 | Wolfert's roost |  |
THE SEMINOLES.
From the time of the chimerical cruisings of Old Ponce de Leon in
search of the Fountain of Youth; the avaricious expedition of
Pamphilo de Narvaez in quest of gold; and the chivalrous enterprise
of Hernando de Soto, to discover and conquer a second Mexico,
the natives of Florida have been continually subjected to the invasions
and encroachments of white men. They have resisted them
perseveringly but fruitlessly, and are now battling amidst swamps
and morasses, for the last foothold of their native soil, with all
the ferocity of despair. Can we wonder at the bitterness of a
hostility that has been handed down from father to son, for upward
of three centuries, and exasperated by the wrongs and miseries
of each succeeding generation! The very name of the
savages with whom we are fighting, betokens their fallen and
homeless condition. Formed of the wrecks of once powerful
tribes, and driven from their ancient seats of prosperity and dominion,
they are known by the name of the Seminoles, or “Wanderers.”
Bartram, who travelled through Florida in the latter part of
the last century, speaks of passing through a great extent of
forests, orange groves, and rank vegetation, the site of the ancient
Alachua, the capital of a famous and powerful tribe, who in days
of old could assemble thousands at bull-play and other athletic
exercises “over these then happy fields and green plains.” “Almost
every step we take,” adds he, “over these fertile heights, discovers
the remains and traces of ancient human habitations and
cultivation.”
We are told that about the year 1763, when Florida was ceded
by the Spaniards to the English, the Indians generally retired
from the towns and the neighborhood of the whites, and
burying themselves in the deep forests, intricate swamps and
hommocks, and vast savannahs of the interior, devoted themselves
to a pastoral life, and the rearing of horses and cattle. These
are the people that received the name of the Seminoles, or Wanderers,
which they still retain.
Bartram gives a pleasing picture of them at the time he visited
them in their wilderness; where their distance from the
abodes of the white man gave them a transient quiet and security.
“This handful of people,” says he, “possesses a vast territory,
all East and the greatest part of West Florida, which being naturally
cut and divided into thousands of islets, knolls, and eminences,
by the innumerable rivers, lakes, swamps, vast savannahs,
and ponds, form so many secure retreats and temporary dwelling-places
that effectually guard them from any sudden invasions or
attacks from their enemies; and being such a swampy, hommocky
country, furnishes such a plenty and variety of supplies for the
nourishment of varieties of animals, that I can venture to assert,
that no part of the globe so abounds with wild game, or creatures
fit for the food of man.
“Thus they enjoy a superabundance of the necessaries and
conveniences of life, with the security of person and property,
the two great concerns of mankind. The hides of deer, bears,
tigers, and wolves, together with honey, wax, and other productions
of the country, purchase their clothing equipage, and domestic
utensils from the whites. They seem to be free from want or
desires. No cruel enemy to dread; nothing to give them disquietude,
but the gradual encroachments of the white people.
Thus contented and undisturbed, they appear as blithe and free as
the birds of the air, and like them as volatile and active, tuneful
and vociferous. The visage, action, and deportment of the Seminoles
form the most striking picture of happiness in this life;
joy, contentment, love, and friendship, without guile or affectation,
seem inherent in them, or predominant in their vital principle,
for it leaves them with but the last breath of life.... They
are fond of games and gambling, and amuse themselves like
children, in relating extravagant stories, to cause surprise and
mirth.”[1]
The same writer gives an engaging picture of his treatment
by these savages:
“Soon after entering the forests, we were met in the path by
a small company of Indians, smiling and beckoning to us long
before we joined them. This was a family of Talahasochte, who
had been out on a hunt and were returning home loaded with
barbacued meat, hides, and honey. Their company consisted of
the man, his wife and children, well mounted on fine horses, with a
number of pack-horses. The man offered us a fawn skin of honey,
sewing-needles, etc.
“On our return to camp in the evening, we were saluted by a
party of young Indian warriors, who had pitched their tents on a
green eminence near the lake, at a small distance from our camp,
under a little grove of oaks and palms. This company consisted
of seven young Seminoles, under the conduct of a young prince
or chief of Talahasochte, a town southward in the Isthmus.
