The utensils that hang around the wigwam would do credit to many a white family; they have buckets and pans of agate ware, and well made wagons purchased in Jacksonville.
The hum of the sewing machine was heard in the wigwams, being used equally well by both men and women.
While the patient Seminole is at the mercy of the white man, and each day becoming more helpless, he is still proud as the old race.
A purse of ten dollars had been made up for one family where the husband had died, but with the suspicion that the money was from the Government, the older members held a talk with the result: “Money no take ’em. Squaw no want ’em.” With mouth-watering glances the little ones on the same occasion refused candy and cakes; they had been forbidden to accept what the old Indians believed was from Washington—the home of the Big White Chief. (This was at the time the Indians had been alarmed by cowboys telling them the Government wanted them for Arkansas.)
To-day in the forest home of the Seminoles, where yet gleams the council fires, and within a mile of the palmetto thatched camp of the Osceolas, the big dredges groan an accompaniment, as it were, to the echo of the throbbing hearts, the death song, the Recessional, of the Seminole.
Dynamite blasts shake the very pans and kettles hanging around the wigwams and, while this monster of a machine destroys the only home of the tribe, is the time not ripe for decisive action in the protection of these wards of Florida?
A visit to the Seminoles’ camp reveals many interesting little things which touch the heart and evoke the sympathy of the observer. The affection displayed by the stern-faced father, when coddling his pappoose, convinces the most skeptical that in the fastnesses of the forest “The heart of man answers to heart as face to face in water,” whatever the skin it is under. Old Tom Tiger, without question one of the most ferocious-looking of the Seminoles, would take the baby-boy from its tired mother’s arms and softly croon a lullaby, swaying the pappoose backwards and forwards in his great strong arms till the little fellow would fall asleep.
Another instance of parental affection, as given by the Rev. Clay McCauley in his report on the Seminoles of Florida to the Bureau of Ethnology, is full of touching interest. While the incident occurred many years ago, and the little boy is now grown to manhood, still it cannot fail to reach the heart of the reader. We give it in the writer’s own words:
“Tallahassee’s wife had recently died, leaving him with the care of six boys; but the strong Indian had apparently become mother and father to his children. Especially did he throw a tender care about the little one of his household. I have seen the little fellow clambering, just like many a little pale face, over his father’s knees persistently demanding attention, but in no way disturbing the father’s amiability or serenity. One night, as I sat by the camp fire of Tallahassee’s lodge, I heard muffled moans from the little palmetto shelter on my right, under which the three smaller boys were bundled up in cotton cloth in deer skins for the night’s sleep. Upon the moans followed immediately the frightened cry of the little boy, waking out of bad dreams, and crying for the mother who could not answer; ‘Its-Ki, Its-Ki,’ (mother, mother) begged the little fellow, struggling from under his covering. At once the big Indian grasped his child, hugged him to his breast, pressed the little head to his cheek, consoling him all the while with caressing words, whose meaning I felt, though I could not translate them into English, until the boy, wide awake, laughed with his father and was ready to be again rolled up beside his sleeping brothers.”
Where the Seminole is hospitable is around the camp fire and the “Sof-ka” kettle. “Hum-bux-chay” (come eat) is his salutation. The kettle is placed in some convenient part of the camp and at the meal hour the members of the household sit around it. A large Sof-ka spoon rests in the pot, and is handed from one to another, each taking a single mouthful. A fastidious taste might shrink from using the large spoon, but to affect such taste would be to offend mine host. Sof-ka is the Seminole standard dish, and is simply a stew made by cooking the meat in a large iron pot, and thickening with meal, grits or vegetable. Sof-ka corresponds in its importance with the Seminole to “frijoles” among Mexicans. The Indians observe a regularity in meal hours, yet at most any hour the Sof-ka kettle is ready for those who may come in from the chase enhungered. So plentiful is game that it is a common sight to see a saddle of venison or a wild turkey and perhaps a duck roasting before the fire, and, as appetite prompts, any member of the camp may help himself to the savory roast.