IN coming down the river, we land on the east bank at Tocoi, for St. Augustine. There are no hotels here, as the cars always make close connection with the daily line of boats for the ancient city. Much ink and paper has been wasted about this unpretentious town on account of its unattractive appearance; but it is only a starting-point for St. Augustine, this point being more on an air-line than any other place on the river.

The distance to St. Augustine is fifteen miles, the scenery along the route varied, being interspersed with long-leafed pines, hummock-lands, with its heavy undergrowth, live-oaks, and wild orange-trees; the cypress, trimmed with its crisping, curling, waving gray whiskers, swinging and dancing in the sunlight of noonday, or resting in the somber shades of night, thus giving that grace and beauty to the landscape which is only seen in our Sunny South.

A short ride on the railroad enables us to see the country; and what mistakes some settlers make in planting orange-trees on hummock-lands without proper drainage, where the poor strangers, being neither amphibious nor aquatic, droop and die from wet feet!

Travelers, who imagine themselves greatly inconvenienced, and have so much to complain about for more profitable employment, after riding in the pleasant steam-cars from Tocoi to St. Augustine, will peruse the following, from which they can form some idea of the contrast within forty years in Florida:

“December, 1840—Notice to Travelers—St. Augustine and Picolata Stage.—The subscriber has commenced running a comfortable carriage between St. Augustine and Picolata twice a week. A military escort will always accompany the stage going and returning. Fare each way five dollars. The subscriber assures those who may patronize this undertaking that his horses are strong and sound, his carriages commodious and comfortable; that none but careful and sober drivers will be employed; also every attention paid to their comfort and convenience. Passengers will be called for when the escort is about leaving the city.”

We have selected from among the many, one of the atrocious acts of violence committed by the savages previous to this arrangement, upon a worthy and respected citizen, Dr. Philip Weedman, whose three most estimable daughters are still living in St. Augustine:

“November 25, 1839.—Shortly after the mail-wagon left the city, Dr. Philip Weedman, sr., accompanied by his little son, a lad about twelve years of age, both in an open wagon, with Mr. H. Groves on horseback, left also for the purpose of visiting his former residence, now occupied as a garrison by a part of Captain Mickler’s company. On arriving at the commencement of Long Swamp, without any previous warning, he was tired upon and killed, having received two balls in his breast; his little son was wounded in the head, baring his brain; also cut with a knife. The mutilated youth, with the remains of the dead father, were brought in town to-day. The express, returning for medical aid, caused the Indians to run, as the wagon containing the mail was fired into, wounding Captain Searle, and killing a Polander who was riding horseback.”

“Tuesday, November 26, 1839.—The funeral of Dr. Philip Weedman took place to-day, attended by all of our citizens, who sympathize deeply with his numerous family.”

The Polander, Mr. Possenantzky, was buried the same day according to the Hebrew form. The Indians continued firing on the covered wagon-trains, calling them “cloth houses,” their object being to obtain supplies, when a proposition was made to have fortified wagons. Hostile Indians were something which could not be worked by any rules; they were the exceptions.

On Saturday, February 15, 1840, we find a record of two mail-carriers having been murdered, one seven and the other nine miles distant—G. W. Walton, from South Carolina, while on his way to Jacksonville, and Mr. J. Garcias, near Live Oak Camp. The letters were undisturbed, although carried some distance. Both of the murdered young men were buried in St. Augustine. Afterward the mail was accompanied by an escort of five men.

We have tried to hold up some cause with the semblance of a shade to delude us into the belief that the Indians have less activity and enterprise than the white men, but facts stand forward in bold relief denying us even the poor consolation which such delusions might afford us. The lifeless bodies of our brethren speak trumpet-tongued in favor of their removal, and the wail of hearts blighted by their successes is stronger and more piercing than the fictitious surroundings of excited fancies.

Here is another thrust at the bloodhounds:

“These distinguished auxiliaries have received more attention than their services deserve, while great apprehension fills the minds of many for fear they should perchance bite a Seminole. We would state as a quietus that a competent tooth-drawer will accompany them, entering upon his dental duties very soon.”

Another shocking murder occurred between Picolata and St. Augustine, before the St. John’s Railroad was surveyed between Tocoi and St. Augustine.

