After the return of Charlie Emaltha from the West, who was the most intelligent of their chiefs, he met with the whites in council, that he might give expression to his opinion: “Remain with us here,” said he to the whites, “and be our father; the relation of parent and child to each other is peace—it is gentle as arrow-root and honey. The disorderly among us have committed some depredations, but no blood has been spilled. We have agreed that if we met a brother’s blood on the road, or even found his dead body, we should not believe it was by human violence, but that he had snagged his foot, or that a tree had fallen upon him; that if blood was spilled by either, the offender should answer for it.”
Previous to this period the Indians were lords of the soil, and considered themselves located in a land of undisputed titles, as entirely their own property, by right of possession, as though they held registered deeds.
The following is an effort at Indian poetry, descriptive of their condition previous to hostile demonstrations:
We were a happy people then,
Rejoicing in our hunter mood;
No footsteps of the pale-faced men
Had marred our solitude.
Osceola was not tall, but of fine figure and splendid physique, his head being always encircled with a blue turban, surmounted by the waving tafa luste, or black-eagle plumes, with a red sash around his waist. He was a time-server, a self-constituted agent, and a dangerous enemy when enraged. In 1834 the United States survey corps, while camping at Fort King, was visited by Osceola, Fred L. Ming being the captain. Indians always show their friendship by eating with their friends. On this occasion he refused all solicitations to partake of their hospitality, and sat in silence, the foam of rage resting in the corners of his mouth. Finally he rose to retire, at the same time assuming a menacing manner, and, seizing the surveyor’s chain, said: “If you cross my land I will break this chain in as many pieces as there are links in it, and then throw the pins so far you can never get them again.” Like most of his race, he was possessed of a native eloquence, the following of which is a specimen, after the Payne’s Landing Treaty was framed and signed by some of the chiefs: “There is little more to be said. The people have agreed in council; by their chiefs they have uttered it; it is well; it is truth, and must not be broken. I speak; what I say I will do; there remains nothing worthy of words. If the hail rattles, let the flowers be crushed; the stately oak of the forest will lift its head to the sky and the storms, towering and unscathed.”
The whites continued urging the stipulations of the treaty to be enforced, while the Indians continued opposing it in every way. It is a law of our nature that the weak should suspect the strong; for this reason the Seminoles did not regard the Creeks as their friends, but feared them. Captain Wiley Thompson, the Agent, kept reminding the Indians that they had made a promise to leave for the West. Messages were also sent to Micanopy, who, after much debating, said he would not go. Some time afterward General Thompson ordered Osceola to come up and sign the emigration list, which request moved the indignation of this savage to the highest pitch of desperation, and he replied, “I will not.” General Thompson then told him he had talked with the Big Chief, in Washington, who would teach him better. He replied, “I care no more for Jackson than for you,” and, rushing up to the emigration treaty, as if to make his mark, stuck his knife through the paper. For this act of contempt he was seized, manacled, and confined in Fort King. When Col. Fanning arrested him he was heard to mutter, “The sun is overhead, I shall remember the hour; the Agent has his day, I will have mine.” After he was first imprisoned he became sullen, but soon manifested signs of penitence, and called the interpreter, promising, if his irons were taken off, to come back when the sun was high overhead, and bring with him one hundred warriors to sign the paper—which promise was fulfilled. The great mistake was made in releasing him from Fort King. If he had then been sent West, much blood and treasure would have been spared. He had one talk for the white man, and another for the red—being a strange compound of duplicity and superiority. After his release he commanded his warriors to have their knives in readiness, their rifles in order, with plenty of powder in their pouches, and commenced collecting a strong force, not eating or sleeping until it was done.
