people. In Canada there are over 100,000 Indians. They are called
the Indian subjects of His Majesty; all held amenable to the law
and protected by it. Statistics show that on one side of the line
the nation has spent millions of money in Indian wars, while on the
other, with the same greedy Anglo-Saxon race, not one dollar has been
spent, and there has never been a massacre.
The caustic remark that the only good Indian is a dead Indian might
apply to the savage Apache; but when one has studied the home life
of the Seminoles, observed their domestic felicity, from which
many white men might take example, noted their peaceful, contented
character, he can only see in them an attractive race, and worthy the
proud lineage they claim. Surely if ever the strong were bound to aid
the weak, we are bound to help them, to treat them as human beings,
possessed of human rights, and deserving the protection of American
law. This without doubt, they will be willing to accept, when our
nation by kind, courteous and honorable means secures their lost
confidence; and when our National Christianity shall take measures
to make our land for them a home where they may dwell in peace and
safety.
CHIEF TALLAHASSEE.
Almost four hundred years have passed since that fair April day when
Ponce de Leon anchored on the verdant shores of Florida. Since the
Spanish cavalier planted the silken flag of Spain upon her soil,
Florida has been surrounded by a halo of romance and tragedy. Between
the time of her discovery and to-day, what marvelous scenes have been
witnessed upon her fair plains and along the borders of her wild,
dark rivers.
The ancient race who greeted the old Castilian has vanished and, save
in the little band of Seminoles secreted in the mysterious and weird
wilderness of the Everglades, no trace of the red man is visible. A
description of a type of this fragment of a people will enable the
reader to form a better conception of the tribe as a whole; and no
name is more worthy to place in these pages than that of Tallahassee.
The old chieftain in appearance is noble and intellectual, and
there is that in his look and bearing which at once pronounces
him something more than the mere leader of a savage tribe. While
his silvered head marks the cycle of many years, in his attire of
scarlet and white, embraced by the traditional brightly beaded sash,
he exhibits a dignified and patriarchial bearing. His countenance,
while indeed mellowed with the cares of four-score years and ten,
is kindly, and shows a conquered spirit. The lineaments of noble
features are traceable in the broad forehead, the firm, thin lips,
and eyes that might pierce the rays of the sun. Tallahassee shows no
resentment to the whites, yet he believes that they have treated the
Indian badly.
It may seem strange to talk of gentlemanliness in an untutored
savage, but the demeanor of this Seminole chief must dignify any
family in the land. But that face! Heaven forbid that any native of
free America should wear so sad, almost heartbroken an expression as
that which seams poor Tallahassee’s face. No child could look upon
it without being impressed by its mournful pathos. The very history
of the tribe is carved there.
When Osceola, with his compatriots, went on the warpath,
Tallahassee was a small boy, and remembers well when his father
and a few companions were surrounded and killed by the soldiers
near Tallahassee, the capital of the State. Chipco, the chief of
the tribe, was Tallahassee’s uncle; he escaped from the soldiers,
and made his way to the Everglades where he lived to be nearly one
hundred years old. Rosa, the sister of Tallahassee, became his squaw.
They were childless, and at Chipco’s death, Tallahassee inherited the
title, but as a reward for bravery displayed in saving his life on
two occasions, Chipco had made him chief years before he died.
There is no trace of a revengeful spirit in either word or manner
when Tallahassee speaks of his father’s tragic death, but with the
stoicism of a philosopher, he seems to have accepted it as one of
the cruel fortunes of war, and has nobly “buried the tomahawk.”
Tallahassee is no stern warrior with blood-stained hands, but
wears worthily the dignities of his ancestral station, and in many
ways might be imitated with profit by his more cultured pale-faced
brother. He is a true type of the “noble red man,” and in any other
walk of life would have risen to eminence. Of all the Seminoles,
Tallahassee is the most friendly to the whites. With the inborn
courtesy that is native to all true greatness, this untutored Indian
will welcome you to his wigwam and with royal grace dispense the
hospitalities at his command. Few enter his presence, and none leave
it without this mental tribute to his high character. The old chief
is treated with care and consideration, and a homage is paid to him
by the younger members of the tribe. Among the Seminoles, when a
member of the tribe becomes too old for usefulness or self-help, it
becomes the duty of the young men to contribute their share to his
support. They are taught to do this more as an honor than as a burden.
