stop dese chiefs; he hab gib dem the promise dat if dey would all
come in he would treat ’em all right.
“Dem wuz cruel days,” and old Martha Jane quivered with indignation
as she brought her fat hand down upon her knee. “But hit wasn’t de
Indians’ fault. No man what hab a gun is gwine ter let somebody
steal the cattle an’ horses, an’ dat jest what de white people do ter
de Seminoles.
“Lord a mercy, I hab seed Paynes’ Prairie covered wif de cattle an’
horses dat ’longed ter de Indians, an’ de white rapscallions would
carry ’em off a hundred at a time. Umph! I heah ’em brag how dey
carry off de Indians’ horses. Ole Thorpe Roberts he wuz a ole fief.
He would say, ‘We make many a good haul ob dem savages’ cattle, ten
ob us come in at onct an’ drive off a thousan’ head.’
“Yes, Mistis, dat ole Seminole war make a heap o’ white folks rich in
Florida.
“Oh, Lord hab mercy on all dem souls. Dey wuz hard times, times o’
misery, chile, but de Indians wuzn’t ter blame. God make ’em an’ dey
hab ter hab a place ter stay, jest same as we alls white folks.
“De white people bring all dat ’struction on der own heads foh dey
commence dat war. I see hit wif my own eyes; I see ’em kill de
Indians’ slaves. You see de Seminoles hab slaves jest de same as
white folks, an’ some ob der niggers wuz as fine-lookin’ black men as
you ebber ’spect ter see in Ole Virginia.
“When de Indians would come ’roun’ ter esquire ’bout der cattle de
white rapscallions (an’ a heap o’ dem wuz dem low down nigger traders
too) dem white men would up an’ shoot de Indians.
“Lordy chile, when I gits ter ruminatin’ ’bout dem days I sees de
longes’ line o’ haunts whats obtained in dis world o’ sin an’ sorrow.”
I laid down my tablet and looked up; the old woman’s lip was
quivering from suppressed emotion. Passing over the tragic she began
again.
“No, chile, ’xcusin’ ob de truf, de United States nebber whipped de
Seminoles; she whipped dem Britishers when George Washington wuz de
captain, an’ de Mexicans, den she tuck a little ’xcursion ’cross ter
Cuba an’ whipped dem Spaniards; but she nebber whipped the Seminoles.
Umph; where wuz de Indians when de sojers wuz all shinin’ in dem new
uniforms an’ der ammunition all packed up? Dem savages wuz all gone,
hidin’ in dem hammocks an’ swamps what wuz so thick wif trees an’
bushes dat a black snake could skacely wiggle through.
“De sojers would go marchin’ ’long an’ way up in de tops ob some ob
dem big trees some ob dem sly ole Indian scouts would be sittin’
wifout any clothes on, a watchin’ an’ a laughin’ at de sojers.”
* * * * *
“You want ter heah ’bout dat battle o’ Micanopy?
“De Seminoles didn’t hab no battles like dem Britishers in George
Washington times; no chile, but dey hab scrummages an’ kill de white
people jest like dey wuz black birds,” and the old negress, seemingly
oblivious to the fact that cruel time has bowed her frame and dimmed
the once bright eye, lives over again the story of those days so long
ago, when she was the pampered slave of the old aristocracy.
“How come I ter see dat big fight, I b’longed ter Marster Mundane; de
Mundane fambly wuz powerful rich and owned the big hotel where the
officers wuz stayin’.
“Der warn’t no Indians ’roun’ der jest den, an’ ebbery thing wuz
peaceful an’ quiet, an’ I heah de sojers a jokin’ an’ sayin’ day wuz
jest a spendin’ de winter in de Sunny South an’ de Governmen’ wuz
payin’ de grub bills.
“I reckelmember jest like I am tellin’ you ter day, I wuz standin’ on
dat big piazza ’side o’ Missus; you know I wuz riz up ter be ’roun’
white folks, foh I wuz allus so peart dat my ole Missus in Virginia
would call me in ter de parlor ter show me off ter de white ladies.
“Well, honey, dis mornin’ de sojers wuz a cleanin’ der guns an’
laughin’ an’ dey ax Mistis, ‘How many deer you want foh dinner?’ Den
anudder likely young sojer would say, ‘How many turkeys you want,
Mistress Mundane?’ an’ den dey went off a whistlin’ an’ a singin’;
but oh, my God, what lamentations der wuz dat same night.
