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Title: The Seminoles of Florida
Author: Moore-Willson, Minnie
Language: English
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THE SEMINOLES OF FLORIDA
[Illustration:
_Photograph by E. W. Histed._
HOKE-TI-CHEE. LITTLE GIRL WITH THE BRIGHT EYES]
THE SEMINOLES
OF
FLORIDA
MINNIE MOORE-WILLSON
ILLUSTRATED
[Illustration: (Colophon)]
NEW YORK
MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY
1920
Copyright 1896, 1910 and 1920
by
MINNIE MOORE-WILLSON
_First Edition_, _Jan., 1896_
_Second_ ” _Jan., 1910_
_Third_ ” _Dec., 1911_
_Fourth_ ” _Sept., 1912_
_Fifth_ ” _Aug., 1914_
_Sixth_ ” _Oct., 1916_
_Seventh_ ” _Feb., 1920_
Printed in the United States of America
MEMORIAL TRIBUTE
MRS. ELIZABETH STAUFFER-MOORE
IN GRATEFUL RECOGNITION OF HER PHILANTHROPIC INTEREST IN A BRAVE
AND HEROIC REMNANT OF THE ABORIGINAL AMERICANS, THE SEMINOLES OF
FLORIDA, THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
HER TIMELY AID IN THE CRISIS OF THEIR EXISTENCE HELPED TO RESCUE
THEM FROM OBLIVION AND TO PROVIDE FOR THEM THE RIGHTS OF A FREE
PEOPLE.
MINNIE MOORE-WILLSON.
FOREWORD
When most of the Seminoles were moved from Florida to Indian
Territory, a few score of them were unwilling to go. Of these who
remained, the descendants, ten years ago, numbered about six hundred.
An effort was made at that time to buy for this band the land on
which they lived and a few hundred dollars was given for that purpose.
In the study of this fragment in their singular surroundings as
portrayed in the pages of this book, one gets, as it were, a glimpse
of their camp-fire life, a view of their sun-bleached wigwams and an
insight into the character of these proud but homeless people.
Not much apparently can be done for this home-keeping remnant of the
Florida aborigines, but it is help and a protection to them that
their continuing presence in Florida and the conditions of their life
there should be known to the rest of the Americans and especially to
those who go to Florida or are concerned with the development of that
State.
To diffuse this helpful knowledge and give these Indians such
protection as may come from it, is the aim of the present book.
EDWARD S. MARTIN.
New York, Nov. 9, 1909.
PREFACE
That there is yet a tribe, or tribes of Indians in Florida is a
fact unknown to a large part of the people of this country; there
are even students of history who have scarcely known it. These
people, driven, about seventy or more years ago, into the dreary
Everglades of that Southern Peninsular, have kept themselves secluded
from the ever encroaching white population of the State. Only
occasionally would a very small number visit a town or a city to
engage in traffic. They have had no faith in the white man, or the
white man’s government. They have aimed to be peaceful, but have,
with inveterate purpose, abstained from intercourse with any of the
agencies of our government. My friends, Mr. and Mrs. J. M. Willson,
Jr., of Kissimmee, Florida, have found their way to a large degree of
confidence in the hearts of this people. They have learned something
of their history, and have studied their manner of life, their
character and habits.
Mr. Willson has been allowed, and invited to go with some of their
men on familiar hunting expeditions. He has seen them in the swamps,
in their homes, and in their general life environments. He has been
admitted to their confidence and friendship. He has consequently
become deeply interested in them. Mrs. Willson also has become
acquainted with some of their chief personages. Both have learned
to sympathize with these Indians in their hardships and in their
treatment at the hands of the white race.
Mrs. Willson began to write about them and her writing has grown into
a book; and she has been encouraged to give this book to the world,
in the hope that the attention of good people may be drawn toward
them, and that at least a true interest may be awakened in their
moral and material well-being. They are truly an interesting people,
living, although secluded, almost at our doors.
Mrs. Willson has written earnestly, enthusiastically, and lovingly
regarding them, and it is to be hoped that a new interest may soon
be taken in them both by the churches and the government, and that
they may soon enter upon new realizations, and be encouraged to place
a confidence in the white race to which, until quite recently, they
have been utter strangers.
Mr. Willson has prepared the vocabulary. The words and phrases here
given have been gathered by him in the course of ten or fifteen years
of friendly intercourse with members of the tribe. They have assisted
him in getting the true Indian or Seminole word and in finding its
signification. Old Chief Tallahassee has been especially and kindly
helpful; so has Chief Tom Tiger. This vocabulary of this peculiar
Indian tribe, though not complete, ought to prove helpful to those
who are interested in the languages of the people who roamed the
forests of this great land before it became the home and the domain
of those who now live and rule in it.
This book, in its first part, gives some account of the earlier years
of the Seminole history. In the second part the reader is introduced
to the later and present state of things and facts regarding them.
In the third part is found the vocabulary--a number of Seminole
words, phrases and names, with their interpretation into our own
tongue.
This little book is given to the world in the hope that it will be
found both interesting and valuable to many readers.
R. BRADEN MOORE.
CONTENTS
PART FIRST
PAGE
FACTS OF THE EARLIER DAYS 1
ORIGIN OF TROUBLES 6
EFFORTS AT INDIAN REMOVAL 11
THE MASSACRE OF GENERAL THOMPSON AND OF DADE’S FORCES 15
A DISHONORED TREATY 19
AS-SE-HO-LAR, THE RISING SUN, OR OSCEOLA 21
OSCEOLA’S CAPTURE 26
THE HIDDEN WAR CAMP 30
WILD CAT AND GENERAL WORTH 33
INDIAN WARFARE 38
“DAT SEMINOLE TREATY DINNER” 41
PART SECOND
THE PRESENT CONDITION AND ATTITUDE OF THE SEMINOLES 53
NATIONAL INDIAN ASSOCIATION, ITS WORK, AND ITS RESULTS,
EPISCOPAL MISSION 65
THE FRIENDS OF THE FLORIDA SEMINOLES 68
OUR DUTY TO THESE WARDS OF THE NATION 76
CHIEFTAIN TALLAHASSEE 79
INCREASING 84
APPEARANCE AND DRESS 87
INDEPENDENCE AND HONOR 90
THE SEMINOLE’S UNWRITTEN VERDICT OF THE WHITE RACE 93
ENDURANCE AND FEASTS 95
THE HUNTING DANCE 100
SLAVERY 106
HANNAH 107
UNWRITTEN LAWS 108
GENS AND MARRIAGE 114
BEAUTY AND MUSIC 116
RELATIONSHIP TO THE AZTECS AND EASTERN TRIBES 118
SEMINOLES AT HOME--THE EVERGLADES 126
ALLIGATOR HUNTING 139
BEAR HUNTING WITH THE SEMINOLES 142
CAPTAIN TOM TIGER (MIC-CO-TUS-TE-NUG-GE) 148
NANCY OSCEOLA 154
BILLY BOWLEGS 155
RELIGION 162
BOUGHT BACK 168
MOUNDS 169
PICTURE WRITING 171
MEDICINE 172
ABIDING WORDS OF BEAUTY 174
CONCLUSION 179
SUPPLEMENT
THE LEAST KNOWN WILDERNESS OF AMERICA 185
THE LAND OF THE SEMINOLE 187
CROSSING THE EVERGLADES BY AEROPLANE 190
EVERGLADE GEYSER 192
SEMINOLE HISTORY REVIEWED 194
THE 1917 LAND BILL 199
A VISIT TO A SEMINOLE CAMP 204
VISITORS FROM THE EVERGLADES 207
STEM-O-LA-KEE 214
HOME AND RELIGION 223
SEMINOLE INCIDENTS 224
MESSAGES FROM THE EVERGLADES 227
SEMINOLES FIRST SUFFRAGISTS 229
OSCEOLA--THE GARIBALDI OF THE SEMINOLES 231
SHALL OSCEOLA’S BONES BE REMOVED? 234
A BRONZE STATUE IN THE EVERGLADES 236
THE POCAHONTAS OF FLORIDA 242
VOCABULARY
INTRODUCTION TO VOCABULARY 253
WORDS REGARDING PERSONS 255
PARTS OF THE BODY 256
DRESS AND ORNAMENTS 258
DWELLINGS, IMPLEMENTS, ETC. 260
FOOD 264
COLORS 265
NUMERALS 265
DIVISIONS OF TIME 266
ANIMALS, PARTS OF BODY, ETC. 268
BIRDS 269
FISH AND REPTILES 270
INSECTS 271
PLANTS 272
THE FIRMAMENT, PHYSICAL PHENOMENA, ETC. 273
KINSHIP 274
VERBS, PHRASES, SENTENCES 274
INDIAN NAMES OF SOME PRESENT SEMINOLES 279
RHYTHMICAL NAMES OF SOME FLORIDA RIVERS AND TOWNS 280
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Hoke-ti-chee, “Little Girl with the Bright Eyes” _Frontispiece_
Florida Indians Carrying Their Crops to the Storehouse 6
An Indian Retreat During the Seminole War 16
Micanopy 20
One of the Last Seminole Battle Grounds 24
Osceola 30
Martha Jane, “Bandanna Mammy” 42
A Seminole Dwelling 60
A Seminole Camp-fire 70
Chieftain Tallahassee 76
A Seminole Group of the Tallahassee Band 86
Chief Tallahassee, Martha Tiger, She Yo Hee, Tommy Hill
and Milakee 90
Billy Bowlegs and Tommy Doctor 98
Hannah, the Only Remaining Slave of the Seminoles 108
A Picturesque Group 114
An Enchanting Study of the Younger Generation 122
Seminoles on the Miami River 130
Tiger Tail 140
Indian Mode of Hunting Alligators in Florida 144
Captain Tom Tiger 148
The Indian’s Hunting Ground 150
A Section of a Saw Grass Swamp 156
Hi-e-tee, Captain Tom Tiger, Ho-ti-yee and “Little Tiger” 164
Dr. Jimmie Tustanogee with His Two Wives and the Children 168
Billy Buster, Tommy Hill, Tallahassee and Charlie Peacock 172
The Wild Heron in Domestication 176
The White Plumed Egret in a Florida Yard 180
Coacoochee 188
Latest Photograph of Billy Bowlegs 192
Billy Bowlegs and His Sister 194
Osceola, the Napoleon of the Seminoles 200
Billy Bowlegs Photographed While Visiting the Author 202
THE SEMINOLES OF FLORIDA
PART FIRST
FACTS OF EARLIER DAYS
The history of the American Indian is a very Iliad of tragedy. From
the day Columbus made the first footprints of the European in the
damp sands of Cat Island, the story of the original owners of fair
America has been full of melancholy, and fills with its dark pages
every day of a quartet of centuries.
Columbus describes the innocent happiness of these people. “They were
no wild savages, but very gentle and courteous,” he says, “without
knowing what evil is, without stealing, without killing.” They gave
to him a new world for Castile and Leon, while in exchange he gave
to them “some glass beads and little red caps.” The tragedy of the
new world began when we find this same admiral writing to the Spanish
majesties that he would be able to furnish them with gold, cotton,
spices, and slaves--“slaves! as many as their Highnesses shall
command to be shipped”; and thus, this land, a paradise of almost
primeval loveliness, was transformed into a land of cruel bondage,
desolation and death.
History scarcely records an instance when hospitality was not
extended by the red man to our first explorers. Swift canoes shot out
from the shaded shores, filled with men clad in gorgeous mantles,
and, in broken accents, their greeting was “Welcome!” “Come, see the
people from Heaven,” they cried, but were soon destined to believe
they were from a very different region.
From old Spanish accounts we conclude that the Indian population
of De Soto’s time was very large, and that the natives were in a
higher state of civilization than at any later period; that their
speech, though brief, was chaste, unaffected, and evinced a generous
sentiment. Cortez found the Aztecs and their dependencies challenging
comparison with the proudest nations of the world, and in their
barbarous magnificence rivaling the splendors of the Orient. Advanced
in the arts, dwelling in cities, and living under a well-organized
government, they were happy in their position and circumstances.
Who were the barbarians of the early history of America, our
Mayflower ancestors, or the Red Men of the forest?
With a careful study of the early records, the question answers
itself.
Four hundred years ago Indian warfare began. Shall it continue until
we exterminate the race? When it is, alas, too late, the American
people will awaken to the fact that the preservation of the Indian
race will be a theme that will stir the very heart of the Nation.
Shall Justice blush as the future historian pens the account of the
vanished Indian and our treatment of his race? Will Patriotism hang
her head in shame and confusion as the pen portrays the history of
the red heroes, who gave up their lives for their home and liberty?
Since that sunny day in May, 1539, when De Soto, amid the salutes
of artillery, the music of trumpets, the cheers of thousands of
Castilians, sailed into Tampa Bay, Florida has been the scene of
stirring events--with the Aborigines forming a tragical background.
Marching across the flower-bedecked country with his gallant men
of Spain, with his cavalry, with fleet greyhounds and furious
bloodhounds to turn loose upon the savages, also handcuffs, chains
and collars to secure them, with priests, workmen and provisions,
this proud adventurer reached the present site of Tallahassee. Here,
in this vicinity, they came upon a fruitful land, thickly populated.
Ever pressing onward for the gold that was supposed to abound in this
new land, one village after another was passed, when provisions and
welcome were furnished by the Laziques.
On, on, the proud and haughty Spaniards marched, until they reached
the province of Cofaqui. Here the splendor of the reception would
amaze us, even to-day. The chieftain and the people gave up their
village for the Spanish quarters, moving to another town for the
occasion. The following day the chief returned, offering De Soto
8,000 armed Indians, with maize, dried fruits and meat for the
journey, 4,000 to act as defenders, 4,000 as burden bearers, to
escort the Spaniards through a wilderness of several days’ journey.
Such were the proud and generous people the Caucasians found in
America.
The haughty Castilian continued his march till he reached the banks
of the Mississippi, where he halted and sent his carrier to the
chief on the opposite shore, with the usual message, that he was the
“Offspring of the Sunne, and required submission and a visit from the
chief.” But the chieftain sent back a reply, both magnanimous and
proud, that if he were “the Childe of the Sunne, if he would drie
up the River, he would believe him; that he was wont to visit none;
therefore, if he desired to see him he would come thither, that if he
came in peace he would receive him in special good will, and if in
Warre in like manner he would attend him in the Towne where he was
and for him or any other he would not shrinke one foot backe.”
Old history says this haughty repulse aggravated the illness of De
Soto, “because he was not able to passe presently to the River and
seeke him, to see if he could abate that Pride of his.”
Notwithstanding the hospitable treatment shown by the natives to
the newcomers, the Castilians destroyed them by the thousands: One
explorer after another wrote of these friendly people in the new
land. “They are very liberal,” says the narrator, “for they give what
they have.” Sir Ralph Lane describes the welcome by the natives, who
came with “Tobacco, Corne and furs and kindly gestures to be friends
with the strange white men,” etc., etc., but adds, “the Indians stole
a Silver Cup, wherefore we burnt their Towne and spoylt their Corne,”
etc., etc.
The time will soon be over for the study of the Aborigines of
America. We have in 250 years wasted them from uncounted numbers to a
scattering population of only about 275,000, while in the same length
of time a cargo of dusky slaves from the African shores have become a
people of millions, slaves no longer, but protected citizens. In the
redskin, whom we have dispossessed of his native rights, we recognize
no equality; yet the descendant of the barbarous black, whose tribe
on the Golden Coast still trembles before a fetish, may now sit at
the desk of Clay or Calhoun. Truly the tangled threads of modern
morals are hard to unravel.
The first explorers made captives of the Indians, and carried them
in irons to Spain, where they were sold as slaves to the Spanish
grandees. Two hundred years later the people of Carolina sought to
enslave those among them. The red men rebelled at the subjection, and
in order to escape bondage, began to make their way to the “Indian
country,” the present site of Georgia. African bondsmen soon followed
the example of the Indian captives, and in time continued their
journey to Florida.
_In the attempts to recapture runaway slaves, is based the primeval
cause of the Seminole wars._
ORIGIN OF TROUBLES.
The history of the Seminoles of Florida begins with their separation
from the Creeks of Georgia as early as 1750, the name Seminole,
in Indian dialect meaning wild wanderers or runaways. Sea-coffee,
their leader, conducted them to the territory of Florida, then under
Spanish colonial policy. Here, they sought the protection of Spanish
laws, refused in all after times to be represented in Creek councils,
elected their own chiefs, and became, in all respects, a separate
tribe.
To-day the Seminoles of Florida are only a frail remnant of that
powerful tribe of Osceola’s day. Their history presents a character,
a power, and a romance that impels respect and an acknowledgment of
their superiority. Of the private life of the Seminole less is known,
perhaps, than of any other band in the United States. His life has
been one long struggle for a resting-place; he has fought for home,
happy hunting grounds and the burial place of his fathers. At present
we can only see a race whose destiny says extinction.
[Illustration:
_From a drawing by the French artist, Le Moyne, 1563._
FLORIDA INDIANS CARRYING THEIR CROPS TO THE STOREHOUSES]
The wilds of Florida became a home for these Indians as well as for
the fugitive negro slaves of the Southern States. The Indian and
the negro refugee, settling in the same sections, became friendly,
and in time some of their people intermarried. The same American
spirit that refused to submit to “Taxation without Representation,”
was strong in the breast of the Seminole, and Florida, belonging
to Spain, afforded him a retreat for his independent pursuits.
Subject only to the Spanish crown, the exiles found a home safe
from the inexorable slave catchers. The Seminoles were now enjoying
liberty, and a social solitude, and refused to make a treaty with the
colonial government, or with the Creeks from whom they had separated.
One demand after another was made upon the Spanish government at
St. Augustine for the return of the fugitives, which was always
rejected. African slaves continued to flee from their masters to find
refuge with the exiles and the Indians. They were eagerly received,
and kindly treated, and soon admitted to a footing of equality. The
growing demand for slaves in the southern colonies now made the
outlook serious, and from the attempts to compel the return of the
negroes grew the first hostilities.
One of the first communications ever sent to Congress after it
met was by the Georgia colony, stating that “a large number of
continental troops would be required to prevent the slaves from
deserting their masters.” But, in that momentous year of 1776,
Congress had more important duties on hand, and it was not until 1790
that a treaty was entered into between the Creeks and the United
States. In this treaty, the Creeks, now at enmity with the Seminoles,
agreed to restore the slaves of the Georgia planters who had taken
refuge among them. The Seminoles refused to recognize the treaty;
they were no longer a part of the Creeks, they resided in Florida
and considered themselves subject only to the crown of Spain. One
can readily believe that the Spanish authorities encouraged their
independence. Legally the exiles had become a free people.
The Creeks now found themselves utterly unable to comply with their
treaty. The planters of Georgia began to press the Government for
the return of their fugitive slaves. Secretary Knox, foreseeing the
difficulty of recovering runaway slaves, wrote to the President
advising that the Georgia people be paid by the Government for the
loss of their bondmen. The message was tabled, and until 1810 the
Seminoles and negroes lived in comparative peace.
The people of Georgia, now seeing the only apparent way to obtain
possession of their slaves would be by the annexation of Florida,
began to petition for this, but the United States, feeling less
interest in slave catching than did the State of Georgia, manipulated
affairs so slowly that Georgia determined to redress her own
grievances, entered Florida and began hostilities. The United
States was too much occupied with the war with Great Britain to
take cognizance of Indian troubles in a Spanish province, hence the
Georgia intruders met with defeat. For a short time after these
hostilities ceased the Seminoles and their allies enjoyed prosperity,
cultivated their fields, told their traditions and sang their rude
lays around their peaceful camp fires. Seventy-five years had passed
since their ancestors had found a home in Florida, and it was hard
for them to understand the claims of the southern planters.
The year 1816 found the Seminoles at peace with the white race. In a
district inhabited by many of the Indians on the Apalachicola river
was Blount’s Fort.
The fort, although Spanish property, was reported as an “asylum
for runaway negroes.” General Jackson, now in military command,
ordered the “blowing up of the fort, and the return of the negroes
to their rightful owners.” The exiles knowing little of scientific
warfare believed themselves safe in this retreat; and when in 1816 an
expedition under Colonel Duncan L. Clinch was planned, the hapless
Indians and negroes unknowingly rushed into the very jaws of death.
A shot from a gunboat exploded the magazines and destroyed the
garrison. History records that of 334 souls in the fort, 270 were
_instantly killed_! The groans of the wounded and dying, the savage
war whoops of the Indians inspired the most fiendish revenge in the
hearts of those who escaped, and marks the beginning of the First
Seminole War.
Savage vengeance was now on fire, and “Blount’s Fort” became the
magnetic war cry of the Seminole chiefs as they urged their warriors
to retaliation. This barbarous sacrifice of innocent women and
children conducted by a Christian nation against a helpless race,
and for no other cause than that their ancestors, one hundred years
before, had been born in slavery, marks a period of cruelty, one of
the most wanton in the history of our nation.
The inhuman way in which the massacre was conducted was never
published at large, nor does the War Department have any record of
the taking of Blount’s Fort, as is shown by the following:
An examination of the records of this Department has been made, but
no information bearing upon the subject of the taking of Blount’s
Fort, Florida, in the year 1816, has been found of record.
By authority of the Secretary of War,
F. C. AINSWORTH,
Colonel, U. S. Army, Chief of Office.
Washington, July 25, 1895.
History does not dwell on the cruel treatment the Indians received
from the United States authorities during the Seminole Wars, yet
pages of our National Library are devoted to the barbarity of the
Seminoles. There are two sides to every question, and it is only what
the Indian does to the white man that is published, and not what the
white man does to the Indian.
The facts show that instead of seeking to injure the people of the
United States, the Seminoles were, and have been, only anxious
to be free from all contact with our government. In no official
correspondence is there any reference made to acts of hostility by
the Indians, prior to the massacre at Blount’s Fort.
But Floridians, who had urged the war with the hope of seizing and
enslaving the maroons of the interior, now saw their own plantations
laid waste, villages abandoned to the enemy, and families suffering
for bread. The war had been commenced for an ignoble purpose, to
re-enslave fellow-men, and taught that every violation of justice is
followed by appropriate penalties.
Few of the people of the United States knew the true cause of the
war, nor the real inwardness of the purposes of those in command, as
history and official documents show that affairs were in the hands
of the Executive rather than in those of Congress. The first war was
in itself an act of hostility to the King of Spain; yet nothing was
gained by our government except possession of part of the fugitives.
Military forces could not pursue the Indians into the fastnesses of
the Everglades, and after two years of bloodshed and expenditure of
thousands of dollars, peace was in a manner restored, and the army
was withdrawn without any treaty being signed.
EFFORTS AT INDIAN REMOVAL.
The Indians had set the American government at defiance. The slaves
of Southern States continued to run away, taking refuge with the
exiles and Seminoles; the slave-holders of Georgia became more
clamorous than ever. The Spanish crown could not protect herself from
the invasion of the Americans when in pursuit of runaway negroes. She
had seen her own subjects massacred, her forts destroyed or captured,
and her rights as a nation insulted by an American army. In 1819, by
a combination of force and negotiation, Florida was purchased from
Spain for $5,000,000.
Thus the Seminoles were brought under the dominion they so much
dreaded. Slave-holders once more petitioned to the United States
for aid in the capture of their escaped property. The United
States, foiled in their treaty with the Creeks, now recognized the
Seminoles as a distinct tribe, and invited their chiefs to meet our
commissioners and negotiate a treaty. The Seminoles agreed in this
treaty to take certain reservations assigned to them, the United
States covenanting _to take the Florida Indians under her care and
to afford them protection against all persons whatsoever, and to
restrain and prevent all white persons from hunting, settling or
otherwise intruding upon said lands_.
By this treaty all their cultivated lands were given up to the
whites, and the Seminoles retired to the interior. Once more this
long persecuted people found refuge, but it was only for a short
time. The value of slaves in States North caused slave catchers with
chains and bloodhounds to enter Florida. They seized the slaves of
the Indians, stole their horses and cattle and depredated their
property. With such a violation of the treaty, renewed hostilities
were inevitable.
The Indians petitioned for redress, but received none. Affairs grew
worse until 1828, when the idea of emigration for the Indians was
submitted to the chiefs. After much persuasion, a few of the tribal
leaders were induced to visit the Western country. They found the
climate cold, and a land where “snow covers the ground, and frosts
chill the bodies of men,” and on general principles, Arkansas a
delusion and a snare. The chiefs had been told they might go and see
for themselves, but they were not obliged to move unless they _liked
the land_. In their speech to the Commissioner they said: “We are not
willing to go. If our tongues say ‘yes,’ our hearts cry ‘no.’ You
would send us among bad Indians, with whom we could never be at rest.
Even our horses were stolen by the Pawnees, and we were obliged to
carry our packs on our backs. We are not hungry for other lands; we
are happy here. If we are torn from these forests our heartstrings
will snap.” Notwithstanding the opposition to a treaty, by a system
of coercion a part of the chiefs were induced to sign, and fifteen
undoubted Seminole cross-marks were affixed to the paper. This was
not enough, according to Indian laws, to compel emigration. The
stipulations read, “Prepare to emigrate West, and join the Creeks.”
There was no agreement that their negroes should accompany them, and
they refused to move. To expect a tribe which had lived at enmity
with the Creeks since their separation in 1750 to emigrate and live
with them was but to put weapons into their hands, and did not
coincide with the ideas of the Seminoles.
The United States prepared to execute; not a redskin was ready, and
troops were sent. The Indians began immediately to gather their
crops, remove the squaws and pickaninnies to places of safety, secure
war equipments--in short, prepare for battle.
It was a question of wonderment many times among the officers how
the Indians procured their ammunition in such quantities, and how
they kept from actual starvation. Hidden as they were in their strong
fortresses--the fastnesses of the swamps--many believed that they
would be starved out, and would either stand a fair field fight or
sue for peace. An old Florida settler who carried his rifle through
seven years of Indian warfare explains the mystery. He says: “The
Indians had been gathering powder and lead for years, ever since the
time Chief Neamathla made his treaty with General Jackson. Besides,
Cuban fishing smacks were always bringing it in, and trading with
the redskins for hides and furs. As for provisions, they had their
‘Koontie’ flour, the acorn of the live oak, which is fair eating when
roasted, and the cabbage of the palmetto tree. For meat, the woods
were full of it. Deer and bear were abundant, to say nothing of small
game, such as wild turkey, turtle and squirrel.” The Seminoles at
this time, 1834, owned, perhaps, two hundred slaves, their people
had intermarried with the maroons, and in fighting for these allies
they were fighting for blood and kin. To remove the Indians and not
the negroes was a difficult thing to do. The Seminoles, now pressed
by the United States troops, committed depredations upon the whites;
bloody tragedies occurred, and the horrors of the second Seminole War
were chronicled throughout the land.
THE MASSACRE OF GENERAL THOMPSON AND OF DADE’S FORCES.
It was now that the young and daring warrior, Osceola, came into
prominence. He had recently married the daughter of an Indian
chief, but whose mother was the descendant of a fugitive slave. By
slave-holding laws, the child follows the condition of the mother,
and Osceola’s wife was called an African slave. The young warrior,
in company with his wife, visited the trading post of Fort King for
the purpose of buying supplies. While there the young wife was seized
and carried off in chains. Osceola became wild with grief and rage,
and no knight of cavalier days ever showed more valor than did this
Spartan Indian in the attempts to recapture his wife. For this he
was arrested by order of General Thompson and put in irons. With the
cunning of the Indian, Osceola affected penitence and was released;
but revenge was uppermost in his soul. The war might succeed or fail
for all he cared; to avenge the capture of his wife was his every
thought. For weeks he secreted himself, watching an opportunity to
murder General Thompson and his friends. No influence could dissuade
him from his bloody purpose. Discovering General Thompson and
Lieutenant Smith taking a walk one day, Osceola, yelling the war cry
sprang like a mountain cat from his hiding-place and murdered both
men.
His work of vengeance was now complete, and almost as wild as a
Scandinavian Saga was the fight he now gave our generals for nearly
two years.
While Osceola lay in wait for General Thompson, plans were being
completed which resulted in the Dade Massacre.
The enmity of the Indian is proverbial, and when we reflect that for
fifty years the persecutions by the whites had been “talked” in their
camps, that the massacre of Blount’s Fort was still unavenged, that
within memory fathers and mothers had been torn, moaning and groaning
from their midst, to be sold into bondage, with their savage natures
all on fire for retaliation, no vengeance was too terrible.
Hostilities around Fort King, now the present site of Ocala, becoming
severe, General Clinch ordered the troops under Major Dade, then
stationed at Fort Brooke (Tampa), to march to his assistance. Neither
officers nor soldiers were acquainted with the route, and a negro
guide was detailed to lead them. This unique character was Louis
Pacheo, a negro slave belonging to an old Spanish family, then living
near Fort Brooke. The slave was well acquainted with the Indians,
spoke the Seminole tongue fluently. He was reported by his master,
as faithful, intelligent and trustworthy, and was perfectly familiar
with the route to Fort King.
[Illustration: AN INDIAN RETREAT DURING THE SEMINOLE WAR]
The affair of Dade’s Massacre is without a parallel in the history of
Indian warfare. Of the 110 souls, who, with flying flags and sounding
bugles merrily responded to General Clinch’s order, but two lived to
describe in after years the tragic scenes. One was Private Clark,
of the 2nd Artillery, who, wounded and sick crawled on his hands and
knees a distance of sixty miles to Fort Brooke. The other was Louis
Pacheo, the only person of the command who escaped without a wound.
The assault was made shortly after the troops crossed the
Withlacoochee river, in a broad expanse of open pine woods, with
here and there clumps of palmettoes and tall wire-grass. The Indians
are supposed to have out-numbered the command, two to one, and at a
given signal, as the troops marched gayly along, a volley of shot
was poured into their number. The “gallant Dade” was the first to
fall, pierced by a ball from Micanopy’s musket, who was the King of
the Seminole nation. A breastwork was attempted by the soldiers, but
only served as a retreat for a short time; the hot missiles from the
Indians soon laid the last man motionless, and the slaughter was at
an end.
On February 20, 1836, almost two months after the massacre, the dead
bodies of the officers and soldiers were found just as they had
fallen on that fatal day. History is corroborated by old settlers,
who say “that the dead were in no way pillaged; articles the most
esteemed by savages were untouched, their watches were found in their
pockets, and money, in silver and gold, was left to decay with its
owner--a lesson to all the world--a testimony that the Indians were
not fighting for plunder! The arms and ammunition were all that had
been taken, except the uniform coat of Major Dade.” Their motive was
higher and purer; they were fighting for their rights, their homes,
their very existence.
What became of the negro guide? History records that Louis, knowing
the time and place at which the attack was to be made, separated
himself from the troops. As soon as the fire commenced, he joined
the Indians and negroes, and lent his efforts in carrying forth the
work of death. An account printed over forty years ago describes the
character of the negro Louis. It reads as follows:
“The life of the slave Louis is perhaps the most romantic of
any man now living. Born and reared a slave, he found time to
cultivate his intellect--was fond of reading; and while gentlemen
in the House of Representatives were engaged in discussing the
value of his bones and sinews, he could probably speak and write
more languages with ease and facility than any member of that
body. In revenge for the oppression to which he was subjected, he
conceived the purpose of sacrificing a regiment of white men, who
were engaged in the support of slavery. This object effected, he
asserted his own natural right to freedom, joined his brethren,
and made bloody war upon the enemies of liberty. For two years he
was the steady companion of Coacoochee, or, as he was afterwards
called, ‘Wild Cat,’ who subsequently became the most warlike chief
in Florida. They traversed the forests of that territory together,
wading through swamps and everglades, groping their way through
hommocks, and gliding over prairies. For two years they stood
shoulder to shoulder in every battle; shared their victories and
defeats together; and, when General Jessup had pledged the faith
of the nation that all Indians who would surrender should be
protected in the enjoyment of their slaves, Wild Cat appeared at
headquarters, followed by Louis, whom he claimed as his _property_,
under slaveholding law, as he said he had captured him at the time
of Dade’s defeat.”
Following Louis Pacheo’s career, we find him sharing the fortunes of
Wild Cat in the Indian Territory. Subsequently, Wild Cat, with a few
followers, Louis among the number, emigrated to Mexico. Fifty-seven
years passed from the date of the Dade massacre, when Louis Pacheo,
venerable and decrepit, once more appeared on Florida soil. The old
negro, longing for the scenes of his youth, returned to end his
days in the hospitable home of his “old missus.” In his confession,
he claims to be innocent of the charge of betraying the troops,
and asserts that he was forced into remaining with the Indians.
The vagaries of a childish mind may account for his diversion from
well-established history. The old slave lived for three years after
his return to Florida, and died in January, 1895, at age of 95 years.
A DISHONORED TREATY.
The tragic news of the Dade Massacre convinced the United States
that war had commenced in real earnest. From this time on, skirmish
after skirmish ensued, bloody murders were committed by the redskins,
thousands of dollars were being expended by our government, and the
white population of Florida was in a suffering condition. The Indians
were not suffering for food. The chameleon-like character of the
war prevented any certainty of success. General Jessup, considerably
chagrined, wrote to Washington for permission to resign both the
glory and baton of his command.
There could scarcely arise a more painful theme, or one presenting
a stranger variety of aspects, as it whirled scathing and bloodily
along, than did the Indian War. Yet it is a remarkable fact that no
Seminole warrior had ever surrendered, even to superior numbers.
Our military forces had learned what a hydra-headed monster the war
really was, and attempts were again made to induce emigration. The
horrors of the Dade Massacre and of Fort King had reached the world.
General Jessup sought negotiations, but found the same difficulties
to encounter as before, viz.: that the chiefs would not enter into an
agreement that did not guarantee equal rights to their allies as to
the Indians. Official documents show that General Jessup agreed that
“the Seminoles and their allies who come in and emigrate West, shall
be secure in their lives and property; that their negroes, their bona
fide property, shall accompany them West, and that their cattle and
ponies shall be paid for by the United States.” The Indians, under
these terms, now prepared to emigrate. History records that even
Osceola avowed his intention to accompany them. Every preparation
was made to emigrate, and a tract of land near Tampa was selected
on which to gather their people. Hundreds of Indians and negroes
encamped there. Vessels were anchored to transport them to their
new homes. Peace was apparent everywhere, and the war declared at
an end. At this point a new difficulty arose. Slave-holders became
indignant at the stipulations of the treaty, and once more commenced
to seize negroes. The Seminoles, thinking themselves betrayed, with
clear conceptions of justice, fled to their former fastnesses in the
interior, and once more determined to defend their liberty.
[Illustration:
_Courtesy of the Bureau of American Ethnology._
MICANOPY--HE WAS THE KING OF THE NATION]
In the violation of the treaty, to use General Jessup’s words, all
was lost!
All the vengeance of the Indian was again aroused, and the wild
Seminole war-cry, “Yohoehee! yohoehee,” again broke through the woods.
AS-SE-HE-HO-LAR, THE RISING SUN, OR OSCEOLA.
The fame of Osceola now reached the farthermost corner of the land.
His name, signifying Rising Sun,[1] seemed prophetic, and he became
at once the warrior of the Ocklawaha, the hero of the Seminoles. The
youngest of the chiefs, he possessed a magnetism that Cyrus might
have envied, and in a manner truly majestic led his warriors where he
chose.
In the personal reminiscences of an old Florida settler, in
describing Osceola, he says, “I consider him one of the greatest men
this country ever produced. He was a great man, and a curious one,
too; but few people know him well enough to appreciate his worth. I
was raised within ten miles of his home, and it was he who gave me
my first lessons in woodcraft. He was a brave and generous foe, and
always protected women and children. An act of kindness was never
forgotten by him.” Osceola had received a favor from one of the
officers who led the battle of the Withlacoochee. Observing him in
the front ranks, he instantly gave orders that this man should be
spared, but every other officer should be cut down. Osceola’s father
was an English trader named Powell, and his mother the daughter of
a chief known as Sallie Marie, a woman very small in stature, and
with high cheekbones. Osceola lacked this peculiarity, and was one of
the finest-looking men I ever saw. His carriage was erect and lofty,
his motion quick, and he had an air of hauteur in his countenance
which arose from his elevated pride of soul. His winning smile and
wonderful eyes drew from an army officer these glowing words of
admiration, “But the eye, that herald of the Soul, was in itself
constituted to command. Under excitement it flashed firm and stern
resolve; when in smiling it warmed the very heart of the beholder
with its beams of kindness. I tell you, he was a great man; education
would have made him the equal of Napoleon. He hated slavery as only
such a nature as his could hate. He was Indian to the heart, and
proud of his ancestry. He had too much white blood in him to yield to
the cowardly offers of the government, and had he not been captured,
the Seminole War would have been a more lasting one than it was. I
could talk all day about Osceola,” remarked the old Captain, as he
drew a sigh. “Did the Indians take scalps, Captain?” “Take scalps?
Well, yes, if Osceola wasn’t around. He was too much of a white man
to allow it himself.”
The admixture of Caucasian blood stimulated the ambition of Osceola’s
Indian nature; his education, together with the teachings of nature,
made him able to cope with the most learned. Living until he was
almost twelve years of age in the Creek confederacy of Georgia, his
youthful mind received deep and lasting impressions from Tecumseh’s
teachings. To these teachings, as well as the blood he inherited
from his Spartan ancestors was due, no doubt, his supremacy in the
Seminole War. In the manner in which he led the Seminoles may be
seen the influence of the great Shawnee.[2] Osceola’s power was in
his strong personal magnetism; he swayed his warriors with a look;
a shout of command produced an electric effect upon all. He was a
hero among his people, he was feared and dreaded by our officers. In
this day, as we study his life and character, we must recognize in
the young Seminole fighter the greatest of chiefs, the boldest of
warriors. In an old Greek fable, a man seeks to prove the superiority
of his race by reading to a lion accounts of various battles between
men and beasts, to which the lion replied, “Ah, had we written that
book other tales would have been told.” In the case of the Indian
chieftain no such records exist, yet even from the testimony of his
enemies we must know Osceola.
Interviewing old settlers who well remember events of those stirring
times, one finds the heroic part of Osceola’s character to have been
not overdrawn in history. The Seminole chief, Charles Omatla, was
an ally of the whites, and was attacked and murdered by Osceola’s
warriors. On his body was found gold, which Osceola forbade his men
to touch, but with his own hands he threw the gold himself as far as
he could hurl it, saying, “it is the price of the red man’s blood.”
Osceola’s pride was majestic; he was imperious, full of honor,
but with the quickness of the Indian he noted the path to popular
favor. His power was recognized by the officers. “Talk after talk,”
with the Indians was the order of the times. It was at one of these
meetings that Osceola in the presence of the commissioners attracted
attention by saying, “This is the only treaty I will ever make with
the whites,” at the same time drawing his knife and striking it
into the table before him. The cause of this outburst was that the
stipulations of the treaty guaranteed no protection to the allies. He
was arrested for his insolence, but was released on a compromise. His
vengeance became more terrible than ever, and in defiance “Yohoehee”
echoed through the woods and “war to the knife” was resumed.
[Illustration: ONE OF THE LAST SEMINOLE BATTLE GROUNDS]
It was now that the daring chief made the bold and well-conducted
assault against the fort at Micanopy. A short time after, this savage
hero performed a piece of strategy before unheard of in the annals
of war. Surrounded by two armies of equal strength with his own, he
carried away his warriors without leaving a trace of his retreat.
That host of Indian braves melted out of sight as if by magic, and
our disappointed generals could not but agree that a disciplined army
was not adapted to the work of surprising Indians. They were learning
to recognize the character of the men our nation had to deal with.
The Indian method is to decoy by a broad plain trail, then at a
certain distance the foremost of the band makes a high, long step,
leaves the trail and, alighting on the tip of his toe, carefully
smoothes out the brushed blades behind him. The rest of the band
go on a few yards farther and make their exit the same way, and so
on till the end is reached. Many times our troops made long night
marches to find--what? Nothing but a few smouldering camp fires.
The war raged on in defiance of the power of a mighty nation, a
nation that had said to old King George, “attend to your own affairs”
and he obeyed.
What shall we say of the capture of the great Indian chief? Is not
the seizure of Osceola America’s blackest chapter? Was Osceola
treacherous? The United States failed to observe even one important
article of the three treaties made with the Seminoles. Was Osceola a
savage? It is not denied that he protected women and children when he
could. It is not denied that the soldiers of the United States shot
down women and children, destroyed all dwellings, crops and fruit
trees they could reach.
OSCEOLA’S CAPTURE.
After months of warfare, a conference among the Indians with a view
to a treaty of peace was held. An Indian chief was sent to the
American quarters.
Picture, if you will, an American camp, in the wooded wilds of
Florida, and peer beyond the confines of the magnolia and the palms
and you see a single Seminole chieftain, heralding his white flag. He
approaches our General, the representative of proud and free America,
and presents him with a white plume plucked from the egret, with a
message from Osceola, with these words, “the path shall be white and
safe from the great white chieftain’s camp to the lodge of Osceola.”
General Hernandez immediately despatched Coacoochee with a pipe of
peace, kindly messages and presents.
What was the result? Osceola, in company with Wild Cat and other
chiefs, accepted the truce and, under the sacred emblem of the white
flag, met General Hernandez on October 21, 1837 at St. Augustine.
With that grave dignity characteristic of the red man, dressed in
costume becoming their station, with as courtly a bearing as ever
graced Kings, heralding their white flags they approached the place
of meeting.
History verifies the Seminole account of this blot on our nation
that, as the officers approached, they asked of Osceola: “Are you
prepared to deliver up the negroes taken from the citizens? Why have
you not surrendered them as promised by your chief Cohadjo?”
According to history, this promise had been made by a sub-chief and
without the consent of the tribe. A signal, preconcerted, was at this
moment given and armed soldiers rushed in and made prisoners of the
chiefs.
An account of this violated honor, recently given by the venerable
John S. Masters, of St. Augustine, Florida, is opportune at this
point. The old soldier in speaking of the affair said, “I was one
of the party sent out to meet Osceola when he was coming to St.
Augustine under a flag of truce.” “Did you honor that truce?” was
asked. “Did we? No sir; no sooner was he safe within our lines than
the order to seize him, kill if necessary, was given, and one of
the soldiers knocked him down with the butt of his musket. He was
then bound and we brought him to Fort Marion and he was put in the
dungeon. We were all outraged by the cowardly way he was betrayed
into being captured.”
At this violation of the sanctity of the white flag our officers
wrote: “The end justifies the means; they have made fools of us too
often.”
The foul means used to capture the young Seminole leader was not
blessed by victory, as a continuance of the bloody war for five years
proved that the God of justice was not wholly on the white man’s
side. The stain on our national honor will last as long as we have a
history. Osceola with the other chiefs was confined for a short time
in St. Augustine, but the daring savage was too valuable a prize to
trust on Florida territory, and he was taken to Fort Moultrie where
he died January 30, 1838, at the age of thirty-four years.
It is related that Osceola on being questioned as to why he did not
make his escape, as did some of the other chiefs from Fort Marion,
replied, “I have done nothing to be ashamed of; it is for those to
feel shame who entrapped me.” Chas. H. Coe, in his Red Patriots says,
“If the painter of the world-famed picture, Christ before Pilate,
should seek in American history a subject worthy of his brush, we
should commend to him, Osceola, before General Jessup. Osceola, the
despised Seminole, a captive and in chains; Jessup, in all the pomp
and circumstances of an American Major-General; Osceola, who had
“done nothing to be ashamed of,” calmly confronting his captor, who
cowers under the steady gaze of a brave and honorable man!”
