Chapter VII: Part 7

With the exhilaration of boys, the men took turns with each other as they posed with the instruction, “Now you snap while I stand beside Billy.” The Seminole chieftain was the only calm one; he was as passive and immobile as a bronze statue.

The cornet band divided honors with the newly elected mayor and volunteered a serenade.

Whether it was the courtesy of an automobile ride, or being addressed by guests, both Billy and his sister received the attentions with such a quiet grace and refinement as if to the manner born, causing an admiring tourist to give Stem-o-la-kee, the title “A Princess of the Everglades” and calling Billy the “Red Knight of Okee-cho-bee,” titles as much in order today as those bestowed three centuries ago on the Lady Rebecca, the far-famed Pocahontas.

STEM-O-LA-KEE.

Seldom, if ever, has a Seminole squaw stepped beyond the boundaries of her trackless Everglade home to visit the home of the white man; to study a Seminole woman at close range and yet far from her forest refuge, is a privilege seldom experienced. An incident is recalled when a young squaw, in company with her brother, was making her first visit to civilization.

The couple had traveled three hundred miles by ox cart, canoe and railroad. Reaching their destination, they were escorted to a waiting automobile, when they were whirled away to the home of the pale-face and enjoyed this first ride in the “fire wagon,” with the same dignity and calmness that they would do in their cypress dugout canoes along the water courses of their saw-grass homes.

Stem-o-la-kee, with the natural feminine instinct, soon showed her domestic sense, her native frontier nature for the time being relegated to memories. The easy couch and cushioned rocker appealed to her sense of luxury. The delight of pouring tea from the silver pot was an unending pleasure. She admired the furnishings and belongings of the white home, but when asked if she would like to live in such an abode her answer came, quick and decisive: “Munks-chay (no), white man’s home like littly bit, one week me think _my_ home, Okee-cho-bee.” Significant was her summary of civilization--humble though her wigwam, she loved it with all the ardor of her savage heart. This young woman, three hundred miles from her forest home, showed inborn grace and dignity in her demeanor. Particularly was she interested in the pictures on the wall, but, on recognizing the portrait of Osceola, all her frontier nature was aroused and, with vindictive spirit and trembling with suppressed emotion, she exclaimed:

“Indian’s big Chief, long time ago! White man kill ’im!”

She knew the perfidy of Osceola’s capture under the white flag of truce as well as any American student.

This untutored and innocent child of the forest became a most interesting personal study. Friendly and courteous, there yet shone out from her wonderful eyes an unapproachableness that made a gulf between the white woman and the red woman.

Stem-o-la-kee wore many strands of glittering beads, which to the Seminole woman mean everything--usefulness, caste and the wealth of her husband or father. She never appears without this insignia of her position, and in the particular instance of this Glade visitor, when the doctor whom she had come to consult ordered the removal of the necklace on account of its great weight, medical authority and savage superstition clashed. Stem-o-la-kee reluctantly obeyed the doctor’s order, in part, by removing a few strands. She had not brought all her beads, nor her beaten silver ornaments, with her, which are used for full dress and ceremonial occasions, and seemed to feel an embarrassment over this, explaining: “Plenty beads means good squaw. My home Okee-cho-bee, me got a plenty; sick too much,” meaning she had come on an errand for health and not for a social visit. To these suntanned women of the Everglades, the beads play an important part all through life.

When the little pappoose is a year old, she is given her first string, with its “first year bead.” This bead is always larger and of different color.

A string of beads is allowed for each year until she marries. At her marriage, her mother gives her many new strands, and, if she is a chief’s daughter, she receives many gifts of beads at her wedding. The beads play such an important part in the career of a Seminole woman that they are always given as a reward for any prowess and a mother is allowed two strings for each child born. In full dress many of the squaws wear from twenty to thirty pounds of glass beads, varying in size and color--the colors blending in perfect harmony.

When the squaw reaches middle life, she begins to take off her beads, one string at a time, as so many moons go by, until but one string is left.

She is now an old woman, too old to work, and the single strand she wears is made up of the “life beads” and buried with her.

During Stem-o-la-kee’s stay, though tired and weak from illness, and with a constant knocking at the door by wee tots, as well as older visitors, who came to “shake hands with the Indian woman,” the young squaw showed nothing but grace and good feeling to the visitors. On all such occasions she would, in a twinkling, don her new and gayly colored dress, add the discarded ropes of beads, give a twist to her raven hair, and would appear at the parlor door, shy, but with eyes shining and with a pleasing smile, stand ready to give the usual gracious hand grasp and then as quickly and noiselessly glide away, like a timid deer, to the improvised couch which had been made for her.

As Stem-o-la-kee, in her broken English, told of the forest home, a picture of her wigwam dwelling became very vivid; such a picture inspires courage and touches chords of sympathy in one’s make-up.

In a solitude, which only nature reveals, this brown-skinned people live amid the shadows of the great live oaks, seeing God in the clouds and hearing him in the winds. One sees the happy, turban-crowned braves move about and dusky squaws glide in and out, watching with careful eyes the toddling pappooses, as they play on the grassy sward; the laughing of the huntsman is heard and the songs of the Seminole Minnehaha make the night beautiful.

During the visit of these Seminoles, a protracted meeting was in session with a noted divine in charge. With no disrespect intended to the ministerial work, it was amusing to hear the question many times asked: “Are the Seminoles going to church to-night?” Sufficient to induce a crowd.

