In the autumn of 1823, Governor Duval, and other commissioners on the part
of the United States, concluded a treaty with the chiefs and warriors of
the Florida Indians, by which the latter, for certain considerations, ceded
all claims to the whole territory, excepting a district in the eastern
part, to which they were to remove, and within which they were to reside
for twenty years. Several of the chiefs signed the treaty with great
reluctance; but none opposed it more strongly than Neamathla, principal
chief of the Mickasookies, a fierce and warlike people, many of them Creeks
by origin, who lived about the Mickasookie lake. Neamathla had always been
active in those depredations on the frontiers of Georgia which had brought
vengeance and ruin on the Seminoles. He was a remarkable man; upward of
sixty years of age, about six feet high, with a fine eye, and a strongly
marked countenance, over which he possessed great command. His hatred of
the white men appeared to be mixed with contempt: on the common people he
looked down with infinite scorn. He seemed unwilling to acknowledge any
superiority of rank or dignity in Governor Duval, claiming to associate
with him on terms of equality, as two great chieftains. Though he had been
prevailed upon to sign the treaty, his heart revolted at it. In one of his
frank conversations with Governor Duval, he observed: "This country belongs
to the red man; and if I had the number of warriors at my command that this
nation once had I would not leave a white man on my lands. I would
exterminate the whole. I can say this to you, for you can understand me:
you are a man; but I would not say it to your people. They'd cry out I was
a savage, and would take my life. They cannot appreciate the feelings of a
man that loves his country."
As Florida had but recently been erected into a territory, everything as
yet was in rude and simple style. The governor, to make himself acquainted
with the Indians, and to be near at hand to keep an eye upon them, fixed
his residence at Tallahassee, near the Fowel towns, inhabited by the
Mickasookies. His government palace for a time was a mere log house, and he
lived on hunters' fare. The village of Neamathla was but about three miles
off, and thither the governor occasionally rode, to visit the old
chieftain. In one of these visits he found Neamathla seated in his wigwam,
in the center of the village, surrounded by his warriors. The governor had
brought him some liquor as a present, but it mounted quickly into his brain
and rendered him quite boastful and belligerent. The theme ever uppermost
in his mind was the treaty with the whites. "It was true," he said, "the
red men had made such a treaty, but the white men had not acted up to it.
The red men had received none of the money and the cattle that had been
promised them: the treaty, therefore, was at an end, and they did not mean
to be bound by it."
Governor Duval calmly represented to him that the time appointed in the
treaty for the payment and delivery of the money and the cattle had not yet
arrived. This the old chieftain knew full well, but he chose, for the
moment, to pretend ignorance. He kept on drinking and talking, his voice
growing louder and louder, until it resounded all over the village. He held
in his hand a long knife, with which he had been rasping tobacco; this he
kept flourishing backward and forward, as he talked, by way of giving
effect to his words, brandishing it at times within an inch of the
governor's throat. He concluded his tirade by repeating that the country
belonged to the red men, and that sooner than give it up his bones and the
bones of his people should bleach upon its soil.
Duval saw that the object of all this bluster was to see whether he could
be intimidated. He kept his eye, therefore, fixed steadily on the chief,
and the moment he concluded with his menace, seized him by the bosom of his
hunting shirt, and clinching his other fist:
"I've heard what you have said," replied he. "You have made a treaty, yet
you say your bones shall bleach before you comply with it. As sure as there
is a sun in heaven, your bones _shall_ bleach, if you do not fulfill
every article of that treaty I I'll let you know that I am _first_
here, and will see that you do your duty!"
Upon this, the old chieftain threw himself back, burst into a fit of
laughing, and declared that all he had said was in joke. The governor
suspected, however, that there was a grave meaning at the bottom of this
jocularity.
For two months, everything went on smoothly: the Indians repaired daily to
the log-cabin palace of the governor, at Tallahassee, and appeared
perfectly contented. All at once they ceased their visits, and for three or
four days not one was to be seen. Governor Duval began to apprehend that
some mischief was brewing. On the evening of the fourth day a chief named
Yellow-Hair, a resolute, intelligent fellow, who had always evinced an
attachment for the governor, entered his cabin about twelve o'clock at
night, and informed him that between four and five hundred warriors,
painted and decorated, were assembled to hold a secret war-talk at
Neamathla's town. He had slipped off to give intelligence, at the risk of
his life, and hastened back lest his absence should be discovered.
Governor Duval passed an anxious night after this intelligence. He knew the
talent and the daring character of Neamathla; he recollected the threats he
had thrown out; he reflected that about eighty white families were
scattered widely apart, over a great extent of country, and might be swept
away at once, should the Indians, as he feared, determine to clear the
country. That he did not exaggerate the dangers of the case has been proved
by the horrid scenes of Indian warfare that have since desolated that
devoted region. After a night of sleepless cogitation, Duval determined on
a measure suited to his prompt and resolute character. Knowing the
admiration of the savages for personal courage, he determined, by a sudden
surprise, to endeavor to overawe and check them. It was hazarding much; but
where so many lives were in jeopardy, he felt bound to incur the hazard.
Accordingly, on the next morning, he set off on horseback, attended merely
by a white man who had been reared among the Seminoles, and understood
their language and manners, and who acted as interpreter. They struck into
an Indian "trail," leading to Neamathla's village. After proceeding about
half a mile, Governor Duval informed the interpreter of the object of his
expedition. The latter, though a bold man, paused and remonstrated. The
Indians among whom they were going were among the most desperate and
discontented of the nation. Many of them were veteran warriors,
impoverished and exasperated by defeat, and ready to set their lives at any
hazard. He said that if they were holding a war council, it must be with
desperate intent, and it would be certain death to intrude among them.