But such is the Irony of Fate. Osceola, the free son of the forest,
fettered by the chains of Injustice, was destined to eat out his
heart in a musty dungeon.
Thoroughly and thrillingly dramatic was the death scene of the noble
Osceola as given by Dr. Weedon his attending surgeon. Confinement no
doubt hastened his death, and his proud spirit sank under the doom
of prison life. He seemed to feel the approach of death, and about
half an hour before the summons came he signified by signs--he could
not speak--that he wished to see the chiefs and officers of the post.
Making known that he wished his full dress, which he wore in time of
war, it was brought him, and rising from his bed he dressed himself
in the insignia of a chief. Exhausted by these efforts the swelling
heart of the tempest-tossed frame subsided into stillest melancholy.
With the death sweat already upon his brow, Osceola lay down a few
minutes to recover his strength. Then, rising as before, with gloom
dispelled, and a face agleam with smiles, the young warrior reached
forth his hand and in dead silence bade each and all the officers
and chiefs a last farewell. By his couch knelt his two wives and his
little children. With the same oppressive silence he tenderly shook
hands with these loved ones. Then signifying his wish to be lowered
on his bed, with slow hand he drew from his war belt his scalping
knife which he firmly grasped in his right hand, laying it across
the other on his breast. In another moment he smiled away his last
breath, without a struggle or a groan. In that death chamber there
was not one tearless eye. Friends and foes alike wept over the dying
chief. Osceola died as he lived--a hero among men.
OSCEOLA--PATRIOT AND WARRIOR,
DIED, JAN. 30,--1838.
Such is the inscription, that marks the grave of the hero of the
Seminoles.
Even at this writing, it is a melancholy satisfaction to know that
the great Indian leader was buried with the honor and respect due so
worthy a foe.
A detachment of the United States troops followed by the medical
men and many private citizens, together with all the chiefs, and
warriors, women and children of the garrison in a body, escorted the
remains to the grave, which was located near the entrance to Fort
Moultrie, Charleston Harbor. A military salute was fired over the
grave and as the sound reverberated over the dark waters of the bay,
Justice and Patriotism, must have pointed with fingers of scorn to
our great Nation, yet with tender pity, said “Osceola--the Rising
Sun, may the Great Spirit avenge you, keep you, love you and cherish
you,--the Defender of your country.”
THE HIDDEN WAR CAMP.
Wild Cat and Cohadjo were allowed to remain in old Fort Marion the
prison at St. Augustine, Florida. Wild Cat feigned sickness and was
permitted, under guard, to go to the woods to obtain some roots;
with these he reduced his size until he was able to crawl through
an aperture that admitted light into the cell. Letting himself down
by ropes made of the bedding, a distance of fifty feet, he made his
escape, joined his tribe and once more rallied his forces against
our army. Latter day critics have questioned the correctness of
this bit of written history. Last winter, during the height of the
season, the Ponce de Leon guests enjoyed a unique entertainment. A
wealthy tourist made a wager of one hundred dollars that “Wild Cat
never could have made his escape through the little window in the old
castle.” Sergeant Brown accepted the wager and himself performed the
feat, to the great delight of the excited spectators.
[Illustration:
_Courtesy of the Bureau of American Ethnology._
OSCEOLA
A copy from Catlin’s painting.]
Our soldiers fighting in an unexplored wilderness, along the dark
borders of swamp and morass, crawling many times on hands and knees
through the tangled matted underbrush, fighting these children of the
forest who knew every inch of their ground could hope for little less
than defeat. Even General Jessup in writing to the President said:
“We are attempting to remove the Indians when they are not in the way
of the white settlers, and when the greater portion of the country is
an unexplored wilderness, of the interior of which we are as ignorant
as of the interior of China.”
By way of illustrating the enormity of the task the government had
in subduing the Seminoles, it is only necessary to describe one of
the many Indian strongholds in the swamps of Florida. About ten
miles from Kissimmee, west by south, is a cypress swamp made by the
junction of the Davenport, Reedy and Bonnett creeks. It is an aquatic
jungle, full of fallen trees, brush, vines and tangled undergrowth,
all darkened by the dense shadows of the tall cypress trees. The
surface is covered with water, which, from appearance may be any
depth, from six inches to six feet; this infested with alligators
and moccasins would have been an unsurmountable barrier to the white
troops.
A few years ago when the Seminoles yet frequented this section for
trading purposes old settlers have seen them coming from the swamp
carrying bags of oranges. Interrogations received no answers and
white settlers year after year searched for the traditional orange
grove, but without success.
So difficult to penetrate and so dangerous to explore is the swamp
that it was not until fifty years after the Indians had left their
island home that a venturesome hunter, during a very dry season,
accidentally discovered the old Seminole camp. The Indian mound,
the broken pottery and the long hunted for sweet orange grove were
proofs of the old camp. The majestic orange trees laden with golden
fruit were an incentive to further research. With a surveyor working
his way, as guided by the point of the compass, this wonderland was
explored, and proved to be a complete chain of small hommocks or
islands running through from one side of the swamp to the other;
the topography of the marsh being such that a skirmish could take
place on one side of the jungle and an hour later, by means of the
secret route through the swamp, the Indians could be ready for an
attack on the other side, while for the troops to reach the same
point, by following the only road known to them, it would have
required nearly a day’s marching. The Indian trail is lost in the
almost impenetrable jungle; but the tomahawk blazes are perfectly
discernible. The Seminoles held the key to these mysterious islands
and in the heart of the great swamps they lived free from any danger
of surprise. This retreat must have been a grand rendezvous for
them, as its geographical position was almost central between the
principal forts. Lying between Fort Brooke (Tampa) and Fort King
(Ocala), within a distance of thirty miles from the scene of the Dade
massacre, about forty miles from Fort Mellon, the present site of
Sanford, the camp could have been reached in a few hours by Indian
runners after spying the movements of the troops at any of the forts.
The old government road, over which the soldiers passed in going from
Fort Brooke to Fort Mellon, passes so close to the old Indian camping
ground that all travel could have been watched by the keen-eyed
warriors.
WILD CAT AND GENERAL WORTH.
At this period of our national history we are unable to picture or
appreciate the condition of those slave days, when all blacks of
Southern States were regarded as the property of the whites. The
fear, the torture, the grief suffered by the negroes and half breeds,
who had been a people with the Seminoles almost one hundred years, is
beyond our conception. When Indian husbands were separated from wives
selected from the exiles, when children were torn from their homes
and carried to slavery, the vengeance of these persecuted people was
constantly alive. Persons of disreputable character--gamblers, horse
thieves--were employed as slave catchers and showed no mercy to the
helpless victim.
After the violation of the treaty at Tampa, and the capture of
Osceola and Wild Cat, under the sacred truce of the white flag, Wild
Cat became a most daring enemy to the troops, and kept his warriors
inspired to the most savage hostilities.
General Scott was now placed in command of the army, yet the same
harassing marches continued, and it was not until seven generals had
been defeated at the game of Indian warfare by the wily chieftains
that any sign of success was apparent.
Our government, discouraged at being unable to conquer the Indians
or protect the white settlers, again negotiated for peace, but using
a more powerful weapon than in former years, that of moral suasion.
Executive documents show that, all through the war, artifice and bad
faith were practiced upon the Indians. The government was astonished
that a few Indians and their negro allies could defy United States
troops. All efforts had failed, even to the horrible policy of
employing bloodhounds. To-day we shudder at the barbarity of such an
act, but official documents show how much the subject was discussed
by Congress and war authorities. A schooner was dispatched to Cuba
and returned with thirty-five bloodhounds--costing the Government one
hundred and fifty dollars apiece. They were speedily put upon the
scent of Indian scouting parties, but proved utterly inefficient.
The public believed the hounds were to trail Indians, but reports
show their use was to capture negro slaves. The Seminoles were a
species of game to which Cuban hounds were unaccustomed and they
refused to form acquaintance with the new and strange objects. The
Indians had a secret peculiarly their own of throwing the dogs off
the scent, and the experiment, to close the war thus, proved a
failure and served no other purpose than to reflect dishonor on our
nation.
Wild Cat, after his escape from prison, was a terrible and
unrelenting foe. Occupying with light canoes the miry, shallow
creeks, and matted brakes upon their border, he was unapproachable.
A flag was sent him by General Worth, but, remembering well another
flag which had meant betrayal, capture and chains, the daring hero
fired upon it and refused to meet the general. In the summer of 1841,
General Worth’s command captured the little daughter of Wild Cat
and held her for ransom. The little girl,--his only child--was the
idol of the old warrior’s heart. On learning of her capture, Wild
Cat relented, and, once more guarded by the white flag, was conveyed
to General Worth’s camp. History gives an interesting account of
the old chief’s approach. His little daughter, on seeing him, ran
to meet him, presenting him with musket balls and powder, which she
had in some way obtained from the soldiers. So much overcome was the
fearless savage on meeting his child that the dignified bearing
so carefully practiced by all Indians gave way to the most tender
emotions.
The moral suasion, the humanity of General Worth made a friend of
Wild Cat, and he yielded to the stipulations.
The speech of the old chieftain, because it breathes the same
sentiment of the Seminoles of to-day, we give below. Addressing
General Worth, he said:
“The whites dealt unjustly with me. I came to them when they deceived
me. I loved the land I was upon. My body is made of its sands. The
Great Spirit gave me legs to walk over it, eyes to see it, hands to
aid myself, a head with which I think. The sun which shines warm and
bright brings forth our crops, and the moon brings back spirits of
our warriors, our fathers, our wives, and our children. The white man
comes, he grows pale and sickly; why can we not live in peace? They
steal our horses and cattle, cheat us and take our lands. They may
shoot us, chain our hands and feet, _but the red man’s heart will be
free_. I have come to you in peace, and have taken you by the hand. I
will sleep in your camp, though your soldiers stand around me thick
as pine trees. I am done. When we know each other better, I will say
more.”
Through the gentleness and humanity of the “gallant Worth,” Wild Cat
at this meeting agreed to emigrate with his people. He was permitted
to leave the camp for this purpose. By some contradictory order,
while on his way to his warriors, he was captured by one of our
commands, put in chains and transported to New Orleans.
When General Worth learned of this violation of his pledge he felt
the honor of our country had again been betrayed, and acting on his
own discretion sent a trusty officer to New Orleans for the return of
Wild Cat. General Worth by this act not only showed the nobility of
his own character, but proved that the savage heart can be touched
with kindness and is always keenly alive to honor and faithful
pledges. Moreover the justice of the act had much to do with the
successful turning of the war.
When the ship which brought the chief reached Tampa General Worth was
there to meet it and publicly apologized to the brave old warrior for
the mistake that had been made. Our gallant commander had proven his
humane heart, although at expense of both time and money. Through the
policy of General Worth, the whole character of the war was changed.
On the 31st of July, 1841, Wild Cat’s entire band was encamped at
Tampa, ready to be transported to their new homes.
The original idea of re-enslaving the fugitives was abandoned.
General Worth and Wild Cat now became the most ardent friends, the
general consulting with the famous chieftain until every arrangement
for the removal was perfected. Seeing a chief of such prominence
yield to emigration, band after band gave up the fight and joined
their friends at Tampa. From the time of Wild Cat’s removal in the
fall of 1841, until August, 1843, small bands of Indians continued
to emigrate. General Worth now advised the withdrawal of the troops.
A few small bands throughout the State refused to move, signed
terms of peace, however, by which they were to confine themselves
“to the southern portion of the Peninsula and abstain from all acts
of aggression upon their white neighbors.” As vessel after vessel
anchored in Tampa Bay to carry these wronged and persecuted people
to their distant homes, the cruelty of the undertaking was apparent
to the most callous heart. With lingering looks the Seminoles saw
the loved scenes of their childhood fade away. The wails and anguish
of those heart-broken people, as the ships left the shores, touched
the hearts of the most hardened sailor. They were leaving the graves
of their fathers, their happy hunting grounds, beautiful flowery
Florida. But it is the destiny of the Indian. Among that band there
was not one voluntary exile. Poets and artists picture the gloom, the
breaking hearts of the French leaving Acadia; at a later day the same
sad scenes were witnessed on the Florida coast, but it was not until
years after that a philanthropist gave to the world an intimation
of the melancholy picture of these poor struggling, long hunted
Seminoles leaving the shores of their native lands.
INDIAN WARFARE.
There is something intensely sad in the history of the Indians who
were left in Florida at the close of the “seven years’ war.” Keeping
faith with their promise to abstain from all aggression on their
white neighbors, retiring to the uninhabited marshes of the Southern
Peninsula, they lived happy and contented for thirteen years. Then
came reports of outbreaks and the United States again opened military
tactics with the resolve to drive this brave and liberty loving
remnant from their last foothold on Florida soil.
According to the most authentic reports, the trouble was brought on
by some white engineers encamped near the border of the Big Cypress.
It was in the year 1855 and the United States was making a general
survey of Florida. Old Billy Bowlegs, recognized as the head of his
tribe, and living at peace with all the world, had a fine garden in
this swamp and in it were some magnificent banana plants, which were
the delight of the old Indian’s heart.
As the old warrior visited his garden early one morning, he
discovered some ruthless hand had ruined his garden. They were
deliberately cut and torn to pieces. Going to the engineers’ camp,
he accused the men of the outrage, when they insolently admitted it,
refusing to make amends, and saying that they wanted to “see old
Billy cut up.” _And they did!_
The government paid for it to the extent of several thousand dollars,
a number of lives and adding another dark page in the history of our
Nation.
No white man would have submitted to the outrage, neither did the
famous Chief. Summoning his braves early the next morning, the war
cry “Yo-ho-ee-hee,” was heard and Lieutenant Hartsuff and his men
were fired upon, some of them being wounded.
Like a flash of electricity the news encircled Florida, and Billy
Bowlegs became the target of many old muskets.
Then came the clamor of white settlers for the removal of the
“savages” and white guerrillas dressed and painted as Indians went
about the country robbing and murdering mail and express riders,
driving off stock, burning houses and committing other lawless deeds.
Old inhabitants tell of these depredations. But there was a reason
for such cowardly acts. The Government at Washington was perplexed
and, not grasping the fact that the raids were perpetrated by white
men, disguised as Indians, believing that military forces could
do nothing towards breaking up the warfare, designed the plan of
offering the sum of $100 to $500 for living Indians delivered at
Fort Brooke (Tampa) or at Fort Myers. After Governmental hunting for
three years, the white guerrillas still busy with their malicious
depredations, Old Billy Bowlegs, with his band of one hundred and
fifty persons, was induced to emigrate, but they went with sore
unwillingness, silent or weeping towards the land of the setting sun,
driven before the power of the white man, a group of broken-hearted
exiles.
INTERLUDE
‘DAT SEMINOLE TREATY DINNER.’
The author begs the indulgence of the reader in giving the following
dialect story of that historic Treaty Dinner, when our gallant
American General Worth made peace terms with the Indians in 1842.
The treaty was signed at Fort King, now the present site of Ocala,
Florida, and as one listens to the story of that eventful day, a
story complete in its setting as told by our old Bandanna Mammy, the
heart throbs and the pulse grows quicker--so vivid is the recital.
As the tale is related a most picturesque scene comes before the
mind, the garrison with its stack of arms, dusky warriors mingling
with American soldiery, glittering sunshine and singing birds, tables
spread under the great live oaks, joy on every countenance--the end
of the Seven Years’ War. Because this old ante-bellum slave is a
bright link, forging as it were, those olden days of warfare with the
present, a few words of her individuality must interest.
Martha Jane, for so she was christened full ninety-five years ago
when, a little shining black pickaninny, her birth was announced to
the mistress of the old Carter plantation, is the true type of the
old time loyal, quaintly courteous Bandanna Mammy of ante-bellum
days. Leaving Richmond about 1839, she was brought to Florida with a
shipload of slaves. Since that time her life has been a rugged and an
eventful one--a servant for the wealthy, nursing the sick, sold again
and again, hired out, and, since freedom, working for her daily bread.
This white haired relic of Old Virginia is worthy a place in the
pages of history. She is old, decrepit and poor, the muscles of her
once powerful arms are shrunken and her hands gnarled with the labor
of years, but she has a memory as keen as when almost 80 years ago
she watched the “stars fall” from the upper windows of the Old Swan
Hotel in Richmond. She has kept pace with many points in history,
particularly of the wars of the country.
As the old dame--a study in ebony--rocks back and forth in the
creaking split-bottom chair, memory runs back to the imperial days of
Virginia when the cavalier was supreme, and she the pampered nurse
girl of the little mistress. She says, “Oh, dem was dream days. I hab
nebber seed any days like ’em since. De mounfulest day I ebber seed
was when dey took me from my mistress, for the sky was a drippin’
tears and de wind was a groanin’.”
“No, honey, dey ain’t stories ’bout dem Seminole war days, dey is de
Lord’s blessed truf, what ole Marthy see wif dese same ole eyes.
“Oh, dem wuz high times! I reckelmember dat Krismas day jest like hit
wuz yisterday; the sun wuz a shinin’ an’ de birds a singin’ (you see,
de mokin’ birds didn’t sing while dat cruel war wuz a goin’ on) an’
ebbery body wuz a laughin’ an’ a talkin’ an’ de white ladies wuz
a coquettin’ wif de sojers an’ dem Indians wuz as thick as hops an a
laughin’ an’ a jabberin’ too.
[Illustration: MARTHA JANE, “BANDANNA MAMMY”
who cooked the Treaty dinner for General Worth in 1842. Now living in
Kissimmee.]
“When Colonel Worth see dem long tables settin’ under the big live
oaks an’ see dem beeves an’ muttons an’ turkeys an’ deer we cooked,
he jest natchelly laughed an’ say, ‘Clar ter goodness, what kin’ o’
Krismas doin’s is dis’; an’ how dem sojers an’ Indians did eat.
“How come I ter cook de treaty dinner?
“Well, I wuz livin’ out on ole Marse Watterson’ plantation, ’bout
four miles from Fort King, dats to Ocala, now, you know, an’ Jim, dat
wuz Colonel Worth’s servant, he ride out on dat big white horse o’ de
Colonel’s an’ say ‘Colonel Worth want Marthy Jane ter cook de treaty
dinner;’ so me an’ Diana Pyles an’ Lucinda Pyles cook dat dinner.
“Oh, Lordy, what scufflin’ roun’ an’ jumpin’ like chickens wif der
heads off as we do dat day.
“All de sojers’ guns an’ de Indians’ guns, too, wuz stacked in dat
garrison, an’ when de night come, dey make big camp fires an’ de
white folks dance an’ de Indians wuz a dancin’ too, wif dem ole
coutre (terrapin) shells a strapped ’roun’ der legs.
“Tell you ’bout Colonel Worth? He wuz de gem’men ob all dat crowd;
he wuz de nobles’ lookin’ man an’ so kind an’ easy; de United States
nebber would hab conquered dem Seminoles if dey had not induced
Colonel Worth ter come down an’ argufy wif dem. Him an’ old Captain
Holmes wuz de mos’ like our folks ob any ob dem big generals.
“Arter dey had all eat, an’ eat dem fine wituals we cook, den dey hab
de speech makin’; oh, dat wuz high ’stronomy talk!
“I reckelmember jest like hit wuz to-day, me an’ Diana Pyles wuz a
standin’ right inside de garrison an’ dat noble-lookin’ Colonel Worth
wuz talkin’ kind an’ persuadin’ like ter dem savages an’ axin’ dem
all ter come up an’ sign de treaty.
“You see dat treaty wuz foh dem ter quit fightin’ an’ go ter Arkansas.
“All dem chiefs walk up but two. Oh, Lordy mercy I kin jest see dat
Sam Jones yit standin’ close ’side Colonel Worth. He wuz sut’n’ty a
big Indian an’ could talk English good as we alls white folks.
“He jest look at de Colonel pizen like an’ I smell de trouble den,
an’ he up an’ say, ‘My mother died heah, my father died heah, an’ be
demned I die heah; yo-ho-ee, hee-ee!’
“How dat Indian could gib dat war whoop; an’ he walk right ober
yonder ter dat big stack ob guns an’ take his rifle an’ ebbery Indian
ob his band follow’ ’m an’ dey walk out ob dat garrison as easy as a
cat arter a mouse.
“Colonel Worth did look so peaked, but twan’t no use, foh he couldn’t
stop dese chiefs; he hab gib dem the promise dat if dey would all
come in he would treat ’em all right.
“Dem wuz cruel days,” and old Martha Jane quivered with indignation
as she brought her fat hand down upon her knee. “But hit wasn’t de
Indians’ fault. No man what hab a gun is gwine ter let somebody
steal the cattle an’ horses, an’ dat jest what de white people do ter
de Seminoles.
“Lord a mercy, I hab seed Paynes’ Prairie covered wif de cattle an’
horses dat ’longed ter de Indians, an’ de white rapscallions would
carry ’em off a hundred at a time. Umph! I heah ’em brag how dey
carry off de Indians’ horses. Ole Thorpe Roberts he wuz a ole fief.
He would say, ‘We make many a good haul ob dem savages’ cattle, ten
ob us come in at onct an’ drive off a thousan’ head.’
“Yes, Mistis, dat ole Seminole war make a heap o’ white folks rich in
Florida.
“Oh, Lord hab mercy on all dem souls. Dey wuz hard times, times o’
misery, chile, but de Indians wuzn’t ter blame. God make ’em an’ dey
hab ter hab a place ter stay, jest same as we alls white folks.
“De white people bring all dat ’struction on der own heads foh dey
commence dat war. I see hit wif my own eyes; I see ’em kill de
Indians’ slaves. You see de Seminoles hab slaves jest de same as
white folks, an’ some ob der niggers wuz as fine-lookin’ black men as
you ebber ’spect ter see in Ole Virginia.
“When de Indians would come ’roun’ ter esquire ’bout der cattle de
white rapscallions (an’ a heap o’ dem wuz dem low down nigger traders
too) dem white men would up an’ shoot de Indians.
“Lordy chile, when I gits ter ruminatin’ ’bout dem days I sees de
longes’ line o’ haunts whats obtained in dis world o’ sin an’ sorrow.”
I laid down my tablet and looked up; the old woman’s lip was
quivering from suppressed emotion. Passing over the tragic she began
again.
“No, chile, ’xcusin’ ob de truf, de United States nebber whipped de
Seminoles; she whipped dem Britishers when George Washington wuz de
captain, an’ de Mexicans, den she tuck a little ’xcursion ’cross ter
Cuba an’ whipped dem Spaniards; but she nebber whipped the Seminoles.
Umph; where wuz de Indians when de sojers wuz all shinin’ in dem new
uniforms an’ der ammunition all packed up? Dem savages wuz all gone,
hidin’ in dem hammocks an’ swamps what wuz so thick wif trees an’
bushes dat a black snake could skacely wiggle through.
“De sojers would go marchin’ ’long an’ way up in de tops ob some ob
dem big trees some ob dem sly ole Indian scouts would be sittin’
wifout any clothes on, a watchin’ an’ a laughin’ at de sojers.”
* * * * *
“You want ter heah ’bout dat battle o’ Micanopy?
“De Seminoles didn’t hab no battles like dem Britishers in George
Washington times; no chile, but dey hab scrummages an’ kill de white
people jest like dey wuz black birds,” and the old negress, seemingly
oblivious to the fact that cruel time has bowed her frame and dimmed
the once bright eye, lives over again the story of those days so long
ago, when she was the pampered slave of the old aristocracy.
“How come I ter see dat big fight, I b’longed ter Marster Mundane; de
Mundane fambly wuz powerful rich and owned the big hotel where the
officers wuz stayin’.
“Der warn’t no Indians ’roun’ der jest den, an’ ebbery thing wuz
peaceful an’ quiet, an’ I heah de sojers a jokin’ an’ sayin’ day wuz
jest a spendin’ de winter in de Sunny South an’ de Governmen’ wuz
payin’ de grub bills.
“I reckelmember jest like I am tellin’ you ter day, I wuz standin’ on
dat big piazza ’side o’ Missus; you know I wuz riz up ter be ’roun’
white folks, foh I wuz allus so peart dat my ole Missus in Virginia
would call me in ter de parlor ter show me off ter de white ladies.
“Well, honey, dis mornin’ de sojers wuz a cleanin’ der guns an’
laughin’ an’ dey ax Mistis, ‘How many deer you want foh dinner?’ Den
anudder likely young sojer would say, ‘How many turkeys you want,
Mistress Mundane?’ an’ den dey went off a whistlin’ an’ a singin’;
but oh, my God, what lamentations der wuz dat same night.
“Twan’t long will I heah, bang--bang--bang, an’ I says ter myself,
Marthy Jane, too many deer, too many wild turkey, sound ter me like
Indian shootin’; ’spect dem rapscallions sneak up on de sojers, an’
dis black chile gwine ter see foh herself. I jest slipped out o’ de
house an’ kachunk! kachunk! I went down that big lane as fas’ as a
horse can trot till I come ter de prairie an’ den I clumb in ter a
big oak tree, den de nex’ thing I do I wrap dat gray moss ’roun’ me
so dem debbils couldn’t see me.
“How dem Indians did shoot! If dat sight didn’t beat de lan’!
Zipp--zipp--bang--bang, an’ ebbery time dey shoot dey yell like
debbils, yo-ho-e-hee-eee bang, den fall on de groun’ an’ load dat
musket, stan’ up an’ shoot again; de sojers a droppin’ ebbery time a
Indian shoot.
“De sojers wuz so skeered dey couldn’t load der guns when de Indians
would gib dat Satan screech.
“An’ den de poor sojers jest dropped guns an’ run in ter de lake an’
de woods an’ dem savages would go an’ take de guns an’ de ammunition
offen de dead bodies an’ den go runnin’ like a deer.
“Lord a mercy, hit seems ter me I heah de wind blowin’ ghosts an’ de
sperits ob de brave gem’men what wuz killed on dat field ebbery time
I talks ’bout dat day.
“Yes, Mistis, dat scrummage wuz called de battle ob Payne’s Prairie.
When de Colonel found out de Indians killed so many ob de sojers,
he tore roun’ like a wild bear an’ clar ’foh de Almighty dat he wuz
gwine ter sen’ off an’ fetch de whole United States troops ter come
down an’ kill ebbery Indian in Florida.
“But what good wuz all dat big talk; dey hab two regimen’s stayin’
der den, and ’foh dey could git outen de garrison de sly ole Indians
wuz all gone an’ didn’t leave a track behin’ dem, nuther.
“Dem wuz days ob ’struction, ter be shure! but dey mought ha’
knowed dat war wuz a comin’, kase Daddy Charles see dem divisions
in Virginia an’ tell de white people great ’struction ob war wuz a
comin’, he tell dem dat hit gwine ter wrestle wif a foreign country,
an’ den ’sides de divisions, de wild pigeons come an’ dey wuz so
thick you couldn’t see de trees and de slaves kill ’em wif der hoe
handles in de corn field.
“Yes, dat big Seminole war did come,” said Martha Jane triumphantly,
“jest like dat ole saint o’ black man tole de people.
“I ain’t nebber seed no lonesomer place like dat Payne’s Prairie from
dat day ter dis arter dey hab dat skirmishin’.
“I see de folks lyin’ on de grass an’ de tall grass blowin’ backards
and forrerds, but dem sojers nebber move. Den de men come an’ carry
’em ter de hospital. I shrouded so many dat night dat I got hardened
jest like a dog wifout a soul.
“Colonel Whisler, he wuz a Yankee man, he sayd, ‘Marthy Jane, you
orter hab been a man, you is so nervy.’ Dat why I can’t eat hominy
ter dis day, I make so many poultices endurin’ ob de war ter draw out
de bullets; dey didn’t hab dem pizen balls o’ Satan like dey do in
dese regenerate days since surrender.
“Arter dem scanlous time, Colonel Worth an’ Colonel Whisler ’cided
dat dey mus’ go ter Fort Myers to see how dem scrummagers wuz goin’
on down dat way.
“De headquarter men ’low dey mighty nigh perish’d foh sumptin’ good
ter eat an’ tell ole Mistis dey ’bliged ter hab me go ’long ter do de
cookin’. Colonel Whisler wuz one ob dese kind o’ captains what want
his coffee hot an’ all de victuals on de jump.
“Dem wuz high camp-meetin’ times all de way. In dem days de game wuz
powerful plentiful, an’ dem victuals I cooked wuz a plum sight; deer,
wild turkey an’ ducks wuz a flyin’ wherebber der wuz a pond o’ water.
Um-um-m, didn’t I cook ’em de fine victuals.
“Colonel Worth ’cided dey couldn’t kill de Indians so he say he would
jest campaign along an’ destroy all der crops an’ burn der houses; he
’lowed dat wuz better dan shootin’ dem; an’ oh Lordy, didn’t we eat
de corn an’ watermelons dem Indians raise.
“We march an’ we stop, an’ we march an’ we stop, till hit wuz de
Lord’s blessin’ dat we hab so many horses an’ wagons.
“Oh, dem long wagon trains, wif sojers betwixt, sojers in front an’
sojers behind.
“You see, de officers hab der wives along an’ some mighty fine white
ladies what wuz a visitin’ at de garrison. Dem wuz shure camp-meetin’
days.
“Ole Billy Daniels an’ old man Strafford, dey wuz along too; dey wuz
ole men den. I ’spect dey both dead afoh now.”
* * * * *
“I wuzn’t anyways skeery, but we sut’n’ty wuz a long way from ole
Mistress, mighty nigh two hundred miles.
“Arter all dat camp-meetin’ frolickin’ Colonel Worth ’cided he would
come back ter Fort King an’ leave de sojers ter keep on destroyin’ at
Fort Myers.
“Billy Daniels wuz obliged to ’scort us back, kase he is de man what
drawed de map of Florida an’ put all de lakes an’ islan’s in foh
Colonel Worth. He couldn’t read, nuther write, but he could ’cite de
Seminole language like he hab book learnin’; he wuz de interpreter
foh Colonel Worth too.
“Hit sut’n’ty wuz scrumagen’ times arter me an’ Diana Pyles cooked
dat treaty dinner foh Colonel Worth.
“Mos’ generally de troops went a troopin’ north, but dey lef’ some ob
de sassiest white men I ebber see top o’ earth ter guard de State;
low down white rapscallions.
“You see, hit wuz dis away, terrectly dey fin’ out de Indians wuz all
gone south dey make up dat dey bes’ skeer our people so de United
States would keep payin’ dem government money.
“No, Mistis, hit wuzn’t de Indians dat did de skirmishin,’ hit wuz de
white rapscallions what wuz hankerin’ foh dem government rations.
“Our people wuz rich den wif de big sugar plantations an’ cotton
fields an’ a heap o’ slaves an’ cattle an’ horses; our folks didn’t
want no war, but hit wuz de poor white people dat rousted ’roun’ at
night an’ kill de cattle an’ put moccasins on der ole foots, what
look as rough as alligators’ hides, den dey go an’ make tracks all
roun’ like a hundred Indians been a spyin’. Hit sholy did skeer our
people, but twan’t de Seminoles, kase de Indian is a debbil, but he
ain’t gwine ter stay ’roun’ Fort King when he done promise Colonel
Worth he gwine go ’way.
“Dem white men keep up dat debbilment till de United States find out
’bout hit, an’ she say if dey any moh o’ dat meanness foun’ out dat
dey will hang ebbery rapscallion what prowlin’ ’roun’ we alls white
folks houses.”
PART II
The Florida Seminoles of To-day
PART SECOND
THE PRESENT CONDITION AND ATTITUDE OF THE SEMINOLES
To-day the Seminoles of Florida are a beggared and spectral type
of a once powerful race. And in their swamp homes we find these
brown-skinned people, living in the primeval customs of their
fathers, little changed from the Indians De Soto found in the “Land
of Flowers,” or Columbus upon the little island upon which he landed
the weary and anxious cargo of the frail Pinta, and of whom he wrote
to his Queen, “Because they showed much kindliness for us, and
because I know they would be more easily made Christians through love
than fear, I gave to them some glass beads for their necks, some red
caps with which they were so delighted and entirely ours, it was a
marvel to see.”
Thus we have dispossessed the original owners of as goodly a land as
the sun ever shone upon, a land that cost us nothing but the beads of
the early adventurers and the bullets of their successors, a race,
savages ’tis true, but heroes many of them, and proud and courtly as
their conquerors.
The American people expend thousands of dollars annually in
scientific research for antiquities and many more thousands are
spent by the antiquarian for the preservation of the relics and
ancient records. The North American Indian is fast vanishing from
the continent. Are not the Seminoles of Florida, the descendants of
the old monarchs, this race around which shadowy romance hovers, as
worthy of preservation as the inanimate treasures of ancient Egypt?
Are there no Rameses in American history? In the old turbaned tribe
of Florida, we have a remnant of the most picturesque, deserving and
moral of all the Aborigines of America, and they belong to a type
that is everywhere else extinct. Are they not worth preserving and
protecting to a point worthy the proud and historic name of Seminole?
Secure in the mysterious marshes, these Indians present an eloquent
picture of a helpless wandering tribe.
At the close of the war, a few bands of the Indians refused to submit
to banishment and, concealing themselves in the fastnesses of the
Everglades, made their removal an impossibility. This part of the
tribe, according to their traditions, belonged originally to the
Aztec race and for this reason they claim a preëminence over all the
tribes of Aborigines of America.
Though defeated in war, they never submitted to the Government of
the United States, and hence regard themselves as more valiant in
defense, more determined in purpose than that part of the tribe
which succumbed to emigration to the Indian Territory; in fact, the
old chieftains say of the Indians who emigrated, “Arkansas Indians,
cowards and traitors.”
So to-day the Seminoles of Florida occupy a unique position with
respect to the United States Government, as, being unconquered and
unsubdued, having no legal existence nor allegiance to our Nation; in
short, so far as the United States is concerned officially, _there
are no Indians in Florida_.
The tribe to-day numbers about 600 souls, living at peace with all
mankind, independent, but suspicious of Washington officials, only
asking to be let alone, a homeless people in a free land, ever
pushing on before the insatiable cupidity of the white man.
An inexorable decree has forced the Florida Indian into the most
desolate lands of Florida. Where they once trod as masters they
now fear to place foot. We cannot be unmoved by the thought that
here are the tattered and poverty stricken handfuls of a tribe of
warriors that held at bay a strong government for half a century,
a tribe that counted their cattle, their lands and their slaves in
magnificent proportions. At the present time, to avoid complications
with the South Florida cattle herders none of the race are permitted
to own cattle. There is a certain pathos in the Indian’s story of his
relation to the white race, which arrests our attention and compels
sympathy. But, it is destiny! What of the future? Touch any point
in the red man’s history, where you will, or how you will, and the
helpless savage always gets the worst of it.
There is no use in muck-raking about it. We are leisurely taking
our time at finishing the extermination of the original American.
Whether or not the future historian chronicles this as a century of
dishonor, the fact remains that, since he could not withstand the
white faces, the Indian will go--pass out of existence.
We judge the Indian too harshly. It is hard to give up old
traditions, especially if the adherence to them means a life of ease.
We are all in the pursuit of that which will make us happy.
The story is the old one of merciless extinction of the lower race
before the higher. It is a story of the “survival of the fittest.”
The Florida Indian can go no further. An old anecdote is brought to
light which illustrates the Indian’s own view of the case. The famous
Seneca chief, Red Jacket, once met a government agent, and after
pleasant greetings they both sat down on a log, when Red Jacket asked
the agent to “move along.” The agent did so and the chief followed.
This was done several times, the agent humoring the whim of the
old chief, until he had reached the end of the log, when the same
request, “move along” was repeated. “Why, man,” angrily replied the
agent, “I can’t move along further without getting off the log into
the mud.” “Ugh! Just so white man want Indian to move along--move
along; can’t go no further, yet he say move along.” And so with the
Seminole to-day. The clearings they have made in the forests and the
only homes they have ever known have been bought from the State by
speculators and they are compelled to “move along.” The history of
the western Indian as he sells or surrenders the heart of his great
reservation proves that the white man will have his way. The broken
treaties of the past the Seminole has not forgotten. The old chiefs
are as proud as the most imperious king. They regard these lands
as their own, and cannot understand the Government’s claim. They
say “What right has the big white chief at Washington to give to us
what is already ours--the lands of our fathers?” The white man who
receives any confidence from the Florida Indian must indeed possess
great magnetism, for the Seminole is suspicious of every overture and
will mislead his questioner on all occasions. And while the white man
is studying “poor Lo,” “poor Lo” is similarly engaged in studying
him, and continually revolving in his suspicious mind, “what can pale
face want from the Indian anyway?”
The chiefs have taught the young braves all about the outrages
perpetrated upon their tribe by unscrupulous agents during the wars;
and while the Indians themselves in many cases practiced cruelty, it
was always in retaliation for some grievous wrong of anterior date.
History records case after case of robberies and enormities committed
on the Seminoles previous to the war and during its progress.
Micanopy requested a lawyer to draw a form of writing for him which
soon after proved to be a conveyance of a valuable tract of land!
Afterwards the war-whoop and the deadly hand of Micanopy was heard
and felt among the swamps and prairies. Micanopy was one of the most
powerful, as well as one of the wealthiest Seminole chieftains.
His estate, a mile square, he ceded to the United States. Of the
disposition of his slaves--he had eighty--nothing is said.
In connection with the portrait of Micanopy as used in this
volume, this bit of almost forgotten history is worth mention.
When the famous Indian portrait painter, Catlin, was commissioned
by the War Department to paint the most prominent chiefs then in
captivity at Fort Moultrie, Micanopy, as chief of the Nation, was
first approached, but positively refused to be painted. After much
persuasion, he at last consented, saying, “If you make a fair
likeness of my legs,” which he had very tastefully dressed in a
handsome pair of red leggins, “you may paint Micanopy for the Great
Father,” “upon which, I at once began,” says Catlin, “as he sat cross
legged, by painting them upon the lower part of the canvas, leaving
room for the body and head above.”
When the chief saw every line and curve brought out on the canvas he
smiled his approval, and the work proceeded, to the delight of both
artist and subject.
In the mutual relations between the whites and the Indians it
requires no skilled advocate to show on which side must lie the
wrongs unrepaired and unavenged. Without doubt the Indian has always
been the victim. One thing is certain, the Indian chiefs, when fairly
dealt with, have always evinced an earnest desire to make just terms.
Ever since the Caucasian landed on the shores of America, a white
man with a gun has been watching the Indian. Four centuries have
gone and with them a record of broken treaties and violated pledges.
The records of the Indian Bureau support the statement that, before
the first half of the present century had passed, we had broken
seven solemn treaties with the Creeks, eleven with the Cherokees;
the Chickasaws and Choctaws suffered too, saying nothing of smaller
tribes. History reveals how well the Delawares fought for us in the
Revolutionary War. They were brave “allies,” fighting out of loyalty
to the “Alliance,” and inspired by the promised reward, viz.: “The
territorial right to a State as large as Pennsylvania and a right to
representation in our Congress.” But where are the Delawares to-day?
One remove after another was made until we find only a remnant
existing--some with the Cherokees, and a few with the Wichita agency.
A great deal has been written about the Florida Indian which is not
in accordance with facts. There are many obstacles in the way of
an intimate acquaintance with their customs and home life. Living
as they do in the almost inaccessible morasses, their contact with
civilization has been regulated by their own volition. Visitors,
traders and government agents have been denied their confidence, and
it is only on their visits to settlements for the purpose of trading
that they meet the white man. At such times the Seminole is on the
alert, ever suspicious, and to the numerous interrogations applied to
him by the inquisitive stranger, his answer is an indifferent “Me
don’t know.” When questions become of a personal character, touching
upon subjects sacred to a Seminole, he quietly walks away, leaving
his questioner wondering.
The Seminoles live to themselves, shun all intimacy with the
Caucasian, and their personal appearance is therefore almost unknown
to Americans. The greater part of the tribe seldom, if ever, leave
their marshy homes. To reach their camps uninhabitable wilds must be
traversed and sometimes miles of mud and water waded, then perhaps
only to find the camp deserted. For, while the Seminole has regular
settlements, at various times during the year the entire camp will
assemble at some point where game is abundant and a “big hunt” will
occupy a few weeks. Again syrup boiling will be the festival all will
join in; at another time a large quantity of koonti (wild cassava)
will be made into flour. At these gatherings the tribe or families
occupy temporary dwellings called lodges.
The innate dislike of the Seminole toward strangers is his hardest
prejudice to overcome; yet he is hospitable when he convinces himself
that the visitor is no Government agent, nor come for any mercenary
motive. The person who is fortunate enough to reach their hunting
grounds, secure their confidence, observe their weird home life, and
their childish untutored ways, meets with an attractive spectacle of
romance and may study these aborigines in their primeval customs.
For to-day, with the exception of the chiefs and a few of the
adventuresome warriors, they know nothing of the innovations of
the last half century. So strong are they in their resolution to hold
no intercourse with our nation, that neither bribery nor cajolery
will have any effect upon them. A few years ago an effort was made
by the authorities of the Sub-Tropical Exposition at Jacksonville,
Florida, to secure a few of the Seminole braves for exhibition.
After many proffered bribes, the young warriors with the adventurous
spirit of youth consented to go to the “big city.” A council was held
and the chiefs said “_halwuk_ (it is bad); if you go you never come
back.” The council of the chiefs is always respected and the young
braves remained with their fathers.
[Illustration:
_By the courtesy of the American Bureau of Ethnology._
A SEMINOLE DWELLING]
The life of the Seminole has been without any aid or instruction from
the white man. He has adopted a few of the implements, weapons and
utensils of civilization; but in no other way has he imitated his
pale-faced brother. In the natural course of evolution he has made
some progress; he has not degenerated.
Government reports show an annual appropriation of almost $7,000,000
for the Indian service; yet the Florida Indian has not received any
part of it and without it he has shown a prosperous condition. The
Smithsonian report, in comparing this interesting people with the
native white settlers, says “that success in agriculture and domestic
industries is not to be attributed wholly to the favorable character
of the climate and soil; for, surrounded by the same conditions,
many white men are lazy and improvident, while the Seminoles are
industrious and frugal.”
President Cleveland in his message for 1895 pertinently says, “In
these days, when white agriculturists and stock raisers of experience
and intelligence find their lot a hard one, we ought not to expect
Indians to support themselves on lands usually allotted to them.”
Years later, while the late lamented ex-President was fishing in
New River at the edge of the Everglades, he said, “This country was
made for the Seminoles and they should be permitted to live here
undisturbed forever.”
Yet in Florida, we find the red race not only self-sustaining, but
refusing any aid from our Government. Twenty years ago the Government
appropriated $6,000, “to enable the Seminoles of Florida to obtain
homesteads upon the public lands, and to establish themselves
thereon.” A few of the Indians consented to accept; but the agent,
on investigation, found that the lands which the Indians desired
had passed into State or Improvement Companies. Today the Seminole
is embittered; and, having been driven from one reservation to
another, he refuses to exchange “Indian’s good lands for white man’s
bad lands,” and in the bitterness of his conquered spirit, takes
his dusky tribe to the dark shadows of the cypress swamps, where no
pale-faced Government officer dare disturb him. Again Congress tacked
an item to the appropriation act, giving $7,000 “for the support
of the Seminoles of Florida, for the erection and furnishing of a
school for teachers and the furnishing of seeds and implements for
agricultural purposes.” In the winter of 1889, an agent inspired with
confidence in himself, and with the hope of manipulating a $12,000
appropriation, came to Florida by appointment from Washington to
renew the effort “to find suitable lands upon which to settle the
Indians, and to furnish the seat of an educational establishment.”