Another visit of a Seminole family is still fresh in memory. The visit had been planned for many, many moons. With the exception of one Indian, who acted as escort and friendly interpreter, none of these Seminoles had ever been in the white man’s home, yet they accepted the change from the weird morasses with the simplest dignity. The party of six were all in neat, yet brilliant attire--all save little eight-year-old Mop-o-hatch-ee, whose travel-stained dress worried the mistress of the home, for they were all expected to attend the church Christmas tree that evening.

Asking Cho-fee-hatch-ee if the little one had another dress, he replied: “She no got ’em; she wash her dress.” Feeling this an impossible task we replied, “No, she is too little,” but being assured that this little red-skinned tot was equal to the emergency, she was permitted to proceed with the order from Cho-fee-hatch-ee. A cunning picture she made, as her long, black hair fell around her shoulders and she, with nature’s washboard (her tiny hands), rubbed the quaintly made dress until it was clean and ready to be dried. To expedite the work, a negro was called in to take the dress to be ironed; a glance at Mop-o-hatch-ee revealed a forest child convulsed with sobs. Not understanding a word of English, she thought her only dress was being taken from her.

Only once during the visit of these Everglade people was there any apparent curiosity evinced, and this was within an hour after their arrival, when the hostess had been called to the telephone.

Looking back, she saw the two children peering into the room through the French window, wondering, no doubt, what foolish thing the mistress of the house could be doing. At another time, old Martha Tiger, the aged grandmother, came close to the ’phone with a quizzical look, when it was vaguely explained we were “talking to the store man down town.” In American history, old Martha and her contemporaries antedate the telephone, for with smoke signals and “listening posts” their warriors’ quickness in getting news of the enemy puzzled many an American officer.

Pictures from the _Geographical Magazine_ and letters from the old “blue back” spelling book interested all these Everglade people, except old Martha Tiger who said “She old too much.”

Who shall say there is no hope for these forest people?

As this visit drew to a close and that feeling of homiletic friendliness was apparent when some humor might be indulged in, it was suggested that Show-lod-ka, the good-looking ten-year-old boy, should remain and learn to drive the automobile, and that Mop-o-hatch-ee stay with him. These two motherless children are the direct descendants of the old Chieftain Tallahassee, whose grim and determined patriotism eighty years ago wrenched his tribe from the white man’s bullets and Uncle Sam’s bloodhounds. These children were devoted to each other.

A few minutes later, little Mop-o-hatch-ee sat on a chair, her feet swinging, and rubbing her eyes to stay the tears. “She ’fraid you keep her,” the older Indian explained, and the boy with the same fear had slipped off to his sleeping quarters.

Love for their Everglade home is instilled into every Seminole. They love the country bequeathed by their ancestors--the gift of the Great Spirit to his red children of Florida, with a love that is, at times, frenzied in its demonstration.

To see to it, that these native people have protection, education and Christianity, must be the duty of this America of ours, this America which stands ready to protect the weak and the oppressed of all nations.

When the citizenship of this liberty loving country awakens to the needs of the stranded red race of 600 souls in the heart of the Big Cypress, then, and not till then will these original owners be led out of the darkness of a conquered people into the light of progress and civilization.

It is not surprising that thousands of our Florida tourists make efforts to see the descendants of America’s primeval people. Many times attempts are made by the adventurous tourist to visit a Seminole village in the secluded cypress region of the Glade Wilderness; but alas! after dragging themselves over the marshy, cutting saw-grass prairies, they find what? A deserted camp, possibly the coals still burning in the camp fire, but the Indians, hie-pus (all gone) hiding in some secret haunt.

Still, it is a common sight, particularly at Miami to see a Seminole family as they pole the rude craft, a dugout cypress canoe, along the river.

Dressed in a way, bizarre and ludicrous, to our white man’s way of thinking, still strikingly dignified.

The brave poles the boat while the squaws watch the family belongings. At the other end of the boat, a group of round faced and exceedingly quiet little Seminoles brightly garbed in red and blue calico, sit, much more interested in the shadows in the water, than in the people on shore.

It is but natural that Americans, who know the Seminole, should feel an innate respect for them, especially if we reflect that the strain of the old Aztec runs through their veins and produces the same heroic fortitude that made Guatemotziu, the last of the Aztec Emperors, under the torture of fire by Cortez, reply with ironical stoicism to his persecutors, “Am I on a bed of roses?”

Today the Seminole suffers and endures without complaint and retains his old-time pride. As is known, the Seminole in polite but in positive terms, refuses presents of any magnitude from white friends. “Littly presents me take, big presents, money cost ’im too much, Indian no take.”

When it was learned that a chieftain had not only lost his camp and all his belongings by fire, amounting to about three hundred dollars, and that he had had the expense of a trip to see a physician, that would appall the average wage earner, some members of the Society of the “Friends of the Florida Seminoles” suggested that a purse be made up for his benefit. Then came the delicate point of making such a suggestion. Cho-fee-halch-o, with the old-time pride of his ancestors, in answer to the question whether he would take money for his expenses, replied: “Me no think so; my money me make. My own money me spend. Me no take it.”

Where is the Anglo-Saxon who could refuse good American dollars when free for the acceptance?

With a race so proud, too honorable to beg, yet clinging with a desperate effort to their beloved Florida, what must we, as Americans, do but protect them?

HOME AND RELIGION.

