[Illustration: INDIAN MAIDEN.]




                                   THE
                                BOYS’ BOOK
                                    OF
                                  INDIAN
                         Battles and Adventures.

                              [Illustration]

                                New York:
                              JAMES MILLER.




                                   THE
                                BOYS’ BOOK
                                OF INDIAN
                         Battles and Adventures,
                        WITH ANECDOTES ABOUT THEM.

                     ILLUSTRATED WITH TEN ENGRAVINGS

              BY THE AUTHOR OF “EVENINGS IN BOSTON,” “RAMON
                         THE ROVER OF CUBA,” ETC.

                                New York:
                       JAMES MILLER, 522 BROADWAY.
                               M.DCCC.LXVI.

       Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, by
                              JAMES MILLER,
in the Clerk’s office of the District Court of the United States, for the
                      Southern District of New York.




PREFACE.


The character of the aboriginal inhabitants of the western continent is
in many respects remarkable and striking. It possesses great interest
for the student of history as well as the observer of human nature.
Still this character has never been properly exhibited in a connected
view. One is obliged to detect the traits in detached incidents and
scattered descriptions; and thus by a sort of inductive process to
determine the real disposition, powers and capabilities of the North
American Savage. It is for the purpose of bringing the materials of this
inductive process within the compass of a single volume of moderate size
that these “Anecdotes” have been collected. They present the savage in
all his various aspects and relations, in all circumstances of sorrow
and joy, danger, difficulty and triumph. The incidents here narrated,
while they exhibit the most prominent traits of the Indian character,
also bring into view the most striking passages of our national history
in its connection with the aborigines, and thus serve a double purpose
as an exercise in historical as well as philosophical study. Its chief
object is utility. Its particular design is to subserve the great cause
of national education.

    NEW YORK, _Oct. 1st, 1860_.




INDIAN BATTLES AND ADVENTURES.




INDIAN HONESTY.


In the character of the Indians of North America there are many traits
which their white neighbours would do well to imitate. Among these,
strict honesty is one. Mr. Catlin gives the credit of this virtue to
all the wild tribes which he visited, not corrupted by intercourse with
civilized nations. Bolts and bars, for the protection of property, among
them are unknown. He cites many examples to prove this. The following
anecdote is from another source.

An Indian being among his white neighbours, asked for a little tobacco
to smoke, and one of them, having some loose in his pocket, gave him
a handful. The day following, the Indian came back, inquiring for the
donor, saying he had found a quarter of a dollar among the tobacco; being
told that as it was given him he might as well keep it, he answered,
pointing to his breast: ‘I got a good man and a bad man here; and the
good man say, it is not mine, I must return it to the owner; the bad man
say, why he gave it to you, and it is your own now; the good man say,
that’s not right, the tobacco is yours, not the money; the bad man say,
never mind, you got it, go buy some dram; the good man say, no, no, you
must not do so; so I don’t know what to do, and I think to go to sleep;
but the good man and the bad man keep talking all night, and trouble me;
and now I bring the money back I feel good.’




HONOR AMONG INDIANS.


There is no class of human beings on earth, who hold a pledge more sacred
and binding, than do the North American Indians. A sample of this was
witnessed during the Winnebago war of 1827, in the person of Dekker-re,
a celebrated chief of that nation, who, among four other Indians of his
tribe, was taken prisoner at Prairie du Chien. Colonel Snelling, of the
5th regiment of infantry, who then commanded that garrison, despatched
a young Indian into the nation, with orders to inform the other chiefs
of Dekker-re’s band, that unless those Indians who were perpetrators of
the horrid murders of some of our citizens, were brought to the fort
and given up within ten days, Dekker-re and the other four Indians who
were retained as hostages, would be shot at the end of that time. The
awful sentence was pronounced in the presence of Dekker-re, who, though
proclaiming his own innocence of the outrages which had been committed
by others of his nation, exclaimed that he feared not death, though it
would be attended with serious consequences, inasmuch as he had two
affectionate wives and a large family of small children who were entirely
dependent on him for their support; but if necessary, he was willing
to die for the honour of his nation. The young Indian had been gone
several days, and no intelligence was yet received from the murderers.
The dreadful day being near at hand, and Dekker-re being in a bad state
of health, asked permission of the Colonel to go to the river to indulge
in his long accustomed habit of bathing; in order to improve his health.
Upon which, Col. S. told him that, if he would promise, on the honor of
a chief, that he would not leave the town, he might have his liberty,
and enjoy all his privileges, until the day of the appointed execution.
Accordingly he first gave his hand to the Colonel, thanked him for his
friendly offer, then raised both his hands aloft, and in the most solemn
adjuration, promised that he would not leave the bounds prescribed, and
said, if he had a hundred lives, he would sooner lose them all than
forfeit his word, or deduct from his proud nation one particle of its
boasted honor. He was then set at liberty. He was advised to flee to
the wilderness, and make his escape. “But no,” said he, “do you think I
prize life above honor? or that I would betray a confidence reposed in
me, for the sake of saving my life?” He then complacently remained until
nine days of the ten which he had to live had elapsed, and nothing heard
from the nation with regard to the apprehension of the murderers, his
immediate death became apparent; but no alteration could be seen in the
countenance of the chief. It so happened that on that day, Gen. Atkinson
arrived with his troops from Jefferson Barracks, and the order for
execution was countermanded, and the Indians permitted to repair to their
homes.




INDIAN ELOQUENCE.


The Indian warrior Tecumseh, who fell in the late American war, was
not only an accomplished military commander, but also a great natural
statesman and orator. Among the many strange, and some strongly
characteristic events of his life, the council which the American
General Harrison held with the Indians at Vincennes, in 1811, affords an
admirable instance of the sublimity which sometimes distinguished his
eloquence. The chiefs of some tribes had come to complain of a purchase
of lands which had been made from the Kickafoos. The council effected
nothing, but broke up in confusion, in consequence of Tecumseh having
called General Harrison “a liar.” During the long talks which took place
in the conference, Tecumseh having finished one of his speeches, looked
round, and seeing every one seated, while no seat was prepared for him, a
momentary frown passed over his countenance. Instantly General Harrison
ordered that a chair should be given him. Some person presented one, and
bowing, said to him, “Warrior, your father, General Harrison, offers
you a seat.” Tecumseh’s dark eye flashed. “My father!” he exclaimed
indignantly, extending his arms towards heaven; “the sun is my father,
and the earth is my mother; she gives me nourishment, and I repose upon
her bosom.” As he ended, he suddenly seated himself on the ground.




INDIAN COQUETRY.


The Chawanon Indians, inhabiting the lake of Marcotti, and who are
considered the most warlike and civilized of the American Indians, have
a manner of courtship which we believe to be peculiar to themselves.
When such of their young women as have pretensions to beauty, attain
their twelfth year, which is the usual period of their marriage, they
either keep themselves quite secluded at home, or when they go out muffle
themselves up in such a manner, that nothing is seen but their eyes. On
these indications of beauty, they are eagerly sought in marriage, and
those suitors who have acquired the greatest reputation as warriors or
hunters, obtain the consent of the family. After this, the lover repairs
to the cabin, where the beauty is lying enveloped on her couch. He gently
approaches and uncovers her face, so that his person may be seen, and
if this be to her mind, she invites him to lie down by her side; if not,
she again conceals her face, and the lover retires. A husband has the
privilege of marrying all his wife’s sisters as they arrive at age, so
that after, often before, his first wife is thirty, he has married and
abandoned at least a dozen.




WEATHERFORD.

    “I come, my Wilwullah!
      Guide hither our boy!
    I bring from the forest
      Its spirit and joy:
    Why lingereth my soft-eyed?”
      And dark grew his brow;
    “Thy hunter returneth—
      Where, truant, art thou?”

    He enters his wigwam—
      What meaneth that cry?
    His bold form what freezeth?
      What filmeth his eye?
    The work of the white men!
      His mate of the wood,
    And their fawns, the light-footed,
      All couched in their blood!

    Before a cold foeman
      The Indian is cold;
    But his heart in his wild-wood
      Is like molten gold.
    The warrior has clasped them—
      He’s red in their gore!
    Has raved and wept o’er them—
      But ne’er will weep more!

    “Ye snow-brow destroyers!
      Ye false and ye foul!
    For this, by Manito!
      For this shall ye howl!
    I swear that pale thousands
      Shall weep for this blow;
    For each drop here wasted,
      Red rivers shall flow!

    “When smoke dims the distance,
      And shrieks fill the air,
    Then white lips will whisper,
      ‘_Fly! Weatherford’s there!_’
    Your warriors shall perish;
      We’ll laugh at their shame;
    And the blood of your loved ones
      Shall hiss in the flame!”

    How was that vow answered?
      Ask Mimms: it will tell!
    Where the battle was hottest
      There _his_ hatchet fell;
    Where the shriek was the loudest,
      Where freest ran blood,
    Be sure, mid his victims,
      There Weatherford stood!

    But feeble the red men,
      Though fierce in the fray;
    Like mists in the morning,
      They melted away.
    “Give us peace!” prayed the vanquished;
      “The white chieftain gives
    No peace”—was the answer—
      “While Weatherford lives.”

    That lion-souled chieftain’s[1]
      Alone in his tent:
    ’Tis midnight; still over
      His toil he is bent.
    The drapery is rustled—
      He turns not his ear:
    “Ho! Look up, proud warrior,
      Thy foreman is here!”

    A dark form stood o’er him,
      His red arm on high;
    But quailed not the chieftain
      Beneath his dark eye.
    “What art thou, bold savage?
      Sooth, light the foot fell
    That stole through the watch
      Of my tried sentinel.”

    “Where Weatherford willeth,
      Even there will he go;
    He heeds not thy sentry
      When seeking his foe.”
    “I fear thee not, boaster!”
      “Thou needest not fear;
    For peace for my people,
      For peace came I here.

    “Thou’d’st have me sent to thee.
      And sent to thee bound;
    But Weatherford dies not
      The death of a hound:
    No recreant, no trembler,
      No captive am I—
    I’ve fetterless lived, and
      Will fetterless die.

    “To save my crushed people
      I die, but die free—
    A sacrifice worthy
      Of them and of thee!”
    “No—back to thy forest—
      Bold warrior go!
    I strike not the head
      That is bent to the blow

    “Aye, go! but remember
      When meet we again,
    Thy lot is the gibbet,
      The cord and the chain.
    Be strong for the battle!
      No quarter we yield:
    No fear and no mercy!
      Now, back to the field!”

    “I long have fought with thee,
      And still would fight on—
    But my true Seminoles—
      My warriors are gone!
    My brave ones I’d rally,
      And fight at their head;
    But where is the warrior
      Can rally the dead!

    “At red Talledegha,
      Emuckfaw they stood—
    Thou knowest that our valleys
      Are black with their blood.
    By the wailing Savannah
      Unburied they lie;
    Spare, warrior, the remnant,
      Let Weatherford die!”

    No longer the soldier
      The bold plea could hear,
    But quick from his bronzed cheek
      He hurried a tear.
    “Devoted and brave! As
      Thou will’st shall it be;
    Here’s peace to thy people,
      And friendship for thee!”


[Illustration: Weatherford’s Revenge.]


THE FOLLOWING IS THE INCIDENT ON WHICH THE FOREGOING LINES ARE FOUNDED.[2]

Billy Weatherford, the celebrated savage warrior, is, at length,
vanquished—the destroyer is conquered—the hand which so profusely dealt
death and desolation among the whites, is now paralyzed—it is motionless.
He died at his late residence near Montpelier, in this state, on the 9th
inst. His deeds of war are well known to the early settlers in South
Alabama, and will be remembered by them while they live: and be talked
of, with horror, by generations yet unborn. But his dauntless spirit has
taken its flight—“he is gone to the land of his fathers.”

Billy Weatherford, denominated ‘The Prophet,’ was about one-fourth
Indian (some say a half breed) his ancestry, on the white side, having
been Scottish. It has been said, that he boasted of having no _Yankee_
(meaning American) blood in his veins.

This ferocious chief led the hostile Indians to the attack of Fort
Mimms, at Tensau, on the 30th of August, 1813; which resulted in the
indiscriminate massacre of men, women, and children, to the number of
near four hundred. He was also a leader associated with the prophets
Francis and Sinquister, at the battle fought on the 23d of December
following, at Ekchanachaca, or ‘The Holy Ground;’ which had been
considered by them inaccessible to their enemies, and the ‘Grave of White
Men.’ But it proved a fatal delusion. His party suffered great loss of
warriors, and all the provisions, munitions of war, &c., deposited at
this place of imaginary security; being, as they supposed, rendered
secure by the protecting influence of some supernatural agency.

It is stated, that—after being sated with the blood of Americans, and
witnessing the almost total extinction of his warriors—he voluntarily and
dauntlessly flung himself into the hands of General Jackson, and demanded
his protection. He is said, on surrendering himself, to have made the
following speech to the General—which looks very little like claiming
_protection_. It displays a spirit, which would have done credit to
Napoleon, under similar circumstances, after the battle of Waterloo:

“I am in your power: do with me what you please. I am a soldier. I have
done the white people all the harm I could. I have fought them, and
fought them bravely. If I had an army, I would yet fight, and contend to
the last. But I have done—my people are all gone—I can do no more than
weep over the misfortunes of my nation. Once I could animate my warriors
to battle: but I cannot animate the dead. My warriors can no longer hear
my voice—their bones are at Talladega, Tallaschatchee, Emuckfaw, and
Tohopeka. I have not surrendered myself thoughtlessly. Whilst there were
chances of success, I never left my post, nor supplicated peace. But my
people are gone, and I now ask it for my nation, and for myself.

“On the miseries and misfortunes brought upon my country, I look back
with the deepest sorrow, and wish to avert still greater calamities. If I
had been left to contend with the Georgian army, I would have raised my
corn on one bank of the river, and have fought them on the other. But
your people have destroyed my nation. You are a brave man. I rely upon
your generosity. You will exact no terms of a conquered people, but such
as they should accede to. Whatever they may be, it would now be madness
and folly to oppose them. If they are opposed, you shall find me among
the sternest enforcers of obedience. Those who would still hold out, can
be influenced only by a mean spirit of revenge; and, to this, they must
not, and _shall not_, sacrifice the last remnant of their country. You
have told us, where we might go, and be safe. This is a good talk, and my
nation ought to listen to it. _They SHALL listen to it._”[3]




INDIAN CHARACTER.


A striking display of Indian character occurred some years since in a
town in Maine. An Indian of the Kennebeck tribe remarkable for his good
conduct, received a grant of land from the state, and fixed himself
in a new township, where a number of families settled. Though not ill
treated, yet the common prejudice against Indians prevented any sympathy
with him. This was shown at the death of his only child, when none of
the people came near him. Shortly afterwards he went to some of the
inhabitants, and said to them. _When white man’s child die—Indian man
be sorry—he help bury him—when my child die—no one speak to me—I make
his grave alone—I cant no live here._—He gave up his farm, _dug up the
body of his child_ and carried it with him two hundred miles through the
forest, to join the Canada Indians. What energy and depth of feeling does
this specimen of Indian character exhibit!




AN INDIAN BEAU.


A young Indian warrior is, notoriously, the most thoroughgoing beau
in the world. Bond-street and Broadway furnish no subjects that will
undergo as much crimping and confinement, to appear in full dress. We are
confident that we have observed such a character constantly occupied with
his paints and his pocket-glass, three full hours, laying on his colours,
and adjusting his tresses, and contemplating, from time to time, with
visible satisfaction, the progress of his growing attractions. When he
has finished, the proud triumph of irresistible charms is in his eye. The
chiefs and warriors, in full dress, have one, two, or three broad clasps
of silver about their arms; generally jewels in their ears, and often
in their noses; and nothing is more common than to see a thin circular
piece of silver, of the size of a dollar, depending from their nose, a
little below the upper lip. Nothing shows more clearly the influence of
fashion. This ornament—so painfully inconvenient, as it evidently is to
them, and so horribly ugly and disfiguring—seems to be the utmost finish
of Indian taste. Porcupine quills, stained of different colours, are
twisted in their hair. Tails of animals hang from their hair behind. A
necklace of bears’ or alligators’ teeth, or claws of the bald eagle,
hangs loosely down; and an interior and smaller circle of large red
beads, or in default of them, a rosary of red hawthorn berries, surrounds
the neck. From the knees to the feet, the legs are decorated with great
numbers of little perforated cylindrical pieces of silver or brass, that
emit a simultaneous tinkle as the person walks. If, to all this, he add
an American hat, and a soldier’s coat, of blue, faced with red, over the
customary calico shirt of the gaudiest colours that can be found, he
lifts his feet high, and steps firmly on the ground, to give his tinklers
a uniform and full sound; and apparently considers his person with as
much complacency as the human bosom can be supposed to feel. This is a
very curtailed view of an Indian beau; but every reader, competent to
judge, will admit its fidelity, as far as it goes, to the description of
a young Indian warrior over the whole Mississippi Valley, when prepared
to take part in a public dance.




AN INDIAN TOAST.


When General Wayne was holding his treaty with the Indians at Greenville,
a young chief sat down at the dinner table, next to the General. This
was not much relished by the _White Chief_; but he did not wish to give
open offence to his _Red Brother_. The cloth being removed, the wine
began to circulate; when Wayne—thinking to confound and abash the young
chief—asked him for a _toast_. This being interpreted and explained to
this son of the forest, he filled his tumbler with wine, and gave ‘_The
Great Spirit_’—and after an impressive pause, pressing his hand on his
breast—he added, “_Because he put it into the heart of man to make such
good liquor!_”




SHREWDNESS.


    “_He that delivereth it unto thee hath the greater sin._”

“I am glad,” said the Rev. Dr. Y⸺s to the chief of the Little Ottowas,
“that you do not drink whiskey. But it grieves me to find that your
people use so much of it.” “Ah, yes,” replied the Indian,—and he fixed an
arch and impressive eye upon the Doctor, which communicated the reproof
before he uttered it—“we Indians _use_ a great deal of whiskey, but we do
not _make_ it.”




LANGUAGE BY SIGNS.


It is pretty well ascertained that there exists among mankind a universal
language of signs, taught by nature herself. Voyagers have always used
these signs among savage and previously undiscovered nations. They are
always understood, and invariably form the basis of intercourse. The
former director of the Hartford Asylum for the Deaf and Dumb, informed
the writer, that all the mutes who came to that institution from
different parts of the country, brought with them signs and motions which
were essentially the same, and which coincided with those used in the
institution. This proves that they are _natural_.

Andrew Ellicott, Esq., commissioned by the United States to determine,
in conjunction with the Commissioners of Spain, a line of demarcation
between the territories of both nations,—related to the writer a curious
trait in the savage character.

On his way down the Mississippi, a number of strange Indians came
into his camp, from the west side of the river. A Mr. Nolin happened
to be there at the time,—well known for his enterprize and skill in
catching wild horses in the Internal Provinces of Spanish America. He
addressed them in such of the languages as he was acquainted with—but
was not understood. He then conversed by certain signs. These were
understood by the Indians, and were answered in like manner. Thus (if the
expression may be allowed) a conversation ensued, in which not a word was
spoken:—“and this,” said Nolin, “is a sort of universal language common
to the Western tribes.”—(_See Major Long’s Expedition._)




LOGAN.


This celebrated Indian chief, who had always been a zealous friend of
the English, and had often distinguished himself in their service, was
taken prisoner, and brought before the General Assembly of Virginia,
who hesitated whether he should be tried by court martial as a soldier,
or at the criminal bar for high treason. Logan stated that they had
no jurisdiction to try him; that he owed no allegiance to the King of
England, being an Indian Chief, independent of every nation. In answer to
their inquiries as to his motives for taking up arms against the English,
he thus addressed the Assembly. “I appeal to any white man, to say if
ever he entered Logan’s cabin hungry, and I gave him not meat; if ever he
came cold or naked, and I gave him not clothing. During the last long and
bloody war, Logan remained idle in his tent, an advocate for peace; nay
such was my love for the whites, that those of my country pointed at me,
as they passed by, and said, ‘Logan is the friend of white men.’ I had
ever thought to live with you but for the injuries of one man. Colonel
Cressap, the last spring, in cold blood, and unprovoked, cut off all the
relations of Logan, not sparing even my women and children. There runs
not a drop of my blood in the veins of any human creature. This called
on me for revenge. I have sought it. I have killed many. I have fully
glutted my vengeance. For my country, I rejoice at the beams of peace.
But do not harbor the thought that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never
felt fear. He will not turn his heel to save his life. Who is there to
mourn for Logan? Not one!”

This pathetic speech touched the sensibility of all who heard it. The
General Assembly applauded his noble sentiments, and immediately set him
at liberty. The inhabitants of Virginia vied with each other who should
entertain him the best, or show him the greatest respect; and he returned
to his native country loaded with presents and honors.




THE INDIAN’S VIEWS OF THE TRINITY.


Elliot had been lecturing on the doctrine of the trinity, when one of
his auditors, after a long and thoughtful pause, thus addressed him. ‘I
believe, Mr. Minister, I understand you. The trinity is just like water
and ice and snow. The water is one, the ice is another, and the snow is
another; and yet they are all one water.’




MORE ROOM.


When General Lincoln went to make peace with the Creek Indians, one of
the chiefs asked him to sit down on a log; he was then desired to move,
and in a few minutes to move still farther; the request was repeated till
the General got to the end of the log. The Indian said, ‘Move farther.’
To which the General replied, ‘I can move no farther.’ ‘Just so it is
with us,’ said the chief; ‘you have moved us back to the water, and then
ask us to move farther.’




INDIAN MENDACITY.


Of all the vices incident to the aborigines of this country, from their
intercourse with the whites, that of lying is, probably, not among the
least. Some years anterior to the independence of the United States,
one Tom Hyde, an Indian famous for his cunning, went into a tavern in
Brookfield, Massachusetts, and after a little chat told the landlord he
had been hunting, and had killed a fine fat deer, and if he would give
him a quart of rum he would tell him where it was. Mine host, unwilling
to let slip so good an opportunity of obtaining venison, immediately
struck the bargain and measured the Indian his quart of rum, at the same
time asking where the deer was to be found. ‘Well,’ says Tom, ‘do you
know where the great meadow is?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Well, do you know the great
marked maple tree that stands in it?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Well, there lies the deer.’
Away posted the landlord with his team, in quest of his purchase. He
found the meadow and the tree, it is true; but all his searching after
the deer was fruitless, and he returned home no heavier than he went,
except in mortification and disappointment. Some days after, mine host
met the Indian, and feeling indignant at the deception practised on him,
accused him in no gentle terms of the trick. Tom heard him out—and, with
the coolness of a stoic, replied—‘Did you not find the meadow, as I
said?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And the tree?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And the deer?’ ‘No.’ ‘Very good,’
continued he, ‘you found _two truths for one lie, which is very well for
an Indian_.’




CANONICUS.


Mr. Drake, in his Book of the Indians, thus mentions Canonicus, the
sachem of the Narragansets:—

He was contemporary with Miantunnomoh, who was his nephew. We know not
the time of his birth, but a son of his was at Boston in 1631, the next
year after it was settled. But the time of his death is minutely recorded
by Governor Winthrop, in his “Journal,” thus: “June 4, 1647, Canonicus,
the great sachem of Narraganset, died, a very old man.” He is generally
supposed to have been about 85 years of age when he died.

He is mentioned with great respect by Rev. Roger Williams, in the year
1654. After observing that many hundreds of the English were witnesses
to the friendly disposition of the Narragansets, he says, “their late
famous long-lived Canonicus so lived and died, and in the same most
honourable manner and solemnity, (in their way,) as you laid to sleep
your prudent peace-maker, Mr. Winthrop, did they honour this their
prudent and peaceable prince; yea, through all their towns and countries
how frequently do many, and oft times our Englishmen, travel alone with
safety and loving kindness?”




ESQUIMAUX INDIANS.


    Captain Ross, in the Journal of his Arctic Expedition,
    gives the following account of his first interview with the
    Esquimaux, in the northern parts of Baffin’s Bay:

“These Esquimaux,” says he, “conceived the _ships to be living and
flying creatures_.” ... “I had been employed, with a good telescope, in
observing their motions, and beheld the first man approach, with every
mark of fear and distrust—looking frequently behind to the other two,
and beckoning them to come on, as if for support. They occasionally
retreated, then advanced again, with cautious steps, in the attitude of
listening; generally keeping one hand down by their knees, in readiness
to pull out a knife, which they had in their boots: in the other hand
they held their whips, with the lash coiled up: their sledges remained
at a little distance—the fourth man being apparently stationed to keep
them in readiness for escape. Sometimes they drew back the covering they
had on their heads, as if wishing to catch the most distant sounds: at
which time I could discern their features, displaying extreme terror and
amazement, while every limb appeared to tremble as they moved.” They were
requested to cross a chasm, which separated them from the interpreter, by
a plank; but “appeared still much alarmed, and requested that Sackhouse
(the interpreter) only should come over. He accordingly passed to the
opposite side, on which they earnestly beseeched him not to touch them,
as, if he did, _they should certainly die_. After he had used many
arguments to persuade them that he was flesh and blood, the native, who
had shown most courage, ventured to touch his hand; then, pulling himself
by the nose, set up a shout, in which he was joined by Sackhouse and
the other three. The presents were then distributed, consisting of two
or three articles of clothing, and a few strings of beads. After which,
Sackhouse exchanged his knife for one of theirs.”

Captain Ross and Lieutenant Parry then went on the ice, and, “by the time
they reached it, the whole were assembled: those who had originally been
left at a distance, with their sledges, having driven up to join their
comrades. The party now, therefore, consisted of eight natives, with all
their sledges, and about fifty dogs, two sailors, Sackhouse, Lieutenant
Parry, and myself—forming a group of no small singularity, not a little
increased, also, by the peculiarity of the situation on a field of ice,
far from the land. The noise and clamour may be easily conceived—the
whole talking and shouting together, and the dogs howling, while the
natives were flogging them with their long whips, to preserve order.
Our arrival produced considerable alarm, causing them to retreat a few
steps towards their sledges. On this, Sackhouse called to us to _pull our
noses_, as he had discovered this to be the mode of friendly salutation
among them. This ceremony was accordingly performed by each of us, the
natives, during their retreat, making use of the same gesture; the nature
of which we had not before understood.” Presents were then made, and, “on
seeing their faces in the glasses, their astonishment appeared extreme,
and they looked round in silence, for a moment, at each other, and at
us. Immediately afterwards, they set up a general shout, succeeded by a
loud laugh, expressive of extreme delight as well as surprise—in which we
joined, partly from inability to avoid it, and willing also to show that
we were pleased with our new acquaintances.” Confidence shortly after
became established, and uncovering of heads was substituted for pulling
of noses—the natives appearing to comprehend the nature of this ceremony
more quickly than the seamen did the other, and probably not considering
it a much more reasonable, although a more inconvenient, testimony
of respect. They were then invited to the ship, to which one of them
thought proper to _address a speech_, “_pausing between every question,
and pulling his nose with the utmost solemnity_.” All the wonder to be
expected was here excited; but the quantity of the wood and iron appeared
to be the chief objects of surprise.

“Their knowledge of wood seemed to be limited to some heath of a dwarfish
growth, with stems no thicker than the finger; and, accordingly, they
knew not what to think of the timber they saw on board. Not being aware
of its weight, two or three of them, successively, seized on the spare
topmast, evidently with the view of carrying it off; and, as soon as they
became familiar with the people around them, they showed that desire
of possessing what they admired, which is so universal among savages.
The only thing they looked upon with contempt, was a little terrier
dog;—judging, no doubt, that it was too small for drawing a sledge. But
they shrunk back, as if in terror, from a pig, whose pricked ears and
ferocious aspect (being of the Shetland breed) presented a somewhat
formidable appearance. This animal happening to grunt, one of them was
so terrified, that he became, from that moment, uneasy, and appeared
impatient to get out of the ship. In carrying his purpose into effect,
however, he did not lose his propensity to thieving, as he seized and
endeavoured to carry off the smith’s anvil: finding that he could not
remove it, he laid hold of the large hammer, threw it on the ice, and
following it himself, deliberately set it on his sledge, and made off.”

[Illustration]




A CHOCTAW COUNCIL.


The conduct of the government of the United States towards the Indian
tribes, however politic it may seem, is certainly not based upon the
Christian precept “to do unto others as we would that they should do
unto us.” All our proceedings towards them have tended to their gradual
extirpation from the land of their birth. Our wars, our treaties, our
purchases of land, our system of intercourse with them, have all the same
end. The following extract will show how well the Indians understand this.

The reader will recollect, that it has become the settled policy of the
United States to remove the several tribes of Indians to a country west
of the Mississippi. In order to discuss and determine on this subject, in
1830 the Choctaw Indians held a council, in which it was resolved to sell
off their lands to the United States, for one million of dollars, and to
remove without the States, provided Government would give to each man a
section of land, in fee simple, west of the Mississippi, and be at the
expense of transporting the tribe to their place of destination, and of
supporting them twelve months after their arrival. The council sat four
days, and the following is a short sketch of their proceedings:—

The National Council was organized in the afternoon of the 15th of
March. This was a juncture of peculiar interest. To see the rulers of
a people, preparing to decide upon a course in which their posterity,
to the latest generation, was deeply affected, could not but produce a
deep and universal solemnity, and this interest was greatly increased
by the bitter tears shed by some of the females present. The voice of
sorrow is always eloquent; but, at such a season, never could the female
voice speak more forcibly the sympathies of our nature. Who could avoid
exclaiming, ‘O, my native country! Land of my fathers, I must leave thee!’

The Chief presented them with a concise view of the difficulties of
their situation, and the alternatives which were before them, and the
sad necessity of immediately making their selection. It was at the
intimation, that a removal was one of the alternatives, that the women
wept.

The Chief was followed by an old Captain in the nation, who, in brief
simplicity, recounted his sufferings as a warrior and captain, in
fighting for his White brothers, under General Jackson. He named several
places where he had fought, and seen the Choctaws bleed and die. At that
time, little did he think that his White brothers would ever make it
necessary for him, in his old age, to leave his country, and the bones of
his father. He would greatly prefer giving up his country, than submit to
laws, the nature of which he could not learn, and among a people, the
wicked part of whom would harass and ruin them. He expressed a belief
that the President would give them a good treaty; and, if he would do so,
aged as he was, he would give his voice to go to their lands west of the
Mississippi—and, moreover, expressed his belief, that the Great Father
above, would go with them, and bless them in their new home.

A Captain of the eastern part of the nation, next came forward. He
appeared many years in advance of the first speaker. His white head,
palsied limbs, and tremulous voice, made him an object of deepest
interest. He was said to have been a warrior under General Wayne. He
recounted some of the scenes of his past life, and the hopes which had
borne him onward in his course;—he touched upon the disappointment that
had clouded his setting sun; but, awakening, as if by supernatural
power, he spoke boldly of his confidence in his GREAT FATHER above, and
expressed his full assurance, that HE would accompany his nation, and
bless them. The discussion continued until a late hour of the fourth day,
when the vote was taken, and found in favour of emigration.

[Illustration: Indians Shooting their Prisoners.]




THE YOUNG INDIAN CHIEF.[4]


This young warrior, of fine size, figure and countenance, is now about
25 years old. At the age of 21 his heroic deeds had acquired for him in
his nation the rank of “bravest of the brave.” The savage practice of
torturing and burning to death their prisoners existed in this nation. An
unfortunate female taken in war, of the Paduca nation, was destined to
this horrible death. The fatal hour had arrived, the trembling victim,
far from her home and her friends, was fastened to the stake; the whole
tribe was assembled on the surrounding plain to witness the awful scene.
Just when the fire was about to be kindled, and the spectators on the
tiptoe of expectation, this young warrior, who sat composedly among the
chiefs, having before prepared two fleet horses, with the necessary
provisions, sprung from his seat, rushed through the crowd, loosed the
victim, seized her in his arms, placed her on one of the horses, mounted
the other himself, and made the utmost speed towards the nation and
friends of the captive. The multitude, dumb and nerveless with amazement
at the daring deed, made no effort to rescue their victim from her
deliverer. They viewed it as an act of the Great Spirit, submitted to it
without a murmur, and quietly returned to their village. The released
captive was accompanied through the wilderness towards her home, till she
was out of danger. He then gave her the horse on which she rode, with the
necessary provisions for the remainder of the journey, and they parted.
On his return to the village, such was the respect entertained for him,
that no inquiry was made into his conduct; no censure was passed on it,
and since the transaction, no human sacrifice has been offered in this or
any other of the Pawnee tribes. Of what influence is one bold act in a
good cause!

On the publication of this anecdote at Washington, the young ladies of
Miss White’s Seminary, in that city, presented that brave and humane
Indian with a handsome silver medal, on which was engraven an appropriate
inscription, accompanied by an address, of which the following is the
close:—“Brother, accept this token of our esteem; always wear it for our
sake; and when you have again the power to save a poor woman from death
and torture, think of this, and of us, and fly to her rescue.”




RED JACKET.


