no ill-will, no resentment, and the harshest criticism he ever makes
against his white conquerors and victorious brothers is this phrase,
“Es-ta-had kee, ho-lo-wag-us, etc.” And whether in vindication of
some offense, or given as a simple opinion, his pent-up feelings find
expression in this one forcible epithet, and seems to be the missile
he hurls at the white man.
The average American with his standard of morals calloused by
dealings in the business and social world, smiles at the Seminole’s
verdict of his character and with indifferent shrug, jocularly
repeats it as being only--the opinion of an Indian.
But, measured by the Indian’s conception of honor, how small we
must appear to the Seminole patriot, for, from his unwritten code
of ethics, to one who knows the well grounded Indian character, his
estimate of white manhood means more than is apparent underneath his
calm exterior.
ENDURANCE AND FEASTS.
When one sees the great moral strength of the Seminoles, notes the
wonderful physical endurance of which they are capable, observes the
fearless, haughty courage they display, he cannot but be surprised
that the Florida wars were not more disastrous than they were, or
that any of the Seminoles ever yielded to removal. To test their
endurance the old chiefs have been known to take a live coal from
the camp fire, place it on the wrist and without an emotion let it
burn until the heat was exhausted. Tustenuggee would remove the
cool ember and quietly reach down and put a fresh one in its place.
This old chief, so famous in history, never yielded to removal,
and lived till a few years ago with his tribe in the Everglades.
The goal of the Seminole is to learn to endure and to achieve. To
this end is every Seminole boy educated, and different modes of
developing the powers of endurance are employed. Carrying a deer for
a long distance without fatigue, walking or running for many miles,
jumping, wrestling, poling a canoe, etc., are some of the practical
modes. The Spartan spirit is supreme in the minds of the tribe, and
the youth are taught that no merit is greater than that of bearing
pain without complaint. At the annual feast of the Green Corn Dance
the young Indians of a certain age are initiated into the rights
of warriors, and are subjected to trying ordeals. They must pass
through the “In-sha-pit,” which means the cutting of the legs till
the blood flows, and other cruel arts, after which the Indian boy
is pronounced a warrior, ready for the battle of life, whatever the
Great Spirit decrees. It is the strict adherence to the teachings
of their ancestors that makes the present generation the brave and
proud people that they are.
Strange as it may seem, the Seminoles celebrate a Christmas--“All
same white man’s Kismas,” is their reply when questioned concerning
the celebration. This is the great feast day of the “Shot-cay-taw,”
(Green Corn Dance) and occurs each year about the first of July, and
is the time for assembling the whole band.
The ceremony is largely under the control of the Medicine Men, who
are important personages among all bands, and act as advisers, as
priests and as doctors. In the authority of the Medicine Man one
recognizes a similarity to the priests of the Ancient East as well
as the doctrines laid down by the Aztecs. The festivals observed
by the Florida Indians show teachings centuries old--blending the
peculiarities of different races--the carnival of the Romans, with
the Jewish feasts of Moses’s day, and the mystic link of the Aztec
jubilee.
The Feast of the Shot-cay-taw has many similarities to the historical
records of the National Festival of the Aztecs. The feast is for
sorrowing, rejoicing and purifying. This is the beginning of the New
Year when, following the traditions of ancient people, old fires
are allowed to go out, not a spark is allowed to remain. New fire
is produced artificially; this is the Sacred Fire and must be made
with the flint rock of their ancestors. The new fire is presented
from one tribe to another, and is received as a token of friendship.
Then they assemble around the fires singing and dancing. Gratitude
is expressed to the Great Spirit, if the year has been abundant. If
death has overtaken the tribe mournful strains expressive of pity and
supplication are invoked. This custom was borrowed from the ancient
tribes who worshipped the sun. The Medicine Men arrange the date for
the Green Corn Dance, which is governed by a certain phase of the
moon, and runners are sent from band to band to announce the time.
