a reproach to Scotchmen that our national hospital in Edinburgh should belong to the latter class. But that the general indifference we complain of is in some measure culpable, is evident from contrasting the different enthusiasm excited by military and by civil hospitals. For the humblest duties in connection with the former, a countless number of devoted applicants immediately present themselves, ready to incur the risk of infection and the chances of war. Must we suppose that the éclat and distinction attendant upon such services have to do with the crowd of eager volunteers that flocked, for example, to the east during the Crimean war? It ought always to be borne in mind, that the one great name associated with Scutari had acquired the practical knowledge which rendered her so eminently useful by the bedsides of hospitals in her own country. Instead, however, of a further discussion of such causes, let us content ourselves by stating that a little more active sympathy in behalf of our hospital inmates is urgently called for; and, as we do not know a better way of promoting so desirable an end, we shall offer to our readers a plain uncoloured account of their mode of life. The lot of such persons is not so hopeless as it is often represented, nor is it, at any time, so agreeable as to be independent of many little comforts that ampler means could furnish them with. There are indeed many delicacies agreeable to the capricious appetite of invalids, that the wealthiest hospitals grudge. One benefit, we trust, may result from a truthful description of hospital-life, and that is a removal of a dangerous and far too prevalent prejudice entertained by those for whose relief such institutions were founded and are maintained. As the main features of all are alike, we may add that we have no particular one in view. Suppose we set off to visit a hospital. On arriving at the gate, we present our order to the porter, who, if satisfied with its authenticity, directs us towards the hall. There we are met by the doorkeeper, a person who generally combines two or three subordinate offices in his own person, and is now to act as our guide. In looking round the hall, our attention is attracted by a number of doors alternating with narrow passages. These doors lead, we are told, to the apartments of the different officers of the establishment; as the chaplain, matron, secretary, and resident physicians and surgeons. The passages, again, lead to the dining-room, where those functionaries meet at meals; to the laboratory, where the prescriptions are made up, and to a more pleasant quarter, the kitchen, as well as to wash houses, laundries, and similar rooms. In our visit to these respective places, we are struck alike with their great cleanliness, the tidiness of the servants, and the quiet manner in which the discipline of so large an establishment is maintained. Not a corner do we come upon but we are met with a current of fresh air; indeed, the ventilating arrangements are so complete, that in any other place we should be inclined to find fault with them. Now, thus far, we have seen nothing to indicate the peculiar character of the institution. We might have been inspecting the ground-floor of a wealthy college or a great monastery, so complete is the order and so extensive are the culinary preparations. But our guide is turning up stairs, and presently we are ushered into a ward full of invalids. A ward, it may be necessary to state, is an oblong apartment, with a lofty ceiling, bare white walls, and an uncarpeted floor. The patients lie upon iron bedsteads, without, of course, any curtains, at considerable distances apart. This is an ordinary medical ward we have entered-devoted to general diseases, as of the lungs, heart, and other internal organs. The number of patients may be about twenty. They are in all stages of disease, some under acute affections, trembling, as it were, between life and death; in one or two perhaps the fatal change is too clearly visiblebut the majority are out of danger, and present the unmistakable hue of health returning to their wasted cheeks. We observe that over every bedstead is affixed a slate, on which are inscribed the patient's name, age, birthplace, and the character of his diet, whether it is to be low or stimulant. At either end of the ward are wide grates, in which huge fires constantly blaze; these are intended as much for ventilation as for warmth. A group of more advanced convalescents, dressed in the plain livery of the hospital, are gathered round the fire. These are all impatiently waiting the order for dismissal; for, free though admission be, the gate cerberus permits no one to pass him without a formal medical discharge. Two small apartments adjoining the ward attract our attention, and upon inquiring, we are informed that one of these is a withdrawing-room, for the use of the physician at his daily visit; while the other is occupied by a patient requiring more quiet than the wards, noiseless as they