It happened during the Revolutionary war, that a treaty was held with the
Indians, at which La Fayette was present. The object was to unite the
various tribes in amity with America. The majority of the Chiefs were
friendly, but there was much opposition made to it, more especially by a
young warrior, who declared that when an alliance was entered into with
America, he should consider the sun of his country as set forever. In his
travels through the Indian country, when lately in America, it happened
at a large assemblage of Chiefs, that La Fayette referred to the treaty
in question, and turning to Red Jacket, said, “pray tell me if you can,
what has become of that daring youth, who so decidedly opposed all our
propositions for peace and amity? Does he still live—and what is his
condition?” “I, myself, am the man,” replied Red Jacket, “the decided
enemy of the Americans, as long as the hope of opposing them with success
remained but now their true and faithful ally until death.”




INDIAN MODE OF GETTING A WIFE.


An aged Indian, who for many years had spent much of his time among
the white people both in Pennsylvania and New Jersey, one day, about
the year 1770, observed, that the Indians had not only a much easier
way of getting a wife than the whites, but were also more certain of
getting a _good_ one; ‘for’ (said he in his broken English) ‘white man
court—court—may be one whole year!—may be two before he marry!—well!—may
be then get _very good_ wife—but, may be _not_—may be _very_ cross! Well
now, suppose cross! Scold so soon at get awake in the morning! Scold
all day! Scold until sleep!—all one; he must keep _him_! White people
have law forbidding throwing away wife, be _he_ ever so cross! must keep
_him_ always! Well? how does Indian do? Indian when he see industrious
squaw, which he like, he go to _him_, place his two fore-fingers close
aside each other, make two look like one—look squaw in the face—see _him_
smile—which is all one _he_ say, yes! so he take _him_ home—no danger
_he_ be cross! no! no! Squaw know too well what Indian do if _he_ be
cross!—throw _him_ away and take another! Squaw love to eat meat! no
husband! no meat! Squaw do every thing to please husband; he do the same
to please squaw! live happy!’

[Illustration]




SHENANDOH, THE ONEIDA CHIEF.


Although the dignity of a chief is hereditary in his family, generally,
the aristocracy of the Indians is not one of birth merely, nor one of
wealth; but it is an aristocracy of merit. A chief is liable to be
deposed for misconduct; and a brave warrior takes his place on account
of the actions he has performed. Among those who have maintained an
ascendancy among their countrymen by the force of individual merit, none
is more remarkable than Shenandoh, the Oneida chief.

This celebrated chief, whose life measured a century, died in 1816.
He was well known in the wars which occurred while the United States
were British colonies; and, also, in the war of the Revolution—as the
undeviating friend of the Americans.

In his youth he was very savage, and addicted to drunkenness; but, by the
force of reflection, and the benevolent exhortations of a missionary to
the tribe, he lived a reformed man for more than sixty years, and died in
Christian hope.[5]

Shenandoh’s person was tall and muscular but well made—his countenance
was intelligent, and beamed with all the ingenuous dignity of an Indian
Chief. In youth, he was brave and intrepid—in his riper years, one of
the ablest counsellors among the North American tribes. He possessed a
strong and vigorous mind; and, though terrible as the tornado in war—he
was bland and mild as the zephyr in peace. With the cunning of the fox,
the hungry perseverance of the wolf, and the agility of the mountain cat,
he watched and repelled Canadian invasions. His vigilance once preserved
from massacre the inhabitants of the then infant settlements of the
German Flats. His influence brought his tribe to assist the Americans, in
their war of the Revolution. His many friendly actions in their behalf,
gained for him, among the Indian tribes, the appellation of the ‘_White
Man’s Friend_.’

To a friend who called to see him, in his wane (he was then blind), he
thus expressed himself:

“I am an aged hemlock—the winds of a hundred winters have whistled
through my branches—I am dead at the top. The generation to which I
belonged have run away and left me. Why _I_ live, the Great Spirit alone
knows! Pray to my Jesus that I may have patience to wait for my appointed
time to die.”

    ‘Indulge my native land; indulge the tear
      That steals impassioned o’er the nation’s doom:
    To me each twig from Adam’s stock is near,
      And sorrows fall upon an Indian’s tomb.’




INDIAN GRATITUDE AND WIT.


Soon after Litchfield began to be settled by the English, an unknown
Indian came into the inn at dusk, and requested the hostess to furnish
him with food and drink; stating, that he had had no success in hunting,
and could not pay till he had better fortune. The woman refused;
calling him a lazy, drunken, good-for-nothing fellow. A man who sat by,
noticed the Indian as he turned away from the inhospitable place, and
perceiving that he was suffering very severely from want and weariness,
he generously ordered the hostess to furnish him with a good supper,
and call on him for payment. After the Indian had finished his meal,
he thanked his benefactor again and again, and assured him he should
never forget his kindness, and would, if it were ever in his power,
faithfully recompense it. He observed, that he had one more favor to ask;
if the woman was willing, he wished to tell a story. The hostess, whose
good nature had been restored by money, readily consented. The Indian,
addressing his benefactor, said, “I suppose you read the Bible?” The man
assented. “Well, the Bible says, God make the world; and then he took
him, and looked on him, and say ‘all very good.’ Then he made light; and
took him, and looked on him, and say, ‘all very good.’ Then he made land
and water, sun and moon, grass and trees; and he took him, and looked
on him, and say, ‘all very good.’ Then he made beasts, and birds, and
fishes; and he took him, and looked on him, and say, ‘all very good.’
Then he made man; and took him, and looked on him, and say, ‘all very
good.’ Then he made woman; and took him, and looked at him, and——he no
dare say one such word.”

Many years after this, the Indian’s benefactor was taken prisoner by an
Indian scout, and carried into Canada. He was saved from death by one
of the tribe, who asked leave to adopt him in the place of a son, who
had fallen in battle. Through the winter, he experienced the customary
effects of savage hospitality. The following summer as he was at work
in the forest alone, an unknown Indian came to him and appointed a
meeting at a certain place, on a given day. The prisoner consented;
but afterwards, fearing mischief might be intended, he neglected the
engagement. The Indian again sought him, reproved him for his want of
confidence in him, and assured him the meeting would be for his good.
Encouraged by his apparent friendship, the man followed his directions.
He found the Indian provided with muskets, ammunition, and knapsacks.
The Indian ordered him to arm himself and follow him. Their course was
towards the south, and day after day the Englishman followed, without
being able to conjecture the motives of his guide. After a tedious
journey, he arrived at the top of an eminence, commanding a view of a
country somewhat cultivated and populous. “Do you know that country?”
said the Indian, with an arch smile. “Oh, yes! it is Litchfield,” replied
the white man, as he cordially pressed his hand. “Many years ago, you
give weary Indian supper there,” said he. “He promise to pay you, and he
pay you now. Go home, and be happy.”




HEAD WORK.


Colonel Dudley, governor of Massachusetts, in the beginning of the last
century, had a number of workmen employed in building him a house on
his plantation; and one day as he was looking at them, he observed a
stout Indian, who, though the weather was very cold, was a naked as well
as an idle spectator. ‘Hark ye, friend,’ said the governor, ‘why don’t
you work like these men, and get clothes to cover you?’ ‘And why you no
work, governor?’ replied the Indian. ‘I work,’ answered the governor,
putting his finger on his forehead, ‘with my head, and therefore need not
work with my hands.’ ‘Well,’ replied the Indian, ‘and if I would work,
what have you for me to do?’ ‘Go kill me a calf,’ said the governor,
‘and I will give you a shilling.’ The Indian did so. The governor asked
him why he did not skin and dress it. ‘Calf dead, governor—give me my
shilling; give me another,’ said the Indian, ‘and I will skin and dress
it.’ This was complied with. The Indian then went to a tavern with his
two shillings, and soon spending one for rum, returned to the governor,
saying, ‘Your shilling bad, the man no take it.’ The governor believing
him, gave him another; but soon returning in the same manner, with the
second, the governor discerned his roguery; however, he exchanged that
also, reserving his resentment for a proper opportunity. To be prepared
for it, the governor wrote a letter directed to the keeper of Bridewell,
in Boston, requesting him to take the bearer and give him a sound
whipping. This he kept in his pocket, and in the course of a few days the
Indian came again to stare at the workmen; the governor took no notice
of him for some time, but at length taking the letter out of his pocket,
and calling the Indian to him, said, ‘I will give you half a crown if you
will carry this letter to Boston.’ The Indian closed with his proposal,
and set out on his journey. He had not gone far, before he met with
another Indian in the employ of the governor, to whom he gave the letter,
and told him that the governor had sent him to meet him, and to bid him
return with that letter to Boston, as soon as he possibly could.

The poor fellow carried it with great diligence, and received a severe
flogging for his pains; at the news of which, the governor was not a
little astonished on his return. The other Indian came no more; but,
after the lapse of some months, at a meeting with some of his nation, the
governor saw him there among the rest, and asked him how he durst serve
him such a trick? The Indian looking him full in the face, and putting
his forefinger to his forehead, replied, ‘_Head work! governor, head
work!_’




MAGNANIMITY AND DISINTERESTED GENEROSITY: WITH STRIKING TRAITS IN THE
SAVAGE CHARACTER.


The Pawnee Loups (Wolf Pawnees) a tribe of Missouri savages, lately
exhibited the anomaly among the American aborigines of a people addicted
to the superstitious rite of offering human victims, in propitiation of
‘_Venus, the Great Star_.’ The inhuman ceremony was annually performed at
the period immediately preceding their horticultural operations, in order
to insure a bountiful return from the earth:—the neglect of which duty,
it was believed, would occasion a total failure of crops. To obviate,
therefore, a national calamity so formidable, any person was at liberty
to offer up a prisoner, of either sex, whom the fortune of war had placed
in his power.

The devoted individual was clad in the gayest attire, pampered with a
profusion of the choicest food, and constantly attended by the conjurers,
alias priests, who anticipated all his wants—cautiously concealed from
him the real object of their sedulous attentions—and endeavoured to
preserve his mind in a state of cheerful composure:—with the view of
promoting obesity, and thus rendering the sacrifice more acceptable to
their Ceres.

When the victim was sufficiently fattened, a day was appointed for the
sacrifice, that all might attend the celebration. In the presence of
the assembled multitude, he was bound to a cross; a solemn dance was
performed; and, after certain ceremonies, the warrior who had captured
him, cleft his head with a tomahawk; and, at the same moment, numerous
arrows were discharged at the body.

It appears, this barbarous rite has lately been abolished. _Latelesha_,
or Knife Chief, principal of the nation, having long regarded this
sacrifice as cruel and unnecessary, had vainly endeavoured to wean his
countrymen from the observance of it. At length an Iotan woman, brought
captive into the village, was doomed to the Great Star. Having undergone
the necessary treatment, she was bound to the cross. At this critical
juncture, _Petalesharoo_, son of _Latelesha_, stepped forward, and
declared, that it was his father’s wish to abolish a custom so inhuman;
that, for his part, he was determined to release the victim, at the risk
of his life. He now cut the cords that bound her, carried her swiftly
through the crowd, and placed her on a horse; mounted another himself,
and conveyed her beyond the reach of pursuit.

Notwithstanding the success of this enterprise, it was reserved for
another display of the firmness of this young warrior, to abolish the
sanguinary sacrifice—we hope for ever. The succeeding spring, a Spanish
boy was captured, and confided, by the warrior who took him, to the
priests, to undergo the usual preparation for sacrifice. The Knife Chief
consulted with his son how to avoid the repetition of the horrible rite.
“_I_ will rescue the boy,” said _Petalesharoo_, “as a warrior ought—by
force.” But the father, unwilling that his son should again expose
himself to imminent danger, devised other means for rescuing the devoted
victim:—that is, by ransom. For this purpose he repaired to a Mr. Pappon,
then trading in the village, who generously contributed a quantity of
merchandize. Other contributions were added by the Knife Chief himself,
and by Petalesharoo, and other Indians. The whole was laid up in a heap,
in the Chieftain’s lodge, and the warrior was summoned to attend.

Latelesha, armed with his war-club, commanded the warrior to accept of
the merchandize, as a ransom for the boy, or prepare for instant death.
The warrior refused to comply: the chief flourished his club in the air.
“Strike!” said Petalesharoo, “I will meet the vengeance of his friends.”
But the more politic Chief preferred adding to the mass of merchandize
a few more articles, in order to give the warrior another opportunity
of complying, without breaking his word. The expedient succeeded. The
goods were reluctantly accepted; the boy was liberated, and afterwards
conducted to St. Louis by the traders. The merchandize was sacrificed in
his place: the cloth was cut in shreds, and suspended on poles, and many
of the valuables were consumed by fire, to appease and propitiate the
Indian Ceres.

[Illustration]




TECUMSEH, WHEN A YOUTH.


Tecumseh was one of the most remarkable men that has ever figured in
our aboriginal history. He gained an ascendancy over the minds of his
countrymen entirely by the commanding force of his character, and the
persuasive power of his eloquence. These instruments enabled him to
produce a degree of union and combination among the North-western tribes,
by no means less remarkable than the confederacies which signalized the
times of king Philip and of Pontiac. His brother, the prophet, was a
pusillanimous driveller, compared with Tecumseh; and exerted all his
influence by addressing the superstitious fears of his countrymen;
whereas the great warrior addressed himself to the higher principles of
their nature, and made successful appeals to their reason, and even to
their humanity. Of the last we have a signal example in his arresting the
massacre of the American prisoners at Fort Meigs.

It has somewhere been observed, that “every circumstance relating to
this extraordinary man will be read with interest.” We believe it, and
therefore proceed with the following account, which appeared in a western
periodical of 1826.

“About thirty years ago (as the writer received the narrative from
Captain Thomas Bryan, of Kentucky) the said Bryan was employed as a
surveyor of the Virginia Military Lands, northwest of the Ohio river.
While engaged in completing a chain of surveys, extending from the head
waters of Brush Creek to those of Paint Creek (now the central part of
the State of Ohio), his provisions became scant, and at length entirely
exhausted. He directed his hunter—who had been unsuccessful on a recent
excursion—to make another attempt to procure subsistence, and to meet him
at a particular point then designated; where, after closing the labour of
the day, he should encamp with his chain-men and marker.

“Towards evening, the men became exhausted with hunger. They were in the
heart of a solitary wilderness, and every circumstance was calculated to
produce the greatest dejection of spirit. After making great exertions to
reach the point designated, where they were to encamp upon their arrival,
they met their hunter, who had been again unsuccessful. Feeling for
himself and his comrades every emotion of a noble heart, he was alarmed
for their situation. The hunter declared he had used every exertion in
pursuit of game, but all his attempts were of no avail; that the whole
forest appeared to him to be entirely destitute both of birds and beasts!
Under these awful apprehensions of starvation, he knew that it would be
a vain attempt to reach the settlement;—he trembled, and shed tears.
Captain Bryan, at this critical juncture, felt his spirits roused at the
reflection of their desperate situation; he thrust his jacob-staff in
the earth, and ordered his men to prepare a camp, and make a good fire;
he seizes the gun and ammunition of the unsuccessful hunter, and darted
forth in pursuit of game. The weather had become exceedingly cold, for
it was in the depth of winter—every rivulet was bound in ice. He had not
proceeded far before he was gratified with the cheering sight of three
elks, making towards him. He succeeded in killing two, and, shortly
after, a bear. He now called for his men, and ordered his game to be
carried to the camp. No one, but those similarly situated, can conceive
the feelings excited on such an occasion.

“But, perilous as the situation of the surveyor and his party might
appear, there were others who were threatened with the like appalling
distress. Three or four Indians, who had been out on a hunting excursion,
hearing the report of Captain Bryan’s gun, made immediately in that
direction, and had arrived at the camp before Bryan returned. On his
appearance there, they informed him, as well as they could (some of
them speaking a little English), of their wretched situation. They told
him that, for three days, their whole party had subsisted on one skunk,
and that was exhausted. They described the absence of the game, in the
language of the hunter, as if “the whole forest was entirely destitute
both of _birds_ and _beasts_.” They were informed by Captain Bryan,
that he had plenty for himself, his men, and themselves; desired them
to fix their camp, make a good fire, and assist his men in flaying the
bear and elks, which were now brought into camp—and then to cut, carve,
and cook for themselves. Their very looks were expressive of the joy
they now felt for a deliverance so unexpected—nor did they spare the
provisions. Their hunger was such, that, as soon as one round was served,
another—another—and another, in succession—was greedily devoured.

“A fine-looking, tall, dignified savage, then approached the surveyor’s
camp—rather young in appearance than otherwise. He very gracefully
stepped up to Captain Bryan (who was now reposing in his camp, on account
of rheumatism, occasioned by his recent exposure), and informed him, that
the old man in his camp was a Chief; that he felt under great obligations
to the Great and Good Spirit for so signal an interposition in their
favour; that he was about to make a prayer, and address the Good Spirit,
and thank him: that it was the custom, on such occasions, for the Indians
to stand up in their camp; and that his Chief requested the captain and
his men, to conform, in like manner, by standing up in _their_ camp. The
captain replied, that his men would all conform, and order should be
preserved; but, as for himself, his affliction would compel him to keep
his seat—but this must not be construed into disrespect. The captain
remarked to me, that he was not himself a religious character, though a
man of feeling.

“The old Chief raised himself upon his feet, as did those around him;
and, lifting up his hands, commenced his prayer and thanksgiving with
an audible voice. And such an address to Deity, on such an occasion—as
far as I could understand him—I never before heard flow from mortal lips!
The tone—the modulation of his voice—the gestures—all corresponded to
make a very deep impression upon us. In the course of his thanksgiving—as
I gathered from the Indians—he recapitulated the doleful situation in
which they were so recently placed—the awful horrors of starvation,
with which they were threatened—the vain attempts they had made to
procure food, until He, the Great and Good Spirit, had sent that good
White man, and had crowned his exertions with success; and so directed
him and them to meet, and to find plenty.” Who can fully describe the
abundant overflowings of a grateful heart? He continued in this vehement
strain for about half an hour, “when,” remarked Captain B., “my own men
reflecting on their own recent situation, retrospecting what had taken
place, and beholding the pious gratitude of a ‘Child of the Forest,’
feeling the same sensations, they were melted into tenderness—if not into
tears.”

The person who so gracefully addressed Captain Bryan, in behalf of his
Chief, was TECUMSEH.




INDIAN LOGIC.[6]


A few years since, whilst the mistaken zeal of many good men, led them to
think that their red brethren of the forest might be Christianized before
they were civilized,—a missionary was sent out among them to convert
them to the Christian faith. The missionary was unfortunately one of
those preachers who delight in speculative and abstruse doctrines, and
who teach the inefficacy of all human exertions in obtaining salvation.
He called the Indians together to hear what he called the Gospel. The
Sachem or Chief of the tribe to which he was sent, came with the rest.
The missionary in the course of his sermon, (which was upon the very
simple and intelligible doctrine of _election_) undertook to prove, that
some were made to be saved, and some to be damned, without any regard
to their good or bad conduct. As an illustration of his doctrine, he
cited the case of Jacob and Esau, and attempted to show that God loved
the one and hated the other before either of them was born. The Sachem
heard him attentively, and after meeting invited him to his wigwam.
After some conversation, the Sachem thus addressed the Missionary.
“Sir, me tell you a story: My wife have two boys, twins; both of them
as pretty as the two you tell me about to-day. One of them she love and
feed him; the other she let lie on the ground crying. I tell her take
him up, or he die. She no mind me. Pretty soon he die. Now what shall
I do to her?”—Why, said the Missionary, she ought to be hung!—“Well,”
said the Sachem, “then you go home and hang your God, for you say he do
just so. You no preach any more here, unless you preach more good than
this.” The Missionary finding himself amongst a people too enlightened to
give credence to his narrow and heart-revolting principles, thought it
expedient to seek a new field of labor.




THE INDIAN AND THE DUTCH CLERGYMAN.


A Dutch clergyman in the then province of New York, 1745, asked an
Indian, whom he had baptized, whether he had been in Shekomeko, and had
heard the Moravian missionary preach, and how he liked him? The Indian
answered, ‘That he had been there, and had attended to the missionary’s
words, and liked to hear them; that he would rather hear the missionary
than him, for when the former spoke, it was as though his words laid hold
of his heart, and a voice within said, ‘that is truth;’ but that _he_ was
always playing about the truth, and never came to the point. That he had
no love for their souls, for when he had once baptized them, he let them
run wild, never troubling himself any further about them. That he acted
much worse than one who planted Indian corn; for, added he, ‘the planter
sometimes goes to see whether his corn grows or not.’




“INDIAN, WHO IS YOUR CAPTAIN?”


An English captain, in the year 1759, who was beating up for recruits in
the neighbourhood of Bethlehem, met one day a Moravian Indian, and asked
him whether ‘he had a mind to be a soldier.’ ‘No,’ answered he, ‘I am
already engaged.’ ‘Who is your captain?’ asked the officer. ‘I have a
very brave and excellent captain,’ replied the Indian, ‘his name is Jesus
Christ; Him will I serve as long as I live: my life is at his disposal;’
upon which the British officer suffered him to pass unmolested.




INDIAN BON MOT.


One of the Moravian Indians who had been baptized by the name of
Jonathan, meeting some white people, who had entered into so violent a
dispute about baptism and the holy communion, that they at last proceeded
to blows—‘These people,’ said he, ‘know nothing of our Saviour; for they
speak of Him as we do of a strange country.’




INDIAN FIDELITY.


Some time after the commencement of the Revolutionary war, when the
northern Indians were beginning to make inroads on the people living
on the east side of the Ohio river, General O’Hara having come out to
the upper Moravian town, on the Muskingum, on business and there taken
lodging with a respectable and decent family of Indians in the village—I
had one evening scarcely laid down to sleep when I was suddenly roused
from my bed by an Indian runner, (or messenger) who in the night had been
sent to me, 9 miles, with the following verbal message: “My friend, see
that our friend O’Hara, now at your town, be immediately taken off to the
settlement of white people, avoiding all paths leading to that river.
Fail not in taking my advice, for there is no time to lose—and hear my
son further on the subject.”

The fact was, that eleven warriors from Sandusky, were far advanced on
their way to take or murder O’Hara; who at break of day would be at this
place for the purpose. I immediately sent for this gentleman, and told
him that I would furnish him with a conductor, on whom he might depend,
and having sent for Anthony, (otherwise called Luke Holland) informed him
of the circumstance and requested his services; he (the Indian) wished
first to know, whether my friend placed _confidence_ in him, and trusted
to his fidelity; which question being answered by O’Hara himself, and to
his full satisfaction; he replied,’well, our lives cannot be separated!
we must stand or fall together! but take courage, for no enemy shall
discover us!’

The Indian then took Mr. O’Hara through the woods, and arriving within
a short distance of the Ohio river, pointed out to him a hiding place,
until he, by strolling up and down the river, should discover white
people on the opposite shore; when finally observing a house where two
white men were cleaning out a canoe for use, he hurried back to bring on
his friend, who, when near the spot, advised his Indian conductor to hide
himself, knowing those people to be bad men, he feared they might kill
him, for his services. The Indian finally seeing his friend safe across
the river, returned and made report thereof.

The young Indian, who had been the bearer of the message from his father
to me, had immediately returned on seeing O’Hara off, in order to play a
further deception on the war party, for the purpose of preventing them
even from going to our town, fearing, that if there, and not finding
their object, they might probably hunt for his track, and finding this,
pursue him. He indeed effected his purpose so completely, that while they
were looking for him in one direction, his conductor was taking him off
in another.

[Illustration: Indian Friendship.]

The father of the young lad, who was the principal cause that O’Hara’s
life had been saved, had long been admired by all who knew him for his
_philanthropy_; on account of which the traders had given him the name
of “_the gentleman_.” Otherwise this Indian was not in connection with
the Christian Indian Society, though a friend to them. He lived with his
family retired and in a decent manner.

While I feel a delight in offering to the relatives and friends of the
deceased, as also to the public, this _true_ and _faithful_ picture of
Indian _fidelity_—I regret that, on necessarily having had to recur
to the names ‘Anthony’ and ‘Luke Holland,’ I am drawn from scenes of
pleasure, to crimes of the _blackest hue_. The very Indian just named,
who at that time joyfully reported to me his having conducted his friend
out of danger, to a place of safety, some years after approached me with
the doleful news that every one of his children, (all minors) together
with his hoary headed parents, _had been murdered by the white people_,
at Gradenhutten, on the Muskingum.

                                                        JOHN HECKELWELDER.




INDIAN HOSPITALITY.


I can give, says Colden, in his history of the five Indian Nations, two
strong instances of the hospitality of the Mohawks, which fell under my
own observation; and which will show, that they have the very same notion
of hospitality which we find in the ancient poets. When I was last in the
Mohawk’s country, the sachems told me that they had an Englishman among
their people, a servant who had run away from his master in New York. I
immediately told them they must deliver him up. ‘No,’ they answered, ‘we
never serve any man so, who puts himself under our protection.’ On this
I insisted on the injury they did thereby to his master: they allowed it
might be an injury, and replied, ‘Though we will never deliver him up,
we are willing to pay the value of the servant to the master.’ Another
man made his escape from the jail in Albany, where he was in prison on
an execution of debt: the Mohawks received him, and, as they protected
him against the sheriff and officers they not only paid the debt for him,
but gave him land over and above, sufficient for a good farm, whereon he
lived when I was last there.




KINDNESS OF AN INDIAN HUSBAND.


There was a famine in the land, and a sick Indian woman expressed a great
desire for a mess of Indian corn. Her husband having heard that a trader
at Lower Sandusky had a little, set off on horseback for that place, one
hundred miles distant, and returned with as much corn as filled the crown
of his hat, for which he gave his horse in exchange, and came home on
foot, bringing his saddle back with him.




INDIAN RECORDS.


At certain seasons the Indians meet to study the meaning, and renew their
ideas of their strings and belts of wampum. On such occasions, they sit
down around the place in which they are deposited, and taking out a
string or belt, one after another, hand them to every person present;
and in order that they may all comprehend its meaning, repeat the words
pronounced on the delivery, in their whole connexion. By these means
they are enabled to remember the promises reciprocally made; and, as
they admit young boys who are related to the chiefs, they become early
acquainted with all their national concerns; and thus the contents of
their wampum documents are transmitted to their posterity. The following
instance may serve to show how well this mode of communication answers
the purpose of refreshing the memory:—A gentleman in Philadelphia, once
gave an Indian a string of wampum, saying, ‘I am your friend, and will
serve you to the utmost of my power.’ Forty years after, the Indian
returned the string, adding, ‘Brother, you gave me this string of wampum,
saying, I am your friend, and will serve you to the utmost of my power.’
‘I am now aged, infirm, and poor; do now as you promised.’ The gentleman
honourably redeemed his promise, and generously assisted the old Indian.




BURNING OF BROOKFIELD.


It has been remarked, that the history of every incursion of the Indians
into the territory of the whites may be written in the words _surprise_,
_massacre_, _plunder_ and _retreat_. They fall upon the defenceless
village in the dead of night, “as falls the plague on men,” or as the
lightning falls on the forest. No vigilance seems to have been sufficient
effectually to guard against these attacks, and no prudence or foresight
could avert them. The Indians made their approaches to the isolated
villages by creeping cautiously through the surrounding woods in the
dead of night. The outposts were seized, and the sentinels silently
tomahawked, ere the war-whoop roused the sleeping families from their
beds.

During the early settlements of New England, the inhabitants suffered
much from the incursions of the Indians. The most celebrated war,
perhaps, which ever took place with the natives, however, was King
Philip’s war. During its continuance, the town of Brookfield,
Massachusetts, was attacked. The inhabitants collected in one house which
was immediately besieged by the savages, who set fire instantly to every
other building in the town. For two days and nights the Indians shot upon
the people in the house incessantly, but were met with a most determined
defence on the part of the besieged. They then attempted to fire the
house by flaming torches at the ends of long poles; but the garrison
continued to defend themselves by firing from the windows, and throwing
water upon the flames, as they fortunately had a pump within the house.
These attempts failing, the Indians then prepared a cart loaded with
flax, hemp, and other combustible matters, and under cover of a barricade
of boards, thrust the burning mass, by means of long timbers, against
the house. In this movement one of the wheels came off, which turned
the machine aside, and exposed the Indians to the fire of the garrison;
a shower of rain coming on at the same time extinguished the flames.
Shortly afterwards a reinforcement of forty men arrived from Boston,
forced their way through the enemy, and joined the garrison. The Indians
then abandoned the siege and retired, having suffered a heavy loss.




THE HEROIC COLLAPISSA.


In the heart of the savage, there are some noble and redeeming qualities;
he can be faithful, even unto death, to the friend or the stranger who
has dwelt beneath his roof, or sat under the shadow of the same tree. He
can be generous also; can endure all tortures, rather than show weakness
or fear.

“An instance of this occurred,” says Bossu, “when the French were in
possession of New Orleans: a Chactaw, speaking very ill of them, said
the Collapissas were their slaves; one of the latter, vexed at such
words, killed him with his gun. The nation of Chactaws, the greatest and
most numerous on the continent, armed immediately, and sent deputies to
New Orleans to ask for the head of the murderer, who had put himself
under the protection of the French. They offered presents to make up the
quarrel, but the cruel people would not accept any! they even threatened
to destroy the village of the Collapissas. To prevent the effusion of
blood, the unhappy Indian was delivered up to them: the Sieur Ferrand
was charged with the commission. The Indian was called Tichou; he stood
upright in the midst of his own people and of his enemies, and said,
“I am a true man, that is, I do not fear death; but I pity the fate of
a wife and four children, whom I leave behind me very young; and of
my father and mother, who are old, and for whom I got subsistence by
hunting.” (He was the best hunter in the nation.)

He had hardly spoken the last word of this short speech, when his father,
penetrated with his son’s love, rose amidst the people, and spoke as
follows:—

“It is through courage that my son dies; but, being young and full of
vigour, he is more fit than myself to provide for his mother, wife, and
four little children: it is therefore necessary he should stay on earth
to take care of them. As to myself, I am near the end of my career; I am
no longer fit for anything: I cannot go like the roebuck, whose course
is like the winds, unseen; I cannot sleep like the hare, with my ears
never shut; but I have lived as a man, and will die as such, therefore I
go to take his place.”

At these words, his wife, his son, his daughter-in-law, and their little
children, shed tears round the brave old man: he embraced them for the
last time. The relations of the dead Chactaw accepted the offer; after
that, he laid himself on the trunk of a tree, and his head was cut off
with one stroke of a hatchet. Every thing was made up by this death; but
the young man was obliged to give them his father’s head: in taking it
up, he said to it, “Pardon me thy death, and remember me in the country
of spirits.”

All the French who assisted at this event were moved even to tears, and
admired this noble old man. A people among whom such things could be
done, hardly deserved the sweeping censures of Mather and other good
men, who painted them rather as fiends in human shape. Courage is, of
course, the virtue held in most honour: those who run away or desert in
an action are not punished, they are considered as the disgrace of human
nature: the ugliest girls will not accept of them for husbands: they are
obliged to let their hair grow, and to wear an alcoman, or apron, like
the women. “I saw one of them,” says Bossu, who dwelt a long time among
the Indians “who, being ashamed of his figure, went by himself to fight
the Chicachas, for his misery was more than he could bear: for three or
four days he went on creeping like a snake, and hiding himself in the
great grass, without eating or drinking; so he came to their country, and
watched a long time to do some exploit; often lying down in the rushes,
when his enemies came near, and putting out his head above the water
from time to time, to take breath. At last he drew near a village in the
night, cried the cry of death, killed one of the people, and then fled
with the speed of an arrow. He was out three months upon this expedition:
when he drew nigh to his own village, weary, and bearing the head of his
enemy, they came down the hill to meet him. The women were loud in his
praises—the warriors gathered round him; and then they gave him a wife.”




JOHN ELIOT’S FIRST MISSION TO THE INDIANS.


On the 28th of October, 1646, Eliot set out from his home, in Roxbury,
Massachusetts, in company with three friends, to the nearest Indian
settlement: he had previously sent to give this tribe notice of his
coming, and a very large number was collected from all quarters. If
the savages expected the coming of their guest, of whose name they had
often heard, to be like that of a warrior or sachem, they were greatly
deceived. They saw Eliot on foot, drawing near, with his companions;
his translation of the scriptures, like a calumet of peace and love, in
his hand. He was met by their chief, Waubon who conducted him to a large
wigwam. After a short rest, Eliot went into the open air and standing on
a grassy mound, while the people formed around him in all the stillness
of strong surprise and curiosity, he prayed in the English tongue, as if
he could not address heaven in a language both strange and new. And then
he preached for an hour in their own tongue, and gave a clear and simple
account of the religion of Christ, of his character and life, of the
blessed state of those who believed in him.

