On the 6th of January, 1836, whilst Mr. Cooly was from home, a party
of about thirty Indians made an attack upon his family, settled at
New River, about 12 miles from Cape Florida. They murdered his wife,
three children, and a Mr. Flinton, who was employed as their teacher.
The children were sitting in the hall, getting their lessons, when the
Indians came up by stealth, and shot them down. Flinton was killed on
the threshold of the door; the little girl about eleven years old was
found dead, with her book in her hand. As soon as the firing commenced,
Mrs. Cooly snatched up her infant child, and endeavoured to effect
their escape by a back way. She was shot at a distance of about one
hundred and fifty yards from the house: the ball entered between her
shoulders, and after passing through her breast, broke the arm of the
child which was cradled on her bosom. The little boy, about eight
or nine years of age, was found in the yard with his skull and arm
fractured, probably done with a billet of wood. Having destroyed all
of the white inhabitants, they shot the cattle, plundered the house of
property worth from one thousand to twelve hundred dollars, took away
two negroes and all the horses, and finally set fire to the house.
The circumstances attending the murder of Mr. Cooly’s family, are well
calculated to illustrate the treachery of the Indian character. He
had resided among them for many years, spoke their language well, and
treated them with uniform kindness and hospitality. Indeed, such was
his friendship for them, that he named two of his sons after their
chiefs Alnomock and Montezuma. His wife had once been a captive among
them, and was esteemed a great favourite. Standing in this relation,
and confiding in their professions of friendship, which lulled him into
a fatal security, he left his home for a few days, and returned to find
it desolate. It is a remarkable fact, that the villains who perpetrated
the deed of death, had not the hardihood to scalp the poor mother
and her three innocent children. Was it the recollection of former
friendship, that induced them thus to spare? Or were they conscious
that their own savage colleagues would have blushed for the chivalry of
those warriors, who could find no work more befitting their tomahawks
and scalping knives, than the cruel butchery of women and children? Did
they fear that some chief, more feeling than the rest, would ask,
“Oh wherefore strike the beautiful, the young,
So innocent, unharming? Lift the knife,
If need be, ‘gainst the warrior; but forbear
The trembling woman.”
The unfortunate schoolmaster shared a different fate. To him they owed
no obligations of friendship; he was a man, and as such, capable of
resistance; his scalp was therefore torn from him, and borne off as a
testimony of their savage triumph.