SUNBEAM, THE SEMINOLE.
When I had concluded the recitation of the poem which closes the
preceding chapter, a fine-looking gentleman sitting near us arose, and
lifting his hat very gracefully, said:
"Pardon me. As a native Floridian, I have much enjoyed hearing you
repeat that poem relating to my State."
This led to a pleasant conversation, during which he introduced us to
his wife as being one of the aborigines. We expressed much interest in
this statement, and finally persuaded him to give us an account of
his courtship, which, with some amplifications, was substantially as
follows:
It is midnight in the vast everglades of Florida. The mammoth forest
trees seem to support the arch of heaven as the pillars uphold the
great dome of the nation's capitol. Here and there the century-old
orange trees are resplendent with the golden globes of the luscious
fruit, and millions of flowering vines beautify even the dead monarchs
of the woods.
All these tropical splendors are illumined by the rays of the full
hunter's moon, which transforms the trailing streamers of dewy Spanish
moss into long-drawn chains of sparkling silver. From swamp and
foliage the voices of the night fill the balmy air with quavering
wailings, punctured by the occasional screams of wild-cats and
hootings of the melancholy owls. Here in this forest primeval, mid
the murmuring pines and star-eyed magnolias, nature rules supreme,
uncontaminated by the trammels of civilization.
But what is that? Surely human forms swinging noiselessly from limb
to limb over dark pools where the deadly moccasins and ferocious
alligators slumber, over stagnant lagoons beautified by great lilies,
and densely populated with rainbow colored fishes, and gaily decorated
by water-fowl now all motionless in the embrace of sleep, the brother
of death.
The moonbeams reveal a band of broad-shouldered, copper-colored
aborigines, who once ruled over the whole of this fair peninsular.
They are returning, with packs of supplies strapped upon their backs,
from a trading journey to the city of Kissimmee, where they have
exchanged the fruits of their hunting for many-colored calicos,
ammunition, and alas for the once-noble red men! fire-water. They had
left their canoes when they could no longer be floated, and are now
returning in this, the only possible manner, to their fertile oasis,
protected from the white men by many miles of bogs into which all foot
travelers would sink to unknown slimy depths and death.
On they come in single file, hand over hand from tree to tree, their
long legs dangling in the air, led by Tiger-tail, the chief of the
survivors of the most intelligent and powerful of all the Indian
tribes. Suddenly the leader stops, gives the low cry of the Ring-dove,
which halts his followers, and suspended in air, gazes at the sleeping
form of a young white man, reclining, with his rifle beside him, on
a hammock which rises dry and grass-covered above the surrounding
morasses.
Motioning his band to follow, the chief drops noiselessly beside the
sleeper, stealthily seizes the gun, revolver, and bowie-knife of the
helpless victim, hands them to others, and shouts "Humph, wake up!"
The pale-face reaches for his weapons, and finding them gone, jumps to
his feet, gazing without flinching at his stalwart captors.
"Who you be?" grunted the chief. "What for you here?"
"I am Henry Lee of Lawtey," was the calm reply, "and I am hunting."
"Humph, you white man hunt Seminole from earth. You no right here. You
my prisoner; follow me, my slave."
As resistance was useless, the youth silently obeys, climbing hour
after hour until his arms seemed about to be wrenched from their
sockets. At last, just as the rising sun shot his lances of light
through the forest's gloom, the chief drops to solid earth, followed
by all.
A romantically beautiful scene lies before them. No longer the
styx-like waters; the funereal realms of Pluto have vanished, and an
elevated plateau appears, partially cleared. Here and there graceful
palms, tall, slender cocoanut and orange trees laden with fruit;
sparkling springs; abundant harvests of varied crops; picturesque
wigwams and huts, fair as the garden of the Lord. A pack of dogs
started to yelp, but at once slunk away at a word from the chieftain,
who points to a hut, quietly saying: "Go in there till I call you."
Henry obeyed, and exhausted with his journey, sank quickly to sleep
upon the straw-covered floor. At length, when the sun was high in the
heavens, he was awakened by a black man, who placed before him some
venison and corn bread, then silently withdrew. After satisfying his
hunger, he went out to explore.
