§ 7.—Maps And Charts.

Though the need of a good history of the most important maps and charts of America, enriched by copies of the most interesting, cannot but have been felt by every one who has spent much time in the study of its first settlement and growth, such a work still remains a desideratum in our literature. As a trifling aid to any who may hereafter engage in an undertaking of this kind, and as an assistance to the future historian of that portion of our country, I add a brief notice of those that best illustrate the progress of geographical knowledge respecting Florida.

On the earliest extant sketch of the New World—, that made by Juan de Cosa in 1500—, a continuous coast line running east and northeast connects the southern continent to the shores of the Mar descubierta por Ingleses in the extreme north. No signs of a peninsula are visible.

Eight years later, on the Universalior cogniti Orbis Tabula, of Johannes Ruysch found in the geography of Ptolemy printed at Rome under the supervision of Marcus Beneventanus and Johannes Gotta, the whole of North America is included in a small body of land marked Terra Nova or Baccalauras,[120] joined to the countries of Gog and Magog and the desertum Lob in Asia. A cape stretching out towards Cuba is called Cabo de Portugesi.[121]

This brings us to the enigmatical map in the magnificent folio edition of Ptolemy, printed at Venice in 1513. On this, North America is an oblong parallelogram of land with an irregularly shaped portion projecting from its south-eastern extremity, maintaining with general correctness the outlines and direction of the peninsula of Florida. A number of capes and rivers are marked along its shores, some of the names evidently Portugese, others Spanish. Now as Leon first saw Florida in 1512, and the report of his discovery did not reach Europe for years, whence came this knowledge of the northern continent? Santarem and Ghillany both confess that there were voyages to the New World undertaken by Portuguese in the first decade of the century, about which all else but the mere fact of their existence have escaped the most laborious investigations; hence, probably to one of these unknown navigators we are to ascribe the honor of being the first discoverer of Florida, and the source of the information displayed by the editors of this copy of Ptolemy.[122]

The first outline of the coast drawn from known observation is the Traza de las Costas de Tierra Firme y de las Tierras Nuevas, accompanying the royal grant of those parts to Francisco de Garay in the year 1521. It has been published by Navarrete, and by Buckingham Smith. Contrary to the usual opinion of the day, which was not proved incorrect till the voyages of Francesco Fernandez de Cordova (1517), and more conclusively by that of Estevan Gomez (1525), the peninsula is attached to the mainland. This and other reasons render it probable that it was drawn up under the supervision of Anton de Alaminos, pilot of Leon on his first voyage, who ever denied the existence of an intervening strait.[123] I cannot agree with Mr. Smith that it points to any prior discoveries unknown to us.

On some early maps, as one in the quarto geography of Ptolemy of 1525, the region of Florida is marked Parias. This name, originally given by Columbus to an island of the West Indian archipelago, and so laid down on the “figura ò pintura de la tierra,” which he forwarded to Ferdinand the Catholic in 1499,[124] was quite wildly applied by subsequent geographers to Peru, to the region on the shore of the Caribbean Sea, to the whole of South America, to the southern extremity of North America where Nicaragua now is, and finally to the peninsula of Florida.

We have seen that early maps prove De Leon was not, as is commonly supposed, the first to see and name the Land of Flowers (Terra Florida); neither did his discoveries first expand a knowledge of it in Europe. Probably all that was known by professed geographers regarding it for a long time after was the product of later explorations, for not till forty years from the date of his first voyage was there a chart published containing the name he applied to the peninsula. This is the one called Novae Insulae, in the Geographia Claudii Ptolemaei, Basileae, 1552.[125]

The only other delineation of the country dating from the sixteenth century that deserves notice—for those of Herrera are quite worthless—is that by Jacques Le Moyne de Morgues, published in the second volume of De Bry, which is curious as the only one left by the French colonists, though geographically not more correct than others of the day. Indeed, all of them portray the country very imperfectly. Generally it is represented as a triangular piece of land more or less irregular, indented by bays, divided into provinces Cautio, Calos, Tegeste, and others, names which are often applied to the whole peninsula. The southern extremity is sometimes divided into numerous islands by arms of the sea, and the St. Johns, when down at all, rises from mountains to the north, and runs in a southeasterly direction, nearly parallel with the rivers supposed to have been discovered by Ribaut, (La Somme, La Loire, &c.)

Now this did not at all keep pace with the geographical knowledge common to both French and Spanish towards the close of this period. The colonists under Laudonniére and afterwards Aviles himself, ascended the St. Johns certainly as far as Lake George, and knew of a great interior lake to the south; Pedro Menendez Marquez, the nephew and successor of the latter, made a methodical survey of the coast from Pensacola to near the Savannah river (from Santa Maria de Galve to Santa Helena;) and English navigators were acquainted with its general outline and the principal points along the shore.

Yet during the whole of the next century I am not aware of a single map that displays any signs of improvement, or any marks of increased information. That inserted by De Laet in his description of the New World, called Florida et Regiones Vicinæ, (1633,) is noteworthy only because it is one of the first, if not the first, to locate along his supposed route the native towns and provinces met with by De Soto. Their average excellence may be judged from those inserted in the elephantine work of Ogilby on America, (1671,) and still better in its Dutch and German paraphrases. The Totius Americæ Descriptio, by Gerhard a Schagen in the latter, is a meritorious production for that age.