The ceremony preceding the dance permits all men who have evaded the
laws to be reinstated by indulging in certain trying ordeals. The
transgressors appear a short time before the dance. They are placed
in a closed skin tent where a large hot stone lies on the fire. The
famous “Black Drink” of Osceola’s time is administered, water is
poured on the stone, and the culprits are shut up in this suffocating
heat. If they pass the ordeal, they are forgiven and allowed to join
in the feasting and dancing when it occurs. This same “Black Drink”
which is a nauseating medicine from herbs, is taken by all the tribe
on the first day of the dance. This cleanses the system and enables
them to “eat, drink, and be merry” to the fullest extent.
At this great re-union, old friendships are revived, courtships take
a prominent part, and plans are formulated for hunting expeditions,
syrup boilings and “Koonti” gatherings. Members of one settlement
will agree to meet certain members of another family at a certain
point on a fixed day of the moon.
[Illustration: BILLY BOWLEGS AND TOMMY DOCTOR
“They walked one hundred and twenty-five miles to tell their white
friend, ‘Indian no lie.’”]
There will be no broken pledges--no disappointments. The Seminole
promises nothing to his people that he will not fulfill.
One of the most picturesque games enjoyed by the Indians during
this festival is the dancing around the festal pole. On the night
of the full moon, they dance from sunset until sunrise. It is very
interesting to see the harmony in running around the circle. As the
women throw the ball at the pole in the center, the men catch it in
their bags that are made around bent sticks, which have bows each
about four inches in diameter, with a cross at the lower side.
When the dancing is over, the circle about the pole is perfectly
symmetrical, and about ten inches deep, made by the running and
dancing.
An exciting feature of the dance is the racing for a wife. A level
course is laid off and the race begins. The dusky lover selects the
maiden for whom he would strive, because he must catch her before he
may court her. The Indian girl is his equal, and often his superior
in fleetness, and need not be caught unless she so wishes. But, like
her civilized sister, she generally encourages the pursuit until
she is tired, and then gracefully yields on the homeward stretch.
However, should she win the race the young lover need have no further
aspirations in that direction. He may be saved the embarrassment of
future humiliation.
THE HUNTING DANCE.
But the Hunting Dance! What memories of centuries past are kept alive
by this brown-skinned race, as they observe the ancient feast of an
aboriginal people.
With an invitation from the old chieftain, Tallahassee, who is
patriarch of the tribe, to attend the Hunting Dance or Harvest
Feast, the temptation was too great to resist. This festival occurs
only in cycles--once every four years--and the character of its
observance is known to but few, if any, white people. The Indian
camps are so inaccessible that it takes nerve and muscle to reach
them; but knowing that the entire band of Indians would be on hand
in gala spirits and gorgeous attire, and knowing, too, that it was
an opportunity that might come but once in a lifetime, the question
of “to go or not to go,” was soon settled, and preparations for the
irksome journey were under way.
By train ride of one hundred and sixty miles we reached a little
Florida hamlet, where a teamster with a creaking wagon and a pair
of lean, cadaverous-looking horses were secured. Then followed a
drive of thirty miles through ponds, swamps, prairie flats, slush
and water; with sand-flies whirring and buzzing in our ears as they
seemed to offer their orchestral escort through the dismal funeral
Allapata flats. The journey was nearing its end. The sun, shining
with a July fierceness, glinted the wigwams of the Seminoles. Tired
and hungry we approached the village. Here the signs of the festival
were everywhere apparent. With the inborn courtesy, that is ever
present with these untutored Seminoles in the presence of a friend,
they met us with royal grace. A wigwam was placed at our disposal,
our baggage was unloaded, and in a quiet and unobtrusive manner a
fine saddle of venison was presented.
The Indians were bubbling over with excitement, for it was a time of
rejoicing--a carnival, when men, women and children all joined in the
merriment.
As our visit always means presents for the Indians, expectant faces
from the little toddling children, as well as from the older members
of the camp, reminded us that it was time to distribute tobacco,
pipes, red handkerchiefs, trinkets for the women, candy and nuts for
the little ones.
Happiness pervaded the Everglade village. The older Indians, with the
exception of the old chief, played like children, keeping the joyous
revelry up from hour to hour.
The afternoon of our arrival was devoted to a ball game. An
aboriginal ball game! Certainly played by a code of rules more than
one hundred and fifty years old, where no curved balls nor Yale
coaching had entered, but where swelled and echoed the glad free
trump of joy as the game went on with scientific strokes and measured
tread, with now and then a “rush” as the ball missed its target and
bounded out of its circle. Both men and women participated in the
game, the women being as adept as the men. The game is unique, and
might be practised with much pleasure by our American boys.