It was an ideal scene of tropical luxuriance; cattle and sheep were
feeding upon the abundant grasses; but they suddenly took to their
heels, with uplifted tails and terrified eyes, at the sight of his
white face, a spectacle never before seen on this oasis, peopled
hitherto exclusively by "Copperheads." Swarms of children were
shooting their arrows at deer-skin targets; groups of braves,
fantastically attired, lounged under the shade of the wide-spreading
umbrella trees, smoking fragrant tobacco in long-stemmed pipes, but
they did not deign to give the visitor even an inquiring glance.
Henry interviewed a number of negroes hoeing corn and sweet potatoes,
who informed him in broken English that they were the slaves of the
Indians; that they had never heard of the civil war, nor of Abraham
Lincoln. They claimed to be well treated, and were contented, having
plenty to eat and no very severe labor. They cast anxious glances
towards the village, and seemed glad when he walked away, saying
they had never before seen a white man and thought he must be "big
medicine."
The birds were singing gaily, all nature smiled complacently, and he
strolled over the flower-bedecked fields into the recesses of the
forest, where he seated himself under a blossom-covered magnolia
around which twined the fragrant jessamine. He gave himself up to
day-dreams. All at once a light, moccasined footfall is heard, and
there stepped from the woods an Indian girl, graceful as a fawn, with
her head crowned with flowers, and softly singing a strange, sweet
song in an unknown tongue. When the stranger was seen she started to
flee, but with a smile he beckoned her to stop, which she did, as
though hypnotized.
"Oh," she whispered, "you are the pale-face my father has captured;
but if Tiger-tail should see me speaking to you, he would kill us
both. Such is the law of the Seminoles. No Indian maiden must speak to
a white man; but I never saw such as you before."
"But, how happens it," said he, in astonishment, "that you speak my
language?"
"My father taught me," was the reply, "he is a scholar; we all speak
some American."
"May I know your name?" asked our hero.
"I am Sunbeam, daughter of the Seminole chief."
"And mine is Henry Lee," he replied to her inquiring look. "You
are well named," he continued. "I have seen many daughters of the
pale-faces; but none so fair and bright as you. Sunbeam, at this my
first glance, I love you; can you sometime love me?"
"I do love you now," replied the artless girl; "the Great Spirit tells
me to do so; but we must not be seen together; they will kill us, we
must part at once."
"Dearest," cried Henry, "when can we meet again?"
"To-morrow at noon," came the impulsive reply. "In my cave there back
of that cypress; no one is allowed to enter but me; there I say my
prayers, and my father says it is sacred to me alone. Good-bye,
Henry," and she sped like a deer into the shades of the forest.
The youth was sincere, for it had flashed upon him like an inspiration
when their eyes first met, that she was born for him, and he for her.
They were married in heaven, ages ago. It came like a word from the
Infinite to these kindred souls. A sudden rent in the veil of darkness
which surrounds us manifests things unseen. Such visions sometimes
effect a transformation in those whom they visit, converting a poor
camel driver into a Mohammed, a peasant girl tending goats, into a
Joan of Arc.
This love-flash from the invisible blent these two hitherto widely
separated souls into one, even as the positive electricity leaps
through the spaces to find the negative, and when met, dissolves the
separateness into a harmonious oneness which can never be sundered.
The unsophisticated Indian maiden went her way, thrilling with the
thought that her heart is in his bosom, and his in hers, useless one
without the other.
The white youth was suddenly changed from an idle, wandering,
purposeless dreamer, into a fearless lover, ready to face death itself
to secure the object of his worship, and he sauntered back to his hut
with no flinching from the many dangers which surrounded him.
There a black slave met him, bearing an abundant feast. "Eat," said
the negro, "and then go to the lodge of Tiger-tail, the largest in the
village, with the skin of a tiger stretched on the door."
