In a rude stockade in Florida, an officer of the United States Government sat before a rough-hewn table, upon which was laid the papers of an Indian treaty. It was the year 1832. Before him stood several Seminole chieftains, one of whom was nearly white and had a sharp, intelligent and crafty-looking countenance.

"You see," said the American soldier, pointing to the paper, "by the terms of this agreement, you Seminoles are to give up all your possessions in Florida, are to receive $15,400 upon arriving at your new home, and shall each have a blanket. Your women will each have a new homespun frock. Seven of your chiefs must consent to this agreement before it becomes a law. That is the will of our great father, President Jackson."

"I will sign your paper," said one of the gaudily-attired Seminoles, stepping forward.

"And I, also," said another.

But he of the sharp features jumped quickly between them and the parchment. It was Osceola, half Indian and half white, a redskin of treacherous courage and implacable hatred for the whites.

"I shall never sign these lies," said he with violence, "you whites are all cowards and cheats!" and, seizing his long knife in his right hand, he plunged it through the paper with such force that it went clean through the table upon which it lay. Then turning haughtily, he left the room, and disappeared.

"My children, I am sorry to have heard that you have been listening to bad counsel. You know me, and you know that I would not deceive you, nor advise you to do anything that was unjust or injurious. Open your ears and attend now to what I am going to say to you. They are the words of a friend, and the words of truth.

"The white people are settling round you. The game has disappeared from your country. Your people are poor and hungry. All this you have perceived for some time. And nearly three years ago you made an agreement with your friend, Colonel Gadsen, acting on the part of the United States, by which you agreed to cede your lands in Florida, and to remove and join your brothers, the Creeks, in the country west of the Mississippi."

After going into the terms of the treaty, the message concluded with:

"I now learn that you refuse to carry into effect the solemn promises thus made by you, and that you have stated to the officers of the United States that you will not remove to the Western country. My children, I have never deceived you, nor will I ever deceive any of the red people. I tell you that you must go, and you will go.... But lest some of your rash men should forcibly oppose your arrangements for removal, I have ordered a large military force to be sent among you.... Should you listen to the bad birds that are always flying about you, and refuse to go, I have directed the commanding officer to remove you by force. This will be done. I pray the Great Spirit, therefore, to incline you to do what is right."

This strong appeal divided the Seminoles, a considerable number consenting to their removal; but Osceola would not hear of such a step, and, when protesting against the matter in the presence of General Thompson, grew so angry that he drew a knife. "Arrest this man, immediately!" cried the now irate soldier, "and put him in irons until further orders."

Maddened and outraged by this treatment, Osceola secretly swore revenge. The devil rose in the soul of this mongrel of the Florida canebrakes, and he made an oath to never rest until he had the life blood of General Thompson. But, simulating a spirit of peace, he agreed to sign the treaty, and to do all in his power to persuade his people to follow his example. He was playing a part, and his true nature soon asserted itself, after seventy-nine of his people (men, women, and children) signed the compact with the Government of the United States at Fort King. Osceola, himself, put his name to the deed, but two weeks later shot down a white interloper who had penetrated the dense jungle of the Everglades, where he had made his home. Soon all of the Seminoles were in arms, and the Government of the United States was plunged into a desperate conflict, which was to last for seven long and tedious years.

There were three important and crucial events in this bitter struggle. One was the annihilation of Major Dade and his men; another the shooting of General Thompson, and a third the capture and death of the crafty and treacherous Osceola.

Only five hundred regular troops of the United States army were in Florida in the fall of 1836. One company was at St. Augustine; six were in the centre of the state at Fort King, and three were near what is now the town of Tampa, at Fort Brooke on Hillsboro Bay. "Two companies will leave Fort Brooke on December 16th, to meet an equal number from Fort King near the forks of the Ouithlacoochee River, in order to make an active campaign against the Seminoles," wrote General Clinch, the director of the Southern army at that time, to the commander at Fort Brooke. So, collecting the necessary men, that part of the expedition which was to come from Fort Brooke was soon made up, placed under the charge of Major Francis L. Dade, who had fought gallantly at Tippecanoe twenty-five years before, and, with one hundred and nine effectives, and a guide (half negro and half Spanish) started towards the place of rendezvous. One six-pound cannon, drawn by four oxen, brought up the rear.

