Chapter IV: Part 4

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.

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.

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.

_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.

_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.”

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.