SEMINOLES AT HOMEThe Everglades

Thecharacteristic of the Seminole is to make his camp in some secluded spot where the white man would least expect to find his habitation.

The peculiar physical formation of Florida makes this very possible. The Everglade region, which is the immediate environment of the Seminoles, is a watery prairie, with here and there high points of ground, and because land-grabbers, corporations and state officials are already clamoring for these watery wastes, and selling thousands of acres from paper plats, with the land still under water, a more detailed description of the Everglade region would be better appreciated. This vast region contains about 4,000 square miles of marsh lands and tropical forests, interlaced with thick clustering vines and is the greatest area of unexplored country in the United States.

The accounts of the interior of the mysterious swamp is to be found only in dim tradition or Indian legends.

However fast the door of the swamp may be locked, it opens quickly enough to whomsoever carries the key. The Seminole is the true key-bearer and with moccasined foot he enters when and where he will.

A writer, in a Miami paper, gives the following interesting account of his approach to the Indian camps:

“Traveling through this aquatic jungle in a light canoe, the motive power of which is plenty of muscle, a broad-blade paddle and a push pole about eighteen feet long, we enter a trackless waste of saw grass and water, with scattering islands and lagoons, channels running in all directions. These channels often terminate in what is called a pocket and then trouble begins, as these pockets are so shallow that a canoe or skiff has to be pulled by rope or pushed by hand through the mud and grass, until deep water is found. All signs fail in the Everglades, as often to go north you will take the other three points of the compass.”

“There is nothing quite so aggravating,” continues the writer, “as to get sewed up in one of these pockets, in the open saw grass with deep water in plain view and fine shady trees to welcome you, but tired and disgusted you stand as high as possible in the canoe and see only one chance in a hundred to find the right channel to go through.”

“There is no use for a compass, and it is a waste of time to think about it. There is a sure thing of going overboard in the mud or going back and starting over again.”

“When the water is high the trouble is not so great, but when it is low, the traveler can lay aside his Bible, quote a chapter from Dante’s Inferno, and plough through the mud until his energy is exhaustedand wonder if Dante ever heard tell of the Everglades.”

The channels running through these Glades are alive with fish, while the saw grass ponds provide homes for thousands of alligators. The myrtle and cypress clumps are the winter homes of the heron and migratory birds.

From this vast morass, with an elevated position, and a rare atmosphere, the view that would meet the eye would differ from any other on the globe. Ballou says: “A thousand square miles of saw grass would be seen spreading out in the shape of an artist’s palette. Towards the end would be seen a series of little inland lakes, fed by minute rivers. Interblending with the lakes, thousands of islands would be visible, far beyond the saw-grass sea. The flutter of bird life would be like the milky way, and the swarm of insects like a distant sand storm on the Sahara.”

Bordering the sedgy lagoons, are dense cypress forests, with here and there cabbage palms, Indian rubber and mangroves, while tangled vegetation weaves itself in chaotic style over underbrush and tree. These are the primeval woods of the United States. To be lost in these great marshes means more than death. They are the paradise of the serpent and the alligator. It is said in old slavery days, slaves who ran away to the swamps, were entered on the books as dead.

Except the few points touched upon by adventurousbotanists and hunters, this entire region has remainedterra incognitauntil within the past two or three years, when the subject of drainage has caused deeper and more scientific investigation. These explorers have brought interesting accounts of the great swamp.

The subject of drainage of this vast aquatic jungle is causing many disputes and many opinions, but under the Legislature of 1907, with the imperturbable Governor Broward in power, the work of drainage was begun.

Those engaged in the reclamation of this rich soil look upon the enterprise as being one of the most colossal of American ingenuity and one that will made the Okeechobee region the Egypt of America. While it is not the object of the writer to enter into the question of reclamation—still, the thought comes, “Is it worth while to make this region fit for habitation?”

The Florida Everglades Land Company who are carrying on the work of drainage on scientific rules, in the employment of government experts and following natural laws, show in their practicable demonstrations, the great benefit the redemption of submerged Florida will be, not only to the South, but to the whole country.

Prof. H. W. Wiley, Chief of the Bureau of Chemistry, U. S. Department of Agriculture, says of this great State question of drainage: “There is possibly no other body of land in the world, which presentssuch remarkable possibilities of development, and with a depth of soil averaging perhaps eight feet, it reaches beyond the limits of prophecy.”

Then, when enterprise and capital enter the last home of the Seminole, converting the tropical swamp into golden Everglades, may we not pause to ask, “Is there not room enough for this remnant of a helpless people in the country to which they have been driven.”

Here in the heart of the Okeechobee country, we find the only remnant of our native American Indian, in his original simplicity, meeting in the hunting-grounds of his ancestors the mighty power of Capital, Industry and the Twentieth Century methods of progress. Shall we wrest from him every vestige of this last foothold in Florida, his last resting-place in his direst necessity?

The ultimate end of the Seminole should be, to be civilized and Christianized and assimilated into the present status of the American citizen. While to-day reclamation looks a calamity to the interests of the Florida Seminole, it is possible under the direction of an overruling Providence to be made an almoner of benefit. There is at this time plenty of land for both interests. It becomes the duty of the United States Government through its Indian Department and the friends of the dependent Seminole, to see to it that land sufficient for their use be left in the Okeechobee country, with Uncle Sam’s signboard reading, “Penalty to Tresspassers.”

SEMINOLES ON THE MIAMI RIVER

Let us, as a great American jury, pause in our mad scramble for dollars, and consider our brother in red. As we plead for these relics of the warriors of old, we ask, “Why molest them? They are brave, self-supporting and piteously plead to be let alone.”

Over seventy-five years ago an officer of the Fourth Artillery wrote in a Charleston paper, “Can any Christian in the Republic pray for the continuance of blessings, when he is about to wrest from the unhappy Seminole all that the Great Spirit ever conferred upon him?”

On the larger islands of this tropical swamp are found the fertile hommocks, the home of the Seminole Indians. Approaching such a home one sees marks of labor; a clearing is made, the wigwams built,sugar cane, sweet potatoesand squash are growing. Chickens and pigs run about and an air of contentment pervades all.

A visit to these Indians is still fresh to memory. After an arduous journey, the village is reached. It was the occasion of the Green Corn Dance and preparations were going on. The hunters were out for game, the corn was ripening and an air of festivity was all around.

Dogs barked as the white guests approached, but a commanding Seminole reprimand soon drove them away; pickaninnies came around with timid advances, squaws greeted with handshaking. A wigwam was built for us by the hospitable hands, and the visitors were assigned to this part of the camp.

What a world of interest, both romantic and tragic, hangs around the wigwams of a Seminole family!

To Tallahassee was assigned the greatest part of the entertaining, and he it was who directed the movements that would add to the pleasure of the guests.

Without giving thought to it, the team was hitched to a pole that stood in the open. It proved to be the festal pole for the dance, and the spot was sacred for that occasion, but the innate courtesy of the old chief prevented his showing any offense, and in the morning he waved his hand in the direction of the horses and asked, “Horses, you want ’em there?” Learning what the pole was for, we were the ones to beg pardon and feel chagrin. Then came the attention to the guests, in showing around the little fields, telling the names and kinship of the various members as they came into camp. This devolved on Tallahassee, and the honor was two-fold.

As the shadows fell and the camp fire flickered, the old chief regaled the company with history dating back one hundred and fifty years. The old patriarch and warrior rambled on in low monotone, living over in dreamy reminiscence his hunting days, and with the record of seventy bear, to say nothing of panther, deer, ’coon, possum and turkey. How the enthusiasm of the twentieth century hunter was put on fire.

As the old chief drew closer his tunic, we asked, “Tallahassee, last winter, cold much; KissimmeeCity, ice come; what you do?” A young brave spoke up, “Tallahassee old, get cold heap, blankets put on him and big log fire make.” Then came the jokes as told by one member on another and how these children of the forest would laugh as the tales were recounted. They are children only in mind, but full of discernment and strong in character.

A present of a picture containing Tallahassee’s picture had been sent to the old chief a year before, and this must now be brought out to show the visitors. Spelling and copybooks were the occasion of much comment and much praise from the white friends. The older Indians say, “Me no write—old too much. Little Tiger make letters by-and-by; write good—keep store.”

The utensils that hang around the wigwam would do credit to many a white family; they have buckets and pans of agate ware, and well made wagons purchased in Jacksonville.

The hum of the sewing machine was heard in the wigwams, being used equally well by both men and women.

While the patient Seminole is at the mercy of the white man, and each day becoming more helpless, he is still proud as the old race.

A purse of ten dollars had been made up for one family where the husband had died, but with the suspicion that the money was from the Government, the older members held a talk with the result: “Money no take ’em. Squaw no want ’em.” With mouth-watering glances the little ones on the sameoccasion refused candy and cakes; they had been forbidden to accept what the old Indians believed was from Washington—the home of the Big White Chief. (This was at the time the Indians had been alarmed by cowboys telling them the Government wanted them for Arkansas.)

To-day in the forest home of the Seminoles, where yet gleams the council fires, and within a mile of the palmetto thatched camp of the Osceolas, the big dredges groan an accompaniment, as it were, to the echo of the throbbing hearts, the death song, the Recessional, of the Seminole.

Dynamite blasts shake the very pans and kettles hanging around the wigwams and, while this monster of a machine destroys the only home of the tribe, is the time not ripe for decisive action in the protection of these wards of Florida?

A visit to the Seminoles’ camp reveals many interesting little things which touch the heart and evoke the sympathy of the observer. The affection displayed by the stern-faced father, when coddling his pappoose, convinces the most skeptical that in the fastnesses of the forest “The heart of man answers to heart as face to face in water,” whatever the skin it is under. Old Tom Tiger, without question one of the most ferocious-looking of the Seminoles, would take the baby-boy from its tired mother’s arms and softly croon a lullaby, swaying the pappoose backwards and forwards in his great strong arms till the little fellow would fall asleep.