It is a long way from the savagery of the jungle to the doors of civilization, where, when the confidence and faith of the Seminole has been won, he becomes as trusting and confiding as a little child. The endeavor to show the Seminole what Christianity stands for has been one of the most complex problems encountered.

“Not to lie, not to steal, not to cheat and to think with God,” is practiced with precision.

The Seminole, with most reverend attitude, listens to the returning of thanks, at the white man’s table and with the question put, “Billy, do Seminoles talk to God and ask Him to give them food and homes?” “Munks-chay” (No), replied the Indian, “no ask Him.”

Then, as if a light dawned, as to the nature of our study, he told of a hunting experience of a few weeks before, when he had acted as guide for a northern tourist. For three days the red huntsman had sought all the bayous for deer, but “deer hie-pus (all gone). Man feel sorry ojus (plenty). Night come, we wake two o’clock, moon shine bright, me hear water laugh. Me see big e-cho (deer) swim across the river. My gun me take. Kill big deer. Me tell Great Spirit ‘Me thank you.’ White man glad ojus; he go back to New York, take big buck antlers--he say he kill big deer in Everglades.”

The Seminole, like his ancient ancestors, thanks the Great Spirit for blessings received, but does not beseech favors.

Can you not imagine the startled emotion experienced when, after trying to tell a stalwart, honest Seminole something of civilization and Christianity, he with all deference of a Chieftain answered: “Me no think me want to be civilized. Me think me get civilized, me lie, steal, cheat. Some day big sleep come. Me want to go to Happy Hunting Grounds. Me want to see Great Spirit; me want to see my grandfather. Me no think white man go to Heaven.”

How would _you_ answer such philosophy?

The Seminole believes that when Eschock-ee-tom-e-see (the Supreme Being) calls him hence, that his spirit will make its last journey to the Happy Hunting Grounds of his fathers, winging its way over the seven colored rainbow of the heavens--the “Highway of the Great Spirit.”

SEMINOLE INCIDENTS.

An incident, linking past Seminole history with the present, is full of interest, because so old, and yet so new.

Just eighty years ago, at the time the great Chieftain Osceola was betrayed near St. Augustine, with him was another Chieftain, by name of John Jumper.

History has not failed to record the life and death of Osceola, but of John Jumper little has been written outside of Government records.

Jumper was taken prisoner to the Indian territory. Many years after he was converted by a missionary and being a musical leader among his tribe, naturally grasped the white man’s melodies.

Later he composed a religious hymn. During the last visit of the Everglade Seminoles to Kissimmee, as is the custom, they attended the church service. At the close of the sermon, the minister gave a little talk to the Indians and sang a song in the Seminole tongue, which was very beautiful and so rhythmical that when once lodged in the brain, the tune refused to be dislodged. The minister, Dr. A. J. Holt, explained to the congregation that he had learned the hymn more than forty years ago from Colonel John Jumper in the Indian territory. This Chieftain had enlisted in the Civil War, where he was promoted to the rank of Colonel under the Confederate colors.

Returning from the church services, we were eager to know from the Indians if they had understood the Seminole song. One Indian, very musical, said: “Yes, me sing it good,” which he did to perfection, not omitting a single note or word. How did the young Seminole learn the words and tune so quickly? He explained, “me learn it in Everglades.” Certainly a remarkable incident. The solution was easy. An educated Oklahoma Indian Missionary, visiting the Everglades the year previous, had taught the song to these Seminoles.

Another incident, showing mechanical genius as well as love of music is here appended.

A few years ago when the Coast towns of Florida were still primitive, a store keeper had purchased in New York an old-fashioned organette, that played five tunes. The Seminoles at that time frequently came on purchasing expeditions to these trading villages. Cho-fee-hatch-o, progressive and musical, listened to the “box of music” as it played in the little store, and was entranced with the melodies.

Soon after, the organette refused to “go” and the trader told his friends, that unless he could “stick it on the Indians, he would be out thirty-five dollars.” A few days later, the Chief with another Indian, came back to the store bringing produce to sell. The white trader wanted the Indian’s goods and suggested to the Chief that he exchange for the music box, telling the innocent Seminole that “music box no more play, wake up by and by and play good, him tired now.” The Seminole with his mechanical knowledge, looked the organette over, and making the trade, proudly left with the “tired out” music box under his arm.

The next day, the two Indians returned, bringing with them the music box to show to the storekeeper. “That box, him no more tired,” and winding up the machine, which the ingenious Seminole had put into working order, played the whole five tunes, to the astonishment and chagrin of the trader. “Him play good at Green Corn Dance, down Okee-cho-bee.”

Several years after the organette was still doing service in the Seminole camps, where, with its aboriginal settings it seemed to fill a niche that harmonized with the forests, with the timid stars that hung overhead, with the wigwams and the shadowy flicker of the camp fire.

The ancestral music of the Seminole is full of a wild, weird melody, where men and women and little children join voices. As the Indians sing, you may hear the melancholy waters whisper a pensive good-night and the drowsy birds flutter in their boughs. You hear the camp songs and the lullabies like voices trained in the woodland with a strain of heartbreak, where life and love steal forth in fanciful ecstasy and the vanished souls seem to call back in tenuous fragments of mystery, only to die away into a symphony of sorrow, as the melodies echo across the dark wilderness.

MESSAGES FROM THE EVERGLADES.

Requests come so often for more details regarding these silent children of the forests, and interesting as well as unique are the letters and messages that come from the Everglades.