The first direct demonstration of hostility was on June 19, 1835, near what was called the Hogg’s Town settlement, at which time one Indian was killed, another fatally injured; also three whites wounded. The fray commenced by some whites whipping a party of five Indians, whom they had caught in the act of stealing. Private Dalton, a dispatch-rider, was killed August 11, 1835, while carrying the mail from Fort Brooke to Fort King. This was an act of revenge for an Indian killed in a former encounter. Dalton was found twenty miles from Fort King with his body cut open and sunk in a pond. The Indians commenced snapping their guns in the face of the Government, at the same time expressing their contempt for the laws, and threatening the country with bloodshed if any force should be used to restrain them. November 30, 1835, the following order was issued by the Agent: “The citizens are warned to consult their safety by guarding against Indian depredations.” Hostilities were soon inaugurated in a most shocking manner, with a tragedy of deep import—the killing of Charlie Emaltha, November 26, 1835—which act was only a cold-blooded murder, Osceola heading this band of savages. Charlie Emaltha was shot because he favored immigration, and was preparing to move West.
Osceola afterward selected ten of his boldest warriors, which were to wreak vengeance on General Thompson. The General was then camping at Fort King, little dreaming that the hour of his dissolution was so near, or that Osceola was lying in wait to murder him. Although a messenger was sent to tell Osceola of the Wahoo Swamp engagement being in readiness, no laurels won on other fields had any charms for him until Thompson should be victimized by his revengeful machinations. After lingering about for seven days, the opportune moment presented itself, when Thompson was invited away from the fort. On the afternoon of December 28, 1836, as he and Lieutenant Smith, who had dined out that day, were unguardedly walking toward the sutler’s store, about a mile from the post, the savages discovered them. Osceola said, “Leave the Agent for me; I will manage him.” They were immediately attacked by these warriors, when they both received the full fire of the enemy, and fell dead. Thompson was perforated with fourteen bullet-holes, and Smith with five. The Indians then proceeded to the store, where they shot Rogers and four others. After the murder they robbed the store and set fire to the building. The smoke gave the alarm, but the garrison at Fort King being small, no assistance could be rendered them.
On the same day (December 28), and nearly the same hour, Major F. L. Dade, when five miles from Wahoo Swamp, was attacked while on his way from Fort Brooke to Fort King. The Indians were headed by Jumper, who had previously warned those who were cowards not to join him. Micanopy, their chief, who was celebrated for his gluttony, like the Trojan heroes, could eat a whole calf or lamb, and then coil up in a snake-like manner for digestion. On a previous occasion, when an appeal was made to him by the argument of bullet-force, he replied, “I will show you,” and afterward stationed himself behind a pine-tree, awaiting the arrival of the Fort Brooke force, while his warriors lay concealed in the high grass around him. When Major Dade arrived opposite where the chief and his men were ambushed, Micanopy, in honor of his position as top chief, leveled his rifle and killed him instantly. Major Dade was shot through the heart, and died apparently without a struggle. The savages rushed from their coverts, when Captain Frazier was their next victim, together with more than a hundred of his companions. The suddenness of the attack, the natural situation of the country, with its prairies of tall grass, each palmetto thicket being a fortress of security from which they could hurl their death-dealing weapons, were all formidable foes with which the whites had to contend. Within a few hours’ march of Fort King, under the noonday splendor of a Florida sun, were one hundred and seven lifeless bodies, which had been surprised, murdered, and scalped, with no quarter, and far from the sound of human sympathy.
The night after the “Dade Massacre” the Indians returned to Wahoo Swamp with the warm life-current dripping from the scalps of those they had slain. These scalps were given to Hadjo, their Medicine Man, who placed them on a pole ten feet high, around which they all danced, after smearing their faces with the blood of their foes, and drinking freely of “fire-water.” One instance is mentioned worthy of remark, in regard to finding Major Dade’s men with their personal property untouched. Breast-pins of the officers were on their breasts, watches in their places, and silver money in their pockets. They took the military coat of Major Dade, and some clothing from his men, with all the arms and ammunition, which proved they were not fighting for spoils, but their homes. The “Bloody Eight Hundred,” after they had committed the murder, left the bodies unburied, and without mutilation, except from scalping. They were buried by the command of Major-general Gaines, who also named this tragic ground “Field of the Dead.”