As soon as Henry had assuaged his hunger, he hastened to obey the
summons. As before, no human being noticed him, and he walked to
the wigwam, knocked on the door-post, and answering the "come" from
within, entered. To his astonishment, the giant leader was evidently
trying to read a newspaper, but took no notice of his entrance for
some minutes, when he suddenly said:
"What is this?" pointing to a line of what Henry saw was the message
to Congress of the President of the United States. The chief watched
closely as his captive slowly read:
"The Seminole Indians have been driven by our troops to their
fastnesses in the swamps of the Everglades, and it is for Congress to
decide whether they shall be further punished for their outbreak."
The chief slowly rose to his frill height, and walked in silence for a
long time, when he turned to our hero, and fastened upon him his eagle
eyes. "Humph," at length he muttered, "the pale-face rob Seminole of
everything else, now he follow us here:--no, the great father must
know the truth, you teach me to write him, no white man ever come here
and go away to tell, you stay here always; you no speak to any one
here but me, you set down, teach me."
For a long time Henry labored hard to show this remarkable savage how
to read and write. No teacher ever had a more attentive pupil; but it
was very difficult for his untutored mind to master these, to him,
puzzling hieroglyphics. At length, Tiger-tail arose, and saying in an
exasperated tone:
"Humph! Damn! Me kill something, me mad! You come here every day when
I send for you," and seizing his rifle, and pointing the youth to go,
he strode savagely away into the woods.
The youth returned to his hut, and wearied with his unusual labors,
was soon asleep, dreaming all night of the loved Sunbeam, whom he
hoped would soon irradiate the darkness of his life. The hours of the
next day dragged away on leaden wings, and the trysting hour drew
near; but to his utter disgust, just as he was on the point of going
to his beloved, the negro appeared summoning him once more to the
chief, and his heart sank with fear that their secret was discovered.
Tiger-tail betrayed no emotion, and for a long time teacher and pupil
struggled with their tasks as before, until the Indian, unable to
restrain his pent-up restlessness longer, strode away to seek relief
in the chase, leaving Henry to wend his way with many watchful glances
to the shrine of his worship.
While walking slowly and circuitously to avoid suspicion, and closely
scrutinizing the trunks and tops of trees for any spy who might be
watching, he noticed a slight movement of the tall grass around a
fallen cypress, and rushing to reconnoitre, a warrior leaped to his
feet and dashed into the underbrush. Then the youth realized that
suspicious eyes were following him, and that he was risking his life
to meet the daughter of the chief.
He dared not enter the mouth of the cave; but walked through the thick
bushes above it much depressed in spirit, when suddenly he heard his
name softly called, and looking downward, saw an opening into the
earth large enough to admit his body. "Drop down this way," was
whispered, and after assuring himself that no spy was in sight, he
obeyed, falling into the arms of the waiting girl.
"Henry," said she, "I was followed; but no one knows of this entrance
but myself; close it with this shrub. We are watched, and must never
meet here again."
"But, dearest," sobbed the youth, "life is not worth living without
you; we must escape together this very night."
"I will go with you to the ends of the earth," was the reply. "I loved
you long before you came here; I have the gift of second sight. Months
ago I saw you coming to me. I have explored the way to the great
river. At midnight, meet me under the great cypress, throw this
perfume to the dogs and they will not bark;" she handed him a small
vial. "I must go; you follow when you hear the King-dove coo; go to
your hut." She embraced him, and was gone.
Soon, he heard the signal, and he cautiously raised himself to the
upper air, returned to his wigwam, and was soon enjoying rapturous
dreams with his head resting where he knew the rays of the moon would
shine into his face to awaken him at the appointed time for flight.
When he peered anxiously through the entrance of his wigwam at a
little before midnight, he was appalled at the sight. A multitude of
dogs surrounded the hut, ready, evidently by their yelpings, to bring
down upon him the whole tribe of Indians, should he try to escape.
"Alas," thought he, "there are battles with fate which can never be
won," and for a moment he seemed paralyzed at his doom. Then came
to mind a recollection of the perfume given him by his thoughtful
Sunbeam, and he resolved to do or die.