Another instance of parental affection, as given bythe Rev. Clay McCauley in his report on the Seminoles of Florida to the Bureau of Ethnology, is full of touching interest. While the incident occurred many years ago, and the little boy is now grown to manhood, still it cannot fail to reach the heart of the reader. We give it in the writer’s own words:

“Tallahassee’s wife had recently died, leaving him with the care of six boys; but the strong Indian had apparently become mother and father to his children. Especially did he throw a tender care about the little one of his household. I have seen the little fellow clambering, just like many a little pale face, over his father’s knees persistently demanding attention, but in no way disturbing the father’s amiability or serenity. One night, as I sat by the camp fire of Tallahassee’s lodge, I heard muffled moans from the little palmetto shelter on my right, under which the three smaller boys were bundled up in cotton cloth in deer skins for the night’s sleep. Upon the moans followed immediately the frightened cry of the little boy, waking out of bad dreams, and crying for the mother who could not answer; ‘Its-Ki, Its-Ki,’ (mother, mother) begged the little fellow, struggling from under his covering. At once the big Indian grasped his child, hugged him to his breast, pressed the little head to his cheek, consoling him all the while with caressing words, whose meaning I felt, though I could not translate them into English, until the boy, wide awake, laughed with his father and was ready to be again rolled up beside his sleeping brothers.”

Where the Seminole is hospitable is around the camp fire and the “Sof-ka” kettle. “Hum-bux-chay” (come eat) is his salutation. The kettle isplaced in some convenientpart of the camp and at the meal hour the members of the household sit around it. A large Sof-ka spoon rests in the pot, and is handed from one to another, each taking a single mouthful. A fastidious taste might shrink from using the large spoon, but to affect such taste would be to offend mine host. Sof-ka is the Seminole standard dish, and is simply a stew made by cooking the meat in a large iron pot, and thickening with meal, grits or vegetable. Sof-ka corresponds in its importance with the Seminole to “frijoles” among Mexicans. The Indians observe a regularity in meal hours, yet at most any hour the Sof-ka kettle is ready for those who may come in from the chase enhungered. So plentiful is game that it is a common sight to see a saddle of venison or a wild turkey and perhaps a duck roasting before the fire, and, as appetite prompts, any member of the camp may help himself to the savory roast.

The Seminole pickaninnies are healthy, good-natured little toddlers, and show no more savage spirit than do their little pale-faced brothers. They play with bows and arrows, make dolls and playhouses, revel in mud pies, roast the small birds they kill before a “spit fire,” and play they are roasting wild turkey. They rarely cry, as they are taught from infancy to show no such weakness; they must obey the slightest command of their elders. The little four-year-old is taught to assist in the duties of the camp. He can carry water, gather wood, watchthe little pappoose, and learns thus early that he is an important feature in the tribe.

The boys are allowed to handle no weapons until old enough to use them successfully. When an Indian boy is taught to use a Winchester and returns from the chase with his first deer, favors are shown him by the elders, tokens are presented and he becomes for the time the young Nimrod of the tribe.

Seminole children are on the whole very much like other children, some bright, some good, some perverse, all exceedingly human. With the discipline already instilled into their natures, and education, first for the heart, and then for the mind, added, success would be assured. A Seminole luxury which serves as a target as well as food, is the fruit of the climbing pumpkin vine, which is often seen among the branches of the trees. When wanted a well-directed rifle ball cuts the stem and the pumpkin drops to the ground. This was the sport enjoyed by the troops during the Seminole war.

The absence of all earthenware is noticeable in a Seminole camp. The Seminoles say, “Long time ago,” their race made earthen pots, but white man’s kettle “heap good,” and they have long since ceased to work in clay. All through Florida pieces of pottery are found in the sand mounds. In the pine forests where the land is good for cultivation, broken pottery is frequently dug up out of the ground. These forests have grown over this land evidently since it was cultivated by former races. The potteryfound in parts of Florida, is said by those having made a study of the subject to resemble the Aztec pottery to some extent.

One of the peculiarities of the Seminole man is the number of shirts and handkerchiefs he wears at one time. An instance is related where a white man in company with Billy Ham went out deer hunting. Emerging suddenly from the thick forest, some deer were observed feeding on the Savannah in front of them. The Indian was dressed in the bright colors of his race, and stealthily slipping back into the shadows of the tree, he began to remove shirt after shirt and untie handkerchiefs from around his neck. As each article was removed, the Indian became less conspicuous. After divesting himself of six or eight shirts and eight or ten handkerchiefs, the Indian and his costume now blended with the surrounding objects. His dusky form was in perfect symphony with the dead leaves and grasses, through which he silently crept toward his prey. The Indian prefers to make sure of his game by creeping upon it. He can advance to within a few feet of a deer. The deer, while feeding, is always on the alert for an enemy. If it sees nothing moving it will not be alarmed. This is where the strategy of the Indian comes in. He stops just before the animal raises its head. The lifting of the head is always preceded by a movement of the tail, hence the cunning Seminole watches the tail and knows when to be still.

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