With the ox team and fleet footed Indian messengers, together with Uncle Sam’s quick mail service, communications reach the white man’s town, as per the will of the Seminole. With the Indians’ promise to keep us informed of their needs, births, marriages and ambitions (for the Seminole never breaks his word), a recent letter from the wigwam reads: “Me want to tell you we have not forgotten you.” Then comes the interesting part, “My sister She-y-o-hee got little pappoose, six days old; it is a girl.” Added to this is another birth record: “Shon-o-la-kee got one too, ten days old; it is a boy.” Certainly in the Everglades among the first families of America, the birth register is kept intact. The letter continues: “Me send you pumpkins seed.” (These are the Indian pumpkin, a tree climbing variety known to the American soldiers eighty years ago.)

In this day of food conservation and scientific economy, it may be well to make a comparison. The seeds were distributed among friends and neighbors, some delicious pumpkins were raised and enjoyed, but alas! for a future crop! Not a seed was saved and to the wigwam seed bag must we go if more pumpkins are planted.

It can hardly be disputed, that the Seminoles, in their migrations from Mexico brought the seeds with them.

To Dr. Howard A. Kelly, widely known surgeon, traveller, lecturer and philanthropist, are we indebted for the intensely interesting bit of Aztec history, blending so well with Seminole traditions.

In Dr. Kelly’s travels in Mexico, among the carved relics of Aztec origin observed in museums was the pumpkin of Aztec days--centuries old.

When a Seminole pumpkin was sent to the doctor, he wrote back: “The very thing I tried to buy in Mexico, carved in wood. I shall treasure this and preserve it in alcohol to be handed down as a link connecting the land of Montezuma with the present day Everglade history.”

For three hundred years the Seminoles have never failed to have their crop of this edible vegetable and to save seed for the next planting.

Could not the Seminole teach us all conservation?

SEMINOLES FIRST SUFFRAGISTS.

During these latter years, when “equal rights” has crowded into State and national politics, it may be interesting to the suffrage movement in America to know that the Seminole squaws are entitled to first claim as American suffragists.

Not that they are cognizant of it, but they have gained this authority through their entire fitness for it. The women work equally with the men, bearing burdens, tanning skins and having absolute control over the children, who are instilled with the dignity of obedience from the moment their little eyes open to the world. They are capable, careful, loving mothers, good counsellors in the camp life. The Council in passing upon a vital subject, must consult the women of the camp before giving a final decision. If a squaw wishes to divorce her husband, and she can prove she has a just cause to do so, she cannot only divorce him, but she can name his punishment.

The money she makes is hers to do as she likes with. She is supreme in the home and in the management of the camp.

As is known, Sofka is the tribal dish of the Seminoles; it is a stew containing the nutriment of many foods.

The Sofka spoon or ladle, made of wood, thus becomes the much valued household article and the squaws show their authority again here, for a spoon cannot be taken from the camp without the consent of the women of the family. This ladle is frequently carved, the different households having differently shaped spoons.

The Tusteenuggees are made with full large bowls--the Osceolas have a long slim bowl, each bowl having its own particular style of Seminole “Coat of Arms.”

OSCEOLA, THE GARIBALDI OF THE SEMINOLES

Do we feel surprised that thousands of our Florida tourists make efforts to see the descendants of Osceola, the Garibaldi of the Seminoles?

That Osceola should be named Florida’s most distinguished historical character is not to be disputed. This statement, in its boldness, regarding an untutored Indian of the wilderness, at first startles, but in looking over the pages of history, the question naturally follows: “Is there another character in Florida, or even in American history, who is known from ocean to ocean and whose generalship in warfare, has the admiration of the civilized world, whose heroism is the ideal of every school boy; the story of Osceola, recounting his valor and patriotism, may be found in the classic histories of the libraries of the world.”

History has never given to the world a more regal soldier, with his magnetic personality, royal in its wild, uncivilized way.

With such reverence is Osceola regarded by the remnants of the Seminole tribe today, that the name given to him when he was accepted as a chieftain by the nation, is guarded so jealously that they refuse to reveal it to any white man who might disclose it--treating it much as the Israelites did the name of Jehovah--too sacred to pass the lips of an alien race.

Osceola’s pride was always uppermost in his negotiations and when the Seminoles were denied the right to buy ammunition, Osceola was made the object of the insult.

To this he replied with all the defiance of his proud blood: “Am I a negro? A slave who will not be allowed to handle a rifle? My skin is dark, not black. I am a Red Stick of the Muscokees. The white man shall know I am a pure blood.”

At this point, it is with much pleasure, the author desires to correct the erroneous and too often quoted statement as given in the pages of literature, viz.: that “Osceola was a half-breed, the son of an English trader.”

After much research among records, and from the learned leaders of the Western Seminoles, as well as from the old Seminoles of the Everglades, it is learned that Osceola disdained the idea of mixed blood, declaring that “not a drop of foreign blood flowed through his veins.”

His mother was a Creek of the pure blood, a daughter of a chief, whose second marriage to an Englishman (Powell, by name), occurred when Osceola was a small boy.

Osceola was magnanimous in character and honorable in war and no other crime can be charged to this chivalrous Seminole than a positive opposition to the removal of his people from their sunny, native land to the blizzard-stricken territory of the West.

Picture, if you will, a Florida war scene that in dramatic climax is matchless in the world’s history.