Within a circle whose circumference is about thirty feet is erected a
pole, which serves as a goal. The players take sides, or in country
school parlance, “choose up.” The object of the game is to strike the
pole with the ball, which is knocked with a racket or stick, which is
made of hickory, with a netted pocket made of deer thongs.
The ball is tossed up and caught in the netted pocket, and then
hurled at the pole. The opposing side endeavor to prevent the ball
from touching the post. Sometimes the ball strikes the ground away
beyond the line of play, and then a scamper for it is a moment of
great excitement. Men, women and children make a rush for the ball,
the victor having the next play. A scorekeeper stands by the pole,
keeping a record of the play.
As the twilight falls the players end the game and the feast begins.
The edibles are distributed into three parts, the men taking their
portion and going to a selected spot, the women likewise to a point
designated for them, and the children to a third location. This
peculiar arrangement is not indulged in at any other time, but has
some ancient significance and is followed at this festival.
When the feast is over, which consisted of the fruits of the chase
and the best products of the little palmetto-fenced gardens, the band
assembled for the grand hunting dance. Campfires burned all around
the dancing square, and as the dusky forms emerged from the shadows
of the great live oaks, clad as they were in most fantastic attire,
the scene was most picturesque.
Women, men and children gathered at the council lodge. Yards and
yards of brightly-colored ribbons floated from the head, neck and
shoulders of the women, with beads of various hues and many pounds in
quantity around their necks, while beaten silver ornaments fastened
on their waists added to the decoration. The men, likewise, were
in brilliant coats and enormous turbans, with leggins gracefully
adorned with the fringe of the doe skin, with moccasins fresh and
new. Nor had the children been neglected, for, with swirling ribbons
and bright red dresses that reached to their slim ankles, they came
bubbling with joy and laughter, ready to take their places in the
dance circle.
Now the dancers are ready. In the centre of the square the fire,
the Sacred Fire, flashes and flickers. At each corner of the square
stands a pole. The leader, who on this occasion is Chief Bill
Stewart, waits at the door of the lodge. He starts a weird melody,
and the band locks hands, marking time as they make up the chant.
The chief leads off the entire band in the procession, making as
picturesque a figure as was ever witnessed in a New York cotillion.
With the reader’s permission to digress--pertinent at this point
is the ironical comment of an editorial writer in one of the great
dailies, when he says, “Fancy Lo in a stove pipe hat.” We have seen
him and he makes a good-looking native American. As he approached,
the splendid form of Billy Doctor was recognized in stove pipe hat,
full evening broadcloth suit, with white cravat, low cut waistcoat,
and satin lined “spike tail” coat. The entire outfit was possibly the
gift of some Palm Beach tourist. To Billy’s credit, he only wore the
costume for fantastic effect.
If the reader will follow the lines of the accompanying diagram,
tracing from left, he will see that the long line of dancers, as they
pass around the poles, appears to be coming and going, sometimes
three and four abreast, but all in such symmetrical motion that the
dance is very beautiful, coupled with the grace and modesty of
innocence, with an accompaniment of singing strangely sweet.
[Illustration: SACRED * FIRE
COUNCIL HOUSE
THE HUNTING DANCE.]
The various dances of these people show how close they live to
nature. As they move to the rhythmical cadence of the owl song, we
hear “Waugh-ho-ooo-whoo whoo,” of the great horned owl; then the
penewa, or wild turkey dance, with its notes of the gobbling bird;
and so on with many others.
A feature of the dance, and one that might be commended, is that
those who dance must work or hunt. Each morning of the festival every
member of the camp, down to the wee child, must hunt, leaving the
camp by daybreak and hunting till twelve o’clock noon. The men hunt
large game; the boys go for rabbits, birds and squirrels; while the
women hunt the hogs and dig potatoes, and the very small children
“hunt” water, and bring in sticks of wood. To their white friends,
they said, “Dance to-night?” This was intended for an invitation,
and was an honor rarely accorded; but with the stern, unwritten law
before them, they explained, “White friends must hunt, hunt, hunt.