As the years pass, more pathetic grows the life of the hereditary
chieftain.
A few years ago, after numerous invitations, Tallahassee was
persuaded to leave his swamp home to make a visit to the home of
the writer. The old patriarch was accompanied by Billy Bowlegs,
who showed the tenderest care for him. With one horse between them
they traveled from the Everglades to Bassinger, the terminus of the
steamboat line to Kissimmee. Then they boarded the steamer Roseada,
arriving at Kissimmee after two days’ river travel. They attracted
much attention and were the recipients of many small presents from
sympathetic friends. They were both in full costume, the old chief
wearing the regalia of his rank, sashes of bead work and red beaded
leggins. On reaching the home of their host, they immediately began
unpacking the bundle they carried, which indicated they had been
preparing for many moons back for this eventful visit. Numerous
garments, new and fanciful, were carefully withdrawn. The next
morning being the Sabbath, they dressed with greatest care for the
Sunday School and church services, which they enjoyed to the fullest.
Knowing the famous chieftain would attend service, the church was
crowded and at the close of the services parents with their children
crowded around the old chieftain eager to shake hands with him; and
with a pleasant beam of gratitude in his eyes, he received these
greetings of the white friends.
It is a pleasing fact that Tallahassee, a savage and the
representative of an almost destitute people, received a homage and
as kindly a greeting as was ever accorded to any visitor to the
little city of Kissimmee. However adverse a man may be to the Florida
Indian in general, if he looks into the history of the Seminoles of
Florida, he not only becomes friendly, but eager to see justice meted
out to them.
As Tallahassee bade “good-bye,” he said, “Me no more come to
Kissimmee City--old too much.” He had come as an ambassador of his
tribe to tell his white friends the history of his race, and as
memory went back to the olden days of bloodshed and accounts of home
after home wrested from his people, he trembled with suppressed
emotion. Anguish, interblended with the mournful pathos of his face,
made a picture too sad to look upon. It was a period of agonizing
struggle for this gallant, but conquered Seminole.
Sad and prophetic were his farewell words, for a short time after
he reached his swamp home, he was taken with violent pains in his
head, and as Billy Bowlegs reported it, “Pain three days--pain
go,--Tallahassee blind _ojus_” (heap). The old chieftain, though
totally blind and physically helpless, rules his band with the same
stoic will of days long ago, when he carried them to the wilderness
and wrenched them from the white man’s bullets and Uncle Sam’s
bloodhounds.[4]
INCREASING.
It is generally believed that the Seminoles are dying off, and
can last but a few years longer. On the contrary, they have large
families of strong, healthy children, and the past ten years has
shown a marked increase in their number. The strict law allowing no
persons of like gens to marry is a reason why the tribe does not
multiply still more rapidly. There are instances where eligible young
men find great difficulty in getting wives because of the strictness
governing the gens or consanguinity law. One chief has two daughters
who find the same trouble in getting married because the men of their
choice are too closely connected to them. Thus, a member of the
Deer clan may not marry into the same clan, no difference how far
removed the relationship may be. Relationship on the father’s side
is not guarded against so strenuously, as the gens is all counted
through the mother. Very often the law of marriage causes strange
alliances--young men twenty years of age having old women for wives.
From the best obtainable resources, there were in the year 1859, only
one hundred and twelve Indians left in Florida. In 1880, by actual
count, as reported by the Smithsonian Institute, the Seminoles of
Florida numbered two hundred and eight. According to data gotten
from the Indians themselves the tribe to-day numbers nearly six
hundred. Of this number a great proportion are young children, or in
the language of the chief as he made a numerical calculation of the
members of the different families--“heap pikcanannies, pikcaninnies
_ojus_” (plenty). The Seminoles are divided into four bands, who
live in groups apart; each independent of the other, but in friendly
relation. They are the Miami Indians, the Big Cypress band, the
Talla-hassees and the Okeechobees. Since the death of Woxo-mic-co
(Great Chief) five years ago, no one has been elected to fill his
place, and it is doubtful if his office will ever be filled.
