FORTY miles from Manatee is to be seen the remains of Tampa. Your morning slumbers will not be interrupted here by the hammers of rude workmen, who are usually so inconsiderate for the comfort of others in their noisy movements. During the Florida war this town boasted more prosperity than at any subsequent period. It was then a military station for the soldiers, and depot for army supplies; also a kind of central point for this portion of the State. Here the Indians were ordered to report before being sent West. Its early settlement was commenced under difficulties by Navaraez, who, in 1828, landed at Tampa Bay, and, after penetrating some portions of the interior, returned and sailed for Cuba, leaving one of his companions—Juan Ortiz—whom the Indians had captured without his knowledge. The extreme youth of Ortiz excited sympathy among the Indian women, who rescued him from being burned, but the men made him feel the bitterness of bondage, until his life became a burden. They required him during their festal-days to run the gauntlet for their amusement, his celerity on these occasions saving him from death. As a variety in his servitude, he was employed to watch through long, wearisome nights in the graveyard. The Indians then buried their dead above ground in boxes, placing only a rock on the lid—the bodies being frequently dragged out by animals. Poor Ortiz had been so miserable while among the living that he now looked to the dead for an amelioration of his condition. Armed with his bow and arrow, he stood as sentry over the silent slumberers, when, unfortunately, one night he sunk into a somnambulistic state himself. The body of an infant was missing, the falling lid awakening him. Ortiz followed in the direction of the retreating footsteps, when he discovered a panther, which he instantly shot, and secured the corpse. For this act of bravery he was taken into favor by the Indians, and soon afterward rescued from their caprices and cruelties by De Soto, who landed in 1539, he having sailed from Cuba. He came with more display of pageantry than America had ever seen before, entering the waters of Tampa Bay on Whitsunday—hence he named it Espiritu Santo. The geography of the country fought against those who tried to penetrate its recesses—passing through morasses below sea-level was accompanied with greater difficulties than they had imagined before trying the experiment. After their arrival, most of their time was spent in feasting and rioting, more becoming a returning triumph than an entrance into a new country. The Indians made a descent on them one night after a bacchanalian revel, wounding three of their number, notwithstanding the heavy armor in which their bodies were incased. De Soto soon left this country in search of other conquests and greater treasures than awaited him here. On account of the remoteness of Tampa from the other early settlements in the State, it was occupied almost entirely by Indians until during the Florida war. Billy Bowlegs was chief of the tribe here, but lived near Manatee. His last visit to the commander was performed under great difficulties, the army head-quarters being in Tampa. He was permitted to remain in the territory, on account of his peaceable inclinations, after his tribe had been ordered to the West. Such was the desire and anxiety of this aged chieftain to see the military commandant face to face, and give him renewed assurances of fidelity to his engagements, in hope of silencing the clamors of white alarmists, a report of which had reached him, that the weight of infirmities under which he was laboring was insufficient to stop him, the journey being performed under circumstances that gave conclusive evidence of his peaceful intentions. So great, indeed, was his decrepitude, that during his last days—being wholly unable to travel, even on horseback—he was borne on a litter on the shoulders of his men.

In consideration of the fine timber which surrounds Tampa, two mills are employed—one in sawing cedar, the other pine. The cedar here is of much finer quality than the upland, containing more oil. At the mill it is sawed into pencil-lengths, after which it is packed in boxes, and shipped to New York, and other points, for making pencils. The cabbage-palm grows in the vicinity, and is much used in building wharves—it not being effected by the sea-water, and resisting the attacks of the Teredo Navalis, which destroys the hulls of vessels when made of any other timber but this, which it never molests.

The schools here are not considered by many as important institutions, consequently are in rather an embryo condition. We visited one taught in the court-house. This structure, not unlike many others in the vicinity, is among the things that lack symmetry and sound timbers. The present incumbent in charge of this school is a genuine specimen of the Illinois backwoods race. His visage looked blank as the door before which he sat chewing the Virginia weed, and firing jets of juice, evidently making a bigger effort with his jaws than his brains. His pupils were undergoing a heavy cramming process. Meaningless, incomprehensible words were being wedged into their heads so tightly they never could be got out, either for use or ornament. How those bright-eyed little boys were martyring auxiliary perfect passive participles and verbs! One fact was evident: if they had a better auxiliary to instruct them, they would have a more luxuriant growth of intellect than they were obtaining under the present regimen.

