"DADE'S MASSACRE."
This melancholy finale to the festivities of Christmas was, if possible,
rendered more sad by a rumour that shortly after reached Fort King. It
was the rumour of an event, which has since become popularly known as
"Dade's massacre."
The report was brought by an Indian runner--belonging to one of the
friendly clans--but the statements made were of so startling a
character, that they were at first received with a cry of incredulity.
Other runners, however, continuously arriving, confirmed the account of
the first messenger, until his story--tragically improbable as it
appeared--was accepted as truth. It was true in all its romantic
colouring; true in all its sanguinary details. The war had commenced in
real earnest, inaugurated by a conflict of the most singular kind--
singular both in character and result.
An account of this battle is perhaps of sufficient interest to be given.
In the early part of this narrative, it has been mentioned that an
officer of the United States army gave out the vaunt that he "could
march through all the Seminole reserve with only a corporal's guard at
his back." That officer was Major Dade.
It was the destiny of Major Dade to find an opportunity for giving proof
of his warlike prowess--though with something more than a corporal's
guard at his back. The result was a sad contrast to the boast he had so
thoughtlessly uttered.
To understand this ill-fated enterprise, it is necessary to say a word
topographically of the country.
On the west coast of the peninsula of Florida is a bay called "Tampa"--
by the Spaniards, "Espiritu Santo." At the head of this bay was erected
"Fort Brooke"--a stockade similar to Fort King, and lying about ninety
miles from the latter, in a southerly direction. It was another of
those military posts established in connection with the Indian reserve--
a depot for troops and stores--also an entrepot for such as might arrive
from the ports of the Mexican gulf.
About two hundred soldiers were stationed here at the breaking out of
hostilities. They were chiefly artillery, with a small detachment of
infantry.
Shortly after the fruitless council at Fort King, these troops--or as
many of them as could be spared--were ordered by General Clinch to
proceed to the latter place, and unite with the main body of the army.
In obedience to these orders, one hundred men with their quota of
officers, were set in motion for Fort King. Major Dade commanded the
detachment.
On the eve of Christmas, 1835, they had taken the route, marching out
from Fort Brooke in high spirits, buoyant with the hope of encountering
and winning laurels in a fight with the Indian foe. They flattered
themselves that it would be the first conflict of the war, and
therefore, that in which the greatest reputation would be gained by the
victors. They dreamt not of defeat.
With flags flying gaily, drums rolling merrily, bugles sounding the
advance, cannon pealing their farewell salute, and comrades cheering
them onwards, the detachment commenced its march--that fatal march from
which it was destined never to return.
Just seven days after--on the 31st of December--a man made his
appearance at the gates of Fort Brooke, crawling upon his hands and
knees. In his tattered attire could scarcely be recognised the uniform
of a soldier--a private of Dade's detachment--for such he was. His
clothes were saturated with water from the creeks, and soiled with mud
from the swamps. They were covered with dust, and stained with blood.
His body was wounded in five places--severe wounds all--one in the right
shoulder, one in the right thigh, one near the temple, one in the left
arm, and another in the back. He was wan, wasted, emaciated to the
condition of a skeleton, and presented the aspect of one. When, in a
weak, trembling voice, he announced himself as "Private Clark of the 2nd
Artillery," his old comrades had with difficulty identified him.
Shortly after, two others--privates Sprague and Thomas--made their
appearance in a similar plight. Their report was similar to that
already delivered by Clark: that Major Dade's command had been attacked
by the Indians, cut to pieces, massacred to a man--that they themselves
were the sole survivors of that band who had so lately gone forth from
the fort in all the pride of confident strength, and the hopeful
anticipation of glory.
And their story was true to the letter. Of all the detachment, these
three miserable remnants of humanity alone escaped; the others--one
hundred and six in all--had met death on the banks of the Amazura.
Instead of the laurel, they had found the cypress.
The three who escaped had been struck down and left for dead upon the
field. It was only by counterfeiting death, they had succeeded in
afterwards crawling from the ground, and making their way back to the
fort. Most of this journey Clark performed upon his hands and knees,
proceeding at the rate of a mile to the hour, over a distance of more
than sixty miles!