Securing an interpreter the agent visited the Indian camp. A council
of chiefs listened quietly to his overtures, but with the same proud
spirit of Osceola’s day, they refused firmly to accept any aid from
a Government which they regard as having stolen from them the lands
of their fathers. As the agent dwelt on the presents the red men of
Florida should receive from the big white chief, Tiger Tail, a worthy
descendant of the invulnerable Tustenuggee, replied, “You came from
Great Chief? You say that Great Chief give Indian plow, wagon, hoe?”
Then pointing in the direction of a small settlement of shiftless
whites, he added, “He poor man, give ’em him. Indian no want ’em.”
Delivering his speech with the spirit of an old Norse King, the chief
strode majestically away, leaving the agent no nearer the fulfillment
of his trust.
An Indian Agency was established, however, in Florida in 1892,
located east of Fort Myers, and about thirty-five miles from the
nearest Seminole camp. It was supported by a yearly appropriation of
$6,000, the appropriation act reading, “For the support, civilization
and instruction of the Seminole Indians in Florida $6,000, one-half
of which sum may be expended at the discretion of the Secretary of
Interior in procuring permanent homes for said Indians.”
The Government built a saw mill, and attempted a school, but the
Indians, according to the statement of Col. C. C. Duncan, U. S.
Indian Inspector at that time, refused to send their children to
the school or to work at the saw mill. Many white traders who
purchase hides, plumes and furs from the Indians, tell them that the
establishment of an agency is for the purpose of rounding them up
and sending them west. These Indians have been cheated and baffled
so often by knaves, who go among them for that purpose, that they
imagine all whites to be of the same character, and cannot tell
whether a “talk” comes from their great white father at Washington,
or whether some imposter be imposing upon them for his own gains;
hence, the Seminole never removed his cloak of suspicion. Little
progress was made and the work of the agency as a government
institution was abandoned.
Once or twice it has been tried to locate the Seminoles, but when the
chiefs examined the land, they found it “ho-lo-wa-gus” (no good) and
they refused the offer.
NATIONAL INDIAN ASSOCIATION
ITS WORK AND ITS RESULTS
When the National Indian Association first organized, like many
innovations in humanitarian work, it met with rebuffs and criticisms,
and not until after five years of petitioning to Congress, newspaper
recognition and the circulation of leaflets, did the splendid body
receive legal recognition and protection for the United States
Indians. With this much accomplished, the work became easier and
plans to evangelize the Indians of the United States were instituted.
It became the duty of the Association to gather money for the work,
establish stations, one by one, finance the expense of building
mission cottages and chapels, and then when established, give the
station, with all its property, to whichever of the denominational
boards should ask for it.
The work has been one of the noblest of pioneer mission labor, for
its activities are directed to America’s original owners, whose
God-given inheritance should never be questioned by any patriot,
whether he be Christian or moralist.
In 1891, this organization entered Florida and the Seminole Indians
received recognition and the first ray of Christian light pierced the
dark camps of the Everglade Indians.
While the missionary in charge found the work difficult and results
were not flattering, still, the seeds were sown that have brought
later and better results, and in 1893 the Mission was transferred to
the Episcopal Church of the South Florida Diocese.
During the period of the National Organization’s stay in Florida,
Congressional agitation of the subject of Seminole lands was aired by
deeply interested friends and pauseless workers, and resulted in the
voting of 800,000 acres of land by the Florida Legislature as a home
for the Seminoles, a gift needing action on the part of Congress to
make it a sure and permanent home for this long-neglected people. But
this action alas! was never taken.[3]
In giving the Florida Station over to the Episcopal Church, the
National Indian Association made no mistake, for through the untiring
efforts of the Rt. Rev. William Crane Gray of the South Florida
diocese, the mission has each year been getting better results. The
Station has been named Im-mo-ka-lee (home), and is situated about
thirty-five miles from Fort Myers. Forty miles farther is a hospital,
called Glade Cross; here an immense white cross has been erected at
the entrance to the glades.
The present arrangement, under the charge of the estimable Rev. Dr.
Godden, seems to be solving the mission question better than any
former plan. The mission owns a store where the Indians may buy or
sell; the missionary in charge may meet and converse personally with
the Indians; he wins their friendship and is able by degrees to
instill religious thoughts into them. The Rev. Dr. Godden is working
along industrial lines, and says, “We must fit these Seminoles by
education and Christianity to meet the coming conditions, and teach
them to become self-supporting by industrial pursuits and _now is the
time to do it_.”
The work proposed is to erect suitable houses for the residence of
the missionary and his family with sufficient room to entertain
visiting Indians when in over night and a barrack or rest room for
laborers employed in clearing land and working crops.
Writing in 1909 of the work and Mission, Dr. Gray says:
To Bishops, Clergy and Laity of
The American Church, Greeting:
I desire to commend most heartily my well-beloved in the Lord,
Rev. Irenæus Trout, Missionary to the Seminole Indians in Southern
Florida. I believe that God has in a marvelous way designated him
as the very man to go forward with the work in which he has already
been signally blessed, viz: that of leading the Seminoles into the
Kingdom of our Lord Jesus Christ. We are now at the very crisis of
opportunity.
Hear him and help him. Here is a cry, not from Europe, Asia or
Africa, but from the Everglades, in your own Florida: “Come and
help us!” A thousand prayers accompany him from this Missionary
District.
God gives you the privilege of helping this poor Seminole remnant
into the kingdom.
Faithfully,
For Christ and the Church,
(Seal) WM. CRANE GRAY,
Bishop of Southern Fla.
The Cathedral Church
Of St. Luke,
Orlando, Fla., Jan. 15, 1909.
THE FRIENDS OF THE FLORIDA SEMINOLES.
A few years ago great interest was manifested in these Florida
wards, when a Society called “The Friends of the Florida Seminoles”
was organized at Kissimmee, Fla., with the Rev. William Crane Gray,
Bishop of the South Florida Episcopal Church, President; Rev. D. A.
Dodge, Vice-president; Mr. James M. Willson, Jr., Secretary, and
State Senator C. A. Carson, Treasurer. Other officers (trustees)
were the late George W. Wilson, Editor-in-chief of the Florida
Times-Union; Hon. J. R. Parrott, President of the Florida East Coast
Railroad Co., and Capt. F. M. Hendry, Fort Myers, Fla.
This body, assisted by the active interest and sympathy of Gov. W. D.
Bloxam, Mr. P. A. Van Agnew, and Mr. Kirk Munroe, made it possible
for the Society to accomplish its State-wide results, numbering among
its members philanthropic people from Maine to California.
The object of this society was to enlist the sympathy of the American
people for these homeless people and to strenuously oppose the
removal of the Seminoles from the State against their consent. No
really true American, whether he be an Indian sympathizer or not, can
feel any but sympathy for the Florida Seminole if he understand the
true status of his condition, and when the Society of the Friends
of the Florida Seminoles was established, a great wave of sympathy
was felt all over the country and requests for membership came in
from all ranks, the highest circles of finance, from social leaders,
educational centers and government officials. It was recognized an
honor to belong to the organization.
The membership list is still open and the Society earnestly appeals
to the people of America to take a friendly interest in the future
fate of this forlorn remnant, who are one of Florida’s most native
possessions, and to aid in securing for them permanent homes in the
unsettled portions of the State before it is too late.
The interest and work of the Society was greatly aided through the
editorial columns of Harper’s Weekly, when Edward S. Martin made an
appeal in behalf of that band of Seminoles known as the Cow Creeks.
The object was to purchase a tract of land on which was located
about seventy-five Indians. They had lived here for thirty years,
cultivating part of the land and using the rest as a range for their
hogs, but as they had no legal title to the land, they were at the
mercy of squatters who coveted them. About four hundred dollars
were raised, but when the attempt was made to locate these Indians,
cowboys and land-grabbers had alarmed them, by telling them that the
Government was getting ready to round them up and take them West, and
like frightened deer they left their homes and retired again to the
swamp fastnesses.
The Society purchased some fields upon which the Indians were camping
with Harper’s fund--the remainder of the funds being held in trust
for its original purpose. The Society secured great public sentiment
in their favor, and hoped to obtain lands through legislation.
Centuries of wrong from hands too powerful to be resisted have taught
these red Americans the patience of despair.
Amid the blessings of Christianity, the Seminole is an outcast from
sympathy and an alien to hope, yet he has never ceased to be manly.
While we protect the deer and the alligator, the quail and the fish,
shall we leave our brother in bronze a prey to the lawless and a
helpless victim of every loafer?
The only way to protect these wards of Florida is to buy a
reservation, and hold it in trust for them--forever.
Even at this writing, that trackless waste of saw-grass and water
with its scattering islands and lagoons, constitutes the great
political question among Florida people--the drainage of the
Everglades.
[Illustration: A SEMINOLE CAMP-FIRE
The Indian mode of making a fire.]
We cannot but admire the proud and independent spirit of the Seminole
as he refuses, in firm but Indian-like measures, the proffered
liberality of a Government which he believes has wronged him.
And, from his high pinnacle of pride, he certainly bears the
distinction of being the only _American_ who has been found unwilling
to share the spoils of the nation. So he says, “We have listened to
the great father at Washington. The Great Spirit wishes no change
in his red children. If you teach our children the knowledge of the
white people, they will cease to be Indians. To know how to read and
write is very good for white men, but very bad for red men. Long
time ago, some of our fathers wrote upon a little piece of paper
without the nation knowing anything about it. When the agent called
the Indians together he told them the little paper was a treaty
which their brethren had made with the great father at Washington,
and lo! they found that their brethren by knowing how to write,
had sold their lands and the graves of their fathers to the white
race. Tell our great father at Washington that we want no schools,
neither books, for reading and writing makes very bad Indians. We are
satisfied. Let us alone.” After this speech delivered in the native
tongue, the council breaks up, and the proud Seminole betakes himself
to the Everglades. The Seminole is disposed to make a child’s bargain
with the big white chief: “You let me alone, and I will let you
alone.”
Photographs of the Carlisle Indian boys have been used to illustrate
the improvement which follows education; but the Seminole youth
turns away with disdain, as he notes the closely shaven head and
the American dress, and says, “Indian no want books, make ’em white
man, white man mean heap lie too much.” With a gesture faithful to
the Indian, he refers to the “long time ago, Seminoles had lands,
cattle, slaves; white man steal ’em.” This statement of the Indians
is corroborated by the old white settlers of to-day, who fought the
Indians. They tell that General Jessup’s army, on coming to the great
cattle country of South Florida, began a systematic slaughter of all
the cattle found. A body of soldiers, too large to fear an attack,
would round up a herd of the Indian’s cattle and sitting on their
horses, shoot them all down. Up to this time the Indians were regular
stock dealers, their customers being the Cubans and Minorcans.
General Jessup’s report of his march into the “Indian country,” says,
“On the 28th (January, 1837), the army moved forward and occupied a
strong position on ‘Ta-hop-ka-li-ga’ Lake, where several hundred head
of cattle were obtained.”
The tribe to-day are taught by the chiefs to regard the whites, in
general, as lacking in honor and courage, weak and insignificant, or
in Seminole dialect, “white man--_ho-lo-wa-gus_” (no good). This is
easily understood when we consider the strong attachment an Indian
bears to his native hunting grounds; and when the memory runs back
to the time when our Government banished their friends and relatives
to the unknown wilds of the West, and they went silent and weeping
toward the setting sun. Their bitterness is consistent with their
ideas of injustices practiced upon them.
History, romance and poetry have held up the characteristics of the
red man to our gaze from childhood. And while treachery may be a
distinguishing feature of the Indian nature, yet the lowest one of
them has some conception of honor when fairly approached. History
shows that all through the Seminole war, misrepresentations and
dishonorable schemes were practiced against them by the whites.
Almost universal sympathy goes out to this remnant of people who
fought so bravely and so persistently for the land of their birth,
for their homes, for the burial place of their kindred. As their
traditions tell them of the oppression their people suffered as
they wandered in the wilderness thrice forty years, who can tell
the secret of their hearts? To do this, it would be necessary to
become, for the time, an Indian, to put ourselves in his place--and
what white man has ever done this? Ask the waters of Tohopeliga, or
the winds that waft across Okeechobee. To the elements are whispered
the heart throbs of these red fawns of the forest. The present
Florida Indians are descendants of that invincible tribe who were
never conquered by the force of arms. Refusing in 1842 to accompany
their people to the mysterious West, they ceased to exist save for
themselves. Finding refuge in the almost inaccessible Everglades,
they were for a time almost lost to the historian. They have no
legal existence, and hence no rights that a white man is bound, by
law, to respect. There are no Indian troubles in Florida at present,
but every few months a cry comes from hungry land-grabbers, or from
trappers and hunters, that the Seminoles are killing off the deer and
plume birds. The changing conditions in the lower peninsular country
will eventually lead up to difficulties; and “Where shall we locate
the Indians?” becomes a serious problem.
The Florida _Times-Union_ editorially says:
All the murderous, cut-throat, unkempt and squalid Indians in
the United States whom the Government fears are provided with
reservations and such luxuries as they never before had in their
lives, but the Seminoles of Florida, the finest specimens of Indian
manhood in this country, clean in body, pure in morals, and as
brave as the lion that roams the desert, with whom so many treaties
have been wantonly broken, are being driven farther and farther
into the Everglades and their hunting grounds confiscated to the
land grabbers. Is this justice?
Should the whites drive off the Seminoles, and thus approve their
greed for land by taking the possessions the Indians now occupy,
what good would it do them? Internal improvement companies, by their
franchises, would sooner or later take the blood-stained acres from
them. Let settlers in Florida, or in any part of the country, turn
over their accounts and see how many acres have been credited to
them, either from the State or from the general Government, without
the equivalent of homesteading or for cash. The “Western” style of
disposing of the Indian’s inheritance must not be followed in fair
Florida. It seems hard that these natives who ask no aid of our
nation, should be forced to the wall by the march of civilization.
To the Western Indians, under the protection of the Government, and
supplied in a large measure by the taxes which civilization pays,
pages are devoted by philanthropists for the betterment of their
condition. The rights of the Seminoles of Florida should be defended.
The day is not far distant when they must be made to go to the
reservation in Arkansas or to lands set apart for them in Florida. To
remove them from their tropical homes to the chilling blasts of the
Indian Territory would be an act of cruelty and wholly unnecessary.
Those of us who have enjoyed life in this land of the palm, this land
of the balmy air and life-giving sunshine, reveling in the eternal
bloom of the flowers and the ceaseless song of the birds, can well
picture the struggle it would cost the patient Seminole to be forced
to a cold western land. No, fair Florida, the ancestors of these
proud people were forced to the country of the setting sun silent
and dejected. But, with the spirit of Osceola, if they must perish,
it will be here--here upon the land of their birth, upon the graves
of their kindred. The lands they now occupy are of little value to
the white race and might be made a safe reserve for them--forever.
Cowboys who hunt upon the Okeechobee plains, say the Indians are
peaceably disposed and friendly, and have never yet disturbed or
threatened. They are certainly not foot-sore for the warpath and are
fearful of doing anything to arouse the whites. “Indian no fight,” is
the answer to the questioner. They have sense enough to know that if
war should come again it would mean extermination for them; and their
love for the “Flower Land” is so deep that the thought of exile would
cost a struggle they dare not attempt. Yet, feeble remnant that they
are, with the same heroic blood coursing their veins that inspired
their ancestors and made them almost invulnerable, the present
Seminole would choose to die rather than submit to removal. And in
their swampy fastnesses, they could maintain a contest that would
cost us thousands of dollars and many precious lives.
OUR DUTY TO THESE WARDS OF THE NATION.
Under the present status the Seminoles are prosperous, happy and
contented. But the vanguard of civilization is marching on, and
thinking, friendly minds must solve the question of the protection
for this remnant of a tribe we have dispossessed of their natural
rights. Dwellers of every land, from Scandinavia to the Congo have
a Christian welcome to our shores. The slums of Europe pour in upon
us to fill our almshouses and to be supported by our taxes. We have
during the past quarter century contributed more than $50,000,000 to
the education of the freedmen, yet except in individual cases, the
improvement is scarcely noticeable.
Men and women are sacrificing their lives for the heathen of other
lands. Is not the Seminole, this remnant of a long-persecuted people,
as worthy of consideration as the oppressed Cuban or the half-naked
Filipino?
Christianity is donating millions of money to this end, while our own
“wards,” too many of them, are yet living in the dark superstitions
of their fathers.
[Illustration:
_Photograph by E. W. Histed._
CHIEFTAIN TALLAHASSEE, WITH HIS WHITE FRIEND, THE LATE L. A. WILLSON
“The very history of the tribe is carved in poor Tallahassee’s face.
He is the incarnation of ‘The Man without a Country.’”]
It is possible it will take time and patience before any shining
results are apparent. Not until confidence is restored will the
embittered Seminole yield to the overtures of our Government. In an
educational sense the older Indians will not be benefited, except
through the influence of their children. The logic of events demands
absorption of this people into our National life, not as Indians,
but as American citizens; and the sooner they can be induced to
accept lands from the Government, and education for the youth, the
sooner will the civilization of the Seminole cease to be a theory.
The permanent duty of the hour is to prepare the rising generation
for the new order of events that must come. Because these bands of
the Seminoles are prouder, more invincible than the old Saxons,
because they are savages, yet heroes many of them, all the good of
life should not be withheld from them. It has taken years of labor
to obtain the shining of even the few rays of light that relieve
the gloom of the heathen countries of the Orient. It would be
unreasonable to expect the offspring of savages to attain in a short
time to anything like the thrift of a Nation like ours. Yet, with a
few years of humane treatment, unviolated pledges, with Christian
and patriotic examples set before them, this little band of Florida
Indians would become worthy representatives of this fair land.
Were any future danger to threaten the United States, the Seminoles
would be found to be brave allies. The pledge to General Worth by
this remnant of hostiles, who, in 1842, refused to emigrate with
the rest of their tribe, temporarily agreeing “to confine themselves
to certain limits and abstain from all aggressions upon their white
neighbors,” seems to be held sacred by their descendants. The
question was put to Billy Bowlegs, one of the most intelligent of
the present Indians, as to what his people would do were the whites
to encroach, and take the clearings of his tribe are now occupying,
“Would Indian fight?” The young brave replied with downcast face,
“Indian no fight, Indian no kill, Indian go.” Pursuing the subject
further, “but, Billy, by and by, may be one year, five years, may
be, white man go, take all your land, take Okeechobee, then where
will Indians go?” With the same bowed head, the answer came low and
soft, “Me don’t know--Indian go.” Then to test his idea of an ally,
the question was asked, “What would Seminole Indians do, Billy, if
the Spaniards from across the big salt water would come to fight the
white people of Florida?” Quickly and with spirit came the answer,
“Indians help white man to fight.” Unless action be taken, there will
come a time, when, leaving no trace behind them, the Seminole shall
pass out of the world. He shall go, like the mist.
We cannot undo the past, but the future is in the hands of the
people. In Canada there are over 100,000 Indians. They are called
the Indian subjects of His Majesty; all held amenable to the law
and protected by it. Statistics show that on one side of the line
the nation has spent millions of money in Indian wars, while on the
other, with the same greedy Anglo-Saxon race, not one dollar has been
spent, and there has never been a massacre.
The caustic remark that the only good Indian is a dead Indian might
apply to the savage Apache; but when one has studied the home life
of the Seminoles, observed their domestic felicity, from which
many white men might take example, noted their peaceful, contented
character, he can only see in them an attractive race, and worthy the
proud lineage they claim. Surely if ever the strong were bound to aid
the weak, we are bound to help them, to treat them as human beings,
possessed of human rights, and deserving the protection of American
law. This without doubt, they will be willing to accept, when our
nation by kind, courteous and honorable means secures their lost
confidence; and when our National Christianity shall take measures
to make our land for them a home where they may dwell in peace and
safety.
CHIEF TALLAHASSEE.
Almost four hundred years have passed since that fair April day when
Ponce de Leon anchored on the verdant shores of Florida. Since the
Spanish cavalier planted the silken flag of Spain upon her soil,
Florida has been surrounded by a halo of romance and tragedy. Between
the time of her discovery and to-day, what marvelous scenes have been
witnessed upon her fair plains and along the borders of her wild,
dark rivers.
The ancient race who greeted the old Castilian has vanished and, save
in the little band of Seminoles secreted in the mysterious and weird
wilderness of the Everglades, no trace of the red man is visible. A
description of a type of this fragment of a people will enable the
reader to form a better conception of the tribe as a whole; and no
name is more worthy to place in these pages than that of Tallahassee.
The old chieftain in appearance is noble and intellectual, and
there is that in his look and bearing which at once pronounces
him something more than the mere leader of a savage tribe. While
his silvered head marks the cycle of many years, in his attire of
scarlet and white, embraced by the traditional brightly beaded sash,
he exhibits a dignified and patriarchial bearing. His countenance,
while indeed mellowed with the cares of four-score years and ten,
is kindly, and shows a conquered spirit. The lineaments of noble
features are traceable in the broad forehead, the firm, thin lips,
and eyes that might pierce the rays of the sun. Tallahassee shows no
resentment to the whites, yet he believes that they have treated the
Indian badly.
It may seem strange to talk of gentlemanliness in an untutored
savage, but the demeanor of this Seminole chief must dignify any
family in the land. But that face! Heaven forbid that any native of
free America should wear so sad, almost heartbroken an expression as
that which seams poor Tallahassee’s face. No child could look upon
it without being impressed by its mournful pathos. The very history
of the tribe is carved there.
When Osceola, with his compatriots, went on the warpath,
Tallahassee was a small boy, and remembers well when his father
and a few companions were surrounded and killed by the soldiers
near Tallahassee, the capital of the State. Chipco, the chief of
the tribe, was Tallahassee’s uncle; he escaped from the soldiers,
and made his way to the Everglades where he lived to be nearly one
hundred years old. Rosa, the sister of Tallahassee, became his squaw.
They were childless, and at Chipco’s death, Tallahassee inherited the
title, but as a reward for bravery displayed in saving his life on
two occasions, Chipco had made him chief years before he died.
There is no trace of a revengeful spirit in either word or manner
when Tallahassee speaks of his father’s tragic death, but with the
stoicism of a philosopher, he seems to have accepted it as one of
the cruel fortunes of war, and has nobly “buried the tomahawk.”
Tallahassee is no stern warrior with blood-stained hands, but
wears worthily the dignities of his ancestral station, and in many
ways might be imitated with profit by his more cultured pale-faced
brother. He is a true type of the “noble red man,” and in any other
walk of life would have risen to eminence. Of all the Seminoles,
Tallahassee is the most friendly to the whites. With the inborn
courtesy that is native to all true greatness, this untutored Indian
will welcome you to his wigwam and with royal grace dispense the
hospitalities at his command. Few enter his presence, and none leave
it without this mental tribute to his high character. The old chief
is treated with care and consideration, and a homage is paid to him
by the younger members of the tribe. Among the Seminoles, when a
member of the tribe becomes too old for usefulness or self-help, it
becomes the duty of the young men to contribute their share to his
support. They are taught to do this more as an honor than as a burden.
As the years pass, more pathetic grows the life of the hereditary
chieftain.
A few years ago, after numerous invitations, Tallahassee was
persuaded to leave his swamp home to make a visit to the home of
the writer. The old patriarch was accompanied by Billy Bowlegs,
who showed the tenderest care for him. With one horse between them
they traveled from the Everglades to Bassinger, the terminus of the
steamboat line to Kissimmee. Then they boarded the steamer Roseada,
arriving at Kissimmee after two days’ river travel. They attracted
much attention and were the recipients of many small presents from
sympathetic friends. They were both in full costume, the old chief
wearing the regalia of his rank, sashes of bead work and red beaded
leggins. On reaching the home of their host, they immediately began
unpacking the bundle they carried, which indicated they had been
preparing for many moons back for this eventful visit. Numerous
garments, new and fanciful, were carefully withdrawn. The next
morning being the Sabbath, they dressed with greatest care for the
Sunday School and church services, which they enjoyed to the fullest.
Knowing the famous chieftain would attend service, the church was
crowded and at the close of the services parents with their children
crowded around the old chieftain eager to shake hands with him; and
with a pleasant beam of gratitude in his eyes, he received these
greetings of the white friends.
It is a pleasing fact that Tallahassee, a savage and the
representative of an almost destitute people, received a homage and
as kindly a greeting as was ever accorded to any visitor to the
little city of Kissimmee. However adverse a man may be to the Florida
Indian in general, if he looks into the history of the Seminoles of
Florida, he not only becomes friendly, but eager to see justice meted
out to them.
As Tallahassee bade “good-bye,” he said, “Me no more come to
Kissimmee City--old too much.” He had come as an ambassador of his
tribe to tell his white friends the history of his race, and as
memory went back to the olden days of bloodshed and accounts of home
after home wrested from his people, he trembled with suppressed
emotion. Anguish, interblended with the mournful pathos of his face,
made a picture too sad to look upon. It was a period of agonizing
struggle for this gallant, but conquered Seminole.
Sad and prophetic were his farewell words, for a short time after
he reached his swamp home, he was taken with violent pains in his
head, and as Billy Bowlegs reported it, “Pain three days--pain
go,--Tallahassee blind _ojus_” (heap). The old chieftain, though
totally blind and physically helpless, rules his band with the same
stoic will of days long ago, when he carried them to the wilderness
and wrenched them from the white man’s bullets and Uncle Sam’s
bloodhounds.[4]
INCREASING.
It is generally believed that the Seminoles are dying off, and
can last but a few years longer. On the contrary, they have large
families of strong, healthy children, and the past ten years has
shown a marked increase in their number. The strict law allowing no
persons of like gens to marry is a reason why the tribe does not
multiply still more rapidly. There are instances where eligible young
men find great difficulty in getting wives because of the strictness
governing the gens or consanguinity law. One chief has two daughters
who find the same trouble in getting married because the men of their
choice are too closely connected to them. Thus, a member of the
Deer clan may not marry into the same clan, no difference how far
removed the relationship may be. Relationship on the father’s side
is not guarded against so strenuously, as the gens is all counted
through the mother. Very often the law of marriage causes strange
alliances--young men twenty years of age having old women for wives.
From the best obtainable resources, there were in the year 1859, only
one hundred and twelve Indians left in Florida. In 1880, by actual
count, as reported by the Smithsonian Institute, the Seminoles of
Florida numbered two hundred and eight. According to data gotten
from the Indians themselves the tribe to-day numbers nearly six
hundred. Of this number a great proportion are young children, or in
the language of the chief as he made a numerical calculation of the
members of the different families--“heap pikcanannies, pikcaninnies
_ojus_” (plenty). The Seminoles are divided into four bands, who
live in groups apart; each independent of the other, but in friendly
relation. They are the Miami Indians, the Big Cypress band, the
Talla-hassees and the Okeechobees. Since the death of Woxo-mic-co
(Great Chief) five years ago, no one has been elected to fill his
place, and it is doubtful if his office will ever be filled.
No event in the history of the Seminole tribe since the closing of
the war has been more tragic than the slaughter of eight of the band,
by the hand of Jim Jumper, a half-breed belonging to the tribe. The
killing occurred in February, 1891. According to the Indians, the
negro had bought some bad whiskey from a white trader, and it made
him “crazy too much in his head”--doubtless delirium tremens. With
his Winchester in his hand he started out. The first victim was his
faithful squaw who happened to be close by. Rushing forward and
through the camp and meeting the venerable Woxo-mic-co, head chief
over all the tribe, who was on a visit to the Cow Creek band from his
council lodge at Miami, the crazy half-breed sent a ball through the
old chief’s head, killing him instantly. Old Tom Tiger, one of the
landmarks of the Indian wars, hearing the firing, came to the rescue,
but was shot down before he had time to interpose. Young Tiger,
stepping out of the wigwam in time to see his father fall to the
ground, with a blood-curdling war-whoop sprang upon the maniac and a
hand-to-hand fight ensued; but he was at the wrong end of the rifle,
and before he could wrest it from his antagonist, another report was
followed by the death-cry of the brave, young Indian. The wildest
panic ensued, the women and children huddling in their wigwams or
fleeing to the woods. The murderer now rushed into the wigwam of his
sister, and with his knife murdered her and her two little children,
who were clinging to her dress in terror. Brandishing his knife,
he started into the woods, where he was killed by a bullet from
Billy Martin’s rifle. The wailing and the anguish in that camp can
better be imagined than described. After the burial ceremony over
the murdered victims, the body of the murderer was dragged far into
the swamp, to be fed upon by the vultures. Thus passed away in less
than half an hour eight innocent lives, victims to the demoralizing
influence of the white man’s whiskey. The Indian village was broken
up, the entire band moving away to escape the visitations of the
spirits of the murdered ones.
[Illustration:
_Photograph by E. W. Histed._
A SEMINOLE GROUP OF THE TALLAHASSEE BAND, KNOWN AS THE COW CREEKS
A people without a country.]
On the death of Woxo-mic-co, four candidates for the position of
Big Chief appeared, but five years have passed and yet no chief
has been elected. In the old chieftain’s death the last vestige of
Seminole war spirit is obliterated. Nowhere in their history is
their determination to live at peace with their white neighbors
more conclusively proven than in the abolition of the office of
Great Chief, “Big Chief” and war councils, in their minds, being
inseparable.
The authority of the sub-chiefs, who are leaders of the different
bands, is purely personal; they cannot decree punishment--a jury or
council alone can do this. The government is not harsh, and there is
as much freedom as could be possible in these forest homes.
APPEARANCE AND DRESS.
In personal appearance, many a Seminole brave might be taken as a
type of physical excellence. He is bright copper in color, is over
six feet in height, his carriage is self-reliant, deliberate and
strong. His step has all the lightness and elasticity that nature
and practice can combine to produce, as lithe and soft as the tread
of a tiger. The Yale, the Harvard or the Oxford student with years
of training in the athletic school, would be but a novice in the art
of grace, suppleness and mode of walking, as compared with this
son of the forest. His features are regular, his eyes jet black and
vigilant, always on the alert; his nose is straight but slightly
broadened, his mouth firm as a stoic’s. The hair is cut close to
the head, except the traditional scalplock of his fathers, which is
plaited and generally concealed under the large turban that adorns
his head.
The dress of the Seminole chief consists of a tunic embraced by
a bright sash, close fitting leggins of deer-skin, which are
embellished with delicately cut thongs of the same material, that
hang in graceful lines from the waist to the ankle, where they
meet the moccasin. The moccasin is also made of deer-skin, and
covers a foot shapely and smaller than that of the average white
man. A picturesque feature of the dress is the turban. Oriental
in its effect, it has become the emblem of the race. It is worn
almost constantly; and is made impromptu from shawls or colossal
handkerchiefs wrapped round and round the head and then secured in
shape by a band, often made of beaten silver which encircles the
whole with brilliant effect. With young braves the more important the
occasion, the more enormous the turban. Another characteristic of the
dress is the number of handkerchiefs worn, knotted loosely about the
neck. Regardless of the temperature, the Indian adorns himself with
six, eight or perhaps a dozen of bright bandannas, exhibiting great
pride in the number he possesses. A belt made of buckskin completes
the costume. From this are suspended a hunting knife, a revolver, a
pouch in which is carried the ammunition and small articles necessary
for the chase.
The physique of the women will compare favorably with that of the
men. They are healthy and robust, and among the younger members some
comely well-featured women are found. The dress of the squaw is
very simple, consisting of a straight, full skirt, made long enough
to hide the feet. The upper part of the dress is a long sleeve,
loose-fitting waist, which fails to meet the waist band of the skirt
by about two inches; this oddly fashioned garment is cut large
enough in the neck to be put on or taken off over the head. A large
collar, fashioned after the collarettes worn by the fashionables of
the season of 1896, completes the toilet. A Seminole woman wears
no head-dress of any description. Even when visiting the white
settlements they go with their heads uncovered. Neither do they wear
moccasins, at home or abroad, in winter or in summer. They are always
bare-footed.
Vanity and coquetry are inborn in the female character. The Seminole
maiden whose life has been spent among the swamps “far from the
madding crowd” and fashion’s emporium, still practices the arts of
her pale faced sister. She affects the bang and the psyche knot with
as much ease as the New York belle, and with such metropolitan airs
soon captivates her forest lover. The same passionate desire for gold
and jewels, ever uppermost in the heart of the civilized white woman,
be she peasant or queen, shows itself in the Seminole squaw. Silver
breast-plates, made from quarters and half dollars, beaten into
various designs, add to their personal adornment on festal occasions.
What the turban is to the brave, such is the necklace of beads to
the woman. It is her chief glory and is worn constantly. Her ambition
seems to be to gather as many strings of these highly colored beads
about the neck as she can carry, often burdening herself with several
pounds. Even the wee tots are adorned with small strings of the much
prized necklace.
Many years ago, when the Indians were encamped on the Kissimmee
River, Chief Tallahassee with two or three of the squaws visited
Kissimmee. Being taken into a room to see a newly-born babe, he
directed a squaw to take from her neck a string of beads and put
it around the neck of the “little white pappoose.” This was done
as an act of greatest honor, to show the Indian’s appreciation of
hospitalities received at this house.
INDEPENDENCE AND HONOR.
To-day as we meet the Seminole “at home,” we find the wigwam made
of palmetto leaves and the skins of wild animals; the floor of this
structure is made of split logs and elevated about two feet above
the ground. A few of the Indians have in late years built board
houses, but the roof is made of palmetto thatch. Here, surrounded
by the gloom and weirdness of the Everglades, miles from white
man’s habitation, the baying of the alligator, the hooting of the
great horn owl, and the croaking of the heron are the only sounds
to be heard. Truly the picture is one of melancholy and profound
dreariness. But here we find the aborigines contented because they
are out of the white man’s power. Here they hold their councils,
here around the camp fires the traditions of the old turbaned tribe
are taught to the youths; here, too, they follow the same customs of
the race of one hundred and fifty years ago. Here is instilled into
the youth the story of the perfidies practiced upon their fathers by
the white man; and as the children listen to the glories of Osceola,
and the tragic ending of their hero, the spirit of conservatism
is engendered, and with swelling hearts they go on, on, resolute
in their determination to avoid disaster, by keeping aloof from
the white man. Although far from the influence of civilization,
knowledge has come to these people naturally which we have painfully
acquired by books. Driven to these Florida jungles after a seven
years’ bloody war, here the Seminole, thrown absolutely upon his
own resources, has continued to dwell. He has accepted no aid, his
people have increased, and in a manner have prospered. No alms-houses
are supported for their benefit. This independent Indian does not
increase the expense of the jail nor the penitentiary; he is no
starving Indian who must be fed at the expense of the Government.
In these red sons of the forest we meet the original “real Indian,”
unchanged by contact with the white man. The visitor to the “Wild
West,” who complains that “the Indians do not look like the Indians
of fifty years ago,” would have little ground for his complaint
were he to visit the Seminoles in their marshy fastnesses. Florida
can boast of one of the few tribes of “real Indians” in the United
States. The present Seminole must be credited with a high sense of
honor; and he can keep a pledge as well as did Massasoit. A few years
ago, during a terrific coast storm some Indian braves asked shelter
of a Florida settler. The Indians were received and entertained
until the weather settled. On leaving, the chief sweeping his hand
toward the broad Savannah, said, “Captain, hunt deer?” The answer was
“Sometimes.” “Indian no hunt Captain’s deer,” was the rejoinder. Very
little in itself, but it meant much, for since that time there has
not been an Indian hunter within miles of the place.
[Illustration: CHIEF TALLAHASSEE MARTHA TIGER SHE YO HEE
TOMMY HILL MILAKEE]
Famed in song and story is the pledge of the old turbaned tribe of
the Seminoles. Not more worthy are they of commemoration than their
descendants of to-day. A few months ago, Billy Bowlegs and Tommy
Doctor paid an unexpected visit to Kissimmee. They walked from their
camp at Okeechobee Marsh, a distance of one hundred and twenty-five
miles to tell their white friend that “Indians no lie.” This was all.
They apparently had no other business in town, and after a few hours’
visit left as quietly as they had come. Their mission was completed,
their white brother believed them, their honor was clear; they could
now dance at the Green Corn Dance with merry hearts.
A few months prior to this, these Indians had promised their white
friend to act as guide on a bear hunt in the Everglades. All
arrangements had been made for the hunt, except to fix the time and
place of meeting. This was to be done through a white settler. Later,
plans for the hunt were perfected, and word was sent to the Indian
village. According to their promise the Indians came to the settler’s
home on the day specified, but found that the white man had left his
house early in the morning with no message as to how or where the
Indians should follow. The Indians, not knowing which way to go to
find the party, could do nothing but return to their camp--a distance
of forty or fifty miles. Subsequent developments proved that the
white man wished to act as guide, and thereby earn for himself the
remuneration he expected the Indians would receive.
THE SEMINOLE’S UNWRITTEN VERDICT OF THE WHITE RACE.
“Es-ta-had-kee, ho-lo-wa-gus, lox-ee-o-jus”
(White man no good, lie too much.)
In some mysterious way, the Seminole’s conception of the Decalogue
neither to lie, nor steal, nor cheat, is the foundation stone upon
which he builds his character, principle and honor, for it is taught
to the race, from the cradle to the grave, to the swinging papoose
on its mother’s shoulders, all through life, till the Great Spirit
calls to the Happy Hunting Grounds. Let the reader stop and consider
that here is a community of hundreds, living in open palmetto camps.
No locks, no doors, no courts, and no officers to keep the law; a
people, who for generations have lived, pure in morals, with no
thieving, no trespassing, and no profanity (for the Seminole has
no oath in his language). With his conception of the Deity, he
reverences the name of the Great Spirit, and “Thou shalt not take
the name of the Lord thy God in vain,” he venerates, as did the
Hebrews in the days of Moses. What would be the result if an equal
number of the negro race were left under the same conditions for two
generations? Nay, what would be the history of six hundred whites
forced to live for even twenty-five years like the Seminoles?
With the Seminole’s power to condense into a single phrase, he
crystalizes his verdict of the white man into the above forcible
expression. In pathetic, but terse language, it tells of generations
of wrong treatment at the hands of the white brother; sharp practices
and broken treaties, and misrepresentations are all included in the
general summing up.
From his oral lexicon, he has chosen these few words, which reveal
the throbbing inner soul of these red children of the forests.
No pages, no volumes, no libraries are required to chronicle his
experience.
Be it remembered that all history of the relation of the two races
has been written by the white historian, but were the Indian to
write the story, the other side of the picture would be shown. The
complaints of the white man are carried, as it were, on the wings of
the wind, while that of the poor Indian is drowned in the tempest.
With a stoicism born of generations of training, the Seminole shows
no ill-will, no resentment, and the harshest criticism he ever makes
against his white conquerors and victorious brothers is this phrase,
“Es-ta-had kee, ho-lo-wag-us, etc.” And whether in vindication of
some offense, or given as a simple opinion, his pent-up feelings find
expression in this one forcible epithet, and seems to be the missile
he hurls at the white man.
The average American with his standard of morals calloused by
dealings in the business and social world, smiles at the Seminole’s
verdict of his character and with indifferent shrug, jocularly
repeats it as being only--the opinion of an Indian.
But, measured by the Indian’s conception of honor, how small we
must appear to the Seminole patriot, for, from his unwritten code
of ethics, to one who knows the well grounded Indian character, his
estimate of white manhood means more than is apparent underneath his
calm exterior.
ENDURANCE AND FEASTS.
When one sees the great moral strength of the Seminoles, notes the
wonderful physical endurance of which they are capable, observes the
fearless, haughty courage they display, he cannot but be surprised
that the Florida wars were not more disastrous than they were, or
that any of the Seminoles ever yielded to removal. To test their
endurance the old chiefs have been known to take a live coal from
the camp fire, place it on the wrist and without an emotion let it
burn until the heat was exhausted. Tustenuggee would remove the
cool ember and quietly reach down and put a fresh one in its place.
This old chief, so famous in history, never yielded to removal,
and lived till a few years ago with his tribe in the Everglades.
The goal of the Seminole is to learn to endure and to achieve. To
this end is every Seminole boy educated, and different modes of
developing the powers of endurance are employed. Carrying a deer for
a long distance without fatigue, walking or running for many miles,
jumping, wrestling, poling a canoe, etc., are some of the practical
modes. The Spartan spirit is supreme in the minds of the tribe, and
the youth are taught that no merit is greater than that of bearing
pain without complaint. At the annual feast of the Green Corn Dance
the young Indians of a certain age are initiated into the rights
of warriors, and are subjected to trying ordeals. They must pass
through the “In-sha-pit,” which means the cutting of the legs till
the blood flows, and other cruel arts, after which the Indian boy
is pronounced a warrior, ready for the battle of life, whatever the
Great Spirit decrees. It is the strict adherence to the teachings
of their ancestors that makes the present generation the brave and
proud people that they are.
Strange as it may seem, the Seminoles celebrate a Christmas--“All
same white man’s Kismas,” is their reply when questioned concerning
the celebration. This is the great feast day of the “Shot-cay-taw,”
(Green Corn Dance) and occurs each year about the first of July, and
is the time for assembling the whole band.
The ceremony is largely under the control of the Medicine Men, who
are important personages among all bands, and act as advisers, as
priests and as doctors. In the authority of the Medicine Man one
recognizes a similarity to the priests of the Ancient East as well
as the doctrines laid down by the Aztecs. The festivals observed
by the Florida Indians show teachings centuries old--blending the
peculiarities of different races--the carnival of the Romans, with
the Jewish feasts of Moses’s day, and the mystic link of the Aztec
jubilee.
The Feast of the Shot-cay-taw has many similarities to the historical
records of the National Festival of the Aztecs. The feast is for
sorrowing, rejoicing and purifying. This is the beginning of the New
Year when, following the traditions of ancient people, old fires
are allowed to go out, not a spark is allowed to remain. New fire
is produced artificially; this is the Sacred Fire and must be made
with the flint rock of their ancestors. The new fire is presented
from one tribe to another, and is received as a token of friendship.
Then they assemble around the fires singing and dancing. Gratitude
is expressed to the Great Spirit, if the year has been abundant. If
death has overtaken the tribe mournful strains expressive of pity and
supplication are invoked. This custom was borrowed from the ancient
tribes who worshipped the sun. The Medicine Men arrange the date for
the Green Corn Dance, which is governed by a certain phase of the
moon, and runners are sent from band to band to announce the time.
The ceremony preceding the dance permits all men who have evaded the
laws to be reinstated by indulging in certain trying ordeals. The
transgressors appear a short time before the dance. They are placed
in a closed skin tent where a large hot stone lies on the fire. The
famous “Black Drink” of Osceola’s time is administered, water is
poured on the stone, and the culprits are shut up in this suffocating
heat. If they pass the ordeal, they are forgiven and allowed to join
in the feasting and dancing when it occurs. This same “Black Drink”
which is a nauseating medicine from herbs, is taken by all the tribe
on the first day of the dance. This cleanses the system and enables
them to “eat, drink, and be merry” to the fullest extent.
At this great re-union, old friendships are revived, courtships take
a prominent part, and plans are formulated for hunting expeditions,
syrup boilings and “Koonti” gatherings. Members of one settlement
will agree to meet certain members of another family at a certain
point on a fixed day of the moon.
[Illustration: BILLY BOWLEGS AND TOMMY DOCTOR
“They walked one hundred and twenty-five miles to tell their white
friend, ‘Indian no lie.’”]
There will be no broken pledges--no disappointments. The Seminole
promises nothing to his people that he will not fulfill.