No event in the history of the Seminole tribe since the closing of
the war has been more tragic than the slaughter of eight of the band,
by the hand of Jim Jumper, a half-breed belonging to the tribe. The
killing occurred in February, 1891. According to the Indians, the
negro had bought some bad whiskey from a white trader, and it made
him “crazy too much in his head”--doubtless delirium tremens. With
his Winchester in his hand he started out. The first victim was his
faithful squaw who happened to be close by. Rushing forward and
through the camp and meeting the venerable Woxo-mic-co, head chief
over all the tribe, who was on a visit to the Cow Creek band from his
council lodge at Miami, the crazy half-breed sent a ball through the
old chief’s head, killing him instantly. Old Tom Tiger, one of the
landmarks of the Indian wars, hearing the firing, came to the rescue,
but was shot down before he had time to interpose. Young Tiger,
stepping out of the wigwam in time to see his father fall to the
ground, with a blood-curdling war-whoop sprang upon the maniac and a
hand-to-hand fight ensued; but he was at the wrong end of the rifle,
and before he could wrest it from his antagonist, another report was
followed by the death-cry of the brave, young Indian. The wildest
panic ensued, the women and children huddling in their wigwams or
fleeing to the woods. The murderer now rushed into the wigwam of his
sister, and with his knife murdered her and her two little children,
who were clinging to her dress in terror. Brandishing his knife,
he started into the woods, where he was killed by a bullet from
Billy Martin’s rifle. The wailing and the anguish in that camp can
better be imagined than described. After the burial ceremony over
the murdered victims, the body of the murderer was dragged far into
the swamp, to be fed upon by the vultures. Thus passed away in less
than half an hour eight innocent lives, victims to the demoralizing
influence of the white man’s whiskey. The Indian village was broken
up, the entire band moving away to escape the visitations of the
spirits of the murdered ones.
[Illustration:
_Photograph by E. W. Histed._
A SEMINOLE GROUP OF THE TALLAHASSEE BAND, KNOWN AS THE COW CREEKS
A people without a country.]
On the death of Woxo-mic-co, four candidates for the position of
Big Chief appeared, but five years have passed and yet no chief
has been elected. In the old chieftain’s death the last vestige of
Seminole war spirit is obliterated. Nowhere in their history is
their determination to live at peace with their white neighbors
more conclusively proven than in the abolition of the office of
Great Chief, “Big Chief” and war councils, in their minds, being
inseparable.
The authority of the sub-chiefs, who are leaders of the different
bands, is purely personal; they cannot decree punishment--a jury or
council alone can do this. The government is not harsh, and there is
as much freedom as could be possible in these forest homes.
APPEARANCE AND DRESS.
In personal appearance, many a Seminole brave might be taken as a
type of physical excellence. He is bright copper in color, is over
six feet in height, his carriage is self-reliant, deliberate and
strong. His step has all the lightness and elasticity that nature
and practice can combine to produce, as lithe and soft as the tread
of a tiger. The Yale, the Harvard or the Oxford student with years
of training in the athletic school, would be but a novice in the art
of grace, suppleness and mode of walking, as compared with this
son of the forest. His features are regular, his eyes jet black and
vigilant, always on the alert; his nose is straight but slightly
broadened, his mouth firm as a stoic’s. The hair is cut close to
the head, except the traditional scalplock of his fathers, which is
plaited and generally concealed under the large turban that adorns
his head.
