MEDICINE.
The Seminoles have a superstitious faith in the efficacy of certain roots and herbs known to their tribe, the knowledge of which has been handed down from their remote ancestors. The curative property of these plants they never question. A few of the band to-day have carefully concealed about them small pieces of a root, which they call “hil-lis-waw.” This root was gotten by some of their tribe sixty years ago when their people were encamped at Tampa, and has been carefully treasured ever since, having been handed down from father to son. Their faith in the healing powers of this root is marvelous, their idea being that the smallest possible piece being made into a tea would restore life from death almost. Those fortunate enough to own a small piece the size of a pea are considered to have a great treasure. On testing this root it was found to be a simple plant, the great medicinal qualities of which exist largely in the minds of the Indians. They are ignorant as to what the root is and believe it to be very valuable, saying, “So much (what one could hold in the palm of his hand) cost $25.” “Long time ago,” says the Seminole, “chief sick heap too much; by-and-by, big sleep come. Medicine man bring hil-lis-waw, fix ’um quick. Chief get well.”
BILLY BUSTER TALLAHASSEE
TOMMY HILL CHARLIE PEACOCK
A late incident occurred, showing the childlike faith of this people. The little son of Ko-nip-pat-cho was taken very ill and when Seminole medicinal efforts failed, the father learned from other Indians that their white friend at Kissimmee City could procure for them the “hil-lis-waw.” A runner was dispatched from the Everglades to the nearest boat landing (a distance of 160 miles from Kissimmee) where a note could be sent in person. This note was given to the Captain—the Indian waiting for the return of the steamer. The Indians reported afterwards, “Boy sick ojus, arms cold—feet cold—big sleep come soon—Indian bring medicine from white friend, boy no die.”
Did not the Great Spirit, Who watches over His children, reward the childlike faith of these Indians?
Pais-haw is the name applied to a plant which the Indians regard as an antidote to the rattlesnake bite. Old settlers tell that they have known of Indians allowing themselves to be bitten by a rattler on a wager of a silver dollar. The Indians after being bitten would go to the woods, a short distance away, and procure their antidote. Returning they would apparently be no worse for the bite. Requesting an Indian to procure some of the roots, he replied, “No find ’em here—by-and-by me go to Okeechobee swamps, find ’em plenty.”
A few weeks later there came through the mail a small box full of roots, neatly done up and addressed by the Indian’s own hand, a perfect copy of name and address as he had learned to write it during his visit.
On sending the roots to the Smithsonian Institute for analysis, the secretary reports that they belong to a species of plant known as Cyperus, and adds, “This is one of the large number of reputed cures for snakebites, which have become so regarded from the fact that a person who has been bitten has been known to recover after taking the drug.” The use of water enters largely into the materia medica of the Seminoles, bathing in cold water being one of their principal treatments for fevers. During the war with the whites a soldiers’ camp was found deserted; the Indians immediately appropriated the clothing, blankets and other things. Very soon the loathsome disease of small-pox broke out among them. Ignorant as to the nature of the malady, they immediately applied their bathing remedy. The result was a frightful mortality, few of that band were left to tell the story. In this instance, the Government army gained a victory over their foe without the firing of a gun.
FLORIDA’S ABIDING WORDS OF BEAUTY THE HERITAGE
OF THE ABORIGINAL PATHFINDERS.
All through Florida the musical softness, peculiar to the Seminole dialect, is sustained in the names of the lakes and rivers. Each having a history descriptive of its character, or some incident connected therewith.
The old names of the chiefs were very euphonious, such as Osceola, Micanopy, Tusteenuggee, Coacoochee and Tallahassee. These are being displaced by names adopted by the whites, such as Billy Ham, Tommy John and Billy Buster. Accident, too, seems to have credited the aborigines with words not really their own if it be true that “Yankee” is only an attempt made by the Indian to speak the word English, and that pappoose is the effort of the natives to say “baby.” The symphonious cadence of such words as Alabama, Tuscaloosa, Caloosahatchee and Minnehaha has often been noticed.