Of what avail would it have been to set before this listening people
the terrors of the Almighty, and the doom of the guilty? This wise man
knew, by long experience as a minister, that the heart loves better to
be persuaded than terrified—to be melted than alarmed. The whole career
of the Indian’s life tended to freeze up the finer and softer feelings,
and make the more dark and painful passions familiar to him. He resolved
to strike a new chord, and when he saw the tear stream down their stern
faces, and the haughty head sink low on the breast, as he painted the
ineffable love of Christ, he said it was “a glorious and affecting
spectacle to see a company of perishing forlorn outcasts, so drinking
in the word of salvation.” The impressions this discourse produced,
were of a very favourable nature: as far as the chief, Waubon, was
concerned, they were never effaced. Afterwards the guest passed several
hours conversing with the Indians, and answering their questions. When
night came, he returned to the tent with the chief, and the people
entered their wigwams, or lay down around, and slept on the grass. What
were Eliot’s feelings on this night? At last, the longing of years was
accomplished; the fruit of his prayers was given to him.

“Could the walls of his loved study speak,” says his friend, “they would
tell of the entreaties poured forth before the Lord, of the days and
nights set apart with fasting—that thus, thus it might be.” A few of the
chiefs’ friends alone remained, after the people were retired. One of the
Christians perceived an Indian, who was hanging down his head, weeping;
the former went to him, and spoke encouraging words, after which he
turned his face to the wall, and wept yet more abundantly: soon after,
he rose and went out. “When they told me of his tears,” said Eliot, “we
resolved to go forth, and follow him into the wood, and speak to him.
The proud Indian’s spirit was quite broken: at last we parted, greatly
rejoicing for such sorrowing.”

He now resolved to continue his labours; but, on the 26th of November,
when he met the assembly of the Indians for the third time, he found
that, though many of them had constructed wigwams at the place of
meeting, for the more readily attending his ministry, his audience was
not so numerous as on the former occasions. The Powahs (or soothsayers)
had strictly charged the people not to listen to the instructions of the
English, and threatened them with death in case of disobedience. Having
warned his auditors against the impositions of these men, he proceeded to
discourse as formerly, and was heard with the greatest attention. “It is
wonderful,” observed one of his friends, “to see what a little light will
effect, even upon hearts and spirits most incapable.”

On the night after this third meeting, many were gathered in the tent,
looking earnestly at Eliot, with the solemn gravity and stillness which
these savages affected; when the chief, Waubon, suddenly rose, and began
to instruct all the company out of the things he had heard that day from
Eliot, with the wild and impressive eloquence of the desert. And waking
often that night, he many times was heard speaking to some or other of
his people, of the words of truth and mercy that he had heard.

Two or three days after these impressions had been made, Eliot saw that
they were likely to be attended with permanent consequences. Wampas,
an intelligent Indian, came with two of his companions to the English,
and desired to be admitted into their families. He brought his son, and
several other children with him, and begged that they might be educated
in the Christian faith: the example quickly spread and all the Indians
who were present at the fourth meeting, on the 9th of December, offered
their children to be instructed.

The missionary was himself surprised at the success of his first efforts,
as well as at his facility of preaching and conversing in the Indian
tongue; it was the reward of his long and patient application. “To think
of raising,” says Mather, “these hideous creatures unto the elevations
of our holy religion, must argue a more than common or little soul
in the undertaker: could he see any thing angelical to encourage his
labours?—all was diabolical among them.”

Eliot saw that they must be civilized ere they could be christianized;
that he must make men of them, ere he could hope to see them saints. It
is, no doubt, far easier and more flattering to the soul of the agent, to
see men weep and tremble beneath his word, than to teach them to build,
to plant, to rear the walls and the roof-tree, and sit at their own
hearth-side: this is slow and painful work for a man of lofty mind and
glowing enthusiasm. But in his own words, “he abhorred that he should sit
still, and let that work alone;” and lost no time in addressing himself
to the General Court of the colony, in behalf of those who showed a
willingness to be placed under his care. His application was successful;
and the Indians, having received a grant of land on which they might
build a town, and enjoy the Christian instruction which they desired, met
together, and gave their assent to several laws which he had framed, to
enforce industry and decency—to secure personal and domestic comfort.

The ground of the town having been marked out, Eliot advised the Indians
to surround it with ditches and a stone wall; gave them instruments
to aid these objects, and such rewards, in money, as induced them to
work hard. It was a strange and novel thing to see these men of the
wilderness, to whom a few months previous all restraint was slavery,
and their lakes and forests dearer than the palaces of kings, submit
cheerfully to this drudgery of bricks and mortar—chief as well as serf;
the very hands that were lately red with slaughter, scooping the earth
at the bidding of Eliot, from morn to night. He soon had the pleasure of
seeing Nonanetum completed.

The progress of civilization which followed, was remarkable for its
extent and rapidity: the women were taught to spin, and they soon found
something to send to the nearest markets all the year round: in winter
they sold staves, baskets, and poultry; in spring and summer fish,
grapes, strawberries, &c.

In the mean while, he instructed the men in husbandry, and the more
simple mechanical arts: in hay-time and harvest, he went forth into the
fields with them. All this was not done in a day, for they were neither
so industrious nor so capable of hard labour as those who had been
accustomed to it from early life.




AN INDIAN FUNERAL AT NONANETUM.


At a funeral, on the 7th of October, 1647, a change in the usages and
prejudices of the Indians was evinced in a striking manner. The deceased
was a man of some consequence. Their custom had been to mourn much for
the dead, and to appear overcome with grief, especially when the earth
shrouded them from their sight. The departed was borne to the grave on
a light bier, and interred in a sitting posture; in his hand was placed
a calumet and some tobacco, that he might present the ensigns of peace
to the people of another world. If the corpse was that of a warrior, his
quiver full of arrows, a bow, and a hatchet, were placed by his side,
and also a little mirror, that he might see how his face looked after
passing through the region of death; and a little vermilion to take
away its extreme paleness. His was a bold hand that could at once tear
aside these loved usages, and make the dust of the warrior of no more
consequence than that of the meanest of his followers. The cemetery of
the new town was in the woods, and the procession of all the inhabitants
moved slowly beneath their shadow, in deep and solemn silence, with the
missionary at their head: no wail was heard—no wild gush of sorrow. To
estimate this sacrifice, it is necessary to recur to the Indian belief,
“that after death they should go to a very fertile country, where they
were to have many wives, and, above all, lovely places for hunting:”
often, no doubt, the shadowy chase of the bear and the stag came on the
dreams of the dying man; and afterwards, beautiful women would welcome
him, weary to his home. When the dead was laid in the grave, Eliot read
the funeral service over him, and then told the many people, that in
heaven they neither married nor were given in marriage; that the passions
of this world, the wild chase or the warrior’s joy, could never come
there; _there_ was neither chieftain nor slave; that in the love of
Christ, who was the resurrection and the life, all these things would be
lost. And they believed him—those fierce and brutal men—and wept, not
for the dead, but for themselves; “so that the woods,” says a gentleman
who was present, “rang with their sighs and prayers;” he also adds these
words,—“God was with Eliot, and the sword of his word will pierce deep,
in the hand of the mighty.” His opinion of the mental powers of this
people was not a very low one:—“There is need,” he says, in one of his
letters, “of learning, in ministers who preach to Indians, much more than
to Englishmen and gracious Christians; for these had sundry philosophical
questions, which some knowledge of the arts must help to give answer to,
and without which they would not have been satisfied. Worse than Indian
ignorance hath blinded their eyes, that renounce learning as an enemy
to gospel ministers”. So acute were many of the questions proposed by
the Indians, and so deeply expressive of a gentler and better nature,
that more than one educated stranger was induced to attend regularly the
assemblies of the missionary.




LOVEWELL’S FIGHT.


Captain John Lovewell, of Dunstable, raised a volunteer company and
met with great success. At one time he fell in with an Indian trail
and pursued it till he discovered them asleep on the bank of a pond.
They were all killed, and their scalps, stretched upon hoops, served to
decorate their triumphal return. They, of course, received the bounty,
which amounted to ten pounds.

(1725.) Lovewell, having augmented his company to 46 men, again set out
with the intention of attacking an Indian town on the Saco. They built a
fort on the Great Ossapy pond, and then proceeded, leaving one of their
number sick, and eight men to guard the fort.

When about 22 miles from the fort they rested on the banks of a pond,
where they discovered a single Indian at a distance, on a point of land,
and rightly judging that he was attached to a large party of Indians,
Lovewell determined to advance and attack them. Accordingly the whole
company threw off their packs in one place among the brakes; and, to
gain the advantage, the men were spread so as partially to surround the
water. Lovewell had, however, mistaken the position of the Indians, who
were already on his track, and coming to the place where the packs were
deposited, by counting them discovered the number of English to be less
than their own. They, therefore marched to assault the English in the
rear, and actually hemmed them in between the mouth of a brook, a rocky
point, a deep bog, and the pond. The company, completely surrounded,
fought desperately till nightfall, when the Indians, tired of the
conflict, moved off. The number of killed and wounded amounted to 23,
Lovewell being among the former. The remainder of the party returned to
the fort which had been deserted, in consequence of the arrival of one
of Lovewell’s men who fled at the beginning of the fight, and reported
all the rest killed. After resting, they started for home, where they
arrived, to the great joy of their friends, after enduring the severest
hardships. The survivors were liberally compensated, and the widows and
families of the slain were provided for by the government of the province.




COTTON MATHER’S ACCOUNT OF THE INDIANS OF HIS TIME.


“These shiftless Indians,” says Mather, “their housing is nothing but a
few mats tied about poles fastened into the earth, where a good fire is
their bed-clothes in the coldest season: their diet has not a greater
dainty; a handful of meal and a spoonful of water being their food for
many days; for they depend on the produce of their hunting and fishing,
and badly cultivated grounds: thus they are subject to long fastings.
They have a cure for some diseases, even a little cave: after they have
terribly heated it, a crew of them go and sit there with the priest,
looking in the heat and smoke like so many fiends, and then they rush
forth on a sudden, and plunge into the water: how they escape death,
instead of getting cured, is marvellous; they are so slothful, that their
poor wives must plant, and build, and beat their corn. All the religion
they have is a belief in many gods, who made the different nations of the
world, but chiefly in one great one of the name of Kicktan, who dwelt in
the south-west regions of the heavens, who created the original parents
of mankind, who, though never seen by the eye of man, was entitled to
their gratitude, that we have in us immortal souls, which, if good,
should go to a splendid entertainment with Kicktan; but, otherwise, must
wander about in a restless horror for ever.”




THE VALIANT OLD MOHAWK.


(1696.) On one occasion, when Count Frontignac succeeded in capturing a
Mohawk fort, it was found deserted of all its inhabitants except a sachem
in extreme old age, who sat with the composure of an ancient Roman in
his capitol, and saluted his civilized compeer in age and infirmity, with
dignified courtesy and venerable address. Every hand was instantly raised
to wound and deface his time-stricken frame and while French and Indian
knives were plunged into his body, he recommended to his Indian enemies
rather to burn him with fire, that he might teach their French allies how
to suffer like men. “Never, perhaps,” says Charlevoix, “was a man treated
with more cruelty; nor ever did any endure it with superior magnanimity
and resolution.”




OPECHANCANOUGH’S LAST WAR.


Opechancanough was by no means backward in taking advantage of the
repose afforded by the treaty of 1632. For the long period which
elapsed between its conclusion and his final effort, in 1644, he
was industriously occupied in making preparations for a renewal of
hostilities. An opportunity at length presented itself for executing his
long-cherished purpose. The colony was involved in intestine dissensions.
An insurrection had taken place in consequence of the unpopularity of the
governor, and at a moment when the people were occupied with internal
disorders and heedless of danger from without, their great enemy struck a
powerful and almost fatal blow.

He was now advanced to extreme old age, being supposed to have numbered
nearly a hundred years, but the powers of his mind were still so
vigorous, that he was the leading spirit of a confederacy embracing
all the Indian tribes distributed over a space of country six hundred
miles in extent. Unable to walk, he was borne in a litter to the scene
of action (April 18th, 1644,) and thus led his warriors to the attack.
Such was the skill with which his measures had been concerted that the
whole force of the Indians commenced their operations upon the entire
line of the frontier at the same instant of time, with the intention of
carrying a war of extermination down to the sea, and thus annihilating
the colony at a single blow. In two days, five hundred persons had fallen
in the massacre. Of course, every operation of industry was instantly
abandoned, and all who were able to bear arms were embodied to oppose
so terrible an invasion. Governor Berkeley, at the head of a chosen
force, consisting of every twentieth man in the colony, marched into the
enemy’s country, and thus gave him the first check. Of the details of the
campaign, in consequence of the confusion and distress prevailing at the
time, no details are furnished by the contemporary historians. Beverly’s
account, the only one which survived the ravages of the time, is meagre
and unsatisfactory. One result of the war, however, is sufficiently well
attested, since it terminated the horrors of the season. This was the
capture of the aged Opechancanough, who was surprised and taken prisoner
by a squadron of horse under the command of Governor Berkeley, who
forthwith conducted him in triumph to James-Town.

It was the governor’s intention to have sent this remarkable person
to England; but he was shot after being taken prisoner, by a soldier,
in resentment of the calamities he had inflicted on the province. He
lingered under the wound for several days, and died with the pride and
firmness of an old Roman. Indignant at the crowds who came to gaze at
him on his deathbed, he exclaimed; “If I had taken Sir William Berkeley
prisoner, I would not have exposed him as a show to the people.” Perhaps
he remembered that he had saved the life of Captain Smith, and forgot the
numberless instances in which he had exposed other prisoners to public
derision and lingering torture.

After the decease of their great enemy, the colonists had no difficulty
in concluding a treaty with the Indians, which gave tranquillity to the
province for a long term of years.

[Illustration]




THE BURNING OF SCHENECTADY.


The incursions of the Indians on our frontiers in early times were
usually the result of Spanish influence in the South, or French influence
in the North. The French reduced the incitement of Indian hostilities to
a complete system, and their officers and soldiers were not ashamed to
accompany the savages in their murdering and marauding expeditions into
New England and New York. Among all the recorded instances of this kind,
none appears to have been attended with more atrocious circumstances
of cruelty and rapine, than the burning of Schenectady. This affair is
marked by many traits of the very worst description. The inhumanity of
murdering in their beds the very people who had formerly relieved their
wants, is, perhaps, without a parallel.

In 1690, Count de Frontignac, governor general of Canada, sent out
three expeditions against the American colonies. The first of these
proceeded against Schenectady, then a small village, situated on the
Mohawk river. This party, after wandering for twenty-two days through
deserts rendered trackless by snow, approached the village of Schenectady
in so exhausted a condition, that they had determined to surrender
themselves to the inhabitants as prisoners of war. But, arriving at a
late hour on an inclement night, and hearing from the messengers they
had sent forward that the inhabitants were all in bed, without even the
precaution of a public watch, they exchanged their intention of imploring
mercy to themselves, for a plan of nocturnal attack and massacre of
the defenceless people, to whose charity their own countrymen had once
been so highly indebted. This detestable requital of good with evil
was executed with a barbarity which, of itself, must be acknowledged
to form one of the most revolting and terrific pictures that has ever
been exhibited of human cruelty and ferocity. Dividing themselves into
a number of parties, they set fire to the village in various places,
and attacked the inhabitants with fatal advantage when, alarmed by the
conflagration, they endeavoured to escape from their burning houses. The
exhausted strength of the Frenchmen appeared to revive with the work of
destruction, and to gather energy from the animated horror of the scene.
Not only were all the male inhabitants they could reach put to death,
but women were murdered, and their infants dashed on the walls of the
houses. But either the delay caused by this elaborate cruelty, or the
more merciful haste of the flames to announce the calamity to those who
might still fly from the assassins, enabled many of the inhabitants to
escape. The efforts of the assailants were also somewhat impeded by a
sagacious discrimination which they thought it expedient to exercise.
Though unmindful of benefits, they were not regardless of policy: and of
a number of Mohawk Indians who were in the village, not one sustained
an injury. Sixty persons perished in the massacre, and twenty-seven
were taken prisoners. Of the fugitives who escaped half naked, and made
their way through a storm of snow to Albany, twenty-five lost their limbs
from the intensity of the frost. The French, having totally destroyed
Schenectady, retired loaded with plunder from a place where, we think,
it must be acknowledged that even the accustomed atrocities of Indian
warfare had been outdone.

[Illustration]




REMARKABLE CUSTOM OF THE NATCHES.


The Natches were a very considerable nation; they formed several
villages, that were under some peculiar chief, and these obeyed one
superior of the whole nation. All these chiefs bore the name of suns;
they adored that luminary, and carried his image on their breasts, rudely
carved. The manner in which the Natches rendered divine service to the
sun has something solemn in it. The high-priest got up at break of day,
and marched at the head of the people with a grave pace, the calumet of
peace in his hand. He smoked in honour of the sun, and blew the first
mouthful of smoke towards him; when he rose above the horizon, they
howled by turns after the high-priests, and contemplated it with their
arms extended to heaven. They had a temple in which they kept up an
eternal fire.

So proud were these chiefs, who pretended to trace their origin to the
sun, that they had a law, by which every Natchez, who had married a
girl of the blood of the suns, must follow her in death, as soon as she
had breathed her last. There was an Indian, whose name was Etteacteal;
he dearly loved a daughter of one of these suns, and married her; but
the consequence of this honour had nearly proved very fatal to him. His
wife fell sick: he watched over her day and night, and with many tears
he besought her not to die, and they prayed together to Wachil, or the
sun, that he would spare her life; at last he saw her at the point of
death, and then he fled: for the moment she ceased to breathe, he was to
be slain. He embarked in a piragua on the Mississippi, and came to New
Orleans. He put himself under the protection of M. de Bienville, the then
governor, who interested himself for him with the Natches; they declared
that he had nothing more to fear.

Etteacteal, being thus assured, resolved to return to his nation; and,
without settling among them, made several voyages thither; he happened to
be there, when the chief called the Stung Serpent, brother to the head of
the nation, died; he was a relation of the late wife of Etteacteal, and
the people resolved to make the latter pay his debt, and arrested him.
When he found himself in the hut of the grand chief of war, he gave vent
to the excess of his grief.

The favourite wife of the deceased Stung Serpent, who was likewise to be
sacrificed, and who saw the preparations for her death with firmness,
hearing the complaints and groans of Etteacteal, said to him, “Art thou
no warrior?” he said, “Yes, I am one.” “However,” said she, “thou criest,
life is dear to thee; and as that is the case, it is not good that thou
shouldst go along with me—go with the women.” Etteacteal replied, “True,
life is dear to me: it would be well if I walked yet on earth; wait, O
wait till the death of the great sun, and I will die with him.” “Go
thy way,” she said, “it is not fit that thou die with me, and thy heart
remain behind on earth; the warriors will obey my word, for now, so near
to the Spirit of life, I am full of power: go away, and let me see thee
no more.” He did not stay to have this order repeated; he disappeared
like lightning. Three old women, two of whom were his relations, offered
to pay his debt; their age and their infirmities had disgusted them with
life, none of them had been able to walk for a great while; but the hair
of the two that were related to Etteacteal, was no more grey than that
of young women; the third was a hundred and twenty years old; they were
sacrificed in the evening, at the going down of the sun.

The generosity of these women gave the Indian life again, acquired
him the degree of _Considered_, and cleared his honour, that had been
sullied by his fearing death. The hour being come for the sacrifice of
the favourite wife of the deceased chief, she came forth, and called her
children round her, while the people stood a little way off: “Children,”
she said, “this is the day on which I am to tear myself from your arms,
and to follow your father’s steps, who waits for me in the country of
the spirits; if I were to yield to your tears, I should injure my love,
and fail in my duty. I have done enough for you by bearing you next to
my heart, and by suckling you with my breasts. You that are descended of
his blood, and fed by my milk, ought you to shed tears? rejoice, rather,
that you are suns and warriors: go, my children, I have provided for
all your wants, by procuring you friends; my friends, and those of your
father, are yours too. And you, Frenchmen,” she added, turning herself
towards our officers, “I recommend my orphan children to you;—you ought
to protect them; we shall be longer friends in the country of the spirits
than here, because we do not die there again. And now the day is sinking
behind the hills; yet a few moments, my husband, and I come!”

Moved by these words, a noble woman came to join herself to the favourite
wife, of her own accord, being engaged, she said, by the friendship she
bore the Stung Serpent, to follow him into the other world. The Europeans
called her the Haughty Lady, on account of her majestic deportment,
and proud and beautiful features: on this account the French officers
regretted very much her resolve, and strove to dissuade her from it, but
in vain: the moving sight filled them all with grief and horror.

[Illustration]




PONTIAC.


Great as were many of the western Indian warriors, none was greater than
Pontiac, a chief whose fame was not only spread throughout America, but
widely diffused in Europe. He was the chief of all the Indians on the
chain of lakes: the Ottawas, to which he belonged, the Miamis, Chippewas,
Wyandots, Pottawatomies, Winnebagoes, Shawanese, Ottagamies, and
Mississagas, all of which tribes afterwards were led by Tecumseh. Pontiac
is said to have possessed a majestic and princely appearance, so pleasing
to the Indians, and this in part accounts for his popularity among them.

In 1760, after the capture of Quebec, Major Rogers was sent into the
country of Pontiac to drive the French from it. Being informed of his
approach, Pontiac sent word to him to wait until he came to him. The
major waited, and when Pontiac came, that chief asked him why he entered
his dominions without permission. The major answered that he came not
against the natives but the French; and at the same time gave the chief
several belts of wampum; whereupon Pontiac replied, “I stand in the path
you travel until to-morrow morning.” By this was meant that he must
not proceed until the next morning. Upon an offer of the Indian, Major
Rogers bought a large quantity of parched corn, and other provisions.
The next day Pontiac offered him every facility for the undertaking.
Messengers were sent to the different tribes to assure them that the
English had his permission to pass through the country, and he even
accompanied the major and troops as far as Detroit. He was noted for the
desire of knowledge, and while the English were in his country, he was
very curious in examining their arms, clothes, &c., and expressed a wish
to go to England. He said that he would allow white settlements within
his domains; and was willing to call the king of England _uncle_ but not
master. He further told the soldiers that they must behave themselves
peaceably while in his country, or he would stop the way.

Pontiac had distinguished himself at Detroit and Michillimackinac.
When the French gave up Canada (1760), their Indian allies still
preserved their hatred towards the English, and as Pontiac was the most
considerable enemy of that nation, the adjacent tribes _all came_ to him
as a support against them. Pontiac had advanced farther in civilization
than any of the neighbouring chiefs: he appointed a commissary during
the war of 1763, called Pontiac’s war; and issued bills of credit, on
each of which was pictured the thing desired, and the figure of an otter,
the symbol of his tribe. In 1763 Major Rogers sent a bottle of brandy to
him, which Pontiac was counselled not to drink, as it probably contained
poison. But with the greatest magnanimity he exclaimed, “It is not in his
power to _kill him_ who has so lately saved his life.”




THE IDOL OF THE PEORIAS. (FROM AN OLD TRAVELLER.)


“We arrived at the village of the Peorias, allies of the Illinois,
through a fine large meadow, which is many leagues long. This village is
situated on the banks of a little river, and surrounded with great pales
and posts: there are many trees on the banks, and the huts are built
beneath them. When we arrived there, I inquired for the hut of the grand
chief: I was well received by him and his first warriors. They had just
been beaten by the Foxes, their mortal enemies, and were now holding a
consultation about it. A young Indian lighted the calumet of peace; then
they brought me a dish of maize flour, called sagamité, sweetened with
the syrup of the maple-tree; and afterwards a dessert of dry fruits, as
good as Corinth raisins. The next day I saw a great crowd in the plain:
they were for making a dance in favour of their new Manitou; the high
priest had a bonnet of feathers, like a crown, on his head. I was at the
door of the temple of their false deity; he begged me to go in. Judge of
my astonishment, for this is the picture of their Manitou: his head hung
upon his breast, and looked like a goat’s; his ears and his cruel eye
were like those of a lynx, with the same kind of hair; his feet, hands,
and thighs were in form something like those of a man.

“The Indians found him in the woods, at the foot of a ridge of
mountains, and the priests had persuaded them to adopt him for a
divinity. This general assembly was called, to invoke his protection
against their enemies. I let the Indians know that their Manitou was an
evil genius; as a proof of it, I said that he had just permitted the
nation of Foxes, their most cruel enemies, to gain a victory over them,
and they ought to get rid of him as soon as possible, and be revenged on
him. After a short time, they answered, ‘Houé nigeié, tinai labé,’—‘we
believe thee, thou art in the right.’ They then voted that he should
be burnt; and the great priest, after some opposition, pronounced his
sentence, which, according to the interpreter’s explanation, was in these
terms: ‘O thou, fatal to our nation, who has wrongfully taken thee for
her Manitou! thou hast paid no regard to the offerings which we have made
thee, and hast allowed our enemies, whom thou dost plainly protect, to
overcome us; therefore our old men, assembled in council, have decreed,
with the advice of the chief of the white warriors, that to expiate thy
ingratitude towards us, thou shalt be burnt alive.’ At the end of this
sentence, all the assembly said, ‘Hau, hau,’ which signified ‘yes.’

“As I wished to get this monster, I went to the priest, made him a small
present, and bid my interpreter tell him that he should persuade his
countrymen, that if they burnt this evil genius, there might arise one
from his ashes that could be fatal to them; that I would go on purpose
across the great lake, to deliver them from it. He found my reasons
good, and got the sentence changed, so that it was strangled. I got it
instantly dissected, in order to bring it to France, where its skeleton
is now in the cabinet of natural history of M. de Fayolles. The assembly
dispersed, and returned to their village by the river side. In the
evening you might see them sitting in groups at their doors, and on the
shore, with many fires made of the branches of the trees, whose light was
on the water and the grove; while some of them danced the dance of war,
with loud shrieks, that were enough to strike an awe into the heart.”

[Illustration]




DEATH OF A MOHAWK CHIEF.


Count Frontignac, whose sprightly manners and energetic character
supported the spirits of his countrymen amidst every reverse, was so
provoked with what he deemed the ingratitude of the Five Nations for
his kindness to them at Schenectady, that, besides encouraging his own
Indian allies to burn their prisoners alive, he at length condemned to a
death still more dreadful, two Mohawk warriors who had fallen into his
hands. In vain the French priests remonstrated against this sentence, and
urged him not to bring so foul a stain on the Christian name: the count
declared that every consideration must yield to the safety and defence
of his people, and that the Indians must not be encouraged to believe
that they might practise the extreme of cruelty on the French without
the hazard of having it retorted on themselves. If he had been merely
actuated by politic considerations, without being stimulated by revenge,
he might have plainly perceived, from the conduct of all the Indian
tribes in their wars with each other, that the fear of retort had no
efficacy whatever to restrain them from their barbarous practices, which
he now undertook to sanction as far as his example was capable of doing.
The priests, finding that their humane intercession was ineffectual,
repaired to the prisoners, and laboured to persuade them to embrace
the Christian name, as a preparation for the dreadful fate which they
were about to receive from Christian hands; but their instructions were
rejected with scorn and derision, and they found the prisoners determined
to dignify, by Indian sentiments and demeanour, the Indian death which
they had been condemned to undergo. Shortly before the execution, some
Frenchman, less inhuman than his governor, threw a knife into the prison,
and one of the Mohawks immediately dispatched himself with it: the other,
expressing contempt at his companion’s mean evasion from glory, walked to
the stake, singing in his death-chant, that he was a Mohawk warrior, that
all the power of man could not extort the least expression of suffering
from his lips, and that it was ample consolation to him to reflect that
he had made many Frenchmen suffer the same pangs that he must now himself
undergo. When attached to the stake, he looked round on his executioners,
their instruments of torture, and the assembled multitude of spectators,
with all the complacency of heroic fortitude; and, after enduring for
some hours, with composed mien and triumphant language, a series of
barbarities too atrocious and disgusting to be recited, his sufferings
were terminated by the interposition of a French lady, who prevailed with
the governor to order that mortal blow, to which human cruelty has given
the name of _coup de grace_ or stroke of _favour_.




MURDER OF MISS MACREA.


Mr. Jones, an officer of the British army, had gained the affections
of Miss Macrea, a lovely young lady of amiable character and spotless
reputation, daughter of a gentleman attached to the royal cause, residing
near Fort Edward; and they had agreed to be married. In the course of
service, the officer was removed to some distance from his bride, and
became anxious for her safety and desirous of her company. He engaged
some Indians, of two different tribes, to bring her to camp, and promised
a keg of rum to the person who should deliver her safe to him. She
dressed to meet her bridegroom, and accompanied her Indian conductors;
but by the way, the two chiefs, each being desirous of receiving the
promised reward, disputed which of them should deliver her to her lover.
The dispute rose to a quarrel; and, according to their usual method of
disposing of a disputed prisoner, one of them instantly cleft the head
of the lady with his tomahawk. This simple story, sufficiently tragical
and affecting in itself, was blazoned in the American newspapers with
every amplification that could excite the imagination or touch the
heart; and contributed in no slight degree to embitter the minds of the
people against those who could degrade themselves by the aid of such
allies. The impulse given to the public mind by such atrocities more
than counterbalanced any advantages which the British derived from the
assistance of the Indians.




AN INDIAN IN COLLEGE.


The first serious disappointment which John Eliot, the Indian Apostle,
experienced, was in his efforts for the instruction of the Indian youth
in the classic languages; many of the ablest and most promising among
them were set apart for this purpose; his ambition was to bring them
up “with our English youth in university learning.” Where was the use
of this? Eliot’s best purposes were prone to be carried to excess. He
gave away a whole year’s salary, at a wretched cottage, while his wife
was probably expecting it at home for household demands. He had learned
his Indians to read and write; many could read English well; and now he
wished to give them a polite education, that must have sat as gracefully
on them as the full-sleeved gown and bands of the divine. Considerable
sums were expended in their board and education: a substantial building
of brick, which cost between three and four hundred pounds, was erected;
it was large enough to accommodate twenty scholars. It must have been
Spartan discipline to the heads as well as hearts of the poor Indians,
to labour morn and night through the Greek and Roman authors, to try to
discover and relish the beauties of style and the splendour of imagery.
No doubt, their thoughts sometimes fled away to their deserts, where
their fathers roved in dignity and freedom, and books never came. The
design might be praiseworthy, but Providence did not smile upon it, most
of these young men died when they had made great proficiency in their
studies, as if the languages wore out their hearts; others abandoned
their books, even when they were prepared to enter Harvard College, in
the town of Cambridge; their patience was probably exhausted, and the
boon of literary dignity could lure them no further. A few of these,
passing from one extreme to the other, burst their bonds at once; and
as if mind and body panted together to be free, hastened back to the
wilderness again, into its wigwams and swamps; where neither Homer nor
Ovid was like to follow them.

“These circumstances proved very discouraging to the godly in New
England,” says a contemporary. “Some were so far affected by them, as to
conceive that they were manifest tokens of the Divine disapprobation. Mr.
Eliot, however, whose faith was more vigorous, considered them merely as
trials, to which they ought to submit without reluctance.” In consequence
of the death and failure of those who entered the aforesaid building, it
was soon after chiefly occupied by the English. Only one of these Indian
students appears to have obtained his degree at Harvard College; and at
the conclusion of two Latin and Greek elegies, which he composed on the
death of an eminent minister, subscribed himself “Cheesecaumuk, Senior
Sophista.” What an incongruous blending of sounds!

Eliot at last saw his error, and, instead of the classics, applied with
fresh ardour to his more useful translations, of which the circulation
was so rapid, that he printed a fresh edition of the “Practice of
Piety.” He also soon after established a lecture at Naticke, in which he
explained the leading doctrines of theology and logic: here he was on
safe ground, and his labours were eminently useful. During the summer
months they assembled eagerly once a fortnight, and many of them gained
much knowledge; yet he was far from being satisfied with his oral
instructions, and he printed a thousand copies of a logic primer, and
made little systems of all the liberal arts, for the use of the Indians.
The same minds that had pined and sunk beneath the study of the classic
tongues, embraced these things with ardour.

[Illustration]




AN INDIAN WARRANT.


Judge Davis, in his Appendix to the Memorial, observes, that the
employment of the more intelligent and energetic Indians as rulers, was
particularly grateful to them. He had often heard of amusing anecdotes of
the Indian rulers. The following warrant is recollected, which was issued
by one of these magistrates, directed to an Indian constable, and will
not suffer in comparison with our more verbose forms.

‘I, Hihoudi, you Peter Waterman, Jeremy Wicket, quick you take him, fast
you hold him straight you bring him before me, Hihoudi.’

[Illustration]

[Illustration: Pocahontas Saving the Life of Captain Smith.

Page 99.]




CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH.


This gentleman figures, in the early history of our country, as the most
strenuous promoter of colonization, the most wise founder, and the most
active governor, of colonies. In New England he acted as discoverer
and settler; in Virginia he sustained both these characters, as well
as that of the most efficient and able governor of the first permanent
colony. When he landed upon the soil, he was a private citizen; but the
misgovernment of others soon made it necessary to call him to the office
of governor.

