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 eventhe 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.
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 thegreat 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 ofConsidered, 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.
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 Englandunclebut 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 tribesall cameto 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 tokill himwho has so lately saved his life.”
“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 thefoot 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.”
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 whichthey 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 ofcoup de graceor stroke offavour.
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 counter-balanced any advantages which the British derived from the assistance of the Indians.
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, andbooks 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.
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.’
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 withtheir 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 senthim back to James-Town, where the beneficence of Pocahontas continued to follow him with supplies of provisions that delivered the colony from famine.
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 Plymouthare 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 hispeople 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.
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 heloved; 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.
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 theearth, 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.
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.
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 wasmore, 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 longrich 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.
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, butprosperity came not with it. It was a cruel blow to Eliot, nearly all whose life had been given 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.
TheNarragansets, possessed the country about Narraganset Bay, including Rhode Island, and other Islands in that vicinity, and a part of Connecticut.Canonicuswas 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-makerMr. 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 toCanonicus, 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.
Chickataubut, was a sachem of considerable note among theMassachusettstribe, 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 settledChickataubutvisited GovernorWinthrop, 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 gavehim 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.”
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.
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 cometo 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 andpropitiate 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 stealinga horse, scalping an enemy, or killing a bear, is an achievement which entitles him to choose one for himself, and the nation confirms it.
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 alwaysbright. Will not that be good? What dost thou say to it, my father?”
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 believehe 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 ofManitou, 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 killand 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 Mandans7expected, 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.