We do not take leave of this place as of a dear friend. Its deep sandy sidewalks are any thing but inviting for promenaders. The decaying structures and dilapidated fences remind us of old age, “when the keepers of the house shall tremble.” The place looks discouraged from sheer weariness in trying to be a town. The hotel-keepers are wishing for a few guests which they could relieve of three dollars per diem. The merchants appear anxious, as though they wanted somebody to come and make purchases. They are of that class which look at everybody with an eye to business, wondering how much money they can grind out of each customer in a given space of time.

Old Tampa, many years ago, was considered a famous resort for consumptives. Persons advanced in life, from all parts, now speak in glowing terms of the uniform temperature of its atmosphere. But indifferent houses of entertainment, charging exorbitant rates, will soon ruin the popularity of any place. Fort Brooke, of Indian fame, is found here. It was originally designed as a means of defense during the Florida wars. It is now a desolate, tumble-down old place. The fine site it occupies, together with some ancient-looking water-oaks, standing like sentinels, is all that is to be seen in the least degree attractive. The Federal Government has been paying eighteen hundred dollars per annum to keep the place from being destroyed, while no one would be willing to make an investment of that amount for the entire contents, land and all.

When Coacoochee was captured the last time, he was brought to Tampa. General Worth, on receiving the information that Wild Cat was a prisoner, visited him, with a number of his officers, for the purpose of an interview. The general, with his staff, appeared in full uniform, that the scene might not be lacking in pageant. They met upon the deck of the vessel, and, taking the chief by the hand, General Worth spoke as follows:

“Coacoochee, I take you by the hand as a warrior and a brave man. You love your home as we do; it is sacred to you; the ashes of your countrymen are dear to you and the Seminole. These feelings have caused much bloodshed, distress, and horrid murders: it is time now the Indian felt the power of the white man. Like the oak, you may bear up for many years against the strong winds, but the time comes when it must fall—it has now arrived. You have withstood the blasts of five winters, and the storms of thunder, and lightning, and wind, for five summers; the branches have fallen, and the tree burnt at the roots is prostrate. Coacoochee, I am your friend; so is your Great Father at Washington. What I say to you is true. My tongue is not forked like a snake’s. My word is for the happiness of the red man. You are a great warrior; the Indians throughout the country look to you as a leader; by your counsels they have been governed. Much innocent blood has been shed. You have made the ground and your hands red with the blood of innocent women and children. This war must end now, and you are the man to do it. I sent for you, that through the exertions of yourself and your men you might induce your entire band to emigrate. I wish you to state how many days it will take to effect an interview with the Indians in the woods. You can select three or five of these men to carry your talk: name the time, it shall be granted. But I tell you, as I wish your friends told, that unless they fulfill your demands, yourself and these warriors now seated before us shall be hung to the yards of this vessel when the sun sets on the appointed day, with the irons upon your hands and feet. I tell you this, that we may well understand each other. I do not wish to frighten you; you are too brave a man for that; but I say what I mean, and I will do it. It is for the benefit of the white and red man. The war must end, and you must end it!”

A profound silence pervaded the company after the general ceased speaking, when Coacoochee arose and replied in a feeling tone:

