Part 15

Today the Seminole suffers and endures without complaint and retains his old-time pride. As is known, the Seminole in polite but in positive terms, refuses presents of any magnitude from white friends. “Littly presents me take, big presents, money cost ’im too much, Indian no take.”

When it was learned that a chieftain had not only lost his camp and all his belongings by fire, amounting to about three hundred dollars, and that he had had the expense of a trip to see a physician, that would appall the average wage earner, some members of the Society of the “Friends of the Florida Seminoles” suggested that a purse be made up for his benefit. Then came the delicate point of making such a suggestion. Cho-fee-halch-o, with the old-time pride of his ancestors, in answer to the question whether he would take money for his expenses, replied: “Me no think so; my money me make. My own money me spend. Me no take it.”

Where is the Anglo-Saxon who could refuse good American dollars when free for the acceptance?

With a race so proud, too honorable to beg, yet clinging with a desperate effort to their beloved Florida, what must we, as Americans, do but protect them?

HOME AND RELIGION.

It is a long way from the savagery of the jungle to the doors of civilization, where, when the confidence and faith of the Seminole has been won, he becomes as trusting and confiding as a little child. The endeavor to show the Seminole what Christianity stands for has been one of the most complex problems encountered.

“Not to lie, not to steal, not to cheat and to think with God,” is practiced with precision.

The Seminole, with most reverend attitude, listens to the returning of thanks, at the white man’s table and with the question put, “Billy, do Seminoles talk to God and ask Him to give them food and homes?” “Munks-chay” (No), replied the Indian, “no ask Him.”

Then, as if a light dawned, as to the nature of our study, he told of a hunting experience of a few weeks before, when he had acted as guide for a northern tourist. For three days the red huntsman had sought all the bayous for deer, but “deer hie-pus (all gone). Man feel sorry ojus (plenty). Night come, we wake two o’clock, moon shine bright, me hear water laugh. Me see big e-cho (deer) swim across the river. My gun me take. Kill big deer. Me tell Great Spirit ‘Me thank you.’ White man glad ojus; he go back to New York, take big buck antlers--he say he kill big deer in Everglades.”

The Seminole, like his ancient ancestors, thanks the Great Spirit for blessings received, but does not beseech favors.

Can you not imagine the startled emotion experienced when, after trying to tell a stalwart, honest Seminole something of civilization and Christianity, he with all deference of a Chieftain answered: “Me no think me want to be civilized. Me think me get civilized, me lie, steal, cheat. Some day big sleep come. Me want to go to Happy Hunting Grounds. Me want to see Great Spirit; me want to see my grandfather. Me no think white man go to Heaven.”

How would _you_ answer such philosophy?

The Seminole believes that when Eschock-ee-tom-e-see (the Supreme Being) calls him hence, that his spirit will make its last journey to the Happy Hunting Grounds of his fathers, winging its way over the seven colored rainbow of the heavens--the “Highway of the Great Spirit.”

SEMINOLE INCIDENTS.

An incident, linking past Seminole history with the present, is full of interest, because so old, and yet so new.

Just eighty years ago, at the time the great Chieftain Osceola was betrayed near St. Augustine, with him was another Chieftain, by name of John Jumper.

History has not failed to record the life and death of Osceola, but of John Jumper little has been written outside of Government records.

Jumper was taken prisoner to the Indian territory. Many years after he was converted by a missionary and being a musical leader among his tribe, naturally grasped the white man’s melodies.

Later he composed a religious hymn. During the last visit of the Everglade Seminoles to Kissimmee, as is the custom, they attended the church service. At the close of the sermon, the minister gave a little talk to the Indians and sang a song in the Seminole tongue, which was very beautiful and so rhythmical that when once lodged in the brain, the tune refused to be dislodged. The minister, Dr. A. J. Holt, explained to the congregation that he had learned the hymn more than forty years ago from Colonel John Jumper in the Indian territory. This Chieftain had enlisted in the Civil War, where he was promoted to the rank of Colonel under the Confederate colors.