are, permit. The former is furnished in strict accordance with the prevailing economical spirit of the house. A table, supporting a microscope and some test-tubes, occupies the centre of the room. A couple of chairs, a wash-hand stand with basin and towel, and a hat-peg, include the remaining articles. We are next shewn into a similarly sized and adjoining room, as neatly, but In the open somewhat more liberally furnished. cupboard we see a row of plates, cups, and saucers; while a bright kettle sings merrily on the hob. A small shelf near the bed is appropriated to a dozen or two of volumes. These, we are informed, are often in great demand in the ward. There are a few pictures on the wall, of doubtful excellence, in an artistic point of view, but probably representing the lineaments of the favourite divine of the occupant, side by side with her defunct husband. For it is the sanctum of one of the nurses we have invaded, and these persons are nearly all widows. We ought to add, that instead of being, as they are often represented, hard-hearted and ill-tempered, nurses, as a class, are very sympathising, and cheerfully manage the correspondence of such patients as require to communicate with their homes through the post, and are unable to write. We have now finished our survey of one ward and its adjoining apartments. There may be twenty, thirty, fifty other wards, but as they are all alike, we may content ourselves with that just visited. The same bare walls and high roofs, the same rows of little phials by every bedside, and the same tin tumblers in the windows, are found alike in all. We have still, however, to be made acquainted with the internal management of the institution. In the morning, an hour or so before breakfast, the and to relieve night-nurses. Soon afterwards arrive great bell rings, for the first time, to awaken cooks the baker's, butcher's, and milkman's carts with the provision for the day. Meanwhile, up stairs the nurses are busy in the different wards, assisting such patients as are able to rise and dress, and washing the hands and faces of weaker invalids. The resident medical officer now comes round to hear how the patients have slept, and if there have been any fresh admissions through the night. When the great bell rings again, the nurses learn that breakfast is ready, and repair to the kitchen. In a short time they return, bearing trays laden with tea and coffee, eggs, rolls, and toast. It is not unpleasant, we are told, to watch the general excitement created by the arrival of these good things in the ward. Almost every patient addresses himself with a keener relish to his morning meal than to any other. Breakfast over, the ward speedily regains its usual quiet; now and then there is a little gossip going on between two or three patients at the fireside; but in general they are silent, not only from the presence of some sufferers who must not be annoyed by any noise, but from their being strangers to one another, and from all having cares, and possibly heavy hearts, of their own. Many of them are aware that it must go hard with the dear ones at home, now that they are unable to do anything for their support. Some perhaps have come from great distances, seeking for labour, and have suddenly been laid low. Towards eleven o'clock the house-physician pays another visit, and the nurse, at the same time, makes a most careful survey of every bedside, seeing that everything under her charge is neat and clean. She then withdraws, to make her own toilet, for at noon comes off the great event of the day -namely, the visit of the physician. As soon as the hall-clock strikes twelve, the nurse reappears with her whitest apron and most capacious cap. Carriagewheels are now heard pulling up tightly at the gate, and in a minute more, the doctor enters. The great man is immediately surrounded with a crowd of students, and the inspection of the patients commences. Here, it should be mentioned, that hospitals, besides serving as places of reception for the sick, are at the same time medical schools; indeed, the celebrity of a university teaching medicine has always depended much more upon the practice of its hospitals than on the elegance of its lectures. At the same time, no notion can be more mistaken than that the care of patients is made subordinate to the purposes of medical education. The physicians and surgeons of public hospitals are all men of professional eminence, who know it is sound sense as well as humanity to treat rich and poor with equal tenderness. To return-the physician, as he passes from bed to bed, is always attended by the nurse and by the resident medical officer, to whom he communicates his instructions, and any change in diet or medicine he may think proper. The concourse of students depends upon the popularity of the teacher. The more eminent clinical professors at Edinburgh, London, and Paris count their followers by hundreds. is dearest to him. We may well believe that the greetings there exchanged are often