Not many days passed after General Jackson withdrew his army from Florida before the Seminoles were again established on the fertile lands from which they had been driven. They brought with them their flocks and herds. Before long their simple dwellings were re-built and the Seminole villages seemed as prosperous as ever.

The slaveholders of the South felt that Florida was still a dangerous neighbor. They saw that to mend matters it was necessary that Florida should be made a part of the United States in order that the government should have authority over the Seminoles. So, in the year 1821, through the influence of Southern statesmen the territory of Florida was purchased from Spain for five million dollars.

Now that the people of the United States owned Florida they wished to occupy the land, but the Seminoles claimed it. Many were unwilling to recognize the justice of this claim, however; for it was held that as the Indians were not native tribes but were Creeks they should be compelled to go back to Georgia and live with their kindred.

This proposal gave the Indians great alarm. They expected momentarily that an attempt would be made to expel them from their homes. By spreading a report that Jackson was coming to seize their property and drive them back to live with the Creeks, bands of lawless men created such a panic among the Indians that they fled into the forests and swamps, leaving their provisions and property for the plunderers to carry off.

Border troubles increased until action could not be postponed longer. A council was called at Camp Moultrie in 1823, where a treaty was made between the United States government and the Seminole Indians.

By the terms of this treaty the Indians were to give up all their land north of the Withlacoochee River, except a few tracts reserved for chiefs. They were bound to stay within the limits of the lands assigned them, and if found in the northern part of the territory without passports were to suffer thirty-nine stripes on the bare back, and give up their firearms. They were also pledged to assist in recapturing fugitive slaves, who in the future should seek refuge among them.

In return for what they had given up the Seminoles were to receive from the United States at once, provisions for one year and six thousand dollars worth of cattle and hogs; and for twenty years thereafter, an annuity of five thousand dollars was to be paid to them. They were also assured that their rights would be protected. The United States promised "to take the Florida Indians under their care and patronage, and afford them protection against all persons whatsoever," and to "restrain and prevent all white persons from hunting, settling, or otherwise intruding, upon said lands."

The effects of this treaty were neither beneficial nor lasting. The Indians were moved from their homes to the southern part of the peninsula, where the land was poor. While they had once been happy and prosperous, they now became miserable and destitute, and dependent on the annual allowance from the government. The lands they relinquished were soon occupied by white settlers, and the red men and the white were again neighbors. Of course, the border troubles were renewed. The white men would never be satisfied until the Indians were expelled from the peninsula altogether.

The Indians were aware that the white settlers were eager to have them sent away. They tried to keep peace and avoid trouble. If any of their number violated the treaty, the Indians punished him themselves, even inflicting the ignominious thirty-nine stripes. The white men, however, were bent on making mischief. Indeed, one of the lawmakers of the Territory said frankly: "The only course, therefore, which remains for us to rid ourselves of them, is to adopt such a mode of treatment towards them as will induce them to acts that will justify their expulsion by force."

The Indians had yielded many points for the sake of peace, but they were determined not to leave Florida. They believed that if they could abide by the terms of the treaty of Camp Moultrie for its full period of twenty years the United States government would admit their right to stay in Florida permanently.

Osceola was most active in trying to preserve peace. He had now grown to manhood. He had married Morning-Dew, the daughter of a chief, and they were living together happily near Fort King. Osceola was not a chief, but he was well known and liked among the Indians. He used his influence to keep the rash young men from violating the treaty. He wished to see the Seminoles do their full duty to the white people, not because he was fond of the white race, but because he thought it well for the Indians that the peace should not be broken.

His eagerness to keep the Indians in order made him greatly liked at Fort King. His services were often demanded there as guide or informer. But while he made every effort to keep the Indians from doing wrong, he did not think the white men blameless and said so frankly. He accused them of failure to punish men who were guilty of committing crimes against the Indians, of unfairness in seizing negroes, of theft of property, and of withholding annuities. Osceola's was a good kind of patriotism—he did not consider his enemies right, but he wanted his own people to be right, and did his best to make them so.

But Indians, who are by nature revengeful, could not be expected to endure wrongs without some retaliation. Their complaints of injustice were met by the proposition that they move beyond the Mississippi, out of the white man's reach.