The troops were not able to make speedy progress, for tangled weeds, branches, and vines grew across the roadway in dense confusion. In four days they only went sixty-five miles into the jungle, in whose dank and soggy depths the keen eyes of Osceola's men watched like ferrets. Lean-bodied warriors crept like snakes through the undergrowth, by paths known to themselves alone, and kept their cruel chieftain continually advised of the advance of the little army. Even the half-breed guide was a spy and a traitor; he had told the Seminoles by what route the whites were to advance, and had hinted to them that it would be an excellent opportunity to annihilate the entire band. Osceola prepared to do so, and, in a place favorable for attack, collected a strong body of half-naked and well-armed redskins.

On December the 28th, Major Dade's little battalion crossed the waters of the Ouithlacoochee and marched slowly along the sandy trail which was the only road. The ground was rather open and covered with a sparse growth of tropical palmettos. On the right was a small pond, surrounded by a swampy marsh, overgrown with rank grass, five feet high, and scrubby bushes and trees. On the left it was open and without much grass. The troops pushed on unsuspectingly, but behind the rank growth of weeds several hundred Seminoles, under Micanopy, lay in ambush. Osceola was away upon a mission of death, and had left strict orders that not a savage was to fire his piece until the signal was given.

The Americans were strung out in a long line, and were totally unsuspicious of any attack. Two Lieutenants were in the advance, and after them marched Major Dade with the main force, the six-pounder in the midst of the light-hearted soldiers. They trudged along singing, but Micanopy had his eye upon the leader of the expedition, and, as he passed by, the Indian took careful aim at his head. Crack! a rifle shot rang out upon the clear air, the gallant Major fell prostrate to the ground, and, with a wild, blood-curdling warwhoop, the Seminole warriors discharged a gruelling volley into the advancing column. The two Lieutenants in front immediately went down. The suddenness of the attack appalled and staggered the Americans.

But, although staggered, there was no panic, and the whites were not disorganized. With immediate promptitude the soldiers fell back from the road into the trees, and returned the rifle fire of their savage enemies. Crouching behind fallen logs and palmetto stumps, they only discharged their muskets when they saw a redskin show himself, and so accurate was their fire that the attackers finally withdrew. For forty minutes the battle had raged with fury.

About fifty Americans were now left, and, with a knowledge of Indian tactics that is commendable, they instantly began to fell trees for a breastwork in the form of a triangle. The wounded were carried to the centre, and the six-pounder was placed where it could rake the oncoming foe. Working with desperation, the whites had succeeded in raising a protecting barrier, three tree trunks high, when a terrible yell from the forest of palmettos announced another Indian attack. The Seminoles poured a destructive fire into the little fort. Men fell upon every side, but with stolid and grim determination, the soldiers fought on in silence.

Unfortunately for the soldiers, their palisade was in a slight hollow, so the Indians commanded it from all sides. Lieutenant Keais lay helpless against the breastwork with both arms broken, until killed by a bullet through the head. Another officer, Henderson, continued to load and fire his musket with a broken arm, until dispatched by a leaden missile in the chest. A Doctor did great damage with two double-barreled shotguns, until finally knocked over by the accurate fire of some Seminoles who had crawled into the trees. Captain Gardiner was seen by one of the survivors to fall, crying out: "I can give no more orders, my brave boys. Do your best!" But soon there was no more fire from the log breastworks; the Indians swarmed into the rude fort, and it was all over with Major Dade's battalion.

Although the Seminoles took many scalps, they left three men alive, who feigned death, and, as they were bodily wounded, looked as if they had suffered the fate of all. One of them was shot by a lurking warrior when he tried to get away. The other two, however, crawled off towards Fort Brooke, sixty-five miles through the Everglades, and one of them reached this haven of refuge. The third was shot by a Seminole. When news of the annihilation of Dade's men reached civilization, it sent a thrill of horror through the entire country, and made the whites more determined than ever to annihilate the followers of Osceola.