In the Government’s headquarters, Seminole Chieftains and American army officers wait; each are in the insignia of their respective ranks. The American flag adds dignity to the scene. Through the open windows come the fragrant perfume of the orange and the magnolia blossoms and the song of the mocking-birds adds a flute-like melody to the tropical setting.

The very air is tense with the mental questions. Will Osceola come--will Osceola sign?

Promptly at the hour appointed, the savage chieftain, royal in his warrior regalia, self-possessed and with noiseless step, enters the room. With a swift glance at the stacked arms of his warriors, he approached the council table and with defiance in his face and high uplifted head, exclaimed: “Rather than act the coward, by signing away the Seminole’s inheritance and taking my people into a strange land, I will fight till the last drop of blood moistens the dust of the Seminole’s hunting grounds,” and drawing his long sheath knife drove the blade through the treaty pinning it to the table. “The land is ours. This is the way I will sign all such treaties.”

SHALL OSCEOLA’S BONES BE REMOVED?

As a keynote to the wave of sympathy which is being felt from the Atlantic to the Pacific in the interest of the fast vanishing Seminoles, is the growing sentiment to do honor to the memory of their famous war chieftain, Osceola, the hero of the “Seven Years’ War.”

The body of Osceola is now buried under the guns of Fort Moultrie, Charleston, South Carolina. The response to the proposition to have the remains removed to their native soil is full of gratification and shows the generous sentiment in favor of the Seminole Indians. To do honor to Florida’s world-known patriot and in part, atone for the cruel capture under the truce of white flag, cannot wipe out the national stain, but will show that this new democratized America is ready to atone even at this late day.

Osceola was a soldier worthy of any race and came under the white flag to “talk” to the American general. During the “peace talk,” the ring of bayonets closed around him and seeing that he was entrapped he folded his arms scornfully and said nothing by way of protest from that moment to the day of his death. When Osceola was questioned as to why he did not make his escape, as did some of the other chiefs from the dungeon at Fort Marion, St. Augustine, he replied: “I have done nothing to be ashamed of; it is for those to feel ashamed who entrapped me.”

Enough pressure should be brought upon the National Congress to have the Government take favorable action on the removal of Osceola’s remains, and to do it at once.

Osceola County, among all the counties of Florida, has honored this liberty-loving American by choosing his historic name, and the last resting place of the Seminole patriot should be at the capital of the county which bears his name.

With simple inscription, “Osceola, Patriot and Warrior, died January 30, 1838,” the body lies at the entrance of Fort Moultrie.

Shall the Seminole hero not be given six feet of soil in his native land for a grave and sleep the sleep of the brave in the great country he loved so well?

Commenting upon the subject of Osceola and the removal of his remains to Florida soil, the _Tampa Tribune_ editorially says:

“While the zealous patriots of the present generation of Floridians would desire such a removal, with a fitting ceremony and a memorial shaft erected to the memory of this American Chieftain, it is a question if South Carolinians, and especially Charlestonians would give up the body--all that is left of the hero they gave protection to, during the last hours of his life when the rapacity of the United States soldiers jeopardized his existence.”

“Moreover, the gates of Charleston have preserved the warrior’s grave for eighty years and with the love of patriotism born in every Charlestonian heart, it is believed that an interment of Osceola’s bones in Florida as a final resting place would be met with opposition from South Carolina.”

A MEMORIAL TO OSCEOLA.

Representative Frank Clark, of Florida, has already introduced a bill in the Lower House, asking for an appropriation of $25,000 for a memorial monument to be erected in honor of Osceola.

Because of the extravagance of war, the bill has remained in its initial stage, but with the National Government reverting to pre-war ideas and the citizenship of the Nation again building to the memory of her heroes, it is believed that the Florida Congressman will have the support of his colleagues in his efforts to place a memorial to the memory of the departed Osceola.

The romantic interest around the Seminole Chieftain has been so enhanced by sympathy, that when the Blackfeet Indians from the Northwest came East on a pilgrimage, stopping at the Nation’s capital on the way, five thousand people went down to Charleston from Washington to be with them when they paid tribute to the resting place of the martyred Osceola.

A BRONZE STATUE IN THE EVERGLADES.

The Battle of Okee-cho-bee! A battle that decided the issues of two wars and proved the fitness of an American soldier for a long and glorious march from the Everglades of Florida through struggles in Mexico to the White House in Washington. Of this battle in Florida, between Indians and Americans, many have never heard, few can identify the locality and no national monument marks the spot.

Turning a historic searchlight upon this scene of eighty years ago, one sees the American soldier, Zachary Taylor, meeting the noble warrior of the Seminoles, Coa-coo-chee (Wild-Cat) in his last struggle for his country and his people.

In the wilds of the Okee-cho-bee country, a shattered remnant of the Seminoles, fought against the American army, with a victory for the white troops, defeat, of course, for the Seminoles.

The battle was planned by Coa-coo-chee,[5] who had recently escaped from the musty dungeon at St. Augustine where he and Osceola had been confined after their capture under the truce of the white flag, while negotiating with the American officers. Coa-coo-chee, as if challenging the American army with retaliation and revenge for the indignity of such a violation of recognized warfare, now combined his forces for one great battle.