“Twan’t long will I heah, bang--bang--bang, an’ I says ter myself,
Marthy Jane, too many deer, too many wild turkey, sound ter me like
Indian shootin’; ’spect dem rapscallions sneak up on de sojers, an’
dis black chile gwine ter see foh herself. I jest slipped out o’ de
house an’ kachunk! kachunk! I went down that big lane as fas’ as a
horse can trot till I come ter de prairie an’ den I clumb in ter a
big oak tree, den de nex’ thing I do I wrap dat gray moss ’roun’ me
so dem debbils couldn’t see me.
“How dem Indians did shoot! If dat sight didn’t beat de lan’!
Zipp--zipp--bang--bang, an’ ebbery time dey shoot dey yell like
debbils, yo-ho-e-hee-eee bang, den fall on de groun’ an’ load dat
musket, stan’ up an’ shoot again; de sojers a droppin’ ebbery time a
Indian shoot.
“De sojers wuz so skeered dey couldn’t load der guns when de Indians
would gib dat Satan screech.
“An’ den de poor sojers jest dropped guns an’ run in ter de lake an’
de woods an’ dem savages would go an’ take de guns an’ de ammunition
offen de dead bodies an’ den go runnin’ like a deer.
“Lord a mercy, hit seems ter me I heah de wind blowin’ ghosts an’ de
sperits ob de brave gem’men what wuz killed on dat field ebbery time
I talks ’bout dat day.
“Yes, Mistis, dat scrummage wuz called de battle ob Payne’s Prairie.
When de Colonel found out de Indians killed so many ob de sojers,
he tore roun’ like a wild bear an’ clar ’foh de Almighty dat he wuz
gwine ter sen’ off an’ fetch de whole United States troops ter come
down an’ kill ebbery Indian in Florida.
“But what good wuz all dat big talk; dey hab two regimen’s stayin’
der den, and ’foh dey could git outen de garrison de sly ole Indians
wuz all gone an’ didn’t leave a track behin’ dem, nuther.
“Dem wuz days ob ’struction, ter be shure! but dey mought ha’
knowed dat war wuz a comin’, kase Daddy Charles see dem divisions
in Virginia an’ tell de white people great ’struction ob war wuz a
comin’, he tell dem dat hit gwine ter wrestle wif a foreign country,
an’ den ’sides de divisions, de wild pigeons come an’ dey wuz so
thick you couldn’t see de trees and de slaves kill ’em wif der hoe
handles in de corn field.
“Yes, dat big Seminole war did come,” said Martha Jane triumphantly,
“jest like dat ole saint o’ black man tole de people.
“I ain’t nebber seed no lonesomer place like dat Payne’s Prairie from
dat day ter dis arter dey hab dat skirmishin’.
“I see de folks lyin’ on de grass an’ de tall grass blowin’ backards
and forrerds, but dem sojers nebber move. Den de men come an’ carry
’em ter de hospital. I shrouded so many dat night dat I got hardened
jest like a dog wifout a soul.
“Colonel Whisler, he wuz a Yankee man, he sayd, ‘Marthy Jane, you
orter hab been a man, you is so nervy.’ Dat why I can’t eat hominy
ter dis day, I make so many poultices endurin’ ob de war ter draw out
de bullets; dey didn’t hab dem pizen balls o’ Satan like dey do in
dese regenerate days since surrender.
“Arter dem scanlous time, Colonel Worth an’ Colonel Whisler ’cided
dat dey mus’ go ter Fort Myers to see how dem scrummagers wuz goin’
on down dat way.
“De headquarter men ’low dey mighty nigh perish’d foh sumptin’ good
ter eat an’ tell ole Mistis dey ’bliged ter hab me go ’long ter do de
cookin’. Colonel Whisler wuz one ob dese kind o’ captains what want
his coffee hot an’ all de victuals on de jump.
“Dem wuz high camp-meetin’ times all de way. In dem days de game wuz
powerful plentiful, an’ dem victuals I cooked wuz a plum sight; deer,
wild turkey an’ ducks wuz a flyin’ wherebber der wuz a pond o’ water.
Um-um-m, didn’t I cook ’em de fine victuals.
“Colonel Worth ’cided dey couldn’t kill de Indians so he say he would
jest campaign along an’ destroy all der crops an’ burn der houses; he
’lowed dat wuz better dan shootin’ dem; an’ oh Lordy, didn’t we eat
de corn an’ watermelons dem Indians raise.
“We march an’ we stop, an’ we march an’ we stop, till hit wuz de
Lord’s blessin’ dat we hab so many horses an’ wagons.
“Oh, dem long wagon trains, wif sojers betwixt, sojers in front an’
sojers behind.
“You see, de officers hab der wives along an’ some mighty fine white
ladies what wuz a visitin’ at de garrison. Dem wuz shure camp-meetin’
days.