One of the most picturesque games enjoyed by the Indians during
this festival is the dancing around the festal pole. On the night
of the full moon, they dance from sunset until sunrise. It is very
interesting to see the harmony in running around the circle. As the
women throw the ball at the pole in the center, the men catch it in
their bags that are made around bent sticks, which have bows each
about four inches in diameter, with a cross at the lower side.
When the dancing is over, the circle about the pole is perfectly
symmetrical, and about ten inches deep, made by the running and
dancing.
An exciting feature of the dance is the racing for a wife. A level
course is laid off and the race begins. The dusky lover selects the
maiden for whom he would strive, because he must catch her before he
may court her. The Indian girl is his equal, and often his superior
in fleetness, and need not be caught unless she so wishes. But, like
her civilized sister, she generally encourages the pursuit until
she is tired, and then gracefully yields on the homeward stretch.
However, should she win the race the young lover need have no further
aspirations in that direction. He may be saved the embarrassment of
future humiliation.
THE HUNTING DANCE.
But the Hunting Dance! What memories of centuries past are kept alive
by this brown-skinned race, as they observe the ancient feast of an
aboriginal people.
With an invitation from the old chieftain, Tallahassee, who is
patriarch of the tribe, to attend the Hunting Dance or Harvest
Feast, the temptation was too great to resist. This festival occurs
only in cycles--once every four years--and the character of its
observance is known to but few, if any, white people. The Indian
camps are so inaccessible that it takes nerve and muscle to reach
them; but knowing that the entire band of Indians would be on hand
in gala spirits and gorgeous attire, and knowing, too, that it was
an opportunity that might come but once in a lifetime, the question
of “to go or not to go,” was soon settled, and preparations for the
irksome journey were under way.
By train ride of one hundred and sixty miles we reached a little
Florida hamlet, where a teamster with a creaking wagon and a pair
of lean, cadaverous-looking horses were secured. Then followed a
drive of thirty miles through ponds, swamps, prairie flats, slush
and water; with sand-flies whirring and buzzing in our ears as they
seemed to offer their orchestral escort through the dismal funeral
Allapata flats. The journey was nearing its end. The sun, shining
with a July fierceness, glinted the wigwams of the Seminoles. Tired
and hungry we approached the village. Here the signs of the festival
were everywhere apparent. With the inborn courtesy, that is ever
present with these untutored Seminoles in the presence of a friend,
they met us with royal grace. A wigwam was placed at our disposal,
our baggage was unloaded, and in a quiet and unobtrusive manner a
fine saddle of venison was presented.
The Indians were bubbling over with excitement, for it was a time of
rejoicing--a carnival, when men, women and children all joined in the
merriment.
As our visit always means presents for the Indians, expectant faces
from the little toddling children, as well as from the older members
of the camp, reminded us that it was time to distribute tobacco,
pipes, red handkerchiefs, trinkets for the women, candy and nuts for
the little ones.
Happiness pervaded the Everglade village. The older Indians, with the
exception of the old chief, played like children, keeping the joyous
revelry up from hour to hour.
The afternoon of our arrival was devoted to a ball game. An
aboriginal ball game! Certainly played by a code of rules more than
one hundred and fifty years old, where no curved balls nor Yale
coaching had entered, but where swelled and echoed the glad free
trump of joy as the game went on with scientific strokes and measured
tread, with now and then a “rush” as the ball missed its target and
bounded out of its circle. Both men and women participated in the
game, the women being as adept as the men. The game is unique, and
might be practised with much pleasure by our American boys.
Within a circle whose circumference is about thirty feet is erected a
pole, which serves as a goal. The players take sides, or in country
school parlance, “choose up.” The object of the game is to strike the
pole with the ball, which is knocked with a racket or stick, which is
made of hickory, with a netted pocket made of deer thongs.
The ball is tossed up and caught in the netted pocket, and then
hurled at the pole. The opposing side endeavor to prevent the ball
from touching the post. Sometimes the ball strikes the ground away
beyond the line of play, and then a scamper for it is a moment of
great excitement. Men, women and children make a rush for the ball,
the victor having the next play. A scorekeeper stands by the pole,
keeping a record of the play.
As the twilight falls the players end the game and the feast begins.
The edibles are distributed into three parts, the men taking their
portion and going to a selected spot, the women likewise to a point
designated for them, and the children to a third location. This
peculiar arrangement is not indulged in at any other time, but has
some ancient significance and is followed at this festival.
When the feast is over, which consisted of the fruits of the chase
and the best products of the little palmetto-fenced gardens, the band
assembled for the grand hunting dance. Campfires burned all around
the dancing square, and as the dusky forms emerged from the shadows
of the great live oaks, clad as they were in most fantastic attire,
the scene was most picturesque.
Women, men and children gathered at the council lodge. Yards and
yards of brightly-colored ribbons floated from the head, neck and
shoulders of the women, with beads of various hues and many pounds in
quantity around their necks, while beaten silver ornaments fastened
on their waists added to the decoration. The men, likewise, were
in brilliant coats and enormous turbans, with leggins gracefully
adorned with the fringe of the doe skin, with moccasins fresh and
new. Nor had the children been neglected, for, with swirling ribbons
and bright red dresses that reached to their slim ankles, they came
bubbling with joy and laughter, ready to take their places in the
dance circle.
Now the dancers are ready. In the centre of the square the fire,
the Sacred Fire, flashes and flickers. At each corner of the square
stands a pole. The leader, who on this occasion is Chief Bill
Stewart, waits at the door of the lodge. He starts a weird melody,
and the band locks hands, marking time as they make up the chant.
The chief leads off the entire band in the procession, making as
picturesque a figure as was ever witnessed in a New York cotillion.
With the reader’s permission to digress--pertinent at this point
is the ironical comment of an editorial writer in one of the great
dailies, when he says, “Fancy Lo in a stove pipe hat.” We have seen
him and he makes a good-looking native American. As he approached,
the splendid form of Billy Doctor was recognized in stove pipe hat,
full evening broadcloth suit, with white cravat, low cut waistcoat,
and satin lined “spike tail” coat. The entire outfit was possibly the
gift of some Palm Beach tourist. To Billy’s credit, he only wore the
costume for fantastic effect.
If the reader will follow the lines of the accompanying diagram,
tracing from left, he will see that the long line of dancers, as they
pass around the poles, appears to be coming and going, sometimes
three and four abreast, but all in such symmetrical motion that the
dance is very beautiful, coupled with the grace and modesty of
innocence, with an accompaniment of singing strangely sweet.
[Illustration: SACRED * FIRE
COUNCIL HOUSE
THE HUNTING DANCE.]
The various dances of these people show how close they live to
nature. As they move to the rhythmical cadence of the owl song, we
hear “Waugh-ho-ooo-whoo whoo,” of the great horned owl; then the
penewa, or wild turkey dance, with its notes of the gobbling bird;
and so on with many others.
A feature of the dance, and one that might be commended, is that
those who dance must work or hunt. Each morning of the festival every
member of the camp, down to the wee child, must hunt, leaving the
camp by daybreak and hunting till twelve o’clock noon. The men hunt
large game; the boys go for rabbits, birds and squirrels; while the
women hunt the hogs and dig potatoes, and the very small children
“hunt” water, and bring in sticks of wood. To their white friends,
they said, “Dance to-night?” This was intended for an invitation,
and was an honor rarely accorded; but with the stern, unwritten law
before them, they explained, “White friends must hunt, hunt, hunt.
All same Indian. No hunt, no dance.”
Another picturesque game is the dancing around the festal pole. In
this dance, the women enter from one side, and the men from another.
Around the ankles of the women are strapped clusters of shells of
the highland terrapin, partly filled with pebbles; these shells are
concealed by the long dress skirt, and as they dance, singing the
long-cadenced song of their fathers, they make melodious music. A
remarkable feature in the perfection of the dance is that as the
women move off not a sound is heard, that bunch of shells is as
silent as the tomb; and yet it would be practically impossible for
one to move the shells by hand without causing them to rattle.
There is so much that is elevating and purifying in the conduct of
these people that it would be hard to describe the scenes, the love
and good humor that flash between the moments of the times spent in
the council at the feasts and the dances.
SLAVERY.
That slavery existed among the present Seminoles has been a disputed
question. That it did is known to a few; but any interference would
have been received as an act of impertinence by the Indians, as well
as by the slaves themselves; as was evidenced a few years ago when a
tourist meeting Tustenuggee’s slave (who was watching his master’s
canoe while his master sold some skins) attempted to enlighten the
negro on his true condition. As the chief came back to the canoe, the
philanthropist stranger began to explain his mission. The chief, with
the ferocity which at once stamped him as a true Tustenuggee, ordered
the negro to “go,” which command was instantly obeyed. Then, turning
to the stranger, he said, “White man’s slave free. Injun _este lusta_
(negro) belong to Injun--now _you_ go.” The philanthropist also
quickly obeyed.
Tallahassee’s squaw died about thirty-six years ago, leaving a
family of six boys, the youngest one being but a small pickaninny.
These boys were cared for by the two negro slaves who spoke only the
Seminole language and were perfectly content to do the drudgery for
the family. The number of slaves among the remnant left in Florida
was small, but they were allied to the Indians and, while treated
kindly, they were expected to obey. In the last few years they have
all died off with the exception of one old slave, Hannah, in the
Tallahassee band.
HANNAH, THE LAST LIVING SLAVE OF THE SEMINOLE INDIANS.
A character holding a position unparalleled in Uncle Sam’s domain, is
Hannah, the negro slave, belonging to Tallahassee’s family. She is
a full-blooded negress, with thick lips, broad flat nose and kinky
hair, which is tied in little plaits with the proverbial string of
the Southern negro.
Hannah is the last vestige of Seminole slavery--the one great subject
of warfare seventy-five years ago between the Seminoles and the
Southern planters, and upon which, truly speaking, was based the
“Seven Years’ War.” Hannah does the work of the family, and, though
she is kindly treated, yet a certain contempt is felt for her, for
Hannah is an _este lusta_ (a negro) and to the haughty Seminole a
negro is the lowest of human creatures.
The occasion when Hannah’s picture was kodaked is fresh in memory.
All preparations were being made for the feast, but Billy Ham,
Tallahassee’s son, had not been able to get a deer, and so had
purchased beef from a market thirty miles away. With pots and
kettles in evidence, Hannah was preparing the beef, when the little
box-like instrument was gently rested on a rail near by. Hannah’s eye
detected the object and she turned away, and began busying herself
around the boiling kettle on the ground. The camera was adjusted,
finger on button ready to snap, and a masked indifference affected,
and an animated conversation begun with one of the Indians near by.
When Hannah returned to her work about the table, snap! went the
button, and Hannah’s ebony face and twisted, string-tied locks was
photographed on the plate, and proud was the owner to possess so good
a likeness of Uncle Sam’s one and only unfreed slave.
UNWRITTEN LAWS.
The government among the Seminoles is peculiar, it is remarkable, it
is magnificent. There is no lying, no stealing, no murder and yet
apparently there is no restraining law. The Seminole has many noble
traits; he is proverbially truthful. Pertinent was the reply to the
hunter when he asked if it was safe to leave his gun in the wigwam.
“Yes,” replied the chief, “there is not a white man within fifty
miles of the place.”
Reverence, too, is one of his distinguishing features. His language
contains no oath, nor any word to express disrespect to the
Supreme Being. A missionary will receive most respectful attention,
for their reverence to God will not permit them to laugh at His
messenger.
[Illustration: HANNAH, THE ONLY REMAINING SLAVE OF THE SEMINOLES
In Tallahassee’s camp making sofka for dinner.]
If the annals of this heroic band were chronicled, they would
say, “They are prouder than the proudest Inca, braver than the
boldest Saxon knight, fearless and unrelenting as foes, devoted and
unflinching in friendship, and the purity of their morals without a
parallel in the history of any other race or tribe on the globe.”
Anxiously and carefully have we studied their form of Government,
knowing that they leave their money, their trinkets and their
garments in the open wigwam. With carefully-framed questions we
asked of Billy Bowlegs, while on his recent visit to our home,
“Billy, your money, you leave it in your wigwam, you go back, money
_hi-e-pus_ (gone), Indians steal it, then what you do?” He answered,
“Me don’t know.” “Yes, but, Billy, white man come in my house, my
money steal ’em--by-and-by, in jail me put him. Indian, all the same,
bad Indian steal. What does Indian do?” Again the answer came, “Me
don’t know.” Making the points plainer, illustrating by the theft
of his gun, his provisions, showing him that a bad Indian from one
of the other settlements might come in his absence and steal his
Winchester, with perfect understanding of our meaning, the reply came
as before, “Me don’t know, Indian no take ’em--Indian no steal.” In
such a socialistic State, where there is no crime, there can be no
punishment. Were a crime to be committed, a council of chiefs would
meet and decree a punishment, and it would have enough severity to
serve as a lesson for all future miscreants.
The only “fall from grace” we have ever known among any of the bands,
extending over a period of twenty years’ acquaintance, was in the
case of Buster Flint. Old Buster was a large, powerful Indian, but
as the braves express it, he was “_ho-lo-wa-gus_” (no good), “lazy
too much,” and laid around the settlement as a regular loafer, too
indolent to work or hunt; and in consequence was ragged and unkempt.
On one occasion, while our tent was pitched near the palmetto
wigwams and the hunters had been absent for the day, on the return
a small red napkin was found to be missing. Upon calling Captain
Tom Tiger’s attention to the fact, he replied, “Me know,” and very
soon the napkin was quietly returned to its place. Old Buster could
not resist the bright red cloth and the others knew his weakness.
What punishment was meted out to the old Indian was not learned, but
certainly enough to terrify him during the remainder of our visit.
The Seminoles mean to be honest in their dealings with the whites.
Occasionally the white man may be deceived when the Indian intends
no wrong. As the National Editorial Excursion once made a tour of
Florida, the train made a stop at a little trading post on the east
coast. Quite a joke was innocently played upon the party by Captain
Tom Tiger. A few Indians had come into the village to trade at the
stores. Captain Tom had brought with him a load of sour oranges which
grow wild in the region of his camp. The oranges are beautiful to
the eye, but oh, how bitter! The merry editors saw the golden fruit
and immediately offered to purchase. The chief was glad to sell, and
only asked one cent apiece for the fruit; but the editors would not
take advantage of the Indian’s ignorance of the price of oranges, so
they paid him twenty-five cents per dozen for them. At this the load
of oranges was soon disposed of and the chief, with perfect honesty
of intention in the transaction, was the proud possessor of about
twenty-five dollars. Those of the party who first tasted the fruit
said nothing until all the oranges had been bought; then they were
told to taste their oranges, and a laugh, long and loud, went up from
one end of the car to the other, and as the train rolled away the
good-natured but victimized passengers treated Captain Tom Tiger,
chief of the Seminoles, to a shower of sour oranges. The Indian was
dumbfounded. The wild orange is an article of barter in Florida,
but not until the idea dawned upon Tom that the excursionists had
mistaken his fruit for the sweet orange did he awaken from his
bewilderment, and with earnest nods of the head and impressive
gestures he soliloquized, “White man no like Indian’s orange--sour
too much. Me tell white man, one orange, _one_ cent. White man tell
me one orange, _two_ cents. Indian no cheat white man.”
The Seminoles look upon the dim past as a lost paradise in which
there was happiness and innocence. “Before the white man came we
were men,” says the Indian. Their faith in their forefathers is
reverential. They believe they always did what was right. They were
kind and true to their friends, but terrible to their enemies.
The Florida Indians are an industrious people. While the fruits of
the chase are their main support, they cultivate the fields, raising
vegetables, corn and sugar cane. The men make canoes, which they
sell to hunters and trappers. Moccasins, baskets and koonti starch,
plumes, smoked skins and venison are among their exports. Complaints
are sometimes heard that the Indians are killing off the deer and the
alligator, which is very true; but alike are the white men and the
negro engaged in the same occupation. Before the white race taught
the Indian the monetary value of the game of the country, he slew
them only for food and clothing. Long centuries had he lived on this
continent, but the herds of buffalo were not lessened; nor the vast
quantities of game driven to the fastnesses of the forest. Till the
white trader came to hunt the game as a source of revenue or for
ruthless sport, the Indian knew no such motive.
Like his forefathers, the Seminole is no prohibitionist, but enjoys
the fire water, as much as did the savage tribe that greeted the good
ship, The Half Moon, in the land-locked waters of Manhattan, three
hundred years ago, and drank the first American toast to the intrepid
Henry Hudson. Since that first great tipple in New York which
ended in such a scene of intoxication, causing the Mohicans to name
the island “the place of the big drunk,” the Indian practices more
precaution; and one of their number always remains sober and watches
his boozy brother like a hawk. This is the practice of the Seminoles.
Before going on a spree, a selection is made of one of the band whose
duty it is to stand guard over all weapons and see that no injury is
done to any member of the tribe. The “sprees” in which they indulge
are too infrequent to warrant them being classed as intemperate.
It is opportune at this point to say that only under the degrading
influence of whiskey, which the white civilization brings to him,
does the Seminole ever show any demoralized condition, and the proper
official should see to the enforcement of the laws against selling
liquor to these childlike people.
Only a few of the tribe talk broken English. The chiefs disapprove
of it on general principles--for fear they will talk too much. To
keep aloof from the white man, and the white man’s ways, is the
training of the Seminole youth. Occasionally a few of the tribe leave
their marshy homes. These talk sufficiently to do their trading when
visiting towns to dispose of their plumes, deer skins, basket work,
etc. These products always find ready sale, and when the great day of
shopping begins, a “corner” in red calico and fancy colored beads is
the result. The squaws have control of their own money, when on a
purchasing expedition, a fact which makes them very _American_.
The squaws are about as sociable as the half-wild deer that are
petted by the guests of the St. Augustine hotels. As seen in their
camps, clustered together, half-alarmed, half-curious, the side
glances from their dark-brown eyes seem to utter a protest against
the Government’s eternal “move on.” A more severely pure-minded
people are not to be found on the globe. The women are above
reproach. Were a white man to insult a Seminole woman by word or
look it would be well for that man never to appear in the presence
of the tribe again. The Seminole girl who would unwisely bestow her
affections would be killed outright by the squaws. In the history of
the Everglade Indians only one such case is known and at the birth of
the half-breed child the mother was taken to the woods and there hung
to a tree by the indignant squaws. The infant was also destroyed. In
questioning, as to which of the squaws did the killing, the answer
was “All, every squaw.” On the principle of American lynch law each
hand helped pull the rope.
GENS AND MARRIAGE.
The Seminoles, like other Indian tribes, are classified by gens. This
lineage in the Florida tribe is traced through the mother. The child
belongs to the clan which the mother represents. The mother exercises
absolute ownership, and should a squaw and her husband separate
for any cause, the children belong unconditionally to the wife.
[Illustration:
_Photograph by E. W. Histed._
A PICTURESQUE GROUP
Seminoles of the Cow Creek band.]
Modesty, as the great ornament of women, is taught to the girls,
and as she is about to enter into life there is a moral sublimity
in the counsel that teaches her to hold an implicit reverence
for her husband, but at the same time she becomes a teacher and
custodian of her children. One young Indian of our acquaintance is
divorced from his squaw. They have one pickaninny now, three years
old. Asking the father to give the boy up, and holding out alluring
inducements, he replied, “_Munks-chay_ (no), squaw’s pickaninny.”
The gens represented in the Seminole tribe to-day are the Otter, the
Tiger, the Deer, the Wind, the Bird, the Snake, the Bear, and the
Wolf. Other gens are now extinct in Florida. Thus, in asking about
the Alligator tribe, the chief replied, “All gone--long time ago--to
Indian Territory.” A young brave dare not marry a girl from his own
gens, he must select her from another clan. When asking a chief what
he would do were he to want a girl from his own gens for a wife, and
the girl should want to marry him, he replied, “Me no marry her.”
The young Indian is shy and bashful in his courtships, and having
resolved to marry, conceals his first overtures with all the Indian
cunning. His intention is secretly conveyed to the girl’s parents,
and should there be no objection the young woman is at liberty to
accept or reject. No Seminole girl is forced into a marriage. The
lover, with permission to woo, shows some token of affection; a
deer is killed, and laid at the door of the wigwam. If the present
is received the lover is happy. If it remains untouched, he may do
as his white brother does, go hang himself, or, as is usual, go
seek a more willing fair one. The prospective bride, to show her
appreciation of her lover, makes a shirt and presents it to him. No
pomp or ceremony is connected with the marriage. The day is set by
the parents, the groom goes to the bride’s house, at the setting
of the sun. He is now her husband, and at her home, he lives for a
period. When the young couple build their own wigwam, they may build
it at the camp of the wife’s mother, but not among the husband’s
relatives.
BEAUTY AND MUSIC.
The Indian has a high sense of beauty in woman, and has been
demonstrated on several occasions during their visits to the
different towns. A Seminole chief was taken to the parlor of a
hotel, where a new piano was the exciting theme, to see what effect
the music would have upon his savage mind. But the fair-haired
_performer_ absorbed his attention, and with a shrug which showed his
appreciation for beauty more than for music, he said, “Ugh! white
man’s squaw heap purty!”
Music is not a genius with the Seminoles. True, they have some songs
which are monotone and rhythmical. They are the hunter’s songs, the
camp songs and the lullabies. The war songs which sent such terror
to the hearts of the white settlers in Seminole war days they seem to
have forgotten. Some of the Indians have natural musical ears, and
they are recognized by their people as musical leaders. They have no
standard pitch, but start their songs where the natural quality of
the voice renders it easiest to sing. The pitch of the song depends
upon the individual.
An incident, full of pathos, yet illustrating one of life’s parodies,
is recalled. It was occasioned by hearing the music of some old
familiar tunes played in a gruesome Everglade home. As the picture
recurs, one sees a savage tribe--a weird camp scene, with its
storm-beaten wigwams in the background--and dusky warriors and squaws
moving hither and thither in the dim shadows of the camp fire. In the
center of the group sat the musician, who was the happy possessor of
a “box of music,” an organette, which he had recently purchased. The
melodies of “Home, Sweet Home,” “Hail Columbia,” and “Nearer My God
To Thee,” floated out upon the stillness of the night, telling the
story of the white man’s inheritance--happy homes, a free Government
and an ennobling religion. To the Seminole the tuneful strains
contained no more sentiment than the murmur of the brook: for they
are a people without a home, without a country, and without a God in
the sense of these songs.
RELATIONSHIP TO THE AZTECS AND EASTERN TRIBES
“YAH-VEY, YAH-VEY”
To-day, the antiquarian may lay aside his musty parchments of
antiquity and in the heart of the Big Everglades study the history of
an ancient people through living authors.
“_Jah-vey--Jah-vey--Yehovah--Yehovah!_” Monotone, yet rhythmical,
the brown-faced singers chanted the hymn. Over and over again were
the words repeated by the Seminole choir, till the word “_Jah-vey_”
mystical with the centuries past, dwelt with the listener. None but
a Hebrew scholar would have caught the word with an understanding
of its meaning. The occasion was a Fourth of July celebration when
the Rt. Rev. Wm. Crane Gray was visiting the Seminole Mission at
Im-mo-ka-lee, situated near the western border of the Florida
Everglades.
The Indians, full of confidence and kindly feeling, had consented to
sign and here appeared the wonderful, yes, startling, observation
made by Bishop Gray. “Jah-vey” is the Hebrew word meaning Jehovah, a
word held in such awe by the children of Israel, and as claimed by
scholars, too sacred to pass the lips of man, that even its correct
pronunciation is unknown.
To-day in the weird fastnesses of the Everglades, a band of wild
Indians chant the name of the Great Jehovah in the Hebrew tongue,
a name that is meaningless in its original form to thousands of
educated Americans.
When questioned by Bishop Gray as to the meaning of the sacred word,
the Indian answered, “God, white man’s God.” The question now appeals
to the scientist, to the antiquarian, and to the theologian. From
whence came the Seminole’s knowledge of the word?
From its use in the depth of the Everglades, one may work back to the
prehistoric ruined temples of Mexico and Yucatan, so similar to those
of Egypt; and thus may find in Seminole speech a language link to
connect the new world with the old.
Is this single word as verified by Bishop Gray the keynote to the
history and origin of the North American Indian?
With a close study of the Seminoles of Florida, one finds a subject
mystical with the history of centuries past. We meet in this
old-turbaned tribe a history vague, ’tis true, but as interesting as
the data gleaned from the hieroglyphics of Mexico, or Egypt, and why
not?
While the archæologist delves among the ruins of ancient Egypt, and
as he disturbs the inanimate forms of the old Pharoahs, let him pause
and like Diogenes of old, shine his lantern in scientific research
for the American Rameses. Tracing the proud and invincible Florida
Seminole through all his wanderings, from the plains of Mexico,
we meet him to-day in the confines of the mysterious and weird
Everglades.
Reaching Florida in 1750, under the name Seminole or Wanderers,
his history verges into a singularly distressing drama and forms a
tragical chapter in American history.
Tracing their lineage, as we may, to the Aztecs of Mexico, the
student must find in their usages and customs links that connect
their present history with that of the ancient tribes.
In this remnant, proud as the old Montezumas, may the scientist and
antiquarian find a history teeming with interest, while the novelist
may revel in story, both real and legendary--the most romantic of
Indian life that has ever been written.
If we accept the Le Plongeon theory of prehistoric Mexico, as well
as Professors Holmes and Seville’s research of Mexican antiquities,
we must note the relationship between the early Central American
civilization and the Ancient Egyptians; and that the builders of the
pyramids and temples of Mexico and Yucatan were closely allied with
the architects of the Cheops.
After the conquest of Mexico by Cortez in 1519-20, the Muskogee
Indians left Mexico and gradually traversed the country till in
1620 we find them in Alabama, where they added other bands to their
ranks. The British name them Creeks, from the many small streams that
traversed the country.
Thus the great Muskogee tribe of the Mexican Empire vanquished by
Cortez became one hundred years later the Creek Confederacy, _from
which branched the Seminoles_.
It will take no great stretch of fancy to suppose that before the
mysterious chain of migration the Aztecs and the early Egyptians
were allied. As we study, to-day, the frail remnants of the
vanishing Aborigines in the heart of the Everglades, may we not
find a coincidence of usages that at least give abundant food for
speculation, and the resemblance of the present Seminole to the
ancient Egyptian suggests strong points of similitude to that of the
old Israelites, and a common origin for the North American Indian and
the older tribes, whose magnificent wrecks strew the borders of the
Nile?
Prescott in his history of Mexico refers to some traditions of the
Aztecs, as bearing a singular resemblance to those found in the
Scriptures. More or less does one start with surprise and awe as he
notes in the Indians of Florida a strict observance of those customs
as well as religious beliefs as laid down in the book Leviticus.
The similarity existing between the ancient Egyptian principles and
that of the Aztecs is conceded by scholars, and when the Florida
Indian follows so closely these old religious rites, with the theory
that the Florida Seminoles are traceable to the mighty Aztecs, may we
not feel a pride in these red children of the forest homes and while
it is yet possible preserve this almost forgotten remnant?
To-day the student may study, in the swamp fastnesses, the history
of an ancient race, through the present-day Seminole.
Around the hereditary chief Tallahassee is the authority for the
government of the Cow Creek band. He is the honored chieftain, whose
duty it has been to teach to the younger generations the traditions
of his ancestors. “My grandfather, old, old man, tell me, me tell
my boys.” The stories never diverge--the same to-day that were told
one hundred and fifty years ago, and different slightly from the
teachings of the vanquished Muskogeeans of the Mexican Empire.
In their weird camps, by a glimmering light from the camp fire, is
instilled into the youth the laws of the old turbaned tribe, laws
startling in the rites they contain. A brief reference to a few of
these observances must convince that there is at least a keynote for
a chapter that must prove both interesting and valuable to science.
In the head dress of the Florida Indians, oriental in its effect, one
quickly recognizes a perfect imitation of that as worn in 1800 B. C.,
as shown in the statue from Tel Loh (showing early Akkadian type).
Passing through the realms of history, covering a period of 3,000
years, in 1563 we find Le Moyne’s delineations of the turban,
now worn by the Seminole chieftains. Likewise might the dress
of old Tallahassee in his chieftain regalia be mistaken for the
costume of the patriarchs in the days of the Pharaohs, when the
long tunic embraced by the brightly embroidered sash, with its
heavily-tasseled belt, made a picturesque attire.
[Illustration:
_Photograph by E. W. Histed._
AN ENCHANTING STUDY OF THE YOUNGER GENERATION OF SEMINOLES]
Not the least startling, after thirty-four centuries, do we find
the Seminole observing the rigid laws of health as laid down to
the Children of Israel after the Exodus. With reference to the
preservation of health, we find in the Scriptures, that those
affected by disease were separated from the tribe and as health
returned, we read, Leviticus 15: 13, “Then shall he number himself
seven days for his cleansing and wash his clothes and bathe his flesh
in running water and be clean.” Verse 7, “And whosoever toucheth
the flesh of him shall wash his clothes and be unclean until the
evening.” Note the following: On a recent visit to the Seminole
camps, and after receiving a warm welcome from the squaws and
pickaninnies of former acquaintances, a solitary figure was observed
sitting in a small detached wigwam. Approaching for the purpose of
shaking hands, from all sides came gesticulations and dissenting
tones from the squaws, and feeling that the woman was a prisoner or
taking some kind of punishment, we passed on. During a visit of three
days at the camps, the squaw was kept aloof from the band, receiving
all necessary attention with the kindliest spirit, but fulfilling the
law of Moses, as recorded in Leviticus, “And she shall be apart seven
days and whosoever toucheth her shall be unclean.”
The Aztecs made crimes against society capital; among their
registered laws, adultery was punishable, as with the Jews, by
death. The same laws hold good among the Seminoles to-day.
Marriage laws are held sacred, but divorces are permitted where some
incompatibility of temper is found. This is done after the manner of
the old Jews--“out of mercy to the woman.” Either party may marry
again, but the marriage must meet with the approval of the leaders of
the band.
Taking up the question of land tenure, one sees the similarity
between the Everglade Indians and that of the ancient tribes.
Their tribal organization being a socialistic and communistic order,
it is not their policy to encourage individual land holdings.
Socialism finds its greatest example among the Seminoles and they
realize freedom in a greater degree than can possibly be found
in any community governed by man-made laws. They do not violate
any teachings of the tribe and are honorable and upright in their
dealings with one another and equally so with the white people with
whom they come in contact. Their law allows of individual occupancy
of land and the individual rights are respected, but the Indian is
not allowed to acquire title.
The Seminole, like his Aztec ancestors, shows an honorable contrast
to the other tribes of North America, in the treatment of the
women. No severe agricultural labor is imposed upon them and the
consideration shown them by the men would do credit to a high
civilization. Those who know some of the habits of the Florida
Indians (Seminoles) are cognizant of the fact that they will not eat
the green corn until the second day of the annual feast.
On a visit to the camps, old chief Tallahassee was invited to join
his white friends at dinner, and as he was offered a roasting ear,
he said, “Me not eat green corn, Shot-kay-taw (Green Corn Dance) eat
plenty.” Pointing to a small patch of corn from which the ears had
been stripped, he said, “Squaws eat corn plenty, men no eat,” and
as we read Leviticus, 23: 14, the thought comes: Is the law, though
divested of part of its meaning, being fulfilled to-day by a band of
wild Indians?
“And ye shall eat neither bread, nor parched corn, nor green ears,
until the self-same day ye brought an offering to the Lord.”
Another link is a feast day which seems to correspond in its rites to
the Day of Atonement on old Jewish days. It is of peculiarly solemn
character and takes place in cycles. The sacredness attached to the
assembling of the band prevents little insight from the outside world.
With only an oral tradition, with their unwritten but priceless
history of an ancient race, with the white man daily encroaching on
their last domain, the time for studying this primitive people in
their purity will soon be over, and of their customs and usages,
where is the Œdipus at this day who shall solve the riddle of their
origin?
SEMINOLES AT HOME
THE EVERGLADES
The characteristic of the Seminole is to make his camp in some
secluded spot where the white man would least expect to find his
habitation.
The peculiar physical formation of Florida makes this very possible.
The Everglade region, which is the immediate environment of the
Seminoles, is a watery prairie, with here and there high points of
ground, and because land-grabbers, corporations and state officials
are already clamoring for these watery wastes, and selling thousands
of acres from paper plats, with the land still under water, a
more detailed description of the Everglade region would be better
appreciated. This vast region contains about 4,000 square miles of
marsh lands and tropical forests, interlaced with thick clustering
vines and is the greatest area of unexplored country in the United
States.
The accounts of the interior of the mysterious swamp is to be found
only in dim tradition or Indian legends.
However fast the door of the swamp may be locked, it opens quickly
enough to whomsoever carries the key. The Seminole is the true
key-bearer and with moccasined foot he enters when and where he will.
A writer, in a Miami paper, gives the following interesting account
of his approach to the Indian camps:
“Traveling through this aquatic jungle in a light canoe, the motive
power of which is plenty of muscle, a broad-blade paddle and a
push pole about eighteen feet long, we enter a trackless waste of
saw grass and water, with scattering islands and lagoons, channels
running in all directions. These channels often terminate in what
is called a pocket and then trouble begins, as these pockets are so
shallow that a canoe or skiff has to be pulled by rope or pushed by
hand through the mud and grass, until deep water is found. All signs
fail in the Everglades, as often to go north you will take the other
three points of the compass.”
“There is nothing quite so aggravating,” continues the writer, “as to
get sewed up in one of these pockets, in the open saw grass with deep
water in plain view and fine shady trees to welcome you, but tired
and disgusted you stand as high as possible in the canoe and see only
one chance in a hundred to find the right channel to go through.”
“There is no use for a compass, and it is a waste of time to think
about it. There is a sure thing of going overboard in the mud or
going back and starting over again.”
“When the water is high the trouble is not so great, but when it
is low, the traveler can lay aside his Bible, quote a chapter from
Dante’s Inferno, and plough through the mud until his energy is
exhausted and wonder if Dante ever heard tell of the Everglades.”
The channels running through these Glades are alive with fish, while
the saw grass ponds provide homes for thousands of alligators. The
myrtle and cypress clumps are the winter homes of the heron and
migratory birds.
From this vast morass, with an elevated position, and a rare
atmosphere, the view that would meet the eye would differ from
any other on the globe. Ballou says: “A thousand square miles of
saw grass would be seen spreading out in the shape of an artist’s
palette. Towards the end would be seen a series of little inland
lakes, fed by minute rivers. Interblending with the lakes, thousands
of islands would be visible, far beyond the saw-grass sea. The
flutter of bird life would be like the milky way, and the swarm of
insects like a distant sand storm on the Sahara.”
Bordering the sedgy lagoons, are dense cypress forests, with here
and there cabbage palms, Indian rubber and mangroves, while tangled
vegetation weaves itself in chaotic style over underbrush and tree.
These are the primeval woods of the United States. To be lost in
these great marshes means more than death. They are the paradise of
the serpent and the alligator. It is said in old slavery days, slaves
who ran away to the swamps, were entered on the books as dead.
Except the few points touched upon by adventurous botanists and
hunters, this entire region has remained _terra incognita_ until
within the past two or three years, when the subject of drainage has
caused deeper and more scientific investigation. These explorers have
brought interesting accounts of the great swamp.
The subject of drainage of this vast aquatic jungle is causing many
disputes and many opinions, but under the Legislature of 1907, with
the imperturbable Governor Broward in power, the work of drainage was
begun.
Those engaged in the reclamation of this rich soil look upon the
enterprise as being one of the most colossal of American ingenuity
and one that will made the Okeechobee region the Egypt of America.
While it is not the object of the writer to enter into the question
of reclamation--still, the thought comes, “Is it worth while to make
this region fit for habitation?”
The Florida Everglades Land Company who are carrying on the work of
drainage on scientific rules, in the employment of government experts
and following natural laws, show in their practicable demonstrations,
the great benefit the redemption of submerged Florida will be, not
only to the South, but to the whole country.
Prof. H. W. Wiley, Chief of the Bureau of Chemistry, U. S. Department
of Agriculture, says of this great State question of drainage: “There
is possibly no other body of land in the world, which presents
such remarkable possibilities of development, and with a depth of
soil averaging perhaps eight feet, it reaches beyond the limits of
prophecy.”
Then, when enterprise and capital enter the last home of the
Seminole, converting the tropical swamp into golden Everglades, may
we not pause to ask, “Is there not room enough for this remnant of a
helpless people in the country to which they have been driven.”
Here in the heart of the Okeechobee country, we find the only remnant
of our native American Indian, in his original simplicity, meeting
in the hunting-grounds of his ancestors the mighty power of Capital,
Industry and the Twentieth Century methods of progress. Shall we
wrest from him every vestige of this last foothold in Florida, his
last resting-place in his direst necessity?
The ultimate end of the Seminole should be, to be civilized and
Christianized and assimilated into the present status of the American
citizen. While to-day reclamation looks a calamity to the interests
of the Florida Seminole, it is possible under the direction of an
overruling Providence to be made an almoner of benefit. There is at
this time plenty of land for both interests. It becomes the duty of
the United States Government through its Indian Department and the
friends of the dependent Seminole, to see to it that land sufficient
for their use be left in the Okeechobee country, with Uncle Sam’s
signboard reading, “Penalty to Tresspassers.”
[Illustration: SEMINOLES ON THE MIAMI RIVER]
Let us, as a great American jury, pause in our mad scramble for
dollars, and consider our brother in red. As we plead for these
relics of the warriors of old, we ask, “Why molest them? They are
brave, self-supporting and piteously plead to be let alone.”
Over seventy-five years ago an officer of the Fourth Artillery wrote
in a Charleston paper, “Can any Christian in the Republic pray for
the continuance of blessings, when he is about to wrest from the
unhappy Seminole all that the Great Spirit ever conferred upon him?”
On the larger islands of this tropical swamp are found the fertile
hommocks, the home of the Seminole Indians. Approaching such a home
one sees marks of labor; a clearing is made, the wigwams built, sugar
cane, sweet potatoes and squash are growing. Chickens and pigs run
about and an air of contentment pervades all.
A visit to these Indians is still fresh to memory. After an arduous
journey, the village is reached. It was the occasion of the Green
Corn Dance and preparations were going on. The hunters were out for
game, the corn was ripening and an air of festivity was all around.
Dogs barked as the white guests approached, but a commanding Seminole
reprimand soon drove them away; pickaninnies came around with timid
advances, squaws greeted with handshaking. A wigwam was built for us
by the hospitable hands, and the visitors were assigned to this part
of the camp.
What a world of interest, both romantic and tragic, hangs around the
wigwams of a Seminole family!
To Tallahassee was assigned the greatest part of the entertaining,
and he it was who directed the movements that would add to the
pleasure of the guests.
Without giving thought to it, the team was hitched to a pole that
stood in the open. It proved to be the festal pole for the dance, and
the spot was sacred for that occasion, but the innate courtesy of the
old chief prevented his showing any offense, and in the morning he
waved his hand in the direction of the horses and asked, “Horses, you
want ’em there?” Learning what the pole was for, we were the ones to
beg pardon and feel chagrin. Then came the attention to the guests,
in showing around the little fields, telling the names and kinship
of the various members as they came into camp. This devolved on
Tallahassee, and the honor was two-fold.
As the shadows fell and the camp fire flickered, the old chief
regaled the company with history dating back one hundred and fifty
years. The old patriarch and warrior rambled on in low monotone,
living over in dreamy reminiscence his hunting days, and with the
record of seventy bear, to say nothing of panther, deer, ’coon,
possum and turkey. How the enthusiasm of the twentieth century hunter
was put on fire.
As the old chief drew closer his tunic, we asked, “Tallahassee, last
winter, cold much; Kissimmee City, ice come; what you do?” A young
brave spoke up, “Tallahassee old, get cold heap, blankets put on him
and big log fire make.” Then came the jokes as told by one member
on another and how these children of the forest would laugh as the
tales were recounted. They are children only in mind, but full of
discernment and strong in character.
A present of a picture containing Tallahassee’s picture had been sent
to the old chief a year before, and this must now be brought out to
show the visitors. Spelling and copybooks were the occasion of much
comment and much praise from the white friends. The older Indians
say, “Me no write--old too much. Little Tiger make letters by-and-by;
write good--keep store.”
The utensils that hang around the wigwam would do credit to many a
white family; they have buckets and pans of agate ware, and well made
wagons purchased in Jacksonville.
The hum of the sewing machine was heard in the wigwams, being used
equally well by both men and women.
While the patient Seminole is at the mercy of the white man, and each
day becoming more helpless, he is still proud as the old race.
A purse of ten dollars had been made up for one family where the
husband had died, but with the suspicion that the money was from the
Government, the older members held a talk with the result: “Money
no take ’em. Squaw no want ’em.” With mouth-watering glances the
little ones on the same occasion refused candy and cakes; they had
been forbidden to accept what the old Indians believed was from
Washington--the home of the Big White Chief. (This was at the time
the Indians had been alarmed by cowboys telling them the Government
wanted them for Arkansas.)
To-day in the forest home of the Seminoles, where yet gleams the
council fires, and within a mile of the palmetto thatched camp of the
Osceolas, the big dredges groan an accompaniment, as it were, to the
echo of the throbbing hearts, the death song, the Recessional, of the
Seminole.
Dynamite blasts shake the very pans and kettles hanging around the
wigwams and, while this monster of a machine destroys the only
home of the tribe, is the time not ripe for decisive action in the
protection of these wards of Florida?
A visit to the Seminoles’ camp reveals many interesting little things
which touch the heart and evoke the sympathy of the observer. The
affection displayed by the stern-faced father, when coddling his
pappoose, convinces the most skeptical that in the fastnesses of the
forest “The heart of man answers to heart as face to face in water,”
whatever the skin it is under. Old Tom Tiger, without question one of
the most ferocious-looking of the Seminoles, would take the baby-boy
from its tired mother’s arms and softly croon a lullaby, swaying the
pappoose backwards and forwards in his great strong arms till the
little fellow would fall asleep.
Another instance of parental affection, as given by the Rev. Clay
McCauley in his report on the Seminoles of Florida to the Bureau of
Ethnology, is full of touching interest. While the incident occurred
many years ago, and the little boy is now grown to manhood, still
it cannot fail to reach the heart of the reader. We give it in the
writer’s own words:
“Tallahassee’s wife had recently died, leaving him with the care of
six boys; but the strong Indian had apparently become mother and
father to his children. Especially did he throw a tender care about
the little one of his household. I have seen the little fellow
clambering, just like many a little pale face, over his father’s
knees persistently demanding attention, but in no way disturbing
the father’s amiability or serenity. One night, as I sat by the
camp fire of Tallahassee’s lodge, I heard muffled moans from the
little palmetto shelter on my right, under which the three smaller
boys were bundled up in cotton cloth in deer skins for the night’s
sleep. Upon the moans followed immediately the frightened cry of
the little boy, waking out of bad dreams, and crying for the mother
who could not answer; ‘_Its-Ki, Its-Ki_,’ (mother, mother) begged
the little fellow, struggling from under his covering. At once the
big Indian grasped his child, hugged him to his breast, pressed
the little head to his cheek, consoling him all the while with
caressing words, whose meaning I felt, though I could not translate
them into English, until the boy, wide awake, laughed with his
father and was ready to be again rolled up beside his sleeping
brothers.”