very sad. The patient may have changed for the worse since yesterday, and the mournful question presents itself, what may not happen by to-morrow? The majority of patients, however, are glad and hopeful, listening fondly to all stories from home, and now impatient to get away. After their visitors retire, a sober supper, about eight o'clock, is the sole interruption to the monotony of a long, long night. Before concluding this simple sketch of hospitallife, we must not omit a notice of that part of the institution devoted to surgical cases. There is more liveliness generally apparent among the occupants of surgical than of medical wards, unless the unhappy subject of an incurable injury happen to be present. Many of these patients are recovering from an amputation, and are often, by their exuberant spirits, led into musical and lyrical excesses not strictly in accordance with the laws of the establishment. These fellows on their return home will talk of their operation as a soldier does of his first fire, and, indeed, will all their lives be fond of surgical gossip. There was wont to be a part of hospital-life never named without a shudder but which now-a-days inspires no such feeling. In former times, men of the strongest nerves shrunk appalled from the scenes in the operating room of a hospital. Such scenes are no longer painful to patient, surgeon, or to spectator. Under the blessed sleep of chloroform, the knife passes unfelt through the most sensitive textures. When we consider that this drug, which has already saved such an incalculable amount of pain, should only have been applied to the treatment of disease eleven winters ago, are we not justified in hoping that there are other provisions in nature equally beneficent which we may have the good-fortune some day to discover? Let us conclude by pointing out a defect in all our hospitals, as buildings, that might be easily remedied. At present, the walls of both medical and surgical wards-with the exception of those devoted to ophthalmic affections-are of an unvarying white colour, presenting no object whatever for the tired eyes of the poor sufferers to rest upon. The commonest housepaper bearing the similitude of a tree, a flower, or a river, would surely be more suggestive of pleasure than a blank wall. It is true that many hospital inmates are not persons of cultivated taste, but the eye of the least educated individual would not fail to turn to any object that suggested ideas different from those which long confinement to a sick-bed tends to produce. O CEO LA: A ROMANCE. CHAPTER LXIV.—A BANQUET WITH A BAD ENDING. As by duty bound, I delivered a report of the scene I had involuntarily been witness to. It produced a lively excitement within the fort, and an expedition was instantly ordered forth, with myself to act as guide. At two o'clock the great bell rings again for dinner; this meal varies according to the condition of the patient. Boiled and roast beef and mutton, steak and chops, rice and potatoes, are for convalescents; while others more sickly are restricted to light soups, sago, tapioca, and the like. After dinner, the day passes as quietly as the forenoon did, but towards evening there is a good deal of excitement apparent A bit of sheer folly. The search proved bootless, in the wards. Once a day, for a single hour, the as any one might have prophesied. Of course, we doors of the hospital are opened to admit the friends found the place, and the bodies of those who had and relatives of the sick. With no little caution, fallen-upon which the wolves had already been when the hour for admission arrives, does the gate-ravening-but we discovered no living Indians-not porter let in one visitor after another. The pockets even the path by which they had retreated! of each are subjected to a rigid examination, in case any contraband articles-a savoury pie or a pint of ale, for example-be carried in to gratify the incessant hunger that attends convalescents from tedious and exhausting diseases. Once within the gate, the visitors disperse, each one making for the bedside that The expedition consisted of several hundred menin fact, the whole garrison of the fort. Had we gone out with a smaller force, in all probability, we should have seen something of the enemy. The death of Omatla was the most serious incident that had yet occurred; at all events, the most important in its bearings. By the whites, Omatla had been constituted king: by killing, the Indians shewed their contempt for the authority that had crowned him, as well as their determination to resist all interference of the kind. Omatla had been directly under the protection of the white chiefs: this had been guaranteed to him by promise as by treaty; and therefore the taking his life was a blow struck against his patrons. The government would now be under the necessity of avenging his death. But the incident had its most important bearings upon the Indians, especially upon Omatla's own people. Terrified by the example, and