Under his directions James-Town was fortified by such defences as were
sufficient to repel the attacks of the savages; and, by dint of great
labour, which he was always the foremost to share, the colonists were
provided with dwellings that afforded shelter from the weather, and
contributed to restore and preserve their health. Finding the supplies
of the savages discontinued, he put himself at the head of a detachment
of his people, and penetrated into the country; and by courtesy and
liberality to the tribes whom he found well disposed, and vigorously
repelling the hostilities of such as were otherwise minded, he obtained
for the colony the most abundant supplies.

In the midst of his successes he was surprised on an expedition, by a
hostile body of savages, who, having succeeded in making him prisoner,
after a gallant and nearly successful defence, prepared to inflict on him
the usual fate of their captives. His eminent faculties did not desert
him on this trying occasion. He desired to speak with the sachem or
chief, and, presenting him with a mariner’s compass, expatiated on the
wonderful discoveries to which it had led, described the shape of the
earth, the vastness of its lands and oceans, the course of the sun, the
varieties of nations, and the singularity of their relative positions,
which made some of them antipodes to the others.

With equal prudence and magnanimity he refrained from all solicitations
for his life, which would only have weakened the impressions which he
hoped to produce. The savages listened with amazement and admiration.
They had handled the compass, and viewing with surprise the play of the
needle, which they plainly saw, but found it impossible to touch, from
the intervention of the glass, this marvellous object prepared their
minds for the reception of those vast impressions by which their captive
endeavoured to gain ascendency over them.

For an hour after he had finished his harangue, they seem to have
remained undecided; till their habitual sentiments reviving, they resumed
their suspended purpose, and, having bound him to a tree, prepared to
dispatch him with their arrows. But a stronger impression had been made
on their chief; and his soul, enlarged for a season by the admission
of knowledge, or subdued by the influence of wonder, revolted from the
dominion of habitual ferocity. This chief was named Opechancanough, and
destined at a future period to invest his barbarous name with terror and
celebrity. Holding up the compass in his hand, he gave the signal of
reprieve, and Smith, though still guarded as a prisoner, was conducted to
a dwelling where he was kindly treated, and plentifully entertained. But
the strongest impressions pass away, while the influence of habit remains.

After vainly endeavouring to prevail on their captive to betray the
English colony into their hands, they referred his fate to Powhatan,
the king or principal sachem of the country, to whose presence they
conducted him in triumphal procession. The king received him with much
ceremony, ordered a plentiful repast to be set before him, and then
adjudged him to suffer death by having his head laid on a stone and
beat to pieces with clubs. At the place appointed for this barbarous
execution, he was again rescued from impending fate by the interposition
of Pocahontas, the favourite daughter of the king, who, finding her
first entreaties disregarded, threw her arms around the prisoner, and
declared her determination to save him or die with him. Her generous
affection prevailed over the cruelty of her tribe, and the king not only
gave Smith his life, but soon after sent him back to James-Town, where
the beneficence of Pocahontas continued to follow him with supplies of
provisions that delivered the colony from famine.




ANECDOTES OF KING PHILIP’S WAR.


COMMENCEMENT OF THE WAR.

In the year 1674, the number of Eliot’s towns and settlements, in
which industry, comfort, good order, and the best instruction, were
established, amounted to more than twelve, when an unforeseen event
happened, that threw a cloud over all his prospects. This was the war
in which the colonists of New England were involved with Philip, son of
Massasoit, the celebrated chief, and, for the last years of his life,
the firm friend of the English. “O, thou sword of the wilderness, when
wilt thou be quiet?” says Mather, forgetful that it was bared by the
aggressions of the settlers, as well as by the fierce and restless
spirit of the Indian prince. Ever since the foundation of the colonies,
the former had conducted themselves, says more than one divine of the
period, with great kindness to their heathen brethren. The truth of this
assertion is very doubtful. The missionary took no part in the disputes,
save to urge his countrymen to forbearance and peace. “We, the poor
church of Naticke,” he writes to them, “hearing that the honoured rulers
of Plymouth are pressing and arming of soldiers to go to war with the
Indians, do mourn greatly on account of it, and desire that they may not
be destroyed, because we have not heard that they have done any thing
worthy of death. It is your duty to offer, accept, and desire peace, and
we pray you, for God’s sake, and for your souls’ sake, obey this word;
we long to hear of a happy peace, that may open a clear passage for the
gospel among that people.” Simple as these words are, they unfold an
affection on the part of the missionary and his converts, for those who
had few claims on their regard; for Philip, and most of his chiefs, had
sternly rejected all persuasions to Christianity. But Eliot was not of
the sentiment of another divine, who rejoiced in the rejection of the
proposals by the Indians, that “this thing was of the Lord.” He saw only
on one side an exquisite jealousy, roused by many wrongs, a heart burning
with vindictive feelings; on the other, a sordid ambition, an unhallowed
love of glory. It was a source of sorrow, that the torch of discord was
first kindled by one of his own people. In the end of the year 1674, John
Seusoman, a converted Indian, after having apostatized from the faith,
devoted himself to the service of Philip, as secretary. He informed the
English that his countrymen had resolved to adopt measures for their
destruction. “He could write,” says the historian, “though the king, his
master, could not read.”

This renegade, fearing the consequences of what he had done, returned
to the protection of the settlers, and was soon after slain by two of
the Indian captains. The English arrested the perpetrators of the deed,
and, on a trial by jury, finding them guilty, they were executed. Philip
was alarmed at the condemnation of his counsellors, and, conscious
that he had given cause for suspicion, resolved to be the first in the
field. He had probably long waited for an opportunity. Rash, headstrong,
and vindictive, with the courage but not the talents of his father,
Massasoit, the slow and artful aggressions of the settlers stung him to
the quick. He began to gather his warriors around his dwelling-place, at
the strong forts near the Naraganset river; he received the accession of
several other tribes. In the mean time, it was said, strange sights and
sounds foreboded, in many parts of the colonies, the woes that were near;
the singing of bullets, and the awful passing away of drums in the air;
invisible troops of horses were heard riding to and fro; and in a clear,
still, sunshiny morning, the phantoms of men, fearfully flitting by!
Philip, heedless of omens and dreams, sent away the women and children,
and took his stand on Mount Hope, a low and beautiful eminence, on which
was his strongest fort. Ere matters came to a fatal extremity, and all
the evils of war were let loose on his settlements, Eliot did his utmost
to turn them aside; he saw that many of his people would inevitably be
involved with one party or the other. His town of Pakeunit was very near
Mount Hope; he had visited the latter during the life of Massasoit, and
though he felt not the same regard or esteem for his son, a friendly
intercourse had subsisted between them. His applications to the colonists
for peace being fruitless, he resolved to try them also on the former.

[Illustration]


INTERVIEW BETWEEN ELIOT AND PHILIP.

A few miles only distant, the encampment of the Indians around their
Mount was distinctly visible from Pakeunit; and Eliot, with two or three
of his people, went to have an interview with the chieftain. Philip
respected his character, though he disliked his proceedings, for he had
always treated his mission with contempt and slight; among the warriors,
however, both of his own and other tribes, were many who had heard
Eliot preach, and had received him beneath their roof. The interview
was without any success; the spirit of the Indian was made up to the
desperate struggle, and all that could be done was to beseech him to
spare the settlements of the converts.

The contrast between the two men must have been sufficiently striking.
Philip was in the prime of life, with a frame nerved by early hardship,
and the usages of savage warfare, in which he was very expert; he was
dressed like his chiefs, save that he wore a silver-laced tunic, or coat,
and that his arms were more rich; his chief ensign of dignity was his
princely, yet cruel and gloomy features, where the thirst of revenge was
stamped. The frame of the missionary was not bowed even by seventy years,
though they had turned his hair white; the leathern girdle was about his
loins, that he always wore, and the simple apparel that he loved; he
stood among these fierce and exasperated men as calm and fearless as in
his own assembly at Naticke: he could not but foresee the devastation
about to be let loose on the land; that the fire and the sword would
waste all his pleasant places, and scatter his converts; and he returned
with a heavy heart to his home. Several of the latter afterwards sided
with the forces of Philip: whether from this circumstance, or from the
nearness of the settlement of Pakeunit to the camp of the prince, the
colonists contracted the strongest dislike and mistrust of the Christian
Indians. Eliot, when he saw there was no longer a chance of peace,
exhorted his people in the above town, and at Naticke, as well as the
other congregations, not to be moved by the example or seductions of
either party.

[Illustration]


CHRISTIAN INDIANS ENGAGE IN THE WAR.

The contagion was, however, too strong; and Eliot at last saw many of
them also take up arms against their infidel countrymen. The order and
harmony of their dwelling-places were for a time utterly blasted; on
the hills around Naticke and Pakeunit the watch-fires were blazing;
the war-whoops were often heard in the night; at intervals, a solitary
musket, and then a signal cry, came from the neighbouring woods; and yet
nearer, the poor Indians at last saw their plantations without the town,
burning; for Philip began hostilities by a sudden attack on them, so that
their taking up arms was partly in self-defence. After several actions,
he retired from Mount Hope to the woods, swamps, and fastnesses of the
interior, in the dominion of the great tribe of the Naraganset Indians,
who, for his sake, had now broken treaty with the English. It was the
depth of winter, yet the latter resolved to follow him to his retreats,
and an army of fifteen hundred men, under the command of the Hon. J.
Winslow, marched to the abode of the Indians. This was on an island of
about five or six acres, the only entrance to which was upon a long tree
over the water, so that but one man could pass at a time: but the water
was frozen; the trees and thickets were white with their burden of snow,
as was the surface of the earth, so that the smallest movement of the
Indians could be seen.

Within the isle were gathered the powers of the Pequot and Naraganset
tribes, with their wives, families, and valuable things; the want of
leaves and thick foliage allowed no ambush, and the savage must fight
openly beside his own hearth and store. It was the close of day when
the colonists came up to the place; a fort, a blockhouse, and a wall
that passed round the isle, proved the skill, as well as resolution,
of the assailed; the frozen shores and water were quickly covered with
the slain, and then the Indians fought at their doors and around their
children, till all was lost, and a thousand of them fell. Philip fled
with his surviving forces to a distant position, where it was impossible
to follow him. Concord, one of the first settlements of Eliot, and one or
two other towns, were this winter destroyed, and its poor people turned
from their dwellings into all the rigours of the winter; many perished in
the woods or amidst the snows, or by the secret and sudden ambushes of
the enemy.

[Illustration]


MISFORTUNES OF PHILIP.

The last defeat, in which his best fighting men were slain, had broken
the power, but not the spirit, of Philip. Unable to meet the colonists
in the open field, he harassed them in a thousand ways, so that, as the
spring advanced, the more industrious and timid were thrown into the
extremity of despair, and said, “How shall we wade through another summer
like the last?” But the chief was now a wandering exile; his paternal
dominion was taken; the singular friendship of Quanonchet, “the mighty
sachem of the Naragansets,” was his last support. The fidelity of this
man was tried to the uttermost: he had received the fugitive with open
arms; rallied all his forces around him; they fought, side by side, with
the heroism of men on the last strand of their country; were defeated,
and fled together, without a reproach or complaint on either side; they
retreated yet farther into the interior, and, by their persuasions,
engaged other tribes in the cause; but, at this moment, the Maquas, a
powerful nation in the west, made a descent on them, and wasted their
band. In spite of these disasters, they again advanced.


CLOSE OF THE WAR.

Eliot, during these troubles, was subjected to much contempt and
reproach. His efforts to protect his people, and watch over their
interests, were incessant; but so strong was the suspicion against them,
that the colonists, not content with confining a great number of them in
Long Island, inflicted on them many sufferings, and a few of the more
cruel said that they were worthy of death.

But the war began to draw to a close: Quanonchet, venturing out with a
few followers near the enemy, was pursued and taken. His behaviour under
his misfortunes was very noble and affecting; for when repeated offers
were made him of life, if he would deliver up Philip, and submit his
own people to the English, he proudly rejected them. They condemned him
to die, and, by a refinement of cruelty, by the hands of three young
Indian chiefs. The heroic man said, “that he liked it well, for he should
die before his heart was soft, or he had spoken any thing unworthy of
himself.”

Philip was deeply moved by the death of the chieftain, for their
friendship was like that of David and Jonathan, strongest in misery and
exile. He was not yet left desolate: his beloved wife and only child
were with him. They had shared all his sufferings; in his flights, his
inroads, his dwellings in the swamps, they seem never to have left his
side. The unfortunate prince now returned to Mount Hope, the scene of
his former power and happiness; it was for no purpose of defence that he
came, for it was too near the English settlements, but merely to visit
it once more. “He finds it,” says Mather, “to be Mount Misery, Mount
Confusion!”

No doubt it was so to his bleeding spirit; for, with all his savage
propensities, this prince was susceptible of some of the finest feelings
of our nature. He sat down mournfully on the beautiful Mount, on which
were now the ruins of his fortress and camp; but he could not remain long
here, for the feet of his pursuers were nigh, and he was compelled to
seek his distant retreats again:—there was a greater agony in store for
him than the sight of his ruined home.

Early one morning, his quarters were surprised by the English, most of
his followers slain, and his wife and son made captive. The chief fled,
broken-hearted, but unsubdued, leaving all he loved on earth in the hands
of those who had no mercy. “This was no small torment to him,” quaintly
says the historian. “Wo to him that spoileth! His peag, or silver belt,
the ensign of his princedom, also remained in our hands, so hardly did he
escape.” The measure of his woes was not yet full. The Indian princess of
Pocasset was warmly attached to his cause, and had more than once aided
him in his extremity; she had received him beneath her roof, soothed his
sorrows, and, what was more, summoned her people to fight for him; and
saved him and his people in her canoes the year before. Now, she followed
him in his flight, and, as the more devout said, as if by a judgment,
could not find a canoe to transport her, and, venturing over the river
upon a raft, it broke under her, and she was drowned. Her body was soon
after washed on shore, and the English, forgetful of all decency and
delicacy to a woman of her rank, though a savage, cut off her head, and
placed it on high, which, when the Indians who were her people saw, they
gathered round, and gave way to the most sad and touching lamentations.

Philip now began, like Saul of old, when earth was leaving him, to look
to the powers beyond it, and to apply to his magicians and sorcerers,
who, on consulting their oracles, assured him that no Englishman should
ever kill him. This was a vague consolation, yet it seems to have given
him, for a while, a confidence in his destiny, and he took his last stand
in the middle of a distant and almost inaccessible swamp. It was a fit
retreat for a despairing man, being one of those waste and dismal places
to which few ever wandered, covered with rank and dense vegetation. The
moist soil was almost hidden by the cypress and other trees, that spread
their gloomy shades over the treacherous shallows and pools beneath.

In the few drier parts, oaks and pines grew, and, between them, a
brushwood so thick, that the savage could hardly penetrate: on the long
rich grass of these parts, wild cattle fed, unassailed by the hand of
man, save when they ventured beyond the confines of the swamp. There were
wolves, deer, and other animals; and wilder men, it was said, were seen
here; it was supposed that the children of some of the Indians had either
been lost or left here, and had thus grown up like denizens of this wild.
Here the baffled chieftain gathered his little band around him, like a
lion baited by the hunters, sullenly seeking his gloomy thickets, only to
spring forth more fatally; despair was his only friend; for what other
was now left: his love was turned to agony; his wife was in the hand of
his enemies; and would they spare her beauty? His only son, the heir of
his long line, must bow his head to their yoke; his chief warriors had
all fallen, and he could not trust the few who were still with him.

Quanonchet, whose fidelity and attachment were stronger than death, was
in the land of spirits, chasing the shadowy deer, and solaced with many
wives; for Philip, to the last, believed in the religion of his country.
In this extremity, an Indian proposed to seek peace with the English;—the
prince instantly laid him dead at his feet. This man had a friend, who,
disgusted with the deed, soon after fled from the place to Rhode Island,
where the English were recruiting their weary forces, and betrayed the
place of his retreat. On this intelligence, a body of forces instantly
set out.

[Illustration: Death of King Philip.

Page 115.]


DEATH OF PHILIP.

The night before his death, Philip, “like him in the army of Midian,”
says the historian, “had been dreaming that he was fallen into the hands
of the English; he awoke in great alarm, and told it to his friends,
and advised them to fly for their lives, for that he believed it would
come to pass.” The place was well suited to awake all the terrors of the
imagination; to any eye but that of the savage, it was like the “valley
of the shadow of death;” the cypress and oak trees hung heavy and still,
over the accursed soil; the faint gleam of the pools and sluggish lakes
on every side, in the starlight, and the howl of the wolf, fitfully, as
if it warned that the hour was nigh. “Now, just as he was telling his
dream, Captain Church, with his company, fell in upon them.” They had
been guided by the deserter to the swamp, and, with great difficulty,
across some felled trees, into its labyrinths. The battle was fierce
and short: Philip fought till he saw almost every follower fall in his
defence, then turned, and fled; he was pursued by an Englishman and an
Indian; and, as if the oracle was doomed to be fulfilled, the musket of
the former would not go off; and the latter fired, and shot him through
the heart.

With his death, all resistance ceased; his dominions fell into the
hands of the colonists, and peace was restored to the settlements, but
prosperity came not with it. It was a cruel blow to Eliot, nearly all
whose life had been given to his beloved cause, to look around on the
plantations ravaged, the dwellings empty, the defences broken, and, more
than all, the spirit of his people in despair. Of twelve towns, at the
beginning of the war, four only were now undestroyed.




CANONICUS.


The _Narragansets_, possessed the country about Narraganset Bay,
including Rhode Island, and other Islands in that vicinity, and a part
of Connecticut. _Canonicus_ was their great warrior Sachem. This tribe
is described by our early historians ‘as a great people,’ capable of
raising 4000 warriors. Canonicus lived to an advanced age, and died
according to Gov. Winthrop, June 4th, 1647. He discovered a generous mind
in receiving Rev. Roger Williams when in great distress, and affording
him a friendly protection. Mr. Williams mentioned his name with respect
and acknowledged his obligation to him thus in a manuscript letter to
the Governor of Massachusetts. After observing that many hundreds of the
English were witnesses to the friendly disposition of the Narragansets,
he says: ‘Their late long lived Canonicus so lived and died, in the same
most honorable manner and solemnity (in their way) as you laid to sleep
your prudent peace-maker Mr. Winthrop, did they honor this their prudent
and peaceable prince; yea, through all their towns and countries how
frequently do many and oft times of Englishmen travel alone with safety
and loving kindness?’ On one occasion Canonicus thus addressed Roger
Williams: ‘I have never suffered any wrong to be done to the English
since they landed, nor never will. If the English speak true, if he mean
truly, then shall I go to my grave in peace, and I hope that the English
and my posterity shall live in love and peace together.’ ‘His heart,’
says Mr. Williams, ‘was stirred up to love me as his son to the last
gasp.’ However partial Canonicus may have been to Rev. Mr. Williams,
he was not uniformly friendly to the settlers in general. It appears
in Gov. Winslow’s Good News from New England, that in February, 1622,
this chief sent into Plymouth, a bundle of arrows bound together with a
rattle-snake’s skin. This was received as it was intended, a challenge
for war. Gov. Bradford filled the rattle-snake skin with powder and shot
and returned it to _Canonicus_, with a message of defiance which produced
the desired effect. Canonicus was so frightened that he dared not touch
the article and soon returned it to Plymouth and became silent and
peaceable.

[Illustration: Acceptance of Canonicus’ Challenge.]




CHICKATAUBUT.


_Chickataubut_, was a sachem of considerable note among the
_Massachusetts_ tribe, and one of those who, in 1621, acknowledged
themselves the subjects of King James. He was Sachem of Passonagesit
(Weymouth,) where his mother was buried. In Drake’s Indian Biography
the following is related from Thomas Morton’s New Canaan. In the
first settling of Plymouth, some of the company in wandering about
upon discovery, came upon an Indian grave, which was of the mother of
Chickataubut. Over the body a stake was set in the ground, and two huge
bear skins sewed together spread over it; these the English took away.
When this came to the knowledge of Chickataubut, he complained to his
people and demanded immediate vengeance. When they were assembled, he
thus harangued them: ‘When last the glorious light of all the sky was
underneath the globe and birds grew silent, I began to settle as my
custom is to take repose; before mine eyes were fast closed, me thought
I saw a vision, at which my spirit was much troubled, and trembling at
that doleful sight cried aloud; Behold! my son, whom I have cherished,
see the paps that gave thee suck, the hands that clasped thee warm, and
fed thee oft, canst thou forget to take revenge on those wild people
that hath my monument defaced in a despiteful manner; disdaining our
ancient antiquities, and honorable customs. See now the Sachem’s grave
lies, like unto the common people of ignoble race, defaced. Thy mother
doth complain, implores thy aid against this thievish people newly
come hither; if this be suffered I shall not rest in quiet within my
everlasting habitation.’ Battle was the unanimous resolve, and the
English were watched and followed from place to place, until at length
as some were going ashore in a boat, they fell upon them, but gained
little advantage. After maintaining the fight for some time, and being
driven from tree to tree, the chief captain was wounded in the arm and
the whole took to flight. This action caused the natives about Plymouth
to look upon the English as invincible, and was the reason that peace was
maintained so long after.

When Boston was settled _Chickataubut_ visited Governor _Winthrop_, and
presented him with a hogshead of corn. Many of his ‘sanops and squaws’
came with him, but were most of them sent away after they had all dined,
Chickataubut probably fearing they would be burdensome, although it
thundered and rained and the Governor urged their stay. At this time
he wore English clothes, and sat at the Governor’s table, where he
behaved himself soberly, &c. as an Englishman. “Not long after he called
on Governor Winthrop and desired to buy of him a suit of clothes for
himself, the governor informed him that ‘English Sagamores did not use
to truck;’ but he called his tailor and gave him orders to make him a
suit of clothes, whereupon he gave the governor two large skins of coat
beaver. The clothes being ready, the governor put him into a very good
new suit from head to foot, and after, he set meat before them; but he
would not eat till the governor had given thanks, and after meat he
desired him to do the like, and so departed.”




CONDITION OF THE INDIAN WOMEN.


Polygamy is not uncommon among them; and the husband occasionally finds
it necessary to administer a little wholesome castigation to his more
quarrelsome or refractory squaws. But many are satisfied with one wife.
The care of the tent and the whole drudgery of the family devolve on the
women. They gather fuel, cook the provisions, and repair every article
of dress; cultivate the ground, where any is cultivated; carry the
baggage on a journey; and pitch the tent when they halt. In these and
similar employments, their lordly fathers, husbands, and brothers, think
it degrading to assist them, and unworthy of warriors to engage in such
employments.

Mr. Catlin, whose long residence among the Indians, and careful
observation of their habits, entitle his opinion to great respect,
regards the assignment of drudgery to the women as no more than an
equitable distribution of the labour necessary to the support of the
household. He considers the toils of war and the chase, which are almost
incessant, and are solely performed by the men, as a complete offset
to the domestic and agricultural cares of the women. On the whole he
thinks that the condition of the Indian women is as comfortable as it
is possible to render it by any arrangement which would not completely
change their mode of life. To withdraw the men from the chase and
confine them to the culture of the ground, would render the Indians an
agricultural and not a hunting people. Still the condition of the Indian
woman is a miserable and degraded one,—a condition of incessant labour
and care.

In none of the tribes do the women experience much tenderness; but among
the Sioux they are so harshly treated, that they occasionally destroy
their female infants, alleging that it is better for them to be put
to death than to live as miserably as they themselves have done. Even
suicide is not uncommon among them, although they believe it offensive to
the Father of Life.




INDIAN EDUCATION.


The Indians never chastise their children, especially the boys; thinking
that it would damp their spirits, check their love of independence, and
cool their martial ardour, which they wish above all things to encourage.
“Reason,” say they, “will guide our children, when they come to the use
of it; and before that, their faults cannot be very great.” They avoid
compulsory measures, and allow the boys to act with uncontrolled freedom;
but endeavour, by example, instruction, and advice, to train them to
diligence and skill in hunting; to animate them with patience, courage,
and fortitude in war; and to inspire them with contempt of danger, pain,
and death,—qualities of the highest order in the estimation of an Indian.

By gentleness and persuasion they endeavour to imbue the minds of their
children with virtuous sentiments, according to their notions of virtue.
The aged chiefs are zealous in this patriotic labour, and the squaws give
their cordial co-operation.

Ishuchenau, an old Kanza warrior, often admonished the group of young
auditors who gathered around him, of their faults, and exhorted them
never to tell a lie, and never to steal, except from an enemy, whom it
is just to injure in every possible way. “When you become men,” said he,
“be brave and cunning in war, and defend your hunting grounds against
all encroachments: never suffer your squaws and little ones to want;
protect them and strangers from insult. On no occasion betray a friend;
be revenged on your enemies; drink not the poisonous strong water of the
white people, for it is sent by the bad spirit to destroy the Indians.
Fear not death; none but cowards fear to die. Obey and venerate old
people, particularly your parents. Fear and propitiate the bad spirit,
that he may do you no harm: love and adore the Good Spirit, who made
us all, who supplies our hunting grounds, and keeps all alive.” After
recounting his achievements, he was wont to add, “Like a decayed prairie
tree, I stand alone:—the friends of my youth, the companions of my
sports, my toils, and my dangers, rest their heads on the bosom of our
mother. My sun is fast descending behind the western hills, and I feel
it will soon be night with me.” Then with hands and eyes lifted towards
heaven, he thanked the Great Spirit for having spared him so long, to
show the young men the true path to glory and fame.

Their opinions, in many instances, are false, and lead to corresponding
errors in conduct. In some tribes, the young person is taught to pray,
with various superstitious observances, that he may be a great hunter,
horse-stealer, and warrior; so that thus the fountain of virtue is
polluted.

The Indians are entirely unacquainted with letters; but they have a
kind of picture writing, which they practise on the inside of the bark
of trees, or on skins prepared for the purpose, and by which they can
communicate the knowledge of many facts to each other.

The Indian names are descriptive of the real or supposed qualities of
the person to whom they belong: they often change them in the course of
their lives. The young warrior is ambitious of acquiring a new name;
and stealing a horse, scalping an enemy, or killing a bear, is an
achievement which entitles him to choose one for himself, and the nation
confirms it.




SPEECH OF AN INDIAN TO JOHN ELIOT.


The following instance is very expressive of the fine use the Indians
make of simple and natural images:—the speaker was dressed in a robe
of several marten-skins sewed together; it was fastened to his right
shoulder, and passed under his left arm: he wrapped himself up in this
robe, and said—

“My heart laughs for joy on seeing myself before thee: we have all of us
heard the word which thou hast sent us. How beautiful is the sun to-day!
but lately it was red and angry, for our hands were stained with blood;
our tomahawks thirsted for it; our women howled for the loss of their
relations; at the least shriek of the birds of night, all our warriors
were on foot; the serpents angrily hissed at us, as we passed. Those we
left behind sang the songs of death.

“But now our whole nation laughs for joy to see us walk on the same road
with thyself, to join the Father of spirits: our hearts shall make but
one: come with us to the forests; come to our homes by the great river;
we shall plant the tree of life, of which thou speakest, there, and our
warriors shall rest beneath its leaves; and thou shalt tell us more
of that land where there is no storm or death, and the sun is always
bright. Will not that be good? What dost thou say to it, my father?”




RELIGION OF THE INDIANS.


Of the religion of the Indians we have no full and clear account. Indeed,
of the opinions of a people who have nothing more than a few vague and
indefinite notions, no distinct explanation can be given. On this subject
the Indians are not communicative; and to obtain a thorough knowledge
of it would require familiar, attentive, unsuspected, and unprejudiced
observation. But such observation is not easily made; and a few general,
and on some points uncertain, notices only can be given.

On looking at the most renowned nations of the ancient heathen world, we
see the people prostrating themselves before innumerable divinities; and
we are ready to conclude that polytheism is the natural belief of man,
unenlightened by revelation. But a survey of the vast wilds of America
will correct this opinion. For there we find a multitude of nations,
widely separated from each other, all believing in One Supreme God, a
great and good spirit, the father and master of life, the maker of heaven
and earth, and of all other creatures. They believe themselves entirely
dependent on him, thank him for present enjoyments, and pray to him for
the good things they desire to obtain. They consider him the author of
all good; and believe he will reward or punish them according to their
deeds.

They believe in inferior spirits also, both good and bad; to whom,
particularly to the good, they give the name of _Manitou_, and consider
them tutelary spirits. The Indians are careful observers of dreams, and
think themselves deserted by the Master of life, till they receive a
manitou in a dream; that is, till they dream of some object, as a buffalo
or beaver, or something else, which they think is an intimation that the
Great Spirit had given them that object as a manitou, or medicine. Then
they are full of courage, and proud of their powerful ally. To propitiate
the manitou, or medicine, every exertion is made, and every personal
consideration sacrificed. “I was lately the proprietor of seventeen
horses,” said a Mandan; “but I have offered them all to my medicine, and
am now poor.” He had turned all these horses, which constituted the whole
of his wealth, loose into the plain, committed them to his medicine,
and abandoned them for ever. But, although they offer oblations to the
manitous, they positively deny that they pay them any adoration, and
affirm that they only worship the Great Spirit through them.

They have no regular periodical time either of private or public
religious worship. They have neither temples, altars, stated ministers
of religion, nor regular sacrifices; for the jugglers are connected
rather with the medical art than with religious services. The Indians in
general, like other ignorant people, are believers in witchcraft, and
think many of their diseases proceed from the arts of sorcerers. These
arts the jugglers pretend to counteract, as well as to cure natural
diseases. They also pretend to predict the weather and to make rain; and
much confidence is placed in their prognostications and their power.

The devotional exercises of the Indians consist in singing, dancing, and
performing various mystical ceremonies, which they believe efficacious in
healing the sick, frustrating the designs of their enemies, and securing
their own success. They often offer up to the Great Spirit a part of the
game first taken in a hunting expedition, a part of the first produce
of their fields, and a part of their food. At a feast, they first throw
some of the broth, and then of the meat, into the fire. In smoking, they
generally testify their reverence for the Master of life, by directing
the first puff upwards, and the second downwards, or the first to the
rising, and the second to the setting sun: at other times they turn the
pipe to every point of the compass.

They firmly believe in the immortality of the soul, and in a state of
future retribution: but their conceptions on these subjects are modified
and tinged by their occupations in life, and by their notions of good and
evil. They suppose the spirit retains the same inclinations as when in
the body, and rejoices in its old pursuits. At times, an Indian warrior,
when about to kill and scalp a prostrate enemy, addresses him in such
terms as the following:—

“My name is Cashegra: I am a famous warrior, and am going to kill you.
When you reach the land of spirits, you will see the ghost of my father:
tell him it was Cashegra sent you there.” The uplifted tomahawk then
descends upon his victim.

The Mandans[7] expected, when they died, to return to the original
subterraneous abode of their fathers: the good reaching the ancient
village by means of the lake, which the weight of the sins of the bad
will render them unable to pass. They who have behaved themselves well
in this life, and been brave warriors and good hunters, will be received
into the town of brave and generous spirits; but the useless and selfish
will be doomed to reside in the town of poor and useless spirits.

The belief of those untutored children of nature has an influence on
their conduct. Among them the grand defect is, an erroneous estimate of
good and evil, right and wrong.

[Illustration: Destruction of the Pequots.]




DESTRUCTION OF THE PEQUOTS IN 1637.


“An army of a hundred and sixty men, under the command of Captain
Underhill, were despatched, and with them was Uncas, an Indian chief:
when they landed from the river, they were joined by five hundred
Narraganset Indians. We were now informed that the Indians had retired
into two impregnable forts, one of which was the hold of Sassacus, the
chief tyrant; that fierce tiger, at the very mention of whose name the
Narragansets trembled, saying, “He was all one a God, nobody could kill
him.” The council of war determined to fall first upon the fort which
they could first find; and on their silent march in the moon-shiny night,
an Indian spy brought them word that the Pequots were in a profound
sleep. Our guide was one Wequash, an Indian revolted from them; and
now the Narragansets retired into the wood, and behind the trees—they
were overcome with fear. The English advanced against the nearest fort,
when a dog, that stood sentinel like another Cerberus, barking, awoke
them all; their cry, when they sprung from their sleep, was dreadful to
hear in the silent night; and thereupon followed a bloody encounter;
many were killed; but we set fire to their huts, and a high wind caused
them to be quickly consumed; many of the Indians climbed to the tops
of the palisadoes, and were a mark for the bullets; some of the trees
also burning threw such a fiery light, that with the howlings, and
cries also, the place was like the pit of torment. Samson was not in
greater distress by thirst after his exploit upon the Philistines, than
was the mighty Sassacus when his strong holds were thus burned, and his
barbarians dismissed from a world that was burdened with them. The next
day, as we were returning, three hundred of the enemy again came up, like
bears bereaved of their young; they fought, and made a fort of every
swamp in the way, covering their bodies with the green boughs and the
long grass, so that we were sometimes in the very midst of them, and knew
it not, save by the sudden yell and the volley.”

[Illustration]




INDIAN COOLNESS.


