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Osceola the Seminole: or, The Red Fawn of the Flower Land

Chapter Sixty Five
“Dade’s Massacre.”

This melancholy finale to the festivities of Christmas was, if possible, rendered more sad by a rumour that shortly after reached Fort King. It was the rumour of an event, which has since become popularly known as “Dade’s massacre.”

The report was brought by an Indian runner – belonging to one of the friendly clans – but the statements made were of so startling a character, that they were at first received with a cry of incredulity.

Other runners, however, continuously arriving, confirmed the account of the first messenger, until his story – tragically improbable as it appeared – was accepted as truth. It was true in all its romantic colouring; true in all its sanguinary details. The war had commenced in real earnest, inaugurated by a conflict of the most singular kind – singular both in character and result.

An account of this battle is perhaps of sufficient interest to be given.

In the early part of this narrative, it has been mentioned that an officer of the United States army gave out the vaunt that he “could march through all the Seminole reserve with only a corporal’s guard at his back.” That officer was Major Dade.

It was the destiny of Major Dade to find an opportunity for giving proof of his warlike prowess – though with something more than a corporal’s guard at his back. The result was a sad contrast to the boast he had so thoughtlessly uttered.

To understand this ill-fated enterprise, it is necessary to say a word topographically of the country.

On the west coast of the peninsula of Florida is a bay called “Tampa” – by the Spaniards, “Espiritu Santo.” At the head of this bay was erected “Fort Brooke” – a stockade similar to Fort King, and lying about ninety miles from the latter, in a southerly direction. It was another of those military posts established in connection with the Indian reserve – a dépôt for troops and stores – also an entrepôt for such as might arrive from the ports of the Mexican gulf.

About two hundred soldiers were stationed here at the breaking out of hostilities. They were chiefly artillery, with a small detachment of infantry.

Shortly after the fruitless council at Fort King, these troops – or as many of them as could be spared – were ordered by General Clinch to proceed to the latter place, and unite with the main body of the army.

In obedience to these orders, one hundred men with their quota of officers, were set in motion for Fort King. Major Dade commanded the detachment.

On the eve of Christmas, 1835, they had taken the route, marching out from Fort Brooke in high spirits, buoyant with the hope of encountering and winning laurels in a fight with the Indian foe. They flattered themselves that it would be the first conflict of the war, and therefore, that in which the greatest reputation would be gained by the victors. They dreamt not of defeat.

With flags flying gaily, drums rolling merrily, bugles sounding the advance, cannon pealing their farewell salute, and comrades cheering them onwards, the detachment commenced its march – that fatal march from which it was destined never to return.

Just seven days after – on the 31st of December – a man made his appearance at the gates of Fort Brooke, crawling upon his hands and knees. In his tattered attire could scarcely be recognised the uniform of a soldier – a private of Dade’s detachment – for such he was. His clothes were saturated with water from the creeks, and soiled with mud from the swamps. They were covered with dust, and stained with blood. His body was wounded in five places – severe wounds all – one in the right shoulder, one in the right thigh, one near the temple, one in the left arm, and another in the back. He was wan, wasted, emaciated to the condition of a skeleton, and presented the aspect of one. When, in a weak, trembling voice, he announced himself as “Private Clark of the 2nd Artillery,” his old comrades had with difficulty identified him.

Shortly after, two others – privates Sprague and Thomas – made their appearance in a similar plight. Their report was similar to that already delivered by Clark: that Major Dade’s command had been attacked by the Indians, cut to pieces, massacred to a man – that they themselves were the sole survivors of that band who had so lately gone forth from the fort in all the pride of confident strength, and the hopeful anticipation of glory.

And their story was true to the letter. Of all the detachment, these three miserable remnants of humanity alone escaped; the others – one hundred and six in all – had met death on the banks of the Amazura. Instead of the laurel, they had found the cypress.

The three who escaped had been struck down and left for dead upon the field. It was only by counterfeiting death, they had succeeded in afterwards crawling from the ground, and making their way back to the fort. Most of this journey Clark performed upon his hands and knees, proceeding at the rate of a mile to the hour, over a distance of more than sixty miles!

Chapter Sixty Six
The Battle-Ground

The affair of Dade’s massacre is without a parallel in the history of Indian warfare. No conflict of a similar kind had ever occurred – at least, none so fatal to the whites engaged in it. In this case they suffered complete annihilation – for, of the three wounded men who had escaped, two of them shortly after died of their wounds.

Nor had the Indians any great advantage over their antagonists, beyond that of superior cunning and strategy.