They were all dressed and painted with singular elegance, and
richly ornamented with silver plates, chains, etc., after the Seminole
mode, with waving plumes of feathers on their crests. On
our coming up to them, they arose and shook hands; we alighted
and sat a while with them by their cheerful fire.
“The young prince informed our chief that he was in pursuit
of a young fellow who had fled from the town, carrying off with
him one of his favorite young wives. He said, merrily, he would
have the ears of both of them before he returned. He was rather
above the middle stature, and the most perfect human figure I
ever saw; of an amiable, engaging countenance, air, and deportment;
free and familiar in conversation, yet retaining a becoming
gracefulness and dignity. We arose, took leave of them, and
crossed a little vale, covered with a charming green turf, already
illuminated by the soft light of the full moon.
“Soon after joining our companions at camp, our neighbors,
the prince and his associates, paid us a visit. We treated them
with the best fare we had, having till this time preserved our
spirituous liquors. They left us with perfect cordiality and cheerfulness,
wishing us a good repose, and retired to their own camp.
Having a band of music with them, consisting of a drum, flutes,
their music, vocal and instrumental.
“There is a languishing softness and melancholy air in the Indian
convivial songs, especially of the amorous class, irresistibly
moving attention, and exquisitely pleasing, especially in their
solitary recesses, when all nature is silent.”
Travellers who have been among them, in more recent times,
before they had embarked in their present desperate struggle,
represent them in much the same light; as leading a pleasant,
indolent life, in a climate that required little shelter or clothing,
and where the spontaneous fruits of the earth furnished subsistence
without toil. A cleanly race, delighting in bathing, passing
much of their time under the shade of their trees, with heaps
of oranges and other fine fruits for their refreshment; talking,
laughing, dancing and sleeping. Every chief had a fan hanging
to his side, made of feathers of the wild turkey, the beautiful
pink-colored crane, or the scarlet flamingo. With this he would
sit and fan himself with great stateliness, while the young people
danced before him. The women joined in the dances with
the men, excepting the war-dances. They wore strings of tortoise-shells
and pebbles round their legs, which rattled in cadence
to the music. They were treated with more attention
among the Seminoles than among most Indian tribes.
ORIGIN OF THE WHITE, THE RED, AND THE BLACK MEN.
A SEMINOLE TRADITION.
When the Floridas were erected into a territory of the United
States, one of the earliest cares of the Governor, William
P. Duval, was directed to the instruction and civilization of
the natives. For this purpose he called a meeting of the chiefs,
in which he informed them of the wish of their Great Father at
Washington that they should have schools and teachers among
them, and that their children should be instructed like the children
of white men. The chiefs listened with their customary
silence and decorum to a long speech, setting forth the advantages
that would accrue to them from this measure, and when he
had concluded, begged the interval of a day to deliberate on it.
On the following day, a solemn convocation was held, at
which one of the chiefs addressed the governor in the name of
all the rest. “My brother,” said he, “we have been thinking
over the proposition of our Great Father at Washington, to
send teachers and set up schools among us. We are very thankful
for the interest he takes in our welfare; but after much deliberation,
have concluded to decline his offer. What will do
very well for white men, will not do for red men. I know you
white men say we all come from the same father and mother, but
you are mistaken. We have a tradition handed down from our
forefathers, and we believe it, that the Great Spirit, when he undertook
to make men, made the black man; it was his first attempt,
and pretty well for a beginning; but he soon saw he had
and made the red man. He liked him much better than the
black man, but still he was not exactly what he wanted. So he
tried once more, and made the white man; and then he was satisfied.
You see, therefore, that you were made last, and that is
the reason I call you my youngest brother.
“When the Great Spirit had made the three men, he called
them together and showed them three boxes. The first was
filled with books, and maps, and papers; the second with bows
and arrows, knives and tomahawks; the third with spades, axes,
hoes, and hammers. `These, my sons,' said he, `are the means
by which you are to live; choose among them according to your
fancy.'
“The white man, being the favorite, had the first choice.
He passed by the box of working-tools without notice; but when
he came to the weapons for war and hunting, he stopped and
looked hard at them. The red man trembled, for he had set his
heart upon that box. The white man, however, after looking
upon it for a moment, passed on, and chose the box of books and
papers. The red man's turn came next; and you may be sure
he seized with joy upon the bows and arrows, and tomahawks.