No sooner, however, had the English obtained a firm footing in Carolina and Georgia, and the French in Louisiana, than a more accurate knowledge of their Spanish neighbors was demanded and acquired. The “New Map of y^e North Parts of America claimed by France under y^e name of Louisiana, Mississippi, Canada, and New France, with y^e adjoining Territories of England and Spain,” (London, 1720,) indicates considerable progress, and is memorable as the first on which the St. Johns is given its true course, information about which its designer Herman Moll, obtained from the “Journals and Original Draughts” of Captain Nairn. His map of the West Indies contains a “Draught of St. Augustine and its Harbour,” with the localities of the castle, town, monastery, Indian church, &c., carefully pointed out; previous to it, two plans of this city had appeared, one, the earliest extant, engraved to accompany the narrative of Drake’s Voyage and Descent in 1586, and another, I know not by whose hand, representing its appearance in 1665.[126]

On the former of these maps, “The South Bounds of Carolina,” are placed nearly a degree south of St. Augustine, thus usurping all the best portion of the Spanish territory. This is but an example of the great confusion that prevailed for a long time as to the extent of the region called Florida. The early writers frequently embraced under this name the whole of North America above Mexico, distinguishing, as Herrera and Torquemada, between Florida explored and unexplored, (Florida conocida, Florida ignorada,) or as Christian Le Clerq, between Spanish and French and English Florida. Taking it in this extended sense, Barcia includes in his Chronology (Ensayo Cronologico de la Florida) not only the operations of the Spanish and English on the east coast of the United States, but also those of the French in Canada and the expeditions of Vasquez Coronado and others in New Mexico. Nicolas le Fer, on the other hand, ignoring the name altogether, styled the whole region Louisiana, (1718,) while the English, not to be outdone in national rapacity, laid claim to an equal amount as Carolina. De Laet[127] was the first geographer who confined the name to the peninsula. In 1651 Spain relinquished her claims to all land north of 36° 30´ north lat., but it was not till the Definitive Treaty of Peace of 1763, that any political attempt was made to define its exact boundaries, and then, not with such entire success, but room was left for subsequent disputes between our government and Spain, only finally settled by the surveys of Ellicott at the close of the century.

Neither Guillaume de l’Isle nor M. Bellin, both of whom etched maps of Florida many years after the publication of that of Moll, seems to have been aware of his previous labors, or to have taken advantage of his more extensive information. In the gigantic Atlas Nouveau of the former, (Amsterdam, 1739,) are two maps of Florida, evidently by different hands. The one, Tabula Geographica Mexico et Floridæ, gives tolerably well the general contour of the peninsula, and situates the six provinces of Apalacha mentioned by Bristock; the other, Carte de la Louisiane et du Cours du Mississippi, is an enlarged copy with additions of that published five years previous in the fifth volume of the Voyages au Nord, on which is given the route of De Soto. Bellin’s Carte des Costes de la Nouvelle France suivant les premiéres Decouvertes is found in Charlevoix’s Nouvelle France and is of little worth.

The map of “Carolina, Florida, and the Bahama Islands,” that accompanies Catesby’s Natural History of those regions, is not so accurate as we might expect from the opportunities he enjoyed. The peninsula is conceived as a nearly equilateral triangle projecting about two hundred and sixty miles towards the south. Like other maps of this period, it derives its chief value from locating Indian and Spanish towns.

The dangerous navigation of the Keys had necessitated their examination at an early date. In 1718, Domingo Gonzales Carranza surveyed them, as well as some portion of the northern coast, with considerable care. His notes remained in manuscript, however, till 1740, when falling into the hands of an Englishman, they were translated and brought out at London under the title, “A Geographical Description of the Spanish West Indies.” But how inefficient the knowledge of these perilous reefs remained for many years is evident on examining the marine chart of the Gulf of Mexico, by Tomas Lopez and Juan de la Cruz, in 1755. The seafaring English, when they took possession of the country, made it their first duty to get the most exact possible charts of these so important points. No sooner had the treaty been signed than the Board of Admiralty dispatched G. Gauld, a capable and energetic engineer to survey the coasts, islands, and keys, east and south of Pensacola. In this employment he spent nearly twenty years, from 1764 to 1781, when he was taken prisoner by the Spanish, and shortly afterwards died. The results were not made public till 1790, when they appeared under the supervision of Dr. Lorimer, and, in connection with the Gulf Pilot of Bernard Romans, and the sailing directions of De Brahm, both likewise engineers in the British service, employed at the same time as Gauld, constituted for half a century the chief foundation for the nautical charts of this entrance to the Gulf.

Among the writers of the last century who did good service to American geography, Thomas Jefferys, Geographer to his Majesty, deserves honorable mention. Besides his more general labors, he edited, in 1763, the compilation of Roberts, and some years after the Journal of the elder Bartram; to both he added a general map of the region under consideration, “collected and digested with great care and labor from a number of French and Spanish charts,” taken on prize ships, correct enough as far as regards the shore, but the interior very defective; a plan of Tampa Bay; and one of St. Augustine and harbor, giving the depth of water in each, and on the latter showing the site of the sea wall.

Besides those in the Atlas of Popple, of 1772, the following maps, published during the last century, may be consulted with advantage:

Carolinæ, Floridæ nec-non Insularum Bajamensium delineatio, Nuremberg, 1775.

Tabulæ Mexicanæ et Floridæ, terrarum Anglicarum, anteriarum Americæ insularum. Amstelodami, apud Petrum Schenck, circ. 1775.

A Map of the Southern British Colonies, containing the Seat of War in N. and S. Carolina, E. and W. Florida. By Bernard Romans. London, 1776.

Plan of Amelia Island and Bar, surveyed by Jacob Blaney in 1775. London, 1776.

Plan of Amelia Island and Bar. By Wm. Fuller. Edited by Thomas Jefferys. London, 1776.

Plano de la Ciudad y Puerto de San Augustin de la Florida. Por Tomas Lopez. Madrid, 1783.

Nothing was done of any importance in this department during the second Spanish supremacy, but as soon as the country became a portion of the United States, the energy both of private individuals and the government rapidly increased the fund of geographical knowledge respecting it.