It was near the banks of the Amazura (“Ouithlacoochee” of the Seminoles), and after crossing that stream, that Major Dade’s party had been attacked. The assault was made in ground comparatively open – a tract of pine-woods, where the trees grew thin and straggling – so that the Indians had in reality no great advantage either from position or intrenchment. Neither has it been proved that they were greatly superior in numbers to the troops they destroyed – not more than two to one; and this proportion in most Indian wars has been considered by their white antagonists as only “fair odds.”

Many of the Indians appeared upon the ground mounted; but these remained at a distance from the fire of the musketry; and only those on foot took part in the action. Indeed, their conquest was so soon completed, that the horsemen were not needed. The first fire was so deadly, that Dade’s followers were driven into utter confusion. They were unable to retreat: the mounted Indians had already outflanked them, and cut off their chance of escape.

Dade himself, with most of his officers, fell at the first volley; and the survivors had no choice but fight it out on the ground. A breastwork was attempted – by felling trees, and throwing their trunks into a triangle – but the hot fire from the Indian rifles soon checked the progress of the work; and the parapet never rose even breast-high above the ground. Into this insecure shelter the survivors of the first attack retreated, and there fell rapidly under the well-aimed missiles of their foes. In a short while the last man lay motionless; and the slaughter was at an end.

When the place was afterwards visited by our troops, this triangular inclosure was found, filled with dead bodies – piled upon one another, just as they had fallen – crosswise, lengthways, in every attitude of death!

It was afterwards noised abroad that the Indians had inhumanly tortured the wounded, and horribly mutilated the slain. This was not true. There were no wounded left to be tortured – except the three who escaped – and as for the mutilation, but one or two instances of this occurred – since known to have been the work of runaway negroes actuated by motives of personal revenge.

Some scalps were taken; but this is the well-known custom of Indian warfare; and white men ere now have practised the fashion, while under the frenzied excitement of battle.

I was one of those who afterwards visited the battle-ground on a tour of inspection, ordered by the commander-in-chief; and the official report of that tour is the best testimony as to the behaviour of the victors. It reads as follows:

“Major Dade and his party were destroyed on the morning of the 28th of December, about four miles from their camp of the preceding night. They were advancing in column of route when they were attacked by the enemy, who rose in a swarm out of the cover of long grass and palmettoes. The Indians suddenly appeared close to their files. Muskets were clubbed, knives and bayonets used, and parties clenched in deadly conflict. In the second attack, our own men’s muskets, taken from the dead and wounded, were used against them; a cross-fire cut down a succession of artillerists, when the cannon were taken, the carriages broken and burned, and the guns rolled into a pond. Many negroes were in the field; but no scalps were taken by the Indians. On the other hand, the negroes, with hellish cruelty, pierced the throats of all whose cries or groans shewed that there was still life in them.”

Another official report runs thus:

We approached the battle-field from the rear. Our advanced guard had passed the ground without halting when the commanding officer and his staff came upon one of the most appalling scenes that can be imagined. We first saw some broken and scattered boxes; then a cart, the two oxen of which were lying dead, as if they had fallen asleep, their yokes still on them: a little to the right, one or two horses were seen. We next came to a small inclosure, made by felling trees, in such a manner as to form a triangular breastwork. Within the triangle – along the north and west faces of it – were about thirty bodies, mostly mere skeletons, although much of the clothing was left upon them. They were lying in the positions they must have occupied during the fight. Some had fallen over their dead comrades, but most of them lay close to the logs, with their heads turned towards the breastwork, over which they had delivered their fire, and their bodies stretched with striking regularity parallel to each other. They had evidently been shot dead at their posts, and the Indians had not disturbed them, except by taking the scalps of some – which, it is said, was done by their negro allies. The officers were all easily recognised. Some still wore their rings and breastpins, and money was found in their pockets! The bodies of eight officers and ninety-eight men were interred.

“It may be proper to observe that the attack was not made from a hommock, but in a thinly-wooded country – the Indians being concealed by palmettoes and grass.”

From this report, it appears that the Indians were fighting – not for plunder, not even from motives of diabolical revenge. Their motive was higher and purer – it was the defence of their country – of their hearths and homes.

The advantage they had over the troop of Major Dade was simply that of ambush and surprise. This officer, though a man of undoubted gallantry, was entirely wanting in those qualities necessary to a leader – especially one engaged against such a foe. He was a mere book-soldier – as most officers are – lacking the genius which enables the great military chieftain to adapt himself to the circumstances that surround him. He conducted the march of his detachment as if going upon parade; and by so doing he carried it into danger and subsequent destruction.