Where the Seminole is hospitable is around the camp fire and the
“_Sof-ka_” kettle. “_Hum-bux-chay_” (come eat) is his salutation. The
kettle is placed in some convenient part of the camp and at the meal
hour the members of the household sit around it. A large Sof-ka spoon
rests in the pot, and is handed from one to another, each taking a
single mouthful. A fastidious taste might shrink from using the large
spoon, but to affect such taste would be to offend mine host. Sof-ka
is the Seminole standard dish, and is simply a stew made by cooking
the meat in a large iron pot, and thickening with meal, grits or
vegetable. Sof-ka corresponds in its importance with the Seminole to
“_frijoles_” among Mexicans. The Indians observe a regularity in meal
hours, yet at most any hour the Sof-ka kettle is ready for those who
may come in from the chase enhungered. So plentiful is game that it
is a common sight to see a saddle of venison or a wild turkey and
perhaps a duck roasting before the fire, and, as appetite prompts,
any member of the camp may help himself to the savory roast.
The Seminole pickaninnies are healthy, good-natured little toddlers,
and show no more savage spirit than do their little pale-faced
brothers. They play with bows and arrows, make dolls and playhouses,
revel in mud pies, roast the small birds they kill before a “spit
fire,” and play they are roasting wild turkey. They rarely cry, as
they are taught from infancy to show no such weakness; they must
obey the slightest command of their elders. The little four-year-old
is taught to assist in the duties of the camp. He can carry water,
gather wood, watch the little pappoose, and learns thus early that
he is an important feature in the tribe.
The boys are allowed to handle no weapons until old enough to use
them successfully. When an Indian boy is taught to use a Winchester
and returns from the chase with his first deer, favors are shown him
by the elders, tokens are presented and he becomes for the time the
young Nimrod of the tribe.
Seminole children are on the whole very much like other children,
some bright, some good, some perverse, all exceedingly human. With
the discipline already instilled into their natures, and education,
first for the heart, and then for the mind, added, success would be
assured. A Seminole luxury which serves as a target as well as food,
is the fruit of the climbing pumpkin vine, which is often seen among
the branches of the trees. When wanted a well-directed rifle ball
cuts the stem and the pumpkin drops to the ground. This was the sport
enjoyed by the troops during the Seminole war.
The absence of all earthenware is noticeable in a Seminole camp.
The Seminoles say, “Long time ago,” their race made earthen pots,
but white man’s kettle “heap good,” and they have long since ceased
to work in clay. All through Florida pieces of pottery are found
in the sand mounds. In the pine forests where the land is good for
cultivation, broken pottery is frequently dug up out of the ground.
These forests have grown over this land evidently since it was
cultivated by former races. The pottery found in parts of Florida,
is said by those having made a study of the subject to resemble the
Aztec pottery to some extent.
One of the peculiarities of the Seminole man is the number of shirts
and handkerchiefs he wears at one time. An instance is related
where a white man in company with Billy Ham went out deer hunting.
Emerging suddenly from the thick forest, some deer were observed
feeding on the Savannah in front of them. The Indian was dressed in
the bright colors of his race, and stealthily slipping back into the
shadows of the tree, he began to remove shirt after shirt and untie
handkerchiefs from around his neck. As each article was removed,
the Indian became less conspicuous. After divesting himself of six
or eight shirts and eight or ten handkerchiefs, the Indian and his
costume now blended with the surrounding objects. His dusky form was
in perfect symphony with the dead leaves and grasses, through which
he silently crept toward his prey. The Indian prefers to make sure of
his game by creeping upon it. He can advance to within a few feet of
a deer. The deer, while feeding, is always on the alert for an enemy.
If it sees nothing moving it will not be alarmed. This is where the
strategy of the Indian comes in. He stops just before the animal
raises its head. The lifting of the head is always preceded by a
movement of the tail, hence the cunning Seminole watches the tail and
knows when to be still.
ALLIGATOR HUNTING.
At this point, a detailed account of an alligator hunt with the
Seminoles may prove interesting to the huntsman who may scan these
pages.
Some tourists hire the Indians who frequent civilization to guide
them in hunts, but it is poor Lo’s idea to show the white man his
hunting; and he will take him around and around, always keeping
out of sight of game, with a cunning that would do credit to a
Connecticut Yankee.
Possessing that talisman, friendship and confidence of the Seminole
chiefs, our hunter arranged for his first alligator hunt. To simplify
the account of the tenderfoot’s experience, we give it as related to
the writer.
“Taking the little steamer Roseada at Kissimmee City, a two days’
ride landed us at Basinger, where I was met by an ox-cart, driven and
owned by the Seminoles. A ride of forty miles, slow but sure, took us
to the Indian village. Here I was met by dogs, pickaninnies, squaws
and braves. With time limited and eager for the hunt for big game, I
rested but a few hours and then announced myself ready to _hi-e-pus_
(go).
“In a cypress canoe, poled by Chief Tom Tiger Tail, we turned our
boat toward the interior of the Everglades, and for three days
traveled over as wild and weird a land as Stanley ever explored in
Darkest Africa.
“Poling through water lilies, tall grass and overhanging branches,
frequently getting stuck in the shallow water and marsh, all gave
more zest to the square mile than a hundred hunts in the North could.
“Reaching the objective point of our trip, the chief tied up the
canoe, and after a hearty repast, we were ready for the alligator
hunt. No game laws obstructed our progress, no sign boards read, ‘No
Trespassing,’ and soon we were equipped for the night’s hunt.
“With a bullseye lantern attached to my cap, I took my seat in the
bow, while Tiger Tail, standing in the stern, propelled the canoe
with long, dextrous strokes. Reaching a deep bayou, where the
Seminoles kill hundreds of alligators each year, I was directed to
throw the light quietly over the water, and the presence of the
saurian would be revealed by the reflection. Silently, slowly, our
canoe cleaved the dark waters. Truly, the scene was worthy the pencil
of a Doré. A moonless sky, a wild expanse of bleak water, a canoe
propelled by a savage, splendid and careless in his unconscious
grace, and as silent as the oarsman of the River Styx. Soon the
dismal solitude was broken by our entrance into the alligator haunt.
With stealthy glide through the still, dark water, we were soon aware
of being near a very large ’gator--the two balls of fire shining in
the darkness told the tale. Without a ripple the Indian glided his
canoe within ten feet of the monster, and a shot between the eyes
from a .38 Winchester blew the top of his head into small pieces.
Before the reptile could flounder out of reach, the carcass was
grabbed and pulled into the canoe by Tom Tiger, and the spinal cord
was severed with an axe to prevent any future trouble.
[Illustration: TIGER TAIL, A REPRESENTATIVE SEMINOLE
In picturesque harmony with the land of the cocoanut.]
“At the first approach of our light the alligators gazed at it in
the most fatuous manner, allowing the boat to approach within a very
close position; but after one of their number had been slain they
commenced a vibrating roaring, playing see-saw with their heads and
tails and slowly rolling forth their feelings in deep, thundering
tones. To me, there seemed to be 500 alligators in that body of
black water that night, and each and every one seemed to turn his
burning eyes on my little searchlight--and they shone like stars. I
could easily tell a big fellow by noticing if his glaring balls were
close together or far apart. After killing four or five I called out
‘Enough!’ The picture was growing too gruesome. The quivering mass
of reptiles in our canoe made me think longingly of home. ‘Ungah’
(all right) from the Indian reassured me, and the canoe was turned
toward camp. During the evening the Indian chief had killed an eleven
foot ’gator, and so lifeless did it seem when dragged into the canoe
that it was not considered necessary to cut the neck and back. The
extraordinary vitality of an alligator keeps it from dying for some
time, the nerves often living for several hours after the head has
been severed. Our canoe was loaded to the water’s edge, with the
large saurian in the bottom. Presently a low breathing greeted my
ears; soon it grew louder, and a faint motion could be felt in the
boat. Still I remained passive, the Indian poling through the deep,
tortuous stream. I had instinctively drawn my feet up, when the
great mouth, which was toward me, opened and began snapping angrily.
His body began to writhe and twist and wriggle, which set all the
other alligators in motion. The situation was growing critical and
dangerous, when Captain Tom, perceiving the trouble, came to the
rescue with his axe and none too soon, for the huge saurian began
lashing his tail from side to side, and had the Indian been less
skillful in handling the canoe we certainly would have been turned
overboard. With the hideous cargo silenced, the Indian always cool
and nerveless, looked up and with a humorous twinkle in his eye said,
‘White man ’fraid _ojus_’ (heap).”
BEAR HUNTING WITH THE SEMINOLES.
Under the head of American Sport, the following story of a “Bear Hunt
with the Seminole Indians,” appeared in the columns of the _Asian
Sporting Newspaper_ of Calcutta, India.
The story had been accepted from the pen of the writer by Forest
and Stream Publishing Company of New York, and because our British
hunters of lion and elephant fame had appreciated an American hunt
sufficient to scissor it (neither giving credit to the author nor to
the American journal), the story is here appended:
“Hunting the black bear in Florida is a sport to which few are
introduced. This bear is not fierce nor dangerous, but still he is
big game, and a bear hunt is always full of incident and excitement.
About ten miles from Kissimmee, is a cypress swamp--it is an aquatic
jungle full of fallen trees, brush, vines and tangled undergrowth,
all darkened by the dense shadows of the tall cypress trees, and full
of moccasins and alligators. Running through the swamp is a chain
of islands. Here is a field for sportsmen, and here live unmolested
a whole colony of the bruin family. Hunters hear their growls, and
numerous fresh tracks show where the night marauders have entered
the hommock, where they feast on wild honey, huckleberries, the
cabbage of the palmetto and the wild orange. They seldom come out to
expose themselves during the day, hence they are rarely captured,
and in consequence are on the increase. Settlers frequently report
depredations on their hogs; but bruin is safe in his swamp home, for
without dogs trained to hunting bear, even if he were surprised, he
would quickly make his escape into the jungle.
“Of all game of the forest bear meat is the favorite dish of the
Florida Indians; squaws, pickaninnies and dogs revel in it. With
this knowledge, it was an easy matter to secure a party of Seminole
chiefs and their trained dogs for a bear hunt. The auspicious day
arrived. This picturesque hunting party came striding into Kissimmee
as unconscious and statuesque as bronze figures of Mercury. The
party was led by Chief Tom Tiger, following after in Indian file was
old Chief Tallahassee, Doctor Tommy and Little Tiger, while trailing
along by their sides were the formidable looking dogs. Dressed in
their holiday attire, with new leggins and moccasins, bright calico
shirts, a half-dozen red handkerchiefs around their necks, crowned
with the immense red turban, the emblem of their race, with knives
and cartridges in their belts and Winchesters at their sides, the
Indians attracted as much attention as a Presidential party.
“If ever men deserved the name of Nimrods, it is these sons of the
Everglades. Even Little Tiger, a boy of twelve, with his fine rifle,
could put to shame many a skilled marksman. But on to the chase. The
souls of the red men seemed to leap into them at the thought of the
sport after bear, while the hounds barked gleefully, so with hasty
preparations our hunting party started for the Reedy Creek jungle. At
this point we will turn the story over to the tenderfoot, that the
reader may better follow the chase.
[Illustration:
_From Le Moyne’s Narrative of the French Expedition in 1563._
INDIAN MODE OF HUNTING ALLIGATORS IN FLORIDA, AS CONTRASTED WITH THE
PRESENT DAY HUNTING]
“As we reached the hommock, which has been for years a veritable
elysium for the bears, the dogs seemed to become possessed of a very
spirit of unrest; soon they struck a trail. ‘Lo-co-see ojus’ (bear
plenty), exclaimed Captain Tom Tiger, as he observed the numerous
cabbage palms with their buds freshly torn out, as well as the
conduct of his dogs, and with a word of command to the hounds, he
started. The rest of us followed, till we struck a marsh heavily
timbered with cypress, which grew so close that sun’s rays could
not reach the earth. It made a dark, damp and dangerous ground to
enter. The dogs were now running with broad scent, heads well up and
throats wide open. If ever there was a sound sweet to the hunter’s
ears, it was the baying of five hounds close on bruins trail. With
nerves on a tension we rushed along, with gun carried at ready.
On swept the riot. The Indians yelled as only Indians can, and
the tenderfoot brought up the rear. A hunt in a Florida jungle,
pulling through soft mud, climbing over logs, pushing through vines,
sprawling on hands and knees through the tangled, matted undergrowth,
expecting or fearing each step we would strike a moccasin, are the
penalties paid for the romantic, adventurous hunt with a Seminole
Indian. At last the supreme moment arrived; the leading dog had
reached the bear, and soon the five dogs and the bear were having a
vigorous rough and tumble fight. We were in good hearing distance,
but traveling was very difficult, and our progress was slow. The
Indians’ cry, ‘Yo-ho-ee-hee, Yo-ho-ee-hee!’ to the hounds, made them
fight furiously, so much so that bruin broke from cover and started
on the chase just before we reached shooting distance. Further into
the woods the chase led. Soon the sound of the pursuing dogs ceased,
much to our surprise. We appealed to the nearest Indian for an
explanation. ‘Lo-co-see (bear) climb tree,’ was the brief reply, and
later, when we reached the dogs, they were running wildly around on
the bank of a dark creek. We were again at a loss to comprehend the
situation, until we were shown by the Indians a leaning tree, the top
of which reached to the further side of the creek, over which bruin
had safely passed. ‘Lo-co-see-hiepus’ (bear gone).
“Three hours’ tramping through the swamp and hot sun had taken all
the enthusiasm out of us, and we were ready to play quits, but the
stalwart red men had defiance in their faces as they said, ‘Big
lo-co-see; fight heap; Indian kill lo-co-see to-day.’ Away to the
left the brown legs of little Tiger Tom could be seen twinkling
through the foliage; he had found some fresh tracks of a cub, and in
his eagerness to capture a baby bear he proved a similar nature to
his little pale-faced brother. But the stern hunters had no time for
a cub, and soon started for old bruin, who by this time had crossed
the marsh and gotten into a tree on the opposite bank, and by this
trickery put the creek behind him. This did not daunt a Seminole
Indian. Wading the shallow part of the creek, with water to the
armpits, again cooled our ardor, but safety depended on not losing
sight of the Indians, as we were miles in the swamp, and with no hope
of finding our way out without the guidance of our red pilots. At
last the bear was driven to a small island and surrounded, the island
covered with tall grass and weeds hiding both dogs and bear. The dogs
grew furious, and several times forced the bear to stand and fight,
and such a battle as it was; the dogs didn’t hesitate to take hold
of old bruin, and as a result were badly lacerated from the blows
of her powerful paw. We closed in and our game was in a trap. The
Indians were in their future heaven; but the tenderfoot was getting
very shy of being hugged. Bruin, now finding herself cornered, made a
break for the open, and as she emerged from the tall grass, with the
dogs at her heels, she met the stalwart figure of Tom Tiger. Rising
on her hind legs, with open arms, she made one dash for him, when
stepping back, in a cool and deliberate manner, he pulled the trigger
of his ‘scatter’ gun and emptied both barrels into the bear’s side.
This ended the chase, and a happier set of Indians the world never
saw. Immediately they drew their knives and commenced skinning the
bear. As the skin adheres very tenaciously it should be taken off at
once, as it then comes off much easier; besides, it is difficult to
scrape away all the fatty tissue after it cools, and wherever any
remains it rots the pelt.
“The Indians’ method of educating their dogs for hunting bear is well
worth knowing. They take the gall of the bear and thoroughly saturate
the nostrils of the young dog. This is excruciating pain to the dogs,
and they howl and whine for hours; but it makes ‘bear dogs’ out of
them, perfect on the trail, and this is the point with the Indian.
“The huge carcass of bruin was divided and each Indian carried a
load to camp. A fire was soon built, and a huge chunk of bear meat
was thrown on the coals. All night long they cooked and ate, the
tenderfoot getting into his hammock beneath the bough of the oaks.
We rested and dreamed--the flicker from the camp-fire, the Indians
moving to and fro, the silence occasionally broken by their low,
soft voices, and ever and anon in this wakeful slumber came the
half-dreaming thought, ‘Betty and me killed the bear!’”
CHIEF TOM TIGER (MIC-CO TUSTENUGGEE).
It is a number of years now, that Tom Tiger, chieftain, reached
Kissimmee after a ride of 160 miles. Tall, straight and muscular, he
proved himself a worthy descendant of the royal Tustenuggee. Dressed
in the regalia of a chief, and mounted on a raw boned horse, he
might have been mistaken for a sheik of the Arabian desert. He had
come on a friendly visit incidentally, but to tell his white friend
his trouble over a horse which had been procured under a fraudulent
pretense, by a white trader. The story is a long one, but suffice to
say proceedings were instituted and with the result that Captain Tom
Tiger, Seminole chieftain, was the first Florida Indian that ever
stood up in a white man’s court, making, as the spectators remarked,
the most imposing picture they had ever witnessed.
The tall, magnificent looking savage, with uplifted hand, took the
oath on the holy Book, with a perfect understanding of its meaning.
[Illustration: CAPT TOM TIGER
(Micco Tustenug-gee.)]
The case was prosecuted by the Society, “Friends of the Florida
Seminoles,” and achieved notoriety for being the first case in
Florida in which a Seminole sought the protection of the court.
It was told that the State’s Attorney made the most thrilling speech
of his life as he pleaded for the barbarian of the swamp. The Indian
never swerved under the strongest cross-examination, but told the
story simply and direct. The status of the case was this: The white
man was to return the horse at the end of two moons, binding the
promise by writing. The argument was written on a cartridge box;
a terrific rain storm came; the box was soaked in water, and the
writing made illegible. Because Tom could not read, he could not make
oath as to what was written on the box, the white man testifying he
had bought the horse. On this simple technicality the case was lost
and the white man escaped the penitentiary.
Like many of his race, Tom had a love for Wy-o-mee (whiskey), and
was not averse to taking it. In speaking of a saloonkeeper he would
say, “Captain, good man, five Indians go in saloon, five drinks give
’im. No money take,” but when Tom was asked to drink no whiskey in
Kissimmee, he promised, “un-gah” (all right). A day or two after, the
white friend stepped out of his office, and looking back saw the tall
form of Tom just passing into the saloon--headed by three cowboys.
Tom returned to the office, and his friend chided him for going to
the saloon. “Whiskey, me no take ’em, lemonade, me take, cowboys
wy-o-mee take.” The white friend’s trust had not been betrayed.
In this Indian’s visit of a week, many chapters were revealed of the
character and home life of this tribe. Savages, it is true, but
honor, justice and religion shine forth in their tribal life.
During his absence, the squaws and pickaninnies watched the potato
and corn patch, and cared for the hogs, surely worthy tribute to a
domestic life.
In relating a tragedy of the forest, Capt. Tom seemed much affected.
The chief, attracted by the cries of young birds, found that a
rookery of the beautiful white heron had been completely destroyed
by plume hunters, and the grounds strewn with the mutilated bodies
of the parent birds. From the tall trees overhead the starving
nestlings were spending their waning strength in calling for food.
The pitiful scene touched the heart of the strong red man, and he
paused in his journey to find food for the helpless birdlings. In
relating the circumstance, the Indian said, “Little birds, cry, cry,
all day. No water, no fish,” till the Indian boys caught minnows and
daily climbed the lofty trees and fed and watered the young egrets,
a tribute to the savage mind over the cruelty of the civilized and
Christianized white man.
A few years ago, Florida was an ornithological Eden, the winter home
of countless thousands of the migratory birds of the North American
Continent; but alas, the blood thirsty greed of the Caucasian for
gold is shown in the brutal extermination of the plumed egret, and
“the passing of the snowy heron” is the price of human callousness.
The Indian chief probably did not see in the fate of the innocent
plume bird, a prophecy of the destiny of the Seminole.
[Illustration: THE INDIAN’S HUNTING GROUND
“Within a mile of the wigwams, the big dredges clank and groan, an
accompaniment as it were, to the dirge of the recessional Seminoles.”]
The same forces are at work to-day to take from the helpless
Seminole his home and happy hunting ground.
Tom Tiger made his last visit to Kissimmee during the
Spanish-American war, and a touching and pleasing feature of the
visit was the meeting between General Fitzhugh Lee and this Chieftain
of the Seminoles.
The train bearing General Lee and staff stopped at Kissimmee, where
crowds of citizens went to welcome the hero of the Southland. General
Lee, dressed in his rank as U. S. general, Chief Tom Tiger in the
regalia of a Seminole chieftain. The scene is indelibly impressed
upon all who witnessed the meeting. The Indian chief with the Stars
and Stripes in his hand, was introduced and shook hands with the
great American soldier. In hearty tones General Lee responded, “I am
glad to see you, Chief.”
Tom was told he must “yell” when the train came in. He understood and
answered, “Me holler (ojus),” and he did, a genuine Seminole war cry,
“Yo-he-ee-hee--Yo-ho-ee-hee!”
Driven and hunted, homeless and helpless, this Indian was a strong
ally of the United States. “No fight white man,” meaning the people
of the United States, “shoot Spaniards, ojus” (heap), was Tom’s reply
when the attitude of the two countries was explained to him.
One by one the older Indians are passing away, and when word was
received that Captain Tom Tiger had been killed by a stroke of
lightning, the news was received with genuine sorrow. In his death,
a fair, generous and faithful friend was gone. Captain Tom was
building himself a dugout canoe on the edge of the cypress swamp, his
family being with him at the time. Seeing an approaching storm, he
sent them back to their wigwam. When he did not return, the Indians
went to seek him and found his dead body. Other Indians turned the
unfinished canoe into a mausoleum, and there rested his remains until
an avaricious curio seeker sought it out and robbed it of the body of
the chief. Considering the tender respect the Florida Indians have
for their dead, and also the superstition that any desecrations of
the bones bring dire calamities to the tribe, it is not surprising
that this act of vandalism aroused the Seminoles to the highest
pitch, and they were stirred as they have not been since the days of
the Indian wars. The whites realized that unless they were pacified
they were liable to give trouble.
Two of the leaders of the band visited the authorities at Fort
Pierce, Florida, and the newspapers of that date give the following
account, “Big Yankee steal bones of Tiger Tom, Indians Big Chief and
best friend. Indians all fight. Kill white man ojus, bones no bring
back by big white chiefs next moon.”
The matter was immediately taken up, and information filed by the
State Attorney in the Circuit Court against the party, charging him
with disturbing the grave of another and having in his possession a
dead body. All over the United States the account was taken up by
the press and looked upon as a matter of serious importance, as the
Smithsonian Institution was credited with being behind the rapacious
curio hunter.
The matter was brought to Mr. J. M. Willson, Jr., recognized as the
Seminoles’ best friend among the whites.
The letter following explains the situation and is herein given:
SECRETARY RATHBUN’S STATEMENT.
“Mr. J. M. Willson, Jr., Secretary Society of Friends of Seminole
Indians, Kissimmee; Fla.
“_Dear Sir_:--Replying to your letter of the 24th inst., I beg to
say that about six weeks ago a Mr. ----, about whom nothing is
known here, wrote to the National Museum and offered to present
certain Indian relics which he had obtained in Florida, including a
skeleton of an Okeechobee (not Seminole) chief. Assuming that these
objects were properly acquired by him, he was notified that they
would be accepted. No further word or the objects arriving, it has,
therefore, been supposed that he disposed of the relics elsewhere.
The heading of his letter paper indicates that he is the secretary
and general manager of an amusement resort, called Island Park, at
---- Pa., and it is not impossible that the relics were taken there.
“Although I find that the name of the chief was mentioned in Mr.
----’s letter, the fact that he spoke of him as belonging to the
extinct Okeechobee tribe entirely misled the Museum authorities
who did not associate him with the Seminole Captain Tom Tiger,
about whom so much has lately been printed in the papers until the
receipt of your letter to-day.
“I cannot express too strongly my abhorrence of the act of Mr.
----, whose desecration of this grave I consider outrageous and
sacrilegious. The man had no connection with this museum or any
branch of the Smithsonian Institute, as he seems to have claimed
several weeks before he sent in his letter.
“You can readily understand, therefore, that the museum will be
only too glad to coöperate with your society in securing the return
of the remains and of any objects that may have been taken with
them from the grave. If they should be received at the museum they
will be promptly forwarded to Florida.
“I have forwarded your letter to Mr. ----, at the address given in
his letter, viz: Box 531, ----, Pa., and I have also written him.
“Trusting that this unfortunate matter may soon be satisfactorily
adjusted, I am, dear, sir, very respectfully yours,
“RATHBUN,
“Assistant Secretary in charge of National Museum.”
The bones of the noted Indian were quietly restored, and all trouble
averted, but of the throbbing hearts of these interesting countrymen
of Osceola what shall we say?
NANCY OSCEOLA.
A short time ago, the press chronicled the news that the old Seminole
squaw, Nancy, living at the Big Cypress camp, was dead. The account
stated that Nancy was the widow of the famous chieftain (Osceola),
and that she was survived by seven children. The associated press
took up the story and many accepted it as true.
It is the desire of the writer to say that Osceola’s wives (for
he had two) went into captivity and were with him when he died, a
captive of the United States Government, and it is safe to suppose
they, with his children, were taken with the other Seminole captives
to the West.
Old Nancy was the squaw of a half-brother of Osceola--hence a
sister-in-law. A few years ago she consented to have her picture
taken amidst a group of her great-great grandchildren. Chief
Tallahassee quickly recognized the picture and said, “Old too
much--eyes no see, blind ojus.” When questioned as to her identity,
with the suggestion that she might be Osceola’s widow, Tallahassee
showed marked disdain, “No, no, Osceola, big chief. Squaw no got one
in Florida. Old Nancy Osceola’s brother’s squaw.”
BILLY BOWLEGS (CHO-FEE-HAT-CHO).
Several months ago, Cho-fee-hat-cho (Billy Bowlegs), a warrior
of more than usual intelligence, made his long-promised visit to
Kissimmee.
Here, away from his natural surroundings, one could study his Indian
characteristics from an unprejudicial standpoint.
As a specimen of manhood, he is far above the average. Although six
feet, two inches tall, he is so symmetrically proportioned that one
loses sight of his height. His features are good, his hands and feet
remarkably small, his voice soft and low--a characteristic of every
Seminole.
His dress was the holiday attire of the tribe, his tunic or shirt
he had made himself, was highly decorated with bands of narrow
red,--leggins and moccasins elaborately thonged, and around his neck
about a dozen gaily colored handkerchiefs, not worn for warmth, but
because it is a Seminole fashion.
His large turban was embraced by a silver band, made from four silver
dollars beaten with the implements which can be found at an Indian
village. He wore a gold watch and chain and regulated his timepiece
by the railroad clock. Billy is a fantastic dresser, but he is a
loyal Seminole and a progressive one, too. He keeps posted on the
markets in his own particular line of business. His pockets bulge
with letters received from New York and Jacksonville buyers of skins
and otter pelts. He expects no favors, pays for what he receives and
keeps a promise, although a year may elapse before he is able to do
so. He is often a purchasing agent for members of the band, and in
his small way has a mercantile mind, buying four shawls for $1.75
that would retail at fifty cents each, he will sell out, with the
satisfactory remark, “25 cents me make ’em.”
Billy ventures beyond the confines of his Everglade home, much
oftener than any other of the tribe. To the stranger he is all
indifference, answering: “Yes,” “No,” “Me don’t know,” as it suits
him.
[Illustration: A SECTION OF A SAW GRASS SWAMP WITH THE STAKES SET FOR
A NEW DRAINAGE WAY
“The onward march of the white brother into the last hunting ground
of the Seminoles.”]
Billy has visited St. Augustine, and has seen the Ponce De Leon
Hotel, but explained that “no get inside.” The season was not “on,”
otherwise the Seminole brave would have been one of the celebrities
that enter its great portals. New York and Washington do honor to
dukes and counts, and this Aboriginal American Knight is no less a
Prince of the Everglades.
He has made several visits to Kissimmee, hence is well known to the
white people. At the ringing of the church bells on Sunday morning it
was explained to the Indian that they were to call the people to the
church, so that the preacher might tell them of the white man’s God.
With the inquiry, “You go?” to his host, and receiving an answer in
the affirmative, Billy said, “Me go too.”
He was escorted to the chapel and through the long sermon was a model
of propriety and conformed perfectly with the customs of the church.
He expressed himself later as liking the music, but remarked that the
“preacher talked too fast.”
From time to time colored pictures from Sunday School charts have
been given or mailed to the Indians and Billy reports, “Indians got
’em,” keeping them with their treasures in boxes or trunks.
Blue backed spelling books had been sent to these Indians, for the
spelling book is the Seminole’s ideal in literature, and Billy
reported that the books were in good order--and Indian boys, spell
“littly bit.”
Who shall say there is no hope for the civilization of this
picturesque tribe?
Not a hair’s breadth will this Indian diverge from the truth. Even
to the simple question as to when he would visit his white friends
again, he replied, “Six moons; me don’t know, maybe ten moons; six
moons, me say--no come, white man say, ‘Billy Bowlegs lock-a-dox
ojus!’ (lie too much).”
Billy is grateful for favors shown him and on his return from a
visit always sends some remembrance. A letter usually accompanies
the present, and the following is a unique specimen of his literary
ability:
“Indian Town, Fla., J. M. Willson, Jr., Kissimmee.
I write you Letter. I send you Big Alligator Feet skin. Big
Alligator 12 ft. long 4½ inches. This time Indian no sick. All Good
Well Ojus. You write to me Letter. Your Friend
Mr. Billy Bowlegs.”
In his signature, Billy always uses the prefix, “Mr.”
At another time on Billy’s return to his Okeechobee home, a letter
was received which read:
“MY GOOD FRIEND:
“Littly white birds me send. Indians all well.”
The egrets, snowy white and beautiful as a poem, came in a crate made
of green palm stems, with a door fastened by buck skin hinges and
buck skin catch, the whole a marvel of neatness and ingenuity.
The birds were at once given the freedom of the lawn, where they have
been a constant surprise, in showing how full of confidence, how
charming the wild heron can be made under habits of domestication.
They love companionship and at meal time they station themselves like
two sentinels, at the dining room piazza. Here they stand, with their
long necks craning into the door-way, alert and tense, waiting for
their beef to be thrown to them.
These white plumed egrets, with their dark, piercing eyes, their
spotless white figures adorned in their bridal veil of long silken
plumes, make a picture that an artist may envy.
It is a pleasing and encouraging fact that on all occasions when the
Seminoles visit white settlements they are warmly welcomed by the
whites and treated with the utmost respect and many times entertained
as one would celebrities.
The _Florida Times-Union_ always breaks a lance in favor of the
Seminole. During a carnival season in Jacksonville, Billy Bowlegs
visited the city, and of his visit an editorial read:
“Jacksonville has among her guests this week one of the most
representative Indians in America to-day--the highest type of what
is known as the savage tribe.... Billy was a conspicuous figure
in last night’s parade; he rode in one of the most striking and
effective floats of the parade, that of the Florida East Coast R.
R. Company.... This float bore the distinction of conveying the
noble figure of this Seminole chief and thus the only one with a
member of the real and single strictly American race. Billy Bowlegs
is no savage, but a magnificent specimen of physical manhood, with
a dignity, a reserve, a keen intelligence and an honest heart--a
representative of that forlorn remnant who regard honor with
commendable sacredness.”
Billy visited the _Times-Union_ office, and took the keenest interest
in the mechanical equipments for making a newspaper.
A fac-simile of Billy’s writing appeared in the paper at this time
and, a year later, it made an amusing picture to witness Billy’s
expression when he was shown the fac-simile; the clipping having been
taken from the paper at the time. Very quickly memory came to him and
he said, “Me know; my name write big paper, Jacksonville.”
[Illustration:
Okeechobee Dade County
Florida Nov 28
Mr. Billie Bowlegs
Seminole Indian
My Home Okeechobee Fla]
Such names as Tom Tiger, Doctor Tommy, Wild Cat and Billy Bowlegs,
are white man’s names for the Indians. Each Indian has his Indian
name, which is significant of some family or personal characteristic,
and which contains the root word of the gens to which the Indian
belongs. During the Indian’s visit he expressed a wish to have the
Seminole names of a number of his people written down so that he
might make a copy and carry home with him. Certainly this young brave
could not be called stupid or sluggish. Knowing that the information
was sought for the purpose of putting it into a book, so that “the
people could read about the good Indians of Florida,” he showed the
greatest interest in the questions, making his answers direct and
truthful.
With the patience of a sphinx this Indian answered questions till
dark. When asked if he were tired, he answered, “Tired ojus,”
although his native politeness had not permitted him to show any
special restlessness at the tedious afternoon’s questioning. An air
of deepest solemnity would rest upon his face until he was assured
his meaning was thoroughly understood. During his visit he expressed
an eagerness to learn, and followed a copy with remarkable exactness.
With the desire to read and write, however, ended all ambition to be
like the white man.
Every effort was made to please so rare a visitor, favors were shown
him, in fact he was treated as a most honored guest, yet this son
of the forest received it all with a silent dignity that would have
graced a monarch. When he was ready to leave he quietly arose,
remarking, “Me hi-e-pus” (go), and noiselessly passed out of the
house.
It is a disputed question whether a wild Indian of pure blood has
ever been permanently civilized. One of the missionaries of the Osage
band once said that “it took fifteen years to get a blanket off
Joseph Pawnee-o-passhee, Chief of the Osage tribe, and it took Joseph
just fifteen minutes to get it on him again.”
RELIGION.
A pretty tradition among the Seminoles is that a beautiful race of
Indians, whose women they call the daughters of the sun, reside among
the swamps and lakes of the O-kee-fee-ne-kee wilderness and live in
uninterrupted felicity upon islands of eternal verdure, feasting upon
the luxuries of the islands, but inaccessible to the approach of
human footsteps.
Unlike the child of Africa, who lives in a world of ghosts and
goblins, the Seminole is not superstitious. He has his traditions,
his mythologies, and on these are based his history. He obeys the
Great Spirit, but it is not from any spirit of fear; it is the
teaching of his fathers, and becomes the duty of the Indian. The
religion of the Seminole has been without question the most difficult
of all their history to reach.
The Florida Indians believe in a Supreme Being; in the immortality of
the soul; in the future existence and the resurrection of the dead.
Reverence, too, is one of his distinguishing features. His language
contains no oath, nor any word to express disrespect to the Great
Spirit. A missionary will receive most respectful attention for their
reverence to God will not permit them to laugh at His messenger. The
Seminole qualifies the Supreme Being as the “Giver and Taker away of
Life.” The Aztec designated, as the “God by Whom We Live.”
Their conception of the creation of man is very unique. “Long time
ago, E-shock-e-tom-isee (God) took seeds and scattered them all
around in a rich valley bordering a river. By and by, God saw fingers
coming out of the ground and great people--heap too many came up from
out of the sand. Some went to the river and washed, washed, washed
too much; it made them weak and pale; this was the es-ta-chat-tee
(white race). Others went to the river and washed not too much, they
returned full of courage, strong, heap; this was the es-ta-had-kee
(red race). The remainder no wash, lazy too much, es-ta-lus-tee
(black man).”
In an extract taken from an old history printed in London in 1776,
descriptive of the native inhabitants of Florida, these people are
described as idolaters, worshipping the sun and moon--the worship
consisting of saluting the rising sun, chanting his praise and
offering sacrifices to the planet four times a year. They believe
that the sun was the parent of life.
Whatever may have been the ancient rites of this race, the present
people seem to have outlived all remembrance of them as well as of
their early ancestors themselves. A glimmering of the Christian
religion, no doubt instilled into the race more than two hundred
years ago by the Franciscan priests, still seems to linger among the
descendants of to-day and constitutes their religion largely. These
rites they observe as faithfully as they did a century ago; and yet
in all that time they have received no further teaching, and have no
personal knowledge of the civilizing effects of the gospel of Christ.
In the same length of time where would have been the religion of the
Caucasian race, without the divine word, and without the influence of
men who have devoted their lives to the cause of Christianity? The
Seminoles believe in God (E-shock-e-tom-issee); that God had a son
(E-shock-e-tom-issee-e-po-chee) who came on earth and lived with the
Indians “long time ago to make them good Indians.”
[Illustration: HI-E-TEE, CAPTAIN TOM TIGER, HO-TI-YEE, AND “LITTLE
TIGER”]
One is tempted upon an intimate knowledge of this race to wonder
whether the Son of Man appeared to the Indian also; could not the
Light of the World in some mysterious way have touched the soul of
this innocent people? The more one studies the Seminole, the more
one wonders. Christ, according to their traditions, was killed by
the “wicked Spaniards” when they first came to this continent.
Since that time it has been the duty of the medicine men to teach
the Indians “to think with God,” and to impart the Great Spirit’s
wishes to his red children. Each tribe has two or more medicine
men who act as priests as well as doctors. These men are highly
honored by the tribe, because they believe them to be directed by
the Supreme Being. Just before the festival of the Green Corn Dance
the medicine men leave the tribe, and going to a secret spot, there
build a lodge. Here they fast for twenty-four hours, after which they
take a potion, made of herbs, which causes a deep sleep to come over
them. It is now that God appears to them in a dream and tells them
how to make the Indians “think good,” and how they shall prepare
the herbs for medicine. Returning in time to prepare for the great
feast they occupy a most prominent position in the dance circle. The
Seminole tradition of Christ’s coming to live with the Indians, is
that the Son of God stopped at the most southern point of Florida,
at which place he was met by three Indians who carried him around
the Southern Peninsula on their shoulders, while he sowed the seeds
of the “koonti” root, which was God’s gift to the red men. (This
koonti is a wild cassava and found only in the extreme southern
portion of Florida.) According to the legend, the Indians were in
a starving condition. The ground was parched, no corn grew and the
game had all left. During the long time in which the Indians waited
for the koonti to grow, God rained down bread “heap, plenty,” which
the Indians gathered and ate. In describing this bread, which came
down in the rain each morning, the Indian illustrated in this wise:
“Littly bread, white man’s biscuit all the same, good, every Indian
eat plenty.” The Mosaic account of the manna from heaven is evident
in this legend.
The Seminole believes in a future state, In-li-Ke-ta (heaven or
home). To this place do the good Indians go after death. Here they
may “hunt, hunt, hunt, plenty deer, plenty turkey, plenty bear find,
and cool water ojus (plenty) all the time. Bad Indians after big
sleep hunt, hunt, hunt, hunt deer, turkey, bear--no find ’em, hot
water drink all the time.”
The Indians’ religion, for we may justly call it so, is sacred to
him, and it is difficult to get him to reveal his inmost thoughts.
His idea of the Bible is vague, because he understands it as the work
of man. “White man got book, him good one day, he steal, cheat next
day; book no good. Injun no make book, he no see hunting ground, him
no go and come back. Big sleep, no come back, him no lie about it.
Me think good Injun find hunting ground all right; me think me find
it. White man, big sleep comes, me think no find In-li-Ke-ta (heaven)
easy.”
After death the body of a Seminole is immediately prepared for
burial, the corpse being clad in new clothes. When a chief dies one
cheek is painted red, the other one is painted black. The rest of the
tribe do not have the face painted for burial. It will be recalled
that Osceola, with the death struggle already upon him, rose in his
bed, and “with his own hand painted one-half of his face, his neck
and his throat, his wrists, the back of his hands and the handle of
his knife red, with vermillion,” the marks of a war chief.
At sunrise, on the day following a death, the body is carried by
two Indian men to the place of interment. The corpse is placed on a
base made of logs with the face to the rising sun. If the deceased
be a warrior, his rifle and accoutrements are placed by his side,
“that he may be fully armed on his arrival at the happy hunting
grounds.” A bottle of Sof-ka is buried with him that he may eat on
his long journey. Around the body is built a pen of logs sloping
till they close at the top and thickly covered with palmetto leaves.
The protection is to prevent the wild beasts from despoiling. With
faces now turned reverently to the rising sun, they commend into the
keeping of the Great Spirit the bivouac of the dead. The bearers of
the dead then make a fire at each end of the grave, and the mourners
return to camp, the women loudly wailing and tearing their hair.
At the death of a husband the widow must live with disheveled hair
for one year. Her long black tresses are worn over her face and
shoulders, and she presents a forsaken, pitiable appearance. At the
end of twelve moons her period of mourning is over, and she may again
arrange her hair, don her beads, which have been removed during her
period of mourning, and may marry again. The husband, on the death
of his squaw, may not hunt for four days, and for a period of four
moons must appear in mourning, which consists in the removal of his
neck handkerchiefs, and the laying aside of his turban. When a death
occurs in one band or settlement, the news is not communicated to the
other bands until such time as it is convenient for a messenger to be
sent.
BROUGHT BACK.
About fifteen years ago, one young Indian brave, Ko-nip-hat-cho by
name, stepped beyond the Seminole law and asked permission to live
with a white man at Fort Myers, Florida. He was eagerly received
by the gentleman, and was taught much of the English language and
civilized mode of living. But for a Seminole to so far forget the
teachings of his fathers, as to wish to affiliate with the white
race, caused the greatest dissatisfaction in the Indian camps.
“Talk after talk” was “made” by the chiefs as they met in council
concerning the actions of this bold young Indian. He was repeatedly
warned to return to the tribe. They even threatened to kill him if
he refused to do so. At length, however, artifice succeeded, where
all else had failed. The daughter of Charles Osceola was promised to
him for a wife if he would but return to his people and once more
don the costume of his race. No Indian girl in all the nation could
boast of the beauty of Nan-ces-o-wee; damask and dark, with features
as refined as the Caucasian, a form superb in its symmetry, a step
as graceful as the doe’s, a spirit as fearless as the falcon, such
is the woman who moved Ko-nip-hat-cho from his foreign alliance.
Ko-nip-hat-cho has four children, is contented and happy in his
forest home, and with his knowledge is an important personage among
his tribe. His wife is the belle of the Seminole nation. All the
Indian braves say, “Ko-nip-hat-cho’s squaw _heap purty_,” and in
their native tongue declare, “Nan-ces-o-wee most beautiful of all the
Seminole squaws.”
[Illustration: DR. JIMMIE TUSTANOGEE WITH HIS TWO WIVES AND THE
CHILDREN]
MOUNDS.
The great number of mounds found in Florida afford attractive study
to the lover of scientific research. These mounds are of many
shapes, heights and areas. They are found in all parts of the State,
but are more abundant on or near the coast and along the water
courses. Every few months some explorer, armed with shovels, picks
and other instruments used in excavating mounds, comes before the
public and announces new discoveries, based on new theories. The
best possible explanation of the source of these mounds is founded
on the theory that they are of Indian origin. One scientist has
aimed a happy stroke at writers of our antiquities when he says,
“Whoever has time and patience and will use his spade and his eyes
together, and restrain his imagination from running riot among
mounds, fortifications, etc., etc., will find very little more than
the indications of rude savages, the ancestors of the present race.”
No better theories can be advanced than those of Major Powell, who
says, “Remove the Indian element from the problem and we are left
without a hypothesis.” One of the latest mound excavations in Florida
was made by Dr. Moore. A thousand skeletons were unearthed as well
as many articles of pottery, and other things considered of great
value by the explorer. The height and character of the Florida
mounds indicate the different uses for which they were built. These
mounds vary from three feet to thirty feet in height, and their
areas range from a few square feet to four hundred feet square.
The shell mounds which are numerous throughout the peninsula seem
to have grown without any idea of purpose by the builders, and are
merely accumulations of shells and soil. Year after year it was the
custom of the tribes to congregate at certain localities for their
festivals, and, living on shell fish, the shells in course of time
formed vast mounds or elevations. There are a number of small mounds
on the outskirts of Kissimmee City. Excavations have been made, and
pieces of skeletons, beads, pottery and gold trinkets were exhumed.
Other mounds in Florida indicate that they were built for tombs,
while others, being composed of strata of sand and other soils, from
their height might have been built for outlooks or signal towers.