The dress of the Seminole chief consists of a tunic embraced by
a bright sash, close fitting leggins of deer-skin, which are
embellished with delicately cut thongs of the same material, that
hang in graceful lines from the waist to the ankle, where they
meet the moccasin. The moccasin is also made of deer-skin, and
covers a foot shapely and smaller than that of the average white
man. A picturesque feature of the dress is the turban. Oriental
in its effect, it has become the emblem of the race. It is worn
almost constantly; and is made impromptu from shawls or colossal
handkerchiefs wrapped round and round the head and then secured in
shape by a band, often made of beaten silver which encircles the
whole with brilliant effect. With young braves the more important the
occasion, the more enormous the turban. Another characteristic of the
dress is the number of handkerchiefs worn, knotted loosely about the
neck. Regardless of the temperature, the Indian adorns himself with
six, eight or perhaps a dozen of bright bandannas, exhibiting great
pride in the number he possesses. A belt made of buckskin completes
the costume. From this are suspended a hunting knife, a revolver, a
pouch in which is carried the ammunition and small articles necessary
for the chase.
The physique of the women will compare favorably with that of the
men. They are healthy and robust, and among the younger members some
comely well-featured women are found. The dress of the squaw is
very simple, consisting of a straight, full skirt, made long enough
to hide the feet. The upper part of the dress is a long sleeve,
loose-fitting waist, which fails to meet the waist band of the skirt
by about two inches; this oddly fashioned garment is cut large
enough in the neck to be put on or taken off over the head. A large
collar, fashioned after the collarettes worn by the fashionables of
the season of 1896, completes the toilet. A Seminole woman wears
no head-dress of any description. Even when visiting the white
settlements they go with their heads uncovered. Neither do they wear
moccasins, at home or abroad, in winter or in summer. They are always
bare-footed.
Vanity and coquetry are inborn in the female character. The Seminole
maiden whose life has been spent among the swamps “far from the
madding crowd” and fashion’s emporium, still practices the arts of
her pale faced sister. She affects the bang and the psyche knot with
as much ease as the New York belle, and with such metropolitan airs
soon captivates her forest lover. The same passionate desire for gold
and jewels, ever uppermost in the heart of the civilized white woman,
be she peasant or queen, shows itself in the Seminole squaw. Silver
breast-plates, made from quarters and half dollars, beaten into
various designs, add to their personal adornment on festal occasions.
What the turban is to the brave, such is the necklace of beads to
the woman. It is her chief glory and is worn constantly. Her ambition
seems to be to gather as many strings of these highly colored beads
about the neck as she can carry, often burdening herself with several
pounds. Even the wee tots are adorned with small strings of the much
prized necklace.
Many years ago, when the Indians were encamped on the Kissimmee
River, Chief Tallahassee with two or three of the squaws visited
Kissimmee. Being taken into a room to see a newly-born babe, he
directed a squaw to take from her neck a string of beads and put
it around the neck of the “little white pappoose.” This was done
as an act of greatest honor, to show the Indian’s appreciation of
hospitalities received at this house.
INDEPENDENCE AND HONOR.
To-day as we meet the Seminole “at home,” we find the wigwam made
of palmetto leaves and the skins of wild animals; the floor of this
structure is made of split logs and elevated about two feet above
the ground. A few of the Indians have in late years built board
houses, but the roof is made of palmetto thatch. Here, surrounded
by the gloom and weirdness of the Everglades, miles from white
man’s habitation, the baying of the alligator, the hooting of the
great horn owl, and the croaking of the heron are the only sounds
to be heard. Truly the picture is one of melancholy and profound
dreariness. But here we find the aborigines contented because they
are out of the white man’s power. Here they hold their councils,
here around the camp fires the traditions of the old turbaned tribe
are taught to the youths; here, too, they follow the same customs of
the race of one hundred and fifty years ago. Here is instilled into
the youth the story of the perfidies practiced upon their fathers by
the white man; and as the children listen to the glories of Osceola,
and the tragic ending of their hero, the spirit of conservatism
is engendered, and with swelling hearts they go on, on, resolute
in their determination to avoid disaster, by keeping aloof from
the white man. Although far from the influence of civilization,
knowledge has come to these people naturally which we have painfully
acquired by books. Driven to these Florida jungles after a seven
years’ bloody war, here the Seminole, thrown absolutely upon his
own resources, has continued to dwell. He has accepted no aid, his
people have increased, and in a manner have prospered. No alms-houses
are supported for their benefit. This independent Indian does not
increase the expense of the jail nor the penitentiary; he is no
starving Indian who must be fed at the expense of the Government.