dreading lest similar retribution might be extended to themselves, many of Omatla's tribe-sub-chiefs and warriorsforsook their alliance, and enrolled themselves in the ranks of the patriots. Other clans that had hitherto remained undecided, acting under similar motives, now declared their allegiance to the national will, and took up arms without further hesitation. The death of Omatla, besides being an act of stern justice, was a stroke of fine policy on the part of the hostile Indians. It proved the genius of him who had conceived and carried it into execution. Omatla was the first victim of Oçeola's vow of vengeance. Soon after appeared the second. It was not long before the tragedy of the traitor's death was eclipsed by another, far more thrilling and significant. One of the chief actors in this drama disappears from the stage. On our arrival at the fort, it was found that the commissariat was rapidly running short. No provision had been made for so large a body of troops, and no supplies could possibly reach Fort King for a long period of time. We were to be the victims of the usual improvidence exhibited by governments not accustomed to warlike operations. Rations were stinted to the verge of starvation; and the prospect before us began to look very like starvation itself. In this emergency, the commander-in-chief performed an act of great patriotism. Independent of his military command, General Clinch was a citizen of Florida a proprietor and planter upon a large scale. His fine plantation lay at a short distance from Fort King. His crop of maize, covering nearly a hundred acres, was just ripening; and this, without more ado, was rationed out to the army. Instead of bringing the commissariat to the troops, the reverse plan was adopted; and the troops were marched upon their food-which had yet to be gathered before being eaten. Four-fifths of the little army were thus withdrawn from the fort, leaving rather a weak garrison; while a new stockade was extemporised on the general's plantation, under the title of 'Fort Drane.' There were slanderous people who insinuated that in this curious matter the good old general was moved by other motives than those of mere patriotism. There were some talk about Uncle Sam'-well known as a solvent and liberal paymaster-being called upon to give a good price for the general's corn; besides, so long as an army bivouacked upon his plantation, no danger need be apprehended from the Indian incendiaries. Perhaps these insinuations were but the conceits of camp satire. I was not among those transferred to the new station; I was not a favourite with the commanderin-chief, and no longer upon his staff. My duties kept me at Fort King, where the commissioner also remained. The days passed tamely enough-whole weeks of them. An occasional visit to Camp Drane was a relief to the monotony of garrison-life, but this was a rare occurrence. The fort had been shorn of its strength, and was too weak for us to go much beyond It was well known that the Indians were its walls. in arms. Traces of their presence had been observed near the post; and a hunting excursion, or even a romantic saunter in the neighbouring woods-the usual resources of a frontier station-could not have been made without some peril. During this period I observed that the commissioner was very careful in his outgoings and incomings. He rarely passed outside the stockade, and never beyond the line of sentries. Whenever he looked in the direction of the woods, or over the distant savanna, a shadow of distrust appeared to overspread his features, as though he was troubled with an apprehension of danger. This was after the death of the traitor chief. He had heard of Oçeola's vow to kill Omatla; perhaps he had also heard that the oath extended to himself; perhaps he was under the influence of a presentiment. The Christmas came round. At this season, wherever they may be found-whether amid the icy bergs of the north, or on the hot plains of the tropic-on board ship, within the walls of a fortress-ay, even in a prison-Christians incline to merry-making. frontier post is no exception to the general rule; and Fort King was a continued scene of festivities. The soldiers were released from duty-alone the sentinels were kept to their posts; and, with such fare as could be procured, backed by liberal rations of monnongahela,' the week was passing cheerily enough. Asutler' in the American army is generally a thriving adventurer-with the officers liberal both of cash and credit-and, on festive occasions, not unfrequently their associate and boon-companion. Such was he, the sutler, at Fort King. On one of the festal-days, he had provided a sumptuous dinner-no one about the fort so capable-to which the officers were invited-the commissioner himself being the honoured guest. The banquet was set out in the sutler's own house, which, as already mentioned, stood outside the stockade, several hundred yards off, and nearer to the edge of the woods. The dinner was over, and most of