Wounded vanity! powerful as passion itself! thy throes are as strong as love. Under their influence, the chandeliers grow dim, and the fair forms flitting beneath lose half their brilliant beauty. My thoughts go back to the flowery land – to the lake – to the island – to Maümee.
Five years soon flitted past, and the period of my cadetship was fulfilled. With some credit, I went through the ordeal of the final examination. A high number rewarded my application, and gave me the choice of whatever arm of the service was most to my liking. I had a penchant for the rifles, though I might have pitched higher into the artillery, the cavalry, or engineers. I chose the first, however, and was gazetted brevet-lieutenant, and appointed to a rifle regiment, with leave of absence to revisit my native home.
At this time, my sister had also “graduated” at the Ladies’ Academy, and carried off her “diploma” with credit; and together we journeyed home.
There was no father to greet us on our return: a weeping and widowed mother alone spoke the melancholy welcome.
Chapter Eighteen
The Seminoles
On my return to Florida, I found that the cloud of war was gathering over my native land. It would soon burst, and my first essay in military life would be made in the defence of hearth and home. I was not unprepared for the news. War is always the theme of interest within the walls of a military college; and in no place are its probabilities and prospects so folly discussed or with so much earnestness.
For a period of ten years had the United States been at peace with all the world. The iron hand of “Old Hickory” had awed the savage foe of the frontiers. For more than ten years had the latter desisted from his chronic system of retaliation, and remained silent and still. But the pacific status quo came to an end. Once more the red man rose to assert his rights, and in a quarter most unexpected. Not on the frontier of the “far west,” but in the heart of the flowery land. Yes, Florida was to be the theatre of operations – the stage on which this new drama was to be enacted.
A word historical of Florida, for this writing is, in truth, a history.
In 1821, the Spanish flag disappeared from the ramparts of San Augustine and Saint Marks, and Spain yielded up possession of this fair province – one of her last footholds upon the continent of America. Literally, it was but a foothold the Spaniards held in Florida – a mere nominal possession. Long before the cession, the Indians had driven them from the field into the fortress. Their haciendas lay in ruins – their horses and cattle ran wild upon the savannas; and rank weeds usurped the sites of their once prosperous plantations. During the century of dominion, they had made many a fair settlement, and the ruins of buildings – far more massive than aught yet attempted by their Saxon successors – attest the former glory and power of the Spanish nation.
It was not destined that the Indians should long hold the country they had thus conquered. Another race of white men – their equals in courage and strength – were moving down from the north; and it was easy prophecy to say that the red conquerors must in turn yield possession.
Once already had they met in conflict with the pale-faced usurpers, led on by that stern soldier who now sat in the chair of the president. They were defeated, and forced further south, into the heart of the land – the centre of the peninsula. There, however, they were secured by treaty. A covenant solemnly made, and solemnly sworn to, guaranteed their right to the soil, and the Seminole was satisfied.
Alas! the covenants between the strong and the weak are things of convenience, to be broken whenever the former wills it – in this case, shamefully broken.
White adventurers settled along the Indian border; they wandered over Indian ground – not wandered, but went; they looked upon the land; they saw that it was good – it would grow rice and cotton, and cane and indigo, the olive and orange; they desired to possess it, more than desired – they resolved it should be theirs.
There was a treaty, but what cared they for treaties? Adventurers – ruined planters from Georgia and the Carolinas, “negro traders” from all parts of the south; what were covenants in their eyes, especially when made with redskins? The treaty must be got rid of.
The “Great Father,” scarcely more scrupulous than they, approved their plan.
“Yes,” said he, “it is good – the Seminoles must be dispossessed; they must remove to another land; we shall find them a home in the west, on the great plains; there they will have wide hunting-grounds, their own for ever.”
“No,” responded the Seminoles; “we do not wish to move; we are contented here: we love our native land; we do not wish to leave it; we shall stay.”
“Then you will not go willingly? Be it so. We are strong, you are weak; we shall force you.”
Though not the letter, this is the very spirit of the reply which Jackson made to the Seminoles!
The world has an eye, and that eye requires to be satisfied. Even tyrants dislike the open breach of treaties. In this case, political party was more thought of than the world, and a show of justice became necessary.
The Indians remained obstinate – they liked their own land, they were reluctant to leave it – no wonder.
Some pretext must be found to dispossess them. The old excuse, that they were mere idle hunters, and made no profitable use of the soil, would scarcely avail. It was not true. The Seminole was not exclusively a hunter; he was a husbandman as well, and tilled the land – rudely, it may be, but was this a reason for dispossessing him?
Without this, others were easily found. That cunning commissioner which their “Great Father” sent them could soon invent pretexts. He was one who well knew the art of muddying the stream upwards, and well did he practise it.
The country was soon filled with rumours of Indians – of horses and cattle stolen, of plantations plundered, of white travellers robbed and murdered – all the work of those savage Seminoles.
A vile frontier press, ever ready to give tongue to the popular furor, did not fail in its duty of exaggeration.
But who was to gazette the provocations, the retaliations, the wrongs and cruelties inflicted by the other side? All these were carefully concealed.
A sentiment was soon created throughout the country – a sentiment of bitter hostility towards the Seminole.
“Kill the savage! Hunt him down! Drive him out! Away with him to the west!” Thus was the sentiment expressed. These became the popular cries.
When the people of the United States have a wish, it is likely soon to seek gratification, particularly when that wish coincides with the views of its government; in this case, it did so, the government itself having created it.
It would be easy, all supposed, to accomplish the popular will, to dispossess the savage, hunt him, drive him out. Still there was a treaty. The world had an eye, and there was a thinking minority not to be despised who opposed this clamorous desire. The treaty could not be broken under the light of day; how then, was this obstructive covenant to be got rid of?
Call the head men together, cajole them out of it; the chiefs are human, they are poor, some of them drunkards – bribes will go far, fire-water still farther; make a new treaty with a double construction – the ignorant savages will not understand it; obtain their signatures – the thing is done!
Crafty commissioner! yours is the very plan, and you the man to execute it.
It was done. On the 9th of May, 1832, on the banks of the Oclawaha, the chiefs of the Seminole nation in full council assembled bartered away the land of their fathers!
Such was the report given to the world.
It was not true.
It was not a full council of chiefs; it was an assembly of traitors bribed and suborned, of weak men flattered and intimidated. No wonder the nation refused to accede to this surreptitious covenant; no wonder they heeded not