their gore; And ere they reached the mountain wood Which near the field of battle stood, The bloody sabers that pursued Cut down full many more.

Nine hundred men, a chosen band, The best and bravest of the land, Were not among the fleeing horde. When parted by the horse and sword They rallied soon again, As waters which the rushing prow Divides unite again, and now, Though all seemed lost, they thought but how The fight to still sustain.

Pressed back by the returning tide Of Spaniards to the deep lake's side, Which, at a spear's length from the shore,

Attained a fathom's depth or more, They plunged undaunted in, And swam a bow-shot from the beach, Where, far beyond the saber's reach And trampling hoofs, they turnéd each, A new fight to begin.

They formed together, four and four, In living platforms which upbore Each one a fifth, a brave who drew His string unwet, and strong and true His arrows flew to shore, And well for them—that Spanish throng That stretched the water's marge along— 'Gainst those unerring shafts and strong, That they steel doublets wore.

Sometimes the keen, barbed points, e'en then, Struck down the strong and mail-clad men; But still the escopetas rang And still the deadly bullets sang, And archers dropped their bows. And from their comrades' shoulders fell, With stifled groan or dying yell And blood-wreaths curdling red to tell Where the waters o'er them close.

And still, until the day was gone, The desultory strife went on, And still the braves made 'gainst their fate Resistance hopeless, desperate, And strongly still upbore.

Unheeded as the musket ball The Spaniards' oft repeated call, Proclaiming truce to each and all Who'd come in peace to shore.

'Tis night; the evening star has set, And all the down-trod grass is wet With tears of dew that weep the blue, Unclouded skies from starry eyes O'er many a warrior prone. No cries come from that battle plain; The wounded, silent as the slain, With bodies gored and racked with pain, Disdain to make a moan.

And still around the little lake The Spaniards did a circle make, And yet, at times, upon the night Leaped forth the flashing musket's light— The swimmers yet held out. But long their bows had been unbent And every sheaf of arrows spent; To swimming all their efforts went, Though skilled their arms and stout.