Carrying their little bundles, the pitiful salvage from the wreck of their once happy homes, the Indians had fled to the dark haunts of Florida’s weird morasses. With his people already encamped in this vicinity, Coa-coo-chee naturally selected the battle ground for its advantage of position, within easy reach of his warriors and by strategy and decoys succeeded in leading the American army to the chosen site. Contrary to the usual tactics of fighting in small bands and at widely scattered points, the Seminoles staked their all in this supreme battle, apparently not awed by the overwhelming odds of four to one.

This battle brought the generalship of Colonel Taylor prominently before the world and confirmed the Nation’s faith in him, which sent him, no doubt, to the Mexican battle field.

Here he was given the task of opening the way to the Halls of the Montezumas, and from this stepping stone he soon received the Presidency of the United States as a testimonial of national appreciation.

But of Colonel Taylor’s gallant opponent, Coa-coo-chee, what shall we say? Finally surrendering, he was put in chains and transported with a ship-load of his people, a group of broken-hearted exiles, to the waiting ships at Tampa; as the transports left Tampa Bay for the far western country, the anguish of this oppressed, terror-stricken people touched the hearts of the most hardened sailor--reduced from a powerful nation to a decimated band of starving humanity, they went silent or weeping toward the land of the setting sun, driven like dumb beasts before the power of the white man.

With lingering looks, these red patriots saw the loved scenes of their homes fade away, their happy hunting grounds, the graves of their fathers--their beloved Florida.

It was the closing of a sad chapter in American history. With the battle of Okee-cho-bee, few are familiar today. Is it not a fitting location for a national park, and a monument to the memory of this noble chieftain whom we have so sadly treated?

Upon this sacred soil a battle was fought that would not shame the Greeks of Leonidas, nor the Romans of ancient days. Today the white man treads heedlessly upon the land, with no other thought than that of commercialism attuned to the jingle of dollars.

In this beautiful valley of the “Place of the Big Water” the present Seminoles, like Chief Joseph of the West, say: “We love this land more than all the rest of the world. An Indian who would not love his father’s grave is worse than the wild beasts of the forest.”

No finer or more chivalrous treatment of an enemy can be shown in history than that of Coa-coo-chee to Colonel Taylor even though the sting of his treacherous capture with his friend Osceola was fresh in his mind. No braver defense was made at Thermopylae than was made in the hammock on Lake Okee-cho-bee. The site of the Battle of Okee-cho-bee is now before the eyes of the world as a terminus of a Florida Railroad; it is eminently fitting that the American people make a plea for a memorial where Indian and American may be honored and will be the means, too, of bringing graphically before the people a history so little known, and may we not hope, a tender pity for the vanquished Red Knights who fought so bravely for home and honor.

In the legends of the Seminoles, the spirit of Coa-coo-chee returns once a year to visit the sacred retreats of his race.

Would not the spirit of this brave patriot rejoice to note that his fame was known to his conquerors and a memorial erected that would link the names of the Indians and the Americans in this last battle for country and people?

THE POCAHONTAS OF FLORIDA.

U-LE-LAH, THE PRINCESS OF HIRRIHIGUA.

Around the very name of Florida clings a wealth of legend of romantic interest, and patriotic suggestions that will yield in beauty and value to no other State in the Union.

To close the pages of this book, without giving a sketch of the first heroine of American romance, would seem like depriving the sympathetic reader of the glittering pearl that lies within easy reach beneath the sparkle of the waves.

Almost coincident with “America’s Answer” to the war cry of Europe, the Atlantic cables in peace-loving contrast, were repeating to America the account of the dedication services at old Gravesend, England, to the memory of Pocahontas, the heroine of Virginia’s early history. Our late Ambassador Page, in unveiling the memorial windows, dwelt largely on her influence as a bond of peace between the United States and Great Britain. So to-day, a spirit of thankfulness should come over us as individuals and as a nation for the influence of our Virginia princess.

America grasped hands with our English friends on this occasion, when our American officers and sailors from the battleships Missouri and Illinois took a prominent part in the ceremonies.

At the close of this touching ceremony Ambassador Page, with our American officers and cadets, was extended a cordial reception from the thousands of persons who had assembled inside and outside the old parish church, whose register bears the name of the Indian princess.

To Florida belongs a romance not less fascinating and wonderful than that of Virginia’s Pocahontas. But alas, in the “manana” of the first Spanish invaders, much interesting history was lost to the world. Enough has been preserved, however, to excite the imagination and cause this age of research to go deep into embalmed records of centuries ago and revive the quaint philosophy of the old, entrancing Florida.

U-LE-LAH, THE POCAHONTAS OF FLORIDA.

With the extinction of the powerful Hirrihigua tribe passed the life story, tantalizing in its meagerness, of the Indian princess, U-le-lah. The full history of our lovely Florida princess, who was in very truth the first heroine of American romance, slumbers in the unwritten archives of forgotten history, yet one dramatic incident in her life has been preserved to us to give us the right to call her “the Pocahontas of Florida,” and in the heroism of this young Indian girl is a setting for as dramatic a story as has been given to history.

The old chroniclers tell us that the word Hirrihigua, which ethnologically considered, must be a mixture of both Spanish and Indian, was the name of the country first invaded by the Spaniard on Tampa Bay; the seat of government of a mighty tribe of aborigines, who, according to Bourne’s Narratives of De Soto, occupied a vast domain extending from the Gulf of Mexico to the Atlantic Ocean, and makes the history and romance of the Princess U-le-lah most fascinating and worthy of special commemoration.

FERDINAND DE SOTO.