Returning from the church services, we were eager to know from the Indians if they had understood the Seminole song. One Indian, very musical, said: “Yes, me sing it good,” which he did to perfection, not omitting a single note or word. How did the young Seminole learn the words and tune so quickly? He explained, “me learn it in Everglades.” Certainly a remarkable incident. The solution was easy. An educated Oklahoma Indian Missionary, visiting the Everglades the year previous, had taught the song to these Seminoles.

Another incident, showing mechanical genius as well as love of music is here appended.

A few years ago when the Coast towns of Florida were still primitive, a store keeper had purchased in New York an old-fashioned organette, that played five tunes. The Seminoles at that time frequently came on purchasing expeditions to these trading villages. Cho-fee-hatch-o, progressive and musical, listened to the “box of music” as it played in the little store, and was entranced with the melodies.

Soon after, the organette refused to “go” and the trader told his friends, that unless he could “stick it on the Indians, he would be out thirty-five dollars.” A few days later, the Chief with another Indian, came back to the store bringing produce to sell. The white trader wanted the Indian’s goods and suggested to the Chief that he exchange for the music box, telling the innocent Seminole that “music box no more play, wake up by and by and play good, him tired now.” The Seminole with his mechanical knowledge, looked the organette over, and making the trade, proudly left with the “tired out” music box under his arm.

The next day, the two Indians returned, bringing with them the music box to show to the storekeeper. “That box, him no more tired,” and winding up the machine, which the ingenious Seminole had put into working order, played the whole five tunes, to the astonishment and chagrin of the trader. “Him play good at Green Corn Dance, down Okee-cho-bee.”

Several years after the organette was still doing service in the Seminole camps, where, with its aboriginal settings it seemed to fill a niche that harmonized with the forests, with the timid stars that hung overhead, with the wigwams and the shadowy flicker of the camp fire.

The ancestral music of the Seminole is full of a wild, weird melody, where men and women and little children join voices. As the Indians sing, you may hear the melancholy waters whisper a pensive good-night and the drowsy birds flutter in their boughs. You hear the camp songs and the lullabies like voices trained in the woodland with a strain of heartbreak, where life and love steal forth in fanciful ecstasy and the vanished souls seem to call back in tenuous fragments of mystery, only to die away into a symphony of sorrow, as the melodies echo across the dark wilderness.

MESSAGES FROM THE EVERGLADES.

Requests come so often for more details regarding these silent children of the forests, and interesting as well as unique are the letters and messages that come from the Everglades.

With the ox team and fleet footed Indian messengers, together with Uncle Sam’s quick mail service, communications reach the white man’s town, as per the will of the Seminole. With the Indians’ promise to keep us informed of their needs, births, marriages and ambitions (for the Seminole never breaks his word), a recent letter from the wigwam reads: “Me want to tell you we have not forgotten you.” Then comes the interesting part, “My sister She-y-o-hee got little pappoose, six days old; it is a girl.” Added to this is another birth record: “Shon-o-la-kee got one too, ten days old; it is a boy.” Certainly in the Everglades among the first families of America, the birth register is kept intact. The letter continues: “Me send you pumpkins seed.” (These are the Indian pumpkin, a tree climbing variety known to the American soldiers eighty years ago.)

In this day of food conservation and scientific economy, it may be well to make a comparison. The seeds were distributed among friends and neighbors, some delicious pumpkins were raised and enjoyed, but alas! for a future crop! Not a seed was saved and to the wigwam seed bag must we go if more pumpkins are planted.

It can hardly be disputed, that the Seminoles, in their migrations from Mexico brought the seeds with them.

To Dr. Howard A. Kelly, widely known surgeon, traveller, lecturer and philanthropist, are we indebted for the intensely interesting bit of Aztec history, blending so well with Seminole traditions.

In Dr. Kelly’s travels in Mexico, among the carved relics of Aztec origin observed in museums was the pumpkin of Aztec days--centuries old.