Noiselessly as a shadow, he stepped out, hoping to escape the
attention of his canine guards; but in a moment, every cur was on his
feet and were about to make the welkin ring, when he threw at the
leader the contents of his vial. Instantly, all fawned at his feet,
and he hastened to his rendezvous.
Not a sound was heard save an occasional snore from some sleeper, and
soon he found his faithful sweetheart in the shadow of the century-old
cypress. She quickly slung his rifle across his back, fastened about
him the revolver and bowie-knife, bound over her own shoulder a bag of
provisions; "follow me," she whispered, and away they sped into the
vast primeval forest.
For hours they hastened in silence, then the maiden halted at the edge
of a dark morass, and whispered: "Here we leave the earth; I know
the way," and they launched themselves into the limbs of the trees,
clambered hand over hand for a long, long time; when well-nigh
exhausted, they dropped down into a little brook, carefully avoiding
any contact with the tell-tale earth.
"Quick," said Sunbeam; "we must hasten up this stream which will
conceal our footsteps, to the great river, where we can hide and rest
in a great hollow tree which I found there," and on they went with
their feeble remnant of strength.
At last, just as the rising sun was dispersing the vapors of night,
our elopers swung themselves from the brook into the branches of an
overarching hollow tree, helped each other to the bottom of this house
not made with hands, and soon slept the slumber of utter exhaustion.
It was many hours before tired nature's sweet restorer released these
two loving children from its embraces, and then it seemed as if all
the fiends from heaven that fell had pealed the banner-cry of hell.
The howls of dogs, and the savage war-whoops announced that their
enemies were upon them; but undismayed by the terrible dangers, they
resolved to die together rather than endure separation.
"My father never loved me," whispered Sunbeam, "because I am a girl,
while he hoped for a warrior child; if they find us, kill me; I cannot
live without you."
"We will go to the Great Spirit together, beloved," was the calm
reply.
Soon they heard the voice of Tiger-tail close to them, talking to his
braves. "They no cross river," he said; "all canoes here, dogs no get
scent, all back to swamp, we find um there, you, War-Eagle, watch
canoes." Again the air resounds with the yells of dogs and warriors,
then all was silent.
"War-Eagle hate me," whispered the maiden, "cos I no be his squaw; but
we must go before they return." Slowly the lovers pulled themselves
upward by the ingrown stumps of limbs, and, concealed in the thick
branches, looked around; no one was in sight except the Indian left
to guard the canoes, and he was reclining on the bank of the river,
evidently exhausted.
Noiselessly they lowered themselves to the ground and approached the
recumbent brave, when a loud snore showed that their enemy was in the
land of nod. "Take my revolver," said Henry, "and shoot--if we must,"
then, making a slip-noose of the stout thongs which had bound the
provision bag, he deftly slipped it around the arms of the Indian, and
with a quick jerk he was firmly bound.
The savage tried to grasp his gun, but, unable, was about to give the
whoop of alarm, when the youth clapped his hand over the vast mouth;
the red man subsided, was quickly gagged and tied to a tree.
"Now, darling, to our boat," and into it they jumped, and Henry bent
to his oars with all his might. On they sped in their light canoe,
these two hearts beating as one, towards liberty and the loved ones
waiting to welcome them in the white man's home. "Dearest Sunbeam,"
said Henry, resting for a moment on his oars, "soon you will be the
fairest flower in my garden of home."
"Oh, Henry," was the faint reply, "I am but a simple Indian girl, and
I know so little."
"But it will be our delight to live and learn together," said Henry,
"for--
"'Thou art all to me, love, for which my heart did pine,
A green isle in the sea, love, a fountain and a shrine.'"
On they glided, out of that paradise of nature, where every prospect
pleases, and naught but man is vile. Sunbeam left the place of her
nativity without a lingering glance behind, for there she had been
nothing but an unwelcome girl.
In a pretty cottage in Lawtey, you may now see Sunbeam, the Seminole,
wife of a successful planter, Henry Lee, beloved by all who know her,
surrounded by orange groves and fragrant flowers in that land of
perpetual bloom.