the officers had returned within the fort, where-as it was now getting near night-it was intended the smoking and winedrinking should be carried on. The commissioner, with half-a-dozen othersofficers and civilian visitors-still lingered to enjoy another glass under the hospitable roof where they had eaten their dinner. I was among those who went back within the fort. We had scarcely settled down in our seats, when we were startled by a volley of sharp cracks, which the ear well knew to be the reports of rifles. At the same instant was heard that wild intonation, easily distinguishable from the shouting of civilised men— the war-cry of the Indians! We needed no messenger to inform us what the noises meant: the enemy was upon the ground, and had made an attack-we fancied upon the fort itself. We rushed into the open air, each arming himself as he best could. Once outside, we saw that the fort was not assailed; but upon looking over the stockade, we perceived that the house of the sutler was surrounded by a crowd of savages, plumed and painted in full fighting costume. They were in quick motion, rushing from point to point, brandishing their weapons, and yelling the Yo-ho-ehee. Straggling shots were still heard as the fatal gun was pointed at some victim endeavouring to escape. The gates of the fort were standing wide open, and soldiers, who had been strolling outside, now rushed through, uttering shouts of terror as they passed in. The sutler's house was at too great a distance for the range of musketry. Some shots were discharged by the sentries and others who chanced to be armed, but the bullets fell short. The artillerists ran to their guns; but on reaching these, it was found that the stables-a row of heavy log-houses-stood directly in the range of the sutler's house-thus sheltering the enemy from the aim of the gunners. All at once the shouting ceased, and the crowd of dusky warriors was observed moving off towards the woods. In a few seconds they had disappeared among the trees-vanishing, as if by magic, from our sight. He who commanded at the fort-an officer slow of resolve-now mustered the garrison, and ventured a sortie. It extended only to the house of the sutler, where a halt was made, while we contemplated the horrid scene. The sutler himself, two young officers, several soldiers and civilians, lay upon the floor dead, each with many wounds. Conspicuous above all was the corpse of the commissioner. He was lying upon his back, his face covered with gore, and his uniform torn and bloody. Sixteen bullets had been fired into his body; and a wound more terrible than all was observed over the left breast. It was the gash made by a knife, whose blade had passed through his heart. I could have guessed who gave that wound, even without the living testimony that was offered on the spot. A negress-the cook-who had concealed herself behind a piece of furniture, now came forth from her hiding-place. She had been witness of all. She was acquainted with the person of Oçeola. It was he who had conducted the tragedy; he had been the last to leave the scene; and before taking his departure, the negress had observed him give that final stab-no doubt in satisfaction of the deadly vow he had made. After some consultation, a pursuit was determined upon, and carried out with considerable caution; but, as before, it proved fruitless: as before, even the track by which the enemy had retreated could not be discovered! CHAPTER LXV. 'DADE'S MASSACRE.' This melancholy finale to the festivities of Christmas was, if possible, rendered more sad by a rumour that shortly after reached Fort King. It was the rumour of an event, which has since become popularly known as Dade's massacre.' In the early part of this narrative, it has been mentioned that an officer of the United States army gave out the vaunt that he could march through all the Seminole reserve with only a corporal's guard at his back.' That officer was Major Dade. It was the destiny of Major Dade to find an opportunity for giving proof of his warlike prowess-though with something more than a corporal's guard at his back. The result was a sad contrast to the boast he had so thoughtlessly uttered. To understand this ill-fated enterprise, it is necessary to say a word topographically of the country. On the west coast of the peninsula of Florida is a bay called 'Tampa'-by the Spaniards, Espiritu Santo.' At the head of this bay was erected Fort Brooke'-a stockade similar to Fort King, and lying about ninety miles from the latter, in a southerly direction. It was another of those military posts established in connection with the Indian reservea depôt for troops and stores-also an entrepôt for such as might arrive from the ports of the Mexican gulf. About two hundred soldiers were stationed here at the breaking out of hostilities. They were chiefly artillery, with a small detachment of infantry. Shortly after the fruitless council at Fort King, these troops-or as many of them as could be spared -were ordered