STEM-O-LA-KEE.
Seldom, if ever, has a Seminole squaw stepped beyond the boundaries of her trackless Everglade home to visit the home of the white man; to study a Seminole woman at close range and yet far from her forest refuge, is a privilege seldom experienced. An incident is recalled when a young squaw, in company with her brother, was making her first visit to civilization.
The couple had traveled three hundred miles by ox cart, canoe and railroad. Reaching their destination,they were escorted to a waiting automobile, when they were whirled away to the home of the pale-face and enjoyed this first ride in the “fire wagon,” with the same dignity and calmness that they would do in their cypress dugout canoes along the water courses of their saw-grass homes.
Stem-o-la-kee, with the natural feminine instinct, soon showed her domestic sense, her native frontier nature for the time being relegated to memories. The easy couch and cushioned rocker appealed to her sense of luxury. The delight of pouring tea from the silver pot was an unending pleasure. She admired the furnishings and belongings of the white home, but when asked if she would like to live in such an abode her answer came, quick and decisive: “Munks-chay (no), white man’s home like littly bit, one week me thinkmyhome, Okee-cho-bee.” Significant was her summary of civilization—humble though her wigwam, she loved it with all the ardor of her savage heart. This young woman, three hundred miles from her forest home, showed inborn grace and dignity in her demeanor. Particularly was she interested in the pictures on the wall, but, on recognizing the portrait of Osceola, all her frontier nature was aroused and, with vindictive spirit and trembling with suppressed emotion, she exclaimed:
“Indian’s big Chief, long time ago! White man kill ’im!”
She knew the perfidy of Osceola’s capture under the white flag of truce as well as any American student.
This untutored and innocent child of the forest became a most interesting personal study. Friendly and courteous, there yet shone out from her wonderful eyes an unapproachableness that made a gulf between the white woman and the red woman.
Stem-o-la-kee wore many strands of glittering beads, which to the Seminole woman mean everything—usefulness, caste and the wealth of her husband or father. She never appears without this insignia of her position, and in the particular instance of this Glade visitor, when the doctor whom she had come to consult ordered the removal of the necklace on account of its great weight, medical authority and savage superstition clashed. Stem-o-la-kee reluctantly obeyed the doctor’s order, in part, by removing a few strands. She had not brought all her beads, nor her beaten silver ornaments, with her, which are used for full dress and ceremonial occasions, and seemed to feel an embarrassment over this, explaining: “Plenty beads means good squaw. My home Okee-cho-bee, me got a plenty; sick too much,” meaning she had come on an errand for health and not for a social visit. To these suntanned women of the Everglades, the beads play an important part all through life.
When the little pappoose is a year old, she is given her first string, with its “first year bead.” This bead is always larger and of different color.
A string of beads is allowed for each year until she marries. At her marriage, her mother gives her many new strands, and, if she is a chief’s daughter,she receives many gifts of beads at her wedding. The beads play such an important part in the career of a Seminole woman that they are always given as a reward for any prowess and a mother is allowed two strings for each child born. In full dress many of the squaws wear from twenty to thirty pounds of glass beads, varying in size and color—the colors blending in perfect harmony.
When the squaw reaches middle life, she begins to take off her beads, one string at a time, as so many moons go by, until but one string is left.
She is now an old woman, too old to work, and the single strand she wears is made up of the “life beads” and buried with her.
During Stem-o-la-kee’s stay, though tired and weak from illness, and with a constant knocking at the door by wee tots, as well as older visitors, who came to “shake hands with the Indian woman,” the young squaw showed nothing but grace and good feeling to the visitors. On all such occasions she would, in a twinkling, don her new and gayly colored dress, add the discarded ropes of beads, give a twist to her raven hair, and would appear at the parlor door, shy, but with eyes shining and with a pleasing smile, stand ready to give the usual gracious hand grasp and then as quickly and noiselessly glide away, like a timid deer, to the improvised couch which had been made for her.
As Stem-o-la-kee, in her broken English, told of the forest home, a picture of her wigwam dwelling became very vivid; such a picture inspires courageand touches chords of sympathy in one’s make-up.
In a solitude, which only nature reveals, this brown-skinned people live amid the shadows of the great live oaks, seeing God in the clouds and hearing him in the winds. One sees the happy, turban-crowned braves move about and dusky squaws glide in and out, watching with careful eyes the toddling pappooses, as they play on the grassy sward; the laughing of the huntsman is heard and the songs of the Seminole Minnehaha make the night beautiful.