“Ole Billy Daniels an’ old man Strafford, dey wuz along too; dey wuz
ole men den. I ’spect dey both dead afoh now.”
* * * * *
“I wuzn’t anyways skeery, but we sut’n’ty wuz a long way from ole
Mistress, mighty nigh two hundred miles.
“Arter all dat camp-meetin’ frolickin’ Colonel Worth ’cided he would
come back ter Fort King an’ leave de sojers ter keep on destroyin’ at
Fort Myers.
“Billy Daniels wuz obliged to ’scort us back, kase he is de man what
drawed de map of Florida an’ put all de lakes an’ islan’s in foh
Colonel Worth. He couldn’t read, nuther write, but he could ’cite de
Seminole language like he hab book learnin’; he wuz de interpreter
foh Colonel Worth too.
“Hit sut’n’ty wuz scrumagen’ times arter me an’ Diana Pyles cooked
dat treaty dinner foh Colonel Worth.
“Mos’ generally de troops went a troopin’ north, but dey lef’ some ob
de sassiest white men I ebber see top o’ earth ter guard de State;
low down white rapscallions.
“You see, hit wuz dis away, terrectly dey fin’ out de Indians wuz all
gone south dey make up dat dey bes’ skeer our people so de United
States would keep payin’ dem government money.
“No, Mistis, hit wuzn’t de Indians dat did de skirmishin,’ hit wuz de
white rapscallions what wuz hankerin’ foh dem government rations.
“Our people wuz rich den wif de big sugar plantations an’ cotton
fields an’ a heap o’ slaves an’ cattle an’ horses; our folks didn’t
want no war, but hit wuz de poor white people dat rousted ’roun’ at
night an’ kill de cattle an’ put moccasins on der ole foots, what
look as rough as alligators’ hides, den dey go an’ make tracks all
roun’ like a hundred Indians been a spyin’. Hit sholy did skeer our
people, but twan’t de Seminoles, kase de Indian is a debbil, but he
ain’t gwine ter stay ’roun’ Fort King when he done promise Colonel
Worth he gwine go ’way.
“Dem white men keep up dat debbilment till de United States find out
’bout hit, an’ she say if dey any moh o’ dat meanness foun’ out dat
dey will hang ebbery rapscallion what prowlin’ ’roun’ we alls white
folks houses.”
PART II
The Florida Seminoles of To-day
PART SECOND
THE PRESENT CONDITION AND ATTITUDE OF THE SEMINOLES
To-day the Seminoles of Florida are a beggared and spectral type
of a once powerful race. And in their swamp homes we find these
brown-skinned people, living in the primeval customs of their
fathers, little changed from the Indians De Soto found in the “Land
of Flowers,” or Columbus upon the little island upon which he landed
the weary and anxious cargo of the frail Pinta, and of whom he wrote
to his Queen, “Because they showed much kindliness for us, and
because I know they would be more easily made Christians through love
than fear, I gave to them some glass beads for their necks, some red
caps with which they were so delighted and entirely ours, it was a
marvel to see.”
Thus we have dispossessed the original owners of as goodly a land as
the sun ever shone upon, a land that cost us nothing but the beads of
the early adventurers and the bullets of their successors, a race,
savages ’tis true, but heroes many of them, and proud and courtly as
their conquerors.
The American people expend thousands of dollars annually in
scientific research for antiquities and many more thousands are
spent by the antiquarian for the preservation of the relics and
ancient records. The North American Indian is fast vanishing from
the continent. Are not the Seminoles of Florida, the descendants of
the old monarchs, this race around which shadowy romance hovers, as
worthy of preservation as the inanimate treasures of ancient Egypt?
Are there no Rameses in American history? In the old turbaned tribe
of Florida, we have a remnant of the most picturesque, deserving and
moral of all the Aborigines of America, and they belong to a type
that is everywhere else extinct. Are they not worth preserving and
protecting to a point worthy the proud and historic name of Seminole?
Secure in the mysterious marshes, these Indians present an eloquent
picture of a helpless wandering tribe.
At the close of the war, a few bands of the Indians refused to submit
to banishment and, concealing themselves in the fastnesses of the
Everglades, made their removal an impossibility. This part of the
tribe, according to their traditions, belonged originally to the
Aztec race and for this reason they claim a preëminence over all the
tribes of Aborigines of America.
Though defeated in war, they never submitted to the Government of
the United States, and hence regard themselves as more valiant in
defense, more determined in purpose than that part of the tribe
which succumbed to emigration to the Indian Territory; in fact, the
old chieftains say of the Indians who emigrated, “Arkansas Indians,
cowards and traitors.”