The first map published was that of Vignoles, who, an engineer himself, and deriving his facts from a personal survey of the whole eastern coast from St. Marys river to Cape Florida, makes a very visible improvement on his predecessors.

The canal contemplated at this period from the St. Johns or St. Marys to the Gulf gave occasion to levellings across the peninsula at two points, valuable for the hypsometrical data they furnish. Annexed to the report (February, 1829,) is a “Map of the Territory of Florida from its northern boundary to lat. 27° 30´ N. connected with the delta of the Mississippi,” giving the features of the country and separate plans of the harbors and bays.

The same year J. R. Searcy issued a map of the territory, “constructed principally from authentic documents in the land office at Tallahassie,” favorably mentioned at the time.[128]

The map prefixed to his View of West Florida, and subsequently to his later work, by Colonel Williams, largely based on his own researches, is a good exposition of all certainly known at that period about the geography of the country. Cape Romans is here first distinguished as an island; Sharks river is omitted; and Lake Myaco or Okee-chobee is not down, “simply,” says the author, “because I can find no reason for believing its existence!” Unparalleled as such an entire ignorance of a body of water with a superficies of twelve hundred square miles, in the midst of a State settled nigh half a century before any other in our Union, which had been governed for years by English, by Spanish, and by Americans, may be, it well illustrates the impassable character of those vast swamps and dense cypresses known as the Everglades; an impenetrability so complete as almost to justify the assertion of the State engineer, made as late as 1855: “These lands are now, and will continue to be, nearly as much unknown as the interior of Africa or the mountain sources of the Amazon.”[129]

What little we know of this Terra Incognita, is derived from the notes of officers in the Indian wars, and the maps drawn up for the use of the army. Among these, that issued by the War Department at the request of General Taylor, in 1837, embracing the whole peninsula, that prefixed to Sprague’s History, which gives the northern portion with much minuteness, and the later one, in 1856, of the portion south of Tampa Bay, are the most important. The latter gives the topography of the Everglades and Big Cypress as far as ascertained.

While annual explorations are thus throwing more and more light on the interior of the peninsula, the United States Coast Survey, now in operation, will definitely settle all kindred questions relative to its shores, harbors, and islands; and thus we may look forward to a not distant day when its geographical history will be consummated.

CHAPTER II.

THE APALACHES.

The orthography of the name is given variously by the older writers, Apahlahche, Abolachi, Apeolatei, Appallatta, &c., and very frequently without the first letter, Palaxy, Palatcy. Daniel Coxe, indeed, fancifully considered this first vowel the Arabic article a, al, prefixed by the Spaniards to the native word.[130] Its derivation has been a questio vexata among Indianologists; Heckewelder[131] identified it with Lenape or Wapanaki, “which name the French in the south as easily corrupted into Apalaches as in the north to Abenakis,” and other writers have broached equally loose hypothesis. Adair[132] mentions a Chikasah town, Palacheho, evidently from the same root; but it is not from this tongue nor any of its allies, that we must explain its meaning, but rather consider it an indication of ancient connections with the southern continent, and in itself a pure Carib word. Apáliché in the Tamanaca dialect of the Guaranay stem on the Orinoco signifies man,[133] and the earliest application of the name in the northern continent was as a title of the chief of a country, l’homme par excellence,[134] and hence, like very many other Indian tribes (Apaches, Lenni Lenape, Illinois,) his subjects assumed by eminence the proud appellation of The Men. How this foreign word came to be imported will be considered hereafter. Among the tribes that made up the confederacy, probably only one partook of the warring and energetic blood of the Caribs; or it may have been assumed in emulation of a famous neighbor; or it may have been a title of honor derived from the esoteric language of a foreign priesthood, instances of which are not rare among the aborigines.

In the writings of the first discoverers they uniformly hold a superior position as the most polished, the most valorous, and the most united tribe in the region where they dwelt. The fame of their intrepidity reached to distant nations. “Keep on, robbers and traitors,” cried the Indians near the Withlacooche to the soldiers of De Soto, “in Apalache you will receive that chastisement your cruelty deserves.” When they arrived at this redoubted province they found cultivated fields stretching on either hand, bearing plentiful crops of corn, beans, pumpkins, cucumbers, and plums,[135] whose possessors, a race large in stature, of great prowess, and delighting in war, inhabited numerous villages containing from fifty to three hundred, spacious and commodious dwellings, well protected against hostile incursions. The French colonists heard of them as distinguished for power and wealth, having good store of gold, silver, and pearls, and dwelling near lofty mountains to the north; and Fontanedo, two years a prisoner in their power, lauds them as “les meilleurs Indiens de la Floride,” and describes their province as stretching far northward to the snow-covered mountains of Onagatano abounding in precious metals.[136]

About a century subsequent to these writers, we find a very minute and extraordinary account of a nation called Apalachites, indebted for its preservation principally to the work of the Abbé Rochefort. It has been usually supposed a creation of his own fertile brain, but a careful study of the subject has given me a different opinion. The original sources of his information may be entirely lost, but that they actually existed can be proved beyond reasonable doubt. They were a series of ephemeral publications by an “English gentleman” about 1656, whose name is variously spelled Bristol, Bristok, Brigstock, and Bristock, the latter being probably the correct orthography. He had spent many years in the West Indies and North America, was conversant with several native tongues, and had visited Apalacha in 1653. Besides the above-mentioned fragmentary notes, he promised a complete narrative of his residence and journeys in the New World, but apparently never fulfilled his intention. Versions of his account are found in various writers of the age. The earliest is given by Rochefort[137], and was translated with the rest of the work of that author by Davies[138], who must have consulted the original tract of Bristock as he adds particulars not found in the Abbé’s history. Others are met with in the writings of the Geographus Ordinarius, Nicolas Sanson d’ Abbeville[139], in the huge tomes of Ogilby[140] and his high and low Dutch paraphrasers Arnoldus Montanus[141] and Oliver Dapper,[142] in Oldmixon’s history,[143] quite fully in the later compilation that goes under the name of Baumgarten’s History of America,[144] and in our own days has been adverted to by the distinguished Indianologist H. R. Schoolcraft in more than one of his works. It consists of two parts, the one treating of the traditions, the other of the manners and customs of the Apalachites. In order to place the subject in the clearest light I shall insert a brief epitome of both.