When a Seminole pumpkin was sent to the doctor, he wrote back: “The very thing I tried to buy in Mexico, carved in wood. I shall treasure this and preserve it in alcohol to be handed down as a link connecting the land of Montezuma with the present day Everglade history.”

For three hundred years the Seminoles have never failed to have their crop of this edible vegetable and to save seed for the next planting.

Could not the Seminole teach us all conservation?

SEMINOLES FIRST SUFFRAGISTS.

During these latter years, when “equal rights” has crowded into State and national politics, it may be interesting to the suffrage movement in America to know that the Seminole squaws are entitled to first claim as American suffragists.

Not that they are cognizant of it, but they have gained this authority through their entire fitness for it. The women work equally with the men, bearing burdens, tanning skins and having absolute control over the children, who are instilled with the dignity of obedience from the moment their little eyes open to the world. They are capable, careful, loving mothers, good counsellors in the camp life. The Council in passing upon a vital subject, must consult the women of the camp before giving a final decision. If a squaw wishes to divorce her husband, and she can prove she has a just cause to do so, she cannot only divorce him, but she can name his punishment.

The money she makes is hers to do as she likes with. She is supreme in the home and in the management of the camp.

As is known, Sofka is the tribal dish of the Seminoles; it is a stew containing the nutriment of many foods.

The Sofka spoon or ladle, made of wood, thus becomes the much valued household article and the squaws show their authority again here, for a spoon cannot be taken from the camp without the consent of the women of the family. This ladle is frequently carved, the different households having differently shaped spoons.

The Tusteenuggees are made with full large bowls--the Osceolas have a long slim bowl, each bowl having its own particular style of Seminole “Coat of Arms.”

OSCEOLA, THE GARIBALDI OF THE SEMINOLES

Do we feel surprised that thousands of our Florida tourists make efforts to see the descendants of Osceola, the Garibaldi of the Seminoles?

That Osceola should be named Florida’s most distinguished historical character is not to be disputed. This statement, in its boldness, regarding an untutored Indian of the wilderness, at first startles, but in looking over the pages of history, the question naturally follows: “Is there another character in Florida, or even in American history, who is known from ocean to ocean and whose generalship in warfare, has the admiration of the civilized world, whose heroism is the ideal of every school boy; the story of Osceola, recounting his valor and patriotism, may be found in the classic histories of the libraries of the world.”

History has never given to the world a more regal soldier, with his magnetic personality, royal in its wild, uncivilized way.

With such reverence is Osceola regarded by the remnants of the Seminole tribe today, that the name given to him when he was accepted as a chieftain by the nation, is guarded so jealously that they refuse to reveal it to any white man who might disclose it--treating it much as the Israelites did the name of Jehovah--too sacred to pass the lips of an alien race.

Osceola’s pride was always uppermost in his negotiations and when the Seminoles were denied the right to buy ammunition, Osceola was made the object of the insult.

To this he replied with all the defiance of his proud blood: “Am I a negro? A slave who will not be allowed to handle a rifle? My skin is dark, not black. I am a Red Stick of the Muscokees. The white man shall know I am a pure blood.”

At this point, it is with much pleasure, the author desires to correct the erroneous and too often quoted statement as given in the pages of literature, viz.: that “Osceola was a half-breed, the son of an English trader.”

After much research among records, and from the learned leaders of the Western Seminoles, as well as from the old Seminoles of the Everglades, it is learned that Osceola disdained the idea of mixed blood, declaring that “not a drop of foreign blood flowed through his veins.”

His mother was a Creek of the pure blood, a daughter of a chief, whose second marriage to an Englishman (Powell, by name), occurred when Osceola was a small boy.

Osceola was magnanimous in character and honorable in war and no other crime can be charged to this chivalrous Seminole than a positive opposition to the removal of his people from their sunny, native land to the blizzard-stricken territory of the West.

Picture, if you will, a Florida war scene that in dramatic climax is matchless in the world’s history.