Sam Barrow was a famous warrior in Philip’s war, and for a long time
dreaded as a ferocious enemy by the inhabitants. He was at length
captured by Captain Church at Cape Cod. Church, in his history, says,
that ‘he was as noted a rogue as any among the enemy.’ Church told him
that the government would not permit him to grant him quarter, because of
his inhuman murders and barbarities, and therefore ordered him to prepare
for execution. Barrow replied, that the sentence of death against him was
just, and that indeed he was ashamed to live any longer, and desired no
more favor than to smoke a whiff of tobacco before his execution. When
he had taken a few whiffs, he said, ‘I am ready,’ when one of Church’s
Indians, being prepared, sunk his hatchet into his brains.

[Illustration]




THE GREAT MASSACRE OF VIRGINIA.


The peace which had subsisted since the marriage of Pocahontas had lulled
the English into security, and disposed them to extend their plantations
along the banks of the rivers, as far as the Potomac, in situations too
remote from each other. Their houses were open and free to the natives,
who became acquainted with their manner of living, their hours of eating,
of labor and repose, the use of their arms and tools, and frequently
borrowed their boats, for the convenience of fishing and fowling, and
to pass the rivers. This familiarity was pleasing to the English, as it
indicated a spirit of moderation, which had been always recommended, by
the Company in England, to the planters; and, as it afforded a favourable
symptom of the civilization and conversion of the natives; but by
them, or their leaders, it was designed to conceal the most sanguinary
intentions.

In the spring of the next year, (1622) an opportunity offered, to
throw off the mask of friendship, and kindle their secret enmity into
a blaze. Among the natives who frequently visited the English, was a
tall, handsome, young chief, renowned for courage and success in war,
and excessively fond of finery in dress. His Indian name was Nematanow;
but by the English he was called Jack of the Feather. Coming to the
store of one Morgan, he there viewed several toys and ornaments, which
were very agreeable to the Indian taste; and persuaded Morgan to carry
them to Pamunky, where he assured him of an advantageous traffic. Morgan
consented to go with him; but was murdered by the way.

In a few days, Nematanow came again to the store, with Morgan’s cap on
his head; and being interrogated by two stout lads, who attended there,
what was become of their master, he answered that he was dead. The boys
seized him, and endeavoured to carry him before a magistrate; but his
violent resistance, and the insolence of his language, so provoked them,
that they shot him. The wound proved mortal; and when dying, he earnestly
requested of the boys, that the manner of his death might be concealed
from his countrymen, and that he might be privately buried among the
English.

As soon as this transaction was known, Opechancanough demanded
satisfaction; but being answered that the retaliation was just, he formed
a plan for a general massacre of the English, and appointed Friday,
the twenty-second day of March, for its execution; but he dissembled
his resentment to the last moment. Parties of Indians were distributed
through the Colony, to attack every plantation, at the same hour of the
day, when the men should be abroad and at work. On the evening before,
and on the morning of that fatal day, the Indians came as usual to the
houses of the English, bringing game and fish to sell, and sat down
with them to breakfast. So general was the combination, and so deep
the plot, that about one hour before noon, they fell on the people in
the fields and houses; and, with their own tools and weapons, killed,
indiscriminately, persons of all ages, sexes and characters; inhumanly
mangling their dead bodies, and triumphing over them, with all the
expressions of frantic joy.

Where any resistance was made, it was generally successful. Several
houses were defended, and some few of the assailants slain. One of
Captain Smith’s old soldiers, Nathaniel Causie, though wounded, split
the skull of an Indian, and put his whole party to flight. Several
other parties were dispersed by the firing of a single gun, or by the
presenting of a gun, even in the hands of a woman.

James-Town was preserved by the fidelity of Chanco, a young Indian
convert, who lived with Richard Pace, and was treated by him as a son.
The brother of this Indian came to lie with him, the night before the
massacre, and revealed to him the plot, urging him to kill his master,
as he intended to do by his own. As soon as he was gone in the morning,
Chanco gave notice of what was intended, to his master; who, having
secured his own house, gave the alarm to his neighbours, and sent an
express to James-Town. Three hundred and forty-nine people fell in this
general massacre; of which number, six were members of the Council.




EXPLOIT OF CAPTAIN STANDISH.


“The 23d of March (1623) being a yearly court day, we came to this
conclusion; that Captain Standish should take as many men as he thought
sufficient to make his party good, against all the Indians in the
Massachusetts Bay; and because it is impossible to deal with them upon
open defiance, but to take them in such traps as they lay for others;
therefore that he should pretend trade, as at other times; but first go
to the English, and acquaint them with the plot and the end of his own
coming, that by comparing it with their carriage toward them, he might
better judge of the certainty of it, and more fitly take opportunity to
revenge the same; but should forbear, if it were possible, till such time
as he could make sure of Wittuwamat, a bloody and bold villain, whose
head he had orders to bring with him. Upon this, Captain Standish made
choice of eight men, and would not take more, because he would prevent
jealousy. On the next day, before he could go, came one of Weston’s
company to us with a pack on his back, who made a pitiful narration of
their lamentable and weak estate, and of the Indians’ carriage; whose
boldness increased abundantly, insomuch as they would take the victuals
out of their pots, and eat before their faces; yea, if in any thing they
gainsayed them, they were ready to hold a knife at their breasts. He said
that, to give them content, they had hanged one of the company, who had
stolen their corn, and yet they regarded it not; that another of them
had turned savage; that their people had mostly forsaken the town, and
made their rendezvous where they got their victuals, because they would
not take pains to bring it home; that they had sold their clothes for
corn, and were ready to perish with hunger and cold, and that they were
dispersed into three companies, having scarcely any powder and shot.
As this relation was grievous to us, so it gave us good encouragement
to proceed; and the wind coming fair the next day, March 25th, Captain
Standish being now fitted, set forth for Massachusetts.

“The Captain being come to Massachusetts, went first to the ship, but
found neither man nor dog therein. On the discharge of a musket, the
Master and some others shewed themselves, who were on shore gathering
ground-nuts and other food. After salutation, Captain Standish asked
them how they durst so leave the ship, and live in such security? they
answered, like men senseless of their own misery, that they feared not
the Indians, but lived and suffered them to lodge with them, not having
sword nor gun, nor needing the same. To which the Captain replied,
that if there were no cause, he was glad. But upon further inquiry,
understanding that those in whom John Sanders had reposed most confidence
were at the plantation, thither he went, and made known the Indians’
purpose, and the end of his own coming; and told them that if they
durst not stay there, it was the intention of the Governor and people
of Plymouth, to receive them, till they could be better provided for.
These men answered that they could expect no better, and it was of God’s
mercy that they were not killed before his coming, desiring that he would
neglect no opportunity to proceed; hereupon he advised them to secrecy
and to order one third of their company that were farthest off to come
home, and on pain of death to keep there, himself allowing them a pint
of Indian corn, to a man, for a day, though that was spared out of our
feed. The weather proving very wet and stormy, it was the longer before
he could do any thing.

“In the mean time an Indian came to him and brought some furs, but rather
to get what he could from the Captain than to trade; and though the
Captain carried things as smoothly as he could, yet, at his return, the
Indian reported that he saw by his eyes that he was angry in his heart,
and therefore began to suspect themselves discovered. This caused one
Pecksuot, who was a Pinese (chief) being a man of a notable spirit to
come to Hobamock (Standish’s Indian guide and interpreter) and tell him
that he understood the Captain was come to kill himself and the rest of
the savages there: ‘Tell him, said he, we know it, but fear him not,
neither will we shun him; but let him begin when he dare, he shall not
take us at unawares.’ Many times after, divers of them, severally or a
few together, came to the plantation, where they would whet and sharpen
the point of their knives before his face, and use many other insulting
gestures and speeches. Among the rest, Wittuwamat bragged of the
excellency of his knife, on the handle of which was pictured a woman’s
face. ‘But, said he, I have another at home, wherewith I have killed both
French and English, and that hath a man’s face on it, and by and by,
these two must be married.’ Further he said of that knife which he there
had, _Hinnaim namen, binnaim michen, matta cuts_, that is to say, _by and
by it should see, by and by it should eat, but not speak_. Also Pecksuot
being a man of greater stature than the Captain, told him ‘though you are
a great Captain, yet you are but a little man; though I be no Sachem,
yet I am a man of great strength and courage.’ These things the Captain
observed, but, for the present, bore them with patience.

“On the next day, seeing he could not get many of them together at once,
but Pecksuot and Wittuwamat being together, with another man and the
brother of Wittuwamat a youth of eighteen, putting many tricks on the
weaker sort of men, and having about as many of his own men in the same
room, the Captain gave the word to his men; and the door being fast shut,
he begun himself with Pecksuot and snatching the knife from his neck,
after much struggling killed him therewith; the rest killed Wittuwamat
and the other man; the youth they took and hanged. It is incredible, how
many wounds these men received, before they died, not making any fearful
noise, but catching at their weapons, and striving to the last. Hobamock
stood by as a spectator, observing how our men demeaned themselves in the
action; which being ended, he, smiling, brake forth and said, ‘Yesterday
Pecksuot bragged of his own strength and stature, and told you that
though you were a great Captain, yet you were but a little man; but,
to-day, I see you are big enough to lay him on the ground.’

“There being some women, at the same time there, Captain Standish left
them, in the custody of Weston’s people, at the town; and sent word to
another company, to kill those Indian men that were among them. These
killed two more; himself with some of his own men, went to another place
and killed another; but through the negligence of one man, an Indian
escaped, who discovered and crossed their proceedings.

“Captain Standish took one half of his men with one or two of Weston’s
and Hobamock, still seeking them. At length they espied a file of
Indians, making toward them; and, there being a small advantage in the
ground, by reason of a hill, both companies strove for it. Captain
Standish got it; whereupon the Indians retreated, and took each man his
tree, letting fly their arrows amain, especially at himself and Hobamock.
Whereupon Hobamock cast off his coat, and chased them so fast, that our
people were not able to hold way with him. They could have but one
certain mark, the arm and half the face of a notable villain, as he drew
his bow at Captain Standish, who with another, both discharged at him,
and brake his arm. Whereupon, they fled into a swamp; when they were
in the thicket, they parlied but got nothing but foul language. So our
Captain dared the Sachem to come out and fight like a man, showing how
base and woman-like he was, in tonguing it as he did; but he refused and
fled. So the Captain returned to the plantation; where he released the
women and took not their beaver coats from them, nor suffered the least
discourtesy to be offered them.

“Now were Weston’s people resolved to leave the plantation, and go to
Monhegan, hoping to get passage and return to England with the fishing
ships. The Captain told them, that for his own part, he durst live there
with fewer men than they were; yet since they were otherwise minded,
according to his orders from the Governor and people of Plymouth, he
would help them with corn, which he did, scarce leaving himself more than
brought them home. Some of them disliked to go to Monhegan; and desiring
to go with him to Plymouth, he took them into the shallop; and seeing
the others set sail, and clear of Massachusetts Bay, he took leave and
returned to Plymouth, bringing the head of Wittuwamat, which was set up
on the fort.

“This sudden and unexpected execution, hath so terrified and amazed the
other people who intended to join with the Massachusencks against us,
that they forsook their houses, running to and fro like men distracted;
living in swamps, and other desert places, and so brought diseases
upon themselves, whereof many are dead; as Canacum, Sachem of Manomet;
Aspinet, of Nauset; and Ianough, of Matachiest. This Sachem, (Ianough)
in the midst of these distractions, said, ‘the God of the English was
offended with them, and would destroy them in his anger.’ From one of
these places, a boat was sent with presents to the Governor, hoping
thereby to work their peace; but the boat was lost, and three of the
people drowned; only one escaped, who returned; so that none of them
durst come among us.”

[Illustration]




SINGULAR EXPEDIENT OF COLUMBUS


In one of his later voyages at sea he met with tempestuous weather of
long continuance, in which his ships were so shattered, that with the
utmost difficulty he kept them above water, till he ran them ashore on
the island of Jamaica. By his extraordinary address, he procured from the
natives two of their largest canoes; in which two of his most faithful
friends, Mendez and Fiesco, accompanied by some of his sailors and a
few Indians, embarked for Hispaniola. After encountering the greatest
difficulties in their passage, they carried tidings of his misfortune to
Ovando, and solicited his aid. The merciless wretch detained them eight
months, without an answer; during which time, Columbus suffered the
severest hardships, from the discontent of his company, and the want of
provisions. By the hospitality of the natives, he at first received such
supplies, as they were able to spare; but the long continuance of these
guests had diminished their store, and the insolence of the mutineers
gave a check to their friendship. In this extremity, the fertile
invention of Columbus suggested an expedient which proved successful.
He knew that a total eclipse of the moon was at hand, which would be
visible in the evening. On the preceding day, he sent for the principal
Indians, to speak with them, on a matter of the utmost importance.
Being assembled, he directed his interpreter to tell them, that the
God of heaven, whom he worshipped, was angry with them, for withholding
provision from him, and would punish them with famine and pestilence;
as a token of which, the moon would, in the evening, appear of an
angry and bloody colour. Some of them received his speech with terror,
and others with indifference; but when the moon rose, and the eclipse
increased as she advanced from the horizon, they came in crowds, loaded
with provision, and begged the Admiral to intercede with his God, for
the removal of his anger. Columbus retired to his cabin; and when the
eclipse began to go off, he came out and told them, that he had prayed
to his God, and had received this answer; that if they would be good for
the future, and bring him provision as he should want, God would forgive
them; and as a token of it, the moon would put on her usual brightness.
They gave him thanks, and promised compliance; and whilst he remained on
the island there was no more want of provision.

[Illustration]




ADVENTURES OF JAMES CARTIER IN CANADA.


After spending some time in exploring the northern coast, to find an
opening to the northward; in the beginning of September, 1535, he sailed
up the river St. Lawrence and discovered several islands; one of which,
from the multitude of filberts, he called Coudres; and another, from the
vast quantity of grapes, he named Bacchus, (now Orleans.) This island was
full of inhabitants who subsisted by fishing.

When the ships had come to anchor between the N. W. side of the island
and the main, Cartier went on shore with his two young Savages. The
people of the country were at first afraid of them; but hearing the
youths speak to them in their own language, they became sociable, and
brought eels and other fish, with a quantity of Indian corn in ears,
for the refreshment of their new guests; in return for which, they were
presented with such European baubles as were pleasing to them.

The next day, Donacona, the prince of the place, came to visit them,
attended by twelve boats; but, keeping ten of them at a distance, he
approached with two only, containing sixteen men. In the true spirit of
hospitality, he made a speech, accompanied with significant gestures,
welcoming the French to his country and offering his service to them.
The young savages, Taignoagni and Domagaia answered him, reporting all
which they had seen in France, at which he appeared to be pleased.
Then approaching the Captain, who held out his hand, he kissed it, and
laid it round his own neck, in token of friendship. Cartier, on his
part, entertained Donacona with bread and wine, and they parted mutually
pleased.

The next day Cartier went up in his boat to find a harbour for his ships;
the season being so far advanced that it became necessary to secure them.
At the west end of the isle of Bacchus, he found “a goodly and pleasant
sound, where is a little river and haven; about three fathom deep at high
water.” To this he gave the name of St. Croix, and determined there to
lay up his ships.

Near this place was a village called Stadacona, of which Donacona was
the Lord. It was environed with forest trees, some of which bore fruit;
and under the trees, was a growth of wild hemp. As Cartier was returning
to his ships, he had another specimen of the hospitable manners of the
natives. A company of people, of both sexes, met him on the shore of the
little river, singing and dancing up to their knees in water. In return
for their courtesy, he gave them knives and beads; and they continued
their music till he was beyond hearing it.

When Cartier had brought his ships to the harbour and secured them, he
intimated his intention to pass in his boats up the river to Hochelaga.
Donacona was loath to part with him; and invented several artifices to
prevent his going thither. Among others, he contrived to dress three
of his men in black and white skins, with horns on their heads, and
their faces besmeared with coal, to make them resemble infernal spirits.
They were put into a canoe and passed by the ships; brandishing their
horns and making an unintelligible harangue. Donacona, with his people,
pursued and took them, on which they fell down as if dead. They were
carried ashore into the woods, and all the savages followed them. A long
discourse ensued, and the conclusion of the farce was, that these demons
had brought news from the God of Hochelaga, that his country was so full
of snow and ice, that whoever should adventure thither would perish with
the cold. The artifice afforded diversion to the French, but was too
thin to deceive them. Cartier determined to proceed; and on the 19th of
September, with his pinnace and two boats, began his voyage up the river
to Hochelaga.

Among the woods on the margin of the river were many vines loaded
with ripe grapes, than which nothing could be a more welcome sight to
Frenchmen, though the fruit was not so delicious as they had been used
to taste in their own country. Along the banks were many huts of the
natives; who made signs of joy as they passed; presented them with fish;
piloted them through narrow channels; carried them ashore on their backs,
and helped them to get off their boats when aground. Some presented their
children to them, and such as were of proper age were accepted.

The water at that time of the year being low, their passage was rendered
difficult; but by the friendly assistance of the natives they surmounted
the obstructions. On the 28th of September they passed the rapids between
the islands in the upper part of the lake Angoleme, (now called St.
Peter’s) and on the second of October they arrived at the island of
Hochelaga; where they had been expected, and preparations were made to
give them a welcome reception. About a thousand persons came to meet
them, singing and dancing, the men on one side, the women on the other,
and the children in a distinct body. Presents of fish and other victuals
were brought, and in return were given knives, beads and other trinkets.
The Frenchmen lodged the first night in their boats, and the natives
watched on the shore, dancing round their fires during the whole night.

The next morning Cartier, with twenty-five of his company, went to visit
the town, and were met on the way by a person of distinction, who bade
them welcome. To him they gave two hatchets and two knives, and hung over
his neck a cross which they taught him to kiss. As they proceeded, they
passed through groves of oak, from which the acorns were fallen and lay
thick on the ground. After this they came to fields of ripe corn, some of
which was gathered. In the midst of these fields was situate the town of
Hochelaga.

It was of a round form, encompassed with three lines of palisades,
through which was one entrance, well secured with stakes and bars. On the
inside was a rampart of timber, to which were ascents by ladders, and
heaps of stones were laid in proper places for defence. In the town were
about fifty long huts built with stakes and covered with bark. In the
middle of each hut was a fire, round which were lodging places, floored
with bark and covered with skins. In the upper part was a scaffold, on
which they dried and preserved their corn. To prepare it for eating,
they pounded it in wooden mortars, and having mixed it with water, baked
it on hot stones. Besides corn they had beans, squashes and pumpkins.
They dried their fish and preserved them in troughs. These people lived
chiefly by tillage and fishing, and seldom went far from home. Those on
the lower parts of the river were more given to hunting, and considered
the Lord of Hochelaga as their sovereign, to whom they paid tribute.

When the new guests were conducted to an open square in the centre of the
town, the females came to them, rubbing their hands and faces, weeping
with joy at their arrival, and bringing their children to be touched by
the strangers. They spread mats for them on the ground, whilst the men
seated themselves in a large circle on the outside. The King was then
brought in a litter, on the shoulders of ten men, and placed on a mat
next to the French Captain. He was about fifty years old, and had no
mark of distinction but a coronet made of porcupine’s quills dyed red;
which he took off and gave to the Captain, requesting him to rub his
arms and legs which were trembling with a palsy. Several persons, blind,
lame, and withered with age, were also brought to be touched; as if they
supposed that their new guests were messengers from heaven invested with
a power of healing diseases. Cartier gratified them as well as he could,
by laying his hands on them and repeating some devotional passages from a
service book, which he had in his pocket; accompanying his ejaculations
with significant gestures, and lifting up his eyes to heaven. The natives
attentively observed and imitated all his motions.

Having performed this ceremony, he desired men, women and children to
arrange themselves in separate bodies. To the men he gave hatchets, to
the women beads, and to the children rings. He then ordered his drums
and trumpets to sound, which highly pleased the company and set them to
dancing.

Being desirous of ascending the hill, under which the town was built, the
natives conducted them to the summit; where they were entertained with a
most extensive and beautiful prospect of mountains, woods, islands and
waters. They observed the course of the river above, and some falls of
water in it; and the natives informed them that they might sail on it for
three months; that it ran through two or three great lakes, beyond which
was a sea of fresh water, to which they knew of no bounds; and that on
the other side of the mountains there was another river which ran in a
contrary direction to the south-west, through a country full of delicious
fruits and free from snow and ice; that there was found such metal as
the Captain’s _silver_ whistle and the haft of a dagger belonging to one
of the company which was gilt with _gold_. Being shown some copper, they
pointed to the northward, and said it came from Saguenay. To this hill
Cartier gave the name of _Montreal_, which it has ever since retained.

[Illustration]




MILLY FRANCIS.


Duncan M’Krimmon, (a resident of Milledgeville, a Georgia militia man,
stationed at Fort Gadsden,) being out one morning on a fishing excursion,
in attempting to return, missed his way, and was several days lost in
the surrounding wilderness. After wandering about in various directions
he was espied and captured by a party of hostile Indians, headed by the
well known prophet Francis. The Indians having obtained the satisfaction
they wanted respecting the determination of government, the position of
the American army, &c. they began to prepare for the intended sacrifice.
M’Krimmon was bound to a stake, and the ruthless savages having shaved
his head and reduced his body to a state of nudity, formed themselves
into a circle and danced round him some hours, yelling most horribly. The
youngest daughter of the prophet, about fifteen years of age, remained
sad and silent the whole time. She participated not in the general joy,
but was evidently, even to the affrighted prisoner, much pained at the
savage scene she was compelled to witness. When the burning torches were
about to be applied to the fagots which encompassed the prisoner, and
the fatal tomahawk was raised to terminate forever his mortal existence,
Milly Francis, (for that was her name,) like an angel of mercy, placed
herself between it and death, resolutely bidding the astonished
executioner, if he thirsted for human blood, to shed hers; being
determined, she said, not to survive the prisoner’s death. A momentary
pause was produced by this unexpected occurrence, and she took advantage
of the circumstance to implore upon her knees the pity of the ferocious
father, who finally yielded to her wishes; with the intention, however,
it is suspected, of murdering them both, if he could not sell M’Krimmon
to the Spaniards; which was luckily effected a few days after at St.
Marks, for seven gallons and a half of rum. As long as M’Krimmon remained
a prisoner his benefactress continued to show him acts of kindness. The
fortune of war since placed her in the power of the white people, being
compelled, with a number of others of her tribe who were in a starving
condition, to surrender themselves prisoners. As soon as this fact was
known to M’Krimmon, in manifestation of a due sense of the obligation
which he owed to the woman who saved his life, at the hazard of her own,
he sought her to alleviate her misfortune, and to offer her marriage; but
Milly would not consent to become his wife as a consideration of having
saved his life, declaring that she did no more than her duty, and that
her intercessions were the same as they would ever have been on similar
occasions.




ADVENTURES OF SIMON BUTLER AMONG THE INDIANS.


Simon Kenton, _alias_ Butler, from humble beginnings, made himself
conspicuous by distinguished services and achievements, in the first
settlement of this country, and ought to be recorded as one of the
patriarchs of Kentucky. He was born in Virginia, in 1753. He grew
to maturity without being able to read or write; but from his early
exploits, he seems to have been endowed with feelings, which the
educated, and those born in the upper walks of life appear to suppose
a monopoly reserved for themselves. It is recorded of him, that at the
age of nineteen he had a violent contest with another competitor for the
favour of the lady of his love. She refused to make an election between
them; and the subject of this notice indignantly exiled himself from
his native place. After various peregrinations on the long rivers of
the west, he fixed himself in Kentucky, and soon became a distinguished
partizan against the savages. In 1774, he joined himself to Lord Dunmore,
and was appointed one of his spies. He made various excursions, and
performed important services in this employ. He finally selected a place
for improvement on the site where Washington now is. Returning one day
from hunting, he found one of his companions slain by the Indians, and
his body thrown into the fire. He left Washington in consequence, and
joined himself to Colonel Clark in his fortunate and gallant expedition
against Vincennes and Kaskaskia. He was sent by that commander with
despatches for Kentucky. He passed through the streets of Vincennes, then
in possession of the British and Indians, without discovery. Arriving at
White river, he and his party made a raft, on which to cross with their
guns and baggage, driving their horses into the river, and compelling
them to swim it. A party of Indians was concealed on the opposite bank,
who took possession of the horses as they mounted the bank, after
crossing the river. Butler and his company seeing this, continued
to float down the river on their raft, without coming to land. They
concealed themselves in the bushes until night, when they crossed the
river, pursued their journey, and delivered their despatches.

After this, Butler made a journey of discovery to the northern regions
of the Ohio country, and was made prisoner by the Indians. They painted
him black, as is their custom, when a victim is devoted to torture; and
informed him that he was destined to be burned at Chillicothe. Meanwhile,
for their own amusement, and as a prelude to his torture, they manacled
him hand and foot, placed him on an unbridled and unbroken horse, and
turned the animal loose, driving it off at its utmost speed, with shouts,
delighted with witnessing its mode of managing under its living burden.
The horse, unable to shake off this new and strange incumbrance, made
for the thickest covert of woods and brambles, with the speed of the
winds. It is easy to conjecture the position and sufferings of the
victim. The terrified animal exhausted itself in fruitless efforts to
shake off its load, and worn down and subdued, brought Butler back to the
camp amidst the exulting yells of the savages.

Having arrived within a mile of Chillicothe, they halted, took Butler
from his horse, and tied him to a stake, where he remained twenty-four
hours in one position. He was taken from the stake to ‘run the gauntlet.’
The Indian mode of managing this kind of torture was as follows: The
inhabitants of the tribe, old and young, were placed in parallel lines,
armed with clubs and switches. The victim was to make his way to the
council house, through these files, every member of which struggled
to beat him, as he passed, as severely as possible. If he reached the
council house alive, he was to be spared. In the lines were nearly six
hundred Indians, and Butler had to make his way almost a mile in the
endurance of this infernal sport. He was started by a blow; but soon
broke through the files, and had almost reached the council house, when
a stout warrior knocked him down with a club. He was severely beaten in
this position, and taken back again into custody.

It seems incredible, that they sometimes rescued their prisoners from
these tortures, adopted them, and treated them with the utmost lenity
and even kindness. At other times, ingenuity was exhausted to invent
tortures, and every renewed endurance of the victim seemed to stimulate
their vengeance to new discoveries of cruelty. Butler was one of these
ill-fated subjects. No way satisfied with what they had done, they
marched him from village to village, to give all a spectacle of his
sufferings. He ran the gauntlet thirteen times. He made various attempts
to escape; and in one instance would have effected it, had he not been
arrested by some savages who were accidentally returning to the village
from which he was escaping. It was finally determined to burn him at the
lower Sandusky, but an apparent accident changed his destiny.

In passing to the stake, the procession went by the cabin of Simon Girty,
who had just returned from an unsuccessful expedition to the frontiers
of Pennsylvania. The wretch burned with disappointment and revenge; and
hearing that there was a white man going to the torture, determined to
wreak his vengeance on him. He found the unfortunate Butler, threw him
to the ground, and began to beat him. Butler, who instantly recognized
in Girty a former companion of his youth, made himself known to him.
His savage heart relented. He raised him up, and promised to use his
influence to save him. Girty had a council called, and he moved the
savages to give Butler up to him. He took the unfortunate man home,
fed, and clothed him, and Butler began to recruit from his wounds
and torture. But the relenting of the savages in his favour was only
momentary. After five days, they repented of their relaxation in his
favour, reclaimed him, and marched him to Lower Sandusky to be burned,
according to their original purpose. By a surprising coincidence, he
there met the Indian agent from Detroit, who from motives of humanity,
exerted his influence with the savages for his release, and took him with
him to Detroit. Here he was paroled by the governor. He escaped, and by a
march of thirty days through the wilderness, reached Kentucky.

[Illustration]




INGENUITY IN TORTURE.


An instance of the keenness of Indian ingenuity, in the invention of
original modes of torture, is given in Flint’s Indian Wars. The Indians
captured a young man of the name of Moses Hewitt, who lived on the
Little Hock hocking, and was a member of the Marietta settlement. He
was remarkable for the suppleness of his limbs, and the swiftness of
his running. The Indians tested him with their champion racers, and,
although he could not have run with much spirit, under his depressing
circumstances, he easily vanquished them all in swiftness. They affected
to be pleased, but their envy was piqued. They were destitute of
provisions, and wished to secure their swift-footed prisoner, while they
were occupied in their hunt. With this view, and probably to torture
him at the same time, they fastened his wrists by crossing them, and
binding them firmly with a cord. They then tied his arms to a stake, so
as partly to raise the upper part of his body. They fastened his legs in
the same way, and partly cut off a young sapling, bending it down, so
that the weight of the lower part of his body would be a counterpoise to
the elastic force of the curved tree. Thus was he partially raised by his
hands and feet, in a way most horribly painful; and yet in a position
where death would be slow in arriving to his release. It was like the
torture of killing by dropping water on the head. Fortunately the young
man had remarkably slender wrist bones. When left alone to meditate upon
his terrible situation, he contrived, not without disengaging the skin
and flesh from his wrists, to disentangle his arms from their manacles,
and finally his legs. He picked up a little of the scraps of jerked meat,
which the Indians had left. To baffle their pursuit and that of their
dogs, he ran on the bodies of fallen trees, and meandered his course in
every direction. Such was the adroitness of his management, that he put
them completely at fault, escaped them, and came in to the settlement
of Marietta, wounded, his flesh torn and mangled, and emaciated to a
skeleton—a living proof how much man can survive before he suffers the
mortal pang. He had been absent fourteen days.

[Illustration]




OSCEOLA.


On one occasion, Osceola acted as guide to a party of horsemen, and
finding that, at starting, they proceeded slowly, he enquired the cause.
On being told that it was on his account, with one of those smiles he
alone can give, he bade them proceed more rapidly. They put spurs to
their steeds, and he, a-foot, kept up with them during the entire route,
nor did he exhibit the slightest symptoms of fatigue, at the close of
day, but arrived at the point proposed, as early as the mounted body. To
Col. Gadsden, sole Commissioner at the Treaty of Payne’s Landing, Osceola
rendered good service, at the head of thirty or forty warriors, posting
himself nearer to the Colonel’s position than the other Indians, and
saying, he was more like the white man than they. He did not sign the
treaty then and there made, nor did he refuse so to do. The fact is, he
was never asked to subscribe his name thereto, being at that time, but a
Tustenugge and of little note. This treaty must not be confounded with
the subsequent agreement that Osceola finally signed, and into which he
is said to have plunged his knife, when called on for his signature. The
negotiations at Payne’s landing were in the time of Tuckasee Emathla, or
the Ground Mole Warrior, Chief of the Micasuky tribe. At that date it was
not known of Powell, as Cotton Mather says of Roger Williams, that “the
whole country was soon like to be set on fire by the rapid motion of a
wind mill in the head of this one man.”




GRATITUDE OF OSCEOLA.


Osceola’s agency, and that of his Lieutenant Tom, in Omathla’s death,
and his killing Gen. Thompson, with the rifle presented him by the
General, militate against the favourable estimate of his character. But
that all his goodly feelings were not utterly eradicated, is proven
by an incident, in the interview with Gen. Gaines’ command. On that
occasion, Osceola anxiously inquired after Lieut. John Grahame, and on
being informed that he was wounded, stoutly denied it. On being asked
why he was so positive that Lieut. G. was unhurt, he replied that he had
imperatively ordered his people never to molest that young man, and he
knew no one who would dare disobey him; none should, and live! It was
then admitted, that though the brothers, Grahame, had been wounded, yet
Lt. G. had escaped injury; at which admission Osceola greatly joyed. It
seems that Powell has a little daughter, to whom Lt. G. was kind, and had
presented with frocks, in which the young girl, who grew very fond of
him, always insisted on being dressed, whenever she perceived Lieut. G.
(for whom she often looked out) coming to visit her. Osceola’s motive in
sparing Lieut. G. was gratitude for attention to his child, which he also
endeavored to repay by teaching the Lieut. the Indian language, for he
spoke a little English, and was very intelligent.




THE CROWNING OF POWHATAN.


The Virginia company in London, deceived by false reports, and misled
by their own sanguine imaginations, had conceived an expectation not
only of finding precious metals in the country, but of discovering the
South Sea, from the mountains at the head of James-river; and it was
thought, that the journey thither, might be performed in eight or ten
days. For the purpose of making this capital discovery, they put on
board Newport’s ship, a barge capable of being taken to pieces, and put
together again at pleasure. This barge was to make a voyage to the head
of the river, then to be carried in pieces across the mountains, and to
descend the rivers which were supposed to run westward to the South Sea.
To facilitate this plan, it was necessary to gain the favour of Powhatan,
through whose country the passage must be made; and as means of winning
him, a royal present was brought over, consisting of a bason and ewer,
a bed and furniture, a chair of state, a suit of scarlet clothes, with
a cloak and a crown, all which were to be presented to him in due form;
and the crown placed on his head, with as much solemnity as possible. To
a person who knew the country and its inhabitants so well as Smith, this
project appeared chimerical, and the means whereby it was to be carried
on, dangerous. With a small quantity of copper and a few beads, he could
have kept Powhatan in good humour, and made an advantage of it for the
colony, whereas a profusion of presents he knew would but increase his
pride and insolence. The project of travelling over unknown mountains
with men already weakened by sickness, and worn out with fatigue, in
a hot climate, and in the midst of enemies, who might easily cut off
their retreat, was too romantic even for his sanguine and adventurous
spirit. His opinion upon the matter cannot be expressed in more pointed
language, than he used in a letter to the company. “If the quartered
boat was burned to ashes, _one_ might carry her in a bag, but as she is,
five hundred cannot, to a navigable place above the falls.” His dissent
however was ineffectual, and when he found that the voice of the council
was for executing it, he lent his assistance to effect as much of it as
was practicable.