But if the commander of the whites in this fatal affair was lacking in military capacity, the leader of the Indians was not. It soon became known that he who planned the ambush and conducted it to such a sanguinary and successful issue, was the young chief of the Baton Rouge – Osceola.

He could not have stayed long upon the ground to enjoy his triumph. It was upon that same evening, at Fort King – forty miles distant from the scene of Dade’s massacre – that the commissioner fell before his vow of vengeance!

Chapter Sixty Seven
The Battle of “Ouithlacoochee.”

The murder of the commissioner called for some act of prompt retribution. Immediately after its occurrence, several expresses had been dispatched by different routes to Camp Drane – some of whom fell into the hands of the enemy, while the rest arrived safely with the news.

By daybreak of the following morning the army, more than a thousand strong, was in motion; and marching towards the Amazura. The avowed object of this expedition was to strike a blow at the families of the hostile Indians – their fathers and mothers, their wives, sisters and children – whose lurking-place amidst the fastnesses of the great swamp – the “Cove” – had become known to the general. It was intended they should be captured, if possible, and held as hostages until the warriors could be induced to surrender.

With all others who could be spared from the fort, I was ordered to accompany the expedition, and accordingly joined it upon the march. From the talk I heard around me, I soon discovered the sentiment of the soldiery. They had but little thought of making captives. Exasperated by what had taken place at the fort – further exasperated by what they called “Dade’s massacre,” I felt satisfied that they would not stay to take prisoners – old men or young men, women or children, all would alike be slain – no quarter would be given.

I was sick even at the prospect of such a wholesale carnage as was anticipated. Anticipated, I say, for all confidently believed it would take place. The hiding-place of these unfortunate families had become known – there were guides conducting us thither who knew the very spot – how could we fail to reach it?

An easy surprise was expected. Information had been received that the warriors, or most of them, were absent upon another and more distant expedition, and in a quarter where we could not possibly encounter them. We were to make a descent upon the nest in the absence of the eagles; and with this intent the army was conducted by silent and secret marches.

But the day before, our expedition would have appeared easy enough – a mere exciting frolic, without peril of any kind; but the news of Dade’s defeat had produced a magical effect upon the spirits of the soldiers, and whilst it exasperated, it had also cowed them. For the first time, they began to feel something like a respect for their foe, mingled perhaps with a little dread of him. The Indians, at least, knew how to kill.

This feeling increased as fresh messengers came in from the scene of Dade’s conflict, bringing new details of that sanguinary affair. It was not without some apprehension, then, that the soldier marched onwards, advancing into the heart of the enemy’s country; and even the reckless volunteer kept close in the ranks as he rode silently along.

About mid-day we reached the banks of the Amazura. The stream had to be crossed before the Cove could be reached, for the vast network of swamps and lagoons bearing this name extended from the opposite side.

A ford had been promised the general, but the guides were at fault – no crossing-place could be found. At the point where we reached it, the river ran past, broad, black, and deep – too deep to be waded even by our horses.

Were the guides playing traitor, and misleading us? It certainly began to assume that appearance; but no – it could not be. They were Indians, it is true, but well proved in their devotion to the whites. Besides, they were men compromised with the national party – doomed to death by their own people – our defeat would have been their ruin.

It was not treason, as shewn afterwards – they had simply been deceived by the trails, and had gone the wrong way.

It was fortunate for us they had done so! But for this mistake of the guides, the army of General Clinch might have been called upon to repeat on a larger scale the drama so lately enacted by Dade and his companions.

Had we reached the true crossing, some two miles further down, we should have entered an ambush of the enemy, skillfully arranged by that same leader who so well understood his forest tactics. The report of the warriors having gone on a distant expedition was a mere ruse, the prelude to a series of strategic manoeuvres devised by Osceola.

The Indians were at that moment where we should have been, but for the mistake of the guides. The ford was beset upon both sides by the foe – the warriors lying unseen like snakes among the grass, ready to spring forth the moment we should attempt the crossing. Fortunate it was for Clinch and his army that our guides possessed so little skill.

The general acted without this knowledge at the time – else, had he known the dangerous proximity, his behaviour might have been different. As it was, a halt was ordered; and, after some deliberation, it was determined we should cross the river at the point where the army had arrived.

Some old boats were found, “scows,” with a number of Indian canoes. These would facilitate the transport of the infantry, while the mounted men could swim over upon their horses.

Rafts of logs were soon knocked together, and the passage of the stream commenced. The manoeuvre was executed with considerable adroitness, and in less than an hour one half of the command had crossed.