The Apalachites inhabited the region called Apalacha between 33° 25´ and 37° north latitude. By tradition and language they originated from northern Mexico, where similar dialects still existed.[145] The Cofachites were a more southern nation, scattered at first over the vast plains and morasses to the south along the Gulf of Mexico (Theomi), but subsequently having been reduced by the former nation, they settled a district called Amana, near the mountains of Apalacha, and from this circumstance received the name Caraibe or Carib, meaning “bold, warlike men,” “strangers,” and “annexed nation.” In after days, increasing in strength and retaining their separate existence, they asserted independence, refused homage to the king of Apalacha, and slighted the worship of the sun. Wars consequently arose, extending at intervals over several centuries, resulting in favor of the Cofachites, whose dominion ultimately extended from the mountains in the north to the shores of the Gulf and the river St. Johns on the south. Finding themselves too weak to cope openly with such a powerful foe, the Apalachites had recourse to stratagem. Taking advantage of a temporary peace, their priests used the utmost exertions to spread abroad among their antagonists a religious veneration of the sun and a belief in the necessity of an annual pilgrimage to his sacred mountain Olaimi in Apalacha. So well did their plan succeed, that when at the resumption of hostilities, the Apalachites forbade the ingress of all pilgrims but those who would do homage to their king, a schism, bitter and irreconcileable, was brought about among the Cofachites. Finally peace was restored by a migration of those to whom liberty was dearer than religion, and a submission of the rest to the Apalachites, with whom they became amalgamated and lost their identity. Their more valiant companions, after long wanderings through unknown lands in search of a home, finally locate themselves on the southern shore of Florida. Islanders from the Bahamas, driven thither by storms, tell them of lands, fertile and abounding in game, yet uninhabited and unclaimed, lying to the southwards; they follow their advice and direction, traverse the Gulf of Florida, and settle the island of Ayay, now Santa Cruz. From this centre colonies radiated, till the majority of the islands and no small portion of the southern mainland was peopled by their race.

Such is the sum of Bristock’s singular account. It is either of no credibility whatever, or it is a distorted version of floating, dim traditions, prevalent among the indigenes of the West Indies and the neighboring parts of North America. I am inclined to the latter opinion, and think that Bristock, hearing among the Caribs rumors of a continent to the north, and subsequently finding powerful nations there, who, in turn, knew of land to the south and spoke of ancient wars and migrations, wove the fragments together, filled up the blanks, and gave it to the world as a veritable history. To support this view, let us inquire whether any knowledge of each other actually existed between the inhabitants of the islands and the northern mainland, and how far this knowledge extended.

The reality of the migration, though supported by some facts, must be denied of the two principal races, the Caribs and Arowauks, who peopled the islands at the time of their discovery. The assertions of Barcia, Herrera, and others that they were originally settled by Indians from Florida have been abundantly disproved by the profound investigations of Alphonse D’Orbigny in South America.[146] On the other hand, that the Cubans and Lucayans had a knowledge of the peninsula not only in the form of myths but as a real geographical fact, even having specific names in their own tongues for it (Cautio, Jaguaza), is declared by the unanimous voice of historians.

The most remarkable of these myths was that of the fountain of life, placed by some in the Lucayos, but generally in a fair and genial land to the north.[147] From the tropical forests of Central America to the coral-bound Antilles the natives told the Spaniards marvellous tales of a fountain whose magic waters would heal the sick, rejuvenate the aged, and confer an ever-youthful immortality. It may have originated in a confused tradition of a partial derivation from the mainland and subsequent additions thence received from time to time, or more probably from the adoration of some of the very remarkable springs abundant on the peninsula, perchance that wonderful object the Silver Spring,[148] round which I found signs of a dense early population, its virtues magnified by time, distance, and the arts of priests. We know how intimately connected is the worship of the sun with the veneration of water; heat typifying the masculine, moisture the feminine principle. The universality of their association in the Old World cosmogonies and mythologies is too well-known to need specification, and it is quite as invariable in those of the New Continent. That such magnificent springs as occur in Florida should have become objects of special veneration, and their fame bruited far and wide, and handed down from father to son, is a most natural consequence in such faiths.[149]

Certain it is that long before these romantic tales had given rise to the expeditions of De Leon, Narvaez, and De Soto, many natives of the Lucayos, of Cuba, even of Yucatan and Honduras,[150] had set out in search of this mystic fount. Many were lost, while some lived to arrive on the Floridian coast, where finding it impossible either to proceed or return, they formed small villages, “whose race,” adds Barcia,[151] writing in 1722, “is still in existence” (cuia generacion aun dura). This statement, which the cautious investigator Navarrete confirms,[152] seems less improbable when we reflect that in after times it was no uncommon incident for the natives of Cuba to cross the Gulf of Florida in their open boats to escape the slavery of the Spaniards,[153] that the Lucayans had frequent communication with the mainland,[154] that the tribes of South Florida, as early as 1695, carried on a considerable trade with Havana,[155] that the later Indians on the Suwannee would on their trading excursions not only descend this river in their large cypress canoes, but proceed “quite to the point of Florida, and sometimes cross the Gulph, extending their navigations to the Bahama islands and even to Cuba,”[156] and finally that nothing was more common to such a seafaring nation as the Caribs than a voyage of this length.[157]

Another remarkable myth, which certainly points for its explanation to an early and familiar intercourse between the islands and the mainland, is the singular geognostic tradition prevalent among the Lucayans, preserved by Peter of Anghiera, to the effect that this archipelago was originally united to the continent by firm land.[158] Doubtless it was on such grounds that the Spaniards concluded that they owed their original settlement to migrations from the Floridian peninsula.