Chroniclers of De Soto’s day describe the manner in which the natives
brought the earth to these spots and formed these elevations. The
Indians say in Seminole war days these mounds were used to build
their signal fires upon. By smoke telegraphy, they communicated war
news from one band to another. By this means, with their fleet Indian
runners, who acted also as spies, the entire tribe was kept informed
of the innermost workings of the white army. In asking a chief about
the burial mounds, he answered, “Long time ago heap many people
here,” and that their “ancestors buried their dead in mounds so that
other bands coming along might not disturb their bones.” Many times
the body would be carried a great distance in order to bury in a
sepulchre where rested the bones of their ancestors. “Now,” said the
chief, “Seminoles no fight, not too many people;” and he buries his
dead near his camp.
PICTURE WRITING.
The Seminoles have no picture writing, nor do their minds in any
way run to art. They prefer the rough athletics of forest life,
which educates them for the chase and makes them the vigorous and
hardy people that they are. They would sooner “hook” an alligator
than paint the finest picture the brush is capable of producing,
and yet there is nothing in the white man’s home they enjoy more
than studying the pictures of a book. In this way they may be taught
much. Through the teaching by pictures they have learned the story
of Pocahontas, and of William Penn, “the red man’s brother.” On an
occasion the picture of a heathen Zuni god was shown to an Indian and
its meaning explained. The effect produced would have done credit to
a Christian believer.
MEDICINE.
The Seminoles have a superstitious faith in the efficacy of certain
roots and herbs known to their tribe, the knowledge of which has
been handed down from their remote ancestors. The curative property
of these plants they never question. A few of the band to-day have
carefully concealed about them small pieces of a root, which they
call “hil-lis-waw.” This root was gotten by some of their tribe sixty
years ago when their people were encamped at Tampa, and has been
carefully treasured ever since, having been handed down from father
to son. Their faith in the healing powers of this root is marvelous,
their idea being that the smallest possible piece being made into a
tea would restore life from death almost. Those fortunate enough to
own a small piece the size of a pea are considered to have a great
treasure. On testing this root it was found to be a simple plant, the
great medicinal qualities of which exist largely in the minds of the
Indians. They are ignorant as to what the root is and believe it to
be very valuable, saying, “So much (what one could hold in the palm
of his hand) cost $25.” “Long time ago,” says the Seminole, “chief
sick _heap_ too much; by-and-by, big sleep come. Medicine man bring
hil-lis-waw, fix ’um quick. Chief get well.”
[Illustration:
BILLY BUSTER TALLAHASSEE
TOMMY HILL CHARLIE PEACOCK]
A late incident occurred, showing the childlike faith of this people.
The little son of Ko-nip-pat-cho was taken very ill and when Seminole
medicinal efforts failed, the father learned from other Indians
that their white friend at Kissimmee City could procure for them the
“hil-lis-waw.” A runner was dispatched from the Everglades to the
nearest boat landing (a distance of 160 miles from Kissimmee) where a
note could be sent in person. This note was given to the Captain--the
Indian waiting for the return of the steamer. The Indians reported
afterwards, “Boy sick ojus, arms cold--feet cold--big sleep come
soon--Indian bring medicine from white friend, boy no die.”
Did not the Great Spirit, Who watches over His children, reward the
childlike faith of these Indians?
Pais-haw is the name applied to a plant which the Indians regard as
an antidote to the rattlesnake bite. Old settlers tell that they
have known of Indians allowing themselves to be bitten by a rattler
on a wager of a silver dollar. The Indians after being bitten would
go to the woods, a short distance away, and procure their antidote.
Returning they would apparently be no worse for the bite. Requesting
an Indian to procure some of the roots, he replied, “No find ’em
here--by-and-by me go to Okeechobee swamps, find ’em plenty.”
A few weeks later there came through the mail a small box full of
roots, neatly done up and addressed by the Indian’s own hand, a
perfect copy of name and address as he had learned to write it during
his visit.
On sending the roots to the Smithsonian Institute for analysis, the
secretary reports that they belong to a species of plant known as
_Cyperus_, and adds, “This is one of the large number of reputed
cures for snakebites, which have become so regarded from the
fact that a person who has been bitten has been known to recover
after taking the drug.” The use of water enters largely into the
_materia medica_ of the Seminoles, bathing in cold water being one
of their principal treatments for fevers. During the war with the
whites a soldiers’ camp was found deserted; the Indians immediately
appropriated the clothing, blankets and other things. Very soon the
loathsome disease of small-pox broke out among them. Ignorant as to
the nature of the malady, they immediately applied their bathing
remedy. The result was a frightful mortality, few of that band were
left to tell the story. In this instance, the Government army gained
a victory over their foe without the firing of a gun.
FLORIDA’S ABIDING WORDS OF BEAUTY THE HERITAGE
OF THE ABORIGINAL PATHFINDERS.
All through Florida the musical softness, peculiar to the Seminole
dialect, is sustained in the names of the lakes and rivers. Each
having a history descriptive of its character, or some incident
connected therewith.
The old names of the chiefs were very euphonious, such as Osceola,
Micanopy, Tusteenuggee, Coacoochee and Tallahassee. These are being
displaced by names adopted by the whites, such as Billy Ham, Tommy
John and Billy Buster. Accident, too, seems to have credited the
aborigines with words not really their own if it be true that
“Yankee” is only an attempt made by the Indian to speak the word
English, and that pappoose is the effort of the natives to say
“baby.” The symphonious cadence of such words as Alabama, Tuscaloosa,
Caloosahatchee and Minnehaha has often been noticed.
Tohope Ke-liga is the name of one of the most beautiful lakes in
Florida, its Indian significance meaning “fort site.” All around
the lake are the old hunting grounds of the Indians and memorable
points in Seminole war fame. To-day the Okeechobee drainage canal
connects it with the lakes south, plantations surrounding its shores;
the thriving city of Kissimmee is situated on its north side and
all trace of the Seminole has vanished. The only memorials he has
left are his words firmly embedded in the history of his conquerors.
Kissimmee river is said to have taken its name from a romantic
episode. A young Spanish grandee in a moment of impulse snatched a
kiss from a Seminole girl, and the frightened maiden’s childlike
plaint to her mother established the name of the river on whose banks
the kiss was stolen--Kiss-him-mee.
The romance attached to our beautiful Kissimmee river gives it
especial interest and we give it only as a traditional meaning. The
present Indians cannot give the English rendition, saying, “Indian
long, long time ago named the river,” which is corroborated by the
Bureau of Ethnology, Smithsonian Institution, as follows:
In reply to your letter I regret to say that it is impossible to
give you the meaning of “Kissimmee.” Several of our ethnologists
think the word dates back to the Ais Caloosa, or some other tribe
antedating the Seminoles, in which case the meaning will never be
known.
Very respectfully yours,
W. H. HOLMES,
Chief.
So many of the euphonious words abounding in Florida belong to the
ancient tribes and were picked up by the Seminoles.
An interesting bit of information was gotten after much care
and questioning from Chief Tallahassee as to the meaning of his
name--Tallahassee being only a nickname, or white man’s name for
him--his Indian name being Fo-so-wa-los-te-nock-ee, meaning chief of
the Bird gens or tribe.
The origin of the name of Florida’s State capital dates back to the
days that are but traditions to the Seminole.
As the Seminole interprets, “Long, long time ago,” many Indians and
houses were on the site where the city of Tallahassee now stands.
One day, as the tradition goes, all the Indians left. Some time
after, some Indians came along, Seminoles presumably, and seeing many
houses--but Indians “hiepus” (gone), exclaimed, “Tallahassee”--“all
gone or deserted.”
[Illustration: THE WILD HERON IN DOMESTICATION
“Littly white birds me send.”
“Mr. Billy Bowlegs.”]
We-la-ka is the Indian name for the St. John river and describes
it so graphically that the old Spaniards retrograded when they
named the “river of lakes” for their patron saint. Ock-la-wa-ha,
“crooked water,” appropriately describes the most crooked stream in
America. Okeechobee, with her vast expanse of water and over-hanging
mists, in Seminole significance means “the place of big water.”
With-la-coo-chee, so memorable in Seminole war days as the place of
Osceola’s strategic movements, is a long but very narrow stream,
meaning, in the Seminole tongue, “Little Big river.” Alachua, “the
big jug without a bottom,” We-Kiva, “mystery,” and so on all over the
Peninsula do we find names preserved which mark the wanderings of the
picturesque Aborigines.
The unwritten, but highly poetical, language of the Florida Indians,
should be incorporated into schoolcraft form and preserved with
the archives of history for future generations. One who has heard
the war shouts, their mythological tales, the words accompanying
their dancing tunes, or listened in the darkness of the night, with
breathless wonder to the heart-moving dirges sung by wailing women
as they move around the corpse of some dead member, the whole scene
lit up by the flickering flames of the lurid camp fire, cannot doubt
but that the Florida Indian _has_ a literature, and the white race is
to blame for its imperfect knowledge of the unwritten but priceless
productions of a savage race.
The linguistic perfection of the Seminole language, with its fluent,
oratorical powers, shows itself in every speech or talk ever made to
the white man.
With linguistic research, the scientist readily finds that man does
not invent language any more than a bird does its twittering or a
tree its leaves. It requires a whole nation to produce a language.
Of the world’s famous orators we have our Demosthenes of the Greek,
Cicero of the Roman, England’s great Gladstone, America with her
Calhoun, Clay and Webster; but as yet has the world ever found
greater eloquence than in the “talks” of the famous Indian chiefs?
Red Jacket, on the religion of the white man and the red race, is a
marvel of eloquence. Then what shall we say of Tecumseh, the great
Shawnee, as he delivered his famous talk to General Harrison, or
Black Hawk, the captive, in his plea before General Street?
In dealing with the Seminole language we meet with long
words and mammoth expressions. The Seminole greeting,
“Ha-tee-eten-chee-hick-cha-hit-is-chay,” sounds formidable, yet it
only means “Glad to see you.” These, with well-understood Indian
phrases, such as “burying the tomahawk,” “going on the warpath,”
we employ familiarly without a thought of the tribe we have
dispossessed. The time for studying the aborigines of America will
soon be over. Only remnants of the tribes remain among us. Old myths
and customs are being displaced by new ones, and we can truly see
that the red man’s inheritance is nearing the horizon of its destiny.
THE SEMINOLE’S RECESSIONAL.
When the last Seminole goes, he will in every sense be the last. He
will leave no history; neither monument. His narrow path through
the Savannah lasts no longer than the doe’s road to the ford of
the stream. His race have had their joys, their triumphs and their
defeats, and then been swept into oblivion.
Like the white plumed egret of the vast forests of the Everglades,
he will pass, like the mist. As memories come up, we hear the faint
rustle of the leaves and see the dusky forms of those ancient people
as they glided through the leaf-carpeted aisles of the forests. We
see the happy wigwam homes, gleaming in the red flames of the camp
fire and hear the soft lullabies of the crooning mothers; the dusky
hero of the chase returns game-laden from the hunt, and, in the
picture, framed, as it were, by the boundaries of nature, we see
long lines of moving life, the graceful forms of thousands of flying
creatures, while the song of the forest minstrel hallows the wooded
silence. _It is the land of the Seminole._
Thou, Florida, with thy laughing waters and sunny skies, art the
Seminole’s elysium. Thy spreading palms form the only canopy he
desires. To part from thy loved scenes would be like separating from
his kindred. No, under the shadows of the live oak and the magnolia
has he lived, under their shadows let him die.
As the patient Seminole, with swelling heart “moves a little farther,
and yet a little farther,” he goes not willingly, but with a sad
heart and a slow step. Micanopy, when told by the officers that he
might choose between emigration and death, answered, “Kill me here
then, kill me quickly.” The same spirit is manifested by the Seminole
to-day when he says, “We have never done anything to disgrace the
land of our birth, nor the honor of an Indian. For fifty years the
pledge to our great father has been kept inviolate. Our tongues are
not forked and our feet tread not in the white man’s path. We threw
away the rifle and grasped hands with the white skin. We know the
white man’s power, and though we love peace, we fear not death. We
will not leave the land of our birth. The Great Spirit loves his red
children, and says to them, “Your bones must rest with the dust of
your fathers.” Brothers, when the pale face came to the shores of our
land, our fathers made him a fire from their flint rock to warm by,
and gave him hominy to stay his hunger. Brothers, the Seminole wishes
no harm to the white race, but his heart heaves and surges as it
says, “Let us alone; let us alone. Though you slay us, you shall not
move us.”
“A kingdom as full of people as hives are of bees,” wrote the first
discoverer to King Ferdinand. Where are they now?
[Illustration: THE WHITE PLUMED EGRET IN A FLORIDA YARD
“In their bridal veil of long silken plumes.”]
There is something intensely sad in the picture of these sons of the
monarchs of that race, who, for centuries held sway on the slopes
of the Atlantic. As the Stars and Stripes proudly herald liberty
and independence to the comers of all nations, how can we be
unmindful of that “charity which begins at home?” The panorama of
Indian history passes before us, and we see nothing more tragic than
the pictures of the wrongs endured by the native Americans. Let us
then deal kindly with the tribes we have dispossessed, whose removal
to the swamps has made room for our own enlargement. In the person
of these descendants of a now disinherited race, who with shy,
frightened faces still hide in the wilderness, we may yet atone in
part for the tragedies of the past by making Florida a free, safe
and Christian home for this patient and long-persecuted remnant of a
once-powerful Indian nation.
May the almoner of justice, under the guidance of an overruling God,
protect and keep and cherish these red children of the forest homes.
SUPPLEMENT
The Least Known Wilderness of America
THE LEAST KNOWN WILDERNESS OF AMERICA
TOGETHER WITH THE STORY OF THE RED INHABITANTS
Would you see the Land of the Seminole? Then visit the Everglades
of Florida and in the heart of this mystic region--a very uncharted
wilderness--you will find a thrilling beauty, and yet a lurking
terror; the dark, cypress, laden trees are massed together, now
swaying, now quivering, as the Gulf winds circle around them, and
they seem like human things, crowding together like shuddering
people, frightened by ghosts.
This is the “Big Cypress”--the last foothold of the vanishing red man
of America.
This tropic jungle of islets, lagoons and cutting saw-grass prairies
is an unexplored treasure house for the man of research--a virgin
field for the adventurer, in short a tropic mimosa, with its secrets
closely held against the disturbing exploiter--yet awaiting, with
sphinx-like calmness, the intrepid traveller, who would dare to
explore this Least Known Wilderness of America.
Then why should the American go to the land of the Vikings or to
“Darkest Africa” for themes? Florida has the Everglades--grey,
misty, water covered.
Scientists have crossed these “weird drowned prairies” as a ship
crosses the ocean, yet no well defined lines have been made, and no
flagstaffs mark the trail of the adventurous explorer.
The Everglades, properly christened with the red man’s
name--Pay-hay-o-kee, or “Grass Water Country,” comprise a territory
of more than 5,000 square miles, and, while considered a swamp,
the region is more of a shallow sea or lake, thickly studded with
thousands of islands, which are covered with thickets of shrubbery
and vines. Aquatic flowers, brilliant butterflies and the flutter of
bird life add color and animation to the scene.
Here and there in the mysterious depths of the great Florida
jungle live the descendants of the bravest, purest blood American
Indian--those patriots who refused, nearly a century ago, to desert
their country, and, escaping capture by bloodhounds and bullets, hid
themselves in the wilds of this tangled Everglade wilderness, and
were for years lost to the historian.
All aboriginal history holds much interest, but none is more replete
with the tragedies and romance that go to make up life wherever
it is lived than the shadowy history of the self-exiled Seminoles
about whom so little is known and who have lived this jungle life as
lords of a conquered race--proud heroic, with blood as pure as the
race who governed the territory long before Columbus sailed from
Palos. Monarchs of America’s primeval continent, mystery envelops
the Seminoles’ past and the historian can only catch glimpse of the
fleeting figures of the ancestors of this peculiar people, who wrote
no history, except by deeds.
THE LAND OF THE SEMINOLE
The Caucasian has battered at the gates of this great American Jungle
for nearly four centuries, but some impregnable force, directed by a
Higher Power than commercialized graft or the greed of selfish men,
has kept the gates secure. _It is the Land of the Seminole!_
The Seminole knows every foot of this interminable morass. The
stars are his compass; the fantastic tracery of canals, cut by his
ancestors through this chaotic tangle of grass water country, are his
highways. The appearance of the remote recesses of the Everglades is
unlike that of any other region on the globe and is certainly the
most bewildering and remarkable on this continent.
EVERGLADE SCENARIO
Were we to unroll the reel of a photo-drama of the Everglades, we
would go back thousands of years, when the great billows of the ocean
rolled over the space now occupied by this territory; we would see
the millions of busy builders of that age, the tiny coral polyps,
working on the reefs and shoals; we would look again and see the
tempestuous storms and hear the thunder of the circling winds and
behold the “breaking up of the great fountain of the deep,” forcing
the sand from its depths, until a giant dam was built and the great
ocean was excluded. Then it was that the shimmering waters of Lake
Okeechobee, “the place of the Big Water” in Seminole dialect, became
an inland sea.
We may turn the slide and see the animals of prehistoric days basking
in the sunshine or bathing in the limpid waters. The fame of Florida
as a health resort was not unknown to the animals of those ancient
days, for the remains of these monsters are exhibited today in
national museums, with labels reading that “they belonged to animals,
probably mammoths, that lived 10,000 to 50,000 years ago.”
Film makers delight in taxing the flights of the mind and
Florida’s drama was silenced for thousands of years. The reel
makes another turn and we see a Twentieth Century renaissance of
adventure, optimism and commercialism. Engineering expeditions
entered this region to make surveys for drainage and land
selling corporations--the land was sold from the enticing
blue paper plat--but according to America’s best engineering
corps a large area of this tropic jungle still remained terra
incognita--unsurveyed--each surveying corps wisely barricading
against criticism of failure by publishing to the speculative world,
that upon “800 square miles of this unexplored country no white man
had ever placed foot.”
[Illustration: Coacoochee. (Wild Cat.)
COACOOCHEE
_From an old print_]
FEDERAL GOVERNMENT INVESTIGATES LAND DEALS
Like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky came the demand--from
the United States Government, in 1913, to Florida’s high
officials--“Investigate--investigate!”
Twenty thousand purchasers of lands in the Everglades, backed by the
power of American democracy, had _demanded_ their lands or the return
of their good American dollars. The Federal Government, through
Congress, exposed the crooked deals (the lands still being under
water and unsurveyed) made by the vampire speculator, with the result
that another survey was ordered and the Florida State government put
sixty men into the Everglades at an expense of $40,000. The citizens
paid for the survey and “800 square miles” still remain--unsurveyed!
Less is known and, it can be said without fear of contradiction, less
is “told” to the reading world of inquiries in this 20th century than
was given to history four hundred years ago.
For best accounts touching the interior of the Everglades we must
have recourse to historical documents. From French delineations upon
old maps as well as from Spanish and English authorities, we learn
that more than three hundred years ago Florida’s Everglade country
was cut up by large rivers, extensive ponds, lagoons and lakes which
connected with each other.
That the drainage of the Everglades was contemplated by the
authorities of the Spanish government, is an established historical
fact and as late as 1840, during the Seminole War, a canal was found
large enough to float a large craft. This piece of engineering work
is credited to the Spaniards, but owing to the treacherous straits of
Florida’s coast, interior navigation was abandoned and the Spaniards
and the Frenchman left the country to the intrepid and enterprising
Indian, whose knowledge of the water world of the Glades was then,
as is now, superior to his white engineering brother; for the Indian
knows every foot of this interminable morass and travels through
these uncharted waters in his “dugout” canoe, with no compass but the
stars overhead, as he is guided by the whispering winds brought him
from the Great Spirit.
CROSSING THE EVERGLADES BY AEROPLANE
A recent experience told by an aviator belonging to one of Uncle
Sam’s flying squadrons and authorized by the War Department at
Washington, graphically pictures a modern view of the Everglades,
and illustrates, too, that the same hospitality extended by the Red
Man to the bewildered Spaniards, as they landed on these wild and
unexplored shores four centuries ago, may be found in the heart of
the jungle and marsh wilderness of the Seminole camps today.
The airmen were attempting to “cross the Everglades” in order to
make a shorter flight between the aviation fields of Florida.
Encountering a storm, they were compelled to make a “forced landing”
and headed for the nearest open space in the Big Cypress country,
which proved to be soft muck, where the ship turned over on its back,
wrecked and submerged in the black water.
The aviators wandered, hungry and exhausted, for two days, finally
finding a camp inhabited by Seminole Indians. There they received a
welcome, and food and shelter were given.
The Seminoles, lurking in their swamp-hedged wigwams, fear the
intrusion of the white man, but like their ancient forbears they
stand ever ready, with Samaritan-like kindness, to help the white
brother in an hour of necessity. The airmen were later piloted by
the red men through their hidden channels to a dredge-boat where aid
was secured and they soon reached the Marine fields at Miami. With
the help of the Indians, who made frequent trips to the base camps
for equipments, the “fire ship of the clouds” was “launched”; the
propeller took the air, droning a new tune to the silent Seminoles,
who say “fire ships littly too much, to cross the West Wind of the
Great Spirit.”
This aquatic jungle, whose secrets are known only to the Indian, has
not changed since the day Columbus found a new world for Castile and
Leon, as a brief extract from the airmen’s report verifies:
“The territory in which we made our landing is known as the
Everglades (Big Cypress). Its sameness is appalling; just one small
cypress hammock after another; water and mud everywhere; innumerable
mosquitoes, alligators, water moccasins and black snakes. Here and
there a hammock would be found with a rock base and on some of these
bases Seminole Indians eke out an existence. The mosquitoes attacked
us in hordes. We drank no water, for fear it might be infected with
malaria germs or some other swamp fever, nor had any food been
found.... We were compelled to spend the night again in the swamp,
this time on ground covered with an inch or more of water, a maze
of water and prairie ways, with treacherous under-currents and
impregnable barriers.”
The solemn silence of this mysterious swamp is only broken by the
splash of the Indian canoe, but here the Seminole lingers, giving a
background of tragedy and romance to aboriginal America.
EVERGLADE GEYSER
Let the captain of an air ship rest his craft in mid-air and through
his glasses gaze down upon this aquatic jungle. Near the centre of
the Glades, according to public documents filed in Washington, is an
immense spring rising from the earth, covering an extent of several
acres and throwing up large quantities of water with great force,
supplying the Everglades with torrential quantities of water.
[Illustration: THE LATEST PHOTOGRAPH OF BILLY BOWLEGS,
_Taken in 1911_]
With the sun’s rays glinting on this “Everglade Geyser,” with the
evaporation caused by the intense heat of this tropical land, as it
meets the cooling waters of some underground cavern, a grey mist
is formed and hangs over the area. As the white, wandering clouds
from the fathomless cavern meet the starry skies, the Seminole sees
in this phenomenon of nature the “Breath of the Great Spirit.”
When the torrential rains, a characteristic of the Everglade country,
come, flooding the entire area, the Queen of the Water Kingdom picks
up the rippling waters as they course over the rock-bound bottom and
like an elfish sprite hurls them into the lakes and rivers, where
they dash relentlessly on until they reach the subterranean outlets.
Until the white engineer finds ways and means to control subterranean
flood gates, to control water forces whose source lies hundreds of
miles away, or to toss away lightly the very God of Nature’s balance
wheel, Everglade drainage in the heart of the Big Cypress must
continue to be a stupendous operation.
The subject of the reclamation of this “The Least Known Wilderness
of America” has been a “political football” for more than a score of
years and has become a theme of nation-wide discussion. Until Florida
populates her millions of tillable and untenanted acres, certainly
she need not allure with tempting word pictures the problematical and
uncertain Everglades.
Thousands of purchasers of lands in these tropical swamps--lands
unsurveyed and submerged--still wait for the answer to the riddle of
the Okee-cho-bee Sphinx, who alone holds fast the key to this “Egypt
of America.”
Florida’s Everglade disaster, which was commercialized with land
grabbers’ outfit in entering the Seminoles’ heritage, violated every
humane and brotherly law of a commonwealth. The chaotic days that
followed the Federal investigation, retarded the progress of the
State fully a decade of years, and Florida, the land of singing
birds, limpid waters and “golden apples,” learned the bitterness of
the prophet’s rebuke when he said: _“Thou shouldst not have entered
the Gate of my People in the day of their calamity nor have laid
hands on their substance in the days of their distress_.”
SEMINOLE HISTORY REVIEWED
With the purchase of Florida from Spain in 1821 we read the death
sentence of Seminole independence--a very Iliad of tragedy in
American history. Prior to this, the Seminoles, as subjects of the
Spanish crown, were permitted to become a nation to themselves,
living and practicing the inalienable rights of independence, honor
and kindliness.
[Illustration: BILLY BOWLEGS AND HIS SISTER, STEM-O-LA-KEE]
For three-quarters of a century these dusky patriots prospered,
owning cattle, slaves and plantations. Listen, and you may hear the
tinkling bells of their little ponies as they traveled, caravan
style, carrying their wares from village to village. Here, for
a time, in the secluded fastnesses of the wilderness, these red
aborigines lived happily because away from the white man’s power,
but alas, we see a mocking travesty in our cherished ideals. Soon the
alien speculator and “carpet-bagger,” with bullets and blood-hounds,
entered the State, confiscating their well cultivated fields and
destroying their wigwam homes. The staccato cry of “Move on--move
on!” rang in the ears of this distracted, primitive people and,
like sheep before the rout of grey timber wolves, the Seminoles
were driven on into the more desolate regions of the great morass.
Shattered hamlets and dull ashen camp fires blackened the once
peaceful Indian country. Years of war and broken treaties followed,
until the American Nation became the conquerors and thousands of
Seminoles were forced to give up homes--life itself, and be exiled to
a cold and unknown Western land.
The flame-lit reel makes a turn and we see, by the imperishable magic
of the camera, a silent drama of Florida history. We see a little
band of about one hundred Indians left in the Glade country in 1841.
Expedition after expedition failed to corral these patriots, whose
greatest crime (?) was love of country, kindred and reverence for the
graves of their fathers. Like animals sorely stricken, creeping to
their lair, these red mothers and little children followed the slow
tread of the stoical braves and sought refuge in the secret recesses
of their Glade country.
Among the archives of Government statistics, one record is enough to
stir the sympathy and stimulate pity for the vanquished red dwellers
of the Everglade country. The reel makes a turn and we read:
Record 5. “With 200 men we ascended Shark River into the
Everglades. Here we met Captain Burke of Artillery, with 67
men. * * * Joining forces, we proceeded to Te-at-ka-hatch-ees,
and discovered two Indians in a canoe. The Indians escaped, but
we secured their packs, cooking utensils, provisions and their
canoes. We followed them three days until the trail was lost. After
destroying the growth of their fields, consisting of 50 to 60 acres
of pumpkins, beans and peas, etc., we continued to sea.
Respectfully submitted,
JOHN T. MCLAUGHLIN,
Lieutenant Commanding Expedition.”
From the beginning of time, down through the long centuries, the
conscience of man has awakened, in cycles, as it were, for the
betterment and uplift of humanity.
A decade of years ago, a new spirit of quickening prevailed in
America and a growing interest in Chief Osceola’s long neglected
people became a nation-wide theme. Pressure from Maine to California
was brought upon Florida’s state officials, and a rhythmic sympathy
was felt for the destiny of the Seminole. The subject was presented
to the Chief Executive and, under the beneficent ruling of the
martyred McKinley, an expedition from the United States Government
was sent into the trackless Everglades to select and survey lands for
homes for the long persecuted native inhabitants. Belated justice
seemed assured and in the year 1899 the Florida Legislature passed a
bill granting the Seminoles a reservation of 835,000 acres.
This act was approved by the Governor, but between the time when
President McKinley’s special government commission carefully selected
these lands in 1898--an interval of less than a year--this particular
tract disappeared (?) from the list of public domain _and went into
private ownership_.
The bill, so inspiring in humanity, contained a clause in these days
of Everglade jests called a “joker.” Like the eagle, as he sweeps
down the lamb feeding at its mother’s side, so the spoils-taker, with
“land grabbers’” outfit, swept down upon the inheritance of the red
children of Florida, not only violating the sanctity of Florida’s
citizenship but even gathering the crumbs that fell from Florida’s
bounteous table, and the livid bar sinister of treachery again
stained the escutcheon of Florida.
Years passed, when pressure was once more brought upon Florida’s
inhumanity toward her native people, and the legislative body of
1913 passed a bill, unanimously providing 235,000 acres in the
Everglades for the Seminoles. Alas! for the pathos of the story. On
the very last day of the session, Governor Park Trammell, untouched
by the needs of these long persecuted people, and in full sympathy
and co-operation with the politicians’ strong anti-Indian feelings,
vetoed the bill, not only denying the citizenry of Florida the
inalienable right to uphold the dignity, honor and patriotism of
Florida, but denying these oppressed natives as much as a spadeful
of earth to cover their corpses. What mathematician can ever estimate
the result of the power used by the Governor at this critical time?
By this stroke of the pen, these aboriginal Americans again became
the victims of a cowardly treason.
A great State like Florida, whose honor is far greater than her land
possessions, need not vilify the history and lives of her native
people; there has been much more than money involved in the handlings
of the Everglade Country, and a handful of speculators, who said:
“There is no land left for the Seminole--let him ‘make bricks without
straw,’” found, as later records show, that a Florida democracy,
quickened by the spirit of human kindness, checkmated the Everglade
spoils-taker, whose fetish has been the dollar mark, and later
through the Legislature gave to the native owners land upon which
they may find peace and a refuge.
Again in 1915 an Indian bill was introduced, but certain active land
speculators, known to be strongly opposed to the Seminoles having
_any_ land in Florida, arrived at Florida’s capital on schedule time,
and the bill, as per Seminole dialect, went into a “big sleep,” and
the story of the Seminole came before the world as rivaling that of
the “Man Without a Country.” And, throughout the country, the printed
pages of journalism carried headlines which read: “Within the Bounds
of America, ‘We Have a Little Belgium of Our Own.’”
At this point in Florida’s history, the white American heard, as it
were, the Seminole’s wounded cry: “_Why have the lands of our fathers
been taken from us?_” And as the dirge-like wail of the oppressed
Seminole echoed and re-echoed through the solemn stillness of the
mysterious Everglades, it was transmuted into a very symphony of
sorrow. The mournful echoes of the cry of this stricken race, like
ether waves, permeated every corner of America, until Democracy
answered thus: “If this America of ours, by the furling and unfurling
of her Star Spangled Banner, can say to the war-mad nations of
Europe ‘_Touch not my people_,’ surely she will look into her galaxy
of States and see to it that the banner of her own flowery Florida
shall no longer be besmirched with a blot caused by the political
profiteers of the State; and Humanity, dignifying brotherly kindness,
challenged the white man’s hidden records and with uplifted hand
pointed the way to a just solution of the Seminole’s rights.”
THE 1917 LAND BILL.
_The Climax of Twenty Years’ Struggle, When the Seminoles are Granted
Homes in the Historic Stronghold of Their Ancestors._
Almost simultaneously with America’s entrance into the great European
conflict, as the “Defender of Liberty, for the liberation of the
oppressed nations,” the Florida Legislature convened. The hour had
struck for the humanity of the whole world. We still feel the sobbing
clutch in our throats, and we hear, as if but yesterday, the tread of
our khaki-clad youths as they marched to the colors of liberty; we
see the furling and unfurling of the Star Spangled Banner; the hearts
of the American people wakened to the love of humanity; all these
stood out like beacon lights in the springtime of 1917.
In Florida, like a star shining through a clouded sky, was the
passage of the “Seminole Land Bill” without a dissenting vote, giving
to the Florida Indians approximately 100,000 acres of land.
This was a fitting climax to the years of work by the Seminoles’
active white friends in Florida. The air had become vibrant all over
the country for the betterment of Florida’s homeless aborigines.
The Indian Rights Association, national in its scope, had sent a
special committee to the Seminole camps and learned the circumstances
of Florida’s wards, reporting to the Government the true conditions.
The camera pictures and search-light truths of this organization
barred censorship.
Later, and just prior to the convening of the Legislature, a
Congressional committee was sent by Congress to ascertain at
first hand the real condition, as well as the legal status of the
Seminoles, and the report of this committee gave official proof that
“The Seminoles’ rights to lands in Florida were made a part of the
transfer by the Spanish Government to the United States in 1821,”
and that if justice were carried out as specified by the United
States Government treaty rights of 1843 _all_ of the lands of
Southeastern Florida (approximately 5,000,000 acres), belonged to the
Seminoles.
[Illustration: OSCEOLA--THE NAPOLEON OF THE SEMINOLES
From the famous Catlin portrait, by courtesy of the American Bureau
of Ethnology. “I painted him precisely in the costume in which he
stood for his picture, even to a string and a trinket” (CATLIN).]
Of the 100,000 acres granted by the Florida Legislature to the
Indians, only about five per cent. is supposed to be tillable, but it
is at this time the best available land, and the records of Florida
for the calendar year of 1917 will go down into the long ages as
being the most humane act ever done by a Tallahassee legislature,
and the Flower State may look back upon a “Century’s Dishonor” with
sorrow, yet with triumph, because she has rectified a long standing
injustice and has given to the vanquished people of the Everglades a
refuge, in this late hour of their direst necessity.
The reservation thus granted is the long worked for and century old
home of the Seminoles--the stronghold occupied by their forefathers,
situated on the Southwestern coast of Florida, near the “10,000
Islands,” including within its boundaries the beautiful, palm-fringed
Shark and Harney rivers. Here many of the Indians are living today,
cultivating the same hammocks from which their ancestors fled when
hunted by the American expedition in 1841. Government records show
that while Colonel Harney “with his marine boats and artillery and
his entire force of 250 men were thrown out through this section to
hunt the wily Seminoles” they came upon numerous villages, with their
crude home belongings, and hundreds of acres of lima beans, pumpkins,
bananas and other food products, but in every instance the camps had
been recently abandoned by the Indians.
From the Gulf to the Atlantic, naught remained of Colonel Harney’s
“trail” but the ashes of the wigwams, the devastated crops and the
skeleton of an Indian scout here and there, lying beside his canoe
where he had been attacked by the soldiers in a secreted channel in
the tall saw-grass. After a fruitless search, the boats were recalled
and the expedition given up. The Seminoles in their hidden recesses
had made good use of their ancient signal codes.
Today, the Seminole stands upon the last sandy strip of his once vast
domain, an honorable hyphenated Indian-American. With the horrors of
the great European war as told to him, his instincts of liberty and
freedom asserted themselves and he proved himself no “slacker” as he
stood ready as a volunteer to defend his native America in the great
war struggle.
The War Department at Washington, after seriously considering their
application for scout duty and sharpshooting service, decided against
the proffered aid.
[Illustration: BILLY BOWLEGS PHOTOGRAPHED WHILE VISITING THE AUTHOR]
An amusing incident, at this time, illustrates the Indian’s intense
patriotism and when questioned by a white friend, as to fighting
Germany, the Chieftain asked:
“You go? Yes, me go, shoot Germans like Hell. One hundred Indian
men go. Indian shoot good. Indian want two Maxims,”--the Seminole’s
idea of doing double service for peace and liberty. As Belgium
and bleeding France stand by the colors today at every hearthstone
in the land, crucified that liberty and democracy might be saved for
the whole world, so the Seminole, through a century long invasion
of his wigwam and his campfire by the Paleface, has come through
the crucible, still true to the colors of the plumed knight of his
race--the martyred Osceola--American patriots that we know would
spend their last drop of blood freely and gladly in defense of their
native land and sacred soil they have loved so long.
With the granting of the reservation in the Big Cypress by the State
of Florida, the patient, long neglected native red people of the
Everglades have had a new chapter written in their tragic life story
book. Already the United States Government has come to the assistance
of these Seminoles and under the supervision of the Special Florida
Indian Commissioner, who, too, is an educated Seminole from the
West, their lands are being fenced, the Seminole being encouraged to
perform the labor, with the prospect of stocking this section with
good cattle.
The Seminole is a natural stock raiser and will be allowed to buy
cattle and pay for them at so much per year, using his own mark and
brand. Together with the co-operative help of the Federal Government,
the Southern Baptist Home Mission Board is planning to immediately
enter the field with industrial and missionary workers--the teachers
to be educated Oklahoma kinsmen of the Seminoles, who will in time
make this people citizens worthy of the blood of their patriotic
ancestry.
Can you, the friend of the down-trodden and the oppressed, not see
the Seminole silhouetted against the burnished horizon, waiting for
Opportunity to open her Pandora box and give him a chance with the
people of America in a better civilization and Christianity?
Can you not hear the heart of the big forests throb a tribute of
praise and the glittering waters ripple a melody of love for this
touch of humanity--“For inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the
least of my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”
A VISIT TO A SEMINOLE CAMP.
Would you visit a Seminole village in the heart of America’s Least
Known Wilderness? Then let us draw the curtain and, turning the
slide, look upon a vision of aboriginal life with its flame encircled
background.
The view of this aquatic jungle has not changed since Spanish and
English invasion four centuries ago. Of the 300,000 Americans found
when Columbus landed on these wild and unexplored shores, the Florida
Seminoles are the only remnant left who live the old, primitive life
and practice the ceremonies of their royal, barbaric ancestors.
We see the palmetto thatched wigwams glistening in the red lights
from the camp fire; tall trees are silhouetted against the sky, and
we see the little children playing backward and forward, their
little, brown legs twinkling through the shadows cast by the lurid
flames. We hear the century-old lullabies, softly crooned by the
mothers as they watch with careful eyes the toddling pappooses. Let
us look again on this scene from aboriginal life and see the stoical
braves, as they rearrange the “red wheel” camp fire and continuously
add to the ever ready Sofka kettle some new ingredient, possibly
fresh from the chase. The hunting dogs scent the savory odor, while
the alert and watchful squaws glide in and out amid the shadows of
the royal palms, which stand like sentinel warriors, crowned with
feathery head-dresses that rustle in the breeze.
We look again, and the slide shows the cypress canoe “car lines”;
these are the secret channels cut through the watery saw-grass
prairies by the ancestors of the present Seminole.
Silently a canoe cleaves the dark waters, with the chief of the clan
in the stern. Tying up among the lily pads, the canoe is hidden from
view and the red pilot with his game approaches the camp.
Beware, adventurer, for this wilderness region gives out no secrets
and only the Seminole knows the hidden channels and haunts.
The shadows grow dimmer and dimmer and we look up to see the stars
lift the lids of their twinkling eyes to smile down upon the
sleeping pappooses; the braves and the squaws, with the faith of
little children, keep afresh the mystic religion of their ancestors,
while they worship before the Great Spirit, who has given this
Pay-hay-o-kee country to his red children. The smoke-wreathed film
blots this aboriginal picture from our view, but as we listen, we
hear the monotonous chant of the Indians echoing through the solemn
stillness of the night.
In this wooded silence the wild animals find a refuge; the gentle
doe, with her fawn, slips through the shadows; the red fox cautiously
watches for her prey; the black bear, with her chubby cub, scents the
custard apple and the palmetto bud; the raccoon skulks through the
tangled underbrush and the cunning otter darts through the fish-laden
stream in quest of his midnight meal; the snowy egret, the heron,
the eagle and the bittern, with countless migratory birds from the
North American continent, find in this wild solitude a winter refuge.
Gorgeously colored butterflies infest the flowers of the Everglade
prairies and in their flights, ascending and descending over their
island homes, form clouds shimmering with color and animation.
Today this Big Cypress is an empire of pristine wonder, prehistoric
in its dramatic and weird jungle setting. Epitomized into the terse
verbiage of Perley Poore-Sheehan, one of America’s rising young
authors and a sympathetic friend of the Florida Seminoles, “To
cut the Big Cypress up into lots and acres would be like turning
the Yosemite into an onion garden; it would be like turning the
Yellowstone Park into a factory town.”
As we close our eyes to this picture of primeval life in the “Land of
the Seminole,” with the thought of war and famine and killing, which
has so recently touched the heartstrings of every American, these
questions confront one: “Who are the barbarians of the twentieth
century, the Caucasian or the red man of the primeval forests?” You
ask, “How long did it take to educate and civilize the Anglo-Saxon
race?” According to authentic history, the work of civilizing Europe
and bringing the mass of the barbarians under the subjection of the
law was the work of fully one thousand years.
_Is Europe civilized today?_
VISITORS FROM THE EVERGLADES.
This is a day of “ether wave thoughts.” The “inalienable rights of
life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” are the searchlights
piercing the dark corners of every cranny in the universe. Like
sun motes, human sympathy has entered the Indian’s domain and is
vibrating in harmony for the American red man--acting as a torch
of liberty, showing the pale-face his belated duty to the original
American.
If the American Indian were not worthy a place in the world’s
history, would his memory be perpetuated by his white conquerors?
As an idealistic type this twentieth century is rushing to pay him
a tribute. Is there a white American who would dare to place before
a Congressional body a bill for the erection of a colossal statue
of the African to stand beside the Goddess of Liberty in New York
harbor?
The American Indian, in bronze, is to have this honor, and to
ex-President Taft was assigned the honor of lifting the first
spadeful of soil at the dedication services, where Indian and white
man stood as equals in this official function.
In the Nation’s Hall of Fame in the Capitol at Washington, the
inventor of the Cherokee alphabet, Sequoyah, an Indian, is honored
with a place.
An Indian head is on the five-dollar bill, as well as on the
five-cent piece. To the practical mind, let us not forget that
Teehee, the American Indian, must sign our currency before it is
passed by the Treasury Department.
In military tactics the name of no greater genius adorns the pages of
history than that of Florida’s patriot--Osceola, the Seminole.
With all due respect to the immortal Washington, who remembers that
he was safely guided by a nameless red man through the pathless
wilderness to Fortress Duquesne?
Without the Delaware Indians, General Washington’s advance upon the
British on that eventful Christmas eve of 1777 would never have been
recorded in history.
And, in the late European war, do you know that thousands of Indians
volunteered--not as drafted men, not for their homes, nor their
States, but for their native land of America?
Cadet Long Lance, the American Indian of our own Southland, as First
Lieutenant of the Princess Pat Regiment, brought enduring fame to
the Cherokees, standing his ground at the terrific assault of Vimy
Ridge--bringing back the standardbearer, the only officer of his rank
left in the company.
The instinctive eloquence of Coacoochee, the Seminole chieftain, in
his speech to our American General Worth, made him the peer of a Clay
or a Calhoun, while the great Seneca chieftain, Logan, delivered the
most eloquent oration ever compiled in American history.
In poetry, in romance, in legends and folk-lore literature of
America, we must look to the American Indian.
It was by the blue waters of Ontario that the great Onondaga
chieftain’s Hiawatha, formulated plans for the first Peace League.
Today, “Peace, peace,” is not only the wounded cry of the world, but
its solution is being echoed and re-echoed throughout every nation of
the globe.
After looking through pages of history for a model, the youth of
America, the Boy Scouts and the Camp Fire Girls, have taken the
Indian for their hero.
Can anyone doubt the superiority of the Indian character?
To Pocahontas, the glorification of saving Virginia from utter
destruction is well known, and to this Lady Rebecca of the English
courts many Americans proudly trace direct descent, to this girl
princess.
To Florida belongs the first romance of American history. In this
life story of U-lee-lah, the Princess of Hirrihigua, Florida’s
Pocahontas, is a setting for as dramatic a recital as ever adorned
the pages of literature.