When the cavalier of Spain in the person of the intrepid Ferdinand De Soto, landed in 1539 on Tampa Bay with all the pomp and pageantry of the Spanish court, he found himself at a loss for interpreters and guides to this wild and strange land.

Learning of a young Spaniard, Juan Ortez by name, who was the only survivor of the great De Narvaez expedition, and who had been captive of the Indians for ten years, De Soto quickly sought to find him in order to use him as a guide for his conquest.

The history of this young Spaniard, who is reported to have been handsome, together with the saving of his life at a crucial moment by the daughter of the proud old Chieftain of Hirrihigua, parallels that of the Virginia annals, of Pocahontas and John Smith, and antedates this epoch-making history of Virginia almost one hundred years. In memory of Pocahontas, the Lady Rebecca of the English courts, toasts of all England have been given; entertainments have been planned in her honor, and medals have been struck off to commemorate her visit to the imperial court of James the First.

The proudest blood of Virginia runs through her descendants and every history of white America gives the tragic story of her heroism and her instrumentality in saving Virginia to the Caucasians.

Of U-le-lah, our Florida princess, whose heroic stand and womanly courage stand out as the peer of any character in history, we know but little and honor has been withheld, not only as an Indian princess whose father was the emperor of an unbounded area, but as a historical character of gracious personality. She was truly the heroine of the first American romance, where honor, dignity and a woman’s heart shone forth, and as Floridians, we should endeavor to memorialize her name and her deeds in the history of America. A brief sketch of this young Indian girl is appended.

Juan Ortez, a Spanish youth deserted by his comrades, was captured on the shores of Tampa Bay by the Indians, and taken to their chief U-ci-ta. This chief was the reigning monarch of this southern province of Hirrihigua, and thoroughly embittered against the butchery his people had suffered at the hands of De Soto, was ready to wreak vengeance on the pale face, the only survivor of the De Narvaez expedition.

Florida, from the day the first Spanish invaders, with blood-hounds, chains, battle-axes and sabres, set foot upon her flower-bordered soil, has been a battle ground. Her sands have run red with blood of the innocent native, who always held out a hand of welcome and gave sustenance from his well filled storehouses, while the newcomers ever practiced the same atrocities and butcheries that have been perpetrated upon the Indians of America, although with greater cruelties and no restraining power.

It is not surprising that the proud chief of Hirrihigua wished to be relieved entirely of every vestige of white blood, for, added to the rapacities from which he and his tribe had suffered, the Narvaez expedition had even subjected the chief’s mother to the most atrocious cruelties, and thus his desire for vengeance upon this representative of the white intruders was natural. With revenge uppermost in his mind, the chief ordered Juan Ortez to be bound hand and foot and placed upon a rack made of poles--and to be slowly burned to death.

As history records the account of this tragic scene, the beautiful daughter of U-ci-ta, who was about the same age as the handsome Spaniard, when she saw the dreadful fate about to be inflicted upon the young white stranger, rushed to the burning fagots, and braving the anger of her all-powerful father, threw herself at his feet and implored him to spare the life of the captive youth, urging and pleading with all the compassion of a woman’s heart, that this white stranger had done no injury and that it was nobler for a brave and lofty chief like U-ci-ta to keep the youth a captive than to sacrifice so mere a lad to his revenge.

Looking back four centuries, a vision rises. We stand in the midst of an aboriginal people. A tragic scene is before us. We see Indians wreaking vengeance for the wrong inflicted upon them, and a stern visaged chieftain, whose word is law, in command. A boyish form is bound upon a rack of fagots, with the flames already gently licking the poles and creeping to his helpless body. All at once a trembling, girlish form rushes to the rescue, and with the pleading of a compassionate woman, forgetting her own natural resentment for the past wrongs done for her kindred, touches her stern and stoical father and secures the release of the captive youth.

This was the youth Ortez, who, released from his fiery bed, was cared for by his gentle protector, his burned flesh bound and dressed, and under her gentle administrations restored to health, and as an act of honor he was given the position of guard over the sepulchres of the dead. It was the custom to place the dead upon scaffolds, and, as these sepulchres in those wilderness days were beset by wolves and wildcats, a guard watched over them day and night.

Ortez guarded these mausoleums through the lonely hours of the night and grew in great favor with the haughty chieftain; but one night, so the narrative goes, a wolf carried away the body of a child of a chief. Ortez threw an arrow and wounded it, but did not know that the child had been taken. The next morning the loss of the child’s body was made known, and Ortez ordered to be put to death. Some friendly Indians, following on the trail of the wolf, discovered the child, and the wolf lying dead just beyond it. The chief, with a justice ever belonging to the American Indian, being satisfied of the faithfulness of Ortez, took him again into favor.

For three years this young Spaniard, now only twenty-one years old, continued to live with the Hirrihigua tribe, but at the end of that time a fierce war broke out between old Chief U-ci-ta and a neighboring tribe. According to the savage custom of those days, in order to insure a victory, it was decreed that a sacrifice must be made, and the Spanish youth was selected as the victim.

Again U-le-lah, the counselor and friend of her father, and still the faithful friend of the white stranger, came at night and warned him that he had been selected to be sacrificed the next morning. This act was wholly one of womanly courage and compassion, and not for any sentimental consideration for the handsome young Spaniard, for this Indian princess was betrothed to the Chief Mucoso of another tribe.