As to the black man, he had no choice left, but to put up with
the box of tools.
“From this it is clear that the Great Spirit intended the
white man should learn to read and write; to understand all
about the moon and stars; and to make every thing, even rum
and whiskey. That the red man should be a first-rate hunter,
and a mighty warrior, but he was not to learn any thing from
books, as the Great Spirit had not given him any: nor was he to
As to the black man, as he had nothing but working-tools,
it was clear he was to work for the white and red man, which he
has continued to do.
“We must go according to the wishes of the Great Spirit,
or we shall get into trouble. To know how to read and write,
is very good for white men, but very bad for red men. It makes
white men better, but red men worse. Some of the Creeks and
Cherokees learnt to read and write, and they are the greatest rascals
among all the Indians. They went on to Washington, and
said they were going to see their Great Father, to talk about the
good of the nation. And when they got there, they all wrote
upon a little piece of paper, without the nation at home knowing
any thing about it. And the first thing the nation at home
knew of the matter, they were called together by the Indian
agent, who showed them a little piece of paper, which he told
them was a treaty, which their brethren had made in their name,
with their Great Father at Washington. And as they knew not
what a treaty was, he held up the little piece of paper, and they
looked under it, and lo! it covered a great extent of country,
and they found that their brethren, by knowing how to read and
write, had sold their houses, and their lands, and the graves of
their fathers; and that the white man, by knowing how to read
and write, had gained them. Tell our Great Father at Washington,
therefore, that we are very sorry we cannot receive teachers
among us; for reading and writing, though very good for
white men, is very bad for Indians.”
THE CONSPIRACY OF NEAMATHLA.
AN AUTHENTIC SKETCH.
In the autumn of 1823, Governor Duval, and other commissioners
on the part of the United States, concluded a treaty with
the chiefs and warriors of the Florida Indians, by which the latter,
for certain considerations, ceded all claims to the whole territory,
excepting a district in the eastern part, to which they
were to remove, and within which they were to reside for twenty
years. Several of the chiefs signed the treaty with great reluctance;
but none opposed it more strongly than Neamathla, principal
chief of the Mickasookies, a fierce and warlike people,
many of them Creeks by origin, who lived about the Mickasookie
lake. Neamathla had always been active in those depredations
on the frontiers of Georgia, which had brought vengeance and
ruin on the Seminoles. He was a remarkable man; upward of
sixty years of age, about six feet high, with a fine eye, and a
strongly-marked countenance, over which he possessed great
command. His hatred of the white men appeared to be mixed
with contempt: on the common people he looked down with infinite
scorn. He seemed unwilling to acknowledge any superiority
of rank or dignity in Governor Duval, claiming to associate with
him on terms of equality, as two great chieftains. Though he
had been prevailed upon to sign the treaty, his heart revolted at
it. In one of his frank conversations with Governor Duval, he
observed: “This country belongs to the red man; and if I had
the number of warriors at my command that this nation once
the whole. I can say this to you, for you can understand
me: you are a man; but I would not say it to your people.
They'd cry out I was a savage, and would take my life.
They cannot appreciate the feelings of a man that loves his
country.”
As Florida had but recently been erected into a territory,
every thing as yet was in rude and simple style. The Governor,
to make himself acquainted with the Indians, and to be near at
hand to keep an eye upon them, fixed his residence at Tallahassee,
near the Fowel towns, inhabited by the Mickasookies. His government
palace for a time was a mere log-house, and he lived on
hunters' fare. The village of Neamathla was but about three
miles off, and thither the governor occasionally rode, to visit the
old chieftain. In one of these visits, he found Neamathla seated
in his wigwam, in the centre of the village, surrounded by his
warriors. The governor had brought him some liquor as a present,
but it mounted quickly into his brain, and rendered him
quite boastful and belligerent. The theme ever uppermost in
his mind, was the treaty with the whites. “It was true,” he
said, “the red men had made such a treaty, but the white men
had not acted up to it. The red men had received none of the
money and the cattle that had been promised them; the treaty,
therefore, was at an end, and they did not mean to be bound by
it.”