Tohope Ke-liga is the name of one of the most beautiful lakes in Florida, its Indian significance meaning “fort site.” All around the lake are the old hunting grounds of the Indians and memorable points in Seminole war fame. To-day the Okeechobee drainage canal connects it with the lakes south, plantations surrounding its shores; the thriving city of Kissimmee is situated on its north side and all trace of the Seminole has vanished. The only memorials he has left are his words firmly embedded in the history of his conquerors. Kissimmee river is said to have taken its name from a romantic episode. A young Spanish grandee in a moment of impulse snatched a kiss from a Seminole girl, and the frightened maiden’s childlike plaint to her mother established the name of the river on whose banks the kiss was stolen—Kiss-him-mee.
The romance attached to our beautiful Kissimmee river gives it especial interest and we give it only as a traditional meaning. The present Indians cannot give the English rendition, saying, “Indian long, long time ago named the river,” which is corroborated by the Bureau of Ethnology, Smithsonian Institution, as follows:
In reply to your letter I regret to say that it is impossible to give you the meaning of “Kissimmee.” Several of our ethnologists think the word dates back to the Ais Caloosa, or some other tribe antedating the Seminoles, in which case the meaning will never be known.
Very respectfully yours,
W. H. Holmes,
Chief.
So many of the euphonious words abounding in Florida belong to the ancient tribes and were picked up by the Seminoles.
An interesting bit of information was gotten after much care and questioning from Chief Tallahassee as to the meaning of his name—Tallahassee being only a nickname, or white man’s name for him—his Indian name being Fo-so-wa-los-te-nock-ee, meaning chief of the Bird gens or tribe.
The origin of the name of Florida’s State capital dates back to the days that are but traditions to the Seminole.
As the Seminole interprets, “Long, long time ago,” many Indians and houses were on the site where the city of Tallahassee now stands.
One day, as the tradition goes, all the Indians left. Some time after, some Indians came along, Seminoles presumably, and seeing many houses—but Indians “hiepus” (gone), exclaimed, “Tallahassee”—“all gone or deserted.”
THE WILD HERON IN DOMESTICATION
“Littly white birds me send.”
“Mr. Billy Bowlegs.”
We-la-ka is the Indian name for the St. John river and describes it so graphically that the old Spaniards retrograded when they named the “river of lakes” for their patron saint. Ock-la-wa-ha, “crooked water,” appropriately describes the most crooked stream in America. Okeechobee, with her vast expanse of water and over-hanging mists, in Seminole significance means “the place of big water.” With-la-coo-chee, so memorable in Seminole war days as the place of Osceola’s strategic movements, is a long but very narrow stream, meaning, in the Seminole tongue, “Little Big river.” Alachua, “the big jug without a bottom,” We-Kiva, “mystery,” and so on all over the Peninsula do we find names preserved which mark the wanderings of the picturesque Aborigines.
The unwritten, but highly poetical, language of the Florida Indians, should be incorporated into schoolcraft form and preserved with the archives of history for future generations. One who has heard the war shouts, their mythological tales, the words accompanying their dancing tunes, or listened in the darkness of the night, with breathless wonder to the heart-moving dirges sung by wailing women as they move around the corpse of some dead member, the whole scene lit up by the flickering flames of the lurid camp fire, cannot doubt but that the Florida Indian has a literature, and the white race is to blame for its imperfect knowledge of the unwritten but priceless productions of a savage race.
The linguistic perfection of the Seminole language, with its fluent, oratorical powers, shows itself in every speech or talk ever made to the white man.
With linguistic research, the scientist readily finds that man does not invent language any more than a bird does its twittering or a tree its leaves. It requires a whole nation to produce a language.
Of the world’s famous orators we have our Demosthenes of the Greek, Cicero of the Roman, England’s great Gladstone, America with her Calhoun, Clay and Webster; but as yet has the world ever found greater eloquence than in the “talks” of the famous Indian chiefs?
Red Jacket, on the religion of the white man and the red race, is a marvel of eloquence. Then what shall we say of Tecumseh, the great Shawnee, as he delivered his famous talk to General Harrison, or Black Hawk, the captive, in his plea before General Street?
In dealing with the Seminole language we meet with long words and mammoth expressions. The Seminole greeting, “Ha-tee-eten-chee-hick-cha-hit-is-chay,” sounds formidable, yet it only means “Glad to see you.” These, with well-understood Indian phrases, such as “burying the tomahawk,” “going on the warpath,” we employ familiarly without a thought of the tribe we have dispossessed. The time for studying the aborigines of America will soon be over. Only remnants of the tribes remain among us. Old myths and customs are being displaced by new ones, and we can truly see that the red man’s inheritance is nearing the horizon of its destiny.