by General Clinch to proceed to the latter place, and unite with the main body of the army. In obedience to these orders, one hundred men, with their quota of officers, were set in motion for Fort King. Major Dade commanded the detachment. On the eve of Christmas, 1835, they had taken the route, marching out from Fort Brooke in high spirits, buoyant with the hope of encountering and winning laurels in a fight with the Indian foe. They flattered themselves that it would be the first conflict of the war, and therefore that in which the greatest reputation would be gained by the victors. They dreamt not of defeat. With flags flying gaily, drums rolling merrily, bugles sounding the advance, cannon pealing their farewell salute, and comrades cheering them onward, the detachment commenced its march-that fatal march from which it was destined never to return. Just seven days after-on the 31st of Decembera man made his appearance at the gates of Fort Brooke, crawling upon his hands and knees. In his tattered attire could scarcely be recognised the uniform of a soldier-a private of Dade's detachment-for such he was. His clothes were saturated with water from the creeks, and soiled with mud from the swamps. They were covered with dust, and stained with blood. His body was wounded in five places-severe wounds all-one in the right shoulder, one in the right thigh, one near the temple, one in the left arm, and another in the back. He was wan, wasted, emaciated to the condition of a skeleton, and presented the aspect of one. When, in a weak trembling voice, he announced himself as 'Private Clark of the 2d Artillery,' his old comrades with difficulty identified him. Shortly after, two others-privates Sprague and The report was brought by an Indian runner-Thomas-made their appearance in a similar plight. belonging to one of the friendly clans-but the statements made were of so startling a character, that they were at first received with a cry of incredulity. Other runners, however, continuously arriving, confirmed the account of the first messenger, until his story-tragically improbable as it appeared-was accepted as truth. It was true in all its romantic colouring; true in all its sanguinary details. The war had commenced in real earnest, inaugurated by a conflict of the most singular kind-singular both in character and result. An account of this battle is perhaps of sufficient interest to be given. Their report was similar to that already delivered by Clark: that Major Dade's command had been attacked by the Indians, cut to pieces, massacred almost to a man-that they themselves were the sole survivors of that band who had so lately gone forth from the fort in all the pride of confident strength, and the hopeful anticipation of glory. And their story was true to the letter. Of all the detachment, these three miserable remnants of humanity alone escaped; the others-one hundred and six in all-had met death on the banks of the Amazura. Instead of the laurel, they had found the cypress. The three who escaped had been struck down and left for dead upon the field. It was only by counterfeiting death, they had succeeded in afterwards crawling from the ground, and making their way back to the fort. Most of this journey Clark performed upon his hands and knees, proceeding at the rate of a mile to the hour, over a distance of more than sixty miles! CHAPTER LXVI. THE BATTLE-GROUND. The affair of Dade's massacre is without a parallel in the history of Indian warfare. No conflict of a similar kind had ever occurred-at least, none so fatal to the whites engaged in it. In this case they suffered almost annihilation-for, of the three wounded men who escaped, two shortly after died of their wounds. Nor had the Indians any great advantage over their antagonists, beyond that of superior cunning and strategy. It was near the banks of the Amazura,* and after crossing that stream, that Major Dade's party had been attacked. The assault was made in ground comparatively open-a tract of pine-woods, where the trees grew thin and straggling—so that the Indians had in reality no great advantage either from position or intrenchment. Neither has it been proved that they were greatly superior in numbers to the troops they destroyed-not more than two to one; and this proportion in most Indian wars has been considered by their white antagonists as only 'fair odds.' Many of the Indians appeared upon the ground mounted; but these remained at a distance from the fire of the musketry; and only those on foot took part in the action. Indeed, their conquest was so soon completed, that the horsemen were not needed. The first fire was so deadly, that Dade's followers were driven into utter confusion. They were unable to retreat the mounted Indians had already outflanked them, and cut off their chance of escape. Dade himself, with most of his officers, fell at the first volley; and the survivors had no choice but to fight it out on the ground. A breastwork was attempted-by felling trees, and throwing