“May 29, 1840.—On Friday last a carriage and wagon had been obtained to proceed to Picolata, for the purpose of bringing in some baggage and gentlemen connected with the theatrical company of W. C. Forbes, from Savannah. Leaving Picolata on Saturday morning, May 23, in addition to their own party they were joined by Messrs. D. G. Vose, of New York, and Miller, of Brunswick, who all reached the eleven-mile military post in safety. When within seven miles of St. Augustine they were fired upon by Indians, severely wounding Vose, Miller, and Wigger, a young German musician. While this work of death was going on, a wagon which had left the barracks that morning was seen approaching. It contained three persons besides the driver—Mr. Francis Medicis, of St. Augustine, Mr. A. Ball, and Mr. Beaufort. The Indians fired upon them near the six-mile post, when Mr. Beaufort and the driver escaped. The mules ran away with the wagon. The firing being heard at the little garrison of seven men, they turned out, when they saw distinctly twenty Indians. News having been received in town by a lad coming in on one of the horses, a party of gentlemen repaired thither. On reaching the ground, there lay Mr. Ball dead, while farther on was the body of Mr. Medicis, lying on his side, his hands clenched, as if in the attitude of supplication, his right shirt-sleeve burned with powder, and his face covered with blood. Mr. Francis Medicis was murdered the 23d of May, 1840, between the hours of eleven and twelve o’clock. The bodies of Messrs. Medicis, Ball, Vose, and Miller, were brought in at dusk, that of Mr. Miller about nine o’clock. The bodies of the strangers were placed in the Council Chamber. Mr. Forbes and his company passed over the Picolata road on the 22d of May, except Messrs. Wigger, German, and Thomas A. Line. Mr. Wigger was murdered. Thomas A. Line hid himself in a swamp, sinking up to his neck, and covering his face with a barnet-leaf, which he raised, to the great surprise of his companions, when they were searching for the survivors and gathering up the wounded.”

The old citizens in St. Augustine now say that when Mr. German, vocalist, one of the theatricals, arrived in the city after his escape, his hair was standing perfectly erect on his head, and in twenty-four hours turned entirely white. As the Indians rifled the baggage-wagon, they carried off a considerable portion of the stage-dresses and other paraphernalia.

Now, we can peruse these tragic events as the vision of some wild romancer, or relate them to children as nursery tales, partaking enough of the terrible to excite a desire for the wonderful. Wearied with waiting, and heart-sick of bloody murders, we find the following piece of composition written on this solemn occasion:

“How long shall the earth drink the blood of our women and children, and the soil be dyed with the ebbing life of manhood? Could they have looked with us upon the mangled corpses of Indian wrath, as they were laid upon the public highway, or gone to the council-room and surveyed on its table, where side by side the marble forms of four men lay, who a few hours before were looking to the future as filled with bright enjoyment, they would then have whistled their philanthropy to the winds, and cried aloud for vengeance. That was a sight never to be forgotten. We have seen men killed in battle, and perish by disease on the ocean, but amid the many affecting and unpleasant incidents that have met our gaze we have never seen a spectacle like that. Here in the rigidity of death lay the youthful German, on whom manhood had just dawned: also the compact forms of muscular health, with the less vigorous frames of more advanced years. A casual glance might mistake it for a mimic scene, where Art had exhausted her powers in its production. But there was the pallid hue of faces; there was the gash the knife had made in its course to the heart; the cleft forehead parted by the tomahawk in its descent to the brain; and there the silent drop, dropping of crimson fluid to the floor—while our Secretary, with his usual imbecility, issues orders to ‘muzzle the bloodhounds.’ The funerals of these unfortunate victims took place on Sunday, attended by a large concourse of people, who expressed the keenest indignation at the repetition of such a scene so near our city. Wild Cat was the leader of this band, as he stopped afterward at the plantation of E. S. Jenckes, Esq., and told the servants he had committed the murder.”

The troupe filled their engagement at St. Augustine, as only a musician had been killed from their number. History says, “The sterling comedy of ‘The Honeymoon’ was performed to a crowded house.” Afterward the following notice appeared: “During the winter months we have no doubt that a troupe, embodying the same amount of talent which the present company possess, would find it profitable to spend a month with us each season.”

Coacoochee, or Wild Cat, was captured with Osceola in 1836, and afterward made his escape, or he never would have been permitted to commit such a series of appalling atrocities as those which we have recorded. Wild Cat frequently visited the residence of General Hernandez, who lived on Charlotte Street. He also very much admired one of his beautiful daughters, and, like lovers at the present day, wanted an excuse for returning; consequently, on going away he would leave one of his silver crescents, which he wore on his breast as a defense and for ornament, to be polished, and when he returned, take the one he left before, and leave another. He delighted to stand in front of a large mirror which General Hernandez had in his parlor, and admire his person. He said if Miss Kitty Hernandez would be his wife, she should never work any more, but always ride on a pony, wherever she went; that Sukey, his present wife, should wait on her, but Miss Kitty would be queen. He frequently made assertions of his friendship for the family. When on one occasion some of them remarked that he would kill them as quick as anybody if he should find them in the Indian nation, he replied: “Yes, I would; for you had better to die by the hand of a friend than an enemy.”

