on one. Tael-la-haes-ke is the father of six fine
looking boys, ranging in age from four to eighteen years. Seven months
before I met him his wife died, and when I was at his camp this strong
Indian appeared to have become both mother and father to his children.
His solicitous affection seemed continually to follow these boys,
watching their movements and caring for their comfort. Especially did he
throw a tender care about the little one of his household. I have seen
this little fellow clambering, just like many a little paleface, over
his father's knees and back, persistently demanding attention but in
no way disturbing the father's amiability or serenity, even while the
latter was trying to oblige me by answering puzzling questions upon
matters connected with his tribe. One night, as Lieutenant Brown and
I sat by the campfire at Tael-la-haes-ke's lodge--the larger boys, two
Seminole negresses, three pigs, and several dogs, together with
Tael-la-haes-ke, forming a picturesque circle in the ashes around the
bright light--I heard muffled moans from the little palmetto shelter on
my right, under which the three smaller boys were bundled up in cotton
cloth on deer skins for the night's sleep. Upon the moans followed
immediately the frightened cry of the baby boy, waking out of bad dreams
and crying for the mother who could not answer; "Its-ki, Its-ki"
(mother, mother) begged the little fellow, struggling from under his
covering. At once the big Indian grasped his child, hugged him to his
breast, pressed the little head to his cheek, consoling him all the
while with caressing words, whose meaning I felt, though I could not
have translated them into English, until the boy, wide awake, laughed
with his father and us all and was ready to be again rolled up beside
his sleeping brothers. I have said also that the Seminole are frank.
Formal or hypocritical courtesy does not characterize them. One of my
party wished to accompany Ka-tca-la-ni ("Yellow Tiger") on a hunt. He
wished to see how the Indian would find, approach, and capture his game.
"Me go hunt with you, Tom, to-day?" asked our man. "No," answered Tom,
and in his own language continued, "not to-day; to-morrow." To-morrow
came, and, with it, Tom to our camp. "You can go to Horse Creek with me;
then I hunt alone and you come back," was the Indian's remark as both
set out. I afterwards learned that Ka-tca-la-ni was all kindness on the
trail to Horse Creek, three miles away,