This chief, it will be remembered, had sworn vengeance against General Thompson for throwing him in irons, and now was to have his oath fulfilled. The General was, on December 28th, dining with nine other gentlemen at the storehouse of Mr. Rogers, two hundred and fifty yards from Fort King. As the weather was mild, doors and windows were thrown open wide. The repast was a good one, wine was upon the table, and it is said that one officer had proposed a toast: "To the speedy capture of that knave Osceola and a termination of the war." No sooner had the words left him than a volley rang out. The officer dropped to the ground, mortally wounded; a wild yell sounded in the ears of those who survived this sudden and unexpected assault, and Osceola bounded into the room, followed by a dozen warriors.

At the first fire, General Thompson had been struck and had fallen prostrate to the ground. Leaping to his bleeding form, Osceola scalped him, held his hand aloft, and uttered a yell of triumph which was long remembered by all who heard it. Five others lay dead upon the ground. Those who were not killed leaped from the windows and fled. Five of them, who were fortunate enough to start towards the fort, escaped; but the others, who dashed towards a sheltering hill of sand, near by, were shot down by the skillful Seminoles. The cook, who was a negro woman, crouched behind a barrel in a dark corner, and was so thoroughly protected by her color that she was not seen by Osceola, who, pausing for a moment to take another scalp, darted out again, uttering a peculiarly shrill and piercing yell, so that those in the fort might know who was the leader of this bloody attack. His vengeance had been complete.

After this tragic affair the war continued as before. The Seminoles increased in numbers, through additions of runaway negroes and criminals from the Creeks and other tribes adjoining. Their strength seemed to be greater than usual, and, when driven into a corner, they fought like wildcats, without any thought of surrender. All Florida was in a panic of fear. The fugitives from Seminole wrath were reduced to such sore straits that Congress passed a bill to send them food and clothing until peace could be declared. To such extremities was the Government driven, that a force of one thousand Southern and Western Indians was enlisted to help subjugate the dreaded Seminoles.

In the last days of October, 1837, a solitary Indian was one day seen in the edge of the timber before Fort Peyton. He held up his hand in token of peace, and, being allowed to approach nearer, said: "I have a talk from Osceola to Big Chief."

"What does he want?" asked the sentry who had challenged him.

"He not far off. Wish to speak with Big Chief Jessup" (the commander of this stockade).

"I will give him Osceola's message," said the sentry.

When General Jessup heard that the savage Seminole was near by, he immediately devised a scheme for capturing him. Finding that he could not entice him into the fort, he ordered one of his officers, with over a hundred soldiers, to seize the Seminole chief, under cloak of a flag of truce. This sharp trick was successfully operated, and, although it was a piece of the most flagrant treachery, the wily enemy to white government was at last secured. The affair is a perpetual stain upon the honor of the United States.

In spite of his vigorous protests, Osceola was sent to St. Augustine and afterwards confined in the dungeon at Fort Moultrie, Charleston, South Carolina. Crushed by the humiliating position to which he had sunk, and brooding over the misfortunes of his race, he pined away and died within a year. The war kept on as vigorously as before, and did not terminate until 1842. Then the great bulk of the Seminoles was sent beyond the Mississippi, and a few, who were harmless, were allowed to remain in Florida.

The skeletons of the unfortunate soldiers who fell with the gallant Major Dade were collected, and buried in St. Augustine with appropriate ceremonies. A monument was erected to the memory of these courageous men. At West Point is also another monument, the inscription upon which reads:

"To commemorate the Battle of the 28th of December, Between a Detachment of 108 U. S. Troops and the Seminole Indians, of Florida, In which all the Detachment Save Three Fell Without an Attempt to Retreat."

All honor to these brave men who, dying with their face to the foe, nobly upheld the finest traditions of the army of the United States!