There was no inequality now. Those hunter warriors carried the fire-weapon, and could handle it as skillfully as we.
The Indians now formed into a half-circle in front of the fort. The chiefs, having aligned themselves so as to form the concave side of the curve, sat down upon the grass. Behind them the sub-chiefs and more noted warriors took their places, and still further back, in rank after rank, stood the common men of the tribes. Even the women and boys drew near, clustering thickly behind, and regarding the movements of the men with quiet but eager interest.
Contrary to their usual habits, they were grave and silent. It is not their character to be so; for the Seminole is as free of speech and laughter as the clown of the circus ring; even the light-hearted negro scarcely equals him in jovialty.
It was not so now, but the very reverse. Chiefs, warriors and women — even the boys who had just forsaken their play — all wore an aspect of solemnity.
No wonder. That was no ordinary assemblage — no meeting upon a trivial matter — but a council at which was to be decided one of the dearest interests of their lives — a council whose decree might part them forever from their native land. No wonder they did not exhibit their habitual gaiety.
It is not correct to say that all looked grave. In that semi-circle of chiefs were men of opposite views. There were those who wished for the removal — who had private reasons to desire it — men bribed, suborned, or tampered with — traitors to their tribe and nation.
These were neither weak nor few. Some of the most powerful chiefs had been bought over, and had agreed to sell the rights of their people. Their treason was known or suspected, and this it was that was causing the anxiety of the others. Had it been otherwise — had there been no division in the ranks — the patriot party might easily have obtained a triumphant decision; but they feared the defection of traitors.
The band had struck up a march — the troops were in motion, and filing through the gate.
Hurrying on my uniform, I hastened out; and took my place among the staff of the general.
A few minutes after we were on the ground, face to face with the assembled chiefs.
The troops formed in line, the general taking his stand in front of the colours, with the commissioner by his side. Behind these were grouped the officers of the staff with clerks, interpreters, and some civilians of note — the Ringgolds, and others — who by courtesy were to take part in the proceedings.
Hands were shaken between the officers and chiefs; the friendly calumet was passed round; and the council at length inaugurated.
Note 1. Forts Piscolata on the Saint Johns, Fort San Augustine, and others, at Pensacola, Saint Marks, and elsewhere.
Note 2. An American officer is rarely to be seen in full uniform — still more rarely when on campaigning service, as in Florida.
Chapter Twenty Seven
The Council
First came the speech of the commissioner.
It is too voluminous to be given in detail. Its chief points were, an appeal to the Indians to conform peaceably to the terms of the Oclawaha treaty — to yield up their lands in Florida — to move to the west — to the country assigned them upon the White River of Arkansas — in short, to accept all the terms which the government had commissioned him to require.
He took pains to specify the advantages which would accrue from the removal. He painted the new home as a perfect paradise — prairies covered with game, elk, antelopes, and buffalo — rivers teeming with fish — crystal waters and unclouded skies. Could he have found credence for his words, the Seminole might have fancied that the happy hunting-grounds of his fancied heaven existed in reality upon the earth.
On the other hand, he pointed out to the Indians the consequences of their non-compliance. White men would be settling thickly along their borders. Bad white men would enter upon their lands; there would be strife and the spilling of blood; the red man would be tried in the court of the white man, where, according to law, his oath would be of no avail; and therefore he must suffer injustice!
Such were in reality the sentiments of Mr Commissioner Wiley Thompson (historically true), uttered in the council of Fort King, in April, 1835. I shall give them in his own words; they are worthy of record, as a specimen of fair dealing between white and red. Thus spoke he:
"Suppose — what is, however impossible — that you could be permitted to remain here for a few years longer, what would be your condition? This land will soon be surveyed, sold to, and settled by the whites. There is now a surveyor in the country. The jurisdiction of the government will soon be extended over you. Your laws will be set aside — your chiefs will cease to be chiefs. Claims for debt and for your negroes would be set up against you by bad white men; or you would perhaps be charged with crimes affecting life. You would be haled before the white man’s court. The claims and charges would be decided by the white man’s law. White men would be witnesses against you. Indians would not be permitted to give evidence. Your condition in a few years would be hopeless wretchedness. You would be reduced to abject poverty, and when urged by hunger to ask — perhaps from the man who had thus ruined you — for a crust of bread, you might be called an Indian dog, and spurned from his presence. For this reason it is that your ‘Great Father’ (!) wishes to remove you to the west — to save you from all these evils."
And this language in the face of a former treaty — that of Camp Moultrie — which guaranteed to the Seminoles their right to remain in Florida, and the third article of which runs thus:
"The United States will take the Florida Indians under their care and patronage; and will afford them protection against all persons whatsoever."
O tempora, O mores!
The speech was a mixture of sophistry and implied menace — now uttered in the tones of a petitioner, anon assuming the bold air of the bully. It was by no means clever — both characters being overdone.
The commissioner felt no positive hostility towards the Seminoles. He was indignant only with those chiefs who had already raised opposition to his designs, and one, in particular, he hated; but the principal animus by which he was inspired, was a desire to do the work for which he had been delegated — an ambition to carry out the wish of his government and nation and thus gain for himself credit and glory. At this shrine he was ready — as most officials are — to sacrifice his personal independence of thought, with every principle of morality and honour. What matters the cause so long as it is the king’s? Make it "congress" instead of "king’s" and you have the motto of our Indian agent.
Shallow as was the speech, it was not without its effects. The weak and wavering were influenced by it. The flattering sketch of their new home, with the contrasted awful picture of what might be their future condition, affected the minds of many. During that spring the Seminoles had planted but little corn. The summons of war had been sounding in their ears; and they had neglected seed time: there would be no harvest — no maize, nor rice, nor yams. Already were they suffering from their improvidence. Even then were they collecting the roots of the China briar (Note 1), and the acorns of the live-oak. How much worse would be their condition in the winter?
It is not to be wondered at that they gave way to apprehension; and I noticed many whose countenances bore an expression of awe. Even the patriot chiefs appeared to evince some apprehension for the result.