All same Indian. No hunt, no dance.”
Another picturesque game is the dancing around the festal pole. In
this dance, the women enter from one side, and the men from another.
Around the ankles of the women are strapped clusters of shells of
the highland terrapin, partly filled with pebbles; these shells are
concealed by the long dress skirt, and as they dance, singing the
long-cadenced song of their fathers, they make melodious music. A
remarkable feature in the perfection of the dance is that as the
women move off not a sound is heard, that bunch of shells is as
silent as the tomb; and yet it would be practically impossible for
one to move the shells by hand without causing them to rattle.
There is so much that is elevating and purifying in the conduct of
these people that it would be hard to describe the scenes, the love
and good humor that flash between the moments of the times spent in
the council at the feasts and the dances.
SLAVERY.
That slavery existed among the present Seminoles has been a disputed
question. That it did is known to a few; but any interference would
have been received as an act of impertinence by the Indians, as well
as by the slaves themselves; as was evidenced a few years ago when a
tourist meeting Tustenuggee’s slave (who was watching his master’s
canoe while his master sold some skins) attempted to enlighten the
negro on his true condition. As the chief came back to the canoe, the
philanthropist stranger began to explain his mission. The chief, with
the ferocity which at once stamped him as a true Tustenuggee, ordered
the negro to “go,” which command was instantly obeyed. Then, turning
to the stranger, he said, “White man’s slave free. Injun _este lusta_
(negro) belong to Injun--now _you_ go.” The philanthropist also
quickly obeyed.
Tallahassee’s squaw died about thirty-six years ago, leaving a
family of six boys, the youngest one being but a small pickaninny.
These boys were cared for by the two negro slaves who spoke only the
Seminole language and were perfectly content to do the drudgery for
the family. The number of slaves among the remnant left in Florida
was small, but they were allied to the Indians and, while treated
kindly, they were expected to obey. In the last few years they have
all died off with the exception of one old slave, Hannah, in the
Tallahassee band.
HANNAH, THE LAST LIVING SLAVE OF THE SEMINOLE INDIANS.
A character holding a position unparalleled in Uncle Sam’s domain, is
Hannah, the negro slave, belonging to Tallahassee’s family. She is
a full-blooded negress, with thick lips, broad flat nose and kinky
hair, which is tied in little plaits with the proverbial string of
the Southern negro.
Hannah is the last vestige of Seminole slavery--the one great subject
of warfare seventy-five years ago between the Seminoles and the
Southern planters, and upon which, truly speaking, was based the
“Seven Years’ War.” Hannah does the work of the family, and, though
she is kindly treated, yet a certain contempt is felt for her, for
Hannah is an _este lusta_ (a negro) and to the haughty Seminole a
negro is the lowest of human creatures.
The occasion when Hannah’s picture was kodaked is fresh in memory.
All preparations were being made for the feast, but Billy Ham,
Tallahassee’s son, had not been able to get a deer, and so had
purchased beef from a market thirty miles away. With pots and
kettles in evidence, Hannah was preparing the beef, when the little
box-like instrument was gently rested on a rail near by. Hannah’s eye
detected the object and she turned away, and began busying herself
around the boiling kettle on the ground. The camera was adjusted,
finger on button ready to snap, and a masked indifference affected,
and an animated conversation begun with one of the Indians near by.
When Hannah returned to her work about the table, snap! went the
button, and Hannah’s ebony face and twisted, string-tied locks was
photographed on the plate, and proud was the owner to possess so good
a likeness of Uncle Sam’s one and only unfreed slave.
UNWRITTEN LAWS.
The government among the Seminoles is peculiar, it is remarkable, it
is magnificent. There is no lying, no stealing, no murder and yet
apparently there is no restraining law. The Seminole has many noble
traits; he is proverbially truthful. Pertinent was the reply to the
hunter when he asked if it was safe to leave his gun in the wigwam.
“Yes,” replied the chief, “there is not a white man within fifty
miles of the place.”
Reverence, too, is one of his distinguishing features. His language
contains no oath, nor any word to express disrespect to the
Supreme Being. A missionary will receive most respectful attention,
for their reverence to God will not permit them to laugh at His
messenger.
[Illustration: HANNAH, THE ONLY REMAINING SLAVE OF THE SEMINOLES
In Tallahassee’s camp making sofka for dinner.]
If the annals of this heroic band were chronicled, they would
say, “They are prouder than the proudest Inca, braver than the
boldest Saxon knight, fearless and unrelenting as foes, devoted and
unflinching in friendship, and the purity of their morals without a
parallel in the history of any other race or tribe on the globe.”
Anxiously and carefully have we studied their form of Government,
knowing that they leave their money, their trinkets and their
garments in the open wigwam. With carefully-framed questions we
asked of Billy Bowlegs, while on his recent visit to our home,
“Billy, your money, you leave it in your wigwam, you go back, money
_hi-e-pus_ (gone), Indians steal it, then what you do?” He answered,
“Me don’t know.” “Yes, but, Billy, white man come in my house, my
money steal ’em--by-and-by, in jail me put him. Indian, all the same,
bad Indian steal. What does Indian do?” Again the answer came, “Me
don’t know.” Making the points plainer, illustrating by the theft
of his gun, his provisions, showing him that a bad Indian from one
of the other settlements might come in his absence and steal his
Winchester, with perfect understanding of our meaning, the reply came
as before, “Me don’t know, Indian no take ’em--Indian no steal.” In
such a socialistic State, where there is no crime, there can be no
punishment. Were a crime to be committed, a council of chiefs would
meet and decree a punishment, and it would have enough severity to
serve as a lesson for all future miscreants.
The only “fall from grace” we have ever known among any of the bands,
extending over a period of twenty years’ acquaintance, was in the
case of Buster Flint. Old Buster was a large, powerful Indian, but
as the braves express it, he was “_ho-lo-wa-gus_” (no good), “lazy
too much,” and laid around the settlement as a regular loafer, too
indolent to work or hunt; and in consequence was ragged and unkempt.
On one occasion, while our tent was pitched near the palmetto
wigwams and the hunters had been absent for the day, on the return
a small red napkin was found to be missing. Upon calling Captain
Tom Tiger’s attention to the fact, he replied, “Me know,” and very
soon the napkin was quietly returned to its place. Old Buster could
not resist the bright red cloth and the others knew his weakness.
What punishment was meted out to the old Indian was not learned, but
certainly enough to terrify him during the remainder of our visit.
The Seminoles mean to be honest in their dealings with the whites.
Occasionally the white man may be deceived when the Indian intends
no wrong. As the National Editorial Excursion once made a tour of
Florida, the train made a stop at a little trading post on the east
coast. Quite a joke was innocently played upon the party by Captain
Tom Tiger. A few Indians had come into the village to trade at the
stores. Captain Tom had brought with him a load of sour oranges which
grow wild in the region of his camp. The oranges are beautiful to
the eye, but oh, how bitter! The merry editors saw the golden fruit
and immediately offered to purchase. The chief was glad to sell, and
only asked one cent apiece for the fruit; but the editors would not
take advantage of the Indian’s ignorance of the price of oranges, so
they paid him twenty-five cents per dozen for them. At this the load
of oranges was soon disposed of and the chief, with perfect honesty
of intention in the transaction, was the proud possessor of about
twenty-five dollars. Those of the party who first tasted the fruit
said nothing until all the oranges had been bought; then they were
told to taste their oranges, and a laugh, long and loud, went up from
one end of the car to the other, and as the train rolled away the
good-natured but victimized passengers treated Captain Tom Tiger,
chief of the Seminoles, to a shower of sour oranges. The Indian was
dumbfounded. The wild orange is an article of barter in Florida,
but not until the idea dawned upon Tom that the excursionists had
mistaken his fruit for the sweet orange did he awaken from his
bewilderment, and with earnest nods of the head and impressive
gestures he soliloquized, “White man no like Indian’s orange--sour
too much. Me tell white man, one orange, _one_ cent. White man tell
me one orange, _two_ cents. Indian no cheat white man.”
The Seminoles look upon the dim past as a lost paradise in which
there was happiness and innocence. “Before the white man came we
were men,” says the Indian. Their faith in their forefathers is
reverential. They believe they always did what was right. They were
kind and true to their friends, but terrible to their enemies.