Previously to their setting out, he undertook, with four men only, to
carry notice to Powhatan of the intended present, and invite him to come
to James-Town, that he might receive it there. Having travelled by land
twelve miles to Werocomoco, on Pamunky (York) river, where he expected
to meet Powhatan, and not finding him there, whilst a messenger was
dispatched thirty miles for him; his daughter Pocahontas, entertained
Smith and his company with a dance, which for its singularity, merits a
particular description.

In an open plain, a fire being made, the gentlemen were seated by it.
Suddenly a noise was heard in the adjacent wood, which made them fly
to their arms, and seize on two or three old men, as hostages for their
own security, imagining that they were betrayed. Upon this the young
princess came running to Smith, and passionately embracing him, offered
herself to be killed, if any harm should happen to him or his company.
Her assurances, seconded by all the Indians present, removed their
fears. The noise which had alarmed them, was made by thirty girls, who
were preparing for the intended ceremony. Immediately they made their
appearance, with no other covering than a girdle of green leaves and
their skins painted, each one of a different colour. Their leader had
a pair of buck’s horns on her head, an otter’s skin as her girdle, and
another on one arm; a bow and arrow in the other hand, and a quiver at
her back. The rest of them had horns on their heads, and a wooden sword
or staff in their hands. With shouting and singing, they formed a ring
round the fire, and performed a circular dance for about an hour, after
which they retired in the same order as they had advanced. The dance was
followed by a feast, at which the savage nymphs were as eager with their
caresses as with their attendance; and this being ended, they conducted
the gentlemen to their lodging by the light of fire brands.

The next day Powhatan arrived, and Smith delivered the message from his
father, Newport (as he always called him) to this effect. “That he had
brought him from the King of England, a royal present, and wished to
see him at James-Town, that he might deliver it to him; promising to
assist him in prosecuting his revenge against the Monacans, whose country
they would penetrate even to the sea beyond the mountains.” To which the
savage prince with equal subtility and haughtiness, answered, “If your
King has sent me a present, I also am a King, and am on my own land. I
will stay here eight days. Your father must come to me, I will not go to
him, nor to your fort. As for the Monacans, I am able to revenge myself.
If you have heard of salt water beyond the mountains, from any of my
people, they have deceived you.” Then with a stick he drew a plan of that
region on the ground; and after many compliments the conference ended.

The present being put on board the boats, was carried down James-river
and up the Pamunky, whilst Newport, with fifty men, went across by land
and met the boats, in which he passed the river, and held the proposed
interview. All things being prepared for the ceremony of coronation, the
present was brought from the boats; the bason and ewer were deposited,
the bed and chair were set up, the scarlet suit and cloak were put on,
though not till Namontac (an Indian youth whom Newport had carried to
England and brought back again) had assured him that these habiliments
would do him no harm; but they had great difficulty in persuading him to
receive the crown, nor would he bend his knee, or incline his head in
the least degree. After many attempts, and with actual pressing on his
shoulders, they at last made him stoop a little and put it on. Instantly,
a signal being given, the men in the boats fired a volley, at which the
monarch started with horror, imagining that a design was forming to
destroy him in the summit of his glory; but being assured that it was
meant as a compliment, his fear subsided, and in return for the baubles
of royalty received from King James, he desired Newport to present him
his old fur mantle and deer skin shoes, which in his estimation were
doubtless a full equivalent; since all this finery could not prevail
on the wary chief to allow them guides for the discovery of the inland
country, or to approve their design of visiting it. Thus disappointed
they returned to James-Town, determined to proceed without his assistance.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: Florida Indians.

Page 167.]




THE FLORIDA INDIANS.


The Palarches, Eamuses and Kaloosas, were the ancient possessors of
Florida, and are all extinct. The present Florida Indians are the remains
of that ancient and warlike tribe on the Mississippi, which being almost
extirpated by the French, retreated along the Northern coast of the Gulf
of Mexico, and united with broken bands of Biloxies, Red Sticks, and
runaway Creeks, called Seminoles. The largest portion of these Indians
are Lower Creeks, and are of the most dissolute, daring, and abandoned of
that tribe.

The word Seminole signifies a wanderer or runaway, or it means a wild
people or outsettlers, the ancestors of the tribe having detached
themselves from the main body of the Creeks, and dwelt remotely, wherever
the inducements of more game, or greater scope for freedom of action,
might casually lead them. They settled in Florida about 115 years ago.

That this is the period of their becoming a separate community, is
confirmed by the connection of their history with that of the Yemasees,
of whom there occur frequent notices in the account of the early
settlement of Georgia and South Carolina.

In a talk, which the Seminoles about the year 1820, transmitted to the
American government, they say, alluding to their ancient independence:
“An hundred summers have seen the Seminole warrior reposing undisturbed
under the shade of his live oak, and the suns of an hundred winters
have risen on his ardent pursuit of the buck and the bear, with none to
question his bounds, or dispute his range.”

The greater part of East Florida appears to have been originally in
possession of the Yemasees—a powerful people, who not only occupied this
province, but spread themselves over Georgia, and into the limits of
South Carolina, which on its first demarcation was bounded on the South
by the Altamaha. Some of the tribes resided within the present limits of
that State, in and about Beaufort and Savannah River, and also the Sea
Islands. Bartram relates that these people, after a hardy contest, and
many bloody defeats, were nearly exterminated by their ancient enemies
the Creeks, who had a tradition, that a beautiful race of Indians, whose
women they called Daughters of the Sun, resided amidst the recesses of
the great Oakefanokee wilderness, where they enjoyed perpetual felicity,
in ever blooming islands, inaccessible to human approach.

Bartram with probability supposes, that this fable took its rise from a
fugitive remnant of the Yemasees, who found a refuge in this swamp, and
were perhaps, after a lapse of years, accidentally seen by some of the
hunters of the Creek nation.

There is frequent mention, in the early colonial history of South
Carolina of wars between the first settlers and the Yemasees, the latter
having been excited to attack the Colony by the Spanish authorities in
St. Augustine.

A formidable war was kindled by these people, which would have proved
destructive to the infant settlement of Carolina, had not timely
intimation of the danger been obtained by means of one of the outsettlers
to whom Sanute, a chief of the hostile Indians, from a feeling of
friendship, gave notice of the impending attack. On this occasion the
Indians were defeated by Gov. Grant, and driven out of the province. Dr.
Ramsay mentions that the Yemasees retired into Florida, to which country
they seem to have been subsequently restricted by the increasing power of
the whites, and by the Creeks. No further mention of them occurs, until
the Seminoles came into notice, by whom they were conquered, and nearly
exterminated, in 1721, in the manner mentioned by Bartram. When in the
year 1715, the Yemasees were driven within the limits of Florida, they
became slaves to the Seminoles. Another account states, that the Yemasees
left St. Augustine in a body, in 1722; or rather were expelled by the
Spaniards, who essayed in vain to compel them to labours which were
regarded as degrading drudgeries by the warriors of Yemasee.

The Yemasees were remarkably black people, and the Ocklewahaw tribe,
who are of a deeper shade than the Seminoles, are descendants of the
conquered race. The chief of the Ocklewahaws, Yaha Hadgo, who was killed
by General Shelton in the campaign of ’36, was very dark; but generally,
the Seminole’s complexion is like that of the Creeks.

Under King Payne, grandfather of Micconope, (the present Chief) the
Seminoles invaded and achieved the conquest of the territories they
lately occupied. He lived to near 100 years of age, and married a Yemasee
woman, his slave, by whom he had the late chief Payne, who bore, in the
darkness of his complexion, a proof of his Yemasee descent.

The Indians were formerly very numerous in Florida, perhaps as much so
as in Mexico. They are now reduced to comparatively small bands, in few
villages.

[Illustration]




GENERAL JACKSON’S CONQUEST OF THE INDIANS.


An artful impostor, Tecumseh of the Shawnees, a man of most extraordinary
abilities and consummate address, conceived the bold design of an union
of the red against the white population of America, under a hope that by
a general and continued assault along the whole line of our frontiers,
the future extension of settlements might be checked, if the present
inhabitants could not be driven into the ocean. Assuming the attributes
of a prophet, and, among other things, assisted by the fortuitous
occurrence of an earthquake, of which he had hazarded a prediction, a
confidence began to be reposed in the sacredness of his character and
mission. A majority of the Creek nation were enlisted in his cause,
and the storm of an exterminating savage war hung over the West. Its
first explosion was on Fort Mims, a rude stockade defence, into which
the Southern inhabitants of Alabama had lately retreated for security.
More than 300 persons, including women and children, fell victims to
savage barbarity. “The slaughter was indiscriminate; mercy was extended
to none, and the tomahawk often transfixed mother and child at the same
stroke. But seventeen of the whole number in the fort, escaped to give
intelligence of the dreadful catastrophe.” In the midst of an alarm which
such an inhuman outrage was calculated to excite, the eyes of Tennessee
were turned on Jackson. Though confined at this period to his house by
a fractured arm, his characteristic firmness did not desert him, and he
cheerfully yielded to a second call for his services in the cause of his
country. Two thousand militia were ordered to assemble at Fayetteville in
Tennessee, in addition to five hundred cavalry previously raised under
the command of Gen. Coffee.

The alarming accounts of the concentration of the forces of the enemy,
with a view of deluging the frontier in blood, compelled General Jackson
(though individually in a most disabled state of body) to take the field
before the ranks of his army had been filled, or his troops organized.

With this undisciplined force, he prepared for active operations; but the
wisest dispositions were counteracted, and all his movements embarrassed,
by the failure of unfeeling and speculating contractors.

The enemy were gathering strength, and on the advance; they had already
threatened a fort of Indian allies. In this situation, to retreat was to
abandon our frontier citizens to the mercy of savages; to advance, was
with the certainty of exposure to every privation.

Jackson hesitated not on the alternative, and with but six days’ rations
of meat, and less than two of meal, he moved with his army upon the
Coosa; and, with Coffee’s command, gave a most decisive blow to the enemy
at Tallushatchee, in less than twenty-five days after he had marched
from the rendezvous at Fayetteville. The loss of the Creeks in this
engagement, was 186 killed, and 84 prisoners.

Though compelled by the want of supplies to return to his depots on the
frontier, we find him in less than six weeks in the field, at the well
fought battle of Talledega, and in the subsequent conflicts at Emuckfau,
Enotichopco, and Tohopka, annihilating the hopes and expectations of the
Creeks, and crushing the hydra of savage hostility in the South.

[Illustration]




MASSACRE OF MR. COOLY’S FAMILY.


On the 6th of January, 1836, whilst Mr. Cooly was from home, a party
of about thirty Indians made an attack upon his family, settled at
New River, about 12 miles from Cape Florida. They murdered his wife,
three children, and a Mr. Flinton, who was employed as their teacher.
The children were sitting in the hall, getting their lessons, when the
Indians came up by stealth, and shot them down. Flinton was killed on
the threshold of the door; the little girl about eleven years old was
found dead, with her book in her hand. As soon as the firing commenced,
Mrs. Cooly snatched up her infant child, and endeavoured to effect their
escape by a back way. She was shot at a distance of about one hundred and
fifty yards from the house: the ball entered between her shoulders, and
after passing through her breast, broke the arm of the child which was
cradled on her bosom. The little boy, about eight or nine years of age,
was found in the yard with his skull and arm fractured, probably done
with a billet of wood. Having destroyed all of the white inhabitants,
they shot the cattle, plundered the house of property worth from one
thousand to twelve hundred dollars, took away two negroes and all the
horses, and finally set fire to the house.

The circumstances attending the murder of Mr. Cooly’s family, are well
calculated to illustrate the treachery of the Indian character. He
had resided among them for many years, spoke their language well, and
treated them with uniform kindness and hospitality. Indeed, such was his
friendship for them, that he named two of his sons after their chiefs
Alnomock and Montezuma. His wife had once been a captive among them,
and was esteemed a great favourite. Standing in this relation, and
confiding in their professions of friendship, which lulled him into a
fatal security, he left his home for a few days, and returned to find it
desolate. It is a remarkable fact, that the villains who perpetrated the
deed of death, had not the hardihood to scalp the poor mother and her
three innocent children. Was it the recollection of former friendship,
that induced them thus to spare? Or were they conscious that their own
savage colleagues would have blushed for the chivalry of those warriors,
who could find no work more befitting their tomahawks and scalping
knives, than the cruel butchery of women and children? Did they fear that
some chief, more feeling than the rest, would ask,

    “Oh wherefore strike the beautiful, the young,
    So innocent, unharming? Lift the knife,
    If need be, ’gainst the warrior; but forbear
    The trembling woman.”

The unfortunate schoolmaster shared a different fate. To him they owed
no obligations of friendship; he was a man, and as such, capable of
resistance; his scalp was therefore torn from him, and borne off as a
testimony of their savage triumph.




PHYSICAL CHARACTER OF THE INDIANS.


In their physical character, the American Indians are considered by
Blumenbach as forming a particular variety of the human species,
differing, though not very widely, from the Mongolian. Believing, as we
do, that the New World was peopled from the Old, and considering that the
Mongol race was situated nearest to the point where Asia and America come
almost into contact, we incline to ascribe these variations merely to a
change of outward circumstances. The face is broad and flat, with high
cheek-bones; more rounded and arched, however, than in the allied type,
without having the visage expanded to the same breadth. The forehead
is generally low; the eyes deep, small, and black; the nose rather
diminutive, but prominent, with wide nostrils; and the mouth large, with
somewhat thick lips. The stature, which varies remarkably throughout the
Continent, is, in the quarter of which we treat, generally above the
middle size. This property, however, is confined to the men, the females
being usually below that standard, a fact which may be confidently
ascribed to the oppressive drudgery they are compelled to undergo.
The limbs, in both sexes, are well proportioned; and few instances of
deformity ever occur.

The colour of the skin in the Indian is generally described as red
or copper-coloured; or, according to Mr. Lawrence’s more precise
definition, it is “an obscure orange or rusty iron colour, not unlike
the bark of the cinnamon-tree.” Although we believe that climate is
the chief cause of the diversities in human colour, yet it is certain
that all savages are dark-tinted. This peculiarity may be accounted for
by their constant exposure to the inclemency of the seasons, to sun,
air, and tempests; and the same cause in civilized countries produces
a similar effect on sailors, as well as on those who work constantly
in the fields. In the Old World, the intermediate tints between white
and black are generally varieties of brown and yellow. The red tint is
considered characteristic of the New World. We must, however, observe,
that the traveller Adair, who lived upward of thirty years among the
Indians, positively asserts that it is artificially produced; that in
the oil, grease, and other unctuous substances with which they keep
their skin constantly smeared, there is dissolved the juice of a root
which gradually tinges it of this colour. He states, that a white man,
who spent some years with the natives, and adorned himself in their
manner, completely acquired it. Charlevoix seems also to lean to the same
opinion. Weld, though rather inclined to dissent from it, admits that
such a notion was adopted by missionaries and others who had resided
long in the country. It is certain that the inhabitants glory in this
colour, and regard Europeans who have it not as nondescript beings, not
fully entitled to the name of men. It may be noticed also, that this
tint is by no means so universal as is commonly supposed. Humboldt
declares that the idea of its general prevalence could never have arisen
in equinoctial America, or been suggested by the view of the natives in
that region; yet these provinces include by far the larger part of the
aboriginal population. The people of Nootka sound and other districts of
the north-western coast are nearly as white as Europeans; which may be
ascribed, we think, to their ample clothing and spacious habitations.
Thus the red nations appear limited to the eastern tribes of North
America, among whom generally prevails the custom of painting or smearing
the skin with that favourite colour. We are not prepared to express a
decided opinion on this subject; but it obviously requires a closer
investigation than it has yet received.

The hair is another particular in which the races of mankind remarkably
differ. The ruder classes are generally defective, either in the
abundance or quality of that graceful appendage; and the hair of the
American Indians, like that of their allied type the Mongols, is coarse,
black, thin, but strong, and growing to a great length. Like the latter,
also, by a curious coincidence, most of them remove it from every part
of the head, with the exception of a tuft on the crown, which they
cherish with much care. The circumstance, however, which has excited the
greatest attention, is the absence of beard, apparently entire, among
all the people of the New World. The early travellers viewed it as a
natural deficiency; whence Robertson and other eminent writers have even
inferred the existence of something peculiarly feeble in their whole
frame. But the assertion, with all the inferences founded upon it, so
far as relates to the North American tribes, has been completely refuted
by recent observation. The original growth has been found nearly, if not
wholly, as ample as that of Europeans; but the moment it appears, every
trace is studiously obliterated. This is effected by the aged females,
originally with a species of clam-shell, but now by means of spiral
pieces of brass-wire supplied by the traders. With these an old squaw
will in a few minutes reduce the chin to a state of complete smoothness;
and slight applications during the year clear away such straggling hairs
as may happen to sprout. It is only among old men, who become careless of
their appearance, that the beard begins to be perceptible. A late English
traveller strongly recommends to his countrymen a practice which, though
scarcely accordant with our ideas of manly dignity, would, at the expense
of a few minutes’ pain, save them much daily trouble. The Indians have
probably adopted this usage, as it removes an obstacle to the fantastic
painting of the face, which they value so highly. A full beard, at all
events, when it was first seen on their French visiters, is said to have
been viewed with peculiar antipathy, and to have greatly enhanced the
pleasure with which they killed these foreigners.

The comparative physical strength of savage and civilized nations has
been a subject of controversy. A general impression has obtained that
the former, inured to simple and active habits, acquire a decided
superiority; but experience appears to have proved that this conclusion
is ill founded. On the field of battle, when a struggle takes place
between man and man, the Indian is usually worsted. In sportive
exercises, such as wrestling, he is most frequently thrown, and in
leaping comes short of his antagonist. Even in walking or running, if
for a short distance, he is left behind; but in these last movements he
possesses a power of perseverance and continued exertion to which there
is scarcely any parallel. An individual has been known to travel nearly
eighty miles in a day, and arrive at his destination without any symptoms
of fatigue. These long journeys, also, are frequently performed without
any refreshment, and even having the shoulders loaded with heavy burdens,
their capacity of supporting which is truly wonderful. For about twelve
miles, indeed, a strong European will keep ahead of the Indian; but then
he begins to flag, while the other, proceeding with unaltered pace,
outstrips him considerably. Even powerful animals cannot equal them in
this respect. Many of their civilized adversaries, when overcome in war,
and fleeing before them on swift horses, have, after a long chase, been
overtaken and scalped.




DRESS OF THE INDIANS.


Having thus given a view of the persons of the Indians, we may proceed
to consider the manner in which they are clothed and ornamented. This
last object might have been expected to be a very secondary one, among
tribes whose means of subsistence are so scanty and precarious; but, so
far is this from being the case, that there is scarcely any pursuit which
occupies so much of their time and regard. They have availed themselves
of European intercourse to procure each a small mirror, in which, from
time to time, they view their personal decorations, taking care that
everything shall be in the most perfect order. Embellishment, however,
is not much expended on actual clothing, which is simple, and chiefly
arranged with a view to convenience. Instead of shoes, they wear what are
termed moccasins, consisting of one strip of soft leather wrapped round
the foot, and fastened in front and behind. Europeans, walking over hard
roads, soon knock these to pieces; but the Indian, tripping over snow
or grass, finds them a light and agreeable _chaussure_. Upward to the
middle of the thigh, a piece of leather or cloth, tightly fitted to the
limb, serves instead of pantaloons, stockings, and boots; it is sometimes
sewed on so close as never to be taken off. To a string or girdle round
the waist are fastened two aprons, one before and the other at the back,
each somewhat more than a foot square and these are connected by a piece
of cloth like a truss, often used also as a capacious pocket. The use
of breeches they have always repelled with contempt, as cumbrous and
effeminate. As an article of female dress, they would consider them less
objectionable; but that the limbs of a warrior should be thus manacled,
appears to them utterly preposterous. They were particularly scandalized
at seeing an officer have them fastened over the shoulder by braces, and
never after gave him any name but Tied-Breech.

The garments now enumerated form the whole of their permanent dress. On
occasions of ceremony, indeed, or when exposed to cold, they put over
it a short shirt fastened at the neck and wrists, and above it a long
loose robe, closed or held together in front. For this purpose they now
generally prefer an English blanket. All these articles were originally
fabricated from the skins of wild animals; but at present, unless for
the moccasins, and sometimes the leggins, European stuffs are preferred.
The dress of the female scarcely differs from that of the male, except
that the apron reaches down to the knees; and even this is said to have
been adopted since their acquaintance with civilized nations. The early
French writers relate an amusing anecdote to prove how little dress was
considered as making a distinction between the sexes. The Ursuline nuns,
having educated a Huron girl, presented her, on her marriage to one
of her countrymen, with a complete and handsome suit of clothes in the
Parisian style. They were much surprised, some days after, to see the
husband, who had ungenerously seized the whole of his bride’s attire and
arrayed himself in it, parading back and forward in front of the convent,
and betraying every symptom of the most extravagant exultation. This was
farther heightened when he observed the ladies crowding to the window to
see him, and a universal smile spread over their countenances.

These vestments, as already observed, are simple, and adapted only for
use. To gratify his passionate love of ornament, the Indian seeks chiefly
to load his person with certain glittering appendages. Before the arrival
of Europeans, shells and feathers took the lead; but, since that period,
these commodities have been nearly supplanted by beads, rings, bracelets,
and similar toys, which are inserted profusely into various parts of
his apparel, particularly the little apron in front. The chiefs usually
wear a breastplate ornamented with them; and among all classes it is
an object of the greatest ambition to have the largest possible number
suspended from the ear. That organ, therefore, is not bored, but slit to
such an extent that a stick of wax may be passed through the aperture,
which is then loaded with all the baubles that can be mustered; and if
the weight of these gradually draw down the yielding flap till it rest on
the shoulder, and the ornaments themselves cover the breast, the Indian
has reached his utmost height of finery. This, however, is a precarious
splendour; the ear becomes more and more unfit to support the burden,
when at length some accident, the branch of a tree, or even a twitch by a
waggish comrade, lays at his feet all his decorations, with the portion
of flesh to which they were attached. Weld saw very few who had preserved
this organ entire through life. The adjustment of the hair, again, is
an object of especial study. As already observed, the greater part is
generally eradicated, leaving only a tuft, varying in shape and place,
according to taste and national custom, but usually encircling the crown.
This lock is stuck full of feathers, wings of birds, shells, and every
kind of fantastic ornament. The women wear theirs long and flowing, and
contrive to collect a considerable number of ornaments for it, as well as
for their ears and dress.

But it is upon his skin that the American warrior chiefly lavishes his
powers of embellishment. His taste in doing so is very different from
ours. “While the European,” says Creuxius, “studies to keep his skin
clean, and free from every extraneous substance, the Indian’s aim is,
that his, by the accumulation of oil, grease, and paint, may shine like
that of a roasted pig.” Soot scraped from the bottoms of kettles, the
juices of herbs, having a green, yellow, and, above all, a vermilion
tint, rendered adhesive by combination with oil and grease, are lavishly
employed to adorn his person, or, according to our idea, to render it
hideous. Black and red, alternating with each other in varied stripes,
are the favourite tints. Some blacken the face, leaving in the middle
a red circle, including the upper lip and tip of the nose; others
have a red spot on each ear, or one eye black and the other of a red
colour. In war the black tint is profusely laid on, the others being
only employed to heighten its effect, and give to the countenance a
terrific expression. M. de Tracy, when governor of Canada, was told by
his Indian allies, that, with his good-humoured face, he would never
inspire the enemy with any degree of awe. They besought him to place
himself under their brush, when they would soon make him such that his
very aspect would strike terror. The breast, arms, and legs are the seat
of more permanent impressions, analogous to the tattooing of the South
Sea Islanders. The colours are either elaborately rubbed in, or fixed
by slight incisions with needles and sharp-pointed bones. His guardian
spirit, and the animal that forms the symbol of his tribe, are the first
objects delineated. After this, every memorable exploit, and particularly
the enemies whom he has slain and scalped, are diligently graven on some
part of his figure; so that the body of an aged warrior contains the
history of his life.




INDIAN HUNTING.


It is a mistake to suppose that hunting is pursued by the Indian merely
as a means of subsistence. It is also his favourite sport; and no English
gentleman who spends his thousands of pounds per annum on his horses and
hounds, follows the sports of the field with a keener zest, than the
wild Indian who has never beheld the face of a white man. The accounts
of Catlin, who spent much time among the wildest tribes, show, that
amusement, in its most liberal sense, is pursued by the Indians in this
way. Hunting is not drudgery to them.

The means of procuring subsistence must always form an important branch
of national economy. Writers take a superficial view of savage life,
and, seeing how scanty the articles of food are, while the demand is
necessarily urgent, have assumed that the efforts to attain them must
absorb his whole mind, and scarcely leave room for any other thought.
But, on the contrary, these are to him very subordinate objects. To
perform a round of daily labour, even though ensuring the most ample
provision for his wants, would be equally contrary to his inclination
and supposed dignity. He will not deign to follow any pursuit which does
not, at the same time, include enterprise, adventure, and excitement.
Hunting, which the higher classes in the civilized parts of the world
pursue for mere recreation, is almost the only occupation considered of
sufficient importance to engage his attention. It is peculiarly endeared
by its resemblance to war, being carried on with the same weapons,
and nearly in the same manner. In his native state, the arrow was the
favourite and almost exclusive instrument for assailing distant objects;
but now the gun has nearly superseded it. The great hunts are rendered
more animating, as well as more effectual, from being carried on in large
parties, and even by whole tribes. The men are prepared for these by
fasting, dreaming, and other superstitious observances, similar to those
which we shall find employed in anticipation of war. In such expeditions,
too, contrivance and skill, as well as boldness and enterprise, are
largely employed. Sometimes a circle is formed, when all the animals
surrounded by it are pressed closer and closer, till they are collected
in the centre, and fall under the accumulated weight of weapons. On other
occasions they are driven to the margin of a lake or river, in which,
if they attempt to seek refuge, canoes are ready to intercept them.
Elsewhere a space is enclosed by stakes, only a narrow opening being
left, which, by clamour and shouts, the game are compelled to enter, and
thereby secured. In autumn and spring, when the ice is newly formed and
slight, they are pushed upon it, and their legs breaking through, they
are easily caught. In winter, when the snow begins to fall, traps are
set, in which planks are so arranged, that the animal, in snatching at
the bait, is crushed to death. Originally the deer, both for food and
clothing, was the most valuable object of chase; but, since the trade
with Europeans has given such a prominent importance to furs, the beaver
has in some degree supplanted it. In attacking this animal, great care
is taken to prevent his escape into the water, on which his habitation
always borders; and with this view various kinds of nets and springes
are employed. On some occasions the Indians place themselves upon the
dike which encloses his amphibious village. They then make an opening in
it, when the inmates, alarmed by seeing the water flowing out, hasten
to this barrier, where they encounter their enemies, armed with all the
instruments of destruction. At other times, when ice covers the surface
of the pond, a hole is made, at which the animal comes to respire; he is
then drawn out and secured. The bear is a formidable enemy, which must
be assailed by the combined force of the hunters, who are ranged in two
rows, armed with bows or muskets. One of them advances and wounds him,
and, on being furiously pursued, he retreats between the files, followed
in the same line by the animal, which is then overwhelmed by their
united onset. In killing these quadrupeds, the natives seem to feel a
sort of kindness and sympathy for their victim. On vanquishing a beaver
or a bear, they celebrate its praises in a song, recounting those good
qualities which it will never more be able to display, yet consoling
themselves with the useful purposes to which its flesh and its skin will
be applied.

Of the animals usually tamed and rendered subservient to useful purposes,
the Indians have only the dog, that faithful friend of man. Though
his services in hunting are valuable, he is treated with but little
tenderness, and is left to roam about the dwelling, very sparingly
supplied with food and shelter. A missionary, who resided in a Huron
village, represents his life as having been rendered miserable by these
animals. At night they laid themselves on his person for the benefit of
the warmth; and, whenever his scanty meal was set down, their snouts were
always first in the dish. Dog’s flesh is eaten, and has even a peculiar
sanctity attached to it. On all solemn festivals it is the principal
meat, the use of which, on such occasions, seems to import some high and
mysterious meaning.

But, besides the cheering avocations of the chase, other means must be
used to ensure the comfort and subsistence of the Indian’s family; all
of which, however, are most ungenerously devolved upon the weaker sex.
Women, according to Creuxius, serve them as domestics, as tailors, as
peasants, and as oxen; and Long does not conceive that any other purposes
of their existence are recognized, except those of bearing children
and performing hard work. They till the ground, carry wood and water,
build huts, make canoes, and fish; in which latter processes, however,
and in reaping the harvest, their lords deign to give occasional aid.
So habituated are they to such occupations, that when one of them saw a
party of English soldiers collecting wood, she exclaimed that it was a
shame to see men doing women’s work, and began herself to carry a load.

Through the services of this enslaved portion of the tribe, those savages
are enabled to combine in a certain degree the agricultural with the
hunting state, without any mixture of the pastoral, usually considered
as intermediate. Cultivation, however, is limited to small spots in
the immediate vicinity of the villages, and these being usually at the
distance of sixteen or seventeen miles from each other, it scarcely
makes any impression on the immense expanse of forest. The women, in the
beginning of summer, after having burned the stubble of the preceding
crop, rudely stir the ground with a long, crooked piece of wood; they
then throw in the grain, which is chiefly the coarse but productive
species of maize peculiar to the Continent. The nations in the south
have a considerable variety of fruits; whereas those of Canada appear
to have raised only turnsols, watermelons, and pompions. Tobacco used
to be grown largely; but that produced by the European settlers is now
universally preferred, and has become a regular object of trade. The
grain, after harvest (which is celebrated by a festival), is lodged in
large subterraneous stores lined with bark, where it keeps extremely
well. Previous to being placed in these, it is sometimes thrashed; on
other occasions merely the ears are cut off, and thrown in. When first
discovered by settlers from Europe, the degrees of culture were found
to vary in different tribes. The Algonquins, who were the ruling people
previous to the arrival of the French, wholly despised it, and branded
as plebeian their neighbours, by whom it was practised. In general, the
northern clans, and those near the mouth of the St. Lawrence, depended
almost solely on hunting and fishing; and when these failed they were
reduced to dreadful extremities, being often obliged to depend on the
miserable resource of that species of lichen called _tripe de roche_.

The maize, when thrashed, is occasionally toasted on the coals, and
sometimes made into a coarse kind of unleavened cake. But the most
favourite preparation is that called _sagamity_, a species of pap formed
after it has been roasted, bruised, and separated from the husk. It is
insipid by itself; yet when thrown into the pot, along with the produce
of the chase, it enriches the soup or stew, one of the principal dishes
at their feasts. They never eat victuals raw, but rather overboiled; nor
have they yet been brought to endure French ragouts, salt, pepper, or,
indeed, any species of condiment. A chief, admitted to the governor’s
table, seeing the general use of mustard, was led by curiosity to take
a spoonful and put it into his mouth. On feeling its violent effects, he
made incredible efforts to conceal them, and escape the ridicule of the
company; but severe sneezings, and the tears starting from his eyes, soon
betrayed him, and raised a general laugh. He was then shown the manner in
which it should be used; but nothing could ever induce him to allow the
“boiling yellow,” as he termed it, to enter his lips.

The Indians are capable of extraordinary abstinence from food, in which
they can persevere for successive days without complaint or apparent
suffering. They even take a pride in long fasts, by which they usually
prepare themselves for any great undertaking. Yet, when once set down to
a feast, their gluttony is described as enormous, and the capacity of
their stomachs almost incredible. They will go from feast to feast, doing
honour to each in succession. The chief giving the entertainment does not
partake, but with his own hands distributes portions among the guests.
On solemn occasions, it is a rule that everything shall be eaten; nor
does this obligation seem to be felt as either burdensome or unpleasant.
In their native state, they were not acquainted with any species of
intoxicating liquors; their love of ardent spirits, attended with so many
ruinous effects, having been entirely consequent on their intercourse
with Europeans.




HABITATIONS OF THE INDIANS.


There is great diversity among the various tribes of North American
Indians in respect to manners and customs, dress, and modes of living.
The inhabitants of the sultry regions of Florida and Texas, of course
pay less attention to the texture of their garments, and the comfort of
their dwellings, than those who reside in the more northern regions; and
other diversities of habit are produced by differences of climate and
situation. Still there is a certain degree of simplicity inherent in
savage life which pervades all the tribes:—it is the simplicity which is
the necessary consequence of poverty and ignorance.

