Fights now followed each other in rapid succession. Long-impending hostilities burst upon the white settlers, who in turn sought every opportunity of gratifying their revenge for outrages committed. No person was safe; death lurked in every place, and there was security in none. Acts of fiendish barbarity were of common occurrence; houses burned—the labor of years gone forever—while many of the missing were consumed in the flames of their own dwellings, the savages dancing around the funeral-pile. The Indians appeared seized with a kind of desperation which knew no quarter, and asked for none, constantly posting themselves in the most frequented highways, with the intention of slaying or being slain.
On the 31st of December, same year, the Indians, receiving information that the troops under General Clinch were approaching, and would cross the Withlacoochee, posted themselves at the usual fording-place for the purpose of intercepting them. General Clinch was surprised by them, as they had greatly the advantage, being among the trees, while the troops were in an open space, with only an old leaky canoe to cross in, under constant fire of the enemy, some of them being obliged to swim. The soldiers accustomed to Indian warfare never forded twice in the same place. Captain Ellis, now a worthy citizen of Gainesville, Florida, who commanded a company during the Seminole war, being present when this attack was made, says: “I was so much afraid the war would be over before I had a chance to be in a fight, I was glad when I saw the Indians coming, but I got enough fighting before it was through with.” When he saw the savages at the commencement of this engagement, not knowing of the “Massacre,” he said, “Boys, the Indians have been killing our men, for they have got on their coats.”
Osceola was the prime leader in this first battle of Withlacoochee, and although whole platoons were leveled at him, from behind the tree where he was stationed he brought down his man every fire to the number of forty, while he ordered his warriors not to run from the pale faces, but to fight. The contest was a close one, but General Clinch held his ground. After the Indians retreated the troops buried their dead, and built log-fires over their remains to keep the enemy from digging them up and scalping them.
During September, 1837, Osceola sent in negotiations of peace to General Hernandez through an envoy, accompanied with presents of a bead pipe and white plume, as an assurance that the path of the pale face was peaceful and safe. General Hernandez, with the sanction of General Jessup, returned presents and friendly messages, requesting the presence of Osceola, with the distinct understanding that it was for the purpose of making arrangements for the immigration of his people. The messenger returned in accordance to his previous contract, reporting that Osceola was then on his way to St. Augustine with one hundred warriors. Osceola had never heretofore regarded the sacredness of a flag of truce as binding, besides being engaged in the abduction of Micanopy and others, who would otherwise have complied with the terms of the treaty. General Jessup intended before his arrival to have him detained. General Hernandez, who was the soul of honor, remonstrated with him, when he replied, “I am your superior; it is your duty to obey.” General Hernandez met them at Fort Peyton, near Pelicier Creek, about seven miles south-west of St. Augustine. From the inquiries of General Hernandez in regard to the other chiefs and their locality, Osceola soon comprehended the situation; and when asked for replies to the General’s questions, he said to the interpreter, “I feel choked; you must speak for me.” The place where they were assembled for parley being surrounded by a detachment of dragoons, they closed in on them, capturing the whole band without firing a gun.
This strategy in taking Osceola did not tarnish the laurels of General Jessup in the least; a much greater blunder was committed in turning him loose after his first capture. Those who have condemned him must think of the anxiety by day and horrors at night through which these poor settlers struggled, when time passed like a bewildering dream of terrors, improvement of all kinds languishing with a sickly growth, while the dragon of war sowed the seeds of discord, and desecrated the golden fleece of the harvest with a bloody hand.
When Osceola was first captured he was imprisoned in Fort Marion, but was afterward removed to Sullivan’s Island, where his wife and child accompanied him. He was a sad prisoner—never known to laugh during his confinement, but often heard to sigh. During his last illness he had the best medical attention from Charleston, whose skill he refused, believing they intended poisoning him. To one of his wives he was much attached, and his spirit passed away while leaning on her bosom. He died in 1838, from an inflammation of the throat.
The eagle plumes droop o’er his piercing eyes,
The fire of youth was there!
Osceola had always lived among the Seminoles, and regarded their lot as his. The name of his wife was Chécho-ter, or Morning Dew. She was a Creek, and their family consisted of four children. The following lines were composed after his death by one of his friends in Charleston:
The rich blue sky is o’er,
Around are tall green trees,
And the jasmine’s breath from the everglades
Is borne on the wand’ring breeze.
On the mingled grass and flowers
Is a fierce and threat’ning form,
That looks like an eagle when pluming his wing
To brave the gath’ring storm.