their trunks into a triangle-but the hot fire from the Indian rifles soon checked the progress of the work; and the parapet never rose even breast-high above the ground. Into this insecure shelter the survivors of the first attack retreated, and there fell rapidly under the well-aimed missiles of their foes. In a short while the last man lay motionless; and the slaughter was at an end. When the place was afterwards visited by our troops, this triangular enclosure was found, filled with dead bodies-piled upon one another, just as they had fallen-crosswise, lengthwise, in every attitude of death! It was afterwards noised abroad that the Indians had inhumanly tortured the wounded, and horribly mutilated the slain. This was not true. There were no wounded left to be tortured-except the three who escaped-and as for the mutilation, but one or two instances of this occurred-since known to have been the work of runaway negroes actuated by motives of personal revenge. Some scalps were taken; but this is the well-known custom of Indian warfare; and white men ere now have practised the fashion, while under the frenzied excitement of battle. I was one of those who afterwards visited the battle-ground on a tour of inspection ordered by the commander-in-chief; and the official report of that *'Ouithlacoochee' of the Seminoles. tour is the best testimony as to the behaviour of the victors. It reads as follows: 'Major Dade and his party were destroyed on the morning of the 28th of December, about four miles from their camp of the preceding night. They were advancing in column of route when they were attacked by the enemy, who rose in a swarm out of the cover of long grass and palmettoes. The Indians suddenly appeared close to their files. Muskets were clubbed, knives and bayonets used, and parties clinched in deadly conflict. In the second attack, our own men's muskets, taken from the dead and wounded, were used against them; a cross-fire cut down a succession of artillerists, when the cannon were taken, the carriages broken and burned, and the guns rolled into a pond. Many negroes were in the field; but no scalps were taken by the Indians. On the other hand, the negroes, with hellish cruelty, pierced the throats of all whose cries or groans shewed that there was still life in them.' Another official report runs thus: 'We approached the battle-field from the rear. Our advanced-guard had passed the ground without halting, when the commanding officer and his staff came upon one of the most appalling scenes that can be imagined. We first saw some broken and scattered boxes; then a cart, the two oxen of which were lying dead, as if they had fallen asleep, their yokes still on them: a little to the right, one or two horses were seen. We next came to a small enclosure, made by felling trees, in such a manner as to form a triangular breast-work. Within the triangle-along the north and west faces of it-were about thirty bodies, mostly mere skeletons, although much of the clothing was left upon them. They were lying in the positions they must have occupied during the fight. Some had fallen over their dead comrades, but most of them lay close to the logs, with their heads turned towards the breastwork, over which they had delivered their fire, and their bodies stretched with striking regularity parallel to each other. They had evidently been shot dead at their posts, and the Indians had not disturbed them, except by taking the scalps of some— which, it is said, was done by their negro allies. The officers were all easily recognised. Some still wore their rings and breastpins, and money was found in their pockets! The bodies of eight officers and ninety-eight men were interred. 'It may be proper to observe that the attack was not made from a hommock, but in a thinly wooded country-the Indians being concealed by palmettoes and grass.' From this report, it appears that the Indians were fighting-not for plunder, not even from motives of diabolical revenge. Their motive was higher and purer-it was the defence of their country-of their hearths and homes. The advantage they had over the troop of Major Dade was simply that of ambush and surprise. This officer, though a man of undoubted gallantry, was entirely wanting in those qualities necessary to a leader-especially one engaged against such a foe. He was a mere book-soldier-as most officers are lacking the genius which enables the great military chieftain to adapt himself to the circumstances that surround him. He conducted the march of his detachment as if going upon parade; and by so doing he carried it into danger and subsequent destruction. But if the commander of the whites in this fatal affair was lacking in military capacity, the leader of the Indians was not. It soon became known that he who planned the ambush and conducted it to such sanguinary and successful issue, was the young chief of the Baton Rouge-Oçeola. He could not have stayed long upon the ground to enjoy his triumph. It was upon that same evening, |