In the Government’s headquarters, Seminole Chieftains and American army officers wait; each are in the insignia of their respective ranks. The American flag adds dignity to the scene. Through the open windows come the fragrant perfume of the orange and the magnolia blossoms and the song of the mocking-birds adds a flute-like melody to the tropical setting.

The very air is tense with the mental questions. Will Osceola come--will Osceola sign?

Promptly at the hour appointed, the savage chieftain, royal in his warrior regalia, self-possessed and with noiseless step, enters the room. With a swift glance at the stacked arms of his warriors, he approached the council table and with defiance in his face and high uplifted head, exclaimed: “Rather than act the coward, by signing away the Seminole’s inheritance and taking my people into a strange land, I will fight till the last drop of blood moistens the dust of the Seminole’s hunting grounds,” and drawing his long sheath knife drove the blade through the treaty pinning it to the table. “The land is ours. This is the way I will sign all such treaties.”

SHALL OSCEOLA’S BONES BE REMOVED?

As a keynote to the wave of sympathy which is being felt from the Atlantic to the Pacific in the interest of the fast vanishing Seminoles, is the growing sentiment to do honor to the memory of their famous war chieftain, Osceola, the hero of the “Seven Years’ War.”

The body of Osceola is now buried under the guns of Fort Moultrie, Charleston, South Carolina. The response to the proposition to have the remains removed to their native soil is full of gratification and shows the generous sentiment in favor of the Seminole Indians. To do honor to Florida’s world-known patriot and in part, atone for the cruel capture under the truce of white flag, cannot wipe out the national stain, but will show that this new democratized America is ready to atone even at this late day.

Osceola was a soldier worthy of any race and came under the white flag to “talk” to the American general. During the “peace talk,” the ring of bayonets closed around him and seeing that he was entrapped he folded his arms scornfully and said nothing by way of protest from that moment to the day of his death. When Osceola was questioned as to why he did not make his escape, as did some of the other chiefs from the dungeon at Fort Marion, St. Augustine, he replied: “I have done nothing to be ashamed of; it is for those to feel ashamed who entrapped me.”

Enough pressure should be brought upon the National Congress to have the Government take favorable action on the removal of Osceola’s remains, and to do it at once.

Osceola County, among all the counties of Florida, has honored this liberty-loving American by choosing his historic name, and the last resting place of the Seminole patriot should be at the capital of the county which bears his name.

With simple inscription, “Osceola, Patriot and Warrior, died January 30, 1838,” the body lies at the entrance of Fort Moultrie.

Shall the Seminole hero not be given six feet of soil in his native land for a grave and sleep the sleep of the brave in the great country he loved so well?

Commenting upon the subject of Osceola and the removal of his remains to Florida soil, the _Tampa Tribune_ editorially says:

“While the zealous patriots of the present generation of Floridians would desire such a removal, with a fitting ceremony and a memorial shaft erected to the memory of this American Chieftain, it is a question if South Carolinians, and especially Charlestonians would give up the body--all that is left of the hero they gave protection to, during the last hours of his life when the rapacity of the United States soldiers jeopardized his existence.”

“Moreover, the gates of Charleston have preserved the warrior’s grave for eighty years and with the love of patriotism born in every Charlestonian heart, it is believed that an interment of Osceola’s bones in Florida as a final resting place would be met with opposition from South Carolina.”

A MEMORIAL TO OSCEOLA.

Representative Frank Clark, of Florida, has already introduced a bill in the Lower House, asking for an appropriation of $25,000 for a memorial monument to be erected in honor of Osceola.

Because of the extravagance of war, the bill has remained in its initial stage, but with the National Government reverting to pre-war ideas and the citizenship of the Nation again building to the memory of her heroes, it is believed that the Florida Congressman will have the support of his colleagues in his efforts to place a memorial to the memory of the departed Osceola.

The romantic interest around the Seminole Chieftain has been so enhanced by sympathy, that when the Blackfeet Indians from the Northwest came East on a pilgrimage, stopping at the Nation’s capital on the way, five thousand people went down to Charleston from Washington to be with them when they paid tribute to the resting place of the martyred Osceola.

