Life in Florida in those days must have been enchanting. There were fruit and vegetables all the year round, oranges for the picking, peaches and melons in great abundance. The Indians constantly brought in all kinds of game; the woods were full of wild orchids and myriads of wild flowers, and the pink cranes and scarlet flamingoes were quite tame on the banks of the little river that flowed at the bottom of the grounds.
In 1823, Governor Duval rendered signal service to the territory of Florida and to the United States Government by putting down the conspiracy of Neamathla, one of the most noted Indians in American history. He was the chief of the Mickasookies, a fighting tribe of warriors, who had their hands not only against the white man, but against the weaker Indian as well. They had committed many depredations on the frontiers of Georgia and were constantly attacking the Seminoles, a peaceful and picturesque tribe, who gave the Government no trouble, but sought (unless influenced by the Mickasookies) its protection.
Neamathla was a splendid figure, more than six feet in height, with fierce fiery eyes and a face like a hawk. He hated white men and proudly called Governor Duval "brother," never acknowledging his superiority.
The Indians at this time, chiefly through the governor's
influence, had signed a treaty to remove to a small section of land in the
eastern part of Florida and to remain there for twenty years, thus leaving
the remainder of the State free to the white man. Neamathla fought bitterly
against the treaty, but finally signed it, saying quite frankly: "If I had
enough warriors, brother, instead of signing the
treaty, I would wipe every white man from the face of Florida. I say this
to you, for though you are white, you are a Man. Your pale-faced people wouldn't
understand me."
Thinking it wise to be near the Indians, Governor Duval had settled at Tallahassee. The village of Neamathla being only three miles away, he often rode out to have a pow-wow with him. One day he found him surrounded by all his warriors, drinking brandy freely. Neamathla began to boast that although the red man had made a treaty, the treaty was at an end, "broken by the white man, who had not delivered the cattle and money promised."
The Governor replied, "The time for the money and cattle has not yet arrived." But the old chief only looked sly and continued to drink and threaten. He had been cutting tobacco with a long knife, and while he was talking he flourished his keen blade not an inch away from the Governor's throat, saying the country was the red man's, that it should belong to him, and he would fight for it until his bones, and the bones of his warriors bleached upon its soil.
Suddenly and unexpectedly the Governor seized him by the bosom of his shirt, clenched his fist in his face, and said: "You have made your treaty. You shall keep it. I am your White Chief sent by your father in Washington to see that you do it. If you do not, the blood of every Indian in the country will dye the land, and his bones will bleach upon its soil."
The old chief threw himself back with a bitter laugh. "Ho, ho, little white brother!" he said, "can't you see my joke?"
My grandfather returned
to Tallahassee, and things went smoothly for several months. Every day some of the Indians reported themselves
at the Governor's house, but suddenly their visits ceased, and at midnight
of the fourth day after this, Yellow Hair, a young brave who loved the White
Chief, stole into the house. "Governor," he said, "at the risk of my life
I've come to tell you that five hundred warriors are holding a secret war
talk with Neamathla."
There was no more sleep that night for Governor Duval; he
saw that he must take a desperate chance. There were one hundred white families
near, and he had no soldiers. Everything depended on himself. At dawn he
was up, and, mounting a fleet horse, called upon the interpreter, De Witt,
to follow.
The man demurred. "Wait, Governor," he said, "until we can get the militia."
"No," said my grandfather, "there is not a moment to lose, we must ride fast." And they struck for the Indian village to what De Witt thought was certain death.
"The chiefs," he said, "are old, discontented, suspicious and exasperated. They intend serious mischief."
Finally my grandfather said, "Go back, man, and leave me to go on alone."
"No," said De Witt, "I won't leave you to die alone, but God! what a foolhardy expedition."
They rode on in silence, and when they neared the village my grandfather said sternly, "Translate word for word what I say to you. Only courage can save us now."
There was a great council fire, and Neamathla was sitting on a rude throne surrounded by his warriors. The Governor rode straight into the circle, while forty rifles were cocked and levelled at him. He slowly dismounted, looked Neamathla fearlessly in the eyes, and, with a gesture of contempt, stood waiting. The old chief threw up his arm; the guns were lowered. The Governor then walked up to Neamathla and asked why he was holding a council of war. The old chief was silent.
The White Chief said, "You need not answer. I know; but if a single hair of the head of a white man in this country is harmed" - he made a mighty sweeping gesture with his arm - "I will hang every chief to the trees that surround you. The Great Father in Washington holds you in the hollow of his hand. He has only to close it and you are dead. I am but one man. You may kill me, but the white man is as many as the leaves on this oak. Remember your warriors, whose bones have made the battlefields white. Remember your wives and your children dead in the swamps. Another war with the white man, and there will not be one Indian left to tell the story to his children."
His words had effect. They sat still and silent. Then he appointed a day for them to meet him in St. Mark's and rode forty miles straight ahead to the Apalachicolas, a friendly tribe who were at feud with the Mickasookies. They immediately sent three hundred warriors to St. Mark's. He summoned also the regular army and the militia, and was then ready for Neamathla. Yellow Hair came again in the dead of night to tell the Governor that nine towns concerned in the conspiracy were disaffected, and from him he found out the names of the chiefs in these towns who were popular, but without power.
On the day of the conference he rode out to meet Neamathla, who, although at the head of eight hundred Indians, was afraid to venture into the court of St. Mark's alone. He thought when he saw the troops and the preparations that he had been betrayed, but was reassured when the Governor rode by his side and told him when the talk was ended that he could go home free.
Neamathla and the older chiefs blamed the younger ones who had led them into conspiracy. "Then," said my grandfather, "if you cannot govern your braves you must, like the white man, find men who can. I depose you, Neamathla, and appoint Little Bear in your place." And with great ceremony a broad ribbon sewn with beads, from which a large medal of the Capitol depended, was hung around the neck of a younger chief.
In this way nine chiefs were deposed and popular braves appointed in their place. The Indians were delighted; they thought my grandfather a prophet to have divined their choice. The new warriors, he was confident, would keep an eye on the disaffected, and would remain loyal to the Government and to him.
Neamathla left the country and returned to the Creek nation, who made him a chief, but, shorn of his great power, he soon died of disappointment. The Governor's achievement of defeating alone and unaided a conspiracy which would have brought about a terrible massacre, was a valiant and heroic act. In later years with no military escort, he was able to remove, through their confidence in him, all the Indians from Florida to the Indian Territory - thus saving the Government at Washington great trouble and expense.
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