In Florida, particularly, do the descendants of the old, turbanned
Seminoles appeal to the people. So uniform is a kindly feeling to
these Indians that the man who would show any opposition to a charity
or friendliness to them would soon find himself in the minority, and
discredit would reflect, not on the Indian, but on the man himself.
It is always a gala time when these brown-skinned people visit
Kissimmee. When a prepaid telegram, as a forerunner of his arrival,
was received from the Chieftain, a bystander remarked: “I would
rather see Billie Bowlegs than the President of the United States.”
When crowds gathered at the station and children lined the streets to
get a glimpse of these picturesque aborigines, it looked as if the
tourist’s wish voiced the thought of the community and illustrated
the point that sentiment does not change with the passing of a
century, for it was in 1820 that Count D., a young French nobleman,
after coming all the way from France to meet Chief Red Jacket, the
last of the Senecas, declared that he considered Chief Red Jacket a
greater wonder than the falls of Niagara. This remark was made while
standing in view of the great cataract.
A visit from these silent dwellers of the Everglades always revives
interest in the race, for through living authors one may study the
life story of these people--a story dating back in its traditions for
more than three hundred years; brought to the doors of a sympathetic
civilization, the citadel of the hardest heart is touched, for it is
a narrative full of pathos.
Here, in the rich Kissimmee Valley, are the camping grounds and
council seats of his ancestors. With wordless patience he looks out
upon the landscape and the glittering waters of To-hope-kee-li-ga and
for the time lives in spirit with the heroic deeds of his ancestors;
he sees in the long ago canoes laden with men and women and little
children, brown-skinned and picturesque, garbed in brilliant colors,
leaving the ancestral shores of their old hunting grounds, as they
escaped, terror-stricken, through the lakes and rivers to the mystic
land of O-kee-cho-bee.
Today, naught remains of the Seminoles in this region save the
melodious names of rivers, lakes and towns--an enduring heritage
of beauty, which is one of Florida’s most cherished and priceless
possessions.
To study the history of a secretive people, whose story is so closely
woven into our own American history, is a research work full of
difficulties, but full of happy surprises.
Away from the jungle home, in the white man’s town, the Seminole is
silent and stoical, answering to the questions put to him by the
curious “Me don’t know.”
The Seminole discerns character quickly, and while seemingly
indifferent, if he is with you but a few minutes, his keen powers of
observation will pierce you through and through, and he has, with a
keenness born of centuries of “watchful waiting,” made an understudy
of your honesty or your inner self.
It is around the wigwam camp fire and the Sofka kettle that the
Indian relaxes; there he is a big-souled host, extending the same
hospitality that welcomed the European four hundred years ago.
Laughter and jokes abound; news of the outside world is recounted;
the squaws bring the prize pumpkin to be admired, and the rippling
laughter of the children, as they gather firewood for the white
friend, is beautiful in its soft cadenced melody.
In the friendly white man’s home, when the shyness of many moons
of separation has worn off, the Indians give many unique accounts
of life in the wigwam dwellings; they tell of the canals being cut
through their Everglade country and the “big smoke” from the engines,
and the great influx of white settlers that have come into this swamp
country.
Facetiously adding: “White man, money want to make ’em too fast,
rain come, water too much, money lose ’em ojus (much). Go back, say
Everglades ho-lo wagus (no good). No come again.”
The Seminoles acknowledge that their hunting grounds are gone and
that the pale-face has slaughtered the game, admitting, after much
pressure, that the Indians sometimes go hungry. _Hungry in a land
like Florida!_
A visit from these people of the darksome Glade forests is always
fraught with kindly attention. Nothing but a heartfelt kindness is
shown them, and a tribute paid to them, not because of any other
interest in the Indian, but because they are the representatives of a
proud and noble race and the American people are hero worshippers.
It is a question if any celebrity could have been treated with
greater courtesy. Crowds sought to extend a greeting; parents brought
their young children to shake the hands of these ambassadors of
a race that is vanishing so fast. It was not an interest of idle
curiosity, but a genuine, tender solicitude. This need not surprise,
for an inborn and instinctive admiration must be felt for a people
through whose veins flow the purest blood of any of the American
Indians today, and who live and practice the same ceremonies of their
ancient ancestors.
_Not a drop of the white man’s blood courses through the veins of an
Everglade Seminole!_
Many small gifts were bestowed upon these silent visitors; men of
capital from far-away States, tourists and old friends, took the time
to go to the stores to purchase such presents as they thought would
please the Indians.
Kodaks and camera men kept busy. The guests of the hotel, retired
business men, as well as the women and children, vied with each
other in having a souvenir picture, showing themselves in friendly
relation with these red people of the forest.
With the exhilaration of boys, the men took turns with each other as
they posed with the instruction, “Now you snap while I stand beside
Billy.” The Seminole chieftain was the only calm one; he was as
passive and immobile as a bronze statue.
The cornet band divided honors with the newly elected mayor and
volunteered a serenade.
Whether it was the courtesy of an automobile ride, or being addressed
by guests, both Billy and his sister received the attentions with
such a quiet grace and refinement as if to the manner born, causing
an admiring tourist to give Stem-o-la-kee, the title “A Princess of
the Everglades” and calling Billy the “Red Knight of Okee-cho-bee,”
titles as much in order today as those bestowed three centuries ago
on the Lady Rebecca, the far-famed Pocahontas.
STEM-O-LA-KEE.
Seldom, if ever, has a Seminole squaw stepped beyond the boundaries
of her trackless Everglade home to visit the home of the white man;
to study a Seminole woman at close range and yet far from her forest
refuge, is a privilege seldom experienced. An incident is recalled
when a young squaw, in company with her brother, was making her first
visit to civilization.
The couple had traveled three hundred miles by ox cart, canoe and
railroad. Reaching their destination, they were escorted to a
waiting automobile, when they were whirled away to the home of the
pale-face and enjoyed this first ride in the “fire wagon,” with the
same dignity and calmness that they would do in their cypress dugout
canoes along the water courses of their saw-grass homes.
Stem-o-la-kee, with the natural feminine instinct, soon showed
her domestic sense, her native frontier nature for the time being
relegated to memories. The easy couch and cushioned rocker appealed
to her sense of luxury. The delight of pouring tea from the silver
pot was an unending pleasure. She admired the furnishings and
belongings of the white home, but when asked if she would like
to live in such an abode her answer came, quick and decisive:
“Munks-chay (no), white man’s home like littly bit, one week me
think _my_ home, Okee-cho-bee.” Significant was her summary of
civilization--humble though her wigwam, she loved it with all the
ardor of her savage heart. This young woman, three hundred miles from
her forest home, showed inborn grace and dignity in her demeanor.
Particularly was she interested in the pictures on the wall, but,
on recognizing the portrait of Osceola, all her frontier nature was
aroused and, with vindictive spirit and trembling with suppressed
emotion, she exclaimed:
“Indian’s big Chief, long time ago! White man kill ’im!”
She knew the perfidy of Osceola’s capture under the white flag of
truce as well as any American student.
This untutored and innocent child of the forest became a most
interesting personal study. Friendly and courteous, there yet shone
out from her wonderful eyes an unapproachableness that made a gulf
between the white woman and the red woman.
Stem-o-la-kee wore many strands of glittering beads, which to the
Seminole woman mean everything--usefulness, caste and the wealth of
her husband or father. She never appears without this insignia of her
position, and in the particular instance of this Glade visitor, when
the doctor whom she had come to consult ordered the removal of the
necklace on account of its great weight, medical authority and savage
superstition clashed. Stem-o-la-kee reluctantly obeyed the doctor’s
order, in part, by removing a few strands. She had not brought all
her beads, nor her beaten silver ornaments, with her, which are
used for full dress and ceremonial occasions, and seemed to feel an
embarrassment over this, explaining: “Plenty beads means good squaw.
My home Okee-cho-bee, me got a plenty; sick too much,” meaning she
had come on an errand for health and not for a social visit. To these
suntanned women of the Everglades, the beads play an important part
all through life.
When the little pappoose is a year old, she is given her first
string, with its “first year bead.” This bead is always larger and of
different color.
A string of beads is allowed for each year until she marries. At her
marriage, her mother gives her many new strands, and, if she is a
chief’s daughter, she receives many gifts of beads at her wedding.
The beads play such an important part in the career of a Seminole
woman that they are always given as a reward for any prowess and a
mother is allowed two strings for each child born. In full dress
many of the squaws wear from twenty to thirty pounds of glass beads,
varying in size and color--the colors blending in perfect harmony.
When the squaw reaches middle life, she begins to take off her beads,
one string at a time, as so many moons go by, until but one string is
left.
She is now an old woman, too old to work, and the single strand she
wears is made up of the “life beads” and buried with her.
During Stem-o-la-kee’s stay, though tired and weak from illness, and
with a constant knocking at the door by wee tots, as well as older
visitors, who came to “shake hands with the Indian woman,” the young
squaw showed nothing but grace and good feeling to the visitors. On
all such occasions she would, in a twinkling, don her new and gayly
colored dress, add the discarded ropes of beads, give a twist to her
raven hair, and would appear at the parlor door, shy, but with eyes
shining and with a pleasing smile, stand ready to give the usual
gracious hand grasp and then as quickly and noiselessly glide away,
like a timid deer, to the improvised couch which had been made for
her.
As Stem-o-la-kee, in her broken English, told of the forest home,
a picture of her wigwam dwelling became very vivid; such a picture
inspires courage and touches chords of sympathy in one’s make-up.
In a solitude, which only nature reveals, this brown-skinned
people live amid the shadows of the great live oaks, seeing God
in the clouds and hearing him in the winds. One sees the happy,
turban-crowned braves move about and dusky squaws glide in and out,
watching with careful eyes the toddling pappooses, as they play on
the grassy sward; the laughing of the huntsman is heard and the songs
of the Seminole Minnehaha make the night beautiful.
During the visit of these Seminoles, a protracted meeting was in
session with a noted divine in charge. With no disrespect intended to
the ministerial work, it was amusing to hear the question many times
asked: “Are the Seminoles going to church to-night?” Sufficient to
induce a crowd.
Another visit of a Seminole family is still fresh in memory. The
visit had been planned for many, many moons. With the exception of
one Indian, who acted as escort and friendly interpreter, none of
these Seminoles had ever been in the white man’s home, yet they
accepted the change from the weird morasses with the simplest
dignity. The party of six were all in neat, yet brilliant attire--all
save little eight-year-old Mop-o-hatch-ee, whose travel-stained dress
worried the mistress of the home, for they were all expected to
attend the church Christmas tree that evening.
Asking Cho-fee-hatch-ee if the little one had another dress, he
replied: “She no got ’em; she wash her dress.” Feeling this an
impossible task we replied, “No, she is too little,” but being
assured that this little red-skinned tot was equal to the emergency,
she was permitted to proceed with the order from Cho-fee-hatch-ee.
A cunning picture she made, as her long, black hair fell around her
shoulders and she, with nature’s washboard (her tiny hands), rubbed
the quaintly made dress until it was clean and ready to be dried.
To expedite the work, a negro was called in to take the dress to be
ironed; a glance at Mop-o-hatch-ee revealed a forest child convulsed
with sobs. Not understanding a word of English, she thought her only
dress was being taken from her.
Only once during the visit of these Everglade people was there any
apparent curiosity evinced, and this was within an hour after their
arrival, when the hostess had been called to the telephone.
Looking back, she saw the two children peering into the room
through the French window, wondering, no doubt, what foolish thing
the mistress of the house could be doing. At another time, old
Martha Tiger, the aged grandmother, came close to the ’phone with a
quizzical look, when it was vaguely explained we were “talking to
the store man down town.” In American history, old Martha and her
contemporaries antedate the telephone, for with smoke signals and
“listening posts” their warriors’ quickness in getting news of the
enemy puzzled many an American officer.
Pictures from the _Geographical Magazine_ and letters from the old
“blue back” spelling book interested all these Everglade people,
except old Martha Tiger who said “She old too much.”
Who shall say there is no hope for these forest people?
As this visit drew to a close and that feeling of homiletic
friendliness was apparent when some humor might be indulged in,
it was suggested that Show-lod-ka, the good-looking ten-year-old
boy, should remain and learn to drive the automobile, and that
Mop-o-hatch-ee stay with him. These two motherless children are the
direct descendants of the old Chieftain Tallahassee, whose grim and
determined patriotism eighty years ago wrenched his tribe from the
white man’s bullets and Uncle Sam’s bloodhounds. These children were
devoted to each other.
A few minutes later, little Mop-o-hatch-ee sat on a chair, her feet
swinging, and rubbing her eyes to stay the tears. “She ’fraid you
keep her,” the older Indian explained, and the boy with the same fear
had slipped off to his sleeping quarters.
Love for their Everglade home is instilled into every Seminole. They
love the country bequeathed by their ancestors--the gift of the Great
Spirit to his red children of Florida, with a love that is, at times,
frenzied in its demonstration.
To see to it, that these native people have protection, education and
Christianity, must be the duty of this America of ours, this America
which stands ready to protect the weak and the oppressed of all
nations.
When the citizenship of this liberty loving country awakens to the
needs of the stranded red race of 600 souls in the heart of the Big
Cypress, then, and not till then will these original owners be led
out of the darkness of a conquered people into the light of progress
and civilization.
It is not surprising that thousands of our Florida tourists make
efforts to see the descendants of America’s primeval people.
Many times attempts are made by the adventurous tourist to visit
a Seminole village in the secluded cypress region of the Glade
Wilderness; but alas! after dragging themselves over the marshy,
cutting saw-grass prairies, they find what? A deserted camp, possibly
the coals still burning in the camp fire, but the Indians, hie-pus
(all gone) hiding in some secret haunt.
Still, it is a common sight, particularly at Miami to see a Seminole
family as they pole the rude craft, a dugout cypress canoe, along the
river.
Dressed in a way, bizarre and ludicrous, to our white man’s way of
thinking, still strikingly dignified.
The brave poles the boat while the squaws watch the family
belongings. At the other end of the boat, a group of round faced and
exceedingly quiet little Seminoles brightly garbed in red and blue
calico, sit, much more interested in the shadows in the water, than
in the people on shore.
It is but natural that Americans, who know the Seminole, should
feel an innate respect for them, especially if we reflect that the
strain of the old Aztec runs through their veins and produces the
same heroic fortitude that made Guatemotziu, the last of the Aztec
Emperors, under the torture of fire by Cortez, reply with ironical
stoicism to his persecutors, “Am I on a bed of roses?”
Today the Seminole suffers and endures without complaint and retains
his old-time pride. As is known, the Seminole in polite but in
positive terms, refuses presents of any magnitude from white friends.
“Littly presents me take, big presents, money cost ’im too much,
Indian no take.”
When it was learned that a chieftain had not only lost his camp and
all his belongings by fire, amounting to about three hundred dollars,
and that he had had the expense of a trip to see a physician, that
would appall the average wage earner, some members of the Society
of the “Friends of the Florida Seminoles” suggested that a purse
be made up for his benefit. Then came the delicate point of making
such a suggestion. Cho-fee-halch-o, with the old-time pride of his
ancestors, in answer to the question whether he would take money for
his expenses, replied: “Me no think so; my money me make. My own
money me spend. Me no take it.”
Where is the Anglo-Saxon who could refuse good American dollars when
free for the acceptance?
With a race so proud, too honorable to beg, yet clinging with
a desperate effort to their beloved Florida, what must we, as
Americans, do but protect them?
HOME AND RELIGION.
It is a long way from the savagery of the jungle to the doors of
civilization, where, when the confidence and faith of the Seminole
has been won, he becomes as trusting and confiding as a little child.
The endeavor to show the Seminole what Christianity stands for has
been one of the most complex problems encountered.
“Not to lie, not to steal, not to cheat and to think with God,” is
practiced with precision.
The Seminole, with most reverend attitude, listens to the returning
of thanks, at the white man’s table and with the question put,
“Billy, do Seminoles talk to God and ask Him to give them food and
homes?” “Munks-chay” (No), replied the Indian, “no ask Him.”
Then, as if a light dawned, as to the nature of our study, he told
of a hunting experience of a few weeks before, when he had acted as
guide for a northern tourist. For three days the red huntsman had
sought all the bayous for deer, but “deer hie-pus (all gone). Man
feel sorry ojus (plenty). Night come, we wake two o’clock, moon shine
bright, me hear water laugh. Me see big e-cho (deer) swim across the
river. My gun me take. Kill big deer. Me tell Great Spirit ‘Me thank
you.’ White man glad ojus; he go back to New York, take big buck
antlers--he say he kill big deer in Everglades.”
The Seminole, like his ancient ancestors, thanks the Great Spirit
for blessings received, but does not beseech favors.
Can you not imagine the startled emotion experienced when, after
trying to tell a stalwart, honest Seminole something of civilization
and Christianity, he with all deference of a Chieftain answered: “Me
no think me want to be civilized. Me think me get civilized, me lie,
steal, cheat. Some day big sleep come. Me want to go to Happy Hunting
Grounds. Me want to see Great Spirit; me want to see my grandfather.
Me no think white man go to Heaven.”
How would _you_ answer such philosophy?
The Seminole believes that when Eschock-ee-tom-e-see (the Supreme
Being) calls him hence, that his spirit will make its last journey
to the Happy Hunting Grounds of his fathers, winging its way over
the seven colored rainbow of the heavens--the “Highway of the Great
Spirit.”
SEMINOLE INCIDENTS.
An incident, linking past Seminole history with the present, is full
of interest, because so old, and yet so new.
Just eighty years ago, at the time the great Chieftain Osceola was
betrayed near St. Augustine, with him was another Chieftain, by name
of John Jumper.
History has not failed to record the life and death of Osceola, but
of John Jumper little has been written outside of Government records.
Jumper was taken prisoner to the Indian territory. Many years after
he was converted by a missionary and being a musical leader among his
tribe, naturally grasped the white man’s melodies.
Later he composed a religious hymn. During the last visit of the
Everglade Seminoles to Kissimmee, as is the custom, they attended
the church service. At the close of the sermon, the minister gave a
little talk to the Indians and sang a song in the Seminole tongue,
which was very beautiful and so rhythmical that when once lodged in
the brain, the tune refused to be dislodged. The minister, Dr. A.
J. Holt, explained to the congregation that he had learned the hymn
more than forty years ago from Colonel John Jumper in the Indian
territory. This Chieftain had enlisted in the Civil War, where he was
promoted to the rank of Colonel under the Confederate colors.
Returning from the church services, we were eager to know from the
Indians if they had understood the Seminole song. One Indian, very
musical, said: “Yes, me sing it good,” which he did to perfection,
not omitting a single note or word. How did the young Seminole
learn the words and tune so quickly? He explained, “me learn it in
Everglades.” Certainly a remarkable incident. The solution was easy.
An educated Oklahoma Indian Missionary, visiting the Everglades the
year previous, had taught the song to these Seminoles.
Another incident, showing mechanical genius as well as love of music
is here appended.
A few years ago when the Coast towns of Florida were still primitive,
a store keeper had purchased in New York an old-fashioned organette,
that played five tunes. The Seminoles at that time frequently came on
purchasing expeditions to these trading villages. Cho-fee-hatch-o,
progressive and musical, listened to the “box of music” as it played
in the little store, and was entranced with the melodies.
Soon after, the organette refused to “go” and the trader told his
friends, that unless he could “stick it on the Indians, he would be
out thirty-five dollars.” A few days later, the Chief with another
Indian, came back to the store bringing produce to sell. The white
trader wanted the Indian’s goods and suggested to the Chief that he
exchange for the music box, telling the innocent Seminole that “music
box no more play, wake up by and by and play good, him tired now.”
The Seminole with his mechanical knowledge, looked the organette
over, and making the trade, proudly left with the “tired out” music
box under his arm.
The next day, the two Indians returned, bringing with them the music
box to show to the storekeeper. “That box, him no more tired,” and
winding up the machine, which the ingenious Seminole had put into
working order, played the whole five tunes, to the astonishment and
chagrin of the trader. “Him play good at Green Corn Dance, down
Okee-cho-bee.”
Several years after the organette was still doing service in the
Seminole camps, where, with its aboriginal settings it seemed to fill
a niche that harmonized with the forests, with the timid stars that
hung overhead, with the wigwams and the shadowy flicker of the camp
fire.
The ancestral music of the Seminole is full of a wild, weird melody,
where men and women and little children join voices. As the Indians
sing, you may hear the melancholy waters whisper a pensive good-night
and the drowsy birds flutter in their boughs. You hear the camp songs
and the lullabies like voices trained in the woodland with a strain
of heartbreak, where life and love steal forth in fanciful ecstasy
and the vanished souls seem to call back in tenuous fragments of
mystery, only to die away into a symphony of sorrow, as the melodies
echo across the dark wilderness.
MESSAGES FROM THE EVERGLADES.
Requests come so often for more details regarding these silent
children of the forests, and interesting as well as unique are the
letters and messages that come from the Everglades.
With the ox team and fleet footed Indian messengers, together with
Uncle Sam’s quick mail service, communications reach the white man’s
town, as per the will of the Seminole. With the Indians’ promise to
keep us informed of their needs, births, marriages and ambitions (for
the Seminole never breaks his word), a recent letter from the wigwam
reads: “Me want to tell you we have not forgotten you.” Then comes
the interesting part, “My sister She-y-o-hee got little pappoose,
six days old; it is a girl.” Added to this is another birth record:
“Shon-o-la-kee got one too, ten days old; it is a boy.” Certainly
in the Everglades among the first families of America, the birth
register is kept intact. The letter continues: “Me send you pumpkins
seed.” (These are the Indian pumpkin, a tree climbing variety known
to the American soldiers eighty years ago.)
In this day of food conservation and scientific economy, it may be
well to make a comparison. The seeds were distributed among friends
and neighbors, some delicious pumpkins were raised and enjoyed, but
alas! for a future crop! Not a seed was saved and to the wigwam seed
bag must we go if more pumpkins are planted.
It can hardly be disputed, that the Seminoles, in their migrations
from Mexico brought the seeds with them.
To Dr. Howard A. Kelly, widely known surgeon, traveller, lecturer and
philanthropist, are we indebted for the intensely interesting bit of
Aztec history, blending so well with Seminole traditions.
In Dr. Kelly’s travels in Mexico, among the carved relics of Aztec
origin observed in museums was the pumpkin of Aztec days--centuries
old.
When a Seminole pumpkin was sent to the doctor, he wrote back:
“The very thing I tried to buy in Mexico, carved in wood. I shall
treasure this and preserve it in alcohol to be handed down as a link
connecting the land of Montezuma with the present day Everglade
history.”
For three hundred years the Seminoles have never failed to have their
crop of this edible vegetable and to save seed for the next planting.
Could not the Seminole teach us all conservation?
SEMINOLES FIRST SUFFRAGISTS.
During these latter years, when “equal rights” has crowded into State
and national politics, it may be interesting to the suffrage movement
in America to know that the Seminole squaws are entitled to first
claim as American suffragists.
Not that they are cognizant of it, but they have gained this
authority through their entire fitness for it. The women work equally
with the men, bearing burdens, tanning skins and having absolute
control over the children, who are instilled with the dignity of
obedience from the moment their little eyes open to the world. They
are capable, careful, loving mothers, good counsellors in the camp
life. The Council in passing upon a vital subject, must consult the
women of the camp before giving a final decision. If a squaw wishes
to divorce her husband, and she can prove she has a just cause to do
so, she cannot only divorce him, but she can name his punishment.
The money she makes is hers to do as she likes with. She is supreme
in the home and in the management of the camp.
As is known, Sofka is the tribal dish of the Seminoles; it is a stew
containing the nutriment of many foods.
The Sofka spoon or ladle, made of wood, thus becomes the much valued
household article and the squaws show their authority again here,
for a spoon cannot be taken from the camp without the consent of the
women of the family. This ladle is frequently carved, the different
households having differently shaped spoons.
The Tusteenuggees are made with full large bowls--the Osceolas have a
long slim bowl, each bowl having its own particular style of Seminole
“Coat of Arms.”
OSCEOLA, THE GARIBALDI OF THE SEMINOLES
Do we feel surprised that thousands of our Florida tourists make
efforts to see the descendants of Osceola, the Garibaldi of the
Seminoles?
That Osceola should be named Florida’s most distinguished historical
character is not to be disputed. This statement, in its boldness,
regarding an untutored Indian of the wilderness, at first startles,
but in looking over the pages of history, the question naturally
follows: “Is there another character in Florida, or even in American
history, who is known from ocean to ocean and whose generalship in
warfare, has the admiration of the civilized world, whose heroism is
the ideal of every school boy; the story of Osceola, recounting his
valor and patriotism, may be found in the classic histories of the
libraries of the world.”
History has never given to the world a more regal soldier, with his
magnetic personality, royal in its wild, uncivilized way.
With such reverence is Osceola regarded by the remnants of the
Seminole tribe today, that the name given to him when he was accepted
as a chieftain by the nation, is guarded so jealously that they
refuse to reveal it to any white man who might disclose it--treating
it much as the Israelites did the name of Jehovah--too sacred to
pass the lips of an alien race.
Osceola’s pride was always uppermost in his negotiations and when the
Seminoles were denied the right to buy ammunition, Osceola was made
the object of the insult.
To this he replied with all the defiance of his proud blood: “Am I
a negro? A slave who will not be allowed to handle a rifle? My skin
is dark, not black. I am a Red Stick of the Muscokees. The white man
shall know I am a pure blood.”
At this point, it is with much pleasure, the author desires to
correct the erroneous and too often quoted statement as given in the
pages of literature, viz.: that “Osceola was a half-breed, the son of
an English trader.”
After much research among records, and from the learned leaders of
the Western Seminoles, as well as from the old Seminoles of the
Everglades, it is learned that Osceola disdained the idea of mixed
blood, declaring that “not a drop of foreign blood flowed through his
veins.”
His mother was a Creek of the pure blood, a daughter of a chief,
whose second marriage to an Englishman (Powell, by name), occurred
when Osceola was a small boy.
Osceola was magnanimous in character and honorable in war and no
other crime can be charged to this chivalrous Seminole than a
positive opposition to the removal of his people from their sunny,
native land to the blizzard-stricken territory of the West.
Picture, if you will, a Florida war scene that in dramatic climax is
matchless in the world’s history.
In the Government’s headquarters, Seminole Chieftains and American
army officers wait; each are in the insignia of their respective
ranks. The American flag adds dignity to the scene. Through the open
windows come the fragrant perfume of the orange and the magnolia
blossoms and the song of the mocking-birds adds a flute-like melody
to the tropical setting.
The very air is tense with the mental questions. Will Osceola
come--will Osceola sign?
Promptly at the hour appointed, the savage chieftain, royal in his
warrior regalia, self-possessed and with noiseless step, enters the
room. With a swift glance at the stacked arms of his warriors, he
approached the council table and with defiance in his face and high
uplifted head, exclaimed: “Rather than act the coward, by signing
away the Seminole’s inheritance and taking my people into a strange
land, I will fight till the last drop of blood moistens the dust of
the Seminole’s hunting grounds,” and drawing his long sheath knife
drove the blade through the treaty pinning it to the table. “The land
is ours. This is the way I will sign all such treaties.”
SHALL OSCEOLA’S BONES BE REMOVED?
As a keynote to the wave of sympathy which is being felt from the
Atlantic to the Pacific in the interest of the fast vanishing
Seminoles, is the growing sentiment to do honor to the memory of
their famous war chieftain, Osceola, the hero of the “Seven Years’
War.”
The body of Osceola is now buried under the guns of Fort Moultrie,
Charleston, South Carolina. The response to the proposition to have
the remains removed to their native soil is full of gratification
and shows the generous sentiment in favor of the Seminole Indians.
To do honor to Florida’s world-known patriot and in part, atone for
the cruel capture under the truce of white flag, cannot wipe out the
national stain, but will show that this new democratized America is
ready to atone even at this late day.
Osceola was a soldier worthy of any race and came under the white
flag to “talk” to the American general. During the “peace talk,” the
ring of bayonets closed around him and seeing that he was entrapped
he folded his arms scornfully and said nothing by way of protest from
that moment to the day of his death. When Osceola was questioned as
to why he did not make his escape, as did some of the other chiefs
from the dungeon at Fort Marion, St. Augustine, he replied: “I have
done nothing to be ashamed of; it is for those to feel ashamed who
entrapped me.”
Enough pressure should be brought upon the National Congress to have
the Government take favorable action on the removal of Osceola’s
remains, and to do it at once.
Osceola County, among all the counties of Florida, has honored this
liberty-loving American by choosing his historic name, and the last
resting place of the Seminole patriot should be at the capital of the
county which bears his name.
With simple inscription, “Osceola, Patriot and Warrior, died January
30, 1838,” the body lies at the entrance of Fort Moultrie.
Shall the Seminole hero not be given six feet of soil in his native
land for a grave and sleep the sleep of the brave in the great
country he loved so well?
Commenting upon the subject of Osceola and the removal of his remains
to Florida soil, the _Tampa Tribune_ editorially says:
“While the zealous patriots of the present generation of Floridians
would desire such a removal, with a fitting ceremony and a memorial
shaft erected to the memory of this American Chieftain, it is a
question if South Carolinians, and especially Charlestonians would
give up the body--all that is left of the hero they gave protection
to, during the last hours of his life when the rapacity of the United
States soldiers jeopardized his existence.”
“Moreover, the gates of Charleston have preserved the warrior’s
grave for eighty years and with the love of patriotism born in
every Charlestonian heart, it is believed that an interment of
Osceola’s bones in Florida as a final resting place would be met with
opposition from South Carolina.”
A MEMORIAL TO OSCEOLA.
Representative Frank Clark, of Florida, has already introduced a bill
in the Lower House, asking for an appropriation of $25,000 for a
memorial monument to be erected in honor of Osceola.
Because of the extravagance of war, the bill has remained in its
initial stage, but with the National Government reverting to pre-war
ideas and the citizenship of the Nation again building to the memory
of her heroes, it is believed that the Florida Congressman will have
the support of his colleagues in his efforts to place a memorial to
the memory of the departed Osceola.
The romantic interest around the Seminole Chieftain has been so
enhanced by sympathy, that when the Blackfeet Indians from the
Northwest came East on a pilgrimage, stopping at the Nation’s capital
on the way, five thousand people went down to Charleston from
Washington to be with them when they paid tribute to the resting
place of the martyred Osceola.
A BRONZE STATUE IN THE EVERGLADES.
The Battle of Okee-cho-bee! A battle that decided the issues of two
wars and proved the fitness of an American soldier for a long and
glorious march from the Everglades of Florida through struggles in
Mexico to the White House in Washington. Of this battle in Florida,
between Indians and Americans, many have never heard, few can
identify the locality and no national monument marks the spot.
Turning a historic searchlight upon this scene of eighty years
ago, one sees the American soldier, Zachary Taylor, meeting the
noble warrior of the Seminoles, Coa-coo-chee (Wild-Cat) in his last
struggle for his country and his people.
In the wilds of the Okee-cho-bee country, a shattered remnant of the
Seminoles, fought against the American army, with a victory for the
white troops, defeat, of course, for the Seminoles.
The battle was planned by Coa-coo-chee,[5] who had recently escaped
from the musty dungeon at St. Augustine where he and Osceola had
been confined after their capture under the truce of the white flag,
while negotiating with the American officers. Coa-coo-chee, as if
challenging the American army with retaliation and revenge for the
indignity of such a violation of recognized warfare, now combined his
forces for one great battle.
Carrying their little bundles, the pitiful salvage from the wreck of
their once happy homes, the Indians had fled to the dark haunts of
Florida’s weird morasses. With his people already encamped in this
vicinity, Coa-coo-chee naturally selected the battle ground for its
advantage of position, within easy reach of his warriors and by
strategy and decoys succeeded in leading the American army to the
chosen site. Contrary to the usual tactics of fighting in small bands
and at widely scattered points, the Seminoles staked their all in
this supreme battle, apparently not awed by the overwhelming odds of
four to one.
This battle brought the generalship of Colonel Taylor prominently
before the world and confirmed the Nation’s faith in him, which sent
him, no doubt, to the Mexican battle field.
Here he was given the task of opening the way to the Halls of
the Montezumas, and from this stepping stone he soon received
the Presidency of the United States as a testimonial of national
appreciation.
But of Colonel Taylor’s gallant opponent, Coa-coo-chee, what shall
we say? Finally surrendering, he was put in chains and transported
with a ship-load of his people, a group of broken-hearted exiles, to
the waiting ships at Tampa; as the transports left Tampa Bay for the
far western country, the anguish of this oppressed, terror-stricken
people touched the hearts of the most hardened sailor--reduced from a
powerful nation to a decimated band of starving humanity, they went
silent or weeping toward the land of the setting sun, driven like
dumb beasts before the power of the white man.
With lingering looks, these red patriots saw the loved scenes of
their homes fade away, their happy hunting grounds, the graves of
their fathers--their beloved Florida.
It was the closing of a sad chapter in American history. With the
battle of Okee-cho-bee, few are familiar today. Is it not a fitting
location for a national park, and a monument to the memory of this
noble chieftain whom we have so sadly treated?
Upon this sacred soil a battle was fought that would not shame the
Greeks of Leonidas, nor the Romans of ancient days. Today the white
man treads heedlessly upon the land, with no other thought than that
of commercialism attuned to the jingle of dollars.
In this beautiful valley of the “Place of the Big Water” the present
Seminoles, like Chief Joseph of the West, say: “We love this land
more than all the rest of the world. An Indian who would not love his
father’s grave is worse than the wild beasts of the forest.”
No finer or more chivalrous treatment of an enemy can be shown in
history than that of Coa-coo-chee to Colonel Taylor even though the
sting of his treacherous capture with his friend Osceola was fresh
in his mind. No braver defense was made at Thermopylae than was
made in the hammock on Lake Okee-cho-bee. The site of the Battle of
Okee-cho-bee is now before the eyes of the world as a terminus of a
Florida Railroad; it is eminently fitting that the American people
make a plea for a memorial where Indian and American may be honored
and will be the means, too, of bringing graphically before the
people a history so little known, and may we not hope, a tender pity
for the vanquished Red Knights who fought so bravely for home and
honor.
In the legends of the Seminoles, the spirit of Coa-coo-chee returns
once a year to visit the sacred retreats of his race.
Would not the spirit of this brave patriot rejoice to note that his
fame was known to his conquerors and a memorial erected that would
link the names of the Indians and the Americans in this last battle
for country and people?
THE POCAHONTAS OF FLORIDA.
U-LE-LAH, THE PRINCESS OF HIRRIHIGUA.
Around the very name of Florida clings a wealth of legend of romantic
interest, and patriotic suggestions that will yield in beauty and
value to no other State in the Union.
To close the pages of this book, without giving a sketch of the
first heroine of American romance, would seem like depriving the
sympathetic reader of the glittering pearl that lies within easy
reach beneath the sparkle of the waves.
Almost coincident with “America’s Answer” to the war cry of Europe,
the Atlantic cables in peace-loving contrast, were repeating to
America the account of the dedication services at old Gravesend,
England, to the memory of Pocahontas, the heroine of Virginia’s early
history. Our late Ambassador Page, in unveiling the memorial windows,
dwelt largely on her influence as a bond of peace between the United
States and Great Britain. So to-day, a spirit of thankfulness should
come over us as individuals and as a nation for the influence of our
Virginia princess.
America grasped hands with our English friends on this occasion, when
our American officers and sailors from the battleships Missouri and
Illinois took a prominent part in the ceremonies.
At the close of this touching ceremony Ambassador Page, with our
American officers and cadets, was extended a cordial reception from
the thousands of persons who had assembled inside and outside the old
parish church, whose register bears the name of the Indian princess.
To Florida belongs a romance not less fascinating and wonderful than
that of Virginia’s Pocahontas. But alas, in the “manana” of the
first Spanish invaders, much interesting history was lost to the
world. Enough has been preserved, however, to excite the imagination
and cause this age of research to go deep into embalmed records of
centuries ago and revive the quaint philosophy of the old, entrancing
Florida.
U-LE-LAH, THE POCAHONTAS OF FLORIDA.
With the extinction of the powerful Hirrihigua tribe passed the
life story, tantalizing in its meagerness, of the Indian princess,
U-le-lah. The full history of our lovely Florida princess, who was
in very truth the first heroine of American romance, slumbers in the
unwritten archives of forgotten history, yet one dramatic incident
in her life has been preserved to us to give us the right to call
her “the Pocahontas of Florida,” and in the heroism of this young
Indian girl is a setting for as dramatic a story as has been given to
history.
The old chroniclers tell us that the word Hirrihigua, which
ethnologically considered, must be a mixture of both Spanish and
Indian, was the name of the country first invaded by the Spaniard on
Tampa Bay; the seat of government of a mighty tribe of aborigines,
who, according to Bourne’s Narratives of De Soto, occupied a vast
domain extending from the Gulf of Mexico to the Atlantic Ocean,
and makes the history and romance of the Princess U-le-lah most
fascinating and worthy of special commemoration.
FERDINAND DE SOTO.
When the cavalier of Spain in the person of the intrepid Ferdinand De
Soto, landed in 1539 on Tampa Bay with all the pomp and pageantry of
the Spanish court, he found himself at a loss for interpreters and
guides to this wild and strange land.
Learning of a young Spaniard, Juan Ortez by name, who was the only
survivor of the great De Narvaez expedition, and who had been captive
of the Indians for ten years, De Soto quickly sought to find him in
order to use him as a guide for his conquest.
The history of this young Spaniard, who is reported to have been
handsome, together with the saving of his life at a crucial moment by
the daughter of the proud old Chieftain of Hirrihigua, parallels that
of the Virginia annals, of Pocahontas and John Smith, and antedates
this epoch-making history of Virginia almost one hundred years. In
memory of Pocahontas, the Lady Rebecca of the English courts, toasts
of all England have been given; entertainments have been planned in
her honor, and medals have been struck off to commemorate her visit
to the imperial court of James the First.
The proudest blood of Virginia runs through her descendants and every
history of white America gives the tragic story of her heroism and
her instrumentality in saving Virginia to the Caucasians.
Of U-le-lah, our Florida princess, whose heroic stand and womanly
courage stand out as the peer of any character in history, we know
but little and honor has been withheld, not only as an Indian
princess whose father was the emperor of an unbounded area, but as
a historical character of gracious personality. She was truly the
heroine of the first American romance, where honor, dignity and a
woman’s heart shone forth, and as Floridians, we should endeavor to
memorialize her name and her deeds in the history of America. A brief
sketch of this young Indian girl is appended.
Juan Ortez, a Spanish youth deserted by his comrades, was captured
on the shores of Tampa Bay by the Indians, and taken to their chief
U-ci-ta. This chief was the reigning monarch of this southern
province of Hirrihigua, and thoroughly embittered against the
butchery his people had suffered at the hands of De Soto, was ready
to wreak vengeance on the pale face, the only survivor of the De
Narvaez expedition.
Florida, from the day the first Spanish invaders, with blood-hounds,
chains, battle-axes and sabres, set foot upon her flower-bordered
soil, has been a battle ground. Her sands have run red with blood of
the innocent native, who always held out a hand of welcome and gave
sustenance from his well filled storehouses, while the newcomers
ever practiced the same atrocities and butcheries that have been
perpetrated upon the Indians of America, although with greater
cruelties and no restraining power.
It is not surprising that the proud chief of Hirrihigua wished to
be relieved entirely of every vestige of white blood, for, added
to the rapacities from which he and his tribe had suffered, the
Narvaez expedition had even subjected the chief’s mother to the most
atrocious cruelties, and thus his desire for vengeance upon this
representative of the white intruders was natural. With revenge
uppermost in his mind, the chief ordered Juan Ortez to be bound hand
and foot and placed upon a rack made of poles--and to be slowly
burned to death.
As history records the account of this tragic scene, the beautiful
daughter of U-ci-ta, who was about the same age as the handsome
Spaniard, when she saw the dreadful fate about to be inflicted upon
the young white stranger, rushed to the burning fagots, and braving
the anger of her all-powerful father, threw herself at his feet
and implored him to spare the life of the captive youth, urging
and pleading with all the compassion of a woman’s heart, that this
white stranger had done no injury and that it was nobler for a brave
and lofty chief like U-ci-ta to keep the youth a captive than to
sacrifice so mere a lad to his revenge.
Looking back four centuries, a vision rises. We stand in the midst
of an aboriginal people. A tragic scene is before us. We see Indians
wreaking vengeance for the wrong inflicted upon them, and a stern
visaged chieftain, whose word is law, in command. A boyish form
is bound upon a rack of fagots, with the flames already gently
licking the poles and creeping to his helpless body. All at once a
trembling, girlish form rushes to the rescue, and with the pleading
of a compassionate woman, forgetting her own natural resentment for
the past wrongs done for her kindred, touches her stern and stoical
father and secures the release of the captive youth.
This was the youth Ortez, who, released from his fiery bed, was cared
for by his gentle protector, his burned flesh bound and dressed, and
under her gentle administrations restored to health, and as an act
of honor he was given the position of guard over the sepulchres of
the dead. It was the custom to place the dead upon scaffolds, and, as
these sepulchres in those wilderness days were beset by wolves and
wildcats, a guard watched over them day and night.
Ortez guarded these mausoleums through the lonely hours of the night
and grew in great favor with the haughty chieftain; but one night,
so the narrative goes, a wolf carried away the body of a child of a
chief. Ortez threw an arrow and wounded it, but did not know that
the child had been taken. The next morning the loss of the child’s
body was made known, and Ortez ordered to be put to death. Some
friendly Indians, following on the trail of the wolf, discovered the
child, and the wolf lying dead just beyond it. The chief, with a
justice ever belonging to the American Indian, being satisfied of the
faithfulness of Ortez, took him again into favor.
For three years this young Spaniard, now only twenty-one years old,
continued to live with the Hirrihigua tribe, but at the end of
that time a fierce war broke out between old Chief U-ci-ta and a
neighboring tribe. According to the savage custom of those days, in
order to insure a victory, it was decreed that a sacrifice must be
made, and the Spanish youth was selected as the victim.
Again U-le-lah, the counselor and friend of her father, and still the
faithful friend of the white stranger, came at night and warned him
that he had been selected to be sacrificed the next morning. This act
was wholly one of womanly courage and compassion, and not for any
sentimental consideration for the handsome young Spaniard, for this
Indian princess was betrothed to the Chief Mucoso of another tribe.
At the midnight hour she came and guided him on his way a half a
league to her lover, sending as guards and envoys two friendly and
trustworthy Indians.
Juan Ortez, with his guides, traveled all night, and morning found
him on the boundary of Mucoso’s territory, where he was met by the
lover of his fair protector and received with the assurance, so
early historians chronicle, “that if any white men ever came to his
country, he would allow him to go back with them.”
The old chief of Hirrihigua, much chagrined at his daughter’s
conduct in usurping his kingly authority, demanded of Mucoso the
return of Ortez. Mucoso refused and his refusal caused such a breach
between the two monarchs of these big provinces that it was several
years before Mucoso claimed the fair Indian princess as his bride.
With true Indian honor he sacrificed his love for a principle, and
continued to protect the Spanish captive.
It is an interesting fact in history to know that Ortez remained with
Mucoso for eight years, until the landing of De Soto, to whom Mucoso,
keeping his pledge to Ortez, sent him under a guard of several
Indians.
Ortez, now become one of De Soto’s band, was however destined to live
but a short time, for De Soto, with no other object than conquest
and search for gold, such as he had learned under the way of the
relentless Pizarro in the land of Incas, traversed the country
murdering and plundering the innocent natives until they reached the
Mississippi, where, it is recorded, Ortez died only a short time
before death claimed the proud and relentless De Soto.