Turning our attention now to this latter land, we should have cause to be surprised did we not find signs that such adventurous navigators as the Caribs had planned and executed incursions and settlements there. That these signs are so sparse and unsatisfactory, we owe not so much to their own rarity as to the slight weight attached to such things by the early explorers and discoverers. From the accounts we do possess, however, there can be no doubt but that vestiges of the Caribbean tongue, if not whole tribes identical with them in language and customs, have been met with from time to time on the peninsula.[159] The striking similarity in the customs of flattening the forehead, in poisoning weapons, in the use of hollow reeds to propel arrows, in the sculpturing on war clubs, construction of dwellings, exsiccation of corpses,[160] burning the houses of the dead, and other rites, though far from conclusive are yet not without a decided weight. It is much to be regretted that Adair has left us no fuller information of those seven tribes on the Koosah river, who spoke a different tongue from the Muskohge and preserved “a fixed oral tradition that they formerly came from South America, and after sundry struggles in defence of liberty settled their present abode.”[161]

Thus it clearly appears that the frame, so to speak, of the traditions preserved by Bristock actually did exist and may be proved from other writers. But we are still more strongly convinced that his account is at least founded on fact, when we compare the manners and customs, of the Apalachites, as he gives them, with those of the Cherokee, Choktah, Chickasah, and Muskohge, tribes plainly included by him under this name, and proved by the philological researches of Gallatin to have occupied the same location since De Soto’s expedition.[162] We need have no suspicion that he plagiarized from other authors, as the particulars he mentions are not found in earlier writers; and it was not till 1661 that the English settled Carolina, not till 1699 that Iberville built his little fort on the Bay of Biloxi, and many years elapsed between this latter and the general treaty of Oglethorpe. If then we find a close similarity in manners, customs, and religions, we must perforce concede his accounts, such as they have reached us, a certain degree of credit.

He begins by stating that Apalacha was divided into six provinces; Dumont,[163] writing from independent observation about three-fourths of a century afterwards, makes the same statement. Their towns were inclosed with stakes or live hedges, the houses built of stakes driven into the ground in an oval shape, were plastered with mud and sand, whitewashed without, and some of a reddish glistening color within from a peculiar kind of sand, thatched with grass, and only five or six feet high, the council-house being usually on an elevation.[164] If the reader will turn to the authorities quoted in the subjoined note, he will find this an exact description of the towns and single dwellings of the later Indians.[165] The women manufactured mats of down and feathers with the same skill that a century later astonished Adair,[166] and spun like these the wild hemp and the mulberry bark into various simple articles of clothing. The fantastic custom of shaving the hair on one-half the head, and permitting the other half to remain, on certain emergencies, is also mentioned by later travellers.[167] Their food was not so much game as peas, beans, maize, and other vegetables, produced by cultivation; and the use of salt obtained from vegetable ashes, so infrequent among the Indians, attracted the notice of Bristock as well as Adair.[168] Their agricultural character reminds us of the Choktahs, among whom the men helped their wives to labor in the field, and whom Bernard Romans[169] called “a nation of farmers.” In Apalache, says Dumont,[170] “we find a less rude, more refined nation, peopling its meads and fertile vales, cultivating the earth, and living on the abundance of excellent fruit it produces.”

Strange as a fairy tale is Bristock’s description of their chief temple and the rites of their religion—of the holy mountain Olaimi lifting its barren, round summit far above the capital city Melilot at its base—of the two sacred caverns within this mount, the innermost two hundred feet square and one hundred in height, wherein were the emblematic vase ever filled with crystal water that trickled from the rock, and the “grand altar” of one round stone, on which incense, spices, and aromatic shrubs were the only offerings—of the platform, sculptured from the solid rock, where the priests offered their morning orisons to the glorious orb of their divinity at his daily birth—of their four great annual feasts—all reminding us rather of the pompous rites of Persian or Peruvian heliolatry than the simple sun worship of the Vesperic tribes. Yet in essentials, in stated yearly feasts, in sun and fire worship, in daily prayers at rising and setting sun, in frequent ablution, we recognize through all this exaggeration and coloring, the religious habits that actually prevailed in those regions. Indeed, the speculative antiquarian may ask concerning Mount Olaimi itself, whether it may not be identical with the enormous mass of granite known as “The Stone Mountain” in De Kalb county, Georgia, whose summit presents an oval, flat, and naked surface two or three hundred yards in width, by about twice that in length, encircled by the remains of a mural construction of unknown antiquity, and whose sides are pierced by the mouths of vast caverns;[171] or with Lookout mountain between the Coosa and Tennessee rivers, where Mr. Ferguson found a stone wall “thirty-seven roods and eight feet in length,” skirting the brink of a precipice at whose base were five rooms artificially constructed in the solid rock.[172]

One of the most decisive proofs of the veracity of Bristock’s narrative is his assertion that they mummified the corpses of their chiefs previous to interment. Recent discoveries of such mummies leave us no room to doubt the prevalence of this custom among various Indian tribes east of the Mississippi. It is of so much interest to the antiquarian, that I shall add in an Appendix the details given on this point by later writers, as well as an examination of the origin of those mummies that have been occasionally disinterred in the caves of Tennessee and Kentucky.[173]

One other topic for examination in Bristock’s memoir yet remains—the scattered words of the language he mentions. The principal are the following;[174]

Mayrdock—the Viracocha of their traditions.

