Chapter II: Part 2

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.

_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.

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.

_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.