A BRONZE STATUE IN THE EVERGLADES.

The Battle of Okee-cho-bee! A battle that decided the issues of two wars and proved the fitness of an American soldier for a long and glorious march from the Everglades of Florida through struggles in Mexico to the White House in Washington. Of this battle in Florida, between Indians and Americans, many have never heard, few can identify the locality and no national monument marks the spot.

Turning a historic searchlight upon this scene of eighty years ago, one sees the American soldier, Zachary Taylor, meeting the noble warrior of the Seminoles, Coa-coo-chee (Wild-Cat) in his last struggle for his country and his people.

In the wilds of the Okee-cho-bee country, a shattered remnant of the Seminoles, fought against the American army, with a victory for the white troops, defeat, of course, for the Seminoles.

The battle was planned by Coa-coo-chee,[5] who had recently escaped from the musty dungeon at St. Augustine where he and Osceola had been confined after their capture under the truce of the white flag, while negotiating with the American officers. Coa-coo-chee, as if challenging the American army with retaliation and revenge for the indignity of such a violation of recognized warfare, now combined his forces for one great battle.

Carrying their little bundles, the pitiful salvage from the wreck of their once happy homes, the Indians had fled to the dark haunts of Florida’s weird morasses. With his people already encamped in this vicinity, Coa-coo-chee naturally selected the battle ground for its advantage of position, within easy reach of his warriors and by strategy and decoys succeeded in leading the American army to the chosen site. Contrary to the usual tactics of fighting in small bands and at widely scattered points, the Seminoles staked their all in this supreme battle, apparently not awed by the overwhelming odds of four to one.

This battle brought the generalship of Colonel Taylor prominently before the world and confirmed the Nation’s faith in him, which sent him, no doubt, to the Mexican battle field.

Here he was given the task of opening the way to the Halls of the Montezumas, and from this stepping stone he soon received the Presidency of the United States as a testimonial of national appreciation.

But of Colonel Taylor’s gallant opponent, Coa-coo-chee, what shall we say? Finally surrendering, he was put in chains and transported with a ship-load of his people, a group of broken-hearted exiles, to the waiting ships at Tampa; as the transports left Tampa Bay for the far western country, the anguish of this oppressed, terror-stricken people touched the hearts of the most hardened sailor--reduced from a powerful nation to a decimated band of starving humanity, they went silent or weeping toward the land of the setting sun, driven like dumb beasts before the power of the white man.

With lingering looks, these red patriots saw the loved scenes of their homes fade away, their happy hunting grounds, the graves of their fathers--their beloved Florida.

It was the closing of a sad chapter in American history. With the battle of Okee-cho-bee, few are familiar today. Is it not a fitting location for a national park, and a monument to the memory of this noble chieftain whom we have so sadly treated?

Upon this sacred soil a battle was fought that would not shame the Greeks of Leonidas, nor the Romans of ancient days. Today the white man treads heedlessly upon the land, with no other thought than that of commercialism attuned to the jingle of dollars.

In this beautiful valley of the “Place of the Big Water” the present Seminoles, like Chief Joseph of the West, say: “We love this land more than all the rest of the world. An Indian who would not love his father’s grave is worse than the wild beasts of the forest.”

No finer or more chivalrous treatment of an enemy can be shown in history than that of Coa-coo-chee to Colonel Taylor even though the sting of his treacherous capture with his friend Osceola was fresh in his mind. No braver defense was made at Thermopylae than was made in the hammock on Lake Okee-cho-bee. The site of the Battle of Okee-cho-bee is now before the eyes of the world as a terminus of a Florida Railroad; it is eminently fitting that the American people make a plea for a memorial where Indian and American may be honored and will be the means, too, of bringing graphically before the people a history so little known, and may we not hope, a tender pity for the vanquished Red Knights who fought so bravely for home and honor.

In the legends of the Seminoles, the spirit of Coa-coo-chee returns once a year to visit the sacred retreats of his race.