Naarim—the month of March.

Theomi—proper name of the Gulf of Mexico.

Jauas—priests.

Tlatuici—the mountain tribes.

Paracussi—chief; a generic term.

Bersaykau—vale of cedars.

Akueyas—deer.

Hitanachi—pleasant, beautiful.

Tonatzuli—heavenly singer; the name of a bird sacred to the sun.

Several of these words may be explained from tongues with which we are better acquainted.

Jauas and Pâracussi are words used in the sense they here bear in many early writers; the derivation of the former will be considered hereafter; that of the latter is uncertain. Tlatuici is doubtless identical with Tsalakie, the proper appellation of the Cherokee tribe. Akueyas has a resemblance, though remote, to the Seminole ekko of the same signification. In hitanachi we recognize the Choktah intensitive prefix hhito; and in tonatzuli a compound of the Choktah verb taloa, he sings, in one of its forms, with shutik, Muskohge sootah, heaven or sky. A closer examination would doubtless reveal other analogies, but the above are sufficient to show that these were no mere unmeaning words, coined by a writer’s fancy.

The general result of these inquiries, therefore, is strongly in favor of the authenticity of Bristock’s narrative. Exaggerated and distorted though it be, nevertheless it is the product of actual observation, and deserves to be classed among our authorities, though as one to be used with the greatest caution. We have also found that though no general migration took place from the continent southward, nor from the islands northward, yet there was considerable intercourse in both directions; that not only the natives of the greater and lesser Antilles and Yucatan, but also numbers of the Guaranay stem of the southern continent, the Caribs proper, crossed the Straits of Florida and founded colonies on the shores of the Gulf of Mexico; that their customs and language became to a certain extent grafted upon those of the earlier possessors of the soil; and to this foreign language the name Apalache belongs. As previously stated, it was used as a generic title, applied to a confederation of many nations at one time under the domination of one chief, whose power probably extended from the Alleghany mountains on the north to the shore of the Gulf; that it included tribes speaking a tongue closely akin to the Choktah is evident from the fragments we have remaining. This is further illustrated by a few words of “Appalachian,” preserved by John Chamberlayne.[175] These, with their congeners in cognate dialects, are as follows:

The location of the tribe in after years is very uncertain. Dumont placed them in the northern part of what is now Alabama and Georgia, near the mountains that bear their name. That a portion of them did live in this vicinity is corroborated by the historians of South Carolina, who say that Colonel Moore, in 1703, found them “between the head-waters of the Savannah and Altamaha.”[176] De l’Isle, also, locates them between the R. des Caouitas ou R. de Mai and the R. des Chaouanos ou d’Edisco, both represented as flowing nearly parallel from the mountains.

According to all the Spanish authorities on the other hand, they dwelt in the region of country between the Suwannee and Apalachicola rivers—yet must not be confounded with the Apalachicolos. Thus St. Marks was first named San Marco de Apalache, and it was near here that Narvaez and De Soto found them. They certainly had a large and prosperous town in this vicinity, said to contain a thousand warriors, whose chief was possessed of much influence.[177] De l’Isle makes this their original locality, inscribing it “Icy estoient cy devant les Apalaches,” and their position in his day as one acquired subsequently. That they were driven from the Apalachicola by the Alibamons and other western tribes in 1705, does not admit of a doubt, yet it is equally certain that at the time of the cession of the country to the English, (1763,) they retained a small village near St. Marks, called San Juan.[178] I am inclined to believe that these were different branches of the same confederacy, and the more so as we find a similar discrepancy in the earliest narratives of the French and Spanish explorers.

In the beginning of the eighteenth century they suffered much from the devastations of the English, French, and Creeks; indeed, it has been said, though erroneously, that the last remnant of their tribe “was totally destroyed by the Creeks in 1719.”[179] About the time Spain regained possession of the soil, they migrated to the West and settled on the Bayou Rapide of Red River. Here they had a village numbering about fifty souls, and preserved for a time at least their native tongue, though using the French and Mobilian (Chikasah) for common purposes.[180] Breckenridge,[181] who saw them here, describes them as “wretched creatures, who are diminishing daily.” Probably by this time the last representative of this once powerful tribe has perished.

CHAPTER III.

PENINSULAR TRIBES OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.

When in the sixteenth century the Europeans began to visit Florida they did not, as is asserted by the excellent bishop of Chiapa, meet with numerous well ordered and civilized nations,[182] but on the contrary found the land sparsedly peopled by a barbarous and quarrelsome race of savages, rent asunder into manifold petty clans, with little peaceful leisure wherein to better their condition, wasting their lives in aimless and unending internecine war. Though we read of the cacique Vitachuco who opposed De Soto with ten thousand chosen warriors, of another who had four thousand always ready for battle,[183] and other such instances of distinguished power, we must regard them as the hyperbole of men describing an unknown and strange land, supposed to abound in marvels of every description. The natural laws that regulate the increase of all hunting tribes, the analogy of other nations of equal civilization, the nature of the country, and lastly, the adverse testimony of these same writers, forbid us to entertain any other supposition. Including men, women, and children, the aboriginal population of the whole peninsula probably but little exceeded at any one time ten thousand souls. At the period of discovery these were parcelled out into villages, a number of which, uniting together for self-protection, recognized the authority of one chief. How many there were of these confederacies, or what were the precise limits of each, as they never were stable, so it is impossible to lay down otherwise than in very general terms, dependent as we are for our information on the superficial notices of military explorers, who took an interest in anything rather than the political relations of the nations they were destroying.