PRINCESS OF HIRRIHIGUA.
Of the noble-hearted Indian princess, little more is known, but as a
heroine, she is truly the peer of the long-famed Pocahontas, and her
history must touch every romance-loving heart.
All Florida should feel a pride in the name of this Indian girl, for
to her alone is credited the heroism of saving the life of the only
Caucasian at that time on the southern shores of Florida. For her
compassion and womanly tenderness, for her heroic stand for justice,
this Florida princess is deserving, even after four centuries,
of recognition and upon the brow of U-le-lah, the Princess of
Hirrihigua, should be lovingly placed laurels of gold, and her name
commemorated in American annals.
Particularly should Florida rise to the occasion by publishing to
the nation the glorification of her own aboriginal princess, and
proclaiming to the world memorial tributes commending her bravery and
her virtue.
Vocabulary
INTRODUCTION TO VOCABULARY[6]
In presenting the following words, phrases and sentences to the
public, we beg to add a few explanations. The words have been
obtained from the Indians themselves. To collect words from an Indian
requires patience at any time, and in dealing with the Seminoles
particularly so. The Florida Indian is suspicious of the white man,
and until a confidence was established and a friendship formed, it
was impossible to obtain any accuracy from him. To secure the words
in this work methods were devised, in order to have the Seminole
fully understand the collector, as well as to enable the collector
to grasp with a certainty the Indian’s meaning. As will be seen by a
close study of the vocabulary, the noun does more than simply denote
the thing to which it belongs; it also assigns to it some quality or
characteristic. As for instance the word elephant. The Indian had
never seen an elephant, but on being shown one in a circus parade,
after a careful thinking, he named it, “e-po-lo-wa-kee”--“heap long
nose.” Great latitude is thus permitted in an Indian vocabulary.
On account of non-intercourse with a civilized race the Seminole
language is very pure. Economy in speech is followed, the highest
aim of the Indian being to express in a single word both action
and object. Every cluster-word is a description or a definition.
The study of an unwritten language finds its phonology difficult.
In this collection, the words are spelled phonetically; the accent
and division into syllables are indicated to assist the student to
make the correct pronunciation. Not only were these words given in
good faith by the Indians with the present use in view, but each
succeeding year, as we visited the Glades for a hunt, the various
members of the tribe showed decided interest in our note book,
assisting in revising the words by going over and over again the
Seminole meaning and accent. The Seminole has a keen sense of humor.
As we gathered words and phrases many amusing incidents occurred,
always at our expense and to the greatest merriment of the Indians.
To Tallahassee we are indebted for much of this vocabulary, as well
as for many interesting incidents and fragments of the history; yet
it was not until the fourth year of acquaintance that the old chief,
beside the dying embers of our camp fire at the midnight hour, opened
his heart and told the story of his people, their myths, religion,
legends--their heartaches. The night was chilly, the old chief lost
in his own earnestness drew his tunic closer about him, yet the
writer could not say “it is late--you are cold.” It was a golden
opportunity; a word, the rustle of a branch and the current would
have changed. Until daybreak, in his broken English Tallahassee
told his story. Never before, nor ever since has such an occasion
presented itself.
VOCABULARY[7]
PERSONS
SEMINOLE ENGLISH
Es-ta-chat-tee Indian.
Es-ta-had-kee White man.
Es-ta-lus-tee Negro.
Ho-non-waw Man.
Hoke-tee Woman.
Ach-o-be-li-tee Old man.
Hoke-tee-li-tee Old woman.
Ho-non-wa-mi-nit-ti-tee Young man.
Hoke-tee-ti-mi-nit-ti-tee Young woman.
Che-pon-no-shi-tee Boy.
Hoke-ti-chee Girl.
Est-to-chee Infant.
Ho-non-o-chee Male infant.
Hoke-to-chee Female infant.
Poke-taw Twins.
E-hi-wa-o-chit-ee Married man.
E-hi-was-ko Bachelor.
E-hi-wa-se-ko Widower.
E-hi-lift-mus-chee Widow.
E-he-see-ko Old maid.
E-he-see-ko-hoke-ti-lee The old people.
Es-tee-min-nit-tee A great talker.
O-pa-na-ki-tee A silent person.
Host-cope-e-taw Thief.
Host-cope-e-gost-chee Not a thief.
PARTS OF THE BODY
E-caw Head.
E-caw-e-see Hair.
E-caw-hos-pee Crown of head.
To-so-faw Face.
Ka-ho-waw Forehead.
E-tox-lo-waw Eye.
Tose-lis-kee Eye lash.
To-do-no-lup-pa-is-see Eye brow.
Tode-le-wa-hos-pee Upper eyelid.
Tode-le-list-la-hos-pee Lower eyelid.
Hots-cote-es-caw Ear lobe.
E-hots-ko Ear.
Hots-caw-pof-ef-caw Perforation in ear.
Hots-caw-ko-kee Opening of ear.
E-ho-po Nose.
E-po-fo-nee Ridge of nose.
E-po-haw-kee Nostril.
E-yan-i-waw Cheek.
No-ti-ka-is-see Beard.
E-choke-o-waw Mouth.
Choke-hos pon-a-paw Upper lip.
Choke-hos-pee Lower lip.
E-no-tee-ho-maw Front teeth.
E-no-tee-lock-ko Back teeth.
To-los-waw Tongue.
E-to-ka-lo-swaw Saliva.
Sin-no-ka-nil-caw Throat.
No-ti-caw Chin.
No-ka-pee Neck.
No-quif-pa-tock-ock-naw Adam’s apple.
E-naw-chee Body.
E-faw-chaw Shoulder.
Fo-lo-taw-pix-taw Shoulder blade.
E-claw Back.
E-claw-fo-nee Back bone.
E-hoke-pee Breast of man.
E-pee-see Breast of woman.
Im-po-loke-cho Hip.
E-ho-cho-waw Navel.
E-shock-paw Arm.
In-clop-pe-claw Right arm.
Aw-clos-clin-aw Left arm.
Ho-lo-wa-to-tee-ta-gaw Arm pits.
Sock-pof-o-nee Right arm above elbow.
Aw-kos-ko-nof-o-nee Left arm above elbow.
E-ko-chee Elbow.
In-tee-ti-pix-tee-e-toke-kee-tay-gaw Wrist.
In-tee-ti-pix-tee Hand.
In-ko-faw Palm of hand.
In-tee-ta-pix-tee-e-naw-pa Back of hand.
In-ka-we-sa-kaw Fingers.
Som-kit-kee Thumb.
Som-kil-smil-kaw First finger.
In-ka-nock-klo-pa-ho-e-claw Second finger.
In-ka-ho-klif-claw-such-lo Third finger.
In-ka-its-ho-chee-wa-chee Small finger.
In-hits-kee-in-kose-es-waw Finger nail.
In-ka-we-sock-ka-e-to-pee Knuckle.
In-ka-yock-pee Space between knuckles.
E-tol-kay Rump.
Chee-hof-ee Leg above knee.
E-tolk-wa-po-la-ko Knee.
Tose-to-po-la-ko Knee pan.
Chee-host-go-waw Leg below knee.
E-lim-pock-ko Calf of leg.
E-lay-toke-to-swaw Ankle.
E-lit-ta-pix-tee-e-fo-cho-to-kee-not-ee Instep.
Es-tel-e-po Foot.
Es-tel-e-ho-faw Sole of foot.
E-lich-es-caw Heel.
Es-tel-e-e-sa-caw Toe.
Es-tel-e-eeds-kee Large toe.
Es-tel-e-nock-clay-ho-e-claw Second toe.
E-la-ni-ka-so-swaw Toe nail.
Chaw-taw Blood.
Chaw-tee-fo-kaw Vein or artery.
Istee-e-kol-pee Brain (man).
E-kol-pee Brain.
E-ho-sil-waw Bladder.
E-fee-caw Heart.
E-pof-caw Around the heart.
E-to-chee Kidney.
In-hee-shook-e-taw Lung.
E-lo-pee Liver.
Im-pa-shaw Stomach.
In-ta-law Rib.
In-ka-shock-a-tee Pulse.
Es-tel-e-hop-o Foot print.
Shon-aw-haft-bee Skin.
Shon-aw-fon-ee Bone.
Fix-chee-e-la-pots-kee Intestines.
Cho-pock-e-taw Scalp.
DRESS AND ORNAMENTS
Cot-to-po-kaw Cap.
E-kof-kaw Breech cloth.
She-won-nock-e-taw Breech cloth belt.
Aw-fa-tee-kaw Leggings.
Stil-i-pi-kaw Moccasins.
Som-po-chee Basket.
Ech-e-taw Blanket.
Lo-cus-haft-ee-pa-ta-kaw Bear skin (robe).
E-cho-haft-ee-pa-ta-kaw Deer skin (robe).
Cho-see Buck skin or snake skin.
Cho-fee-haft-bee Rabbit skin.
O-sho-aw-haft-bee Beaver skin.
O-shon-aw-haft-bee Otter skin.
Co-lo-waw Paint.
Co-lo-waw-la-nee Paint (yellow).
Co-lo-wa-lus-tee Paint (black).
Co-lo-wa-chaw-tee Paint (red).
Shoke-shot-ta-pix-chee Pouch.
Stink-ko-shot-ti-tee-caw A ring.
Cop-a-to-ca-och-aco Bare head.
Es-tel-e-pi-e-ca-och-a-co Bare foot.
E-ca-e-pee Naked.
She-won-nock-e-ta-sa-lof-kaw Knife belt.
Co-na-waw Beads.
Hi-ef-cof-ka-taw Shirt.
Stil-a-pa-won-hee Shoes.
Note-tes-chee Handkerchief.
Es-ti-ha-kee Picture.
Osh-aw-kil-caw-e-fa-caw Watch chain.
Osh-aw-kil-caw Watch.
She-ma-caw Fan.
Shit-ta-kee-caw Walking cane.
DWELLINGS, IMPLEMENTS, UTENSILS, ETC.
Cho-co-ta-ti-yee Village.
Cho-co-hum-co-see Wigwam.
E-how-kee Door way.
We-chow-hi-lit Spark.
No-clit Burn.
Tode-caw Fire.
Tock-hot-chee Fire wood (burning)
Lip-la-it Blaze.
Toke-la-waw Living coals.
Tock-ees-so Ashes.
Eh-cho-chee Smoke.
Aw-lock-a-taw-chaw-ho-tee My home.
Aw-ho-gee Door way.
Pa-ta-caw Bed.
Shot-hote-caw Door.
Cho-ko House.
Ko-lo-kee Lamp.
Osh-aw-kil-caw-lock-o Clock.
To-paw Floor.
Cho-ko-no-paw Ceiling.
Cho-ko-shaw-hose-paw-caw Wall.
Ot-so-caw Stairway.
We-wa-ese-pay-lot-caw Spring.
We-wa Water.
E-pee-lo-faw Hommock (woods).
E-con-aw-aw-ho-pa-caw Map.
See-la-hot-tit-taw Railing.
Tode-ca-e-ho-tee Stove.
We-wa-ho-tee Water tank.
Ho-e-so-clope-pa-lock-a-naw Wash bowl.
In-ka-e-to-shi-eets-caw Towel.
To-how-how-waw Trunk.
So-cose-caw Soap.
Sin-ti-ne-ta-pi-ee-to-caw Whisk broom.
Ees-cos-caw Comb.
E-fa-ko-lock-o Rope (cable).
Shot-hit-go-chee Glass tumbler.
Tose-to-lese-taw Wagon.
Tose-to-lese-ta-pof-na-chee Buggy.
Aw-ta-lit-taw Clothes hooks.
E-shaw-ho-tee Gun cover.
Chot-a-dox-cha-in-che Arrow.
Bith-low Canoe.
Sar-sho-e-fa-caw Fish line.
Whe-ah Fish net.
Hi-eets-caw Accordion.
Tock-kee-so Ashes.
Buch-es-waw Ax.
Polk-ko Pottery.
Le-ho-chaw Pot of pottery.
Chat-o-lon-ee Brass.
Che-to-ko-lope-lon-ee Gold.
Sha-teek-e-naw-yaw Silver.
Shot-to Iron.
Hi-lo-chee Cup.
We-wa-sis-ca-taw Dipper.
Sto-caw Bucket.
E-slof-ka-pee Knife handle.
E-slof-ka-e-ock-shaw Knife point.
E-slof-ka-e-in-fos-kee Knife edge.
Sa-lof-ka Knife.
Chum-chaw-cha-lock-ko Bell.
Chum-chaw-ko Small bell.
Shif-fon-waw Awl.
To-shay-sil-caw Whang (for sewing
moccasins).
We-hop-caw Pillow.
To-hi-o-waw Valise.
To-ho-to-waw Powder.
Ho-tee Powder can.
Shaw-toke-e-naw-waw Money.
To-ko-naw-shaw-tee One cent.
Na-kop-po-chee Ten cents.
Con-shot-go-ho-ko-lin Fifty cents.
Chalk Twenty-five cents.
To-ko-naw-wa-hum-kin One dollar.
To-ko-naw-wa-cha-kee-bin Five dollars.
E-sho-gaw File.
Ees-how-ees-caw Key.
Ees-pas-caw Broom.
Chot-to-go-chee Mallet.
Op-pee Broomstick.
Tock-o-take-go-chee Common stick.
Im-mi-lay-sha-taw Court plaster.
Tose-ka-lof-caw Plane.
E-to Wood.
Tock-kin-o-shaw Brick.
Ok-e-fots-chay Sea shell.
To-hop-kee Fence.
Ho-lo-paw Walk (pavement).
Chat-o-ko-cho Cartridge.
Hi-eets-e-fa-caw Guitar string.
O-like-a-taw Chair.
To-paw Floor.
Es-ti-ha-kee Picture.
Tol-lo-faw Town.
Ist-fon-o-kee-taw Rocking chair.
E-skil-caw Compass.
Shock-shaw-e-taw Dip net.
Ti-sos-so-chee Pin.
Ees-la-pode-caw Needle.
Ees-ti-no-tee-some-fo-tee-taw Tooth pick.
Shoke-chaw Sack.
It-to-tee-ish-fo-gaw Ice saw.
It-to-tee-butch-es-waw Ice hatchet.
It-to-tee-in-so-go Ice house.
It-to-tee-saw-gaw Ice machine.
It-to-tee-ock-les-waw Ice moulds.
It-to-tee-she-lot-caw Ice tongs.
It-to-tee-we-waw Ice water.
To-fo-ga-leg-a-mee Saw dust.
To-fo-la-hi-lee Cord wood.
To-to-lese-pof-a-naw-o-cho-go Railroad car.
Phon-e-o-hop-ee Fishing pole.
Sho-a-los-ga-taw Hammock (to swing).
Ko-lo-kee-e-ho-tee Lantern.
Tol-lot-to-chee Brush.
O-pa-tock-o Saddle.
E-ho-e-lit-taw Stirrup.
She-lop-ko-chif-ko-taw Spur.
Ach-aw-kil-caw-lock-o Clock.
E-sho-e-caw Hoe.
Hot-cus-waw Iron kettle.
Ta-pate-go-chee Pistol.
Ich-chaw Gun.
E-chaw Rifle.
To-lo-to-lon-e Cap (percussion).
To-hote-to-waw Powder.
Wee-aw Seine.
Sa-lof-ka-chop-ka Sword.
Sa-lof-ka-chee Knife (small).
Sa-lof-ka-fots-kee Knife (sharp).
Sa-lof-ka-tof-nee Knife (dull).
FOOD
To-lee-ko Oatmeal.
O-chee-tot-o-la-go-chee Corn bread.
Tot-o-lo-som-po-chee Cake.
Pish-waw Meat.
O-po-swaw Soup.
Tock-a-la-kee Bread (flour).
Och-chee-lo-wat-kee Corn (green).
Wa-ka-pish-aw Milk.
Chum-pee Honey.
Yel-la-haw Lemonade.
Fo-chum-pee Bees and honey.
Ist-sa-tock-ko Cauliflower.
O-ko-to Radish.
Oke-chon-tel-o-ko-nee Salt.
Il-la-haw Orange.
Itch-on-e-haw Tallow.
Ho-waw Pepper sauce.
E-cho-pish-waw Deer meat.
Chil-i-hos-waw Pineapple.
Wa-ka-pish-aw-tock-o-la-kee Cheese.
Tol-o-so-caw Cocoanut.
Chos-chee-lock-o Pumpkin (whiteman’s).
Chos-chee Pumpkin (Indian).
E-po-see-waw Gravy.
Fit-chee Sausage.
We-len-tel-lo Banana.
Hil-o-cho-waw Chewing gum.
Wa-ka-pish-a-ne-haw Butter.
Wa-ka-pish-e-e-tok-chee Sour milk.
Wa-ka-fit-chee Sausage (beef).
Suck-a-fit-chee Sausage (pork).
Ho-tes-kot-tee-hot-kee Flour.
Whit-lo-ko Oysters.
Aw-haw Potato (sweet).
Tol-o-la-go-chee Biscuit.
Aw-hot-to-pox-to-chee Potato (Irish).
Cot-lo-chee Sardines.
Aw-pis-ta-lake-a-to-me Potted ham.
Tock-a-la-kee-chom-paw Ginger cake (large).
Ho-maw Pickles.
Pe-kon-o-soch-o-chee Cherries.
Tock-a-fon-waw Filbert.
Shot-o-lock-o Apple.
Chil-loos-wa Grapes.
Tock-a-la-kee-chum-po-chee Cake (small).
COLORS
Lus-tee Black.
Ho-lot-tee Blue.
Ho-ko-lon-i-tee Brown.
Sho-po-ka-hot-ka-chee Grey.
Pi-e-lon-o-maw Green.
Chat-tee Red.
Hot-ka-tee White.
NUMERALS
Hum-kin One.
Ho-ko-lin Two.
Too-chin Three.
Os-tin Four.
Chaw-kee-bin Five.
A-pa-kin Six.
Ko-lo-pa-kin Seven.
Chin-na-pa-kin Eight.
Os-ta-pa-kin Nine.
Pa-lin Ten.
Pa-lin-hum-kin-hum-kin Eleven.
Pa-lin-hum-kin-ho-ko-lin Twelve.
Pa-lin-hum-kin-too-chin Thirteen.
Pa-lin-hum-kin-os-tin Fourteen.
Pa-lin-ho-ko-lin Twenty.
Pa-lin-ho-ko-lin-hum-kin Twenty-one.
Pa-lin-ho-ko-lin-too-chin Twenty-three.
Pa-lin-too-chin Thirty.
Pa-lin-os-tin Forty.
Pa-lin-chaw-kee-bin Fifty.
Pa-lin-a-pa-kin Sixty.
Pa-lin-ko-la-pa-kin Seventy.
Pa-lin-chin-na-pa-kin Eighty.
Pa-lin-os-ta-pa-kin Ninety.
Chope-kee-hum-kin One hundred.
Chope-kee-ho-ko-lin Two hundred.
Chope-kee-too-chin-ee Three hundred.
DIVISIONS OF TIME
Ti-ose-go-chee First moon (August).
Ti-ose-go-lock-o Second moon (September).
E-ho-lee Third moon (October).
Si-lof-slop-ko Fourth moon (November).
Si-lof-so-kee Fifth moon (December).
Ho-ti-lee-has-ee Sixth moon (January).
Ti-sot-to-chee Seventh moon (February).
Ti-sot-to-lock-o Eighth moon (March).
Kee-hos-ee Ninth moon (April).
Got-so-hos-ee Tenth moon (May).
Hi-yote-chee Eleventh moon (June).
Hi-yote-lock-o Twelfth moon (July).
Mis-kee-hum-kin One year.
Ha-lits-chey Moon.
Nit-taw Day.
Nist-lee Night.
U-mus-ka-taw Dark.
Pox-son-gay Yesterday.
Pox-son-gay-lim-pix-son-gay Day before yesterday.
A-pox-see-lim-pox-say-nist-lee Day after to-morrow night.
Mo-shon-nit-taw Today.
A-pox-see To-morrow.
A-pox-see-lim-pox-say Day after to-morrow.
Mis-kee-hum-kee Next year.
Mo-shon-mis-kee This year.
Mis-kee-ho-ko-lin Two years.
Mis-kee-too-chin-aw Three years.
Nit-ti-chow-go-hum-kin One week.
Nit-ti-chow-go-ho-ko-lin Two weeks.
Nit-ti-chow-go-too-chin-aw Three weeks.
Nit-ta-hum-kin One day.
Nit-ta-ho-ko-lin Two days.
Nit-ta-too-chin-aw Three days.
Nit-ta-os-tin Four days.
Mo-shon-nist-lee To-night.
A-pox-see-nist-lee To-morrow night.
Mo-cho-hos-see This moon.
Hos-see-hum-kee Next moon.
Osh-aw-kil-hum-kin One o’clock.
Osh-aw-kil-ho-ko-lin Two o’clock.
ANIMALS, PARTS OF BODY, ETC.
Lo-ko-see Bear (black).
Ko-wat-go-chee Cat (wild).
E-faw Dog.
E-cho Deer.
Chil-la Fox.
E-cho-wa-a-taw Goat (mountain).
Su-caw-pin-si-law Hog (wild).
E-chos-waw Manatee or sea cow.
Tock-o Mole.
O-shen-aw Otter.
Su-caw-hot-caw Opossum.
Ches-she Rat.
Cho-fee Rabbit.
Cho-fee-chaw-hot-ee Rabbit (grey).
Wood-ko Raccoon.
Klo-hi-lee Squirrel.
Klo-hot-go-chee Squirrel (grey).
Klo-hi-lee-chaw-tee Squirrel (red).
Yee-haw Wolf.
Kon-kla-po-chee Chameleon.
E-cho-yi-pee Antlers.
Wa-ka-e-fo-nee Bone (cow).
Fit-chee-law-pots-kee Entrails.
Nee-haw Fat.
Wa-ka-haft-bee Hide (cow).
Yi-pee Horn.
Fit-chee-lock-o Stomach.
E-hot-chee Tail.
E-no-tee Teeth.
E-po-lo-wa-kee Elephant.
Chil-lock-o Horse.
Chil-lock-o-chee Colt.
Chil-lock-o-pi-e-caw Mule.
Wal-ka-ho-non-waw Ox.
Wal-ka-chee Calf.
Suck-aw Hog.
Po-sha-chee Cat.
Yep-e-fa-e-caw Sheep.
E-fa-chee Puppy.
Cho-wa-taw Goat.
Wal-ka Cow.
BIRDS
O-so-waw Bird.
O-chot-aw Black bird.
Shock-kil-law Black bird (red wing).
Wa-to-law Whooping crane.
O-shaw-o-waw Crow.
Hi-lo-lo Curlew.
Hi-lo-lo-chaw-tee Curlew (pink).
Posh-e-ho-we Dove.
Fo-cho Duck.
Hat-tit-e-fon-caw Eagle.
Sho-caw Hawk.
Sho-ko-chee Sparrow hawk.
Hos-cho-kee-waw Fish hawk.
Wak-ko-lot-ko Heron (great blue).
Wak-ko-lot-ko-o-hi-lot-tee Heron (little blue).
Fost-chi-taw Red bird.
Hi-lo-lo Ibis (white).
Tos-chee Jay (blue).
Pen-na-waw Turkey.
We-hot-ko-fo-sho-wo-chee Snipe.
Eash-pock-a-waw Robin.
Fost-chi-taw Red bird.
Sho-lee Vulture.
Sho-lee-pee-los-pes-ko Vulture (black).
Chip-ee-lop-law Whippoorwill.
Fo-a-kee Quail.
Pen-nit-kee Turkey hen.
Pen-na-waw-en-to-wee Turkey beard.
Pen-cha-ho-gaw Turkey cry.
Pen-ni-chaw Turkey gobbler.
Fo-shon-nits-kaw Rookery.
Shee Feathers.
Lo-cha-e-stow-cha-kee Egg.
O-cho-ko King fisher.
Ho-shock-e-a-caw Limpkin.
O-shi-hi-yi Mocking bird.
E-fo-law Owl (screech).
Pot-see-lon-ee Paroquet.
To-to-lo-chee Chicken.
O-shot-caw Heron (great white).
O-shot-co-chee Heron (little white).
O-pal Owl (eared).
E-chee-pa-hot-tee Mother Cary’s chicken
(Petrel).
FISH AND REPTILES
Sar-sho Fish.
Sar-sho-o-kee-lon-waw Cat fish.
Whit-lo-ko Oyster.
Shar-lo Trout.
To-how-how-waw Trunk.
Sar-sho-chee Minnow.
Shup-sho-chee Pickerel.
Al-la-pa-taw Alligator.
Aw-pa-to-naw Frog.
Chit-ta-mic-co Chief of snakes.
Chit-ko-la-la-go-chee Rattle snake.
Ko-tee Toad.
Chit-ta-lus-tee Black snake.
Aw-shock-o-law Snail.
Ho-lock-waw Turtle (soft shell).
Lo-chaw Turtle (land).
Chit-ta-lock-a-chee Snake (spotted).
O-co-la-chit-ta Snake (green).
Skin-cho-caw Frog (tree).
Gotch-es-waw Turtle.
INSECTS
Tock-o-cha-cha-tee Ant (red).
Tock-o-cha-lus-tee Ant (black).
Fo-a Bee.
Chil-lock-o-fo-a Bee (drone).
Cuff-ko Flea.
Cho-naw Fly.
Scop-o-swaw Gnat.
A-caw-ko-taw Grasshopper.
Chil-lock-o-do-no Horse fly.
Taw-fo Katy-did.
O-he-aw Mosquito.
Och-klo-klon Spider.
U-e-cot-taw Worm.
Och-o-klon-we-ahr Spider web.
To-ka-tes-kee-at-tee-lo-e-waw Silk worm.
Soke-so Beetle (black).
PLANTS
Lock-e-tum-ba-e-cee Oak leaf.
Ech-to-fa-la-ha-lee Chip.
E-to Wood (to burn).
Cho-lee-saw Pine leaf.
Im-pock-pock-ee Flower.
Pi-hee Grass.
Gatch-ho-ho-e-claw Blackberry.
Aw-won-aw Willow tree.
Chit-ta-hum-pe-ta Snake plant.
Til-e-ko Oats.
Shot-i-pee Persimmon tree.
Shot-taw Persimmon.
Shot-o-nin-kla Persimmon seed.
Gotch-o Poison vine.
Aw-shen-lock-o Air plant.
Aw-shen-waw Moss.
Shil-o-fo-haw Water lily.
We-sho Sassafras.
Tol-o-lock-o Palmetto (cabbage tree).
Tol-o-chee Palmetto (young
cabbage-tree).
Tol-o-neck-la Palmetto seed.
She-hop-paw Saw palmetto.
Aw-shit-ta-taw Gall berries.
Aw-tock-claw Weed.
Chaw-fo-ka-naw Huckleberries.
Hi-lis-hot-kee Ginseng.
He-swan-i-hit-caw Quinine.
Gout-lock-o Cactus.
Com-to-lock-o Peanut.
Ti-fum-bee Onion.
Hee-chee Tobacco.
O-chee-o-pee Hickory tree.
Kee Mulberry tree.
Hatch-in-e-haw Cypress tree.
E-la-hock-o Shaddock (grapefruit).
THE FIRMAMENT--PHYSICAL PHENOMENA, ETC.
Go-chee-som-po-lock-o Large star.
Go-chee-som-pol-e-poch-go-chee Small star.
Cho-go-lof-caw Seven stars.
Ho-nit-claw North star.
Wa-hit-law South star.
Ho-so-shaw East star.
Aw-hil-lot-caw West star.
Ha-shay Sun.
Hit-to-tee Frost.
It-to-tee Ice.
We-wa Water.
Os-e-caw Rain.
Ti-nit-kee Thunder.
Ot-to-e-hot-tit Lightning.
Go-ti-lee Wind.
Ha-notch-e-fo-law Whirlwind.
E-ho-tee Ground.
O-ti-lee-lock-o Storm.
Ha-shay-shay-pock-taw-lo-gaw Eclipse of the sun.
Ho-nit-chaw North.
Ha-so-saw East.
Wa-ha-law South.
Op-a-lock-aw West.
Ha-lits-cha-shay-pock-ta-lo-gaw Eclipse of the moon.
Hi-yi-tee-e-chaw Morning star.
E-pof-kee Evening.
Hi-e-ta-ma-es-chee Heat.
Chit-cho Dew.
Ho-lo-chee A cloud.
KINSHIP
Sop-po-chee My son.
Chat-hos-tee My daughter.
Solk-go-chee My father.
Sots-kee My mother.
E-chock-o-tee Brother.
E-cho-see Brother (younger).
E-la-ha Brother (older).
Cho-wen-waw Sister.
Cha-hi-e-waw My wife.
Squaw Wife.
Picc-a-nin-ny Child.
VERBS, PHRASES, SENTENCES
Ah-ho-chee To plant.
Tote-ca-taw To whistle.
E-lo-chaw To date.
Lop-ko Make haste.
Ah-mos-chay To give.
Chim-moc-co-dos-chay Not to give.
Hum-bi-da-lon-es-chay To feed.
Yi-es-chay To sell.
Neich-hi-es-chee Not to buy.
Hock-ka-eet-kit To cry.
Op-peel-it To laugh.
E-hi-e-kit To sing.
Fi-i-it-lot-es-chee To hunt.
Oh-in-i-it To smell.
Clot-la-klip-chay To break.
Sop-pa-lon-es-chay To sleep.
He-ches-chee To see.
Im-po-hos-chee To hear.
Ah-es-chay Go.
Hi-e-pus To go.
Chi-yot-chit To like.
Aw-lock-chay To come.
Cha-ho-sit Forgot.
O-ko-sit Wash.
He-chus-chee Saw.
Fit-kon-nit Wait.
Hal-wuk It is bad.
Hink-las It is good.
Hi-o-e-pus-chay Two go.
Hi-op-pee-pox-es-chay Three or more go.
I-wox-chee Many come.
Aw-mul-cay All come.
No-chip-os-chay Go sleep (you).
Clot-la-klip-chay Broken (to break).
Sup-pa-lon-es-chay I take.
Chi-ho-ches-chee I am lost.
Che-ho-shar You are lost.
E-wa-kee-pa-lon-es-chay Lie down, but not to sleep.
Hum-kin-mi-si-e-pit Take one.
Ye-hi-e-pa-taw To sing.
So-toke-kee-na-aw-aw-mun-chee Give me money.
Hi-e-pus-chay I go.
Ot-som-ka-taw To go up steps.
Hi-top-ka-taw To go down steps.
Hock-it To whistle.
Cho-ho-sit Forgot.
Chi-yot-chee I want.
E-see-op-cop-e-taw To ride.
Chee-yi-chee Do you want?
Mot-to Thank you.
Es-tel-e-pi-e-ka-u-cha-ko-ot-e-he To put moccasins on.
Kit-lix-chay Don’t know.
Kit-li-es-chay I know.
Aw-kay-lot-kit Go in.
Lop-ko-sin-ot-tos-chay Come quick.
Chee-to-gaw To pole a boat.
Scof-gaw To row a boat.
Hum-pux-chay-hum-pee-taw You eat plenty.
No-chee-pa-lon-es-chay I am going to sleep.
Sa-lof-ka-chop-kaw My knife is large (sword).
Sa-lof-ka-chee My knife is small.
A-pok-es-chay All sit down.
No-chip-os-chay Go sleep (you).
Che-mo-on-ot-es-chay Are you sleepy?
I-hoo-es-chay Let us go.
Ho Yes.
Li-kus-chay Sit down.
Hi-top-cay-ta-li-kus-chay Sit down on steps.
No-chit-pay-lon-es-chay Lie down and sleep.
Its-kee-e-i-chee-tok-naw Mother wants to keep him.
In-ka-o-ko-sit Wash hands.
Mi-e-taw Tall (tree).
Che-mi-hee Grow (you or me).
Che-mi-hee-ta-mi-hee-cha-mi-he-taw Grow very tall.
Aw-ne-chee-mi-he-taw I grow.
I-ti-it-tot-chi-mi-he-taw-mi-he-taw- I will grow tall.
te-hee
Ha-tee-e-tew-chee-hick-chay-hit-es-chay Glad to see you.
E-cho-lid-kit-he-chus-chee I saw deer run.
E-cho-ti-een-lid-kit-he-chus-chee I saw deer run fast.
E-cho-lid-kit-smi-hi-ko-in-in-he- I saw deer run slow.
chus-chee
E-cho-yak-op-po-sit Deer walk.
E-cho-yak-op-po-sit-hi-chus-chee I saw the deer walk.
E-cho-mo-chon-it-ta-we-wa-ah-kay- To-day I saw a deer go
lot-kit-o-mi-e-it-i-in-he-chus-chee in the water and swim.
Il-lich-is-caw Did you kill it?
Lop-fi-eets-chay Let us hunt.
Im-po-hitch-caw Do you hear?
He-chos-kos-chay I can’t find it.
To-pa-li-kus-chay Sit on floor (you).
Pish-wa-chi-us-chee I want some meat.
Aw-som-es-chee-aw-pish-waw Pass me the meat.
Lox-a-dox-chay You lie.
Is-chay-to-ma-es-chee Wind blew hard.
He-a-maw Come here.
Suck-chay All gone.
Aw-pok-es-chay All sit down.
Ha-sha-col-lock-tit Sun gone down.
Ha-sha-i-sit Sun come up.
To-ko-naw-yo-ko-dos-chay Money, no sell ’em.
On-e-way Me too.
Un-gaw All right.
Nock-a-tee What is it?
Stom-a-taw Which way?
Aw-lip-ka-shaw Good-by.
Aw-tee-tus-chee By-and-by.
Ho-lo-wa-gus No good.
Hi-lip-pit-ka-shaw How are you?
Som-mus-ka-lar-nee-shaw Good luck.
Ya-maw This way.
Hock-es-chee Bird cry.
Chi-yot-chit Like them.
Chee Young or small.
O-fun-net-taw Long time.
En-cha-mun-chay Well or good.
Ho-nit-chay Wild.
Ni-hit-tus-chay Fat.
Wi-o-kee-tus-chay Poor.
Es-to-chee-hock-a-effee Baby cry.
E-yof-kee-hum-pee-taw Supper (before dark).
E-mots-kee-hum-pee-taw Supper (after dark).
Kan-yuk-sa-es-ta-chat-tee Florida red men.
Yo-ho-ee-hee War whoop.
Aw-pox-see-lim-pox-say-nist-lee Day after to-morrow night.
Stu-es-taw A great deal, or too much.
Ya-ti-ka-chic-co Great Speaker
(Commissioner).
Munks-chay No.
Hi-lit-la-ma-es-chay Too hot (fire water).
Im-e-lo-la-tee-ti-yee Water rough.
Ko-no-wa-hum-kin-mo-so-nit-ta-wi- I want a string of beads
yy-ches-chee to-day.
Shot-cay-taw Green Corn Dance.
In-like-e-taw Heaven.
E-shock-e-tom-e-see The Supreme Ruler or the
white man’s God.
E-shock-e-tom-e-see-e-po-chee God’s son, Christ.
His-a-kit-a-mis-i Great Spirit.
Po-ya-fits-a Indian’s heaven.
Il-lit Death.
Som-mus-ka-lar-nee-sha-maw-lin Good wishes to white man.
THE INDIAN NAMES OF SOME PRESENT
SEMINOLES
Tallahassee Mic-co.
So-fan-gee Mi-la-kee.
Fi-lan-e-hee Tal-la-has-so-wee.
Las-ches-chee Fo-ston-sto-noc-ee-la.
Ko-i-hat-cho Cal-lo-fo-nee.
Yee-ho-lo-chee Tol-lo-see.
O-mul-la-gee Shon-o-la-kee.
She-y-o-hee On-nit-chee.
Sla-shing-to-goth-la-gee I-o-chus-chee.
Che-e-ho-la Suck-kin-ho-chee.
Sten-o-la-kee Os-ce-o-la.
Cho-fee-hat-cho Mat-lo.
Os-shen-e-ho-la Nan-ces-o-wee.
Ho-puth-tee-na-gee Tal-lem-ee.
Tin-fai-yai-ki Kat-ca-la-ni.
Stem-e-o-la-ga Chots-kee.
Ko-nip-hatch-o Tus-tee-nug-gee.
She-lock-ee Suc-kin-ho-chee.
Ta-ses-chee Me-take-ee.
Fo-so-wa-tos-to-nock-ee Cat-sa-ma-tel-e-kee.
I-o-chus-chee Fol-lem-mee.
Hi-e-tee Na-haw.
Hi-ta-kee Ho-ti-yee.
Shon-tee Ful-le-he-le-chee.
Na-gof-tee I-o-la-chee.
Chick-e-o-hee Sten-e-wah-hee.
Cli-so-to-kee-ti-ga Chip-co.
RHYTHMICAL NAMES OF SOME FLORIDA
LAKES, RIVERS AND TOWNS
Imprints of the Vanishing Race are indelibly stamped upon
the Geography of Florida
To-hope-ke-li-ga Noc-a-tee
Ko-mo-ka As-ta-tu-la
Wa-hoo A-lach-u-a
Chat-ta-hoo-chee We-ki-va
Chip-po-la Ca-loo-sa-hat-chee
Man-a-tee Ock-lo-wa-ha
Mi-am-ee Ock-lock-o-nee
Ok-a-lo-a-coo-chee Choc-ta-what-chee
Ta-lu-ga Hatch-in-a-ha
Ap-pa-lach-i-cola Is-to-po-ga
Pen-sa-co-la Pan-a-soff-kee
Al-li-ga-tor Chu-lu-o-ta
O-lus-tee Im-mo-ka-lee
Wac-cas-sas-see Mus-co-gee
Ap-pa-lach-ee Wa-cis-sa
O-kee-cho-bee O-kee-fe-no-kee
We-wa-hatch-ka Su-wan-nee
Oc-ta-hatch-ee Nar-coos-see
Pic-o-la-ta Kan-yuk-sa
Is-ta-chat-ta Stein-hatch-ee
In-dian-o-la Chu-muck-la
Tus-ca-wil-la Wee-took-ka
Al-la-pa-ha Wa-ku-la
Wa-bas-so La-coo-chee
Is-to-po-ga-yo-ree O-ka-hump-kin
Pin-co-la Wa-kee-na
Tho-not-os-sas-sa My-ak-ka
Hic-po-chee O-ka-lo-a-coo-chee
Cho-ko-los-kee O-ca-la
Mic-co-su-kee Ho-mo-sas-sa
Pa-lat-ka Os-ce-o-la
With-la-coo-chee Tal-la-hass-ee
O-co-ee Tus-ca-loo-sa
A-pop-ka Mic-an-o-pee
Kiss-imm-eé
THE END
EDITOR’S NOTE.
In this enlarged and illustrated edition of “The Seminoles of
Florida,” the demand for which seems to come insistently from every
hand, the author wishes to acknowledge the courtesy and great
kindness of Mr. C. B. Reynolds and Mr. E. W. Histed for their
assistance in its illustrations.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Catlin and others give “the black drink” as the signification of
Osceola, or Asseola, from the man’s capacity for that drink. Asseola
was doubtless the original and true name. But “Asse” or “hasse,” in
the present Seminole tongue, means “the sun.” This, with the affix
“ola,” or “he-ho-lar,” would mean “the rising sun” rather than “the
black drink.”
[2] As a glimpse into Indian character, it is worth recalling that
Tecumseh, the Shawnee Chief, rose to the distinction of a Brigadier
General in the British Army under King George III, in the War of 1812.
[3] Since the above writing, the Department of the Interior has
investigated the status of the swamp land and the Government has
guaranteed against purchase 23,000 acres of land to be held in trust
for the Indians. Only a small part of it is arable, but when all else
is wrested from these Indians, they may retire in safety to this land.
[4] Since the above writing, word has been received from the Indian
camp as follows: “Hungry Land, Fla., Tallahassee, big sleep, one
Moon.”
[5] For history of Coa-coo-chee (Wild-Cat) see page 33.
[6] Vocabulary prepared by J. M. Willson Jr.
[7] In this vocabulary the words are arranged according to their
subject or character, no attention being paid to alphabetical
succession.
Transcriber’s Notes
The table of contents and chapter/section headings have been left
as they appeared in the original source without correction. Any
inconsistencies are as the author and publisher intended.
Inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation such as “Billy
Bowlegs”/“Billie Bowlegs” and “hommock”/“hammock” have been
maintained.
Minor punctuation errors have been silently corrected and, except
for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text, and
inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained.
Foreword: “the decendants, ten years ago” changed to “the
descendants, ten years ago”.
List of Illustrations: “Hi-a-tee, Captain Tom Tiger” changed to
“Hi-e-tee, Captain Tom Tiger”.
Page 8: “the war with Great Britian” changed to “the war with Great
Britain”.
Page 9: “the Indians on the Appalachicola” changed to “the Indians
on the Apalachicola”.
Page 15: “OF DADES’ FORCES” changed to “OF DADE’S FORCES”.
Page 16: “The affair of Dades’ Massacre” changed to “The affair of
Dade’s Massacre”.
Page 21: (Illustration) “MICANOPEE—HE WAS THE KING” changed to
“MICANOPY—HE WAS THE KING”.
Page 26: “a single Seminole chieftan” changed to “a single Seminole
chieftain”.
Page 31: “on hands and kness” changed to “on hands and knees”.
Page 35: “an interesting acount” changed to “an interesting
account”.
Page 40: “After Govermental hunting” changed to “After Governmental
hunting”.
Page 40: “went with sore unwillingless” changed to “went with sore
unwillingness”.
Page 46: “pampared slave of the old aristocracy” changed to
“pampered slave of the old aristocracy”.
Page 57: “some grevious wrong” changed to “some grievous wrong”.
Page 60: “the adventursome warriors” changed to “the adventuresome
warriors”.
Page 70: “the blessings of Chrisitanity” changed to “the blessings
of Christianity”.
Page 70: “the Seminole as he rufuses” changed to “the Seminole as
he refuses”.
Page 76: “improvement is scarcely noticable” changed to
“improvement is scarcely noticeable”.
Page 79: “peace and safty” changed to “peace and safety”.
Page 85: “According to date” changed to “According to data”.
Page 88: “from shawls or collossal handkerchiefs” changed to “from
shawls or colossal handkerchiefs”.
Page 92: “a teriffic coast storm” changed to “a terrific coast
storm”.
Page 101: “out baggage was unloaded” changed to “our baggage was
unloaded”.
Page 116: “to the birde’s house” changed to “to the bride’s house”.
Page 116: “camp songs and the lullabys” changed to “camp songs and
the lullabies”.
Page 124: “There tribal organization” changed to “Their tribal
organization”.
Page 131: “sugar cane, sweet potates” changed to “sugar cane, sweet
potatoes”.
Page 136: “covenient” changed to “convenient”.
Page 139: “ride landed us at Bassenger” changed to “ride landed us
at Basinger”.
Page 164: “Man appeared to the Indain” changed to “Man appeared to
the Indian”.
Page 167: “forsaken, pitable appearance” changed to “forsaken,
pitiable appearance”.
Page 198: “greater than her land possesions” changed to “greater
than her land possessions”.
Page 240: “a history so litle” changed to “a history so little”.
Page 244: “forth, and as Floridans” changed to “forth, and as
Floridians”.
Page 261: (Vocabulary) “Accordeon” changed to “Accordion”.
Page 270: (Vocabulary) “Limkin” changed to “Limpkin”.
Page 270: (Vocabulary) “schreech” changed to “screech”.
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