Part 26
What he says of Atkinson's arrival is only too true. Atkinson arrived with a vengeance, and, after a three hours' action, totally defeated the Indians; great numbers of them being driven into the Mississippi and drowned, or captured, by the American sharpshooters. Black Hawk stole away and got safely off, during the action, leaving all his baggage behind him, and certificates signed by British officers, testifying to his good character and excellent services rendered by him to the British cause in the war of 1812. With a small party, he reached the Winnebago village of Prairie du Chien, and, despairing of eluding his persevering pursuers, told the chiefs of this settlement that he wished to surrender himself to the whites, and that, if they wished, they might put him to death. But the Winnebago warriors did him no harm. Their women presented him with a suit of white tanned deerhide, as a testimonial to his bravery and gallantry; made much of him, and crowded about the renowned chieftain in wonder and delight. After a few days of rest he was accompanied by two Winnebago chiefs to the headquarters of General Street, where he was delivered into the hands of the American General.
The soldier was seated at a table, when the famous warrior entered, and, greeting him cordially, he asked him if he had anything to say for himself. The captured chieftain drew himself up to his full height, and then spoke in a slow and majestic manner. Although renowned only as a warrior, his oratory is quite equal to that of Red Jacket and other famous speakers of the Indian race; and had he not been noted as a war chieftain, his speeches would have given him distinction among those of his own color.
"You have taken me prisoner with all my warriors," said he. "I am much grieved, for I expected, if I did not defeat you, to hold out much longer and give you more trouble before I surrendered. I tried hard to bring you into ambush, but your last general understands Indian fighting. The first one was not so wise. When I saw that I could not beat you by Indian fighting, I determined to rush on you and fight you face to face. I fought hard. But your guns were well aimed. The bullets flew like birds in the air, and whizzed by our ears like the wind through the trees in winter. My warriors fell around me; it began to look dismal. I saw my evil day at hand. The sun rose dim on us in the morning, and at night it sunk in a dark cloud, and looked like a ball of fire. That was the last sun that shone on Black Hawk. His heart is dead and no longer beats quick in his bosom. He is now a prisoner to the white man; they will do with him as they wish. But he can stand torture, and is not afraid of death. He is no coward. Black Hawk is an Indian.
"He has done nothing for which an Indian has been ashamed. He has fought for his countrymen, the squaws, and pappooses, against white men, who came year after year to cheat him and take away their lands. You know the cause of our making war. It is known to all white men. They ought to be ashamed of it. The white men despise the Indians and drive them from their homes. But the Indians are not deceitful. The white men speak bad of the Indian and look at him spitefully. But the Indian does not tell his. Indians do not steal.
"Black Hawk is a true Indian and disdains to cry like a woman. He feels for his wife, his children, and friends. But he does not care for himself. He cares for his nation and the Indians. They will suffer. He laments their fate. The white men do not scalp the head; but they do worse, they poison the heart; it is not pure with them. His countrymen will not be scalped, but they will, in a few years, become like the white men, so that you can't trust them, and there must be, as in the white settlements, nearly as many officers as men, to take care of them and keep them in order.
"Farewell, my nation! Black Hawk tried to save you and avenge your wrongs. He drank the blood of some of the whites. He has been taken prisoner, and his plans are stopped. He can do no more. He is near his end. His sun is setting, and he will rise no more. Farewell to Black Hawk."
Although much impressed by this oration, the General ordered the noted chief to be made a prisoner, and sent to Washington to confer with Andrew Jackson, who was the President. Arriving at the seat of government, the celebrated warrior was soon ushered into the presence of the chief magistrate, whom he greeted with the words: "I am a man and you are another. Do with me as you will. I know that you will give me fair treatment."
Later on, he said: "We did not expect to conquer the whites, no. They had too many houses; too many men. I took up the hatchet, for my part, to revenge the injuries which my people could no longer endure. Had I borne them longer without striking, my people would have said, 'Black Hawk is a woman; he is too old to be a chief; he is a Sac.' These reflections caused me to raise the warwhoop. I say no more of it; it is known to you. Keokuk once was here; you took him by the hand, and, when he wished to return to his home, you were willing. Black Hawk expects that, like Keokuk, we shall be permitted to return, too."
"You must feel no uneasiness about your women and children," said the President. "They will be looked after and will be protected from their Indian enemies. You must promise me never to lift the hatchet again against the white man, and then you can return to your own race."
Having secured the necessary promise, Black Hawk, with some companions, was sent to Norfolk, Baltimore, Philadelphia and New York, where he was amazed and much flattered by the immense crowds of spectators who flocked from all quarters to obtain a view of him. The sight of the navy yards, arsenals, and ships of war made him realize the weakness and insignificance of his own nation compared with the Americans, and, upon viewing some troops in New York, he exclaimed: "I once thought that I could conquer the whites, my heart grew bitter and my hands grew strong. But the white men were mighty. I and my people failed. I see the strength of the white men. I will be the white man's friend. I will go to my people and speak good of the white men. I will tell them that they are like the leaves of the forest, very many, very strong, and that I will fight no more against them."