Governor Duval calmly represented to him that the time appointed
in the treaty for the payment and delivery of the money
and the cattle had not yet arrived. This the old chieftain knew
full well, but he chose, for the moment, to pretend ignorance.
louder, until it resounded all over the village. He held in his
hand a long knife, with which he had been rasping tobacco; this
he kept flourishing backward and forward, as he talked, by way
of giving effect to his words, brandishing it at times within an
inch of the governor's throat. He concluded his tirade by repeating,
that the country belonged to the red men, and that sooner
than give it up, his bones and the bones of his people should
bleach upon its soil.
Duval knew that the object of all this bluster was to see
whether he could be intimidated. He kept his eye, therefore,
fixed steadily on the chief, and the moment he concluded with
his menace, seized him by the bosom of his hunting-shirt, and
clinching his other fist:
“I've heard what you have said,” replied he. “You have
made a treaty, yet you say your bones shall bleach before you
comply with it. As sure as there is a sun in heaven, your bones
shall bleach, if you do not fulfil every article of that treaty!
I'll let you know that I am first here, and will see that you do
your duty!”
Upon this the old chieftain threw himself back, burst into a
fit of laughing, and declared that all he had said was in joke.
The governor suspected, however, that there was a grave meaning
at the bottom of this jocularity.
For two months, every thing went on smoothly: the Indians
repaired daily to the log-cabin palace of the governor, at Tallahassee,
and appeared perfectly contented. All at once they
ceased their visits, and for three or four days not one was to be
seen. Governor Duval began to apprehend that some mischief
Yellow-Hair, a resolute, intelligent fellow, who had always
evinced an attachment for the governor, entered his cabin about
twelve o'clock at night, and informed him, that between four and
five hundred warriors, painted and decorated, were assembled to
hold a secret war-talk at Neamathla's town. He had slipped off
to give intelligence, at the risk of his life, and hastened back
lest his absence should be discovered.
Governor Duval passed an anxious night after this intelligence.
He knew the talent and the daring character of Neamathla;
he recollected the threats he had thrown out; he reflected
that about eighty white families were scattered widely apart,
over a great extent of country, and might be swept away at once,
should the Indians, as he feared, determine to clear the country.
That he did not exaggerate the dangers of the case, has been
proved by the horrid scenes of Indian warfare which have since
desolated that devoted region. After a night of sleepless cogitation
Duval determined on a measure suited to his prompt and
resolute character. Knowing the admiration of the savages for
personal courage, he determined, by a sudden surprise, to endeavor
to overawe and check them. It was hazarding much;
but where so many lives were in jeopardy, he felt bound to incur
the hazard.
Accordingly, on the next morning, he set off on horseback,
attended merely by a white man, who had been reared among
the Seminoles, and understood their language and manners, and
who acted as interpreter. They struck into an Indian “trail,”
leading to Neamathla's vilage. After proceeding about half a
mile, Governor Duval informed the interpreter of the object of
The Indians among whom they were going were
among the most desperate and discontented of the nation. Many
of them were veteran warriors, impoverished and exasperated by
defeat, and ready to set their lives at any hazard. He said that
if they were holding a war council, it must be with desperate
intent, and it would be certain death to intrude among them.
Duval made light of his apprehensions: he said he was perfectly
well acquainted with the Indian character, and should
certainly proceed. So saying, he rode on. When within half a
mile of the village, the interpreter addressed him again, in such
a tremulous tone, that Duval turned and looked him in the face.
He was deadly pale, and once more urged the governor to return,
as they would certainly be massacred if they proceeded.
Duval repeated his determination to go on, but advised the
other to return, lest his pale face should betray fear to the Indians,
and they might take advantage of it. The interpreter
replied that he would rather die a thousand deaths, than have it
said he had deserted his leader when in peril.
Duval then told him he must translate faithfully all he should
say to the Indians, without softening a word. The interpreter
promised faithfully to do so, adding that he well knew, when
they were once in the town, nothing but boldness could save
them.
They now rode into the village and advanced to the council-house.
This was rather a group of four houses, forming a square,
in the centre of which was a great council-fire. The houses were
open in front, toward the fire, and closed in the rear. At each
corner of the square, there was an interval between the houses,
for ingress and egress. In these houses sat the old men and the
presided at the council, elevated on a higher seat than the rest.