Duval made light of his apprehensions: he said he was perfectly well
acquainted with the Indian character, and should certainly proceed. So
saying, he rode on. When within half a mile of the village, the interpreter
addressed him again, in such a tremulous tone that Duval turned and looked
him in the face. He was deadly pale, and once more urged the governor to
return, as they would certainly be massacred if they proceeded.
Duval repeated his determination to go on, but advised the other to return,
lest his pale face should betray fear to the Indians, and they might take
advantage of it. The interpreter replied that he would rather die a
thousand deaths than have it said he had deserted his leader when in peril.
Duval then told him he must translate faithfully all he should say to the
Indians, without softening a word. The interpreter promised faithfully to
do so, adding that he well knew, when they were once in the town, nothing
but boldness could save them.
They now rode into the village, and advanced to the council house. This was
rather a group of four houses, forming a square, in the center of which was
a great council-fire. The houses were open in front, toward the fire, and
closed in the rear. At each corner of the square there was an interval
between the houses, for ingress and egress. In these houses sat the old men
and the chiefs; the young men were gathered round the fire. Neamathla
presided at the council, elevated on a higher seat than the rest.
Governor Duval entered by one of the corner intervals, and rode boldly into
the center of the square. The young men made way for him; an old man who
was speaking paused in the midst of his harangue. In an instant thirty or
forty rifles were cocked and leveled. Never had Duval heard so loud a click
of triggers; it seemed to strike on his heart. He gave one glance at the
Indians, and turned off with an air of contempt. He did not dare, he says,
to look again, lest it might affect his nerves; and on the firmness of his
nerves everything depended.
The chief threw up his arm. The rifles were lowered. Duval breathed more
freely: he felt disposed to leap from his horse, but restrained himself,
and dismounted leisurely. He then walked deliberately up to Neamathla, and
demanded, in an authoritative tone, what were his motives for holding that
council. The moment he made this demand the orator sat down. The chief made
no reply, but hung his head in apparent confusion. After a moment's pause,
Duval proceeded:
"I am well aware of the meaning of this war-council; and deem it my duty to
warn you against prosecuting the schemes you have been devising. If a
single hair of a white man in this country falls to the ground, I will hang
you and your chiefs on the trees around your council house! You cannot
pretend to withstand the power of the white men. You are in the palm of the
hand of your Great Father at Washington, who can crush you like an
egg-shell. You may kill me: I am but one man; but recollect, white men are
numerous as the leaves on the trees. Remember the fate of your warriors
whose bones are whitening in battlefields. Remember your wives and children
who perished in swamps. Do you want to provoke more hostilities? Another
war with the white men, and there will not be a Seminole left to tell the
story of his race."
Seeing the effect of his words, he concluded by appointing a day for the
Indians to meet him at St. Marks, and give an account of their conduct. He
then rode off, without giving them time to recover from their surprise.
That night he rode forty miles to Apalachicola River, to the tribe of the
same name, who were in feud with the Seminoles. They promptly put two
hundred and fifty warriors at his disposal, whom he ordered to be at St.
Marks at the appointed day. He sent out runners, also, and mustered one
hundred of the militia to repair to the same place, together with a number
of regulars from the army. All his arrangements were successful.
Having taken these measures, he returned to Tallahassee, to the
neighborhood of the conspirators, to show them that he was not afraid. Here
he ascertained, through Yellow-Hair, that nine towns were disaffected, and
had been concerned in the conspiracy. He was careful to inform himself,
from the same source, of the names of the warriors in each of those towns
who were most popular, though poor, and destitute of rank and command.
When the appointed day was at hand for the meeting at St. Marks, Governor
Duval set off with Neamathla, who was at the head of eight or nine hundred
warriors, but who feared to venture into the fort without him. As they
entered the fort, and saw troops and militia drawn up there, and a force of
Apalachicola soldiers stationed on the opposite bank of the river, they
thought they were betrayed, and were about to fly; but Duval assured them
they were safe, and that when the talk was over they might go home
unmolested.
A grand talk was now held, in which the late conspiracy was discussed. As
he had foreseen, Neamathla and the other old chiefs threw all the blame
upon the young men, "Well," replied Duval, "with us white men, when we find
a man incompetent to govern those under him, we put him down, and appoint
another in his place. Now as you all acknowledge you cannot manage your
young men, we must put chiefs over them who can."
So saying, he deposed Neamathla first; appointing another in his place; and
so on with all the rest; taking care to substitute the warriors who had
been pointed out to him as poor and popular; putting medals round their
necks, and investing them with great ceremony. The Indians were surprised
and delighted at finding the appointments fall upon the very men they would
themselves have chosen, and hailed them with acclamations. The warriors
thus unexpectedly elevated to command, and clothed with dignity, were
secured to the interests of the governor, and sure to keep an eye on the
disaffected. As to the great chief Neamathla, he left the country in
disgust, and returned to the Creek nation, who elected him a chief of one
of their towns. Thus by the resolute spirit and prompt sagacity of one man,
a dangerous conspiracy was completely defeated. Governor Duval was
afterward enabled to remove the whole nation, through his own personal
influence, without the aid of the general government.
To the Editor of the Knickerbocker:
SIR--The following letter was scribbled to a friend during my sojourn in
the Alhambra, in 1828. As it presents scenes and impressions noted down at
the time, I venture to offer it for the consideration of your readers.
Should it prove acceptable, I may from tune to time give other letters,
written in the course of my various ramblings, and which have been kindly
restored to me by my friends.
Yours, G. C.