From New York the Indians returned by way of Albany and the Great Lakes to the Upper Mississippi, where they were set at liberty. No incident worthy of record took place for three years after his liberation, until the summer of 1837, when a battle occurred between the Sacs and Foxes, on one hand, and the Sioux upon the other, in which this noted chieftain participated. The remainder of his life was peaceful enough, as he was honored by both reds and whites. Invited to a dinner at a Fourth of July celebration at Fort Madison, Wisconsin, he was seated to the right of the toastmaster, who spoke of him as follows, when his health was proposed:
"Our illustrious guest. May his declining years be as calm as his previous life has been boisterous and filled with warlike events. His present friendship to the whites fully entitles him to a seat at our board."
To which the now aged warrior responded:
"It has pleased the Great Spirit that I am here today. The earth is our mother, and we are now permitted to look upon it. A few snows ago I was fighting against the white people; perhaps I was wrong; let it be forgotten. I love my towns and cornfields on the Rock River; it is a beautiful country. I fought for it, but it is now yours. Keep it as the Sacs did. I was once a warrior, but I am now poor. I love to look upon the Mississippi. I have looked upon it from a child. I love the beautiful river. My home has always been upon its banks. I thank you for your friendship. I will say no more."
Black Hawk--the orator, and defeated, though not crestfallen chieftain--died October 3rd, 1838. Many whites, as well as Indians, assembled at his tepee to pay their last respects to the noted red man, and buried him as the Sac chieftains had always been interred. This was according to his wish. Instead of covering his body with earth, it was placed upon the ground in a sitting posture, with a cane between the knees, supporting the hands. Slabs and rails were then piled around the remains, and the bones of Black Hawk were left to the care of the elements. During the following winter the body was stolen, and a year later was found in the possession of a surgeon of Quincy, Illinois. But the Governor of Iowa, learning of this outrage, compelled the thieving medical man to restore the skeleton of the noted warrior to his friends. These interred the bones of the chief beneath the ground, with a simple headstone to mark the last resting place of the once powerful warrior of the Sacs and Foxes.
OSCEOLA: THE SNAKE OF THE FLORIDA EVERGLADES
In a rude stockade in Florida, an officer of the United States Government sat before a rough-hewn table, upon which was laid the papers of an Indian treaty. It was the year 1832. Before him stood several Seminole chieftains, one of whom was nearly white and had a sharp, intelligent and crafty-looking countenance.
"You see," said the American soldier, pointing to the paper, "by the terms of this agreement, you Seminoles are to give up all your possessions in Florida, are to receive $15,400 upon arriving at your new home, and shall each have a blanket. Your women will each have a new homespun frock. Seven of your chiefs must consent to this agreement before it becomes a law. That is the will of our great father, President Jackson."
"I will sign your paper," said one of the gaudily-attired Seminoles, stepping forward.
"And I, also," said another.
But he of the sharp features jumped quickly between them and the parchment. It was Osceola, half Indian and half white, a redskin of treacherous courage and implacable hatred for the whites.
"I shall never sign these lies," said he with violence, "you whites are all cowards and cheats!" and, seizing his long knife in his right hand, he plunged it through the paper with such force that it went clean through the table upon which it lay. Then turning haughtily, he left the room, and disappeared.
The officer wrote to Washington that, in spite of the opposition of some of the chiefs, the treaty would be ratified by the Indians and they would leave their homes in the Everglades and swamps to the possession of the whites. But, in this, he was mistaken. It became apparent that the Seminoles intended to fight rather than to give up their lands to the white pioneers. A General Thompson called the real leaders of these Southern redskins to another conference, in October, 1834, and said:
"I have told you that you must stand to your bargain; my talk is the same. Your father, the President, who is your friend, will compel you to go. Therefore, be not deluded by any hope or expectation that you will be permitted to remain here."
"We will remain and will fight," answered the spokesman of the chiefs.
Six months later, they were again called together to hear the message of their father, President Jackson, the great white chief in Washington. General Thompson read them the message of this wise statesman, which ran:
"My children, I am sorry to have heard that you have been listening to bad counsel. You know me, and you know that I would not deceive you, nor advise you to do anything that was unjust or injurious. Open your ears and attend now to what I am going to say to you. They are the words of a friend, and the words of truth.
