Mary Brickell Averts War with the Seminole, 1874:

A True Account of a Little-Known & Extraordinary Act

--Paul Hampton Crockett
Freedom's Just Another Word
for Nothing Left to Lose
--Kris Kristofferson, Me and Bobby McGee

(Note: Throughout this account, reference is made to the Seminole tribe for purposes of
simplicity and convenience. Seminole is less a tribal identity traditionally recognized as
such by Native Americans, than a grouping made by white people for practical purposes,
describing an alliance formed by members of a variety of traditional Native American
tribes, joined by a miscellany of those of African descent, all seeking refuge and the
promise of safety in Floridas wilderness during the same or overlapping time frames.)
____________

IT WAS July of 1874. Mary Brickell, heart beating like a drum as she stepped
mindfully upon the uneven and rocky ground and tree roots below, cradled infant
daughter Maude in her arms as she made her way along a nearly forgotten old
jungle trail deeper into the ancient, thickly forested hammock. She was only a

few minutes distant from the family home, at Brickell Point, within the vast and
unbroken span of ancient green forest that followed the bays shoreline all the
way down to Cocoanut Grove from the rivers south bank, but might as well have
been in another world.
She walked alone, and her intended destination was a nearby encampment of
hostile and angry Seminole Indians, some well known to her and others come
there from all over the State, in a common spirit of defiance and desperation.
They had endured a great deal and were near the end of their rope, and there was
no place further to run.
They were preparing for all-out war.

She could not have known exactly what to expect, and had certainly been given
no guarantees as to safety, her own or the little life for which she was responsible.
And neither had any promise of safe return been made. She was perfectly aware
that some might call her actions insane, or even suicidal. But she had to go,
even if she herself could not be completely sure as to the reasons. (She had
certainly not been foolish enough, for one second, to ask for anyones
permission.)
The deep woods surrounding were quiet and still, in fact unusually so, yet the
Native people were almost certainly aware of her approach, having been alerted
far in advance by the watchful scouts that moved through the deep woods so
soundlessly, nearly invisible. They had reported the unusual sight, and the group
awaited quietly and patiently her arrival. Some of those who had come may have
glanced at one another, questioningly. Did they say, a white woman and her
baby daughter? Yes, that is what they said. Humh.
We know her. She is our friend. She is called Mary Brickell. They knew her
given name, of course, but had long since taken to addressing her with affection
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and respect as Sister, in much the same spirit as they knew her husband as
Chief. Yet they must have all remained quite puzzled. A grim battalion of
armed troops, the stink of mortal fear in their sweat, they might have expected,
and been prepared for.
But why on Earth would Mary Brickell be coming here today, with Maude?

THAT summer, a near panic among the white settlers had seemed to fill the very
air, a crescendo of heart-stopping anxiety as close and smothering as the heat. It
had been only 16 years since the last of the dreadful guerilla attacks in the Third
Seminole War, when no one had been safe, and the awful experience remained
indelibly etched in the settlers memory. [To put the timeline in perspective, if
Mary Brickell and her infant Maude were taking their walk today, the last attacks
would have come in 1999.] The wily Indians kept appearing suddenly and from
out-of-nowhere, uncannily when least expected, like vengeful ghosts that meant
business, bearing weapons all-too real. When they materialized they had come
only to kill, and in mere minutes, their awful mission accomplished, theyd
disappear back into the Godforsaken jungle as completely as if theyd never come
at all. The terrifying scenes of carnage and bloody mayhem left behind would
forever haunt the unfortunates who first found them.
Both the killing and the surreal, sputtering militaristic responses to follow had all
finally wound down, and a fair number of the Indians been either placed in rusty
shackles and chained, or bribed for small amounts of cash to allow themselves to
be taken away to Indian Territory, in O-kla-ho-ma or some other dismal place
which they knew only was far, far away. They had learned also that the faces of
any who had gone, would never be looked upon again.
But no treaty had been signed, and the most stubborn and willful Indians were
still very much out there. And of that the settlers of the time were certain,
because they saw them all with some frequency: heading up the Miami River
toward town, in their dugout canoes laden with hides, pelts, and plumes to trade,
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or walking about on the streets, and sometimes even in the proper stores, exactly
like white people!
They were hard to miss, in fact, a tall, stately, and dignified people, garbed in
their distinctive clothing so brilliantly colorful. The women often wore strings of
colorful beads around their necks, high enough to fix their heads stiffly upright,
and on their dresses hung decorative hammered silver coins. And every
single one of the men, it might be noted, always carried their rifles with them
wherever they went. Loaded.

That summer, it had been 2 years since Mary and the children had made their
unforgettable first approach in from the Bay, on a schooner chartered in New
York, toward that most picturesque spot where William had had a spacious house
built for them by two fine carpenters brought down from back home, in Ohio,
using building materials also shipped in. (Brickell and fellow traveler Ephraim
Sturtevant, an acquaintance also living in Ohio (and the father of one Julia
Tuttle) had first made the journey together down to the wilderness of Bay
Biscayne in 1870, to have a look. They both liked what they saw, and, after
considerable maneuvers clearing title, bought. Brickell acquired the entire bay
front, and much of the land from the south bank of the Miami River on down
through to Coconut Grove. He also picked up an additional 640 acres on either
bank of the New River 30 miles to the north, at Fort Lauderdale. In all, he paid
$3,500. for over 2,500 acres.)
That schooner had carried William and Mary, ages 46 and 35, respectively,
children Alice, 14, Emma, 8, William, Jr., 6, Edith, 5, Charles, 3, and Belle, 2, a
governess hired to help with the children, and a housekeeper.