The habitations of the Indians receive much less of their attention
than the attire, or, at least, embellishment of their persons. Our
countrymen, by common consent, give to them no better appellation than
cabins. The bark of trees is their chief material both for houses and
boats: they peel it off with considerable skill, sometimes stripping a
whole tree in one piece. This coating, spread not unskilfully over a
framework of poles, and fastened to them by strips of tough rind, forms
their dwellings. The shape, according to the owner’s fancy, resembles a
tub, a cone, or a cart-shed, the mixture of which gives to the village
a confused and chaotic appearance. Light and heat are admitted only
by an aperture at the top, through which also the smoke escapes, after
filling all the upper part of the mansion. Little inconvenience is felt
from this by the natives, who, within doors, never think of any position
except sitting or lying; but to Europeans, who must occasionally stand
or walk, the abode is thereby rendered almost intolerable; and matters
become much worse when rain or snow makes it necessary to close the roof.
These structures are sometimes upward of a hundred feet long; but they
are then the residence of two or three separate families. Four of them
occasionally compose a quadrangle, each open on the inside, and having
a common fire in the centre. Formerly the Iroquois had houses somewhat
superior, adorned even with some rude carving; but these were burned down
by the French in successive expeditions, and were never after rebuilt in
the same style. The Canadians in this respect seem to be surpassed by
the Choctaws, Chickasaws, and other tribes in the south, and even by the
Saukies in the west, whose mansions Carver describes as constructed of
well-hewn planks, neatly jointed, and each capable of containing several
families.

In their expeditions, whether for war or hunting, which often lead them
through desolate forests, several hundred miles from home, the Indians
have the art of rearing, with great expedition, temporary abodes. On
arriving at their evening station, a few poles, meeting at the top in
the form of a cone, are in half an hour covered with bark; and having
spread a few pine-branches within by way of mattress, they sleep as
soundly as on beds of down. Like the Esquimaux, they also understand how
to convert snow into a material for building; and find it in the depth
of winter the warmest and most comfortable. A few twigs platted together
secure the roof. Our own countrymen, in their several campaigns, have, in
cases of necessity, used with advantage this species of bivouac.

The furniture in these native huts is exceedingly simple. The chief
articles are two or three pots or kettles for boiling their food, with a
few wooden plates and spoons. The former, in the absence of metal, with
which the inhabitants were unacquainted, were made of coarse earthenware
that resisted the fire; and sometimes of a species of soft stone, which
could be excavated with their rude hatchets. Nay, in some cases, their
kitchen utensils were of wood, and the water made to boil by throwing in
heated stones. Since their acquaintance with Europeans, the superiority
of iron vessels has been found so decided, that they are now universally
preferred. The great kettle or caldron, employed only on high festivals
associated with religion, hunting, or war, attracts even a kind of
veneration; and potent chiefs have assumed its name as their title of
honour.




INTELLECTUAL CHARACTER OF THE INDIANS


The intellectual character of the American savage presents some very
striking peculiarities. Considering his unfavourable condition, he of
all other human beings might seem doomed to make the nearest approach
to the brute; while, in point of fact, without any aid from letters
or study, many of the higher faculties of his mind are developed in
a very remarkable degree. He displays a decided superiority over the
uninstructed labourer in a civilized community, whose mental energies
are benumbed amid the daily round of mechanical occupation. The former
spends a great part of his life in arduous enterprises, where much
contrivance is requisite, and whence he must often extricate himself
by presence of mind and ingenuity. His senses, particularly those of
seeing and smelling, have acquired by practice an almost preternatural
acuteness. He can trace an animal or a foe by indications which to a
European eye would be wholly imperceptible; and in his wanderings he
gathers a minute acquaintance with the geography of the countries which
he traverses. He can even draw a rude outline of them by applying a
mixture of charcoal and grease to prepared skins, and on seeing a regular
map he soon understands its construction, and readily finds out places.
His facility in discovering the most direct way to spots situated at the
distance of hundreds of miles, and known perhaps only by the report of
his countrymen, is truly astonishing. It has been ascribed by some to a
mysterious and supernatural instinct, but it appears to be achieved by
merely observing the different aspect of the trees or shrubs when exposed
to the north or the south, as also the position of the sun, which he can
point out, although hidden by clouds. Even where there is a beaten track,
if at all circuitous, he strikes directly through the woods, and reaches
his destination by the straightest possible line.

Other faculties of a higher order are developed by the scenes amid which
the life of savages is spent. They are divided into a number of little
communities, between which are actively carried on all the relations
of war, negotiation, treaty, and alliance. As mighty revolutions,
observes an eloquent writer, take place in these kingdoms of wood and
cities of bark, as in the most powerful civilized states. To increase
the influence and extend the possessions of their own tribe, to humble
and, if possible, to destroy those hostile to them, are the constant
aims of every member of those little commonwealths. For these ends, not
only deeds of daring valour are achieved, but schemes are deeply laid,
and pursued with the most accurate calculation. There is scarcely a
refinement in European diplomacy to which they are strangers. The French
once made an attempt to crush the confederacy of the Five Nations by
attacking each in succession; but as they were on their march against
the first tribe, they were met by the deputies of the others, who
offered their mediation, intimating that, if it were rejected, they
would make common cause with the one threatened. That association also
showed that they completely understood how to employ the hostility
which prevailed between their enemy and the English for promoting their
own aggrandizement. Embassies, announced by the calumet of peace, are
constantly passing from one tribe to another.

The same political circumstances develop in an extraordinary degree the
powers of oratory; for nothing of any importance is transacted without
a speech. On every emergency a council of the tribe is called, when the
aged and wise hold long deliberations for the public weal. The best
speakers are despatched to conduct their negotiations, the object of
which is unfolded in studied harangues. The functions of orator, among
the Five Nations, had even become a separate profession, held in equal
or higher honour than that of the warrior; and each clan appointed the
most eloquent of their number to speak for them in the public council.
Nay, there was a general orator for the whole confederacy, who could say
to the French governor, “Ononthio, lend thine ear; I am the mouth of all
the country; you hear all the Iroquois in hearing my word.” Decanesora,
their speaker at a later period, was greatly admired by the English, and
his bust was thought to resemble that of Cicero. In their diplomatic
discourses, each proposition is prefaced by the delivery of a belt of
wampum, of which what follows is understood to be the explanation, and
which is to be preserved as a record of the conference. The orator does
not express his proposals in words only, but gives to every sentence
its appropriate action. If he threatens war, he wildly brandishes the
tomahawk; if he solicits alliance, he twines his arms closely with those
of the chief whom he addresses; and if he invites friendly intercourse,
he assumes all the attitudes of one who is forming a road in the Indian
manner, by cutting down the trees, clearing them away, and carefully
removing the leaves and branches. To a French writer, who witnessed the
delivery of a solemn embassy, it suggested the idea of a company of
actors performing on a stage. So expressive are their gestures, that
negotiations have been conducted and alliances concluded between petty
states and communities who understood nothing of one another’s language.

The composition of the Indian orators is studied and elaborate. The
language of the Iroquois is even held to be susceptible of an Attic
elegance, which few can attain so fully as to escape all criticism. It
is figurative in the highest degree, every notion being expressed by
images addressed to the senses. Thus, to throw up the hatchet or to put
on the great caldron is to begin a war; to throw the hatchet to the sky
is to wage open and terrible war; to take off the caldron or to bury
the hatchet is to make peace; to plant the tree of peace on the highest
mountain of the earth is to make a general pacification. To throw a
prisoner into the caldron is to devote him to torture and death; to take
him out, is to pardon and receive him as a member of the community.
Ambassadors coming to propose a full and general treaty say, “We rend
the clouds asunder, and drive away all darkness from the heavens, that
the sun of peace may shine with brightness over us all.” On another
occasion, referring to their own violent conduct, they said, “We are
glad that Assarigoa will bury in the pit what is past; let the earth
be trodden hard over it, or, rather, let a strong stream run under the
pit to wash away the evil.” They afterward added, “We now plant a tree,
whose top will reach the sun, and its branches spread far abroad, and we
shall shelter ourselves under it, and live in peace.” To send the collar
under ground is to carry on a secret negotiation; but when expressing a
desire that there might be no duplicity or concealment between them and
the French, they said that “They wished to fix the sun in the top of the
heaven, immediately above that pole, that it might beat directly down
and leave nothing in obscurity.” In pledging themselves to a firm and
steady peace, they declared that they would not only throw down the great
war-caldron, and cause all the water to flow out, but would break it in
pieces. This disposition to represent every thing by a sensible object
extends to matters the most important. One powerful people assumed the
appellation of Foxes, while another gloried in that of Cats. Even when
the entire nation bore a different appellation, separate fraternities
distinguished themselves as the tribe of the Bear, the Tortoise, and the
Wolf. They did not disdain a reference even to inanimate things. The
Black Caldron was at one time the chief warrior of the Five Nations; and
Red Shoes was a person of distinction well known to Long the traveller.
When the chiefs concluded treaties with Europeans, their signature
consisted in a picture, often tolerably well executed, of the beast or
object after which they chose to be named.

The absence among these tribes of any written or even pictorial mode
of recording events, was supplied by the memories of their old men,
which were so retentive, that a certain writer calls them living books.
Their only remembrancer consisted in the wampum belts; of which one was
appropriated to each division of a speech or treaty, and had seemingly
a powerful effect in calling it to recollection. On the close of the
transaction, these were deposited as public documents, to be drawn forth
on great occasions, when the orators, and even the old women, could
repeat verbatim the passage to which each referred. Europeans were thus
enabled to collect information concerning the revolutions of different
tribes, for several ages preceding their own arrival.




SINGULAR EXECUTION OF AN INDIAN.


In March, 1823, a Choctaw savage, calling himself Doctor Sibley,
belonging to a wandering tribe of his nation, in the Arkansas
Territory,—while in a state of intoxication, stabbed to the heart another
Indian; who instantly expired. This act called for revenge, founded on
the _lex taliones_—that invariable custom of the aborigines. A brother
of the deceased called upon Sibley, and told him, that he was come to
take his life, in atonement for the death of his brother. With the
composure of a philosopher, and the courage of a Roman, Sibley—readily,
and without a murmur—yielded assent; only desiring the execution might be
postponed until the following morning. This was granted;—the execution
was postponed—and Sibley _left at large, under no restraint whatever_!

When the morning came, Sibley went out with the rest of the party, and,
with perfect apathy, aided in digging a grave for the murdered Indian.
The work being finished, he calmly observed to the by-standers, that, he
thought it large enough to contain two bodies;—signifying, at the same
time, a wish to be buried in the same grave. This, too, was granted: and
the murderer deliberately took a standing position over the grave, with
outstretched arms; and, giving a signal to fire, the brother drove a
rifle ball through his heart—and he dropt into the hole he had assisted
to make!




INDIAN VERACITY.


“_He once told a lie_”—was the emphatical expression of an Indian to me,
in 1794, when I was attending to the surveying of a large body of lands
in, what was then called, ‘The French-Creek Country,’ and West of the
Alleghany River: and, as some of my people were killed by the Western
Indians, I found it necessary, while the surveying was going on, to visit
the Indian Towns on the Alleghany River frequently:—they were inhabited
by the Senecas. General Wayne was then on his way, with his army, to the
Indian settlements on the Miami River.

One day, when I was at the Cornplanter’s town, the ‘_News-Spout_,’ as it
is called, was heard. All the Indians in the village immediately retired
to their houses (and even their dogs went with them;) when an old man
went out to meet the person who brought the news, and to take him to
the Long, or Council-House, where a fire was made and refreshments were
carried to him, and time given for him to dress and paint himself, so as
to appear decent.

When sufficient time had elapsed for the preparatives to be performed,
the chiefs went first to the house; and, as the young men were following,
I asked an Indian—who spoke English, and to whom (as he professed to be a
priest, physician, and conjurer) I gave the name of Doctor—whether there
was any impropriety in my going to hear the news. He said, “No”—and
that, as I was received as a friend and visiter, all their houses were
open to me: and if I did not go without any ceremony, it would appear as
if _I doubted their words and hospitality_; which was considered as the
greatest affront that could be put on an Indian. For that, if there was
any secret business going on they would inform me of it, in a friendly
way and then I might retire.

I accordingly went into the house with him; when the Chiefs immediately
rose, and gave me a seat among them.

All the Indians in the house were smoking their pipes when I came in;
and the stranger was sitting opposite the Chiefs, in a seat, or rather
a platform, by himself. The time appeared to me very long, as I was
anxious to hear the news; being much interested in the event, as the
Indians had been deliberating, whether or not they would permit me to
continue surveying, or send me out of the country: and, what surprised
me, was, that no one—contrary to their usual custom—asked him for the
news; and I was at a loss to account for their conduct. Eventually,
the Indian himself—after prefacing the business, with telling them,
he had no doubt,—as they knew he had been to the West—they would be
gratified in hearing his news. But no one appeared to signify his assent
or negative. The Indian then gave an account of an affair between a
convoy of Americans—who were carrying reinforcements and provisions
to one of our frontier posts—and the Indians; and they had killed the
commanding officer and a number of our men: and, after he had related all
he had to say, no one asked for any particulars of the action, or for
any corroborating circumstance; as I had formerly observed, they were
particularly polite to strangers and visiters, and were very cautious to
say or do any thing to hurt their feelings, and, soon after, the chiefs
and other Indians began to leave the house.

I left the house with the Doctor; and, as soon as we had passed the
door, I expressed my surprise to him, at the manner they treated the man
who brought the news, as it was so different from any treatment I had
before seen, when visited by strangers; and that I would thank him to
inform me of the cause of it:—when he, without any hesitation, and with
considerable emphasis, answered, “HE ONCE TOLD A LIE”—and continued:
“What that man said, may be so true; may be so not. We always listen
to what a newsman has to say,—even when we know him to be a liar. But,
whether we believe him or not, it is not our custom to let him know; or
to say any thing on the subject: for, if we had asked him any questions
about the fight, it would have been a great gratification to him; as he
would have concluded some of the company did believe him: which is a
thing we do not indulge any person in, who has been guilty of telling a
lie.” He concluded, by saying, “_He all one as dead._”




PETER OTSAQUETTE, THE ONEIDAN


Peter Otsaquette was the son of a man of consideration among the Oneida
Indians of New York. At the close of the Revolutionary war, he was
noticed by the Marquis de La Fayette, who, to a noble zeal for liberty,
united the most philanthropic feelings. Viewing, therefore, this young
savage with peculiar interest, and anticipating the happy results to be
derived from his moral regeneration, he took him, though scarcely twelve
years old, to France. Peter arrived at that period when Louis XVI. and
Maria Antoinette were in the zenith of their glory. There he was taught
the accomplishments of a gentleman;—music, drawing, and fencing, were
made familiar to him, and he danced with a grace that a Vestris could not
but admire. At about eighteen, his separation from a country in which
he had spent his time so agreeably and so profitably, became necessary.
Laden with favours from the Marquis, and the miniatures of those friends
he had left behind. Peter departed for America—inflated, perhaps, with
the idea, that the deep ignorance of his nation, with that of the Indians
of the whole continent, might be dispelled by his efforts, and he become
the proud instrument of the civilization of thousands.

Prosecuting his route to the land of his parents, he came to the city
of Albany; not the uncivilized savage, not with any of those marks
which bespoke a birth in the forest, or years spent in toiling the wilds
of a desert, but possessing a fine commanding figure, an expressive
countenance, an intelligent eye, with a face scarcely indicative of
the race from which he was descended. He presented, at this period, an
interesting spectacle: a child of the wilderness was beheld about to
proceed to the home of his forefathers, having received the brilliant
advantages of a cultivated mind, and on his way to impart to the nation
that owned him, the benefits which civilization had given him. It was an
opportunity for the philosopher to contemplate, and to reflect on the
future good this young Indian might be the means of producing.

Shortly after his arrival in Albany—where he visited the first
families—he took advantage of Governor Clinton’s journey to Fort Stanwix
(where a treaty was to be held with the Indians,) to return to his tribe.
On the route, Otsaquette amused the company (among whom were the French
Minister, Count De Moustiers, and several gentlemen of respectability)
by his powers on various instruments of music. At Fort Stanwix, he
found himself again with the companions of his early days, who saw and
recognised him. His friends and relations had not forgotten him, and he
was welcomed to his home and to his blanket.

But that which occurred soon after his reception, led him to a too
fearful anticipation of an unsuccessful project; for the Oneidas, as if
they could not acknowledge Otsaquette, attired in the dress with which
he appeared before them,—a mark which did not disclose his nation,—and,
thinking that he had assumed it, as if ashamed of his own native costume,
the garb of his ancestors, they tore it from him with a savage avidity,
and a fiend-like ferociousness, daubed on the paint to which he had
been so long unused, and clothed him with the uncouth habiliments held
sacred by his tribe. Their fiery ferocity, in the performance of the act,
showed but too well the bold stand they were about to take against the
innovations they supposed Otsaquette was to be the agent for affecting
against their immemorial manners and customs, and which, from the
venerable antiquity of their structure, it would be nothing short of
sacrilege to destroy.

Thus the reformed savage was taken back again to his native barbarity,
and—as if to cap the climax of degradation to a mind just susceptible of
its own powers—was _married to a squaw_!

From that day, Otsaquette was no longer the accomplished Indian, from
whom every wish of philanthropy was expected to be realized. He was no
longer the instrument by whose power the emancipation of his countrymen
from the thraldom of ignorance and superstition, was to be effected. From
that day, he was again an inmate with the forest; was once more buried
in his original obscurity, and his nation only viewed him as _an equal_.
Even a liberal grant from the State, failed of securing to him that
superior consideration among them which his civilization had procured
for him with the rest of mankind. The commanding preeminence acquired
from instruction, from which it was expected ambition would have sprung
up, and acted as a double stimulant, from either the natural inferiority
of the savage mind, or the predetermination of his countrymen—became of
no effect, and, in a little time, was wholly annihilated. Otsaquette
was lost! His moral perdition began from the hour he left Fort Stanwix.
Three short months had hardly transpired, when Intemperance had marked
him as her own, and soon hurried him to the grave. And, as if the very
transition had deadened all the finer feelings of his nature, the picture
given him by the Marquis—the very portrait of his affectionate friend and
benefactor himself—he parted with!

Extraordinary and unnatural as the conduct of this educated savage may
appear, the anecdote is not of a kind altogether unique; which proves,
that little or nothing is to be expected from conferring a literary
education upon those children of the forest:—An Indian, named George
White-Eyes, was taken, while a boy, to the college at Princeton, where he
received a classical education. On returning to his nation, he made some
little stay in Philadelphia. He was amiable in his manners, and of modest
demeanour, without exhibiting any trait of the savage whatever; but, no
sooner had he rejoined his friends and former companions, in the land
of his nativity, than he dropped the garb and manners of civilization,
and resumed those of the savage, and, drinking deep of their intoxicating
cup, soon put a period to his existence.

Many other instances might be adduced, to show how ineffectual have
been the attempts to plant civilization on savage habits, by means of
_literary_ education—“Can the leopard change his spots?”

[Illustration]




THE CATASTROPHE.


The son of a Kickapoo Chief, being engaged to a Ouiattanon girl, came in
quest of her to fort Knox, at Vincennes—though an Indian war was then
waging against the United States; and, in this, the Kickapoos were among
the most formidable. We happened to be there at this time. It was summer,
and the weather very warm. The young Kickapoo was admitted into the
fort, and, among other presents, threw down several joints of venison;
observing to the commanding officer, that, if he could not eat them
himself, (for they were tainted,) they might answer for his _hogs_ and
_dogs_—muttering at the same time, and making the sign of a halter round
his neck, that perhaps they might hang him for appearing among them;
alluding, no doubt, to the then Indian war.

On the evening of the same day the young Kickapoo got into a drunken
frolic, with other savages, among whom was the before mentioned Indian.
The latter said to the Kickapoo, “May be I shall kill you:” and, without
further preface, he plunged a knife into him—which instantly proved
fatal. At this moment the Ouiattanons in company took the alarm—fearful
of the consequences that might befall their tribe, from the death of the
son of a powerful chieftain. It was therefore determined to propitiate
the Kickapoo’s father, by sending a deputation to him with the present of
a ten gallon keg of whisky as a peace offering. This was furnished for
the purpose, on request, by the commanding officer of the fort. They had
not gone far when the precious liquor proved too great a temptation: the
keg was broached, and soon emptied. What then was to be done?

Next morning, however, they appeared again at the fort—deplored the
‘_accident_,’ (as they called it,) and begged for another keg of liquor.
This too was granted—and off they went again. But this keg met with the
fate of the former: its contents proved an irresistible temptation. As no
more whisky could now be obtained, the mission fell through.

Upon this, the Indians appeared before the fort, with the murderer in
custody, under the window of the writer, and demanded justice to be done
on the prisoner. He told them it was an affair for themselves to settle,
as it was confined to themselves alone. They now marched in Indian file,
carrying off the murderer, who, every now and then, looked fearfully
behind him—for the brother of the deceased’s sweetheart had taken post
next in his rear. They had not proceeded far, when this brother plunged a
knife into the prisoner’s back, which broke, and a part was left buried
in the wound. The whole party now returned before the fort—the wounded
man singing his death-song. He was borne off by his friends into a
thicket, in the prairie, where all their efforts to extract the broken
blade proved ineffectual; and the next day or two he died.

The Spider, a brother of the murderer, and then at Kaskaskia, hearing of
the predicament which had befallen the latter, hastened to Vincennes—but
death had closed the scene. He came in time, however, to attend the
funeral. When the body was about to be consigned to the earth, he opened
the blanket which enveloped the corpse, and taking off a silver ornament
which encompassed his head, he bound it around that of the defunct,
saying, “There, brother! this will bring you respect in the land of
Spirits.”

[Illustration]




BUFFALO HUNTING.


The buffalo, more properly called the bison, is the great object of
Indian hunting in the west. These animals abound in the prairies; and
they are often seen coursing over the plains in immense herds. Thousands
of them appear under the direction of one of their number, who acts as
leader. This propensity to follow a leader affords a ready means to the
Indians of destroying them. The manner in which this is accomplished is
graphically described in the following extract from the account of a late
writer. It affords a wild picture of the scenes which present themselves
to the notice of the traveller as he passes through the great prairies of
the west.

We passed a precipice of about one hundred and twenty feet high, under
which lay scattered the fragments of at least one hundred carcases of
buffaloes, although the water, which had washed away the lower part of
the hill, must have carried off many of the dead. These buffaloes had
been chased down the precipice, in a way very common on the Missouri, and
by which vast herds are destroyed in a moment. The mode of hunting is, to
select one of the most active and fleet young men, who is disguised, by a
buffalo skin around his body, the skin of the head, with the ears and the
horns, fastened on his own head, in such a way as to deceive the buffalo.
Thus dressed, he fixes himself at a convenient distance, between a herd
of buffaloes and any of the river precipices, which sometimes extend
for some miles. His companions, in the meantime, get into the rear,
and on the side of the herd, and, at a given signal, show themselves,
and advance towards the buffalo: they instantly take the alarm; and,
finding the hunters beside them, they run towards the disguised Indian or
decoy, who leads them on at full speed toward the river, when, suddenly
securing himself in some crevice of the cliff which he had previously
fixed on, the herd is left on the brink of the precipice. It is then in
vain for the foremost to retreat, or even to stop—they are pressed on
by the hindmost rank, who, seeing no danger, but from the hunters, goad
on those before them, till the whole are precipitated, and the shore is
strewed with their dead bodies. Sometimes, in this perilous seduction,
the Indian is himself either trodden under foot, by the rapid movements
of the buffaloes or missing his footing in the cliff, is urged down the
precipice along with the falling herd.

The Indians now select as much meat as they choose, and the rest is
abandoned to the wolves, and creates a most dreadful stench. The wolves
who had been feasting on these carcases were very fat, and so gentle,
that one of them was killed with an espontoon.




RELIGION OF THE INDIANS.


The earliest visiters of the New World, on seeing among the Indians
neither priests, temples, idols, nor sacrifices, represented them as a
people wholly destitute of religious opinions. Closer inquiry, however,
showed that a belief in the spiritual world, however imperfect, had
a commanding influence over almost all their actions. Their creed
includes even some lofty and pure conceptions. Under the title of the
Great Spirit, the Master of Life, the Maker of heaven and earth, they
distinctly recognise a supreme ruler of the universe and an arbiter of
their destiny. A party of them, when informed by the missionaries of
the existence of a being of infinite power, who had created the heavens
and the earth, with one consent exclaimed, “_Atahocan! Atahocan!_” that
being the name of their principal deity. According to Long, the Indians
among whom he resided ascribe every event, propitious or unfortunate, to
the favour or anger of the Master of Life. They address him for their
daily subsistence; they believe him to convey to them presence of mind
in battle; and amid tortures they thank him for inspiring them with
courage. Yet though this one elevated and just conception is deeply
graven on their minds, it is combined with others which show all the
imperfection of unassisted reason in attempting to think rightly on this
great subject. It may even be observed, that the term, rendered into our
language “great spirit,” does not really convey the idea of an immaterial
nature, it imports with them merely some being possessed of lofty and
mysterious powers, and in this sense is applied to men, and even to
animals. The brute creation, which occupies a prominent place in all
their ideas, is often viewed by them as invested, to a great extent, with
supernatural powers; an extreme absurdity, which, however, they share
with the civilized creeds of Egypt and India.

When the missionaries, on their first arrival, attempted to form an idea
of the Indian mythology, it appeared to them extremely complicated,
more especially because those who attempted to explain it had no fixed
opinions. Each man differed from his neighbour, and at another time from
himself; and when the discrepancies were pointed out, no attempt was made
to reconcile them. The southern tribes, who had a more settled faith, are
described by Adair as intoxicated with spiritual pride, and denouncing
even their European allies as “the accursed people.” The native Canadian,
on the contrary, is said to have been so little tenacious, that he would
at any time renounce all his theological errors for a pipe of tobacco,
though, as soon as it was smoked, he immediately relapsed. An idea was
found prevalent respecting a certain mystical animal, called Mesou or
Messessagen, who, when the earth was buried in water, had drawn it up and
restored it. Others spoke of a contest between the hare, the fox, the
beaver, and the seal, for the empire of the world. Among the principal
nations of Canada, the hare is thought to have attained a decided
preeminence; and hence the Great Spirit and the Great Hare are sometimes
used as synonymous terms. What should have raised this creature to such
distinction seems rather unaccountable; unless it were that its extreme
swiftness might appear something supernatural. Among the Ottowas alone
the heavenly bodies become an object of veneration; the sun appears to
rank as their supreme deity.

To dive into the abyss of futurity has always been a favourite object
of superstition. It has been attempted by various means; but the Indian
seeks it chiefly through his dreams, which always bear with him a sacred
character. Before engaging in any high undertaking, especially in hunting
or war, the dreams of the principal chiefs are carefully watched and
studiously examined; and according to the interpretation their conduct is
guided. A whole nation has been set in motion by the sleeping fancies of
a single man. Sometimes a person imagines in his sleep that he has been
presented with an article of value by another, who then cannot, without
impropriety, leave the omen unfulfilled. When Sir William Johnson, during
the American war, was negotiating an alliance with a friendly tribe, the
chief confidentially disclosed that, during his slumbers, he had been
favoured with a vision of Sir William bestowing upon him the rich laced
coat which formed his full dress. The fulfilment of this revelation was
very inconvenient; yet, on being assured that it positively occurred, the
English commander found it advisable to resign his uniform. Soon after,
however, he unfolded to the Indian a dream with which he had himself
been favored, and in which the former was seen presenting him with a
large tract of fertile land most commodiously situated. The native ruler
admitted that, since the vision had been vouchsafed, it must be realized,
yet earnestly proposed to cease this mutual dreaming, which he found had
turned much to his own disadvantage.

The manitou is an object of peculiar veneration; and the fixing upon
this guardian power is not only the most important event in the history
of a youth, but even constitutes his initiation into active life. As a
preliminary, his face is painted black, and he undergoes a severe fast,
which is, if possible, prolonged for eight days. This is preparatory
to the dream in which he is to behold the idol destined ever after to
afford him aid and protection. In this state of excited expectation, and
while every nocturnal vision is carefully watched, there seldom fails
to occur to his mind something which, as it makes a deep impression, is
pronounced his manitou. Most commonly it is a trifling and even fantastic
article; the head, beak, or claw of a bird, the hoof of a cow, or even
a piece of wood. However, having undergone a thorough perspiration in
one of their vapour-baths, he is laid on his back, and a picture of it
is drawn upon his breast by needles of fish-bone dipped in vermilion. A
good specimen of the original being procured, it is carefully treasured
up; and to it he applies in every emergency, hoping that it will inspire
his dreams, and secure to him every kind of good fortune. When, however,
notwithstanding every means of propitiating its favour, misfortunes
befall him, the manitou is considered as having exposed itself to just
and serious reproach. He begins with remonstrances, representing all
that has been done for it, the disgrace it incurs by not protecting its
votary, and, finally, the danger that, in case of repeated neglect, it
may be discarded for another. Nor is this considered merely as an empty
threat; for if the manitou is judged incorrigible, it is thrown away; and
by means of a fresh course of fasting, dreaming, sweating, and painting,
another is installed, from whom better success may be hoped.

The absence of temples, worship, sacrifices, and all the observances
to which superstition prompts the untutored mind, is a remarkable
circumstance, and, as we have already remarked, led the early visiters
to believe that the Indians were strangers to all religious ideas.
Yet the missionaries found room to suspect that some of their great
feasts, in which every thing presented must be eaten, bore an idolatrous
character, and were held in honour of the Great Hare. The Ottawas,
whose mythological system seems to have been the most complicated,
were wont to keep a regular festival to celebrate the beneficence of
the sun; on which occasion the luminary was told that this service was
in return for the good hunting he had procured for his people, and as
an encouragement to persevere in his friendly cares. They were also
observed to erect an idol in the middle of their town, and sacrifice to
it; but such ceremonies were by no means general. On first witnessing
Christian worship, the only idea suggested by it was that of their
asking some temporal good, which was either granted or refused. The
missionaries mention two Hurons, who arrived from the woods soon after
the congregation had assembled. Standing without, they began to speculate
what it was the white men were asking, and then whether they were getting
it. As the service continued beyond expectation, it was concluded they
were _not_ getting it; and as the devotional duties still proceeded, they
admired the perseverance with which this rejected suit was urged. At
length, when the vesper hymn began, one of the savages observed to the
other: “Listen to them now in despair, crying with all their might.”

The grand doctrine of a life beyond the grave was, among all the tribes
of America, most deeply cherished and most sincerely believed. They
had even formed a distinct idea of the region whither they hoped to
be transported, and of the new and happier mode of existence, free
from those wars, tortures, and cruelties which throw so dark a shade
over their lot upon earth. Yet their conceptions on this subject were
by no means either exalted or spiritualized. They expected simply a
prolongation of their present life and enjoyments, under more favourable
circumstances, and with the same objects furnished in greater choice
and abundance. In that brighter land the sun ever shines unclouded,
the forests abound with deer, the lakes and rivers with fish; benefits
which are farther enhanced in their imagination by a faithful wife and
dutiful children. They do not reach it, however, till after a journey
of several months, and encountering various obstacles; a broad river, a
chain of lofty mountains, and the attack of a furious dog. This favoured
country lies far in the west, at the remotest boundary of the earth,
which is supposed to terminate in a steep precipice, with the ocean
rolling beneath. Sometimes, in the too eager pursuit of game, the spirits
fall over, and are converted into fishes. The local position of their
paradise appears connected with certain obscure intimations received
from their wandering neighbours of the Mississippi, the Rocky Mountains,
and the distant shores of the Pacific. This system of belief labours
under a great defect, inasmuch as it scarcely connects felicity in the
future world with virtuous conduct in the present. The one is held to
be simply a continuation of the other; and under this impression, the
arms, ornaments, and everything that had contributed to the welfare of
the deceased, are interred along with him. This supposed assurance of
a future life so conformable to their gross habits and conceptions,
was found by the missionaries a serious obstacle when they attempted to
allure them by the hope of a destiny, purer and higher indeed, but less
accordant with their untutored conceptions. Upon being told that in the
promised world they would neither hunt, eat, drink, nor marry, many of
them declared that, far from endeavouring to reach such an abode, they
would consider their arrival there as the greatest calamity. Mention is
made of a Huron girl whom one of the Christian ministers was endeavouring
to instruct, and whose first question was what she would find to eat.
The answer being “Nothing,” she then asked what she would see; and being
informed that she would see the Maker of heaven and earth, she expressed
herself much at a loss how she should address him.

[Illustration]




INDIAN FUNERALS.


Another sentiment, congenial with that now described, is most deeply
rooted in the mind of the Indians. This is reverence for the dead,
with which Chateaubriand, though somewhat hastily, considers them more
deeply imbued than any other people. During life they are by no means
lavish in their expressions of tenderness, but on the hour of final
separation it is displayed with extraordinary force. When any member
of a family becomes seriously ill, all the resources of magic and
medicine are exhausted in order to procure his recovery. When the fatal
moment arrives, all the kindred burst into loud lamentations, which
continue till some person possessing the requisite authority desires
them to cease. These expressions of grief, however, are renewed for a
considerable time at sunrise and sunset. After three days the funeral
takes place, when all the provisions which the family can procure are
expended in a feast, to which the neighbours are generally invited; and,
although on all solemn occasions it is required that every thing should
be eaten, the relations do not partake. These last cut off their hair,
cover their heads, paint their faces of a black colour, and continue
long to deny themselves every species of amusement. The deceased is
then interred with his arms and ornaments, his face painted, and his
person attired in the richest robes which they can furnish. It was the
opinion of one of the early missionaries, that the chief object of the
Hurons in their traffic with the French was to procure materials for
honouring their dead; and, as a proof of this, many of them have been
seen shivering half naked in the cold, while their hut contained rich
robes to be wrapped round them after their decease. The body is placed
in the tomb in an upright posture, and skins are carefully spread round
it, so that no part may touch the earth. This, however, is by no means
the final ceremony, being followed by another still more solemn and
singular. Every eighth, tenth, or twelfth year, according to the custom
of the different nations, is celebrated the festival of the dead; and,
till then, the souls are supposed to hover round their former tenement,
and not to depart for their final abode in the west. On this occasion
the people march in procession to the places of interment, open the
tombs, and, on beholding the mortal remains of their friends, continue
some time fixed in mournful silence. The women then break out into loud
cries, and the party begin to collect the bones, removing every remnant
of flesh. The remains are then wrapped in fresh and valuable robes, and
conveyed amid continual lamentation to the family cabin. A feast is then
given, followed during several days by dances, games, and prize-combats,
to which strangers often repair from a great distance. This mode of
celebration certainly accords very ill with the sad occasion; yet the
Greek and Roman obsequies were solemnized in a similar manner; nay,
in many parts of Scotland, till very recently, they were accompanied
by festival, and often by revelry. The relics are then carried to the
council-house of the nation, where they are hung for exhibition along
the walls, with fresh presents destined to be interred along with them.
Sometimes they are even displayed from village to village. At length,
being deposited in a pit previously dug in the earth, and lined with
the richest furs, they are finally entombed. Tears and lamentations are
again lavished; and during a few days food is brought to the place. The
bones of their fathers are considered by the Indians the strongest ties
to their native soil; and when calamity forces them to quit it, these
mouldering fragments are, if possible, conveyed along with them.

[Illustration]




INDIAN CANNIBALISM.


It has been made a question whether the Indians can be justly charged
with cannibalism. It is certain that all the terms by which they
designate their inhuman mode of putting a prisoner to death bear
reference to this horrid practice. The expressions are to throw him into
the caldron, to devour him, to eat soup made of his flesh. It has hence
been plausibly inferred that this enormity really prevailed in early
times, but was changed, we can scarcely say mitigated, into the present
system of torture. Yet, as every action is described by them in terms
highly figurative, those now quoted may have been used as expressing
most fully the complete gratification of their revenge. Of this charge
they cannot now be either condemned or wholly acquitted. In the excited
fury of their passions, portions of the flesh are often seized, roasted,
and eaten, and draughts taken of the blood. To eat an enemy’s heart is
considered a peculiar enjoyment. Long mentions a gentleman who came upon
a party who were busy broiling a human heart, when he with difficulty
prevailed on them to desist. There is little hesitation among them, in
periods of scarcity, to relieve hunger with the flesh of their captives;
and during one war, this fate is said to have befallen many French
soldiers who fell into the hands of the Five Nations. Colonel Schuyler
told Colden, that, having entered the cabin of a chief who had some rich
soup before him, he was invited to partake. Being hungry and tired, he
readily agreed, till the ladle, being put into the great caldron, brought
up a human hand, the sight of which put an immediate end to his appetite
and meal.




INDIAN DANCES.


The dances of the Indians, even those at common festivals, are on an
extensive scale, requiring to a complete performance forty or fifty
persons, who execute their evolutions by following each other round
a great fire kindled in the centre. Their movements, monotonous but
violent, consist in stamping furiously on the ground, and often
brandishing their arms in a manner compared by an able writer to a
baker converting flour into dough. They keep good time; but the music
is so exceedingly simple that this implies little merit. They conclude
with a loud shout or howl, which echoes frightfully through the woods.
The dances in celebration of particular events are of a more varied
character, and often form a very expressive pantomime. The war-dance
is the most favourite and frequent. In this extraordinary performance,
a complete image is given of the terrible reality; the war-whoop is
sounded with the most frightful yells; the tomahawk is wildly brandished;
and the enemy are surprised, seized, and scalped, or carried off for
torture. The calumet-dance, which celebrates peace between nations,
and the marriage-dance, which represents domestic life, are much more
pleasing. Some mention is made of a mystic dance, carried on by the
jugglers or doctors, with strange superstitious ceremonies, and in which
a supernatural personage, termed by some the devil, rises and performs;
but it does not seem to have been witnessed by any European, and is said
to be now in a great measure disused.




INDIAN GAMES.


There are games to which the Indians are fondly attached, which, though
they be only ranked under the head of amusement, are yet constructed in
the same serious manner as their other transactions. Their great parties
are said to be collected by supernatural authority, communicated by
the jugglers; and they are preceded, like their wars and hunts, by a
course of fasting, dreaming, and other means of propitiating fortune.
The favourite game is that of the bone, in which small pieces of that
substance, resembling dice, and painted of different colours, are thrown
in the air, and according to the manner in which they fall, the game is
decided. Only two persons can play; but a numerous party, and sometimes
whole villages, embrace one side or the other, and look on with intense
interest. At each throw, especially if it be decisive, tremendous
shouts are raised; the players and spectators equally resemble
persons possessed; the air rings with invocations to the bones and to
the manitous. Their eagerness sometimes leads to quarreling and even
fighting, which on no other occasion ever disturb the interior of these
societies. To such a pitch are they occasionally worked up, that they
stake successively all they possess, and even their personal liberty; but
this description must apply only to the more southern nations, as slavery
was unknown among the Canadian Indians.

A temporary interval of wild license, of emancipation from all the
restraints of dignity and decorum, seems to afford an enjoyment highly
prized in all rude societies. Corresponding with the saturnalia and
bacchanals of antiquity, the Indians have their festivals of dreams,
which, during fifteen days, enlivens the inaction of the coldest
season. Laying aside all their usual order and gravity, they run about,
frightfully disguised, and committing every imaginable extravagance.
He who meets another demands an explanation of his visions, and if not
satisfied, imposes some fantastic penalty. He throws upon him cold
water, hot ashes, or filth; sometimes, rushing into his cabin, he
breaks and destroys the furniture. Although everything appears wild and
unpremeditated, it is alleged that opportunities are often taken to give
vent to old and secret resentments. The period having elapsed, a feast is
given, order is restored, and the damages done are carefully repaired.




BEAUTIFUL TRAIT OF CHARACTER.


One M’Dougal, a native of Argyleshire, having emigrated to Upper Canada,
from anxiety to make the most of his scanty capital, or some other
motive, he purchased a location, where the price of land is merely
nominal, in a country thinly peopled, and on the extreme verge of
civilization. His first care was to construct a house, and plant in the
wild. This task finished, he spent his whole time, early and late, in the
garden and the fields. By vigorous exertions, and occasional assistance,
he brought a few acres of ground under crop; acquired a stock of cattle,
sheep and hogs; made additional inroads on the glade and the forest,
and, though his toils were hard, gradually and imperceptibly became, in
a rough way, “well enough to live,” as compared with the poverty he had
abandoned at home.

His greatest discomforts were, distance from his neighbours, the church,
markets, and even the mill; and, along with these, the suspension (or
rather, the enjoyment) after long intervals of time, of those endearing
charities and friendly offices, which lend such a charm to social life.

On one occasion, M’Dougal had a melder of corn to grind, and as the
distance was considerable, and the roads none of the smoothest, this
important part of his duty could only be performed by starting with the
sun, and returning with the going down of the same. In his absence, the
care of the cattle devolved on his spouse, and as they did not return
at the usual hour, the careful matron went out in quest of them. Beyond
its mere outskirts, the forest was, to her, _terra incognita_, in the
most emphatic sense of the term; and with no compass, or notched trees
to guide, it is not to be wondered at that she wandered long and wearily
to very little purpose. Like alps on alps, tall trees arose on every
side—a boundless continuity of shade—and, fatigued with the search,
she deemed it prudent to retrace her steps, while it was yet time. But
this resolution was much easier formed than executed; returning was as
dangerous as “going o’er,” and, after wandering for hours, she sunk on
the ground, her eyes swollen and filled with tears, and her mind agitated
almost to distraction. But here she had not rested many minutes, before
she was startled by the sound of approaching footsteps, and, anon, an
Indian hunter stood before her, “a stoic of the woods, a man without
fear.” Mrs. M’Dougal knew that Indians lived at no great distance, but
as she had never seen a member of the tribe, her emotions were those
of terror—quickening, it may be said, every pulse, and yet paralyzing
every limb. The Indian’s views were more comprehensive; constantly on
the look out, in search of the quarry, and accustomed to make circuits,
comprising the superficies of many a highland mountain and glen, he had
observed her, without being observed himself, knew her home, recognized
her person, comprehended her mishap, divined her errand, and immediately
beckoned her to follow him. The unfortunate woman understood his signal,
and obeyed it, as far as terror left her power; and, after a lengthened
sweep, which added not a little to her previous fatigue, they arrived at
the door of an Indian wigwam.

Her conductor invited her to enter, by signs: but this she sternly
refused to do, dreading the consequence, and preferring death in the open
air to the tender mercies of cannibals within. Perceiving her reluctance,
and scanning her feelings, the hospitable Indian darted into the wigwam,
and communed with his wife, who, in a few minutes, also appeared: and,
by certain signs and sympathies, known only to females, calmed the
stranger’s fears, and induced her to enter their lowly abode. Venison was
instantly prepared for supper, and Mrs. M’Dougal—though still alarmed at
the novelty of her situation, found the viands delicious, and had rarely,
if ever, partaken of so savoury a meal. Aware that she was wearied, the
Indians removed from their place near the roof, two beautiful deer skins,
and, by stretching and fixing them across, divided the wigwam into two
apartments. Mats were also spread in both, and next, the stranger was
given to understand, that the further dormitory was expressly designed
for her accommodation. But here again her courage failed her, and to the
most pressing intreaties, she replied by signs, as well as she could,
that she would prefer to sit and sleep by the fire. This determination
seemed to puzzle the Indian and his squaw sadly. Often they looked at
each other, and conversed softly in their own language: and, at last,
the Red took the White woman by the hand, led her to her couch, and
became her bedfellow. In the morning she awoke greatly refreshed, and
anxious to depart, without further delay—but the Indian would on no
account permit it. Breakfast was prepared—another savoury and well-cooked
meal—and then the Indian accompanied his guest, and conducted her to the
very spot where the cattle were grazing. These he kindly drove from the
wood, on the verge of which Mrs. M’Dougal descried her husband, running
about every where, hallooing and seeking for her, in a state of absolute
distraction. Great was his joy, and great his gratitude to her Indian
benefactor, who was invited to the house, and treated to the best the
larder afforded, and presented, on his departure, with a suit of clothes.

In about three days he returned, and endeavoured, by every wile, to
induce Mr. M’Dougal to follow him into the forest. But this invitation
the other positively declined—and the poor Indian went on his way,
obviously grieved and disappointed. But again he returned; and, though
words were wanting, renewed his intreaties—but still vainly, and
without effect: and then, as a last desperate effort, he hit upon an
expedient, which none, save an Indian hunter, would have thought of.
Mrs. M’Dougal had a nursling only a few months old—a fact the Indian
failed not to notice. After his pantomimic eloquence had been thrown
away, he approached the cradle, seized the child, and darted out of
the house with the speed of an antelope. The alarmed parents instantly
followed, supplicating and imploring, at the top of their voices. But the
Indian’s resolves were as fixed as fate—and away he went, slow enough
to encourage his pursuers, but still in the van by a good many paces,
and far enough ahead to achieve the secret purpose he had formed—like
the parent-bird, skimming the ground, when she wishes to wile the enemy
from her nest. Again and again Mr. M’Dougal wished to continue the chase
alone—but maternal anxiety baffled every remonstrance; and this anxiety
was, if possible, increased, when she saw the painted savage enter the
wood, and steer, as she thought, his course towards his own cabin. The
Indian, however, was in no hurry;—occasionally, he cast a glance behind,
poised the child almost like a feather, treading his way with admirable
dexterity, and kept the swaddling clothes so closely drawn around it,
that not even the winds of heaven were permitted to visit it roughly.
It is, of course, needless to go into all the details of this singular
journey, further than to say, that the Indian, at length, called a halt
on the margin of a most beautiful prairie, teeming with the richest
vegetation, and comprising many thousands of acres. In a moment the child
was restored to its parents—who, wondering what so strange a procedure
could mean, stood, for some minutes, panting for breath, and eyeing one
another in silent and speechless astonishment.

The Indian, on the other hand, appeared overjoyed at the success of his
manœuvre—and never did a human being frisk about and gesticulate with
greater animation. We have heard, or read, of a professor of signs: and
supposing such a character were wanted, the selection could not—or, at
least should not—be a matter of difficulty, so long as even a remnant
remains of the aborigines of North America. All travellers agree in
describing their gestures as highly dignified, eloquent, and intelligent:
and we have the authority of Mr. M’Dougal for saying, that the hero of
the present strictly authentic tale, proved himself to be a perfect
master of the art. The restoration of the child—the beauty and wide
extent of the prairies, and various other circumstances combined—flashed
across our countryman’s mind—operating conviction where jealously and
distrust had lurked before. Mr. M’Dougal, in a trice, examined the soil,
and immediately saw the propriety of the advice given by the _untutored
one_. By a sort of tacit agreement, a day was fixed for the removal of
the materials of our countryman’s cabin, goods and chattels;—and the
Indian, true to his word, brought a detachment of his tribe to assist
in one of the most romantic “flittings” that ever was undertaken either
in the old or new world. In a few days a roomy log-house was fashioned,
and a garden formed in a convenient section of the beautiful prairie,
from which the smoke was seen curling, and the woodpecker tapping at
no great distance. M’Dougal was greatly pleased at the change—and no
wonder, seeing that he could almost boast of a body-guard as bold as the
bowmen of Robin Hood. His Indian friend speedily became a sort of foster
brother, and his tribe as faithful as the most attached Tail of Gillies
that ever surrounded a Highland chieftain. Even the stupid kine lowed, on
finding themselves suddenly transferred to a boundless range of richest
pasture:—and, up to the date of the last advices, were improving rapidly
in condition, and increasing in numbers.

The little garden was smiling like a rose in the desert—grass,
overabundant, was gradually giving way to thriving crops, and the kine
so well satisfied with their _gang_, that the herds and enclosures were
like unheeded to keep them from the corn. The Indians continued friendly
and faithful—occasionally bringing presents of venison and other game,
and were uniformly rewarded from the stores of a dairy, overflowing with
milk, butter, and cheese.

Attached as the Red man was to his own mode of life, he was induced
at length to form a part of the establishment, in the capacity of
grieve, or head shepherd—a duty he undertook most cheerfully, as it
still left him opportunities of meeting and communing with his friends,
and reconnoitering the altering denizens of the forest. Let us hope,
therefore, that no untoward accident will occur to mar this beautiful
picture of sylvan life; that the M’Dougal colony will wax stronger, till
every section of the prairie is forced to yield tribute to the spade and
the plough.




THE REFORMED INDIAN.


Some of the Indians believe, that the “Evil Spirit” is the maker of
spirituous liquors, from which, notwithstanding, hardly one of them can
refrain. An Indian near the Delaware Water Gap, told Mr. Heckewelder,
a missionary, that he had once, when under the influence of strong
liquor, killed the best Indian friend he had, fancying him to be his
worst avowed enemy. He said that the deception was complete; and that
while intoxicated, the face of his friend presented to _his_ eyes all
the features of the man with whom he was in a state of hostility. It is
impossible to express the horror which struck him, when he awoke from
that delusion. He was so shocked, that from that moment, he resolved
never more to taste of the maddening potion, of which he was convinced
the devil was the inventor; for that it could only be the “Evil Spirit”
who made him see his enemy when his friend was before him, and produced
so strong a delusion on his bewildered senses, that he actually killed
him. From that time until his death, which happened thirty years
afterwards, he never drank a drop of ardent spirits, which he always
called “the devil’s blood;” and was firmly persuaded that the devil, or
some of his infernal spirits, had a hand in preparing it.




FIDELITY.


Among the North American Indians, one of the first lessons they inculcate
on their children, is duty to their parents, and respect for old age;
and there is not among the most civilized nations, any people who more
strictly observe the duty of filial obedience. A father need only to say,
in the presence of his children, “I want such a thing done”—“I want one
of my children to go upon such an errand”—“Let me see who is the good
child that will do it.” The word _good_ operates as it were by magic, and
the children immediately vie with each other to comply with the parent’s
wishes. If a father sees an old decrepid man or woman pass by, led along
by a child, he will draw the attention of his own children to the object,
by saying, “What a _good_ child that must be, which pays such attention
to the aged! That child, indeed, looks forward to the time when it will
likewise be old, and need its children’s help.” Or he will say, “May the
Great Spirit, who looks upon him, grant this _good_ child a long life!”




STRATAGEM DEFEATED.


Early in the war of the American revolution, a Sergeant, who travelled
through the woods of New Hampshire, on his way to the American army, met
with a singular adventure, which ended much to his credit.

He had twelve men with him. Their route was far from any settlement, and
they were obliged every night to encamp in the woods. The Sergeant had
seen a good deal of the Indians, and understood them well;—early in the
afternoon, one day, as they were marching on, over bogs, swamps, and
brooks, under the towering maple trees, a body of Indians, exceeding
their own number, rushed out upon a hill in front of them.

They appeared to be pleased at meeting with the Sergeant and his party.
They considered them, they said, as their best friends; for themselves,
they had taken up the hatchet for the Americans, and would scalp and
strip those rascally English for them, like so many wild cats. “How do
you do, pro?” (meaning brother) said one. “How do you do, pro?” said
another, and so they went about, shaking hands with the Sergeant and his
twelve men.

They went off, at last, and the Sergeant, having marched onward a mile or
two, halted his men, and addressed them,—“My brave fellows,” said he, “we
must use all possible caution, or before morning we shall all of us be
dead men. You are amazed, but depend upon me, these Indians have tried to
put our suspicion to sleep; you will see more of them by-and-bye.”

It was concluded, finally, to adopt the following scheme for defence:
they encamped for the night, near a stream of water, which protected them
from behind. A large oak was felled, and a brilliant fire kindled; each
man cut a log of wood, about the size of his body, rolled it nicely up
in his blanket, placed his hat on the end of it, and laid it before the
fire, that the enemy might take it for a man.

Thirteen logs were fitted out in this way, representing the Sergeant and
his twelve men. They then placed themselves, with loaded guns, behind the
fallen tree; by this time it was dark, but the fire was kept burning till
midnight. The Sergeant knew, that if the Savages ever came, they would
come now.

A tall Indian was seen, at length, through the glimmering of the fire,
which was getting low. He moved cautiously towards them, skulking, as an
Indian always does. He seemed to suspect, at first, that a guard might
be watching, but seeing none, he came forward more boldly, rested on
his toes, and was seen to move his finger, as he counted the thirteen
men, sleeping, as he supposed, by the fire. He counted them again, and
retired; another came up, and did the same. Then the whole party, sixteen
in number, came up and glared silently at the logs, till they seemed to
be satisfied they were fast asleep. Presently they took aim, fired their
whole number of guns upon the logs, yelled the horrid war-whoop, and
pushed forward to murder and scalp their supposed victims. The Sergeant
and his men were ready for them; they fired upon them, and not one of the
Indians was left to tell the story of that night. The Sergeant reached
the army in safety.




SCENES IN KING WILLIAM’S WAR, 1689.


SURPRISE OF DOVER.

Thirteen years had almost elapsed since the seizure of the 400 Indians,
at Cocheco, by Major Waldron; during all which time an inextinguishable
thirst of revenge had been cherished among them, which never till now
found opportunity for gratification. Wonolanset, one of the sachems of
Penacook, who was dismissed with his people at the time of the seizure,
always observed his father’s dying charge, not to quarrel with the
English; but Hagkins, another sachem, who had been treated with neglect
by Cranfield, was more ready to listen to the seducing invitations of
Castine’s emissaries. Some of those Indians, who were then seized and
sold into slavery abroad, had found their way home, and could not rest
till they had their revenge. Accordingly a confederacy being formed
between the tribes of Penacook and Pigwacket, and the strange Indians
(as they were called) who were incorporated with them, it was determined
to surprise the major and his neighbours, among whom they had all this
time been peaceably conversant.

In that part of the town of Dover which lies about the first falls in
the river Cocheco, were five garrisoned houses; three on the north side,
called respectively, Waldron, Otis, and Heard; and two on the south side,
Peter Coffin and his son’s. These houses were surrounded with timber
walls, the gates of which, as well as the house doors, were secured with
bolts and bars. The neighbouring families retired to these houses by
night; but by an unaccountable negligence, no watch was kept. The Indians
who were daily passing through the town, visiting and trading with the
inhabitants, as usual in time of peace, viewed their situation with an
attentive eye. Some hints of a mischievous design had been given out by
their squaws; but in such dark and ambiguous terms that no one could
comprehend their meaning. Some of the people were uneasy; but Waldron,
who, from a long course of experience, was intimately acquainted with
the Indians, and on other occasions had been ready enough to suspect
them, was now so thoroughly secure, that when some of the people hinted
their fears to him, he merrily bade them to go and plant their pumpkins,
saying that he would tell them when the Indians would break out. The very
evening before the mischief was done, being told by a young man that the
town was full of Indians, and the people were much concerned; he answered
that he knew the Indians very well, and there was no danger.

The plan which the Indians had preconcerted was, that two squaws should
go to each of the garrisoned houses in the evening, and ask leave to
lodge by the fire; that in the night when the people were asleep they
should open the doors and gates, and give the signal by a whistle,
upon which the strange Indians, who were to be within hearing, should
rush in, and take their long meditated revenge. This plan being ripe
for execution, on the evening of Thursday the 27th of June, two squaws
applied to each of the garrisons for lodging, as they frequently did in
time of peace. They were admitted into all but the younger Coffin’s,
and the people, at their request, shewed them how to open the doors, in
case they should have occasion to go out in the night. Mesandowit, one
of their chiefs, went to Waldron’s garrison, and was kindly entertained,
as he had often been before. The squaws told the major, that a number
of Indians were coming to trade with him the next day, and Mesandowit
while at supper, with his usual familiarity, said, “Brother Waldron, what
would you do if the strange Indians should come?” The major carelessly
answered, that he could assemble 100 men, by lifting up his finger. In
this unsuspecting confidence the family retired to rest.

When all was quiet, the gates were opened and the signal given. The
Indians entered, set a guard at the door, and rushed into the major’s
apartment, which was an inner room. Awakened by the noise, he jumped out
of bed, and though now advanced in life to the age of eighty years, he
retained so much vigour as to drive them with his sword through two or
three doors, but as he was returning for his other arms, they came behind
him, stunned him with a hatchet, drew him into his hall, and seating him
in an elbow chair on a long table insultingly asked him, “Who shall judge
Indians now?” They then obliged the people in the house to get them some
victuals: and when they had done eating, they cut the major across the
breast and belly with knives, each one with a stroke saying, “I cross out
my account.” They then cut off his nose and ears, forcing them into his
mouth—and when, spent with the loss of blood, he was falling down from
the table, one of them held his own sword under him, which put an end to
his misery. They also killed his son in law Abraham Lee; but took his
daughter Lee with several others, and having pillaged the house, left it
on fire. Otis’s garrison, which was next to the major’s, met with the
same fate; he was killed, with several others, and his wife and child
were captured. Heard’s was saved by the barking of a dog just as the
Indians were entering: Elder Wentworth, who was awakened by the noise,
pushed them out, and falling on his back, set his feet against the gate
and held it till he had alarmed the people; two balls were fired through
it but both missed him. Coffin’s house was surprised, but as the Indians
had no particular enmity to him, they spared his life, and the lives of
his family, and contended themselves with pillaging the house. Finding
a bag of money, they made him throw it by handfuls on the floor, while
they amused themselves in scrambling for it. They then went to the house
of his son who would not admit the squaws in the evening, and summoned
him to surrender, promising him quarter: he declined their offer, and
determined to defend his house, till they brought out his father and
threatened to kill him before his eyes; filial affection then overcame
his resolution, and he surrendered. They put both families together into
a deserted house, intending to reserve them for prisoners; but while the
Indians were busy in plundering, they all escaped.

Twenty-three people were killed in this surprisal, and twenty-nine
were captured; five or six houses with the mills were burned; and so
expeditious were the Indians in the execution of their plot, that before
the people could be collected from the other parts of the town to oppose
them, they fled with their prisoners and booty. As they passed by Heard’s
garrison in their retreat, they fired upon it, but the people being
prepared and resolved to defend it, and the enemy being in haste, it was
preserved. The preservation of its owner was more remarkable.

Elizabeth Heard, with her three sons and a daughter, and some others,
were returning in the night from Portsmouth; they passed up the river
in their boat unperceived by the Indians, who were then in possession of
the houses; but suspecting danger by the noise which they heard, after
they had landed they betook themselves to Waldron’s garrison, where
they saw lights, which they imagined were set up for direction to those
who might be seeking a refuge. They knocked and begged earnestly for
admission, but no answer being given, a young man of the company climbed
up the wall, and saw, to his inexpressible surprise, an Indian standing
in the door of the house with his gun. The woman was so overcome with the
fright that she was unable to fly, but begged her children to shift for
themselves, and they with heavy hearts left her. When she had a little
recovered she crawled into some bushes, and lay there till day-light: she
then perceived an Indian coming toward her with a pistol in his hand,
he looked at her and went away; returning, he looked at her again, and
she asked him what he would have. He made no answer, but ran yelling to
the house, and she saw him no more. She kept her place till the house
was burned and the Indians were gone, and then returning home found her
own house safe. Her preservation in these dangerous circumstances was
more remarkable, if (as it is supposed) it was an instance of justice
and gratitude in the Indians: for at the time when the 400 were seized
in 1676, a young Indian escaped and took refuge in her house, where she
concealed him; in return for which kindness he promised her that he
never would kill her, nor any of her family in any future war, and that
he would use his influence with the other Indians to the same purpose.
This Indian was one of the party who surprised the place, and she was
well known to the most of them.

The same day, after the mischief was done, a letter from Secretary
Addington, written by order of the government, directed to Major Waldron,
giving him notice of the intention of the Indians to surprise him under
pretence of trade, fell into the hands of his son. This design was
communicated to Governor Bradstreet by Major Henchman of Chelmsford, who
had learned it of the Indians. The letter was dispatched from Boston, the
day before, by Mr. Weare; but some delay which he met with at Newbury
ferry prevented his arrival in season.

The prisoners taken at this time were mostly carried to Canada, and sold
to the French; and these, so far as can be learned, were the first that
ever were carried thither. One of these prisoners was Sarah Gerrish, a
remarkably fine child, of seven years old, and grand-daughter of Major
Waldron, in whose house she lodged that fatal night. Some circumstances
attending her captivity are truly affecting. When she was awakened by the
noise of the Indians in the house, she crept into another bed, and hid
herself under the clothes to escape their search. She remained in their
hands till the next winter, and was sold from one to another several
times. An Indian girl once pushed her into a river; but, catching by
the bushes, she escaped drowning, yet durst not tell how she came to be
wet. Once she was so weary with travelling, that she did not awake in
the morning till the Indians were gone, and then found herself alone in
the woods, covered with snow, and without any food; having found their
tracks, she went crying after them till they heard her and took her with
them. At another time they kindled a great fire, and the young Indians
told her she was to be roasted. She burst into tears, threw her arms
round her master’s neck, and begged him to save her, which he promised
to do if she would behave well. Being arrived in Canada, she was bought
by the Intendant’s lady, who treated her courteously, and sent her to a
nunnery for education. But when Sir William Phips was at Quebec she was
exchanged, and returned to her friends, with whom she lived till she was
sixteen years old.

The wife of Richard Otis was taken at the same time, with an infant
daughter of three months old. The French priests took this child under
their care, baptised her by the name of Christina, and educated her in
the Romish religion. She passed some time in a nunnery, but declined
taking the veil, and was married to a Frenchman, by whom she had two
children. But her desire to see New England was so strong, that upon an
exchange of prisoners in 1714, being then a widow, she left both her
children, who were not permitted to come with her, and returned home,
where she abjured the Romish faith. M. Siguenot, her former confessor,
wrote her a flattering letter, warning her of her danger, inviting her
to return to the bosom of the catholic church, and repeating many gross
calumnies which had formerly been vented against Luther and the other
reformers. This letter being shown to Governor Burnet, he wrote her a
sensible and masterly answer, refuting the arguments, and detecting the
falsehoods it contained: both these letters were printed. She was married
afterwards to Captain Thomas Baker, who had been taken at Deerfield, in
1704, and lived in Dover, where she was born, till the year 1773. The
Indians had been seduced to the French interest by popish emissaries, who
had begun to fascinate them with their religious and national prejudices.
They had now learned to call the English heretics, and that to extirpate
them as such was meritorious in the sight of heaven. When their minds
were filled with religious frenzy, they became more bitter and implacable
enemies than before; and finding the sale of scalps and prisoners turn
to good account in Canada, they had still farther incitement to continue
their depredations, and prosecute their vengeance.


TREATMENT OF THE PRISONERS AT SALMON FALLS IN 1690.

The following instances of cruelty, exercised towards the prisoners
taken at Salmon falls, are mentioned by Dr. Mather. Robert Rogers, a
corpulent man, being unable to carry the burden which the Indians imposed
upon him, threw it in the path and went aside in the woods to conceal
himself. They found him by his track, stripped, beat, and pricked him
with their swords: then tied him to a tree and danced round him till they
had kindled a fire. They gave him time to pray, and take leave of his
fellow prisoners, who were placed round the fire to see his death. They
pushed the fire toward him, and when he was almost stifled, took it away
to give him time to breathe, and thus prolong his misery; they drowned
his dying groans with their hideous singing and yelling, all the while
dancing round the fire, cutting off pieces of his flesh and throwing them
in his face. When he was dead they left his body broiling on the coals,
in which state it was found by his friends and buried. Mehetabel Goodwin
was taken with a child of five months old; when it cried they threatened
to kill it, which made the mother go aside and sit for hours together in
the snow to lull it to sleep; her master seeing that this hindered her
from travelling, took the child, struck its head against a tree, and hung
it on one of the branches; she would have buried it but he would not
let her, telling her that if she came again that way she might have the
pleasure of seeing it. She was carried to Canada, and after five years
returned home. Mary Plaisted was taken out of her bed, having lain in
but three weeks: they made her travel with them through the snow and “to
ease her of her burden,” as they said, struck the child’s head against a
tree, and threw it into a river. An anecdote of another kind may relieve
the reader after these tragical accounts. Thomas Toogood was pursued
by three Indians and overtaken by one of them, who having enquired his
name, was preparing strings to bind him, holding his gun under his arm,
which Toogood seized and went backward, keeping the gun presented at him,
and protesting that he would shoot him if he alarmed the others who had
stopped on the opposite side of the hill. By this dexterity he escaped
and got safe into Cocheco; while his adversary had no recompense in his
power but to call after him by the name of Nogood.




FOOTNOTES


[1] General Jackson.

[2] Published in the Mobile Com. Register. March, 1824.

[3] This speech is the most manly and dignified piece of Indian oratory
that has ever met our eye. It even surpasses the admired speech of
Caractacus, the Briton, when led captive to Rome;—and is, in no wise,
inferior to that of Logan.

[4] This interesting fact of a young Indian Chief of the Pawnee nation,
at the foot of the Rocky Mountains, who was on a visit to Washington in
the winter of 1824, is extracted from a letter of the Rev. Richard Reece,
to the editor of the London Wesleyan Methodist Magazine.

[5] In 1775 Shenandoh was present at a treaty made in Albany. At night he
was excessively drunk; and in the morning, found himself in the street,
stripped of all his ornaments, and every article of clothing. His pride
revolted at his self-degradation, and he resolved never more to deliver
himself over to the power of ‘strong water.’

[6] The Editor of the Indian Anecdotes, is not responsible for the
sentiments, which any of the Anecdotes of this collection may seem to
illustrate. And although he has carefully omitted such as would tend to
corrupt, or exert an immoral influence on the character; he disclaims
every political or religious partiality. The above has been introduced as
an interesting specimen of Indian logic.

[7] The Mandan tribe is now entirely extinct—_Catlin._