of deerskins and substitute laborers for town and village men now for-
ever away. In the eighteenth century, declining deer populations sent hunt-
ing parties farther and farther afield, into other peoples’ territories, spark-
ing intensified tribal warfare already encouraged by native alliances with
rival European imperial powers. The scandalous near-extermination of the
deer and the collapse of the skin market forced some native men—notably
literate and privileged ‘‘half-breed’’ men—into farming, or ‘‘planting’’ big
crops with native or African slave labor. More native men switched to a
different occupation, from hunter-warrior to Euro-American-style stock-
man, ranging herds of cattle and hogs through the forests and abandoned,
overgrown old cornfields where native women no longer worked. Southern
natives came also to live in log cabins separate from one another, like the
whites, and to dress in cotton shirts and dresses, linen and woolen trousers,
and shoes and boots made from the hides of cows.
My favorite view of native adaptation to the chaos of imposed Euro-
pean biota and markets—because it fascinates without tragedy—comes
from William Bartram. Having concluded his adventures on St. Johns River,
William had returned to St. Augustine, where he decided to join a group
of white traders headed westward toward Alachua. On horseback they rode
through savannas, ‘‘through fruitful orange groves, and under shadowy
palms and magnolias’’ and parklike pine forests. One of the traders, an
agent for the governor of East Florida, hoped to buy ‘‘Siminole horses,’’
probably descendants of Andalusians introduced by the Spanish and re-
nowned for their smallish dimensions (compared with British- and French-
introduced horses that dominated equine populations to the north and
west) and their ‘‘lively and capricious’’ behavior. On the third day out, paus-
ing in ‘‘expansive and delightful meadows,’’ Bartram came upon ‘‘feeding
and roving troops of the fleet Siminole horse.’’ Most of these and several
other ‘‘troops’’ were either tended or branded, but ‘‘our company,’’ William
wrote, ‘‘had the satisfaction of observing several belonging to themselves’’
—that is, they were feral. But then came something ‘‘remarkable...atroop
of horse under the care of a single black dog, which seemed to differ in
no respect from the wolf of Florida, except his being able to bark as the
common dog.’’ William marveled at the creature’s diligence as shepherd to
feisty hoofed ‘‘Siminoles.’’ ‘‘He [the dog] was very careful and industrious
in keeping them together; and if any one strolled from the rest at too great
a distance, the dog would spring up, head the horse, and bring him back to
the company.’’ William discovered that the owner of the troop of horses and
of the black dog was ‘‘an Indian in Talahasochte, about ten miles distance