Red Devil or Tragic Hero

Osceola as Settler-Colonial Icon

Bibliographic Data

ID4039869
AuthorsC S Monaco (corresponding author), C S Monaco C S Monaco
Year2015
Volume39
Issue2
Pages180
Publication date2015-01-01
Peer ReviewedYes
Open AccessNo
TypeARTICLE
VenueThe American Indian Quarterly (JOURNAL)
Journal identifiersISSN: 0095-182X • E-ISSN: 1534-1828
PublisherProject MUSE (PUBLISHER • US)
DOI10.5250/amerindiquar.39.2.0180
OpenAlexW1578083730
LanguageEN
Citations received2
References cited11

Red Devil or Tragic Hero?Osceola as Settler-Colonial Icon C. S. Monaco (bio) To those who wish to obtain a perfect idea of the “head and heart” of the Seminoles, we would refer them to Mr. Catlin’s gallery. Oceola breathes upon his canvas. It is the happiest likeness I have ever seen. His spirit has joined its brethren in the land of the shadows. His inglorious capture will descend to future ages. New York Morning Herald, February 23, 1838 The imprisonment and subsequent death of Osceola (ca. 1804–38), a noted Seminole war leader, at Fort Moultrie, South Carolina, caused a wave of national indignation. Many considered the warrior’s capture—he was seized by the army while under a white flag of truce during the Second Seminole War (1835–42)—as a shameful exercise. The usually staid Niles’ National Register disclaimed any “participation in the ‘glory’ of this achievement,” observing that if such a capture had been practiced against a “civilized foe,” it would have been “characterized as a violation of all that is noble and generous in war.”1 Osceola’s death and the later desecration of his corpse by an army physician (the head was decapitated and preserved, and there were attempts to publicly exhibit the gruesome trophy) stirred further outcry.2 For a substantial portion of Anglo-Americans, Osceola—a name derived from the Muscogee (Creek and Seminole) asse yahola, or “black drink singer”—stood as the virtual embodiment of a tragic hero, and hence anything that could detract from this stature was deemed especially repugnant.3 A host of writers and journalists placed him amid a [End Page 180] pantheon of Native American champions that included Black Hawk, King Philip (Metacom), Pontiac, and Tecumseh—figures that appeared to fulfill the ideal of the wise, stoic, and noble red man, a stereotype popularized by author James Fenimore Cooper. Osceola was even compared to Napoleon by an admiring “scribbling fraternity.”4 But for many others, particularly frontier Democrats, Osceola’s demise was judged a fitting end for a thoroughly disreputable character, “the most inhuman butcher of men, women and children.”5 Whether the warrior’s capture and death elicited staunch approval or anger reflected one’s political and regional affiliations. Missouri Democratic senator Thomas Hart Benton, a leading orator and ardent Jacksonian expansionist, was unequivocal: “The only fault of our officers,” he proclaimed from the Senate floor, “is that they did not hang him the moment they caught him.”6 But the artist and chronicler of the American Indian, George Catlin, a Whig and native Pennsylvanian who spent time at Fort Moultrie while on commission to paint the famed warrior’s portrait, perceived things differently. As Catlin expressed himself in a widely circulated article, Osceola was nothing less than “the fallen Prince and Hero of Florida.”7 This essay will not only explore the meaning behind America’s divergent response to this Indigenous war leader but also examine why such a previously obscure figure from one of the most inaccessible regions of the eastern United States achieved extensive notoriety during the late 1830s. In doing so, I will draw upon the insights of settler-colonial studies, a particularly useful tool when sifting through the dense Romantic idiom and hyperpartisanship of the era.8 Historians such as biographer Patricia Riles Wickman have largely bypassed the ambiguities of Osceola’s public persona in an effort to arrive at a more accurate rendition of his life story.9 The perspective of this article, however, takes an opposite path. Journalistic embellishments pose special problems, to be sure. Yet the language used to frame the debates that centered on the Second Seminole War nevertheless reveals larger historical forces. Scholars have long demonstrated the subtle power of media framing, a term used to describe “the context or narrative theme through which the story is told,” to influence public opinion, but previous studies of the war have not benefited from such a perspective.10 It should thus be stressed that this seven-year conflict coincided with two major developments on the national scene: (1) the emergence of the Whigs as a second party, [End Page 181] one whose prime goal was of

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