Many small gifts were bestowed upon these silent visitors; men of capital from far-away States, tourists and old friends, took the time to go to the stores to purchase such presents as they thought would please the Indians.
Kodaks and camera men kept busy. The guests of the hotel, retired business men, as well as the women and children, vied with each other in having a souvenir picture, showing themselves in friendly relation with these red people of the forest.
With the exhilaration of boys, the men took turns with each other as they posed with the instruction, “Now you snap while I stand beside Billy.” The Seminole chieftain was the only calm one; he was as passive and immobile as a bronze statue.
The cornet band divided honors with the newly elected mayor and volunteered a serenade.
Whether it was the courtesy of an automobile ride, or being addressed by guests, both Billy and his sister received the attentions with such a quiet grace and refinement as if to the manner born, causing an admiring tourist to give Stem-o-la-kee, the title “A Princess of the Everglades” and calling Billy the “Red Knight of Okee-cho-bee,” titles as much in order today as those bestowed three centuries ago on the Lady Rebecca, the far-famed Pocahontas.
STEM-O-LA-KEE.
Seldom, if ever, has a Seminole squaw stepped beyond the boundaries of her trackless Everglade home to visit the home of the white man; to study a Seminole woman at close range and yet far from her forest refuge, is a privilege seldom experienced. An incident is recalled when a young squaw, in company with her brother, was making her first visit to civilization.
The couple had traveled three hundred miles by ox cart, canoe and railroad. Reaching their destination, they were escorted to a waiting automobile, when they were whirled away to the home of the pale-face and enjoyed this first ride in the “fire wagon,” with the same dignity and calmness that they would do in their cypress dugout canoes along the water courses of their saw-grass homes.
Stem-o-la-kee, with the natural feminine instinct, soon showed her domestic sense, her native frontier nature for the time being relegated to memories. The easy couch and cushioned rocker appealed to her sense of luxury. The delight of pouring tea from the silver pot was an unending pleasure. She admired the furnishings and belongings of the white home, but when asked if she would like to live in such an abode her answer came, quick and decisive: “Munks-chay (no), white man’s home like littly bit, one week me think my home, Okee-cho-bee.” Significant was her summary of civilization—humble though her wigwam, she loved it with all the ardor of her savage heart. This young woman, three hundred miles from her forest home, showed inborn grace and dignity in her demeanor. Particularly was she interested in the pictures on the wall, but, on recognizing the portrait of Osceola, all her frontier nature was aroused and, with vindictive spirit and trembling with suppressed emotion, she exclaimed: