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. WhyIlive, 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 tearThat 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.’
‘Indulge my native land; indulge the tearThat 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.’
‘Indulge my native land; indulge the tearThat 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.’
‘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.’
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 to wards the south, and day after day the Englishman followed, without being able to conjecture the motives of his guide. After atedious 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.”
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 otherIndian 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!’
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 hiswants—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 ofLatelesha, 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. “Iwill rescue the boy,” saidPetalesharoo, “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 expedientsucceeded. 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.
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 entirety 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 ammunitionof 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 ofbirdsandbeasts.” 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 intheircamp. 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 thanksgivingwith 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, wasTecumseh.
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 ofelection) 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, theSachem 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.
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 thathewas always playing aboutthe 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.’
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.
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.’
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 placedconfidencein him, and trusted to his fidelity; which question being answeredby 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.
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 knewhim for hisphilanthropy; 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, thistrueandfaithfulpicture of Indianfidelity—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 theblackest 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.
I can give, says Golden, 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.
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.
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.
It has been remarked, that the history of every incursion of the Indians into the territory of the whites may be written in the wordssurprise,massacre,plunderandretreat. 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 thehouse 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.
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 golike 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 byhimself 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.”
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, drawingnear, 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, hisaudience 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 thefourth 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 gavetheir 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.
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 havemany 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;therewas 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 questionsproposed 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.
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 aspartially 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.
“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.”
(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 withthe 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 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 surprisedand 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.