Commencing at the south, we find the extremity of the peninsula divided into two independent provinces, one called Tegesta on the shores of the Atlantic, the other and most important on the west or Gulf coast possessed by the Caloosa tribe.

The derivation of the name of the latter is uncertain. The French not distinguishing the final letter wrote it Calos and Callos; the Spaniards, in addition to making the same omission, softened the first vowel till the word sounded like Carlos, which is their usual orthography. This suggested to Barcia and others that the country was so called from the name of its chief, who, hearing from his Spanish captives the grandeur and power of Charles of Spain (Carlos V), in emulation appropriated to himself the title. Doubtless, however, it is a native word; and so Fontanedo, from whom we derive most of our knowledge of the province, and who was acquainted with the language, assures us. He translates it “village cruel,”[184] an interpretation that does not enlighten us much, but which may refer to the exercise of the sovereign power. As a proper name, it may be the Muskohge charlo, trout, assumed, according to a common custom, by some individual. It is still preserved in the Seminole appellation of the Sanybal river, Carlosa-hatchie and Caloosa-hatchie, and in that of the bay of Carlos, corrupted by the English to Charlotte Harbor, both on the southwestern coast of the peninsula near north latitude 26° 40´.

According to Fontanedo, the province included fifty villages of thirty or forty inhabitants each, as follows: “Tampa, Tomo, Tuchi, Sogo, No which means beloved village, Sinapa, Sinaesta, Metamapo, Sacaspada, Calaobe, Estame, Yagua, Guayu, Guevu, Muspa, Casitoa, Tatesta, Coyovea, Jutun, Tequemapo, Comachica, Quisiyove, and two others; on Lake Mayaimi, Cutespa, Tavaguemme, Tomsobe, Enempa, and twenty others; in the Lucayan Isles, Guarunguve and Cuchiaga.” Some of these are plainly Spanish names, while others undoubtedly belong to the native tongue. Of these villages, Tampa has given its name to the inlet formerly called the bay of Espiritu Santo[185] and to the small town at its head. Muspa was the name of a tribe of Indians who till the close of the last century inhabited the shores and islands in and near Boca Grande, where they are located on various old maps. Thence they were driven to the Keys and finally annihilated by the irruptions of the Seminoles and Spaniards.[186] Guaragunve, or Guaragumbe, described by Fontanedo as the largest Indian village on Los Martires, and which means “the village of tears,” is probably a modified orthography of Matacumbe and identical with the island of Old Matacumbe, remarkable for the quantity of lignum vitæ there found,[187] and one of the last refuges of the Muspa Indians. Lake Mayaimi, around which so many villages were situated, is identical with lake Okee-chobee, called on the older maps and indeed as late as Tanner’s and Carey’s, Myaco and Macaco. When Aviles ascended the St. Johns, he was told by the natives that it took its origin “from a great lake called Maimi thirty leagues in extent,” from which also streams flowed westerly to Carlos.[188] In sound the word resembles the Seminole pai-okee or pai-hai-o-kee, grassy lake, the name applied with great fitness by this tribe to the Everglades.[189] When travelling in Florida I found a small body of water near Manatee called lake Mayaco, and on the eastern shore the river Miami preserves the other form of the name.

The chief of the province dwelt in a village twelve or fourteen leagues from the southernmost cape.[190] The earliest of whom we have any account, Sequene by name, ruled about the period of the discovery of the continent. During his reign Indians came from Cuba and Honduras, seeking the fountain of life. He was succeeded by Carlos, first of the name, who in turn was followed by his son Carlos. In the time of the latter, Francesco de Reinoso, under the command of Pedro Menendez de Aviles, the founder of St. Augustine and Adelantado of Florida, established a colony in this territory, which, however, owing to dissensions with the natives, never flourished, and finally the Cacique was put to death by Reinoso for some hostile demonstration. His son was taken by Aviles to Havana to be educated and there baptized Sebastian. Every attempt was made to conciliate him, and reconcile him to the Spanish supremacy but all in vain, as on his return he became “more troublesome and barbarous than ever.” This occurred about 1565-1575.[191] Not long after his death the integrity of the state was destroyed, and splitting up into lesser tribes, each lived independent. They gradually diminished in number under the repeated attacks of the Spaniards on the south and their more warlike neighbors on the north. Vast numbers were carried into captivity by both, and at one period the Keys were completely depopulated. The last remnant of the tribe was finally cooped up on Cayo Vaco and Cayo Hueso (Key West), where they became notorious for their inhumanity to the unfortunate mariners wrecked on that dangerous reef. Ultimately, at the cession of Florida, to England in 1763, they migrated in a body to Cuba, to the number of eighty families, since which nothing is known of their fate.[192]

Of the province of Tegesta, situate to the west of the Caloosas, we have but few notices. It embraced a string of villages, the inhabitants of which were famed as expert fishers, (grandes Pescadores,) stretching from Cape Cañaveral to the southern extremity.[193] The more northern portion was in later times called Ais, (Ays, Is) from the native word aïsa, deer, and by the Spaniards, who had a post here, Santa Lucea.[194] The residence of the chief was near Cape Cañaveral, probably on Indian river, and not more than five days journey from the chief town of the Caloosas.

At the period of the French settlements, such amity existed between these neighbors, that the ruler of the latter sought in marriage the daughter of Oathcaqua, chief of Tegesta, a maiden of rare and renowned beauty. Her father, well aware how ticklish is the tenure of such a jewel, willingly granted the desire of his ally and friend. Encompassing her about with stalwart warriors, and with maidens not a few for her companions, he started to conduct her to her future spouse. But alas! for the anticipations of love! Near the middle of his route was a lake called Serrope, nigh five leagues about, encircling an island, whereon dwelt a race of men valorous in war and opulent from a traffic in dates, fruits, and a root “so excellent well fitted for bread, that you could not possibly eat better,” which formed the staple food of their neighbors for fifteen leagues around. These, fired by the reports of her beauty and the charms of the attendant maidens, waylay the party, rout the warriors, put the old father to flight, and carry off in triumph the princess and her fair escort, with them to share the joys and wonders of their island home.