The following is an account of Coacoochee’s escape and recapture: In all ages of the world there have lived those who laugh at iron bars, and defy prison doors—among whom we find the Seminole, Wild Cat, who appeared to be proof against bullets, with a body no dungeon could hold. He was very indignant on account of his imprisonment, denouncing his persecutors in no measured terms. He said the white man had given one hand in friendship, while in the other he carried a snake, with which he lied, and stung the red man. While in Fort Marion he planned his escape in a most remarkable manner. He complained of illness, at the same time manifesting signs of indisposition, and made a request that he might be permitted to go in search of a curative agency. Accompanied with a guard, he was again permitted to breathe the pure air of his native home, but not in freedom. This movement furnished him with an opportunity for reconnoitering, and measuring with his eye the distance, outside the fort, from the loop-hole of his cell. After his return he resorted to the use of his herbs, and abstained from food, which had the effect of materially reducing his size. He selected a stormy night for the undertaking, when his keepers would be the least inclined to vigilance, and commenced making preparations by tearing his blankets into ropes, which he made fast inside his cell, and, by working a knife into the masonry, formed a step. This, with the aid of his companion’s shoulders, enabled him to reach the embrasure—a distance of eighteen feet—through which he escaped by taking a swinging leap of fifty feet into the ditch, skinning his back and chest effectually. His companion, Talums Hadjo, was less fortunate than himself. After a desperate effort to get through, he lost his hold, and fell the whole way to the ground. Wild Cat thought him dead; but his ankle was only sprained, and, after enlisting the services of a mule grazing in the vicinity, he was soon far away from bolts and bars, which could restrain his wild, free-born movements.

Wild Cat had a twin sister, to whom he was much attached. He said she visited him after her death, in a white cloud, and thus relates her appearance: “Her long black hair, that I had often braided, hung down her back. With one hand she gave me a string of white pearls; in the other she held a cup sparkling with pure water, which she said came from the fountain of the Great Spirit, and if I would drink of it I should return and live forever. As I drank she sung the peace-song of the Seminoles, while white wings danced around me. She then took me by the hand, and said, ‘All is peace here.’ After this she stepped into the cloud again, waved her hand, and was gone. The pearls she gave me were stolen after I was imprisoned in St. Augustine. During certain times in the moon, when I had them, I could commune with the spirit of my sister. I may be buried in the earth, or sunk in the water, but I shall go to her, and there live. Where my sister lives game is abundant, and the white man is never seen.”

This chieftain was afterward induced to come in for a parley, to a depot established on the head-waters of Pease Creek. The following is a description of his appearance on that occasion:

About midday on March 5, 1841, Wild Cat was announced as approaching the encampment, preceded by friendly Indians, and followed by seven trusty warriors. He came within the chain of sentinels, boldly and fearlessly, decorated, as were his companions, in the most fantastic manner. Parts of the wardrobe plundered from the theatrical troupe the year previous were wrapped about their persons in the most ludicrous and grotesque style. The nodding plumes of the haughty Dane, as personated in the sock and buskin, boasting of his ancestry and revenge, now decorated the brow of the unyielding savage, whose ferocity had desolated the country by blood, and whose ancestors had bequeathed the soil now consecrated with their ashes, which he had defended with unswerving fidelity. He claimed no rights or inheritance but those he was prepared to defend. Modestly by his side walked a friend wound up in the simple garb of Horatio, while in the rear was Richard III., judging from his royal purple and ermine, combined with the hideousness of a dark, distorted, revengeful visage. Others were ornamented with the crimson vest and spangles, according to fancy. He entered the tent of Colonel Worth, who was prepared to receive him, and shook hands with the officers all around, undisturbed in manner or language. His speech was modest and fluent. His child, aged twelve years, which the troops had captured at Fort Mellon during the fight, now rushed into his arms. Tears seldom give utterance to the impulse of an Indian’s heart; but when he found the innate enemies of his race the protectors of his child, he wept. With accuracy and feeling he detailed the occurrences of the past four years. He said the whites had dealt unjustly by him. “I came to them; they deceived me. The land I was upon I loved; my body is made of its sands. The Great Spirit gave me legs to walk it, hands to help myself, eyes to see its ponds, rivers, forests, and game; then a head with which to think. The sun, which is warm and bright, as my feelings are now, shines to warm us and bring forth our crops, and the moon brings back the spirit of our warriors, our fathers, wives, and children.” Wild Cat admitted the necessity of his leaving the country, hard as it was. After remaining four days, he returned, with his child, to his tribe.