In a sense, the Brickells brought culture to this beautiful but utterly removed
region. The children received a fine education from the governess hired by the
family in part for that purpose, and any children of school age within practicable
distance were invited to attend "classes" without charge. In fairly short order,
Brickell saw to the construction of a simple wooden building, to serve as a store
vending to fellow settlers to the basic staples needed by truest pioneers for their
kitchens and homes, and as a trading post for the Seminole.
William Brickells trading post was of huge importance to the entire history of the
region, to follow. He was the first white man to establish commercial dealings
with the Seminole, creating an invaluable new context for non-threatening,
positive interaction. He conducted his business affairs with integrity and
respect, and in his dealings endeavored to pay fairly, and kept his promises. This
alone was an extraordinary thing, but perhaps his greater contribution was
something more simple. He was the first white man that many of the Seminole
encountered who was not hell-bent on their destruction, and/or prone to
employing any form of trickery available to achieve an unstated agenda of their
utter displacement, and removal to God-only-knows where, cut off from the very
roots they had put down in a strange and wonderful part of the Earth they had
come to call Home. He gained in return their trust, always hard-earned, and
staunch loyalty. The Brickells consistently remained good friends to, and effective
advocates for, the tribe.

THE months before Mary Brickells quest had been very hard on her family.
Tragically, young Emma had quite suddenly taken ill with spinal meningitis, and
died on April 4, 1874, at the age of 10. Both father and mother were devastated,
but William was hit especially hard. For reasons known only to the heart, he had
always felt a special affinity for the child and adored her unreasonably, as she had
him. When she took her last breath and her little soul flown heavenward, so had
part of his. On the surface, hed become bitter, with much of his anger focused
(and understandably enough) on Henry Flagler. Yet in deeper truth he had
suffered wounds more grievous by far, and closer to the very heart of him. Now,
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nothing else really mattered. William Brickell was known to laugh at times, and
carry on with his legendary tall tales much like before, but in truth would never
again feel at home on the Earth, despite its occasional comforts and endless
intrigue. He would not rest until he might once again hold his Emmas beautiful
face between his large hands, and make her giggle as only he could, before
covering her face with tiny kisses.
When he got the awful letter bearing the news, reported by his wife as best she
could, in shaky hand, he happened to be away on business in Key West. As he
read on, a nail was driven further into his heart, already shattered, as he learned
that a feverish Emma had called out for him only moments before her little heart
had taken its last beat. The fact had been intended to comfort him, but he was far
beyond comforting. He immediately penned a reply, giving stern instruction that
little Emmas body was under no circumstances to be buried before his return. He
had to say his own goodbyes, forever.
In the same letter, he was also informed of the surprising news that his wife had
again given birth, on the very day of Emmas death. He had known of Marys
latest pregnancy, but fully expected to be there for the birth. Maude arrived
prematurely, but both she and her Mother were pronounced healthy and well.
The attending physician opined that the early onset of birth might likely have
been triggered by the mothers shock and grief.

SO, though the matter can be only the subject of speculation, it is possible that
Mary Brickell had indeed been mad with grief upon setting out just after that
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noon hour to find the war party. And considering the timing of the event, little
Maude might be seen as less a fragile burden, Marys responsibility to safeguard
against an overwhelming Universe, than anchor keeping her spirit from simply
floating out of her body, and forever elsewhere and away, for the sadness. If
Emmas loss had been catastrophe, Maudes birth on the same day might at least
be seen as a promise.
Years after the event, an adult Maude Brickell chronicled what she had learned of
it. In an excellent book by Beth Brickell (no known relation), William and Mary
Brickell: Founders of Miami and Fort Lauderdale, the author outlines the
prelude to the meeting, and Maude's account thereof:
Dr. Harry A. Kersey, Jr., who did extensive research about the relationship
between the Seminoles and settlers for his book Pelts, Plumes, and Hides,
noted that in 1872 the federal government considered sending a special
agent to Florida to check on reports of unrest among the Seminoles. A year
later, in 1873, word spread that the Seminoles were planning a revolt and
were going to kill the whites. Panic spread among the settlers, and they
prepared to abandon their homes and leave the area. Although the report
turned out to be false, unease continued between settlers and Indians.
Then, according to Maudes sketch, soon after her birth in 1874, the
Indians were expected to go on a rampage... Indians from all over Florida
met... south of the Brickell home... Mrs. Brickell, with Maude, a tiny infant
in her arms, went out and met the Indian Chief Big Tom Tiger and talked
to him and explained to them [that] Mr. Brickell was away and she was
alone with the children. After a lengthy conversation, the chief promised
Mrs. B. to go away and never return in a war against the whites. They never
fought again.
Maude Brickell was rocked and petted by all the important Indians of her
time. She was the first white baby that many of the Indians had ever seen.
The Indians became staunch friends of the Brickells, coming to their home
for food, medical attention and advice.
No more is spelled out in Maudes sketch, and in any event, she had been at the
time but an infant. But the Seminole make their promises only with extreme care
and in a spirit of greatest solemnity, because they always keep them. Exactly why
their unusual meeting with Mary Brickell that day affected them so deeply as to
promise an end of war, forever, is not at all clear. Yet it is certainly a wonderful
question, and rich with possibilities.

But that Mary Brickell had stepped far beyond the realm of the known, or safe,
and done so for the benefit of others, and thus in the truest and greatest sense
played the part of hero, there may be no doubt.
Thank you.