So to-day the Seminoles of Florida occupy a unique position with
respect to the United States Government, as, being unconquered and
unsubdued, having no legal existence nor allegiance to our Nation; in
short, so far as the United States is concerned officially, _there
are no Indians in Florida_.
The tribe to-day numbers about 600 souls, living at peace with all
mankind, independent, but suspicious of Washington officials, only
asking to be let alone, a homeless people in a free land, ever
pushing on before the insatiable cupidity of the white man.
An inexorable decree has forced the Florida Indian into the most
desolate lands of Florida. Where they once trod as masters they
now fear to place foot. We cannot be unmoved by the thought that
here are the tattered and poverty stricken handfuls of a tribe of
warriors that held at bay a strong government for half a century,
a tribe that counted their cattle, their lands and their slaves in
magnificent proportions. At the present time, to avoid complications
with the South Florida cattle herders none of the race are permitted
to own cattle. There is a certain pathos in the Indian’s story of his
relation to the white race, which arrests our attention and compels
sympathy. But, it is destiny! What of the future? Touch any point
in the red man’s history, where you will, or how you will, and the
helpless savage always gets the worst of it.
There is no use in muck-raking about it. We are leisurely taking
our time at finishing the extermination of the original American.
Whether or not the future historian chronicles this as a century of
dishonor, the fact remains that, since he could not withstand the
white faces, the Indian will go--pass out of existence.
We judge the Indian too harshly. It is hard to give up old
traditions, especially if the adherence to them means a life of ease.
We are all in the pursuit of that which will make us happy.
The story is the old one of merciless extinction of the lower race
before the higher. It is a story of the “survival of the fittest.”
The Florida Indian can go no further. An old anecdote is brought to
light which illustrates the Indian’s own view of the case. The famous
Seneca chief, Red Jacket, once met a government agent, and after
pleasant greetings they both sat down on a log, when Red Jacket asked
the agent to “move along.” The agent did so and the chief followed.
This was done several times, the agent humoring the whim of the
old chief, until he had reached the end of the log, when the same
request, “move along” was repeated. “Why, man,” angrily replied the
agent, “I can’t move along further without getting off the log into
the mud.” “Ugh! Just so white man want Indian to move along--move
along; can’t go no further, yet he say move along.” And so with the
Seminole to-day. The clearings they have made in the forests and the
only homes they have ever known have been bought from the State by
speculators and they are compelled to “move along.” The history of
the western Indian as he sells or surrenders the heart of his great
reservation proves that the white man will have his way. The broken
treaties of the past the Seminole has not forgotten. The old chiefs
are as proud as the most imperious king. They regard these lands
as their own, and cannot understand the Government’s claim. They
say “What right has the big white chief at Washington to give to us
what is already ours--the lands of our fathers?” The white man who
receives any confidence from the Florida Indian must indeed possess
great magnetism, for the Seminole is suspicious of every overture and
will mislead his questioner on all occasions. And while the white man
is studying “poor Lo,” “poor Lo” is similarly engaged in studying
him, and continually revolving in his suspicious mind, “what can pale
face want from the Indian anyway?”
The chiefs have taught the young braves all about the outrages
perpetrated upon their tribe by unscrupulous agents during the wars;
and while the Indians themselves in many cases practiced cruelty, it
was always in retaliation for some grievous wrong of anterior date.
History records case after case of robberies and enormities committed
on the Seminoles previous to the war and during its progress.
Micanopy requested a lawyer to draw a form of writing for him which
soon after proved to be a conveyance of a valuable tract of land!
Afterwards the war-whoop and the deadly hand of Micanopy was heard
and felt among the swamps and prairies. Micanopy was one of the most
powerful, as well as one of the wealthiest Seminole chieftains.
His estate, a mile square, he ceded to the United States. Of the
disposition of his slaves--he had eighty--nothing is said.
In connection with the portrait of Micanopy as used in this
volume, this bit of almost forgotten history is worth mention.
When the famous Indian portrait painter, Catlin, was commissioned
by the War Department to paint the most prominent chiefs then in
captivity at Fort Moultrie, Micanopy, as chief of the Nation, was
first approached, but positively refused to be painted. After much
persuasion, he at last consented, saying, “If you make a fair
likeness of my legs,” which he had very tastefully dressed in a
handsome pair of red leggins, “you may paint Micanopy for the Great
Father,” “upon which, I at once began,” says Catlin, “as he sat cross
legged, by painting them upon the lower part of the canvas, leaving
room for the body and head above.”
When the chief saw every line and curve brought out on the canvas he
smiled his approval, and the work proceeded, to the delight of both
artist and subject.