General Worth commanded the army in Florida at this time. He established the head-quarters of his command in the saddle—only asking his troops to follow where he should lead.

Wild Cat had a subtle, cunning disposition, which gave the whites much trouble. They had deceived him, and his confidence in the pale faces was much shaken; but, being induced by General Worth, he was prevailed upon to meet in council. The General made a direct appeal to his vanity, by telling him he had the power to end the war if he chose, as they were all tired of fighting. Wild Cat was finally captured during the month of June. His camp was thirty-five miles from Fort Pierce, on the Okachobee Swamp. He had abandoned the idea of emigration, and his name was a terror to all the white settlers. He agreed to leave with the Seminole and Mikasukie tribes, who elected him their leader. His parting address, as he stood upon the deck, was as follows: “I am looking at the last pine-tree of my native land; I am leaving Florida forever. To part from it is like the separation of kindred; but I have thrown away my rifle. I have shaken hands with the white man, and to him I look for protection.” Wild Cat, after being sent to New Orleans, was brought back to Tampa, that he might have a talk with his band, who numbered one hundred and sixty, including negroes. He was too proud to come from the vessel with his shackles, but when they were removed he talked freely with his people, and wanted all to be sent West without delay. He died on the way to Arkansas, and was buried on the bank of the Mississippi River. War to him was only a source of recreation.

The following spicy letter was written thirty-eight years since, contrasting the seasons in New York City with those in St. Augustine; also, a comparison can be drawn between the entertainments of the two places. In Florida Indian massacres were realities, and in New York they dramatized them for the amusement of pleasure-seekers and idlers:

“December, 1841.—A winter here in New York, and one with you, are very different matters; and were you disposed to question the orthodox character of my position, you need only make an attempt to promenade in Broadway now with thin breeches, to have this general relation of fact converted into a self-evident axiom. The wind searches you, sharp as the gaze of a jealous politician—every defect in your wardrobe—and, with a freedom which the other must sigh to attain, blows upon your person its icy breath, until the warm current of life feels almost frozen in its citadel, and your legs are scarcely able to perform the duties of their creation. Such is the difference of temperature with you and in this metropolis.”

The same correspondent describes the manner of dramatizing the Florida Indian murders. Scene—Capture and killing of the mail-rider and wife in Florida:

“Having at one time witnessed some of the handicraft of our red brethren, I thought I would step in, and lo! the room was filled with some three hundred persons, anxious to behold this scene of blood. The Indians were veritable, stout, murderous-looking rascals; the mail-rider, a six-foot youth—oiled locks, beautifully parted, elegantly-combed mustache, white pantaloons, straps, and boots. This was the grandest specimen of a mail-rider ever seen in Florida. He might have personated some of those fictitious pretenders of gentility which sometimes visit you—but for a letter-carrier—Heaven save the mark! The wife was a pretty, plump, well-fed girl of sixteen, dressed in all the simplicity of girlhood, before fashion had desecrated its pure feeling with tournures, converting the human form divine into a monstrosity. Well, the chase was interesting; our six-footer stretched his legs and black coat-tails with effect. When fairly caught by his pursuers, he was bound, and his wife was likewise brought in captive. Then rose the loud and fierce yells of these demi-devils. The mimic scene was one of intense interest, and the quick dispatch of life argued something in favor of the captors, until the process of scalping commenced, when the blood rushed in gushes on the bosom of the girl, as her tresses were held up amidst the fiendish hurrahs of the Indians. Here there was a pause; the imagination had been wound up to the highest pitch, when something of a less gloomy character was furnished the audience.”

It was then the Florida settlers prayed for the peace we now enjoy—when their streams should have the dreary solitude broken by the splash of the oar, and their moss-covered banks send back the song of the contented boatmen—when their tranquil surface should be rippled by the freighted bark, with white canvas bending before the breeze, sailing out to the ocean—when the watch-fires of their foes should be extinct, and the yell of murder give place to the melody of grateful hearts, as their songs of praise should rise from the hummocks and plains; that the land might be indeed the home of the Christian, the abiding-place of happiness and contentment.