At the midnight hour she came and guided him on his way a half a league to her lover, sending as guards and envoys two friendly and trustworthy Indians.

Juan Ortez, with his guides, traveled all night, and morning found him on the boundary of Mucoso’s territory, where he was met by the lover of his fair protector and received with the assurance, so early historians chronicle, “that if any white men ever came to his country, he would allow him to go back with them.”

The old chief of Hirrihigua, much chagrined at his daughter’s conduct in usurping his kingly authority, demanded of Mucoso the return of Ortez. Mucoso refused and his refusal caused such a breach between the two monarchs of these big provinces that it was several years before Mucoso claimed the fair Indian princess as his bride. With true Indian honor he sacrificed his love for a principle, and continued to protect the Spanish captive.

It is an interesting fact in history to know that Ortez remained with Mucoso for eight years, until the landing of De Soto, to whom Mucoso, keeping his pledge to Ortez, sent him under a guard of several Indians.

Ortez, now become one of De Soto’s band, was however destined to live but a short time, for De Soto, with no other object than conquest and search for gold, such as he had learned under the way of the relentless Pizarro in the land of Incas, traversed the country murdering and plundering the innocent natives until they reached the Mississippi, where, it is recorded, Ortez died only a short time before death claimed the proud and relentless De Soto.

PRINCESS OF HIRRIHIGUA.

Of the noble-hearted Indian princess, little more is known, but as a heroine, she is truly the peer of the long-famed Pocahontas, and her history must touch every romance-loving heart.

All Florida should feel a pride in the name of this Indian girl, for to her alone is credited the heroism of saving the life of the only Caucasian at that time on the southern shores of Florida. For her compassion and womanly tenderness, for her heroic stand for justice, this Florida princess is deserving, even after four centuries, of recognition and upon the brow of U-le-lah, the Princess of Hirrihigua, should be lovingly placed laurels of gold, and her name commemorated in American annals.

Particularly should Florida rise to the occasion by publishing to the nation the glorification of her own aboriginal princess, and proclaiming to the world memorial tributes commending her bravery and her virtue.

Vocabulary

INTRODUCTION TO VOCABULARY[6]

In presenting the following words, phrases and sentences to the public, we beg to add a few explanations. The words have been obtained from the Indians themselves. To collect words from an Indian requires patience at any time, and in dealing with the Seminoles particularly so. The Florida Indian is suspicious of the white man, and until a confidence was established and a friendship formed, it was impossible to obtain any accuracy from him. To secure the words in this work methods were devised, in order to have the Seminole fully understand the collector, as well as to enable the collector to grasp with a certainty the Indian’s meaning. As will be seen by a close study of the vocabulary, the noun does more than simply denote the thing to which it belongs; it also assigns to it some quality or characteristic. As for instance the word elephant. The Indian had never seen an elephant, but on being shown one in a circus parade, after a careful thinking, he named it, “e-po-lo-wa-kee”--“heap long nose.” Great latitude is thus permitted in an Indian vocabulary. On account of non-intercourse with a civilized race the Seminole language is very pure. Economy in speech is followed, the highest aim of the Indian being to express in a single word both action and object. Every cluster-word is a description or a definition. The study of an unwritten language finds its phonology difficult. In this collection, the words are spelled phonetically; the accent and division into syllables are indicated to assist the student to make the correct pronunciation. Not only were these words given in good faith by the Indians with the present use in view, but each succeeding year, as we visited the Glades for a hunt, the various members of the tribe showed decided interest in our note book, assisting in revising the words by going over and over again the Seminole meaning and accent. The Seminole has a keen sense of humor. As we gathered words and phrases many amusing incidents occurred, always at our expense and to the greatest merriment of the Indians.

To Tallahassee we are indebted for much of this vocabulary, as well as for many interesting incidents and fragments of the history; yet it was not until the fourth year of acquaintance that the old chief, beside the dying embers of our camp fire at the midnight hour, opened his heart and told the story of his people, their myths, religion, legends--their heartaches. The night was chilly, the old chief lost in his own earnestness drew his tunic closer about him, yet the writer could not say “it is late--you are cold.” It was a golden opportunity; a word, the rustle of a branch and the current would have changed. Until daybreak, in his broken English Tallahassee told his story. Never before, nor ever since has such an occasion presented itself.

VOCABULARY[7]

PERSONS

SEMINOLE ENGLISH

Es-ta-chat-tee Indian.
Es-ta-had-kee White man.
Es-ta-lus-tee Negro.
Ho-non-waw Man.
Hoke-tee Woman.
Ach-o-be-li-tee Old man.
Hoke-tee-li-tee Old woman.
Ho-non-wa-mi-nit-ti-tee Young man.
Hoke-tee-ti-mi-nit-ti-tee Young woman.
Che-pon-no-shi-tee Boy.
Hoke-ti-chee Girl.
Est-to-chee Infant.
Ho-non-o-chee Male infant.
Hoke-to-chee Female infant.
Poke-taw Twins.
E-hi-wa-o-chit-ee Married man.
E-hi-was-ko Bachelor.
E-hi-wa-se-ko Widower.
E-hi-lift-mus-chee Widow.
E-he-see-ko Old maid.
E-he-see-ko-hoke-ti-lee The old people.
Es-tee-min-nit-tee A great talker.
O-pa-na-ki-tee A silent person.
Host-cope-e-taw Thief.
Host-cope-e-gost-chee Not a thief.

PARTS OF THE BODY