In the mutual relations between the whites and the Indians it
requires no skilled advocate to show on which side must lie the
wrongs unrepaired and unavenged. Without doubt the Indian has always
been the victim. One thing is certain, the Indian chiefs, when fairly
dealt with, have always evinced an earnest desire to make just terms.
Ever since the Caucasian landed on the shores of America, a white
man with a gun has been watching the Indian. Four centuries have
gone and with them a record of broken treaties and violated pledges.
The records of the Indian Bureau support the statement that, before
the first half of the present century had passed, we had broken
seven solemn treaties with the Creeks, eleven with the Cherokees;
the Chickasaws and Choctaws suffered too, saying nothing of smaller
tribes. History reveals how well the Delawares fought for us in the
Revolutionary War. They were brave “allies,” fighting out of loyalty
to the “Alliance,” and inspired by the promised reward, viz.: “The
territorial right to a State as large as Pennsylvania and a right to
representation in our Congress.” But where are the Delawares to-day?
One remove after another was made until we find only a remnant
existing--some with the Cherokees, and a few with the Wichita agency.
A great deal has been written about the Florida Indian which is not
in accordance with facts. There are many obstacles in the way of
an intimate acquaintance with their customs and home life. Living
as they do in the almost inaccessible morasses, their contact with
civilization has been regulated by their own volition. Visitors,
traders and government agents have been denied their confidence, and
it is only on their visits to settlements for the purpose of trading
that they meet the white man. At such times the Seminole is on the
alert, ever suspicious, and to the numerous interrogations applied to
him by the inquisitive stranger, his answer is an indifferent “Me
don’t know.” When questions become of a personal character, touching
upon subjects sacred to a Seminole, he quietly walks away, leaving
his questioner wondering.
The Seminoles live to themselves, shun all intimacy with the
Caucasian, and their personal appearance is therefore almost unknown
to Americans. The greater part of the tribe seldom, if ever, leave
their marshy homes. To reach their camps uninhabitable wilds must be
traversed and sometimes miles of mud and water waded, then perhaps
only to find the camp deserted. For, while the Seminole has regular
settlements, at various times during the year the entire camp will
assemble at some point where game is abundant and a “big hunt” will
occupy a few weeks. Again syrup boiling will be the festival all will
join in; at another time a large quantity of koonti (wild cassava)
will be made into flour. At these gatherings the tribe or families
occupy temporary dwellings called lodges.
The innate dislike of the Seminole toward strangers is his hardest
prejudice to overcome; yet he is hospitable when he convinces himself
that the visitor is no Government agent, nor come for any mercenary
motive. The person who is fortunate enough to reach their hunting
grounds, secure their confidence, observe their weird home life, and
their childish untutored ways, meets with an attractive spectacle of
romance and may study these aborigines in their primeval customs.
For to-day, with the exception of the chiefs and a few of the
adventuresome warriors, they know nothing of the innovations of
the last half century. So strong are they in their resolution to hold
no intercourse with our nation, that neither bribery nor cajolery
will have any effect upon them. A few years ago an effort was made
by the authorities of the Sub-Tropical Exposition at Jacksonville,
Florida, to secure a few of the Seminole braves for exhibition.
After many proffered bribes, the young warriors with the adventurous
spirit of youth consented to go to the “big city.” A council was held
and the chiefs said “_halwuk_ (it is bad); if you go you never come
back.” The council of the chiefs is always respected and the young
braves remained with their fathers.
[Illustration:
_By the courtesy of the American Bureau of Ethnology._
A SEMINOLE DWELLING]
The life of the Seminole has been without any aid or instruction from
the white man. He has adopted a few of the implements, weapons and
utensils of civilization; but in no other way has he imitated his
pale-faced brother. In the natural course of evolution he has made
some progress; he has not degenerated.
Government reports show an annual appropriation of almost $7,000,000
for the Indian service; yet the Florida Indian has not received any
part of it and without it he has shown a prosperous condition. The
Smithsonian report, in comparing this interesting people with the
native white settlers, says “that success in agriculture and domestic
industries is not to be attributed wholly to the favorable character
of the climate and soil; for, surrounded by the same conditions,
many white men are lazy and improvident, while the Seminoles are
industrious and frugal.”
President Cleveland in his message for 1895 pertinently says, “In
these days, when white agriculturists and stock raisers of experience
and intelligence find their lot a hard one, we ought not to expect
Indians to support themselves on lands usually allotted to them.”
Years later, while the late lamented ex-President was fishing in
New River at the edge of the Everglades, he said, “This country was
made for the Seminoles and they should be permitted to live here
undisturbed forever.”