During the visit of these Seminoles, a protracted meeting was in session with a noted divine in charge. With no disrespect intended to the ministerial work, it was amusing to hear the question many times asked: “Are the Seminoles going to church to-night?” Sufficient to induce a crowd.
Another visit of a Seminole family is still fresh in memory. The visit had been planned for many, many moons. With the exception of one Indian, who acted as escort and friendly interpreter, none of these Seminoles had ever been in the white man’s home, yet they accepted the change from the weird morasses with the simplest dignity. The party of six were all in neat, yet brilliant attire—all save little eight-year-old Mop-o-hatch-ee, whose travel-stained dress worried the mistress of the home, for they were all expected to attend the church Christmas tree that evening.
Asking Cho-fee-hatch-ee if the little one had another dress, he replied: “She no got ’em; she wash her dress.” Feeling this an impossible task we replied,“No, she is too little,” but being assured that this little red-skinned tot was equal to the emergency, she was permitted to proceed with the order from Cho-fee-hatch-ee. A cunning picture she made, as her long, black hair fell around her shoulders and she, with nature’s washboard (her tiny hands), rubbed the quaintly made dress until it was clean and ready to be dried. To expedite the work, a negro was called in to take the dress to be ironed; a glance at Mop-o-hatch-ee revealed a forest child convulsed with sobs. Not understanding a word of English, she thought her only dress was being taken from her.
Only once during the visit of these Everglade people was there any apparent curiosity evinced, and this was within an hour after their arrival, when the hostess had been called to the telephone.
Looking back, she saw the two children peering into the room through the French window, wondering, no doubt, what foolish thing the mistress of the house could be doing. At another time, old Martha Tiger, the aged grandmother, came close to the ’phone with a quizzical look, when it was vaguely explained we were “talking to the store man down town.” In American history, old Martha and her contemporaries antedate the telephone, for with smoke signals and “listening posts” their warriors’ quickness in getting news of the enemy puzzled many an American officer.
Pictures from theGeographical Magazineand letters from the old “blue back” spelling book interestedall these Everglade people, except old Martha Tiger who said “She old too much.”
Who shall say there is no hope for these forest people?
As this visit drew to a close and that feeling of homiletic friendliness was apparent when some humor might be indulged in, it was suggested that Show-lod-ka, the good-looking ten-year-old boy, should remain and learn to drive the automobile, and that Mop-o-hatch-ee stay with him. These two motherless children are the direct descendants of the old Chieftain Tallahassee, whose grim and determined patriotism eighty years ago wrenched his tribe from the white man’s bullets and Uncle Sam’s bloodhounds. These children were devoted to each other.
A few minutes later, little Mop-o-hatch-ee sat on a chair, her feet swinging, and rubbing her eyes to stay the tears. “She ’fraid you keep her,” the older Indian explained, and the boy with the same fear had slipped off to his sleeping quarters.
Love for their Everglade home is instilled into every Seminole. They love the country bequeathed by their ancestors—the gift of the Great Spirit to his red children of Florida, with a love that is, at times, frenzied in its demonstration.
To see to it, that these native people have protection, education and Christianity, must be the duty of this America of ours, this America which stands ready to protect the weak and the oppressed of all nations.
When the citizenship of this liberty loving country awakens to the needs of the stranded red race of 600 souls in the heart of the Big Cypress, then, and not till then will these original owners be led out of the darkness of a conquered people into the light of progress and civilization.
It is not surprising that thousands of our Florida tourists make efforts to see the descendants of America’s primeval people. Many times attempts are made by the adventurous tourist to visit a Seminole village in the secluded cypress region of the Glade Wilderness; but alas! after dragging themselves over the marshy, cutting saw-grass prairies, they find what? A deserted camp, possibly the coals still burning in the camp fire, but the Indians, hie-pus (all gone) hiding in some secret haunt.
Still, it is a common sight, particularly at Miami to see a Seminole family as they pole the rude craft, a dugout cypress canoe, along the river.
Dressed in a way, bizarre and ludicrous, to our white man’s way of thinking, still strikingly dignified.
The brave poles the boat while the squaws watch the family belongings. At the other end of the boat, a group of round faced and exceedingly quiet little Seminoles brightly garbed in red and blue calico, sit, much more interested in the shadows in the water, than in the people on shore.
It is but natural that Americans, who know the Seminole, should feel an innate respect for them, especially if we reflect that the strain of the old Aztecruns through their veins and produces the same heroic fortitude that made Guatemotziu, the last of the Aztec Emperors, under the torture of fire by Cortez, reply with ironical stoicism to his persecutors, “Am I on a bed of roses?”
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?