"The white people are settling round you. The game has disappeared from your country. Your people are poor and hungry. All this you have perceived for some time. And nearly three years ago you made an agreement with your friend, Colonel Gadsen, acting on the part of the United States, by which you agreed to cede your lands in Florida, and to remove and join your brothers, the Creeks, in the country west of the Mississippi."
After going into the terms of the treaty, the message concluded with:
"I now learn that you refuse to carry into effect the solemn promises thus made by you, and that you have stated to the officers of the United States that you will not remove to the Western country. My children, I have never deceived you, nor will I ever deceive any of the red people. I tell you that you must go, and you will go.... But lest some of your rash men should forcibly oppose your arrangements for removal, I have ordered a large military force to be sent among you.... Should you listen to the bad birds that are always flying about you, and refuse to go, I have directed the commanding officer to remove you by force. This will be done. I pray the Great Spirit, therefore, to incline you to do what is right."
This strong appeal divided the Seminoles, a considerable number consenting to their removal; but Osceola would not hear of such a step, and, when protesting against the matter in the presence of General Thompson, grew so angry that he drew a knife. "Arrest this man, immediately!" cried the now irate soldier, "and put him in irons until further orders."
Maddened and outraged by this treatment, Osceola secretly swore revenge. The devil rose in the soul of this mongrel of the Florida canebrakes, and he made an oath to never rest until he had the life blood of General Thompson. But, simulating a spirit of peace, he agreed to sign the treaty, and to do all in his power to persuade his people to follow his example. He was playing a part, and his true nature soon asserted itself, after seventy-nine of his people (men, women, and children) signed the compact with the Government of the United States at Fort King. Osceola, himself, put his name to the deed, but two weeks later shot down a white interloper who had penetrated the dense jungle of the Everglades, where he had made his home. Soon all of the Seminoles were in arms, and the Government of the United States was plunged into a desperate conflict, which was to last for seven long and tedious years.
There were three important and crucial events in this bitter struggle. One was the annihilation of Major Dade and his men; another the shooting of General Thompson, and a third the capture and death of the crafty and treacherous Osceola.
Only five hundred regular troops of the United States army were in Florida in the fall of 1836. One company was at St. Augustine; six were in the centre of the state at Fort King, and three were near what is now the town of Tampa, at Fort Brooke on Hillsboro Bay. "Two companies will leave Fort Brooke on December 16th, to meet an equal number from Fort King near the forks of the Ouithlacoochee River, in order to make an active campaign against the Seminoles," wrote General Clinch, the director of the Southern army at that time, to the commander at Fort Brooke. So, collecting the necessary men, that part of the expedition which was to come from Fort Brooke was soon made up, placed under the charge of Major Francis L. Dade, who had fought gallantly at Tippecanoe twenty-five years before, and, with one hundred and nine effectives, and a guide (half negro and half Spanish) started towards the place of rendezvous. One six-pound cannon, drawn by four oxen, brought up the rear.
The troops were not able to make speedy progress, for tangled weeds, branches, and vines grew across the roadway in dense confusion. In four days they only went sixty-five miles into the jungle, in whose dank and soggy depths the keen eyes of Osceola's men watched like ferrets. Lean-bodied warriors crept like snakes through the undergrowth, by paths known to themselves alone, and kept their cruel chieftain continually advised of the advance of the little army. Even the half-breed guide was a spy and a traitor; he had told the Seminoles by what route the whites were to advance, and had hinted to them that it would be an excellent opportunity to annihilate the entire band. Osceola prepared to do so, and, in a place favorable for attack, collected a strong body of half-naked and well-armed redskins.
On December the 28th, Major Dade's little battalion crossed the waters of the Ouithlacoochee and marched slowly along the sandy trail which was the only road. The ground was rather open and covered with a sparse growth of tropical palmettos. On the right was a small pond, surrounded by a swampy marsh, overgrown with rank grass, five feet high, and scrubby bushes and trees. On the left it was open and without much grass. The troops pushed on unsuspectingly, but behind the rank growth of weeds several hundred Seminoles, under Micanopy, lay in ambush. Osceola was away upon a mission of death, and had left strict orders that not a savage was to fire his piece until the signal was given.
The Americans were strung out in a long line, and were totally unsuspicious of any attack. Two Lieutenants were in the advance, and after them marched Major Dade with the main force, the six-pounder in the midst of the light-hearted soldiers. They trudged along singing, but Micanopy had his eye upon the leader of the expedition, and, as he passed by, the Indian took careful aim at his head. _Crack!_ a rifle shot rang out upon the clear air, the gallant Major fell prostrate to the ground, and, with a wild, blood-curdling warwhoop, the Seminole warriors discharged a gruelling volley into the advancing column. The two Lieutenants in front immediately went down. The suddenness of the attack appalled and staggered the Americans.