The nature of their grievances is clearly shown in a "talk" which Chief John Hicks sent to the President in January, 1829. He said:

" * * * We are all Seminoles here together. We want no long talk; we wish to have it short and good. We are Indians and the whites think we have no sense; but what our minds are, we wish to have our big father know.

"When I returned from Washington, all my warriors were scattered—in attempting to gather my people I had to spill blood midway in my path. I had supposed that the Micanopy people had done all the mischief, and I went with my warriors to meet the Governor with two. When I met the Governor at Suwanee he seemed to be afraid; I shook hands with him. I gathered all my people and found that none was missing, and that the mischief had been done by others. The Governor had them put in prison. I was told that if one man kills another we must not kill any other man in his place, but find the person who committed the murder and kill him. One of my people was killed and his murderer's bones are now white at Tallahassee. Another one that had done us mischief was killed at Alpaha. A black man living among the whites has killed one of my people and I wish to know who is to give me redress. Will my big father answer? When our law is allowed to operate, we are quick; but they say the black man is subject to the laws of the white people; now I want to see if the white people do as they say. We wish our big father to say whether he will have the black man tried for the murder of one of our people. If he will give him up to us, the sun shall not move before he has justice done to him. We work for justice, as well as the white people do. I wish my friend and father to answer. In answer we may receive a story, for men going backwards and forwards have not carried straight talks.

"I agreed to send away all the black people who had no masters, and I have done it; but still they are sending to me for negroes. When an Indian has bought a black man they come and take him away again, so that we have no money and no negroes, too. A white man sells us a negro and then turns around and claims him again, and our father orders us to give him up. There is a negro girl in Charleston that belongs to my daughter—her name is Patience. I want her restored to me. She has a husband here; she has a child about a year old. I want my big father to cause them to be sent to me, to do as he compels me to do, when I have just claims. If my father is a true friend, he will send me my property by our agent, who has gone to Washington. I have been told by the Governor that all runaway negroes must be given up, but that all those taken in war, were good property to us; but they have taken away those taken in war, and those we have raised from children. * * *

"Will my father listen now to the voice of his children? He told me we were to receive two thousand dollars' worth of corn—where is it? We have received scarcely any, not even half, according to our judgment, of what was intended for us. If the Governor and the white people have done justly in this we wish our big father to let us know. We were promised presents for twenty-one years; we have received nothing but a few promises. It seems that they have disappeared before they reached us, or that our big father did not intend to give them to us. We were promised money, but we have not received a cent for this year. What has become of it? We wish our big father to ask the Governor. The white people say that we owe them, which is not true. We did take some goods of an Indian trader, Mr. Marsh, to whom the Governor had promised part of our money. We took the goods because we were afraid we should never get what was ours in any other way; they amounted to fifteen hundred dollars. We understand that Mr. Bellamy has received from the Governor sixteen hundred dollars; what is it for? The Indians do not owe him anything,—he has lost no property by us,—we have taken none of his cattle. If a tiger has killed one, it is charged to the Indians. If they stray away and are lost for a time, it is charged to the Indians. He has lost nothing by us; but my people have suffered loss from him. He has taken all the Indians' hogs that he could lay his hands on. * * * He has taken hogs—one hundred head—from one man. We can not think of giving away sixteen hundred dollars for nothing. According to the white man's laws, if a man takes that which does not belong to him, he has to return it and pay for the damages. Will our great father see that this man restores to us what he has unjustly taken from us, for we look to our big father to fulfill his promises and give us the presents and money that are due to us. We understand that Colonel Piles has received some of the money that is due to us; he is a good man; when we were perishing with hunger he gave us to eat and drink. He is entitled to what he has received. It appears that the Seminoles who have done no mischief, have to suffer, as well as the few that have been guilty—this does not appear to be right to us. By stopping our money, the Governor has prevented our paying just debts, the debts we owe to the licensed Indian traders, who have trusted us under the expectation that we would pay them when we received our money. Our father has put two agents to look over us; our agent, Colonel Humphries, has not seen any of the money or presents that belong to us. * * *

"I am getting to be very old, and I wish my bones to be here. I do not wish to remove to any other land, according to what I told my father. When great men say anything to each other, they should have good memories. Why does Colonel White plague me so much about going over the Mississippi? We hurt nothing on this land. I have told him so before."