“I was once a boy; then I saw the pale face afar off. I hunted in these woods first with a bow and arrow, then with a rifle. I saw the white man, and was told he was my enemy. I could not shoot him as a wolf or bear; yet, like these, he came upon me: horses, cattle, and fields, he took from me. He said he was my friend; he abused our women and children, and then told us to leave the land. Still he gave me his hand in friendship; we took it; while taking it he had a snake in the other; his tongue was forked; he lied and stung us. I asked but for a small piece of these lands—enough to plant and live upon, far south—a spot where I could place the ashes of my kindred, a spot only sufficient where I could lay my wife and child. This was not granted me. I was put in prison; I escaped. I have been again taken; you have brought me back; I am here; I feel the irons in my heart. I have listened to your talk. You and your officers have taken us by the hand in friendship. I thank you for bringing me back. I can now see my warriors, my women and children; the Great Spirit thanks you—the heart of the poor Indian thanks you. We know but little; we have no books which tell us all things, but we have the Great Spirit, moon and stars—these told me last night you would be our friend. I give you my word; it is the word of a warrior, a chief, a brave; it is the word of Coacoochee. It is true I have fought like a man—so have my warriors—but the whites are too strong for us. I wish now to have my band around me, and go to Arkansas. You say I must end the war! Look at these irons! Can I go to my warriors? Coacoochee chained! No; do not ask me to see them. I never wish to tread upon my land unless I am free. If I can go to them unchained, they will follow me in; but I fear they will not obey me when I talk to them in irons. They will say my heart is weak—I am afraid. Could I go free, they will surrender and emigrate.”

General Worth then informed him that he could not be set at liberty, nor would his irons be removed, until his entire band had surrendered; but that he might select three or five prisoners, who should be liberated and permitted to carry his talk, with a respite of thirty or fifty days, if necessary. “Lastly, I say if the band does not submit to your last wish, the sun, as it goes down on the last day appointed for their appearance, will shine upon your bodies hanging in the wind.”

Coacoochee selected five of his warriors to carry this message to his band, making the following appeal to them:

“My feet are chained, but the head and heart of Coacoochee reaches you. The great white chief will be kind to us. He says when my band comes in I shall again walk my land free with them around me. He has given you forty days to do this business in; if you want more, say so—I will ask for more; if not, be true to the time. Take these sticks; here are thirty-nine—one for each day; this, much larger than the rest, with blood upon it, is the fortieth. When the others are thrown away, and this only remains, say to my people that with the setting sun Coacoochee hangs like a dog, with none but white men to hear his last words. Come, then, come by the stars, as I have led you to battle. Come, for the voice of Coacoochee speaks to you.”

The five Indians selected were started on their mission, accompanied by old Micco. Before the month expired, seventy-eight warriors, sixty-four women, and forty-seven children were brought in. Coacoochee was relieved when told his band had arrived. “Take off my irons,” said he, “that I may once more meet my warriors like a man.” Upon the removal of his irons, he gave one wild whoop, and rushed on shore. “The rifle is hid,” said he, “and the white and red man are friends. I have given my word for you; then let my word be true. I am done.”

The appeal of General Worth to the vanity of Coacoochee was more efficient in closing the war than all other moves from its commencement. Wild Cat was more cunning than brave—strategic than bold and daring; but a vulnerable chord had been struck, and he responded with apparent alacrity.

Many Seminole Indians were shipped from here to the West at the close of the war. The following anecdote is related of Wild Cat after he left Fort Brooke, to be banished forever from his home in Florida: The steamer James Adams encountered rough weather as soon as she was outside the bay. The waves of the sea rose to a great height, the steamer labored much, and four feet of water was reported in her hold. Every thing that was on deck was cut loose and cast into the sea. The faces of the crew became paler than usual. Wild Cat was on deck, an attentive observer of the increasing consternation of the white men, when suddenly he accosted the officer in these words: “Be not afraid. The Great Spirit will not suffer me to die with the pale faces in the manner you now apprehend. Tell me from what quarter you wish the wind to blow, in order that the big water may become quiet and the fire-canoe paddle on.” The officer, although attaching little importance to what the chief said, complied with his request to keep him quiet. He was taken to the binnacle and shown the compass, by which means he was made to understand from what quarter the wind must blow in order to produce a calmer sea. Thereupon, Wild Cat commenced making signs in the air, and other demonstrations. Fifteen or twenty minutes elapsed, when, to the astonishment of all the whites, the storm abated, the winds hushed and almost lulled. The exertions of the crew stopped the leaks, and enabled the boat to proceed in safety. We do not ask you to believe in the power of Wild Cat to control the elements; but this anecdote shows at least self-possession, and the desire of distinction, and reverence for the Great Spirit, to be prominent traits in the savage character, where others would only think of the peril before their eyes.