About fifty Americans were now left, and, with a knowledge of Indian tactics that is commendable, they instantly began to fell trees for a breastwork in the form of a triangle. The wounded were carried to the centre, and the six-pounder was placed where it could rake the oncoming foe. Working with desperation, the whites had succeeded in raising a protecting barrier, three tree trunks high, when a terrible yell from the forest of palmettos announced another Indian attack. The Seminoles poured a destructive fire into the little fort. Men fell upon every side, but with stolid and grim determination, the soldiers fought on in silence.
Unfortunately for the soldiers, their palisade was in a slight hollow, so the Indians commanded it from all sides. Lieutenant Keais lay helpless against the breastwork with both arms broken, until killed by a bullet through the head. Another officer, Henderson, continued to load and fire his musket with a broken arm, until dispatched by a leaden missile in the chest. A Doctor did great damage with two double-barreled shotguns, until finally knocked over by the accurate fire of some Seminoles who had crawled into the trees. Captain Gardiner was seen by one of the survivors to fall, crying out: "I can give no more orders, my brave boys. Do your best!" But soon there was no more fire from the log breastworks; the Indians swarmed into the rude fort, and it was all over with Major Dade's battalion.
Although the Seminoles took many scalps, they left three men alive, who feigned death, and, as they were bodily wounded, looked as if they had suffered the fate of all. One of them was shot by a lurking warrior when he tried to get away. The other two, however, crawled off towards Fort Brooke, sixty-five miles through the Everglades, and one of them reached this haven of refuge. The third was shot by a Seminole. When news of the annihilation of Dade's men reached civilization, it sent a thrill of horror through the entire country, and made the whites more determined than ever to annihilate the followers of Osceola.
This chief, it will be remembered, had sworn vengeance against General Thompson for throwing him in irons, and now was to have his oath fulfilled. The General was, on December 28th, dining with nine other gentlemen at the storehouse of Mr. Rogers, two hundred and fifty yards from Fort King. As the weather was mild, doors and windows were thrown open wide. The repast was a good one, wine was upon the table, and it is said that one officer had proposed a toast: "To the speedy capture of that knave Osceola and a termination of the war." No sooner had the words left him than a volley rang out. The officer dropped to the ground, mortally wounded; a wild yell sounded in the ears of those who survived this sudden and unexpected assault, and Osceola bounded into the room, followed by a dozen warriors.
At the first fire, General Thompson had been struck and had fallen prostrate to the ground. Leaping to his bleeding form, Osceola scalped him, held his hand aloft, and uttered a yell of triumph which was long remembered by all who heard it. Five others lay dead upon the ground. Those who were not killed leaped from the windows and fled. Five of them, who were fortunate enough to start towards the fort, escaped; but the others, who dashed towards a sheltering hill of sand, near by, were shot down by the skillful Seminoles. The cook, who was a negro woman, crouched behind a barrel in a dark corner, and was so thoroughly protected by her color that she was not seen by Osceola, who, pausing for a moment to take another scalp, darted out again, uttering a peculiarly shrill and piercing yell, so that those in the fort might know who was the leader of this bloody attack. His vengeance had been complete.
After this tragic affair the war continued as before. The Seminoles increased in numbers, through additions of runaway negroes and criminals from the Creeks and other tribes adjoining. Their strength seemed to be greater than usual, and, when driven into a corner, they fought like wildcats, without any thought of surrender. All Florida was in a panic of fear. The fugitives from Seminole wrath were reduced to such sore straits that Congress passed a bill to send them food and clothing until peace could be declared. To such extremities was the Government driven, that a force of one thousand Southern and Western Indians was enlisted to help subjugate the dreaded Seminoles.
In the last days of October, 1837, a solitary Indian was one day seen in the edge of the timber before Fort Peyton. He held up his hand in token of peace, and, being allowed to approach nearer, said: "I have a talk from Osceola to Big Chief."
"What does he want?" asked the sentry who had challenged him.
"He not far off. Wish to speak with Big Chief Jessup" (the commander of this stockade).