But, although staggered, there was no panic, and the whites were not disorganized. With immediate promptitude the soldiers fell back from the road into the trees, and returned the rifle fire of their savage enemies. Crouching behind fallen logs and palmetto stumps, they only discharged their muskets when they saw a redskin show himself, and so accurate was their fire that the attackers finally withdrew. For forty minutes the battle had raged with fury.
About fifty Americans were now left, and, with a knowledge of Indian tactics that is commendable, they instantly began to fell trees for a breastwork in the form of a triangle. The wounded were carried to the centre, and the six-pounder was placed where it could rake the oncoming foe. Working with desperation, the whites had succeeded in raising a protecting barrier, three tree trunks high, when a terrible yell from the forest of palmettos announced another Indian attack. The Seminoles poured a destructive fire into the little fort. Men fell upon every side, but with stolid and grim determination, the soldiers fought on in silence.
Unfortunately for the soldiers, their palisade was in a slight hollow, so the Indians commanded it from all sides. Lieutenant Keais lay helpless against the breastwork with both arms broken, until killed by a bullet through the head. Another officer, Henderson, continued to load and fire his musket with a broken arm, until dispatched by a leaden missile in the chest. A Doctor did great damage with two double-barreled shotguns, until finally knocked over by the accurate fire of some Seminoles who had crawled into the trees. Captain Gardiner was seen by one of the survivors to fall, crying out: "I can give no more orders, my brave boys. Do your best!" But soon there was no more fire from the log breastworks; the Indians swarmed into the rude fort, and it was all over with Major Dade's battalion.
Although the Seminoles took many scalps, they left three men alive, who feigned death, and, as they were bodily wounded, looked as if they had suffered the fate of all. One of them was shot by a lurking warrior when he tried to get away. The other two, however, crawled off towards Fort Brooke, sixty-five miles through the Everglades, and one of them reached this haven of refuge. The third was shot by a Seminole. When news of the annihilation of Dade's men reached civilization, it sent a thrill of horror through the entire country, and made the whites more determined than ever to annihilate the followers of Osceola.
This chief, it will be remembered, had sworn vengeance against General Thompson for throwing him in irons, and now was to have his oath fulfilled. The General was, on December 28th, dining with nine other gentlemen at the storehouse of Mr. Rogers, two hundred and fifty yards from Fort King. As the weather was mild, doors and windows were thrown open wide. The repast was a good one, wine was upon the table, and it is said that one officer had proposed a toast: "To the speedy capture of that knave Osceola and a termination of the war." No sooner had the words left him than a volley rang out. The officer dropped to the ground, mortally wounded; a wild yell sounded in the ears of those who survived this sudden and unexpected assault, and Osceola bounded into the room, followed by a dozen warriors.
At the first fire, General Thompson had been struck and had fallen prostrate to the ground. Leaping to his bleeding form, Osceola scalped him, held his hand aloft, and uttered a yell of triumph which was long remembered by all who heard it. Five others lay dead upon the ground. Those who were not killed leaped from the windows and fled. Five of them, who were fortunate enough to start towards the fort, escaped; but the others, who dashed towards a sheltering hill of sand, near by, were shot down by the skillful Seminoles. The cook, who was a negro woman, crouched behind a barrel in a dark corner, and was so thoroughly protected by her color that she was not seen by Osceola, who, pausing for a moment to take another scalp, darted out again, uttering a peculiarly shrill and piercing yell, so that those in the fort might know who was the leader of this bloody attack. His vengeance had been complete.
After this tragic affair the war continued as before. The Seminoles increased in numbers, through additions of runaway negroes and criminals from the Creeks and other tribes adjoining. Their strength seemed to be greater than usual, and, when driven into a corner, they fought like wildcats, without any thought of surrender. All Florida was in a panic of fear. The fugitives from Seminole wrath were reduced to such sore straits that Congress passed a bill to send them food and clothing until peace could be declared. To such extremities was the Government driven, that a force of one thousand Southern and Western Indians was enlisted to help subjugate the dreaded Seminoles.
In the last days of October, 1837, a solitary Indian was one day seen in the edge of the timber before Fort Peyton. He held up his hand in token of peace, and, being allowed to approach nearer, said: "I have a talk from Osceola to Big Chief."
"What does he want?" asked the sentry who had challenged him.
"He not far off. Wish to speak with Big Chief Jessup" (the commander of this stockade).
"I will give him Osceola's message," said the sentry.
When General Jessup heard that the savage Seminole was near by, he immediately devised a scheme for capturing him. Finding that he could not entice him into the fort, he ordered one of his officers, with over a hundred soldiers, to seize the Seminole chief, under cloak of a flag of truce. This sharp trick was successfully operated, and, although it was a piece of the most flagrant treachery, the wily enemy to white government was at last secured. The affair is a perpetual stain upon the honor of the United States.