Governor Duval entered by one of the corner intervals, and
rode boldly into the centre of the square. The young men made
way for him; an old man who was speaking, paused in the midst
of his harangue. In an instant thirty or forty rifles were cocked
and levelled. Never had Duval heard so loud a click of triggers;
it seemed to strike to his heart. He gave one glance at the Indians,
and turned off with an air of contempt. He did not dare,
he says, to look again, lest it might affect his nerves, and on the
firmness of his nerves every thing depended.
The chief threw up his arm. The rifles were lowered. Duval
breathed more freely; he felt disposed to leap from his horse, but
restrained himself, and dismounted leisurely. He then walked
deliberately up to Neamathla, and demanded, in an authoritative
tone, what were his motives for holding that conncil. The
moment he made this demand, the orator sat down. The chief
made no reply, but hung his head in apparent confusion. After
a moment's pause, Duval proceeded:
“I am well aware of the meaning of this war-council; and
deem it my duty to warn you against prosecuting the schemes
you have been devising. If a single hair of a white man in this
country falls to the ground, I will hang you and your chiefs on
the trees around your council-house! You cannot pretend to
withstand the power of the white men. You are in the palm of
the hand of your Great Father at Washington, who can crush
you like an egg-shell! You may kill me; I am but one man;
but recollect, white men are numerous as the leaves on the trees.
Remember the fate of your warriors whose bones are whitening
in battle-fields. Remember your wives and children who perished
war with the white men, and there will not be a Seminole left to
tell the story of his race.”
Seeing the effect of his words, he concluded by appointing a
day for the Indians to meet him at St. Marks, and give an account
of their conduct. He then rode off, without giving them
time to recover from their surprise. That night he rode forty
miles to Apalachicola River, to the tribe of the same name, who
were in feud with the Seminoles. They promptly put two hundred
and fifty warriors at his disposal, whom he ordered to be at
St. Marks at the appointed day. He sent out runners, also, and
mustered one hundred of the militia to repair to the same place,
together with a number of regulars from the army. All his arrangements
were successful.
Having taken these measures, he returned to Tallahassee, to
the neighborhood of the conspirators, to show them that he was
not afraid. Here he ascertained, through Yellow-Hair, that
nine towns were disaffected, and had been concerned in the conspiracy.
He was careful to inform himself, from the same
source, of the names of the warriors in each of those towns who
were most popular, though poor, and destitute of rank and
command.
When the appointed day was at hand for the meeting at St.
Marks, Governor Duval set off with Neamathla, who was at the
head of eight or nine hundred warriors, but who feared to venture
into the fort without him. As they entered the fort, and saw
troops and militia drawn up there, and a force of Apalachicola
soldiers stationed on the opposite bank of the river, they thought
they were betrayed, and were about to fly; but Duval assured
go home unmolested.
A grand talk was now held, in which the late conspiracy
was discussed. As he had foreseen, Neamathla and the other
old chiefs threw all the blame upon the young men. “Well,”
replied Duval, “with us white men, when we find a man incompetent
to govern those under him, we put him down, and appoint
another in his place. Now, as you all acknowledge you cannot
manage your young men, we must put chiefs over them who can.”
So saying, he deposed Neamathla first; appointing another
in his place; and so on with all the rest; taking care to substitute
the warriors who had been pointed out to him as poor
and popular; putting medals round their necks, and investing
them with great ceremony. The Indians were surprised and
delighted at finding the appointments fall upon the very men
they would themselves have chosen, and hailed them with acclamations.
The warriors thus unexpectedly elevated to command,
and clothed with dignity, were secured to the interests of
the governor, and sure to keep an eye on the disaffected. As to
the great chief Neamathla, he left the country in disgust, and
returned to the Creek Nation, who elected him a chief of one of
their towns. Thus by the resolute spirit and prompt sagacity
of one man, a dangerous conspiracy was completely defeated.
Governor Duval was afterwards enabled to remove the whole
nation, through his own personal influence, without the aid of
the General Government.
Note.—The foregoing ancedotes concerning the Seminoles,
were gathered in conversation with Governor Duval (the original
of Ralph Ringwood).
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