Such is the romantic story told Laudonniére by a Spaniard long captive among the natives.[195] Why seek to discredit it? May not Serrope be the beautiful Lake Ware in Marion county, which flows around a fertile central isle that lies like an emerald on its placid bosom, still remembered in tradition as the ancient residence of an Indian prince,[196] and where relics of the red man still exist? The dates, les dattes, may have been the fruit of the Prunus Chicasaw, an exotic fruit known to have been cultivated by the later Indians, and the bread a preparation of the coonta root or the yam.

North of the province of Carlos, throughout the country around the Hillsboro river, and from it probably to the Withlacooche, and easterly to the Ocklawaha, all the tribes appear to have been under the domination of one ruler. The historians of De Soto’s expedition called the one in power at that period, Paracoxi, Hurripacuxi, and Urribarracuxi, names, however different in orthography, not unlike in sound, and which are doubtless corruptions of one and the same word, otherwise spelled Paracussi, and which was a generic appellation of the chiefs from Maryland to Florida. The town where they found him residing, is variously stated as twenty, twenty-five, and thirty leagues from the coast,[197] and has by later writers been located on the head-waters of the Hillsboro river.[198] In later times the cacique dwelt in a village on Old Tampa Bay, twenty leagues from the main, called Tocobaga or Togabaja,[199] (whence the province derived its name,) and was reputed to be the most potent in Florida. A large mound still seen in the vicinity marks the spot.

This confederacy waged a desultory warfare with their southern neighbors. In 1567, Aviles, then superintending the construction of a fort among the Caloosas, resolved to establish a peace between them, and for this purpose went himself to Tocobaga. He there located a garrison, but the span of its existence was almost as brief as that of the peace he instituted. Subsequently, when the attention of the Spaniards became confined to their settlements on the eastern coast, they lost sight of this province, and thus no particulars of its after history are preserved.

The powerful chief Vitachuco, who is mentioned in the most extravagant terms by La Vega and the Gentleman of Elvas, seems, in connection with his two brothers, to have ruled over the rolling pine lands and broad fertile savannas now included in Marion and Alachua counties. Though his power is undoubtedly greatly over-estimated by these writers, we have reason to believe, both from existing remains and from the capabilities of the country, that this was the most densely populated portion of the peninsula, and that its possessors enjoyed a degree of civilization superior to that of the majority of their neighbors.

The chief Potavou mentioned in the French accounts, residing about twenty-five leagues, or two days’ journey from the territory of Utina, and at war with him, appears to have lived about the same spot, and may have been a successor or subject of the cacique of this province.[200]

The rich hammocks that border the upper St. Johns and the flat pine woods that stretch away on either side of this river, as far south as the latitude of Cape Cañaveral,[201] were at the time of the first settlement of the country under the control of a chief called by the Spanish Utina, and more fully by the French Olata Ouæ Outina. His stationary residence was on the banks of the river near the northern extremity of Lake George, in which locality certain extensive earthworks are still found, probably referable to this period. So wide was his dominion that it was said to embrace more than forty subordinate chiefs,[202] which, however, are to be understood only as the heads of so many single villages. It is remarkable, and not very easy of satisfactory explanation, that among nine of these mentioned by Laudonniére,[203] two, Acquera and Moquoso, are the names of villages among the first encountered by De Soto in his march through the peninsula, and said by all the historians of the expedition to be subject to the chief Paracoxi.

Soturiba (Sotoriva, Satouriona) was a powerful chief, claiming the territory around the mouth of the St. Johns, and northward along the coast nearly as far as the Savannah. Thirty sub-chiefs acknowledged his supremacy, and his influence extended to a considerable distance inland. He showed himself an implacable enemy to the Spaniards, and in 1567, assisted Dominique de Gourgues to destroy their settlements on the St. Johns. His successor, Casicola, is spoken of by Nicolas Bourguignon as the “lord of ten thousand Indians,” and ruler of all the land “between St. Augustine and St. Helens.”

The political theories on which these confederacies were based, differed singularly in some particulars from those of the Indians of higher latitudes. Among the latter the chief usually won his position by his own valor and wisdom, held it only so long as he maintained this superiority, and dying, could appoint no heir to his pre-eminence. His counsel was sought only in an emergency, and his authority coerced his fellows to no subjection. All this was reversed among the Floridians. The children of the first wife inherited the power and possessions of their father,[204] the eldest getting the lion’s share; the sub-chiefs paid to their superior stated tributes of roots, games, skins, and similar articles;[205] and these superiors held unquestioned and absolute power over the persons, property, and time of their subjects.[206] Among the Caloosas, indeed, the king was considered of divine nature, and believed to have the power to grant or withhold seasons favorable to the crops, and fortune in the chase; a superstition the shrewd chief took care to foster by retiring at certain periods almost unattended to a solitary spot, ostensibly to confer with the gods concerning the welfare of the nation.[207] In war the chief led the van with a chosen body guard for his protection,[208] and in peace daily sate in the council house, there both to receive the homage of his inferiors, and to advise with his counsellors on points of national interest. The devotion of the native to their ruler, willingly losing their lives in his defence, is well illustrated in the instance of Vitachuco, killed by De Soto. So scrupulously was the line of demarcation preserved between them and their subjects, that even their food was of different materials.[209]