In these red sons of the forest we meet the original “real Indian,”
unchanged by contact with the white man. The visitor to the “Wild
West,” who complains that “the Indians do not look like the Indians
of fifty years ago,” would have little ground for his complaint
were he to visit the Seminoles in their marshy fastnesses. Florida
can boast of one of the few tribes of “real Indians” in the United
States. The present Seminole must be credited with a high sense of
honor; and he can keep a pledge as well as did Massasoit. A few years
ago, during a terrific coast storm some Indian braves asked shelter
of a Florida settler. The Indians were received and entertained
until the weather settled. On leaving, the chief sweeping his hand
toward the broad Savannah, said, “Captain, hunt deer?” The answer was
“Sometimes.” “Indian no hunt Captain’s deer,” was the rejoinder. Very
little in itself, but it meant much, for since that time there has
not been an Indian hunter within miles of the place.
[Illustration: CHIEF TALLAHASSEE MARTHA TIGER SHE YO HEE
TOMMY HILL MILAKEE]
Famed in song and story is the pledge of the old turbaned tribe of
the Seminoles. Not more worthy are they of commemoration than their
descendants of to-day. A few months ago, Billy Bowlegs and Tommy
Doctor paid an unexpected visit to Kissimmee. They walked from their
camp at Okeechobee Marsh, a distance of one hundred and twenty-five
miles to tell their white friend that “Indians no lie.” This was all.
They apparently had no other business in town, and after a few hours’
visit left as quietly as they had come. Their mission was completed,
their white brother believed them, their honor was clear; they could
now dance at the Green Corn Dance with merry hearts.
A few months prior to this, these Indians had promised their white
friend to act as guide on a bear hunt in the Everglades. All
arrangements had been made for the hunt, except to fix the time and
place of meeting. This was to be done through a white settler. Later,
plans for the hunt were perfected, and word was sent to the Indian
village. According to their promise the Indians came to the settler’s
home on the day specified, but found that the white man had left his
house early in the morning with no message as to how or where the
Indians should follow. The Indians, not knowing which way to go to
find the party, could do nothing but return to their camp--a distance
of forty or fifty miles. Subsequent developments proved that the
white man wished to act as guide, and thereby earn for himself the
remuneration he expected the Indians would receive.
THE SEMINOLE’S UNWRITTEN VERDICT OF THE WHITE RACE.
“Es-ta-had-kee, ho-lo-wa-gus, lox-ee-o-jus”
(White man no good, lie too much.)
In some mysterious way, the Seminole’s conception of the Decalogue
neither to lie, nor steal, nor cheat, is the foundation stone upon
which he builds his character, principle and honor, for it is taught
to the race, from the cradle to the grave, to the swinging papoose
on its mother’s shoulders, all through life, till the Great Spirit
calls to the Happy Hunting Grounds. Let the reader stop and consider
that here is a community of hundreds, living in open palmetto camps.
No locks, no doors, no courts, and no officers to keep the law; a
people, who for generations have lived, pure in morals, with no
thieving, no trespassing, and no profanity (for the Seminole has
no oath in his language). With his conception of the Deity, he
reverences the name of the Great Spirit, and “Thou shalt not take
the name of the Lord thy God in vain,” he venerates, as did the
Hebrews in the days of Moses. What would be the result if an equal
number of the negro race were left under the same conditions for two
generations? Nay, what would be the history of six hundred whites
forced to live for even twenty-five years like the Seminoles?
With the Seminole’s power to condense into a single phrase, he
crystalizes his verdict of the white man into the above forcible
expression. In pathetic, but terse language, it tells of generations
of wrong treatment at the hands of the white brother; sharp practices
and broken treaties, and misrepresentations are all included in the
general summing up.
From his oral lexicon, he has chosen these few words, which reveal
the throbbing inner soul of these red children of the forests.
No pages, no volumes, no libraries are required to chronicle his
experience.
Be it remembered that all history of the relation of the two races
has been written by the white historian, but were the Indian to
write the story, the other side of the picture would be shown. The
complaints of the white man are carried, as it were, on the wings of
the wind, while that of the poor Indian is drowned in the tempest.