I was among those who got first over; but I scarcely congratulated myself on the success of the enterprise. I felt sad at the prospect of being soon called upon to aid in the slaughter of defenceless people – of women and children – for around me there was no other anticipation. It was with a feeling of positive relief, almost of joy, that I heard that wild war-cry breaking through the woods – the well-known Yo-ho-ehee of the Seminoles.

Along with it came the ringing detonations of rifles, the louder report of musketry; while bullets, whistling through the air, and breaking branches from the surrounding trees, told us that we were assailed in earnest, and by a large force of the enemy.

That portion of the army already over had observed the precaution to post itself in a strong position among heavy timber that grew near the river-bank; and on this account the first volley of the Indians produced a less deadly effect. For all that, several fell; and those who were exposed to view were still in danger.

The fire was returned by the troops, repeated by the Indians, and again answered by the soldiers – now rolling continuously, now in straggling volleys or single shots, and at intervals altogether ceasing.

For a long while but little damage was done on either side; but it was evident that the Indians, under cover of the underwood, were working themselves into a more advantageous position – in fact, surrounding us. The troops, on the other hand, dare not stir from the spot where they had landed, until a larger number should cross over. After that it was intended we should advance, and force the Indians from the covert at the point of the bayonet.

The troops from the other side continued to cross. Hitherto, they had been protected by the fire of those already over; but at this crisis a manoeuvre was effected by the Indians, that threatened to put an end to the passing of the river, unless under a destructive fire from their rifles.

Just below our position, a narrow strip of land jutted out into the stream, forming a miniature peninsula. It was a sand-bar caused by an eddy on the opposite side. It was lower than the main bank, and bare of timber – except at its extreme point, where a sort of island had been formed, higher than the peninsula itself.

On this island grew a thick grove of evergreen trees – palms, live-oaks, and magnolias – in short, a hommock.

It would have been prudent for us to have occupied this hommock at the moment of our first crossing over; but our general had not perceived the advantage. The Indians were not slow in noticing it; and before we could take any steps to hinder them, a body of warriors rushed across the isthmus, and took possession of the hommock.

The result of this skillful manoeuvre was soon made manifest. The boats, in crossing, were swept down by the current within range of the wooded islet – out of whose evergreen shades was now poured a continuous stream of blue fiery smoke, while the leaden missiles did their work of death. Men were seen dropping down upon the rafts, or tumbling over the sides of the canoes, with a heavy plunge upon the water, that told they had ceased to live; while the thick fire of musketry that was directed upon the hommock altogether failed to dislodge the daring band who occupied it.

There were but few of them – for we had seen them distinctly as they ran over the isthmus – but it was evident they were a chosen few, skilled marksmen every man. They were dealing destruction at every shot.

It was a moment of intense excitement. Elsewhere the conflict was carried on with more equality – since both parties fought under cover of the trees, and but little injury was sustained or inflicted by either. The band upon the islet were killing more of our men than all the rest of the enemy.

There was no other resource than to dislodge them from the hommock – to drive them forth at the bayonet’s point – at least this was the design that now suggested itself to the commander-in-chief.

It seemed a forlorn hope. Whoever should approach from the land-side would receive the full fire of the concealed enemy – be compelled to advance under a fearful risk of life.

To my surprise, the duty was assigned to myself. Why, I know not – since it could not be from any superior courage or ardour I had hitherto evinced in the campaign. But the order came from the general, direct and prompt; and with no great spirit I prepared to execute it.

With a party of rifles – scarcely outnumbering the enemy we were to attack at such a serious disadvantage – I started forth for the peninsula.

I felt as if marching upon my death, and I believe that most of those who followed me were the victims of a similar presentiment. Even though it had been a certainty, we could not now turn back; the eyes of the whole army were upon us. We must go forwards – we must conquer or fall.

In a few seconds we were upon the island, and advancing by rapid strides towards the hommock. We had hopes that the Indians might not have perceived our approach, and that we should get behind them unawares.

They were vain hopes. Our enemies had been watchful; they had observed our manoeuvre from its beginning; had faced round, and were waiting with rifles loaded, ready to receive us.

But half conscious of our perilous position, we pressed forwards and had got within twenty yards of the grove, when the blue smoke and red flame suddenly jetted forth from the trees. I heard the bullets shower past my ears; I heard the cries and groans of my followers, as they fell thickly behind me. I looked around – I saw that every one of them was stretched upon the ground, dead or dying!

At the same instant a voice reached me from the grove:

“Go back, Randolph! go back! By that symbol upon your breast your life has been spared; but my braves are chafed, and their blood is hot with fighting. Tempt not their anger. Away! away!”